The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

throat. Miss Temple thought of her own experience at the mercy of the Comte and Contessa, and her heart went out—yet she could not help speculating on the exact details of what had happened. She patted the woman’s silk-covered arm. Elöise sniffed.
    “And then Minister Crabbé interrogated me. About the Doctor. And about you. And about this Chang. And then about my killing the Duke—he would not believe I had not been put up to it by another party.”
    Miss Temple audibly scoffed.
    “But
then
he asked me—and in a voice that I do not think was heard by the others—about Francis Xonck. At first I thought hemeant my employment by Mr. Xonck’s sister, but he wanted to know about Mr. Xonck’s plans now. Was I in service to him now. When I replied that I was not—or at least did not
know
—he asked about the Comte and the Contessa—especially about the Contessa—”
    “It seems a long list,” replied Miss Temple, who was already impatient. “What about them
exactly
?”
    “If they had killed Colonel Trapping. He was particularly suspicious of the Contessa, for I gather she does not always tell the others what she plans to do, or does things without caring how it may ruin their plans.”
    “And what did you tell Deputy Minister Crabbé?” Miss Temple asked.
    “Why, nothing at all—I
knew
nothing.”
    “And his response?”
    “Well, I do not know the man, of course—”
    “If you were to hazard a
guess
?”
    “That is just it … I should say he was frightened.”
    Miss Temple frowned. “I do not mean to insult your former employer,” she said, “but from all accounts … well, it seems the Colonel is not exactly
missed
for his good qualities. Yet as you describe Deputy Minister Crabbé’s curiosity, so I heard the Comte d’Orkancz pressing Miss Poole for the same information—and indeed the Contessa and Xonck asking as well, in a coach from the station. Why should all of them care so much for such a, well … such a
wastrel
?”
    “I cannot think they would,” said Elöise.
    Whoever killed the Colonel defied the rest of the Cabal in doing so … or was it that they had
already
defied the Cabal—already planned to betray them? Somehow Trapping knew and was killed before he told the others! The Colonel still breathed when Miss Temple had left him: either he had just been poisoned or was poisoned directly afterwards. She had been on her way to the theatre … by the time she got there, the Comte was
in
the theatre … as was Roger—she’d watched Roger climb the spiral staircase beforeher. She had not seen Crabbé or Xonck—she’d no idea then who Xonck
was
—nor any of the Macklenburgers. But behind her—behind everyone and alone in the corridor … had been the Contessa.
    Their passage came to an end. To one side was a third curtained alcove, and to the other was a door. They peeked around the curtain. This viewing chamber was dominated by a larger chaise draped with silken quilts and furs. In addition to the drinks cabinet and writing desk they had seen before, this room was fitted with a brass speaking tube and a metal grille that must allow for instructions to be relayed between each side of the mirror. It was not a room for observation alone, but for interrogation … or a more closely directed private performance.
    The room that lay beyond the wall of glass was like no other Miss Temple had seen at Harschmort, but it might have disturbed her even more than the operating theatre. It was a pale room with a simple floor of unvarnished planking, lit by a plain hanging lamp that threw a circle of yellow light onto the single piece of furniture, a chaise identical to the one before them, distinguished by both an absence of silks and furs and the metal shackles bolted to its wooden frame.
    But it was not for the chaise that upon looking through the mirror Miss Temple’s breath stopped fast, for in the open doorway of the room, looking down at its single piece of furniture, stood the Contessa di Lacquer-Sforza, red jewel-teared mask over her face and a smoking cigarette holder at her lips. She exhaled, tapped her ash to the floor and snapped her fingers at the open door behind her, stepping aside to allow two men in brown cloaks to carry in between them one of the long wooden boxes. She waited for them to pry open the box top with a metal tool and leave the room, before snapping her fingers again. The man who entered, his manner an awkward mix of deference and amused condescension,