The Chemickal Marriage

are no copies – lodged at his bank, with the law? He will have foreseen every objection. You cannot do a thing.’
    ‘
No?
’ Miss Temple heard a scuffle and Doctor Svenson grunted in pain. ‘I can punish every one of you. And take this criminal’s life right now. With him removed, the estate must revert to me, no matter how many damned wills there are!’
    Miss Temple charged past Pfaff to the light.
    ‘
Get away from him!
’ Her voice came as shrill as a pipe. Schoepfil’s hands – his
blue
hands – hung above Chang’s neck. Miss Temple pulled the trigger, but the gun was too large and kicked, the shot flying high to shatter a mosaic. Miss Temple aimed again, bracing with her other hand, straight for Schoepfil’s heart.
    ‘Celeste,’ gasped Doctor Svenson, on his knees.
    ‘Wait!’ This was an enormous dark man with a soiled silk waistcoat, rubbing his arms where he’d been bound. On the floor behind him, bloody and still, lay Mr Foison. At the sight of
him
Miss Temple’s temper flared. She pulled the trigger, but Pfaff had reached around and the hammer snappedon his thumb, preventing any fire. He swore with the pain and wrenched the weapon free, extricating his hand with a wince.
    Miss Temple kicked Pfaff in the shin. He cursed and hopped away, looking at the window. For the first time Miss Temple saw the blood, and the dead man in the feather mask.
    ‘Celeste Temple, do not move!’ The Contessa’s voice was doubly distant, by virtue of the helmet she wore and the glass barrier in the wall. ‘Mr Pfaff?’
    ‘All ready down below, Your Ladyship.’
    ‘This is nonsense,’ declared Schoepfil. ‘I
will
kill Cardinal Chang, and then I will kill the rest of you.’
    Pfaff raised the revolver, taking charge of the room. ‘Now, now then –’
    Schoepfil simply ran at him, faster than Pfaff could aim, and chopped the weapon to the floor. Pfaff swung with his brass-knuckled fist, but Schoepfil dodged and drove Pfaff back into the glass with a flurry of blows. A final kick and Pfaff collapsed wheezing. Schoepfil set his foot on Pfaff’s neck.
    ‘You will surrender, madam, or your man will die.’
    ‘That is
your
man, in the tub next to Harcourt, is it not?’
    The Contessa’s voice was polite, as if she were asking about his tailor. Schoepfil turned. ‘Yes. Mr Kelling. A very useful person – and this disgraceful treatment –’
    ‘I wonder if he is more useful to you than Colonel Bronque.’
    ‘What? Colonel Bronque is my good friend.’
    ‘You have no friends. You are a mole.’
    Schoepfil’s face reddened. ‘Come out at once! Or I promise you, this man will pay.’
    The Contessa stepped to the rostrum. Her hand danced above the brass-covered knobs.
    ‘It does not work,’ Mahmoud called to her. ‘Vandaariff tried. The machines –’
    ‘Were disabled, yes, at my command – but now they are reset, and the sun has risen.’ The Contessa faced them all. ‘The question is one of
attachment
. One speculates in every direction … but I don’t suppose any one of you gives a damn for Matthew Harcourt. I’m the only person here who might, I suppose. And I do
not
.’
    She pulled off the brass cap. Light fell from the ceiling onto the exposed glass lozenge and set it to gleaming. The copper cables leading to Harcourt’s tub sparked high into the air and the hoses along the tub shot stiff as they were filled. The liquid in the tub leapt to a hideous boil.
    ‘Stop!’ shouted Doctor Svenson. ‘God in heaven –’
    The Contessa uncovered another knob and sparks leapt up round Mr Kelling’s tub. Schoepfil stepped towards his man, but already the liquid spit and steam billowed, the figure within obscured. Miss Temple covered her mouth and nose. With a slithering rush the hoses connecting the two tubs to the undercarriage of Chang’s table vibrated with the transfer of some gruesome
reduction
.
    The power switched off. The noxious steam dispersed. With a sickening compulsion Miss Temple joined the others, stepping near enough to see. The red liquid had sunk to an opaque inch of crimson mud. Apart from lump-like shadows beneath the scum, no sign of either body remained.
    Miss Temple turned, her gorge rising. No one moved to help her, not even Svenson, stricken dumb. She bent over, but nothing came … nothing save jumbled visions of bright paint and cold machines.
    ‘I trust my point is made,’ called the Contessa. ‘From now on you are responsible for one another’s good