The Chemickal Marriage

luck, it belonged to my father –’
    The Contessa snatched it from his hand, opening the blade – a malignant flashing finger – then snapping it home. The doorknob rattled. She tucked the knife away and hissed at Bronque. ‘You have not told me a thing. Wake.’
    Bronque brought a hand to his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned to an agitated Mr Schoepfil, bustling in with the oblong box gripped tightly in one hand.
    ‘What are you doing alone with this woman?’
    ‘Nothing of your concern, I assure you.’ Bronque’s voice had recovered its strength, but his face still blazed with the impact of the Contessa’s hand.
    Schoepfil glared at the Contessa, who had retreated behind the Colonel. ‘
Someone
has set a fire in our rooms!’
    ‘
Another
fire?’ The Contessa bit her lip. ‘Is the entire town tinderwood? Must we evacuate? Is Her Majesty safe?’
    Schoepfil gave a derisive snort and quickly snatched her hands in his. He turned them to study each side, then lifted them to his nose.
    ‘How gallant. Do you expect to smell paraffin or kerosene?’
    He thrust her hands away and waved angrily to the two soldiers who had followed him in. ‘Remove this woman.’
    Schoepfil shut the door on the Contessa’s heels and turned, fuming, on Bronque.
    ‘A fire set in
our
rooms. Kelling will need hours to even divine the damage. And I find you with her here – alone! Please, Colonel!
Think!
’
    ‘How could she be responsible? I distrust her as much as you do –’
    Schoepfil reached to rebutton Bronque’s jacket. ‘What has happened to your face?’
    ‘Nothing has happened.’
    ‘You are very red.’
    ‘From the steam. Wasn’t the Contessa under guard?’
    ‘But who else knew of our trove?’
    ‘The German doctor?’
    ‘He was with me,’ said Schoepfil.
    ‘The other prisoners –’
    ‘Kelling locked them in the stable.’
    ‘Then an agent of Vandaariff?’
    ‘But Vandaariff wants my collection for himself. No, the Contessa is frightened, thus she has become desperate – perfectly natural … and
perhaps
even advantageous.’ Schoepfil urgently dug under the cuff of one glove with the poking fingers of the other. ‘Ah! The itching becomes unbearable – any excitement sets it off –’
    He peeled down the glove and Miss Temple stifled a gasp of surprise. Mr Schoepfil’s hand was a brilliant cerulean blue. He raised it to his mouth and nipped the flesh between his teeth, then tugged the glove back into position. Bronque watched with distaste.
    ‘Drusus, I assure you. The woman means nothing. She’s a monster – I
know
she’s a monster. She’ll get her comeuppance from Vandaariff or she’llhang. But what if we have another enemy entirely, perhaps one of the Queen’s retainers? They cannot be pleased at your taking up residence, and they are not
all
fools.’
    ‘Aren’t they?’
    ‘The Duchess of Cogstead, for example.’
    ‘Is it possible?’ Schoepfil frowned in thought, then abruptly slapped Bronque on the shoulder. ‘I will consider – as I will continue to consider the Contessa. Go – to Axewith, then Vandaariff. Make the offer.’ Bronque turned on his heel, but Schoepfil hopped after him. ‘Wait! Do you credit this story about Madelaine Kraft – that she was cured?’
    ‘Do you?’
    ‘Svenson says so.’
    ‘Svenson is a hero or a liar. Does he look like a hero to you?’
    ‘I wouldn’t know,’ laughed Schoepfil. ‘I’ve never seen one!’
    Bronque marched out. Schoepfil stood staring at where Bronque had been. Then he lifted his nose and began to sniff the air. Miss Temple pressed herself against the wall. Schoepfil turned to her hiding place, but stopped sniffing as abruptly as he’d begun. He tugged his jacket into position and hurried after the Contessa.
    Miss Temple crept to the keyhole. She saw the Contessa escorted away and Schoepfil, instead of following, disappear surreptitiously behind a Moorish screen. When he did not re-emerge, Miss Temple took a breath for courage and scampered down the corridor after him. The screen concealed another room. Schoepfil spoke into a copper funnel attached to the wall. He returned the funnel to its hook and shoved two fingertips under his glove, scratched, then briskly clapped his hands together, as if the sting might suspend the itching.
    Beyond Schoepfil a door opened, his summons answered. At the distraction Miss Temple slipped in, as low as a spaniel, and dropped behind a sofa.
    ‘
Doctor
,’ called