“It… appears to be… a sort of book…”
“Made of… glass,” whispered Carper. “The same glass!”
“But of what use is a glass book?” asked Bolte. “It cannot hold printing.”
Svenson stood, gathering the top of the sack into a knot. Mr. Potts was approaching from the stand of black stones.
“You must trust me and say nothing,” the Doctor whispered quickly. “What this holds is unnatural—to even touch it is to put your very life at risk.”
MR. POTTS informed them with a satisfied smile that someone had been using the rocks as a campsite, and that this person possessed a horse. The searchers had also discovered another spray of blue pebbles leading away from the rocks, into the hills. He looked at the sack in Svenson's hand but did not ask about it.
“Is the person with the horse related to the blue stones?” asked Svenson.
“I cannot say,” replied Potts, his eyes carefully moving across their faces.
Mr. Bolte nodded sharply and announced that the search must continue, pursuing the trail of stones. Potts shouted over his shoulder to the other men, but paused, staring narrowly at the Doctor, before stalking off to lead them.
Svenson turned to Mr. Carper. “How many fellows exactly are with us?”
Carper frowned. “I believe it is six, and Mr. Bolte and myself. And yourself.”
“Six counting Mr. Potts?”
“Yes, six with Potts. Nine with everyone, including you. Why do you ask?”
“Mere idleness. And apart from those staves, do any possess… weapons?”
“The staves are quite stout,” answered Carper. “Do you mean fire arms?”
“I suppose I do.”
“I would doubt there are five guns in all of Karthe. I believe Mr. Potts possesses a pistol.”
“He does?”
“Well, he is a hunter.”
“I did not know hunters often used pistols.”
“No,” said Carper, smiling, “that is what is so convenient for us! I should much prefer to shoot a wolf than kill it with our staves.”
“Indeed.”
“And yet… as you say… it may be no wolf at all.”
Svenson did not reply at once, then dropped his voice even lower.
“It may—I hesitate to say—but our quarry may in fact be… a woman.”
“A woman?”
“It is possible… perhaps I am wrong—”
“You must be, sir! For a woman to do such violence—and to a child!”
Svenson exhaled, not entirely sure where to begin, but Carper had reached his own conclusion, the fat man's breath rasping in clouds before his face.
“If you are correct—with so many of us, she must surrender. We will not be called on to shoot a woman.”
There were calls from the darkness ahead of them.
“I believe Mr. Potts has found something,” said the Doctor.
AT THE turning were signs of another struggle: flattened grass, a dark woolen wrap, and more glass—but this in smooth, broken wedges, not the rounded drips they had followed. Mr. Potts knelt over the glass, Mr. Bolte standing above him. It was clear by Potts' dark glare as the Doctor approached that the Ministry man had been told about the book. Svenson called out sharply as he saw Potts extend his hand.
“Do not touch it!”
Potts jerked his hand away, and stood with a triumphant sneer, making room for Svenson.
“It is just like what you discovered in the rocks,” whispered Mr. Bolte.
“Exactly,” said Svenson, to cut him off.
The pieces of glass were impossibly thin, snapped from an inner page of a book, and starred along their length, as if they had been shattered.
“I should be grateful to know your thoughts,” said Potts.
“You would be even more grateful not to, I assure you,” the Doctor told him.
“I do insist. I will have no more secrets.”
“Then tell us where your fellow hunters are now? Your party.”
“What is that to do with our search?” asked Mr. Bolte. “Surely we are enough—”
“It is to do with what they hunt, as Mr. Potts well knows.”
“My companions are reputable men.”
“Soldiers of the Queen?”
“They are not well-known criminals,” spat Potts, “like your Cardinal Chang.”
“Cardinal Chang has been accounted for,” interrupted Svenson. “Your party has not. Your own arrogance shows exactly how little you do understand your prey—dangerous prey, as that poor child has proven with his life.”
“What prey, Doctor?” snarled Potts. “Tell us all!”