The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

“But—but I am sure there is no such thing—”
    “O come, every person has some secrets.”
    “I do not, I assure you—or at least nothing indecent—”
    Miss Temple scoffed. “
Decent
? What are you wearing? Look at you—I can see your legs—your bare legs! What use is decency when we have been thrust into this peril—treading about without even a corset! Are we to be judged? Do not be silly—here.”
    She reached out and took the Doctor’s coat, but then wrinkled her nose at its condition. The ruddy light might hide its stains but she could smell earth and oil and sweat, as well as the strongly unpleasant odor of indigo clay. She batted at it ineffectually, launching little puffs of dust, and gave up. Miss Temple dug into the Doctor’s side pocket and removed a cardboard box of cartridges for his revolver. She handed it to Elöise.
    “There—we now know he is a man to carry bullets.”
    Elöise nodded impatiently, as if this were against her wishes. Miss Temple met her gaze and narrowed her eyes.
    “Miss Dujong—”
    “Mrs.”
    “Beg pardon?”
    “Mrs. Mrs. Dujong. I am a widow.”
    “My condolences.”
    Elöise shrugged. “I am well accustomed to it.”
    “Excellent. The thing is, Mrs. Dujong,” Miss Temple’s tone was still crisp and determined, “in case you had not noticed, Harschmort is a house of masks and mirrors and lies, of unscrupulous, brutal advantage. We cannot afford illusion—about ourselvesleast of all, for this is what our enemies exploit
most
of all. I have seen notorious things, I promise you, and notorious things have been done to me. I too have undergone—” She lost her way and could not speak, taken unawares by her own emotion, gesturing instead with the coat, shaking it. “
This
is nothing. Searching someone’s
coat
? Doctor Svenson may have given his
life
to save us—do you think he would scruple the contents of his pockets if they might help us further—or help us to save him? It is no time to be a foolish woman.”
    Mrs. Dujong did not answer, avoiding Miss Temple’s gaze, but then nodded and held out her hands, cupping them to take whatever else might come from the coat pockets. Working quickly—despite the pleasure it gave her, Miss Temple was not one to continue with criticism once her point was made—she located the Doctor’s cigarette case, matches, the other blue card, an extremely filthy handkerchief, and a mixed handful of coins. They gazed at the collection and with a sigh Miss Temple began to restore them to their places in the coat—for that seemed the simplest way to carry them.
    “After all of that, it appears you are right—I do not think we have learned a thing.” She looked up to see Elöise studying the silver cigarette case. It was simple and unadorned save for, engraved in a simple, elegant script, the words “
Zum Kapitänchirurgen Abelard Svenson, vom C. S
.”
    “Perhaps it commemorates his promotion to Captain-Surgeon,” whispered Elöise.
    Miss Temple nodded. She put the case back in its pocket, knowing they were both wondering at who had given it to him—a fellow officer, a secret love? Miss Temple draped the coat over her arm and shrugged—if the last initial was “S” it needn’t be interesting at all, most likely a dutiful token from some dull sibling or cousin.
    * * *
    They continued down the narrow red-lit passage, Miss Temple dispirited that the Doctor had not caught up, and a bit curious that no one else had pursued them either. She did her best not to sigh with impatience when she felt the other woman’s hand on her arm, and upon turning tried to present a tolerant visage.
    “I am sorry,” Elöise began.
    Miss Temple opened her mouth—the last thing she appreciated after berating a person was that they should
then
waste her time with apology. But Elöise touched her arm again and kept on speaking.
    “I have not been thinking … and there are things that I must say—”
    “Must you?”
    “I was taken aboard the airship. They asked me questions. I do not know what I could have told them—in truth I know nothing that they cannot already know from Francis Xonck—but I do remember what they asked.”
    “Who was it asking?”
    “Doctor Lorenz gave me the drug, and bound my arms, and then he and Miss Poole made certain I was under their influence by the most impertinent demands … I was powerless to refuse … though I am ashamed to think of it …”
    The woman’s voice dipped deeper in her