The Chemickal Marriage

Chang.’
    ‘A man who indulges desire without acting to satisfy it deserves contempt. And that is Chang’s doom.’
    ‘What will be yours?’ asked Doctor Svenson.
    ‘
Stop
.’ Mahmoud cut in, for they had both grown sharp. ‘Where are
they
going?’
    The bulk of Bronque’s grenadiers jogged past, double time, a blue column returning up the grand staircase and into the night.
    ‘The other stations.’ Mr Kelling raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘To make sure.’
    ‘That means Foison and Chang still live, and we must take care.’ Mahmoud reached for the red tin and helped himself to a cigarette.
    ‘I do beg your pardon!’ Svenson fumbled for a match. ‘I did not think to offer.’
    Mahmoud leant to the light, and then exhaled. ‘People often don’t. One would think I were invisible. Or small. Or – what is the word? –
property
.’
    A weary conductor let them board the east-bound train, a motley group nevertheless given precedence over the waiting elite. In the third carriage Schoepfil pointed to a compartment. ‘Here, Mr Kelling! And Mrs Kraft, with your man. To Orange Locks – as we have agreed.’
    ‘We have not agreed on anything,’ replied Mrs Kraft.
    ‘Kelling has the particulars – I have considered your every wish! Do not fret, you will have the advantage of our numbers.’
    ‘What if you and I need to speak?’
    ‘We will not. I will be further up the train – quite impossible.’
    ‘
Why?
’
    ‘Now, now – I have given you sanctuary; you must give your
trust
. Doctor Svenson?’ Schoepfil wagged his finger. ‘With me, sir. You are
required
.’
    The door to the front-most carriage had been augmented with a metal plate and a substantial lock that Colonel Bronque, leaving two men posted outside, turned once he, Schoepfil and Doctor Svenson had passed through. The compartment walls and seats had been removed, the draperies replaced with more sheet metal.
    An array of machines took up the centre of the carriage – not the pipe organ of brass and steel that Svenson had seen at the Institute, but rather a modest scatter of brass canisters and tin-lined tubs, linked by copper wire and rubberized hose. Two much thicker bundles of cable ran to the far end of the car and out through holes cut in the wall.
    ‘
Amazing
, yes?’ Schoepfil clapped his hands. ‘You have seen it before – Margaret Hooke, Elspeth Poole, even Angelique – marvels misunderstood and too soon gone! Now you will assist
us
!’
    ‘Vandaariff must fall, Doctor.’ Colonel Bronque turned a chair and straddled it. ‘For the common good.’
    ‘So you can replace him?’
    Schoepfil removed his jacket and laid it on the table to avoid a crease. ‘I
am
his heir.’
    ‘Better us than that Italian hellcat.’ Bronque gave a sour look to Schoepfil. ‘You should not have allowed her to escape.’
    ‘I did not
allow
a thing. She killed two of your men, neat as a snap! Besides,
you
– well, decency forbids me to say more.’
    Bronque took a pull from a silver flask and exhaled. ‘It was never the time.’
    ‘You were her lover?’ blurted Doctor Svenson. ‘I thought it was Pont-Joule.’
    Schoepfil blew air through his lips. ‘The Colonel, Pont-Joule, Matthew Harcourt –’
    ‘Not Harcourt,’ Bronque cut in. ‘There she only teased.’
    ‘You see! He defends! O her hooks are in!’ Schoepfil snorted at Svenson. ‘I wonder she has not added
you
to their number!’
    Bronque laughed and took another drink. Svenson felt his face redden. ‘She may be beautiful, but her heart is black.’
    ‘Spoken like a man never asked,’ said Bronque. He tucked the flask away. ‘Shall we?’
    ‘I would prefer to be in
motion
,’ replied Schoepfil.
    ‘Why? You’ll need to rest. And I’m getting out before you.’
    ‘O very well.’ Schoepfil sniffed, almost girlishly. ‘Doctor, we take you into our confidence.’
    ‘I have not agreed to anything.’
    ‘But you
will
agree. Because my uncle, as my colleague says, must fall.’
    ‘You forget Chang. You forget Miss Temple.’
    ‘One cannot forget what one has never considered in the first place. The former is doomed through my uncle’s science; the latter insignificant altogether.’
    Svenson found the red tin and selected another cigarette.
    ‘My
Lord
, Doctor,’ sighed Schoepfil. Bronque laughed and held out a hand. Svenson offered him the box and struck a match for them both. The smoke touched his lungs like a perfume of nettles.
    ‘If you need me, your