The Chemickal Marriage

guard at the trapdoor. Directly before her two acolytes stood between the still bodies of Svenson and Mahmoud, and with them the sentry from the Contessa’s window. To her left stood Chang, with Foison, Pfaff and Schoepfil – in the excitement no longer meriting his own guard – and at least six more acolytes. Beyond them all were the last two green-coats at the main door.
    The Contessa ignored Chang’s invitation. Instead, her fingers tapped restlessly on the rostrum. Chang could do nothing without revealing himself. Once that happened he would be assailed by all.
    Miss Temple leant to one side and retched, an act whose vulgarity stopped conversation. Very little foulness remained in her mouth to void, but she covered the lack with an ugly croaking. She looked up with wild eyes.
    ‘Poor Mr Schoepfil. The Duchess will have her revenge. As least Colonel Bronque is spared the disgrace of being shot.’
    Schoepfil’s mouth worked, and his goatee shuddered like a small mouse in the cold.
    ‘And Mr Foison,’ Miss Temple called, ‘are you a child? You
know
whom that book held.’
    ‘He is
not
my uncle,’ cried Mr Schoepfil with a rising zeal. ‘My uncle is dead and this man is nothing – a criminal! An assassin!’
    Pfaff – more warily now – stepped back from Schoepfil. Miss Temple located a new supply of drool and let it fly.
    ‘And do you think she will lie with you, Jack Pfaff? With
you
?’ She heaved herself up to a sitting position. ‘What have any of you won? If she –
she
– is still in
there
?’
    The words hung in the rancid air, and the acolytes and soldiers – for their loyalty determined the power in the room – shifted their attention back and forth from Chang to the Contessa.
    ‘I will come out,’ the Contessa at last replied, ‘but I will not be fooled.’
    ‘What else would you have me do?’ Chang asked.
    ‘I want you to choke the life out of her. Kill Celeste Temple in front of us all.
That
will convince me. And nothing less.’
    ‘And if I prefer to study her condition?’
    ‘You cannot. It is my price for your restoration.’
    Chang smirked. ‘That alone? I expect your
price
to extend well into infinity.’
    ‘It is my price
now
.’
    ‘Or what?’
    The Contessa cocked her head. ‘Don’t you know?’
    Chang looked at the glass book in its slot. ‘My restoration does not extend to these latest days. The exact details of this chamber elude me.’
    ‘That is a pity. Watch.’ The Contessa slipped the cover from another knob and the light struck a glow inside the glass. From the ceiling dropped a smallglass globe, bursting into a bloom of blue smoke amongst the acolytes minding Cunsher and Gorine. In an instant all four toppled senseless. The guard at the trapdoor retreated, his hand over his mouth and nose, waving his arm. But the Contessa had chosen her target deliberately: the men were far enough apart for the fumes to disperse before reaching anyone else.
    ‘The entire chamber may be so
fumigated
,’ warned the Contessa. ‘After which it might also be required that I come amongst you and cut a few more throats. In the interests of our higher purpose, naturally.’
    ‘Naturally,’ replied Chang.
    ‘
So
. Will you kill her now, Lord Robert, or am I to feel …
unappreciated
?’
    Pfaff turned with a pained expression. ‘Come now, whatever her offence –’
    ‘Be quiet, Mr Pfaff –’
    ‘But she’s already going to die –’
    ‘Then a quick death is a
mercy
.’
    Miss Temple laughed. ‘The most powerful man in the land, forced to murder a woman, by a woman! There’s restoration for you! There is transcendence!’
    ‘
Do it!
’ shouted the Contessa.
    In the mansion of Miss Temple’s heart, pity was consigned to a very small pantry nook, and so it was with a cold eye that she watched Jack Pfaff exhaust his disapproval with a tight-lipped slap on his thigh.
    Chang advanced to Miss Temple and she braced herself for his touch – but then behind him came a blur of movement. Chang spun round, but that did not stop the blow that turned his jaw.
    ‘
I
am master here!’ Schoepfil cried. ‘Harschmort is mine! Every last stick!’
    He fell on Chang in a fury, battering his chest, his face. Two acolytes, loyal to their new lord, hurled themselves at his assailant. Schoepfil easily dispatched them and returned his attention to Chang, who had stepped back and stood ready. Schoepfil feinted, several blows in sequence, and Chang’s arms moved in instinctive