The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

example, deeply attached to Miss Lydia Vandaariff—”
    Blenheim waved her past the topic with a violently brusque stab of his hand. Miss Temple nodded.
    “Or you had particular allegiances with Lord Vandaariff, or the Contessa, or the Comte d’Orkancz, or Mr. Francis Xonck, or Deputy Minister Crabbé, or—”
    “You will tell me what you know no matter what my allegiance.”
    “Of course. But first, you must be aware that the house has been penetrated by
agents.
”
    “The man in red—” Blenheim nodded with impatience.
    “And the other,” added Elöise, “from the quarry, with the airship—”
    Again Blenheim waved them to another topic. “These are in hand,” he hissed. “But why are two adherents in white gowns running through the house and defying their masters?”
    “Once more, Sir, which masters do you mean?” asked Miss Temple.
    “But…” he stopped, and nodded vigorously, as if his own thoughts were confirmed. “Already, then…they plot against each other…”
    “We knew you were not a fool.” Elöise sighed, hopelessly.
    Mr. Blenheim did not at once reply, and Miss Temple, though she did not risk a glance at Elöise, took the moment to squeeze her hand.
    “While the Comte is down in the prison chamber,” she said, speaking with bland speculation, “and the Contessa is in a private room with the Prince…where is Mr. Xonck? Or Deputy Minister Crabbé?”
    “Or where are they
thought
to be?” asked Elöise.
    “Where is your own Lord Vandaariff?”
    “He is—” Blenheim stopped himself.
    “Do you know where to find your own master?” asked Elöise.
    Blenheim shook his head. “You still have not—”
    “What do you
think
we were doing?” Miss Temple allowed her exasperation to show. “We escaped from the theatre—escaped from Miss Poole—”
    “Who came with Minister Crabbé in the airship,” added Elöise.
    “And then made our way to overhear the actions of the Contessa in your secret room,” resumed Miss Temple, “and from there have done our best to intrude upon the Comte in his laboratory.”
    Blenheim frowned at her.
    “Who have we
not
troubled?” Miss Temple asked him patiently.
    “Francis Xonck,” whispered Mr. Blenheim.
    “You have said it, Sir, not I.”
    He chewed his lip. Miss Temple went on. “Do you see…
we
have not divulged a thing…you have seen these things for yourself and merely deduced the facts. Though…if we were to help you…Sir…might it go easier with us?”
    “Perhaps it would. It is impossible to say, unless I know what sort of
help
you mean.”
    Miss Temple glanced to Elöise, and then leaned toward Blenheim, as if to share a secret.
    “Do you know where Mr. Xonck is…at this very moment?”
    “Everyone is to gather in the ballroom…,” Blenheim muttered, “…but I have not seen him.”
    “Is that
so
?” replied Miss Temple, as if this were extremely significant. “And if I can show you what he is doing?”
    “Where?”
    “Not where, Mr. Blenheim—indeed, not
where
…but
how
?”
    Miss Temple smiled and, slipping it from Elöise’s grasp, held up the blue glass card.

    Mr. Blenheim snatched at it hungrily, but Miss Temple pulled it from his reach.
    “Do you know what this—” she began, but before another word could be uttered Blenheim surged forward and took hard hold of her arm with one hand and wrenched the card free from her grip with the other. He stepped back, and licked his lips again, glancing back and forth between the card and the women.
    “You must be careful,” said Miss Temple. “The blue glass is very dangerous. It is disorienting—if you have not looked into it before—”
    “I know what it is!” snarled Blenheim, and he took two steps away from them, toward the door, blocking it with his body. He looked up at the women a last time, then down into the glass.
    Blenheim’s eyes dulled as he entered the world of the glass card. Miss Temple knew this card showed the Prince and Mrs. Marchmoor, no doubt more entrancing to Mr. Blenheim than Roger ogling her own limbs on the sofa, and she reached out slowly, not making a sound, to the nearest display case to take up a sharp short dagger with a blade that curved narrowly back and forth like a silver snake. Mr. Blenheim’s breath caught in his throat and his body seemed to waver—the cycle of the card had finished—but a moment later he had not moved, giving himself over to its seductive repetition. Taking care to position her feet as