The Chemickal Marriage

Chang moved to Trooste. ‘We have little time.’
    Trooste spat a loose thread from his mouth. ‘I have never experienced such cruelty –’
    ‘The night is young,’ muttered Chang. He slipped the tip of the knife between Gorine’s wrists and ripped upwards, shearing the hemp, and left Gorine to extract his own gag.
    ‘She did not listen, did she?’
    Gorine’s eyes were rimmed red. Chang returned to the door, peering out. The first soldier’s guttural exhalations had finally ceased.
    Cunsher cleared his throat. ‘But she
did
listen, Chang, that is the painful fact. She knows who Bronque is, and Schoepfil – men who ought not hold the trust of a tea kettle, much less the secrets of indigo clay. She does not care.’
    ‘She thinks it better.’ Gorine wiped his lips on his sleeve. ‘They will fall more easily in their turn.’
    ‘Mrs Kraft was never so ambitious,’ said Chang.
    ‘No.’ Gorine’s voice had thickened. ‘I did not know her.’
    ‘What’s natural is rarely kind.’ Professor Trooste rubbed at the hempstrands stuck to his soft wrists. He met their inquiring faces with a shrug. ‘Growth accelerates. Four cells become eight, eight become sixteen … in an instant there are thousands. Is it not the same with
licence
?’
    No one spoke. Cunsher brushed Gorine’s shoulder. ‘That he could not act now does not mean he cannot soon. His mind is not hers. You know it.’
    Gorine smiled weakly. ‘So does she.’
    The noise from the courtyard abruptly died. Something had happened that Bronque did not expect, but from his vantage Chang could see only the bearskin hats of the rearmost men.
    ‘Arm yourselves. If I don’t return, proceed as you can.’
    ‘And Pfaff?’ Cunsher passed a grenadier’s bayonet to Gorine.
    ‘He claims to still serve Miss Temple.’
    Cunsher caught his moustache with his front teeth. ‘The night will be full of fools.’
    Chang slipped out, keeping low. Bronque’s grenadiers were formed into neat lines. In front stood Bronque and his adjutants. Mrs Kraft sat with the wagon driver, while Mahmoud and Kelling perched amongst the crates, yet everyone’s attention was focused on an elegant coach just entering the courtyard.
    The coachman’s face floated above his black livery. He rode alone in his seat, driving a team of four at an easy pace. A grenadier adjutant waved him to halt, and, in a confident gesture of compliance, the coachman veered his team into a sweeping curve, so the coach stopped directly in front of the adjutant with the horses facing back where they had come.
    Two grenadiers moved to the bridles of the lead horses. The coachman paid no mind and tipped his black peaked cap to the officers.
    ‘Good evening, sir! Is it Colonel Bronque? I am sent by Lord Vandaariff, who expects you.’ The coachman turned his gaze to the lines of soldiers with an apologetic smile. ‘Perhaps not expecting so very many, of course. I can only fit four, sir. Six if you’re willing to squeeze.’
    Cunsher, now carrying a carbine, joined Chang, the others close behind. Chang saw the logic – with every eye on the coach, this was the time to move.He waved them to a line of scrub that would offer cover, but did not yet follow.
    ‘If you’ll come with me now,’ continued the coachman, ‘ample provision will be made for your men when they arrive. It is a march of perhaps two miles –’
    ‘I am aware of the distance.’ Bronque gestured with a pair of thin leather gloves – as if their softness made his intentions seem more civilized. ‘You are Lord Vandaariff’s servant – no harm will come, no charges laid to your name – do you understand, you will not
hang
– if you cooperate.’
    The coachman’s polite expression froze. ‘I beg your pardon –’
    ‘You will descend and describe every measure Lord Vandaariff has taken to secure Harschmort House. How many men, their placement, what weapons –’
    The coachman stammered on his box, looking around him, though no assistance lay in sight. ‘I – I assure you, sir, I know nothing – only Mr Foison –’
    ‘And where
is
Mr Foison?’
    ‘I had been told to expect him with you! Along with Mr Schoepfil –’
    Bronque smiled. ‘Doubly misinformed. Come, you have driven your team through gates and past guard posts –’
    ‘But Colonel – are you Lord Robert’s
enemy
?’
    Bronque signalled for a soldier to bring down the coachman … yet the coach rocked ever so gently an instant
before
the first