The Chemickal Marriage

wedged a white cigarette into her holder. She set a match to the tip, shut her eyes as she inhaled, and then let the smoke out through her nose. ‘Sweet Christ.’
    Her momentary surrender to pleasure – or, if not pleasure, relief – brought the taste of opium back to Chang’s mind. How simple it would have been to preserve just one of Lady Axewith’s jewels. The Contessa waved the smoke from her face.
    ‘Oskar was never like the rest of us. He truly
is
an artist, with the calling’s every dreadful quality. He seeks no sensation for itself, but only to further his
work
.’
    ‘But Oskar Veilandt is not Robert Vandaariff. You saw what happened at Parchfeldt – if you have tasted that book, you
know
what he’s become. Whatever may have guided his intentions before –’
    ‘I disagree – or, yes, he has changed his destination, but not the path. Not his
style
.’
    ‘You cannot pretend this
chaos
is what the Comte d’Orkancz would have done.’
    ‘Of course not, but neither does he care about it now.’
    ‘I have seen him care for nothing else!’
    ‘You are wrong. He stretches the canvas and sets his paints in order. He has not
begun
.’
    ‘But the city –’
    ‘The city can burn.’
    ‘But Axewith –’
    ‘Every lord and every minister can burn as well – to Oskar they are mindless ants.’
    ‘But how can you stand apart –’
    ‘For the moment, I am trying to survive.’
    Chang snorted with disbelief. ‘The day you are content with mere scrabbling –’
    ‘Don’t be a damned fool!’ hissed the Contessa. ‘That day has dawned. Ask the corpse of Celeste Temple if it hasn’t.’
    At the Contessa’s instruction, the coach left them in a trim French-styled square of gravel paths and flowers. Chang helped the Contessa to the cobbles, scanning the park for any sign of Vandaariff’s agents. The Contessathrust coins into the driver’s hand, whispering in the man’s ear. Before Chang could overhear she had broken off, walking along the square.
    ‘This way, Cardinal, if you insist on coming.’
    Many of the large houses bore brass plaques, some announcing a nation’s diplomatic mission, in other cases an especially exclusive practice in medicine or the law. That the streets were empty seemed a strangely opposite reaction to the city’s turmoil. Were these enclaves so protected? The Contessa paused at a narrow alley next to the Moldovar Legation. She took his hand, turning so as not to drag her dress against the wall, and held a finger to her lips for silence. He had assumed their destination to be the embassy, but instead it was the mansion next door, a servant’s entrance, he would have said, though the alley was too narrow to allow deliveries. The Contessa rapped lightly, then looked past Chang’s shoulder.
    ‘Is that man watching us from the street?’
    He turned, like an idiot, and then it was too late. He felt the edge against his neck – a blue glass card snapped raggedly along its length.
    ‘I have not been entirely honest,’ the Contessa confessed.
    The wooden door opened, to Chang’s utter disgust.
    ‘Well, look who it is!’
    Jack Pfaff gave the Contessa an adoring smile.
    Pfaff relieved Chang of his stick and led them in. The ground floor of the house had been converted to the needs of a consulting physician, with examination rooms, surgery and a private study, where the proprietor awaited them.
    ‘Doctor Piersohn, Cardinal Chang. We have little time – Cardinal, if you would remove your clothes.’ The Contessa nodded to Pfaff, who pulled apart Chang’s stick. She rummaged in her bag and set to fitting a cigarette to her holder. Chang had not moved.
    ‘Your
clothes
, Cardinal. Piersohn must examine you. We must send an answer at once.’
    ‘What answer?’ Chang gazed coldly at Piersohn, who stood behind his desk. The Doctor was short and barrel-chested. His protuberant eyes wereringed with the faintest excrescence of dried plum: the fading scars of the Process. Piersohn’s thick hair matched the surgical coat he wore over a patterned waistcoat, and shone with pomade. His hands were chapped like a laundress’s. Chang wondered what sort of practice Piersohn actually pursued.
    ‘To Robert Vandaariff, of course,’ replied the Contessa. ‘He has offered an exchange, and I must decide how best to
prepare
the one sent.’
    ‘Prepare for what?’
    ‘For God’s sake – will you take off your coat at least? I promise you I have seen a man in his shirtsleeves