The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

it to his pocket…but not before Miss Temple noticed the fresh, brilliant blue stain.
    “Are you quite well, my dear?” asked the Prince.
    Before Lydia could speak, Chang threw back his glass and gargled loudly before swallowing the brandy. Doctor Svenson poured his glass on the floor. Crabbé took all this in and exhaled sadly.
    “Ah well…one cannot always please. Caroline?” Mrs. Stearne collected their glasses. Crabbé cleared his throat and gestured vaguely at the room around them.
    “So we begin.”

    “Through your determined efforts at
destruction,
we are no longer able to easily determine what you know of our plans, or in whom you might have confided. Mrs. Marchmoor is well on her way to the city, Angelique and poor Elspeth are no more.” He held up his hand. “Please know that
I
am speaking to you as the one most able to control my rage—if it were any of my associates, a recitation of even these facts would result in your immediate deaths. While it is true we could subject you to the Process, or distill your memories within a book, both of these endeavors demand time we do not have, and facilities beyond this craft. It is also true we could do both these things upon arrival in Macklenburg, yet our need for your knowledge cannot wait. Upon arrival we must know where we stand, and if…within our ranks…there is a Judas.”
    He held out his glass to Roger for more brandy, and continued speaking as it was poured.
    “This latest confrontation on the rooftop—wasteful and distressing, I trust, to
all
—only reinforces our earlier decision that we would have been best served with your talents incorporated to our cause—via the Process. Thank you, Roger.” Crabbé drank. “Do not bother to protest—we no longer expect any such conversions, nor—given the grief you have inflicted—would they now be accepted. The situation could not be clearer. We hold Mrs. Dujong. You will answer our questions or she will die—and I’m sure you can imagine the sort of death I mean, the time it will take, and how distressing such prolonged screams will be in such an enclosed place as this. And if she does manage to expire, then we shall merely move on to one of you—Miss Temple, perhaps—and on and on. It is inevitable as the dawn. As you have opened that door to avoid its being needlessly broken, I offer you the chance to avoid that same breaking of your comrades’ bodies—and, indeed, their souls.”

    Miss Temple looked at the faces opposite her—Crabbé’s smug smirk, the Prince’s bemused disdain, Lydia’s fox-faced hunger, Roger’s earnest frown, Xonck’s leer, the Comte’s iron glare, the Contessa’s glacial smile, and Caroline’s sad patience—and found nowhere a suggestion that the Minister’s words were anything but true. Yet she still saw the factions between them and knew their deeper interest lay no longer in what she and the others had discovered, but only in how those discoveries spelled out betrayals within the Cabal’s circle.
    “It would be easier to believe you, Sir,” she said, “if you did not so blatantly
lie
. You ask us to talk to prevent our torture, yet what happens when we reveal some morsel of deduction that points to one among you—do you expect that person to accept our open word? Of course not—whoever is denounced will demand that your cruelties be brought to bear in
any
case, to confirm or disprove our accusations!”
    The Deputy Minister’s eyes twinkled as he shook his head, chuckling, and took another sip of brandy.
    “My goodness—Roger, I do believe she
is
more than you’d perceived—Miss Temple, you have caught me out. Indeed, it is the case—so much for my attempts to save the woodwork! All right then—you will, all four, be killed at length, quite badly. If any of you have something to say, all the better—if not, well, we’re rid of your damned stinking disruptions at last.”
    Xonck stepped forward, the saber dancing menacingly in the air before him. Miss Temple retreated, but a single step brought her flat against the wall. Once more the Doctor squeezed her hand, and then cried out in as hearty a voice as he could.
    “Excellent, Minister—and perhaps Mr. Xonck will kill us
before
we talk—would that suit you even better?”
    Crabbé stood up, impatient and angry. “Ah—here it comes! The vain attempt to turn us against one another—Francis—”
    “By all means,
Francis
—kill us quickly! Serve the Minister as you always have!