The Chemickal Marriage

disapproval can go hang. Now take off your gloves and show me what you’ve done, then tell me how you did it, and what madness I’m to help you do next.’
    ‘Power, of course, comes from the engine. We sacrifice speed, but the duration is brief – has to be, or the same mistakes are made. No one understands the degree to which the Comte’s achievement was determined by
aesthetics
. Three women turned to glass.’ Schoepfil tugged at his goatee. ‘
Beautiful
– no doubt of it –’
    ‘An abomination,’ said Svenson.
    ‘An opinion –’
    ‘I knew the women.’
    ‘The
point
is that
complete
transformation is neither necessary nor useful.’ Schoepfil raised one bright blue hand, then rapped it hard on the table top. ‘As you can see, still flesh, still mine to command. And
yet
…’
    Schoepfil closed with Doctor Svenson and, showing the same preternatural speed as before, stabbed his hands in half a dozen places about the Doctor’s body, well ahead of any attempt to block him. The blows became mere touches at the last instant, but the potential damage was unpleasantly clear. Red-faced again, Svenson raised his arms and stepped away.
    ‘I have experienced your skill.’
    ‘You did not know the cause.’
    ‘But I knew there was one. You are no athlete. You have acquired only speed.’
    ‘More than that, Doctor, speed is but the scent off the dish. The
advance
is in the mind.’ Schoepfil grinned. ‘Everything my uncle has acquired, I have plundered – he is betrayed by his own people, who already cleave to my inheritance.’
    Svenson turned to Bronque. ‘And were you a part of this? He can’t have done it by himself.’
    ‘But I did, Doctor! One hand at a time – the left is a touch less sensitive, but one learns!’
    ‘We became partners after the fact.’ Bronque clapped his hands. ‘
Drusus
. There is not time. And Doctor Svenson is not our friend.’
    ‘No, he is
not
!’ Schoepfil returned to the jumble of machines. ‘I cannot
tell
you how much I wanted to throttle him at the Thermæ.’ He peered at Svenson over his spectacles. ‘The Kraft woman’s cure is a miracle. You must dedicate the same knowledge and skill to our interests. Only then will you survive.’
    ‘And if I told you I know nothing, that I merely followed instructions?’
    Schoepfil laughed. ‘The Colonel would dangle you from this train until your head met the wheels.’
    After examining the paths through which the power flowed, how it was held and released in the different brass and glass chambers, the Doctor had to admit, and the admission frightened him, that Schoepfil was right. The Comte’s alchemical creed had driven his discoveries to extreme forms, such as Lydia Vandaariff’s pregnancy and the three glass women. With theexception of the glass books, the Comte had largely eschewed practical applications. Schoepfil’s moderation – unburdened by ideology or belief – exposed a vaster and more terrifying danger.
    ‘The speed of
thought
.’ Schoepfil wiggled the fingers of both hands to mimic the energy coursing through the wires. ‘The property of blue glass that touches the mind – that speaks in
thought’s
chemical tongue. By lengthening time of exposure and lessening its intensity, the transformational effects are diminished – and, since I do not
desire
to be made of glass, there is no penalty. And, at the sacrifice of discoloration, what I
do
acquire is sensitivity. While Mrs Marchmoor could sift the thoughts of others, I am content to sense their impulses – their energy. And then respond with all of thought’s speed.’
    ‘Imagine an army,’ said Bronque. ‘Untouchable swordsmen. Accuracy of fire.’
    ‘I do not know how much of the Comte’s lore my uncle has digested, though it seems he feeds at the same alchemical trough, that he
believes
. If he’s wrapped around visions of triple-souled births and exaltations of new flesh, we are halfway home!’
    ‘Do not discount his practicality,’ said Svenson. ‘The explosions in the city, the spurs.’
    Schoepfil pursed his lips. ‘Well. Perhaps.’
    Svenson nodded at the machines, the tin-lined tubs of water. ‘And now?’
    ‘My legs! I shall move like a ghost! The perfect
provocateur
.’
    Schoepfil undressed to cotton underwear whose legs had been removed, so that he might undergo the procedure and retain his modesty. On the table lay what looked like an oversized bandolier. Each loop of leather was padded with orange felt and held