The Chemickal Marriage

doesn’t give a damn about any daughter.’
    ‘You’re wrong.’ Foison’s voice was soft, no longer needing to speak over hoof beats and wheels. ‘I’ve seen the flowers in her bedchamber.’
    ‘He’s not the same man – the same
mind
.’
    ‘He’s dying. So are you.’
    ‘And you with us, you ignorant monkey.’
    Foison’s eyes went cold. ‘Unfortunate choice of word.’
    ‘Woke you up, didn’t it?’ Chang leant to the end of the shackles’ chain. ‘Our world isn’t theirs. Are you so well trained to forget it?’
    The panel slid open.
    ‘Mr Foison!’ called Vandaariff. ‘A change of plan. Disembark with your charge. And take care for his safety. We know the fellow’s delicate.’
    Chang stood in the street, a dog on Foison’s lead. In the lantern light waited at least a company of elite grenadiers. Another knot of men clustered at the door of Vandaariff’s carriage, chickens awaiting their handful of seed.
    First amongst them – Chang squinted to be sure – was the Privy Minister, Lord Axewith. Chang thought of the man’s wife, retching her guts out, another dupe led to the grave. Did Axewith even know? The Privy Minister’s face was ashen in the torchlight, like a swine given its first whiff of the slaughterhouse. Next to Axewith stood Matthew Harcourt, sickly and pale. Chang pitied neither man – idiots who had naively passed their authority toRobert Vandaariff to end their troubles. The old Robert Vandaariff might have done so, but the man in the armoured wagon had no care for anything save his own dark dreams.
    A colonel of grenadiers in full glittering dress advanced to the carriage as if he had been summoned. Axewith himself stepped aside so the Colonel might lean into the coach. Chang half wondered if he would pull his head out again or, as if in a children’s tale, the serpent in the cave would snap it off.
    Foison lifted his face skyward, sniffing the air.
    ‘A shift in the wind,’ he said, assuming Chang possessed a sense of smell. ‘Who knows where the fire will be halted?’
    ‘Is it so severe?’
    Foison flicked the chain as a sign for Chang to turn. The consultation had ended and the Colonel, bodily whole, strode towards them. He was a powerful, hawk-faced man, black hair flat against his skull.
    ‘Colonel Bronque,’ said Foison quietly. Bronque’s eyes darted across them with distaste – Foison with his dandified clothes and Asiatic cast, Chang with his cleric’s coat and scars.
    ‘Chang, is it? Lord Vandaariff says you will help us.’
    All three turned at the sound of the carriage door closing, sealing Vandaariff back in his protected box. Lord Axewith’s men – save Harcourt, who was no longer visible – positioned themselves in a circle around several large maps spread onto the cobbles.
    ‘I need to find someone,’ Bronque went on. ‘A Mrs Madelaine Kraft.’
    ‘Why?’ Chang asked.
    ‘None of your affair. Say what you know.’
    Chang smiled stiffly. ‘She’s at the Old Palace – or where her people put her. Left an imbecile. By a blue glass book.’
    ‘She
was
.’ The subject of blue glass gave Bronque no pause. ‘She’s been healed.’
    ‘That’s impossible.’
    ‘That is the
point
.’
    Bronque was serious. And that Chang, a prized possession, had been lent for the search made clear the cure had not come from Vandaariff’s hand.
    ‘The Old Palace has been ransacked,’ Bronque went on. ‘And its ashes raked. She has fled with an employee. An African. Where would he take her? Where would she flee?’
    Chang glanced at Foison. ‘Does your master have time for this? If this fire is as bad as you say –’
    ‘You’ll do what you’re told!’ Bronque bellowed at Chang, as if he were an insubordinate trooper. Without warning Cardinal Chang chopped his forehead into the Colonel’s nose. Bronque staggered back with a cry of shock.
    The soldiers around them leapt forward, weapons ready. The Colonel straightened himself, eyes blazing with hatred, blood seeping through his fingers.
    ‘Calm, gentlemen.’ Foison pulled the chain to place Chang nearer. ‘Cardinal Chang will find this woman. But he is required – in sound condition – after the errand. At your peril, Colonel. Now I suggest you wipe your face.’
    Bronque reeled away, shouting for water.
    ‘I don’t suppose you’d undo these chains?’ Chang asked Foison. ‘If I gave my word not to escape?’
    ‘Your word means nothing.’
    Chang turned at the creak of