The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

Crabbé.
    “I do beg your pardon, Contessa—”
    “Why did you interfere with the examinations? You saw yourself how at least five interlopers were revealed—any one of whom might have undone our plans while we are in Macklenburg. You know this—you know this work is not
finished
.”
    “My dear, if you felt so strongly—”
    “I did not say anything because Mr. Xonck
did
say something, only to be overruled—in front of
everyone
—by you. For any of us to disagree further would have presented the exact lack of unity we have—with some
great effort,
Deputy Minister—managed to avoid.”
    “I see.”
    “I don’t believe you
do
.”
    She spat out another mouthful of smoke, her eyes burning into the man like a basilisk. Crabbé did his best to clear his throat and start fresh, but before he spoke a single word she’d cut him off.
    “We are not fools, Harald. You stopped the examinations so certain people would not be revealed to the Comte.”
    Crabbé made a feeble gesture toward Miss Temple, but again whatever words he might have said were halted by the Contessa’s condescending scoff.
    “Do not insult me—we’ll get to Miss Temple in time—I am speaking of the Duke and Lord Vandaariff. Both of whom should have presented no difficulty at all, unless of course, we are misled as to their true status. Enough of us have seen the Duke’s corpse that I am willing to say that Doctor Lorenz has done his work fairly—work that perforce was done in cooperation with the Comte. This leaves us with Lord Robert, whose transformation I believe was your
own
responsibility.”
    “He is absolutely under our control,” protested Crabbé, “you saw yourself—”
    “I saw no proof at all! It would have been simple to counterfeit!”
    “Ask Bascombe—”
    “Excellent—of course, we shall rely on the word of your own trusted assistant—now I shall sleep soundly!”
    “Do not take anyone’s word,” snapped Crabbé, growing angry in his turn. “Call Lord Robert back—go see him yourself, do whatever you like, you’ll see he is our slave! Exactly as planned!”
    “Then
why,
” said Francis Xonck in a calm dangerous tone, “did you interrupt the examination?”
    Crabbé stammered, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “Not for the precise reason I stated at the time—I admit that—but so as not to compromise the apparent authority of the Duke and Lord Robert by publicly degrading them with scrutiny! Much rests on our remaining invisible behind these figureheads—including them in the examinations would have revealed them for what they are, our servants! So much is in turmoil already—Blenheim was to escort his master to begin with, to maintain appearances—if it were not for Roger’s quick thinking to step forward—”
    “Where
is
Blenheim?” snapped the Contessa.
    “He seems to have vanished, Madame,” answered Caroline. “I have questioned the guests as you asked, but no one has seen him.”
    The Contessa snorted and looked past Miss Temple to the door, where Colonel Aspiche stood, having entered last of all.
    “I do not know,” he protested. “My men searched the house—”
    “Interesting, as Blenheim would be loyal to Lord Robert,” observed Xonck.
    “Lord Robert is under our control!” insisted Crabbé.
    “The control of your man Bascombe, at least,” said Xonck. “And what were those papers?”
    This was to Aspiche, who did not understand the question.
    “A satchel of papers!” cried Xonck. “You took them from Doctor Svenson! Bascombe took them from you!”
    “I have no idea,” said the Colonel.
    “You’re as bad as Blach!” scoffed Xonck. “Where is he anyway?”
    The Comte d’Orkancz sighed heavily. “Major Blach is dead. Cardinal Chang.”
    Xonck took this in, rolled his eyes, then shrugged. He turned back to Colonel Aspiche.
    “Where is Bascombe now?”
    “With Lord Robert,” said Caroline. “After Mr. Blenheim—”
    “Where else
ought
he to be?” cried Crabbé, growing exasperated, “Where else? Distributing the message books—someone had to do it in Blenheim’s absence!”
    “How fortunate he thought to step in,” said the Contessa icily.
    “Mrs. Marchmoor is with him—surely you trust her as much as I trust Bascombe!” sputtered Crabbé. “Surely they have
both
proven their loyalty to us
all
!”
    The Contessa turned to Smythe. “Captain, send two of your men to collect Mr. Bascombe as soon as he is finished. Bring him here, along with Lord