The Chemickal Marriage

dark. The Sergeant’s bayonet was fixed and ready, but a whisper made clear it was Poggs.
    ‘Report!’ hissed Schoepfil.
    ‘Someone following all right. I couldn’t get him, sir. Kept hanging back.’
    ‘But who
is
it?’ Schoepfil squeezed his hands to fists. ‘And are you sure it is a
man
?’
    ‘Wouldn’t be a woman, sir – not out here.’
    Abruptly Schoepfil looked up, listening intently. With a pale, questioning expression he turned to Svenson. ‘I don’t hear a thing.’
    ‘Ought you to?’
    ‘Colonel Bronque should have reached the gate.’
    ‘Perhaps he was delayed. Vandaariff has his own men –’
    ‘No, we should have
heard
.’
    Sergeant Barlew cleared his throat. ‘There was the fire, sir.’
    ‘What
fire
?’
    ‘We saw it behind us, from the train. The Colonel must have burnt the station. Didn’t you see? We were told not to disturb you –’
    ‘There was no plan to burn any
station
!’
    ‘I’m sorry, sir. We must have it wrong, then.’
    ‘Of all the blasted idiocy! Follow me and
watch
– beware what traps I avoid – pay attention! Our purpose is stealth, not confrontation. Colonel Bronque is the broadside of cannon. We are the stiletto in the ear. Do you understand?’
    ‘Why do you need us at all?’ asked Doctor Svenson.
    ‘I need
them
to watch
you
. I will need
you
to preserve my life.’ Schoepfil darted away, his short, thin legs as brisk as a bird’s.
    ‘And why in hell should I do that?’ called Svenson.
    Schoepfil’s reply echoed off the still canal. ‘Because otherwise she wins!’
    The nearest Svenson had seen to it was watching men such as Chang, whose instincts had been thoroughly etched onto the most primitive portions of the brain, where action preceded thought. In Schoepfil’s case it had nothing to do with experience.
    Running at full speed, Schoepfil abruptly jumped in the air. When Svenson and the soldiers reached the same point, they found black wire stretched between two huts, tied to an explosive charge. Carefully they stepped over and kept on – past more wires and beds of glass spikes hidden in the path. Veering around the last, Svenson glanced back and caught a glimpse of motion. Someone
did
follow, and aped Schoepfil’s safe path as well.
    Muffled cries and the crack of breaking glass reached them with Schoepfil’s warning.
    ‘Stay back! Wait for the wind!’
    Svenson perceived a cloud of smoke and watched it break apart, towards the sea. He advanced to find two men in green on the ground, their heads encased by brass helmets. Each carried a canvas satchel of apple-sized glass balls, several of which lay broken at their feet.
    ‘Hurry!’ called Schoepfil, already well ahead.
    More traps and men – so many that Barlew and Poggs, wading in with their bayonets, reached Schoepfil before he could finish the last. Svenson, without a weapon, hung back, hoping to snatch something off one of the fallen men, but Barlew took the Doctor’s arm before he could.
    They joined Schoepfil at a set of glass garden doors. This was the eastern wing of Harschmort. Schoepfil’s face gleamed with perspiration but he smiled.
    ‘Now we are to it! Follow some steps behind, weapons ready. The new construction has been concentrated in the western wing –’
    Schoepfil whipped his head towards the outbuildings, then lunged for the door. Svenson heard the explosive pop of breaking glass as Schoepfil hauled himself through. Poggs and Barlew sank in a cloud of smoke. Schoepfilslammed the door even as the panes shattered, smoke rising around them from the shards.
    Svenson clapped a hand over his mouth and ran – for an instant after Schoepfil, but then veering wildly away. He heard Schoepfil’s cries of outrage, but still more glass and smoke prevented any pursuit. Svenson crossed the ballroom floor before risking a look back: a distant figure like a tall tropical insect, all orange and brass, with two pitiless glass eyes that marked the Doctor as he fled.
    Construction in the western wing, Schoepfil had said. Svenson gathered his memories of Harschmort as he ran, but the carpets were gone and the furniture covered with white sheets. He brought himself to a panting stop when the floor changed to black-and-white chequers. This was near the kitchens – at the corridor’s end had been the staircase descending to the Comte’s underground chamber. Chang had described it destroyed, collapsed to form a vast crater. And yet … renovation. Svenson began to trot in