The Dark Volume by Gordon Dahlquist Page B

most likely eaten.
    Once back at Sorge and Lina's cabin, the two men paused at the base of the steps. Chang knew why he did not want to enter, but was curious about Svenson's obvious hesitation.
    “They will wonder where we have been,” said Chang. “Or at least Elöise will.”
    Svenson looked back through the wood to the shore.
    “Perhaps we should walk a bit,” he said.
    They retraced their steps to where they had spoken before, the wind having grown bitter in the intervening time. Svenson lit another cigarette with difficulty, Chang tolerantly holding his leather coat open to block the wind. Svenson straightened, exhaled, and looked over the sea, grey fatigue lining his pale face.
    “The blue stains. We must assume our enemies from the airship survive… in some fashion.”
    Chang said nothing—this much seemed obvious.
    “Miss Temple is not free from fever,” Svenson went on. “She cannot be moved. Our hosts here—their goodwill, their suspicions. I do not like to say it, but you have seen the way they stare at you.”
    “What has that to do with anything?” snapped Chang.
    “You did not hear the villagers gabbling as soon as they got the news. They are all wondering if you had been at the stables, if you had come ashore to kill them all—if you were in fact a living devil.”
    “A devil ?”
    “One assumes they are inspired by your coat.”
    “And if I am a devil, it reflects upon yourself and Mrs. Dujong—”
    “Miss Temple cannot survive a disruption of place or care—she is our only concern.”
    “I disagree,” snarled Chang. “You hazard that our enemies live. It seems obvious that, with the horses missing, they are on their way back to the city.”
    Svenson sighed heavily. “I do not see how it can be helped —”
    “Helped?” Chang cried out. “Do you not know what this means? Missing on that dirigible is the Prince of Macklenburg and a government minister! As soon as word reaches the city of our survival, we will be hunted by the law! Our descriptions will be published—bailiffs, soldiers, men like me out in droves for the reward. What sort of disruption will that be?”
    “We do not know this for certain—the stains in the privy suggest grave illness—”
    “The two grooms were slaughtered !”
    “I am aware of it. What do you suggest we do?”
    “Find their killer. It is the only way to protect ourselves.”
    “You cannot,” insisted Svenson. “If these people see you rampaging back and forth, their every suspicion will seem to be confirmed. They'll burn us all for witches!”
    “So I should stay indoors while you hunt the killer? Or should we give the task to Mrs. Dujong?”
    “Do not be ridiculous—”
    The rest of Svenson's words were torn away by the wind. Chang turned on his heel, striding away, his white face even paler with rage.

    MISS TEMPLE lay on her side, turned away from the door, hair dark in the dim room and sticking to her throat where it was damp with sweat. One bare arm lay outside the woolen blanket, fingers—shorter and slimmer than he had recalled—clenched feebly. Chang tugged the glove from his right hand and reached out, hooking the curls from her face and tucking them behind her ear, the back of his fingers brushing across her cheek. He looked down at the thin scored plum line above her ear that tucking the hair back had revealed… if the bullet had flown but half an inch to the side… he could easily imagine the bone-shattering damage, her crumpled body, the gasps as she expired—how different everything might have been…
    He heard footsteps outside, Elöise and Svenson talking. With a sudden darting move Cardinal Chang leaned down, brushed his lips across Miss Temple's cheek, and stalked out of the room.
    “Cardinal Chang—” began Elöise, startled by his sudden appearance. Chang strode past her to the door.
    “Cardinal Chang,” said Elöise again, “please—”
    “I require some air.”
    In seconds he was down the steps and