The Chemickal Marriage

The man roared, and, as he twisted the dark stains on his waistcoat cracked and broke apart – the blood from his wounds had congealed into glass. Without a qualm Chang delivered a solid kick to the man’s jaw, freeing Phelps and Cunsher. The Doctor read Chang’s lips as much as heard his words.
    ‘There is nothing here! Hurry!’
    The cavalry sounded their trumpets, at last moving to restore order, and with a dreadful prescience Svenson saw what would happen. He shouted, stumbling in the opposite direction, hauling Miss Temple with him.
    ‘This way! We cannot be caught between!’ Chang spun, his expression shot with impatience. Svenson pointed to the advancing horsemen, his own voice strangely far away. ‘The glass! The anger!’
    The first cobblestone flew from the crowd – hurled by a tottering, blood-swept man – knocking the horsetailed helmet from a rider. A woman, blue-faced and screaming, charged blindly into the advancing line. A trooper reined in his horse, and the animal reared. Any sane person would have fallen back, but these two rushed on, the man catching a hoof in the chest that knocked him flat. The woman cannoned into the horse, scratching with her nails, even biting, until the soldier struck her down with the guard of his sabre. But by then dozens more had attacked the horsemen. The trumpets sounded again, to no effect.
    Chang wheeled round and they forced a path away. Behind erupted more screams, shouting, trumpets. A wave of madness had overtaken the entire square. Phelps called to Chang, ‘If you had not shouted when you did –’
    ‘We must keep on,’ Chang broke in. ‘If we can reach the river –’
    ‘Wait,’ said Svenson. The ringing would not leave his ears. ‘Is this not the opportunity we desired?’ He looked to the white buildings of the Ministries and the Palace beyond. ‘In this chaos, might we not find an entry – find Vandaariff?’
    Chang turned to Phelps. ‘Do you know a way?’
    Phelps nodded. ‘I did not spend my life in that beehive without learning
something
–’
    His words were cut off by the crash of gunshots.
    ‘Jesus Lord!’ cried Phelps. ‘Do they fire on their own people?’
    The mob roared in echo of his outrage. The soldiers’ reprisals had only provoked the rest of the crowd to action. This would be an out-and-out riot.
    Without another word Phelps drove for the Ministries, Cunsher at his heels. Doctor Svenson took Miss Temple’s hand, only to notice that Chang had taken her other.
    ‘It was Foison in the coach,’ Chang called over the noise. ‘They made Ropp into their weapon.’
    ‘But how?’ Miss Temple’s cheeks were wet with tears. ‘What did they
do
to him?’
    ‘The Process!’ Svenson shouted. ‘Overturning a man’s mind is the Comte’s first principle.’ He flinched at the crash of an ordered volley. The crowd ahead of them roiled and then split before a squadron of black-jacketed lancers, each man’s high czapka sporting a single red plume.
    ‘Behind!’ yelled Phelps. ‘Cross behind!’
    The horsemen clattered past – lances menacingly low – and the way was momentarily clear. Phelps dashed forward and they followed at a run. With a shock Svenson saw an entire column of infantry advancing behind the lancers.
    ‘Are they planning to kill
everyone
?’ Chang yelled across Miss Temple’s head.
    Svenson had no reply. Only moments ago a single line of cavalry had seemed an ample expression of force.
    A line of constables blocked their final passage to the Ministries. Phelps shouldered his way to the front.
    ‘
Officer!
’
    A constable with frightened wide eyes spun to face him, but Phelps retained an official bearing that won the man’s attention.
    ‘Why are only you officers posted here? Does no one realize the danger?’ Phelps’s voice sharpened. ‘I am Mr Phelps, attaché to the Privy Council. What provisions have been made for securing the
underpassage
?’
    ‘Underpassage?’
    Phelps pointed past to the maze of white buildings. ‘To StäelmaereHouse! Through it one can access both the Ministries
and
the Palace. How many men have you posted?’
    The constable gaped at Phelps’s extended, damning finger. ‘Why … no men at all.’
    ‘O Lord
above
, man! There is no time!’
    Phelps burst through the line of policemen. The constable darted after. ‘Wait now, sir – you can’t – all these people – you cannot –’
    ‘They are with me!’ snapped Phelps. ‘And no one will bar my passage until