The Chemickal Marriage

trickled in its trough.
    ‘A common misconception … at birth the bones are soft, allowing passage of
essence
from one realm to another, the crucial, brutal
pressure
associated with
emission
. In time the gap closes and the seams calcify – or so fools would have you believe …’
    Into Chang’s peripheral vision came several figures in white robes, faces shrouded. A figure at his feet held a tray of corked bottles …
    ‘But the skull of an adult bends every bit as much as the human spirit, and that same spot – the
fontanel
– remains in every esoteric system a
fountain
through which souls flow to the ether. Even as coarse a soul as this.’ Vandaariff croaked with laughter. ‘Little more than an animal in trousers! What is the time?’
    The man with the tray replied, ‘Near to the dawn, my lord.’
    ‘And our other guests? Our royal party? Our Warden? Our Bride? The Virgo Lucifera?’
    ‘All … mid-passage, my lord … save the ladies.’
    ‘Feminine vectors. What of our
Executioner
?’
    To this question there was no reply. The robed acolytes glanced nervously across Chang’s body. A sharp sound brought them back to attention – Vandaariff rapping his cane.
    ‘None of that! The contract will be signed. To the vessel – he must be readied!’
    Chang waited for the hands to take his shoulders and each leg. He gripped the robes of the men at his shoulders and yanked down hard, driving their heads together with an ugly thud. Sharp kicks drove the men at his legs away and he was up. The acolyte with the tray retreated, protecting his charge. None of them appeared to be armed. Chang drew the silver knife and made for Vandaariff, ready to plant it in his chest.
    ‘I am here, Cardinal Chang.’
    Chang first turned to the voice – a metal grille, painted like a fresco of a blue-skinned maiden – and then to the glass barrier. Beyond it, in a white robe of his own, stood Vandaariff. The knobbed hand that gripped his cane was blackened, as if with burnt cork.
    ‘So you did not drink the Draught of Silence after all.’ Vandaariff’s hood slipped back to show a smug rictus grin and above it a soft half-mask of pale feathers. ‘I did not think you had.’
    Chang snatched up the brass helmet and extended the knife to the acolytes.
    ‘Show yourselves.’
    Vandaariff nodded, and the five pulled back their hoods. Every face bore new scars of the Process, a raw-skinned loop around the eyes and across thenose – more souls sacrificed on the altar of ambition. He wondered what clothes they’d shed in exchange for these robes, what uniforms or vestments, fashionable stripes or silks. Chang slammed the brass helmet into the barrier with all his strength. It rebounded nearly out of his grasp, the glass barely scratched.
    ‘Subdue him,’ said Vandaariff.
    Chang faced the acolytes. ‘Keep away.’
    ‘Subdue him!’ repeated Vandaariff.
    ‘You will die,’ warned Chang.
    Vandaariff cooed to his minions, ‘You’ll be reborn.’
    Chang looked into eyes bright with belief and felt his stomach turn. His fist shot out, bloodying the nose of the foremost man and knocking him aside.
    ‘You cannot win, Cardinal Chang. The spheres have turned!’
    Chang clubbed down one man with the helmet and then another. The last of the four rushed him with both hands. Chang dodged to the side, as if he were in a
corrida
, and drove the acolyte face first into the wall. The fifth remained where he’d been, backed against the fountain, still holding the tray. Chang suddenly scoffed.
    ‘I know your face. You’re an
actor
. Charles Leffert!’ Here was the leading man of the stage dressed like a eunuch in a comedy harem. ‘Not enough roses after the matinée? Not enough wives to seduce in their husbands’ carriages?’
    ‘You must submit!’ commanded Leffert in a heroic baritone. ‘The ceremony has begun – you cannot prevent –’
    Chang swung the helmet into the tray, sending the flasks and implements flying.
    ‘O heaven!’ wailed the actor, as if Rome itself had begun to fall. Chang dropped the helmet and seized Leffert through the robe. He dragged him to the fountain. Leffert caught the rim and pushed away. ‘No! I am not given over! I am promised to ascend!’
    Chang shoved the actor’s head into the trough. Leffert struggled, holding his breath. Chang dropped a knee into Leffert’s kidney and a spray of bubbles spat orange. The actor inhaled and swallowed. Chang lifted him,dripping, by the hair. Leffert’s