The Chemickal Marriage

pass.’
    ‘But what
are
they?’
    Against the wall lay a stack of leather cases. Svenson opened the topmost, noting with grim satisfaction that its interior was lined with orange felt. Equally to his purpose was a pair of iron tongs, wrapped with cloth. As the others watched, Svenson carefully lifted one of the books and set it in the case. He snapped the case shut. Mahmoud held another ready, but Svenson shook his head.
    ‘Put it down. Turn away.’
    ‘O no.’ Trooste began to sputter. ‘No, no – good God, the
effort
! He will kill me! I beg you –’
    Svenson flipped the second book off the rack. It struck the edge of the trough and shattered across the stone floor. Trooste howled, and only Mahmoud’s strength kept him from tackling Svenson. Svenson seized the third book.
    ‘You cannot!’ Trooste writhed. ‘I swear – I will be hunted down –’
    Svenson heaved the book onto the stone. He broke the shards under his boots. He stumbled. He was growing light-headed – there were fumes. He dropped the tongs and clapped a hand over his nose and mouth.
    ‘Get out – hold your breath!’ As the others fled, the Doctor stamped again and again on the broken books. He careened into the main chamber, slamming the door behind.
    ‘Barbarian,’ spat Trooste.
    ‘You have no idea.’ Svenson rubbed his stinging eyes.
    ‘But, Doctor, I don’t understand.’ Mahmoud pointed to the leather case in Svenson’s hand. ‘If those books are so terrible, why keep that one?’
    ‘Because the Professor is correct. We’ll need a weapon.’
    Svenson interrogated Trooste about the machinery, keeping one eye on Francesca – gauging the veracity of the resentful man’s answers by the distress each nugget of information provoked in the girl. Caught between Svenson’s bitter resolve and the spectre of Mr Foison, the Professor becamemore and more anxious. By the end Trooste barked his replies, flinching in advance at the child’s grunts and soot-coloured drool.
    But in that half-hour Doctor Svenson learnt more than he had ever desired about indigo clay: conduction, amplification, and the power Trooste termed ‘reciprocal cognition’. He now perceived in the tangles of wire and hose a mechanical intention: the operative
essence
of indigo clay eluded him as much as ever, but laid bare were the physical means to translate memory into a glass book, to infuse a book’s contents into an empty mind, to overwhelm a victim’s will with the Process – each action a relatively straightforward matter of force and direction. The restoration of Madelaine Kraft, however, depended on knowledge Trooste did not have.
    Svenson had seen the toxic effects of prolonged exposure and bodily ingestion, but Madelaine Kraft’s affliction could not be put down to physical proximity – it was not as if blue glass had touched her brain. Moreover, she could form new memories – so how to explain her continued vacancy? Perhaps the chemical exchange wherein blue glass captured memory carried a charged violence, enough to leave the
psychic
equivalent of scar tissue. Could the power of these machines overcome that artificial barrier? And if so, would the action reveal her memory intact, like a forgotten city beneath a dam-formed lake? Or would the necessary intensity simply destroy her?
    Svenson gazed down at Mrs Kraft and squeezed the woman’s honey-coloured hand. Whatever he was supposed to find, there was precious little time in which to do it.
    ‘She will be herself once again,’ he said. ‘Is that not right, Francesca?’ The girl had brought her knees up to her chest and sat rocking, dirty ankles exposed. ‘Perhaps you might tell Mrs Kraft yourself.’
    Francesca shook her head, lips tightly shut. Hating the lie, he smiled encouragingly. The girl hiccupped and shook her head to stop him talking, but Svenson kept on.
    ‘I know you feel ill, but you must trust the Contessa. Look at Mrs Kraft – or, even better, take her hand.’ He lifted the child to the table, ignoring the worry on the faces of the other men. ‘Excellent, now, think of what we know … when I look into a glass book, which is to say, when I
touch
it with my gaze, this contact allows its entrance to my mind –’
    The child’s hacking spattered black onto Svenson’s sleeve.
    ‘Doctor –’
    ‘Please do not interrupt, Mr Mahmoud. Physical contact is different, Francesca, yes? For example, I was able to remove glass from Cardinal Chang’s lungs with an orange