The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

of course. In my own opinion, it all goes too fast—too much effort in too many places—”
    “The Contessa
is
concerned about our time-table—”
    “As am
I, Mr
. Bascombe,” Crabbé replied sharply, “but you will notice for yourself—the confusion, the risk—when we have tried to simultaneously manage
initiations
in the theatre, the Comte’s
transformations
in the cathedral, the
collections
in the inner parlors, the
harvest
from Lord Robert”—he gestured casually to the most powerful man in five nations—“and
now
because of that blasted woman, the Duke—”
    “Apparently Doctor Lorenz is confident—”
    “He is
always
confident! And yet, Bascombe, science is pleased if one experiment out of twenty actually succeeds—the mere
confidence
of Doctor Lorenz is not enough when so much hangs at risk—we need certainty!”
    “Of course, Sir.”
    “Just a moment.”
    Crabbé stopped, and turned to the two retainers walking behind—prompting Svenson to abruptly crouch behind a molting philodendron.
    “Dash ahead to the top of the tower—I don’t want any surprises. Make sure it’s clear, then one of you return. We will wait.”
    The men ran off. Svenson peeked through the dusty leaves to see Bascombe in the midst of a deferent protest.
    “Sir, do you really think—”
    “What I think is that I
prefer
not to be overheard by
anyone
.”
    He paused to allow the two men to fully vanish from sight before going on.
    “Before anything,” began the Deputy Minister, glancing once at the figure of Robert Vandaariff, “what book do we have for Lord Vandaariff, here? We need something as a place-holder, yes?”
    “Yes, Sir—though for now it can be the one missing, from Lady Mélantes—”
    “Which
must
be recovered—”
    “Of course, Sir—but for the moment it may also stand in as the keeper of Lord Vandaariff’s secrets—until such time as we have occasion to irreparably
damage
another.”
    “Excellent,” muttered Crabbé. His eyes darted around them and the small man licked his lips, leaning closer to Bascombe. “From the beginning, Roger, I have offered you this opportunity, have I not? Inheritance and title, new prospects for marriage, advancement in government?”
    “Yes, Sir, I am well in your debt—and I assure you—”
    Crabbé waved away Bascombe’s obsequiousness as if he were brushing off flies. “What I have said—about there being too many elements in motion at once—is for your ears alone.”
    Again, Svenson was astonished to find neither man referring in the slightest to Lord Vandaariff, who stood not two feet away.
    “You are intelligent, Roger, and you are cunning as any person in this business—as you have well proven. Keep your eyes open, for both our sakes, for any out of place comment or action … from
anyone
. Do you understand? Now is the sticking point, and I find myself brimming with suspicion.”
    “Do you suggest one of the others—the Contessa, or Mr. Xonck—”
    “I suggest nothing. Yet, we have suffered these …
disruptions—
”
    “But these
provocateurs
—Chang, Svenson—”
    “And your Miss Temple,” added Crabbé, a tinge of acid in his tone.
    “Including her only strengthens the truth, Sir—which theyeach have sworn—that they have no master, nor any plan beyond plain antagonism.”
    Crabbé leaned closer to Bascombe, his voice dropping to an anxious hiss. “Yes, yes—and
yet
! The Doctor arrives by way of the airship! Miss Temple penetrates our plans for Lydia Vandaariff and somehow resists—without assistance, which one can scarcely credit—submersion in a glass book! And Chang—how many has he killed? What havoc has he not set off? Do you flatter these so much that they have done all this without aid? And where else, I ask you, Roger, could that aid have come from, save within our number?”
    Crabbé’s face was white and his lip shaking with rage—or fear, or both, as if the very idea of being vulnerable set off the Minister’s fury. Bascombe did not answer.
    “You know Miss Temple, Roger—possibly better than anyone in this world. Do
you
think she could have killed those men? Shrugged off that book? Located Lydia Vandaariff and quite nearly spirited her from our grasp? If it was not for Mrs. Marchmoor’s arrival—”
    Bascombe shook his head.
    “No, Sir … the Celeste Temple I know is capable of none of those things. And yet—there
must
be some other explanation.”
    “Yet do we have it? Is there an