The Chemickal Marriage

a condition.’
    ‘No,’ said the Contessa.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I do not trust you, Doctor.’
    ‘Then we are matched.’ He turned to Miss Temple. ‘Forgive me, Celeste. I did try.’
    Without another word Doctor Svenson heaved the glass book into the air, straight past the green-coated guard and through the open trapdoor, where – to everyone’s ear – it burst to pieces on the iron steps.
    The Contessa exploded with anger – the book was hers, the waste, it could have been reused – but Miss Temple only closed her eyes. When Pfaff had told her Chang’s mind was gone, she had been stricken, but at the book’s destruction he was finally, truly lost. With a dreadful relief Miss Temple exhaled, expelling with her breath all hope and all despair. For the first time in what felt like years, her mind was clear.
    And the men before her were fools.
    ‘Would Colonel Bronque stand so idly by? Would your mother?’ The words were thick in her mouth, but she did not care. ‘She’s going to kill them all. She’s going to kill
you
.’
    Mahmoud looked at Schoepfil. The Contessa’s cold voice cut in: ‘I
can
kill them now. But I will not, if I do not have to.
Do
I have to, Doctor Svenson, for the procedure to work?’
    Svenson had returned to Chang’s table, bending low to peer beneath. ‘I am examining the Professor’s work – obviously he
intended
that they should be consumed –’
    ‘
All
must be consumed!’ warned an acolyte. They stood in a menacing ring around the machines.
    ‘Indeed. However,’ Svenson went on blandly, ‘art is not science. AsMr Schoepfil has taught me, what satisfies alchemical symmetry
may
be superfluous to the desired result.’ He indicated the tubs with distaste. ‘Mr Harcourt gives us iron … Mr Kelling copper … poor Colonel Bronque lead. Now … iron serves the blood, of course … ’
    Miss Temple’s head swam. The more Svenson spoke, the more the Comte rose within her. She coughed wetly through the mask. Each insight felt like a knife turning inside Miss Temple’s chest. Was this what had happened to Francesca? She pictured the ravaged corpse, each ruined organ excised –
    ‘What is going on?’ asked Jack Pfaff. Miss Temple saw him stand through a haze. He was looking at her. ‘Is she being made to talk?’
    ‘She’s being made to die,’ said the Contessa. ‘Do not intervene.’
    Pfaff said nothing, but his face was pale.
    ‘What report from the gates, from the perimeter outside?’
    This was Mr Foison, hobbling to the green-coat with the revolver.
    ‘The party at the gate was taken in hand, sir.’
    ‘That was an hour ago. What since?’
    ‘There is nothing
since
,’ called the Contessa.
    ‘Bronque brought but one company. If the remainder of his regiment follows –’
    ‘The
remainder
is occupied in town. Besides, do you not have a strategy in place?’
    ‘Not for that many men.’
    ‘Mr Schoepfil, where is your late
friend’s
regiment?’
    Schoepfil pulled his brimming eyes from the gruesome tub. ‘What?’
    ‘Where are the grenadiers?’
    ‘Aren’t they dead?’
    ‘What is wrong with him?’ asked Foison.
    Schoepfil’s voice was small. ‘She has killed the Colonel.’
    ‘One is
amazed
,’ muttered the Contessa. ‘We need not worry, Mr Foison. Lord Axewith has given orders that no one should come near Harschmort. That the Colonel disobeyed with so few only describes the limits of his power.’
    ‘I would prefer to see for myself –’
    ‘And I would prefer you to remain.’ Without waiting for Foison’s reply – for he gave none, even when one of the soldiers came up with a three-leggedstool for him to sit upon – she called, perturbed, to Doctor Svenson. ‘Are you not finished? Can we not
proceed
?’
    ‘We can.’
    Miss Temple erupted in a spasm of choking, her mouth filled with the taste of rotten flesh.
    ‘Good Lord,’ said the Contessa. ‘Even at a distance, it’s disgusting.’
    ‘It will only worsen.’ Svenson stood before Miss Temple. ‘You know as well as I, Celeste. Like Francesca, you
do
see what will happen – and, like her, your sickness is a measure of my success with these machines, what I’m sure you see as my betrayal. The more I correctly arrange the fate of Chang and yourself, the more you plunge into distress.’
    He met her eyes, took a puff on the cigarette. Miss Temple let fly a stream of dark phlegm that splattered near his boot.
    ‘That’s for your damned betrayal,’ she rasped, scarcely