The Chemickal Marriage

with your prince!’
    ‘My prince?’
    ‘I know all sorts of things. He was
dreadful
!’
    Svenson went cold in shock and the girl wriggled free. The Comte’s book – she was a
child
. He went to one knee. ‘Francesca, you poor thing –’
    Francesca tossed her head. ‘I am
not
. Stand up.’
    But their guide’s face had gone pale. ‘Her name
is
Ginny. How did
she
know that?’
    Svenson impulsively took Alice’s hand. ‘You can see the girl is ill. Thesituation is delicate – she
is
the heir of Henry Xonck. Both of her parents have died –’
    ‘Died how?’
    He turned. They stood in a long, expensively papered corridor, and another party had appeared at its far end, foremost a soldier whose blue jacket was rigid with gold brocade. Alice sank into a fearful curtsy.
    ‘Colonel Bronque …’
    The Colonel paid them no more heed than a hat stand, striding past. Behind Bronque came a small, stout figure with a foreign-looking goatee, wire-rim spectacles and pearl-grey gloves. His clothes were well tailored but nondescript. Svenson’s impression of familiarity was echoed by the man’s own surreptitious glance at the Doctor. The man vanished round the corner.
    ‘Forgive me, Alice, but have these gentlemen called upon your premises so early in the day, or do they depart after spending the night?’
    ‘I’m sure I don’t know, sir.’ Her words were hushed and chastened.
    ‘But you knew the Colonel. You must know the gentleman with him.’
    ‘I’m sure I couldn’t say.’
    ‘Of course – the first rule of trust is discretion. But if I were to ask you instead –’
    She only bobbed another abject curtsy and hurried on.
    Alice rapped four times upon a door sheathed in bright steel. A narrow viewing window was pulled back and then slid home just as fast. The door was opened by a muscular man with skin the colour of cherrywood. Her desire for diversion wholly extinguished, Alice dipped again and then fled down the corridor. The large hand that waved them into the room held a revolver whose oiled barrel seemed like a sixth finger.
    This was quite obviously a room of business – ledgers, blotters, notebooks, strong box, and a large abacus bolted to a table. Gleaming pipes ran down from the ceiling to another station for the pneumatic system. As Svenson watched, a leather tube rocketed into the padded receiving chamber. The dark man ignored it. Svenson cleared his throat.
    ‘You must be Mr Mahmoud –’
    ‘A message came, we should expect you.’ For such a large man, his voicewas delicate, as sleek as an oboe, but the words were charged. ‘And now you’re here.’ Mahmoud nodded coldly to a door on the far side of the office. ‘So. Go see for yourself.’
    Svenson released Francesca and the child tore off for the inner door. But at the threshold she stopped still, face frozen with wonder.
    ‘O Doctor … she looks like a
queen
.’
    He hurried to look. A woman lay on a chaise-longue, draped in silks, eyes closed, hands clasped below her bosom.
    ‘Stay here, Francesca –
do not move
.’ At the sharpness of his tone, the child obeyed.
    Careful and thorough, the Doctor took the woman’s pulse at the wrist and throat, peeled back both eyelids, opened her mouth, examined her nails, her teeth, and even, remembering the glass sickness, took an exploratory tug at her hair. Svenson’s dispassionate eye put her age at forty-five. Her golden skin seemed sallow, but he did not suppose she’d seen the sun in two months. Was she from India? An Arab? He looked around the inner room, at the Moorish daybed and enormous desk, now cluttered with the detritus of a sickroom. This too was a place of
work
. Madelaine Kraft was no ordinary woman. The Old Palace was
hers
.
    He saw no mystery as to why such a woman had been a target of the Cabal. A brothel-keeper possessed the means to blackmail thousands of rich and influential men – capturing Mrs Kraft’s memory delivered them to the Cabal in a stroke. But why had the Contessa gone to such trouble to send Svenson to Madelaine Kraft
now
?
    ‘Francesca, what else did the Contessa say? Surely there was some clue, some advice?’ He peered behind the desk. ‘Did she forward some parcel of supplies to help us?’
    ‘There is no parcel.’
    ‘Child, there must be. Her own experiments with glass –’
    ‘There is
me
.’ The girl wore a prideful smirk that turned his stomach. Before he could reply, an explosion of voices came from the outer room.
    ‘They are