The Chemickal Marriage

resistance gave way and he sank his greedy gaze into the blue card’s depths. No one spoke, and after a moment, like a dog in a dream, one of Harcourt’s legs began to shake gently, heel tapping softly on the floor.
    ‘The Contessa has no subtlety, no art,’ Vandaariff muttered sourly. ‘Yet she is effective, and through this fool has learnt far more than I would have liked.’ He cocked his head at Phelps. ‘But I’m afraid I interrupted your conversation, Mr Foison. Do you care to continue?’
    ‘Not if Your Lordship wishes otherwise.’
    ‘They spoke together?’
    ‘Nothing you did not anticipate.’
    ‘Too much to hope.’ Vandaariff sketched a stiff bow in Phelps’s direction. ‘I thank you, sir, and regret your discomfort.’
    ‘Mr Phelps,’ prompted Foison. ‘Late of the Privy Council.’
    ‘Mr Phelps. It is a shame to make an acquaintance under such conditions.’
    ‘Renew an acquaintance, you mean,’ said Chang.
    Vandaariff fluttered a hand near his ear, like a fop’s handkerchief. ‘I did not hear.’
    ‘I said you
do
know Mr Phelps. He was the Duke’s deputy.’ Chang called to Phelps, hoping the man had strength. ‘How many times did you visit Harschmort? A dozen?’
    ‘At the very least,’ Phelps muttered, rousing himself. ‘But there were also private meetings at Stäelmaere House –’
    Chang nodded. ‘Perhaps Mr Foison was away on your business, my lord, but
you
cannot have forgotten the man who in your own chambers negotiated the Duke of Stäelmaere’s rise to power.’
    ‘Indeed.’ The grey tip of Vandaariff’s tongue wet his lips. ‘I have been unwell. Even now, some … memories … they elude my grasp.’
    ‘How do you not recall a man you’ve met above a
dozen
times?’
    Phelps attempted to straighten himself in the chair. ‘In the gardens of Harschmort, facing the sea – Your Lordship pointed across the water, to Macklenburg –’
    ‘I do apologize, Mr Phelps,’ Vandaariff cut in. ‘If I have not, in our present dealings, been
mindful
of this past service. We need no longer trouble you.’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ Phelps looked up without comprehension as Vandaariff tugged a slim leather glove onto one hand. ‘You’re setting me free?’
    ‘I am.’
    ‘My lord?’ This was Foison. ‘Without comparing the prisoners’ accounts –’
    ‘A question of balance, Mr Foison.’ Vandaariff dug in the pocket of his waistcoat. ‘You are not wrong – and yet, where is the right? Look at Mr Harcourt – ready to serve. Look at Chang, compelled to obey. But poor Mr Phelps …’ Vandaariff sorted what seemed like coins in his gloved palm. ‘I believe he has done all he can.’
    Vandaariff raised what Chang had taken for a coin to the light – an edged disc glowing blue.
    ‘My lord, with respect –’
    Vandaariff jabbed the disc into Phelps’s jugular, just enough to draw blood – which immediately crusted around the cut. Chang watched a vivid line crawl in both directions from the incision, up into his skull and under Phelps’s shirt, to his heart. Phelps stiffened, but no sound escaped his mouth. Vandaariff wrenched the disc free and dropped it to the floor. He ground it to powder with his shoe.
    Phelps slumped, lifeless. Vandaariff took another handkerchief from his coat and blew his nose. ‘Mr Foison, inform Mr Harcourt’s companions that they must report to Lord Axewith in his stead. He is unwell.’
    ‘My lord.’
    Foison left the room. Chang stared at Phelps’s still-open eye.
    ‘You gave me no choice,’ said Vandaariff. ‘And if you mention my memory again, I will shove a glass card between your teeth and force you to chew.’
    With the croak of a carrion bird, Vandaariff began to softly sing.
My love is gone beneath the ground
    though I was ever true
    a dearer child would ne’er be found
    until I first spied you …
    Foison reappeared in the doorway. ‘The coaches await, my lord.’
    ‘Then let us be off.’ Vandaariff patted Chang on the head. ‘Everyone’s ready.’

Six
Somnambule
    Chang had been right. A dusty, uniformed man leading a bedraggled child excited no comment and scarcely a glance of pity. Too much had happened to too many people. They passed bodies on carts, weeping women, men sitting stunned in the street, soldiers doing their best to clear the crowds – and it quickly became Svenson’s task to shield the girl from the devastation. Victims reared up, roused to fury by the glass embedded in their flesh, and set