The Chemickal Marriage

wrangling?’
    ‘But – how does the Archbishop –’
    ‘Who do you think arranged it to begin with? This man’– Trooste had joined him, breathing hard from the weight of the satchels – ‘may be able to extend Lord Vandaariff’s life. Can’t you, Professor? If the matter is
blue glass
?’
    Trooste baulked again, his shock evident, but the engineer, aware that the decision lay beyond his care, only shouted over his shoulder: ‘Two to pass. A damned dog-cart if you’ve got it!’ He glared sourly at Chang. ‘All blessings on your task.’
    Not a dog-cart, but small enough, a two-wheeled gig, given over at the soldiers’ insistence by its whey-faced owner, who demanded – and was denied – an official chit to mark his property’s requisition. Trooste drove, satchels crammed under the seat, as Chang, town-born and ever poor, had no skill with horses. He knew the city, however, and directed Trooste down unobtrusive roads where they made good time. The Professor was hardly calm in Chang’s menacing presence, however, and it was minutes before he attempted conversation.
    ‘Will we really go to Harschmort House? It seems cruel to the horse.’
    ‘It’s a cruel night,’ Chang replied. ‘Turn left.’
    ‘But that takes us away from –’
    ‘
Turn
.’
    Trooste guided the trap into an unpaved lane. ‘So, the Archbishop’s own messenger –’
    ‘The Archbishop can go hang. Do you know how Mrs Kraft was restored to her mind?’
    Trooste stammered at the directness of the question, but then accepted he was not up to the task of duplicity. ‘As a matter of fact I do.’
    ‘Was it you or Svenson?’
    ‘Well, I do not flatter myself –’
    ‘Or the child?’
    ‘What child?’
    ‘The one who’s
dead
, Professor.’ Chang turned in his seat, making sure they’d not been followed. ‘Left again.’
    Trooste did so with some skill, for the road was littered with refuse that might well have broken a wheel. Chang wondered at the man’s origins. Had he grown up with money, a horse-cart of his own, books and telescopes to feed his hungry mind? Judging by his modestly cut coat, that comfort had gone – gambled away? – though an attending air of privilege remained.
    ‘Lord Vandaariff has not sent for you at all.’
    ‘But he
will
see me.’ Trooste beamed with confidence. ‘He will want to hear what has been achieved – the actions of his enemies –’
    ‘You mean Svenson.’
    ‘Indeed I do.’ Trooste shivered. ‘A terrible figure. You should have seen that poor child writhe!
She
guided the machines – you guessed it, I don’t know how – and the stench, the bile, like coal tar filling her mouth –’ Trooste waved his hands at the memory, then immediately lunged back to recover the reins.
    ‘Dreadful,’ he muttered, ‘simply
dreadful
!’
    As the tale came out, Chang perceived the cruelty of the Doctor’s dilemma: how to save Madelaine Kraft without destroying the child. Svenson had failed – or had acted with a coldness of which Chang had not thought him capable … yet who knew Svenson’s mind or manner now? The horses of grief drove each man down a different, darkened path.
    ‘We fled our separate ways in the fire, and that was the last I saw of them.’ The Professor raised both eyebrows. ‘That German is a madman, you know. A
killer
.’
    ‘He refrained from killing you.’
    ‘Not from kindness!’ Trooste gave Chang a sidelong, crafty glance. ‘You know, I think you want to see Robert Vandaariff as much as I – and intend that
I
shall get
you
through the gates with my treasure house of news!’
    Trooste chuckled and went so far as to slap Chang’s knee. Chang caught the hand as he might snatch a horsefly from the air.
    ‘Tell me about Vandaariff’s
new
glass. The different colours.’
    ‘I’m sure I’ve no idea –’
    Chang squeezed, grinding the bones. Trooste grimaced, and Chang released the hand, the puffy flesh pink where he had gripped it. Trooste worked his fingers, chastened, but his eyes remained bright. Usually force and pain were all that was necessary to contain a man unused to violence, but Trooste was more resilient.
    ‘So that’s where we sit, then? I had hoped for a more collegial –’
    ‘Then do not
lie
. The different colours. Each with different alchemical properties.’
    ‘Alchemical?’ Trooste’s sly look had returned. ‘Surely
you
don’t credit such nonsense?’
    ‘I am not Lord Vandaariff.’
    Trooste laughed. ‘But that is