The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

growing angry in his turn. “Call Lord Robert back—go see him yourself, do whatever you like, you’ll see he is our slave! Exactly as planned!”
    “Then
why
,” said Francis Xonck in a calm dangerous tone, “did you interrupt the examination?”
    Crabbé stammered, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “Not for the precise reason I stated at the time—I admit that—but so as not to compromise the apparent authority of the Duke and Lord Robert by publicly degrading them with scrutiny! Much rests on our remaining invisible behind these figureheads—including them in the examinations would have revealed them for what they are, our servants! So much is in turmoil already—Blenheim was to escort his master to begin with, to maintain appearances—if it were not for Roger’s quick thinking to step forward—”
    “Where
is
Blenheim?” snapped the Contessa.
    “He seems to have vanished, Madame,” answered Caroline. “I have questioned the guests as you asked, but no one has seen him.”
    The Contessa snorted and looked past Miss Temple to the door, where Colonel Aspiche stood, having entered last of all.
    “I do not know,” he protested. “My men searched the house—”
    “Interesting, as Blenheim would be loyal to Lord Robert,” observed Xonck.
    “Lord Robert is under our control!” insisted Crabbé.
    “The control of your man Bascombe, at least,” said Xonck. “And what were those papers?”
    This was to Aspiche, who did not understand the question.
    “A satchel of papers!” cried Xonck. “You took them from Doctor Svenson! Bascombe took them from you!”
    “I have no idea,” said the Colonel.
    “You’re as bad as Blach!” scoffed Xonck. “Where is he anyway?”
    The Comte d’Orkancz sighed heavily. “Major Blach is dead. Cardinal Chang.”
    Xonck took this in, rolled his eyes, then shrugged. He turned back to Colonel Aspiche.
    “Where is Bascombe now?”
    “With Lord Robert,” said Caroline. “After Mr. Blenheim—”
    “Where else
ought
he to be?” cried Crabbé, growing exasperated, “Where else? Distributing the message books—someone had to do it in Blenheim’s absence!”
    “How fortunate he thought to step in,” said the Contessa icily.
    “Mrs. Marchmoor is with him—surely you trust her as much as I trust Bascombe!” sputtered Crabbé. “Surely they have
both
proven their loyalty to us
all
!”
    The Contessa turned to Smythe. “Captain, send two of your men to collect Mr. Bascombe as soon as he is finished. Bring him here, along with Lord Robert, if necessary.”
    Smythe gestured immediately to his men, and the Dragoons clattered off.
    “Where is Lydia?” asked Xonck.
    “With the Prince,” answered Caroline, “saying good-bye to the guests.”
    “Thank you, Caroline,” said the Contessa, “at least
someone
is paying attention.” She called to Smythe. “Have your men collect them as well.”
    “Bring them to me,” rasped the Comte d’Orkancz. “Their part of our business is not finished.”
    The Comte’s words hung balefully in the air, but the others remained silent, as if to speak at all would restart a now-settled disagreement. The Captain detailed two more Dragoons and returned to his place on the far wall, looking at his boots as if he could not hear a word.
    “All this can be settled with ease,” announced the Deputy Minister, turning to the Comte d’Orkancz, “if we consult the book wherein Lord Robert’s thoughts have been stored. That book will make it perfectly clear that I have done what we agreed. It should contain a detailed account of the Lord’s participation in this entire affair—facts that only he could know.”
    “At least one book was destroyed,” rasped the Comte.
    “Destroyed
how
?” asked the Contessa.
    “
Chang
.”
    “Damn his bloody soul!” she snarled. “That really is the
limit
. Do you know which book it was?”
    “I cannot know until I compare those remaining against the ledger,” said the Comte.
    “Then let us do so,” said Crabbé waspishly. “I would be
exonerated
as soon as possible.”
    “The books are in transit to the rooftop,” said the Comte. “As for the ledger, as you well know it remains in the possession of your assistant.”
    “My goodness!” cried Xonck. “It seems Bascombe’s become a powerfully valuable fellow!”
    “He will bring it with him!” protested Crabbé. “It will be settled. All of this is a ridiculous waste of our time—it has divided our efforts and created