The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

You might as well have set off fireworks. If anyone has suspicions—”
    “No one has suspicions.”
    “That you know of. I will have to go back to the coffeehouse and give ready money to the five men who saw me so
collected
—to protect the both of us. Are you this careless with the lives of your men in action? Are you this careless with yourself?”
    Aspiche was not accustomed to such a tone, but his silence itself was admission of his error. He turned away, gazing back into the fog. “All right. Get on with it.”
    Chang narrowed his eyes. So far it had been simple enough, but here he was in the dark as much as Aspiche was at least pretending to be. “There were hundreds of people in the house. It was
indeed
an engagement party. Perhaps that is not all it was, but it was certainly that, which created both confusion for me to blend into, and confusion that got in my way. Before the substance could take effect, Colonel Trapping eluded me, leaving the main gathering by way of a back staircase. I was unable to follow directly, and was forced to seek him through the house. When I finally did find him, he was dead. I could not see why. The substance I gave him was not in a quantity to kill, yet he had no marks of mortal violence about his body.”
    “You’re sure he was dead.”
    “Of course I am.”
    “You must have miscalculated your poison.”
    “I did not.”
    “Well, what do you
think
happened? And you still haven’t explained what happened to the body!”
    “I suggest that you calm yourself and listen.”
    “I suggest that you get damned on with your explanation.”
    Chang let that pass, retaining his even tone. “There were marks on Trapping’s face, like burns, around the eyes, but of a regular, precise nature, as if from a brand—”
    “A
brand
?”
    “Indeed.”
    “On his
face
?”
    “As I said. Further, the room—there was a strange odor—”
    “What was it?”
    “I cannot say. I have no ability with odors.”
    “A poison?”
    “It is possible. I do not know.”
    Aspiche frowned, thrown into thought. “All this—it makes no sense,” he snapped. “What about these burns?”
    “That is my question to you.”
    “What does that mean?” said Aspiche, taken aback. “I don’t have a clue.”
    They stood in silence for a moment. The Adjutant-Colonel seemed genuinely perplexed.
    “My examination was interrupted,” continued Chang. “I was again forced to make my way through the house, this time away from pursuit. I managed to lose my pursuers on my way back to the canal.”
    “All right, all right. What was in those carts?”
    “Boxes. Of what I don’t know.”
    “And his confederates?”
    “No idea. It
was
a masked ball.”
    “And this—this
substance
—you don’t think you killed him?”
    “I know I did not.”
    Aspiche nodded. “It’s good of you to say. Still, I’ll pay you as if you had. If he turns up alive—”
    “He won’t.”
    Aspiche smiled tightly. “Then you’ll merely owe me the job.”
    He pulled a thin leather wallet from his jacket and handed it to Chang, who tucked it into his coat.
    “What happens next?” asked Chang.
    “Nothing. My hope is that it’s over.”
    “But you know it isn’t,” Chang snarled. Aspiche did not reply. Chang pressed him. “Why has there been no further word? Who else is involved? Vandaariff? The Germans? Any one of three hundred guests? You know the answers or you don’t, Colonel. You’ll tell me what you want to. But someone’s hidden your body, and you’re going to have to know why. You’ve come this far—it’ll have to be finished.”
    Aspiche did not move.
    As Chang gazed at the man—stubborn and dangerously proud—one of the
Persephone
fragments rose to his mind:

    His willful suit, imperious and cold Pay’d court perfum’d by graves and fetid mold
    “You know how to find me…discreetly,” Chang muttered. He turned and stalked back to the Raton Marine.

    Chang had spent the previous three days planning the murder of Arthur Trapping for a fee. It had seemed simple enough. Trapping was the ambitious brother-in-law of Henry Xonck, a wealthy arms manufacturer. To find a position fitting to his newly married status, he had with his wife’s money purchased a prestigious commission as commander of the 4th Dragoons, but he was no soldier and his decorations resulted from his mere presence at two provincial engagements. Trapping’s actual exploits were limited to consuming heroic quantities of port