The Chemickal Marriage

am
working
.’
    ‘Lord Vandaariff is delayed. He will send word.’ Foison flipped the knife into the air and caught it again, as if the action helped him to think. ‘Did
you
lock that door?’
    Trooste’s voice hovered at the edge of a stammer. ‘Perhaps I did. Lord Vandaariff said our work was extremely sensitive –’
    ‘What sort of idiot locks one door but not the other?’
    Trooste visibly fought the urge to glance at Svenson. ‘I suppose an idiot like me.’
    ‘The same idiot that dropped that flask?’
    ‘Indeed, yes – an accident –’
    ‘You are anxious, Professor. You have not been anxious before. No, I should have described you as singularly satisfied.’ Foison’s contempt entered his words like the surfacing eyes of a crocodile.
    ‘Ah – well, perhaps – the state of the city.’
    ‘I hadn’t heard.’ Foison flipped the knife again. Abruptly he stepped to the wooden crate where Francesca had been sitting. He drew a fingertip across the crate and flicked it at Trooste: a spatter of black across the Professor’s pink cheek. Trooste dabbed a finger to his face and sniffed.
    ‘A chemical residue – carbolic phosphate – I thought I had cleaned it all –’
    Beyond Trooste, Svenson could just detect the tip of Mahmoud’s shoe. He knew Mahmoud had his own pistol ready to fire. With a sickening dread Svenson saw Foison casually shift his stance to place Trooste between, blocking any clear shot.
    ‘What you are
doing
, Professor?’
    ‘I am assisting Lord Vandaariff –’
    ‘And your guest?’
    ‘Guest?’
    Foison flipped up the canvas, revealing Madelaine Kraft’s slippered feet. He pinched her toe and provoked a noise from beneath the canvas. ‘I did not know your work at the Institute had graduated to … live subjects.’
    ‘I do nothing save follow Lord Vandaariff’s instruction.’
    ‘I see. And – now your work
has
taken this turn – do you find Lord Vandaariff’s instructions troubling?’
    ‘Of course not.’
    ‘Of course not,’ Foison echoed.
    ‘I – ah – ascribe them to his own f-fever – and – and his recovery. To be candid, we have all heard the rumours –’
    ‘I have been abroad, until quite recently.
Rumours?
’
    Trooste retreated into the table, rattling the hoses in front of Svenson’s face. ‘Lord Vandaariff’s interest in Macklenburg – and the marriage of his daughter –’
    ‘One explains the other, does it not? Where the daughter marries, the father invests.’
    ‘Indeed. But his patronage of the Comte d’Orkancz, who had also been to Macklenburg – ah!’ Trooste gasped at a sudden movement from Foison. Was the knife at his throat?
    ‘You will not take advantage of Lord Vandaariff, because of his ill health.’
    ‘Never. Christ above, I promise you –’
    ‘No, Professor. I promise
you
.’
    Foison stepped away, the knife back in his coat. ‘Whatever happened to your face?’
    Trooste touched his forehead where Svenson had struck it with the pistol-butt. ‘Ah, that. One of the machines. Flay-rod. One’s attention wanders –’
    ‘And then you’re dead.’ Foison walked to the foundry door, but then paused. ‘And Professor?’
    Trooste forced a patient smile. ‘Anything.’
    ‘You wouldn’t know how empty shell casings came to be littering the top of your stairs?’
    ‘Shell casings?’
    ‘From a revolving pistol.’
    ‘I’ve no idea. I have no weapon.’
    ‘That is wise. The way your day is going, it would only be used against you.’
    As soon as Foison was gone, Trooste sagged against the table, pale with fear. ‘I did what you asked – wait – wait! Where are you
going
?’
    Mahmoud raced from his hiding place to the foundry room. Svenson hesitated, taking a step towards Francesca, but then followed the dark man. He found Mahmoud crouched at the second exit door. With silent care Mahmoud eased its bolt home, blocking any re-entry.
    ‘That cold-eyed Asiatic will have my life.’
    Trooste had joined them, but the Doctor paid no heed. Above the foundry’s stone trough hung a metal rack, and there, like cakes from a baker’s oven, lay three blue glass books.
    ‘What in heaven …’ whispered Mahmoud.
    ‘O yes,’ agreed Trooste. ‘Aren’t they glorious? Just made this morning, by Lord Vandaariff himself, every one untouched and pure –’
    Svenson tried to control his voice. ‘Mahmoud, take hold of the Professor. Do not touch or look into these books. A glass book brought your mistress to this