The Chemickal Marriage

seat.
    ‘If there is coffee on this train we will have some.’ Svenson nodded blandly, for Bronque’s sharp face still showed rage. ‘And I’m a fool not toallow for what you say. Which means that Mrs Kraft’s
information
must be considered in an altogether new light.’
    ‘Because she has only recently appeared,’ said Svenson.
    ‘And thus represents the one thing the Contessa categorically
cannot
know. And not only did that woman escape her captivity, by doing so she avoided a very specific fate. I planned to inform Vandaariff of the Contessa’s location, and Lord only knows what he would have done to her. But somehow she chose
just
that time to get away.’
    ‘As if she knew … or that you’d told her?’
    ‘But why would I? It was
my
plan!’ Bronque glared at Schoepfil on the pallet. ‘If you tell him this I’ll cut your throat.’
    ‘Why should I?’
    ‘Because you’re as desperate as I am. And, because a damned whore-mistress knows something the Contessa can’t anticipate, I must protect her at all costs. But, however important it might now be to reach Vandaariff before sunrise, that doesn’t change our having to get through his front door.’
    Colonel Bronque slapped his thigh with frustration. Doctor Svenson took that moment to palm the flask of bloodstone and drop it in his pocket.
    They woke Schoepfil before Orange Locks, where Bronque and his men would disembark. Schoepfil exulted in his altered legs: vivid blue from the toes to mid-calf, with marbled streaks extending up each sparsely haired thigh.
    ‘Did it
work
?’ asked Bronque.
    ‘O I do expect so!’ Schoepfil rotated each ankle, then hopped from one leg to the other. He snapped his fingers – a command for his clothing – and the Doctor grudgingly passed Schoepfil his trousers.
    ‘Do mind the crease!’ Schoepfil chided, shaking them out and slipping one foot through. ‘Anything in the meantime?’
    ‘Nothing to change our plans,’ Bronque replied. ‘A few prisoners. Pretending to be bankers. Michel Gorine, for one.’
    ‘
No!
That little nuisance must have set him free.’
    ‘What matters is that he tried to see Mrs Kraft.’
    ‘Very good of you to prevent it. Who are the others?’
    ‘One I don’t know – foreigner. The second is Vandaariff’s man from the Institute. Augustus Trooste.’
    Schoepfil paused between shirt buttons. ‘With Gorine? Is it a
scheme
?’
    Both men turned to Svenson. He sighed. ‘I have been under guard with you.’
    ‘Could be Chang,’ Bronque admitted. ‘Neither he nor Foison showed at any station, and the men sent after them did not return.’
    Svenson made a point of balling up Schoepfil’s waistcoat and tossing it across. Schoepfil caught it with a frown and stroked the silk to smooth it.
    ‘Perhaps they are
all
dead. The violence in the town.’
    ‘Perhaps.’ Bronque snapped shut his watch. ‘You know what to do?’
    Schoepfil wormed into his jacket. ‘Not to worry. I shall pass like a
shade
.’
    Bronque gave Svenson a warning glance not to speak. ‘We do not know what to expect. It may be that Mrs Kraft’s knowledge –’
    ‘Yes, yes, you are the
tactician
. I leave it to you, though Gorine may serve as leverage over the woman.’ Schoepfil pulled on his gloves, as dapper a figure as he had ever been. He extended a hand to Bronque. ‘Until the finish.’ He laughed. ‘
Rebirth
.’
    Bronque shook his partner’s hand, but did not speak. He turned for the door.
    ‘O do not be
dour
, Colonel! We will not fail!’
    Bronque rapped on the metal panel. The door swung open, letting in the racket of the wheels. He nodded to them, without speaking, and stepped through.
    Schoepfil sat on the table, legs dangling. Svenson had taken the Colonel’s chair. On his lap Schoepfil held an oblong wooden box, the lid positioned to block Svenson’s view. He ran a finger across its contents with a satisfied smile. The train rattled to its terminus.
    ‘You’re a soldier – of sorts, anyway. Are they all so superstitious?’
    ‘Most people are, when it comes to death.’
    ‘They should be
confident
.’
    ‘Solitude lacks comfort. And there is no greater solitude than mortality.’ Svenson rubbed his eyes. ‘Your uncle who will not die, I expect you think him a fool.’
    ‘The
biggest
.’
    ‘You have given your body to his same foolishness – this alchemy.’
    ‘I am not
dying
.’
    ‘You might have died ten times today. I could have shot you through the head