The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

turned and called back, “Will you be telling him about the bodies or shall I?”
    “We are not finished, Doctor,” hissed Blach. He flipped the sheet back over his Lieutenant’s face and walked toward Svenson. “I believe we must visit the Prince.”

    They walked up the stairs to the third floor, where they found Flaüss waiting with two guards. The Envoy and the Major exchanged meaningful looks, but Svenson had no idea what they meant—the men obviously hated each other, but could nevertheless be cooperating for any number of reasons. Flaüss sneered at Svenson and indicated the door.
    “Doctor? I believe you have the key.”
    “Have you tried knocking?” This was from Blach, and Svenson suppressed a smile.
    “Of course I have tried,” answered Flaüss, unconvincingly, “but I am happy to try again.” He turned and banged savagely on the door with the heel of his fist, after a moment calling sweetly, “Your Highness? Prince Karl-Horst? It is Herr Flaüss, here with the Major and Doctor Svenson.”
    They waited. Flaüss turned to Svenson and nearly spit, “Open it! I insist you open it at once!”
    Svenson smiled affably and dug the key from his pocket. He handed it to Flaüss. “You may do it yourself, Herr Envoy.”
    Flaüss snatched the key and shoved it into the lock. He turned the key and the handle, but the door would not open. He turned the handle again and shoved the door with his shoulder. He turned back to them. “It will not open—something is against it.”
    Major Blach stepped forward and jostled Flaüss away, placing his hand over the handle and driving his weight against the door. It gave perhaps half an inch. Blach signaled to the two troopers and together all three pushed as one—the door lurched another inch or so, and then slowly ground open enough for them to see that the large bureau had been moved against the door. The three pushed again and the gap widened so a man could fit through. Blach immediately did so, followed by Flaüss, shoving his way past the troopers. With a resigned smile, Svenson followed them through, dragging his medical kit after him.
    The Prince was gone. The bureau had been dragged across the room to block the doorway, and the window was open.
    “He’s escaped! For a second time!” Flaüss whispered. He wheeled upon Svenson. “You helped him! You had the key!”
    “Don’t be an idiot,” muttered Major Blach. “Look at the room. The bureau is solid mahogany—it took the three of us to shift it. It’s impossible that the Prince himself moved it alone and impossible for the Doctor to have helped him—the Doctor would have had to leave the room
before
the bureau was blocking the doorway.”
    Flaüss was silent. Svenson met the gaze of Blach, who was glaring at him. The Major barked out to the men in the hall, “One of you to the gate—find out if the Prince has left the compound, and if he was alone!”
    Svenson stepped to the bureau and opened it up, glancing at the contents. “The Prince is wearing his infantry uniform—I do not see it—dark green, a colonel of grenadiers. He fancies it because the badge is of a flaming bomb. I believe it has a sexual significance for him.” They stared at him as if he were speaking French. Svenson stepped to the window and leaned out. Below the window, three stories down, was a raked bed of gravel. “Major Blach, if you’ll send a trusted man to examine the gravel below this window—it will tell us whether a ladder was used—there will be heavy indentations. Of course, a three-story ladder should have attracted attention. Tell me, Herr Flaüss, does the compound possess such a ladder?”
    “How should I know?”
    “By asking the
staff,
I expect.”
    “And if there is no such ladder?” asked Major Blach.
    “Then either one was brought—which should have excited notice at the gate—or some other means were used—a grappling hook. Of course”—he stepped back and examined the plaster around the window frame—“I see no identations, nor any rope remaining by which they may have climbed down.”
    “Then how
did
they get down?” asked Flaüss. Svenson stepped back to the window, leaning out. There was no balcony, no wall of ivy, no nearby tree—indeed, the room had been chosen for this very reason. He turned and looked upwards—it was but two stories to the roof.

    As they climbed the stairwell word came to Blach from the gate—the Prince had not been seen, nor had anyone passed in either