The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

rasped.
    “Of course it is,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the spattered bedding. “We have intruded enough. We will see you at the airship.”
    She turned to leave but stopped as Xonck stepped forward and nodded at Elöise.
    “What will you do with
her
?”
    “Is it up to me?” asked the Comte.
    “Not if you’d prefer it otherwise.” Xonck smiled. “I was being polite …”
    “I would prefer to get on with my work,” snarled the Comte d’Orkancz.
    “I am happy to oblige you,” said Xonck. He pulled Elöise to her feet with his good hand, and dragged her from the room. A moment later the Contessa, Crabbé, and their retinue followed.
    Miss Temple looked to her companions and saw that Chang’s hand was clapped across Svenson’s mouth. The Doctor was in torment—yet if they made any noise at all, Angelique would sense their presence and overcome them as easily as she had Elöise. Miss Temple leaned forward again, peeking down into the laboratory. The Comte had watched the others depart, and then returned to his table. He glanced over to Lydia and to Angelique, ignored the Prince, and unscrewed a small valve that stuck out from the metal implement’s side. With more delicacy than she would have credited a man of his size, Miss Temple watched the Comte pour steaming liquid from one of the heated flasks into the valve, never spilling a drop, and then screw the valve closed.He lifted the metal implement and walked back to the bed, setting it down next to Lydia’s leg.
    “Are you awake, Lydia?”
    Lydia nodded. It was the first time Miss Temple had seen the girl move.
    “Are you in pain?”
    Lydia grimaced, but shook her head. She turned, distracted by movement. It was the Prince, pouring more brandy.
    “Your fiancé will not remember any of this, Lydia,” said the Comte. “Neither will you. Lie back … what cannot be reversed must be embraced.”
    The Comte picked up the implement and glanced up to their balcony. He raised his voice, speaking generally to the room.
    “It would be better if you descended willingly. If the
lady
brings you down, it will be by dragging you over the edge.”
    Miss Temple turned to Chang and Svenson, aghast.
    “I
know
you are there,” called the Comte. “I have obviously
waited
to speak to you for a reason … but I will not ask a second time.”
    Chang took his hand away from Svenson’s mouth and looked behind for some other way out. Before either could stop him, the Doctor shot to his feet and called out over the balcony to the Comte.
    “I am coming … damn you to hell, I am coming down …”
    He turned to them, his eyes a fierce glare, his hand held out for their continued silence. He made a loud stomping as he reached the staircase, but as he passed thrust the pistol into Miss Temple’s hands and leaned close to her ear.
    “If they never marry,” he whispered, “the spawn is not
legitimate
!”
    Miss Temple bobbled the gun and looked up at him. Svenson was already gone. She turned to Chang, but he was stifling a vicious cough—a thin stream of blood dripping down his chin. Sheturned back to the balcony rail. The Doctor stepped into view, his hands away from his body and open, to show he was unarmed. He winced with disgust at this new closer view of Lydia Vandaariff, then pointed to the glass woman.
    “I suppose your
creature
sniffed me out?”
    The Comte laughed—a particularly objectionable sound—and shook his head. “On the contrary, Doctor—and appropriately, as we are both men of science and inquiry. My glimpse through Mrs. Dujong’s mind showed no memory of an attack on Herr Flaüss. It was mere deduction to assume the true culprit was still in hiding.”
    “I see,” said Svenson. “Yet I do not see why you waited to expose me.”
    “Do you not?” the Comte said, with a smug condescension. “First … where are your companions?”
    The Doctor groped for words, his fingers flexing, then let them burst forth with scorn and rage.
    “Damn you, Sir! Damn you to hell—you heard for yourself! Their throats have been cut by Colonel Aspiche!”
    “But not yours?”
    Svenson scoffed. “There is no virtue in it. Chang was half-dead already—his dispatch was a matter of seconds. Miss Temple”—here Svenson passed a hand across his brow—“you will not doubt how she fought him. Her struggles woke me, and I was able to break the Colonel’s skull with a chair … but not, to my undying shame, in time to save the girl.”
    The Comte