Glass Books of the Dream Eaters by Gordon Dahlquist

Author:Gordon Dahlquist [Dahlquist, Gordon]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: SteamPunk
ISBN: 9781596061057
Publisher: Subterranean Press
Published: 2007-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

“Ah…he has awakened,” said a voice from above.

He looked up to see Harald Crabbé leaning over the rail with a cold, vengeful gaze. A moment later he was joined by the Royal, whose expression was that of a man examining livestock he had no intention to buy. “Excuse me for a moment, Highness—I suggest you keep your attention on Doctor Lorenz, who will no doubt have something of great interest to demonstrate momentarily.” He bowed and then snapped his fingers to Phelps, who slunk after his master down the stairs. After another taste of his cheroot, Aspiche ambled after them, allowing his saber to bang on each step as he went. Svenson wiped his mouth with his free left hand, did his best to hawk the phlegm from his throat and spat. He turned to face them as Crabbé stepped from the stairs.

“We did not know if you would revive, Doctor,” he called. “Not that we cared overmuch, you understand, but if you did it seemed advantageous to try and speak with you about your actions and your confederates. Where are the others—Chang and the girl? Who do you all serve in this persistently foolish attempt to spoil things you don’t comprehend?”

“Our conscience, Minister,” answered Svenson, his voice thicker than he’d expected. He wanted very much to sleep. Blood was creeping into his arm, and he knew abstractly that he was going to be in agony very soon as the nerves flooded back to life. “I cannot be plainer than that.”

Crabbé studied him as if Svenson could not possibly have meant what he said, and therefore must be speaking in some kind of code.

“Where are Chang and the girl?” he repeated.

“I do not know where they are. I don’t know if they’re alive.”

“Why are you here?”

“And how’s the back of your head?” chortled Aspiche.

Svenson ignored him, answering the Minister. “Why do you think? Looking for Bascombe. Looking for you. Looking for my Prince so I can shoot him in the head and save my country the shame of his ascending its throne.”

Crabbé twitched the corners of his mouth in a sketch of a smile.

“You seem to have broken this man’s arm. Can you set the bones? You are a doctor, yes?”

Svenson looked at Phelps and met his pleading eyes. How long had it been? Hours at least, with the raw fractures cruelly jarred with each step the poor fellow took. Svenson raised his shackled wrist. “I will need out of this, but yes, certainly I can do something. Do you have wood for a splint?”

“We have plaster, actually—or something like it, Lorenz tells me—they use it for mining, or for shoring up crumbling walls. Colonel, will you escort the Doctor and Phelps? If Doctor Svenson diverges from his task in the slightest, I’ll be obliged if you would hack off his head directly.”

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