The Chemickal Marriage

past the front parlour. Chang noticed a coat closet left ajar and looked to Foison before opening the door. He pushed thehanging coats aside with his stick to reveal the curled body of a soldier in green, bloodstained above the heart. The messenger sent to Vandaariff from the stable. Foison said nothing.
    At a noise from outside both men blew out their candles. Foison peered through the slats of a wooden shutter. Abruptly Foison stalked to the foyer and wrenched open the door of Schoepfil’s house, leaving it wide. In the shadows across the road loomed a band of tired refugees, who went still at the sound. When no one emerged from the house, a few of the braver souls crept forward. Foison retreated past Chang without a word, towards the rear door. The first of the crowd had reached the steps and begun to climb. Chang hurried after Foison.
    ‘You’re inviting them to loot the place.’
    ‘I’m inviting them to do what they will.’
    A hundred yards from Schoepfil’s house Chang stopped. ‘Enough of this wandering. Svenson’s note gives us two choices – Schoepfil’s train or the Contessa and Celeste Temple at Bathings.’
    Foison glanced about with caution, but their immediate location, a modest, tree-lined lane, was silent. ‘We cannot reach Stropping before Schoepfil leaves. The Contessa is long departed from Bathings. We have a third option –’
    ‘Axewith?’ Chang pointed with his stick to the west. ‘The cordon has retreated beyond his command post. Given the fire’s speed, we have little hope of finding him on foot before his place is abandoned once again.’
    ‘We do not need the
man
,’ countered Foison. ‘If we walk north-east we will strike his troops, at which point Lord Vandaariff’s name will get us transport.’
    ‘It’s no longer that simple.’
    Foison gently shifted his stance. ‘I thought you had agreed to come.’
    Chang could not run. Foison would put a knife in his back – or more likely his leg – and drag him to the nearest horse. But Chang had come to his decision. He slipped into a defensive crouch. Foison drew two knives with an unpleasant ease.
    ‘I will force you.’
    ‘You will have to kill me. Perhaps you
can
, but it is against your orders. I, however, may kill
you
most freely.’
    ‘You need me to reach Harschmort.’
    ‘I disagree. And once I get there I will kill your master.’
    ‘You won’t get within ten yards of the door. How many men did Miss Temple send? How many dozens came from other rivals? Harschmort has changed. You
know
how they died.’
    Chang extended the walking stick like a blade, the tip floating at the level of Foison’s eyes. Foison sighed with impatience.
    ‘This is madness.’
    Chang feinted at Foison’s abdomen, then swung the stick like a sabre blade, a cross-cut at the man’s head. Foison deflected the blow with one knife, but his counter thrust was slow. They watched each other. Foison could not attack freely and risk the possibility of Chang’s death, while Chang could attack and attack again, and finally – inevitably – strike home.
    Foison retreated two steps. ‘Stop this – I am willing to follow, as long as we leave. If you’re not at Harschmort in time, Celeste Temple will be consumed.’
    Chang advanced again, a jab to the face and then a swipe at Foison’s knee. Foison parried, dodged, fell back.
    ‘She’ll be consumed anyway. You know full well.’
    ‘I have no idea.’
    ‘You lie.’
    With a swift motion Chang cracked the haft of the stick across Foison’s wrist and one knife clattered to the road. Foison brought the wrist to his mouth with a hiss, and fell back. Chang scooped up the knife, a weapon now in each hand. Foison flipped his remaining knife in the air and caught it by the tip, ready to throw.
    ‘You change nothing. She
will
die.’
    ‘She
shouldn’t
.’
    ‘We are all tested.’ Foison’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And if I kill you here and now … so be it.’
    Foison whipped back his arm and threw. Chang dived, taking the cobbles on his shoulder. He felt a sting at his hip, but Foison – still seeking to woundinstead of kill – had missed. Chang rolled up, slashing the stick across the empty hands that reached to take him. Foison hissed at the pain, yanking both hands back as Chang lunged and stuck the knife into Foison’s thigh. Chang brought the walking stick down hard on Foison’s head. Foison fell and lay still.
    The knife had pierced his coat, but the point had gone