The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

these things are equal between us.”
    She nodded, wanting to say more but having no idea what those words might be. The Doctor sighed, thinking, and then with an impulsive gesture reached out to pinch tight Chang’s nose with one hand and cover his mouth with the other. Miss Temple gasped.
    “But what—”
    “A moment …”
    A moment was all it took. Like a man brought back to life Chang’s eyes snapped open and his shoulders tensed, his arms groped at Svenson and the rattle in his lungs redoubled instrength. The Doctor removed his hands with a flourish and the Cardinal erupted with his own fit of coughing, dauntingly moist and accompanied by sprays of bloody saliva. Svenson and Miss Temple each took one of the Cardinal’s arms and raised him to his knees where he could more easily vent his body’s distress and its attendant discharge.
    Chang wiped his mouth with his fingers and smeared them on the floor—there was no point in wiping them on his coat or trousers, Miss Temple saw. He turned to them, blinked, and then groped quickly at his face. Miss Temple held out his glasses with a smile.
    “It is so very good to see you both,” she whispered.
    They sat for a moment, giving each other time to gather their strength and wits, and in Miss Temple’s case to wipe away her tears and regain control over her tremulous voice. There was so much to say and so many things to do, she scoffed at her own indulgence, even if the scoff was half-heartedly blown through a sniffling nose.
    “You have the advantage, Celeste,” muttered Chang hoarsely. “From the blood in the Doctor’s hair, I assume we both lack any knowledge of where we are, who guards us … even the damned time of day.”
    “How long since we were taken?” asked Svenson.
    Miss Temple sniffed again.
    “Not long at all. But so much has happened since we spoke, since I left you—I am so sorry—I was childish and a fool—”
    Svenson waved away her concerns.
    “Celeste, I doubt there is time—nor does it matter—”
    “It matters to me.”
    “Celeste—” This was Chang, struggling to rise.
    “Be quiet, the both of you,” she said, and stood up so she was taller than either of them. “I will be brief, but I must first apologize for leaving you at Plum Court. It
was
a foolish thing to do and one that nearly ended my life—and nearly finished both of yours aswell.” She held up a hand to stop Doctor Svenson from speaking. “There are two Macklenburg soldiers outside the door, and down the corridor at least ten Dragoons with their officer and their Colonel. The door is locked, and—as you both can see—our room is without windows. I assume we have no weapons.”
    Chang and Svenson patted their pockets somewhat absently, not finding a thing.
    “We will acquire them, it does not signify,” she said quickly, not wanting to lose her place.
    “If we get out the door,” said Svenson.
    “Yes, of course—the important thing is stopping our enemies’ plan.”
    “And what exact plan is that?” asked Chang.
    “That is the issue—I only know a portion of it. But I trust you’ve each seen a portion of your own.”
    Keeping her promise to be brief, Miss Temple breathlessly launched into her tale: the St. Royale, Miss Vandaariff’s potion, the painting in the Contessa’s room, her battle with the book, her battle—in a strictly abbreviated version—with the Comte and Contessa in the coach, her train ride to Harschmort, and her journey to the theatre. Both Chang and Svenson opened their mouths to add details but she hushed them and went on—the secret room, the Contessa and the Prince, the killing of Blenheim, Elöise’s discovery in the blue card, Trapping, Vandaariff, Lydia, Veilandt, the ballroom, and, finally, the vicious argument between the Contessa and her allies not ten minutes before. The entire narrative took perhaps two hurriedly whispered minutes.
    When she was finished, Miss Temple took a deep breath, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything vital, though of course she had—simply too much had
happened
.
    “So …” The Doctor pushed himself up from the floor onto the settee. “They have taken control of this government with the Duke—who I promise you was
killed
—and are on their way to taking over that of Macklenburg—”
    “If it is not offensive to you, Doctor,” said Miss Temple, “I donot understand the
to-do
about one amongst so many German kingdoms.”
    “Duchy, but yes—it is because our mountains hold