The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

would
you
suggest?”
    The Contessa answered with a shrug toward the Dragoon who seemed to hold her fast. “Well, Francis,…I agree it
is
difficult…”
    “Damned shame about Elspeth.”
    “My thoughts exactly—I must admit to underestimating Doctor Svenson once again.”
    “It cannot work,” called out Chang, his voice hoarse with exertion. “If you kill that man—or if Lorenz shoots us—these Dragoons will not scruple to kill the Contessa and the Comte. You must retreat.”
    “Retreat?” scoffed Xonck. “From you, Cardinal, this comes as a shock—or perhaps it is merely the perspective of a ruffian. I’ve always doubted your courage, man to man.”
    Chang spat painfully. “You can doubt what you like, you insufferable, worm-rotted—”
    Doctor Svenson cut him off, stepping forward. “A great number of these men will die if they are not helped—your men as well as ours—”
    Xonck ignored them both, calling out to the two Dragoons. “Release her, and you’ll live. It is your only chance.”
    They did not answer, so Xonck bore down his foot on the fallen man’s throat, driving out a protesting rattle like air from a balloon.
    “It is your choice…,” he taunted them. Still they did not move. At once he wheeled and called to Lorenz. “Shoot someone—whoever you please.”
    “You’re being stupid!” shouted Svenson. “No one need die!”
    “Reason not the
need,
Doctor.” Xonck chuckled, and he very deliberately crushed the man’s windpipe beneath his boot.
    In a blur of movement the Contessa’s hand flew across the face of the Dragoon who held her, its pathway marked by a spurting line of blood—once more she wore her metal spike. Xonck hacked at the final stunned trooper, who could only parry the blow and then disappear beneath a crush of bodies as Caroline Stearne kicked his knee from behind, and the Comte himself grappled his sword arm. At once Miss Temple felt strong arms take hold of her waist and lift her off the ground. Chang flung her in the air toward the gangway, high enough to land on top of it. Lorenz’s pistol cracked once, the bullet whistling past.
    “Go on—go on!” shouted Chang, and Miss Temple did, realizing the airship held their only possible refuge. Again she was bundled up by stronger arms, this time it was Svenson, as she plunged into the cabin. He thrust her forward and wheeled to pull up Chang—bullets sending splinters of woodwork through the air. She raced ahead through one doorway and another, and then a third which was a dead end. She turned with a cry, the others colliding into her, and was knocked off her feet into a cabinet. With a desperate coordination Chang slammed the door and Svenson shot the bolt.
    Somehow they had survived the battle, only to be imprisoned.

    Miss Temple, on the floor, out of breath, face streaked with sweat and tears, gazed up at Svenson and Chang. It was hard to say which of them looked worse, for though his exertions had brought fresh blood to Chang’s mouth and nose, the Doctor’s glistening pallor was abetted by the utterly stricken cast of his eyes.
    “We have left Elöise,” he whispered. “She will be killed—”
    “Is anyone injured?” asked Chang, cutting the Doctor off. “Celeste?”
    Miss Temple shook her head, unable to speak, her thoughts seared by the savage acts she’d just witnessed. Could war possibly be worse? She squeezed shut her eyes as, unbidden, her mind recalled the grinding gasping crush of Francis Xonck bringing down his boot. She sobbed aloud and, ashamed, stuffed a fist in her mouth and turned away, her tears flowing openly.
    “Get away from the door,” muttered Chang hoarsely, shifting Svenson to the side. “They may shoot out the lock.”
    “We are trapped like rats,” said Svenson. He looked at the dagger in his hand, useless and small. “Captain Smythe—all his men—
all
of them—”
    “And Elspeth Poole,” replied Chang, doing his best to speak clearly. “And their lackeys, and the two Germans—our position could be worse—”
    “Worse?”
barked Svenson.
    “We are not yet dead, Doctor,” said Chang, though his drawn, bloody face would not have seemed out of place in a graveyard.
    “Neither is the Prince! Nor the Comte, nor the Contessa, nor that animal Xonck—”
    “I did not cut the ropes,” sniffed Miss Temple.
    “Be
quiet
—the pair of you!” hissed Chang.
    Miss Temple’s eyes flashed—for even in these straits she did not appreciate his tone—but