The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

to their self-destruction than a combatant.
    Cardinal Chang felt no such distance. As the Comte d’Orkancz passed by, Chang took hold of his massive shoulder and spun the man with all his strength. The Comte turned at this distraction, eyes wild, and raised the cutlass in an awkward, nearly petulant manner.
    “You
dare
!” he cried at Chang.
    “
Angelique
,” spat Cardinal Chang in return. He drove the saber into the Comte’s belly and up under his ribs, cutting deep into the great man’s vitals. The Comte gasped and went rigid, and after one hanging moment Chang gave the blade another push, grinding it in halfway to the hilt. The Comte’s legs gave way and he took the blade from Chang with his fall, his dark blood pooling into the fur.
    His cough trailing into a thick rattle, Chang dropped to his knees and then slumped back against the doorframe. Miss Temple cried out and sank to his side, feeling the Doctor’s nimble fingers snatch the revolver from her hand as she did. She looked up from Chang’s haggard face to see Svenson extend the gun at Francis Xonck—caught flat-footed by the Comte’s death. Xonck stared into Svenson’s hard eyes, his broken mouth desperately working for words.
    “Doctor—too much hangs unfinished—your own nation—”
    Svenson pulled the trigger. Xonck flew back as if he’d been kicked by a horse. The Doctor now stood face-to-face with Roger Bascombe.
    He extended his arm, and then thought better of it and wheeled to the Contessa at the far end of the airship’s cabin. He fired, but not before Roger had leapt forward and shoved theDoctor’s arm. The bullet went wide and the Contessa ran for the stairs with a cry.
    Svenson grappled with Roger for the gun, but Roger—younger, stronger—wrenched it away as the Doctor tripped over Xonck’s leg. With an ugly grimace he aimed the gun at Svenson. Miss Temple cried out.
    “Roger—do not!”
    He looked up at her, his face disfigured by hatred and bitter rage.
    “It is over, Roger. It has failed.”
    She knew there was one bullet left in the gun, and that Roger was too close to miss.
    “It is
not
,” snarled Roger Bascombe.
    “Roger, your masters are dead. Where is the Contessa? She has abandoned you. We are adrift. Both the Prince and the Duke of Stäelmaere are dead.”
    “The Duke?”
    “He will be killed by Colonel Aspiche.”
    Roger stared at her. “Why would the Colonel do that?”
    “Because I ordered him to. You see, I learned the Colonel’s control phrase.”
    “His what?”
    “Just as I know yours, Roger.”
    “I have no control phrase—”
    “O Roger, … you really do not know after all, do you?”
    Roger narrowed his eyes and raised the revolver to Doctor Svenson. Miss Temple spoke quickly and clearly, looking him straight in the eye.
    “Blue Apostle blue Ministry ice consumption.”
    Roger’s face went slack.
    “Sit down,” Miss Temple told him. “We will talk when there’s time.”
    “Where is the Contessa?” asked Elöise.
    “I do not know,” said Miss Temple, “how is Chang?”
    Doctor Svenson crawled to the Cardinal. “Elöise, help me move him. Celeste—” He pointed to the iron steps, to the Prince. “The orange bottle, if it is not broken, fetch it at once!”
    She ran to it, stepping carefully around the glass—grateful for her boots—doing her best to avoid eye contact with the disfigured corpses.
    “What is in it?” she called.
    “I do not know—it is a chance for the Cardinal. I believe it is what saved Angelique—in the greenhouse, the mattress was stained orange—”
    “But everyone we met was terrified of it,” said Elöise. “If I made to break it they ran the other way!”
    “I am sure they did—it must be deadly indeed, and yet—fire to fight fire, or in this case, ice.”
    Miss Temple found the bottle, nestled in the crook of the Prince’s arm. She pulled it free, glancing just once at his horrible face, the open mouth with its stained teeth and blood-red gums, the lips and tongue now tinged with blue, and then looked up the stairs. The trunk of books was where it had been, and she heard no sound from the wheelhouse save the wind. She ran back to Chang. Elöise knelt behind him, propping up his head and wiping blood from his face. Svenson doused a handkerchief in the orange fluid and then, with a determined sigh, clamped it over Chang’s nose and mouth. Chang did not react.
    “Is it working?” asked Miss Temple.
    “I do not
know
,” replied the