The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

mirror, a
second
encounter, in the lobby … that of Colonel Trapping speaking most earnestly with Robert Vandaariff.”
    This revelation was met with silence.
    “What does that
mean
?” asked Crabbé.
    “That is not
all
,” intoned the Comte.
    “If you would simply tell us, Monsieur!” protested Crabbé. “There is no great amount of time—”
    “Mrs. Dujong’s memory tells of a
second
card—one the Doctor cut from the lining of Arthur Trapping’s uniform. Evidently his body was not fully
searched
. Among other things this card conveys an image of myself performing a preparatory examination on Lydia.”
    “Arthur intended to give it to Vandaariff,” said Xonck. “The greedy fool would not have been able to resist …”
    Crabbé stepped forward, narrowing his eyes.
    “Is this your way of informing us that
you
killed him?” he hissed at the Comte. “Without telling anyone? Risking everything? Pushing forward our entire time-table? No wonder Lord Robert was so agitated—no wonder we were forced to—”
    “But that is the point, Harald,” rumbled the Comte. “I am telling you
all
this exactly because
I
did not harm a hair on Arthur Trapping’s head.”
    “But—but why else—” began Crabbé, but he then fell silent … as every member of the Cabal studied one another.
    “You said she had this from Svenson?” the Contessa asked. “Where did
he
get it?”
    “She does not know.”
    “From me, of course,” drawled a sluggish voice from the other side of the room. Karl-Horst was attempting to pour himself more brandy. “He must have found it in my room. I never even noticed Trapping, I must say—more interested in
Margaret
! It was the first bit of glass I’d ever seen—a present to entice my participation.”
    “A present from whom?” asked Francis Xonck.
    “Lord knows—is that important?”
    “It is perhaps crucial, Your Highness,” said the Contessa.
    The Prince frowned. “Well … in
that
case …”
    It seemed to Miss Temple that each member of the Cabalwatched the Prince with the barest restraint, every one of them wishing they could slap his face until he spat out what he knew, but none daring to show the slightest impatience or worry in front of the others … and so they waited as he pursed his lips and scratched his ear and sucked on his teeth, all the time enjoying their undivided attention. She was beginning to get worried herself. What if Angelique were to continue her search? Who was to say the glass woman could not somehow smell the presence of their minds? Miss Temple’s leg tingled from being crouched so long, and the dusty air was tickling her nose. She glanced at Chang, his lips pressed shut, and realized he had controlled his cough this entire time. She’d not given it a second thought, but suddenly the possibility—the inevitability!—of him exposing their presence terrified her. They must take some action—but what? What possibly?
    “I suppose it must have been Doctor Lorenz, or—what was his name?—Mr. Crooner, from the Institute, the one who died so badly. They were the ones working the machines. Gave it to me as a sort of
keepsake
—don’t know how that villain Svenson found it unless he had help—I stashed it most brilliantly—”
    The Contessa cut him off. “Excellent, Your Highness, that’s very helpful.”
    She crossed to the Comte and relieved him of the items he’d taken from Elöise, speaking with a barely veiled anger.
    “This gets us nowhere. We have what we came for—the key. Let us at once return to the books, to find what we can from Lord Robert’s
testimony
. Perhaps we will finally learn why the Colonel was killed.”
    “You don’t believe it was Chang?” asked Crabbé.
    “Do you?” scoffed the Contessa. “I would be happy to hear it—my life would be simpler. But no—we all remember the delicacy and risk involved in our final
swaying
of Robert Vandaariff, who up to that point quite believed the entire campaign was his own conception. We know the Colonel was brokering secrets—who can say how many secrets he knew?” She shrugged. “Chang’sa killer—this is
politics
. We will leave you, Monsieur, to your work.”
    The Comte nodded to Lydia. “It is done … save for the settling.”
    “
Already
?” The Contessa looked down at Miss Vandaariff’s spent body. “Well, I don’t suppose she would have taken pleasure in drawing things out.”
    “The pleasure is in the final outcome, Rosamonde,” the Comte