The Chemickal Marriage

been forgotten. Was there a plainer emblem of mortal doom than the extravagant portrait of an unremembered peer?
    The Ministry of War blocked his view of St Isobel’s Square, but beyond its slate rooftops echoed regular spatters of musketry. That gunfire continued after the lancers and the column of infantry only confirmed the extent of the uprising, and the savagery employed to put it down.
    To his left was a small wooden door. Svenson put an ear against it. Miss Temple motioned to return. Instead, the Doctor carefully turned the knob and eased the door open: a bare landing with a staircase leading down and,unexpectedly, continuing up. Was there a higher floor Phelps had not mentioned? He walked back to the others.
    ‘What did you see?’ asked Miss Temple.
    ‘Nothing at all,’ he said. ‘There is more gunfire in the square.’
    ‘Even better for a distraction,’ said Chang, stepping behind Svenson and Miss Temple and herding them along. Chang leant close to Svenson’s ear. ‘What
did
you see?’
    Svenson shook his head. ‘Nothing – truly –’
    ‘Then what is
wrong
with you?’
    By then they had reached Phelps, who laid a hand on the door behind him and spoke in a nervous rush. ‘Stäelmaere House is all but abandoned, under quarantine. The lower floors are a sick ward. The Privy Council has shifted to the Palace, and Axewith and Vandaariff will meet in the Marble Gallery, only a minute’s walk from the Queen herself. Axewith must be desperate, practically begging Vandaariff for the money to solve the crisis –’
    ‘But is money the issue?’ asked Miss Temple.
    ‘No, which Axewith does not understand. Without sound strategy, Vandaariff’s entire treasure is but a bandage on an unstitched wound. The crisis will continue, and Vandaariff has to know it.’
    ‘Then why appear?’ asked Chang. ‘Why associate himself with Axewith’s failure?’
    ‘Perhaps he only seeks an excuse to enter the Palace,’ said Cunsher.
    At this Phelps opened the door and hurried them through. ‘We are now in the Palace. We will
quietly
descend and proceed east – east, I repeat – until the décor changes first to lemon, and then to a
darker
yellow, like the yolk of a freshly poached egg. It is a question of concentric
layers
– ah … here is the balcony.’
    Svenson forced a yawn in hopes it might end the nagging whine in his ears. He looked at the faded and splitting blue wallpaper. Why had this wing of the Palace been allowed to go to seed? When had its last royal resident died – and was its lack of care an expression of poverty or grief? Svenson found the squalor a comfort.
    Phelps started down the staircase and Svenson followed, last in line, the revolver heavy in his hand. His eyes darted along the opposite balconies,recalling a mission to Vienna long ago, a search for documents that had brought him to an abandoned brothel … bedsheets spread across a barrelhead, upon which a consumptive whore played cards with a one-legged pensioner –
    Phelps hissed from the foot of the stairs and pointed to a heavy door. ‘Remember the walls: blue, then lemon –’
    ‘Then a poultry yard, yes,’ Chang sighed. ‘We have grasped the sequence.’
    ‘It is a precaution if we become separated.’
    ‘We will only become separated if we are seen – and in that case we all know enough to run for our lives.’
    It was an ill-timed remark, for as the sour words left the Cardinal’s mouth Mr Phelps opened the door. Directly before them stood a detachment of the Palace guard in helmets, doublets and hose – holding
halberds
of all things – and a group of men in black topcoats. One of these, with pale hair and a waxed moustache, yelped in shock, staring at Phelps.
    ‘You!’
    ‘Harcourt!’ cried Phelps, but Cunsher lunged at the door and slammed it closed. The door leapt in his hands as the soldiers pushed from the opposite side.
    ‘Run!’ shouted Chang, seizing Miss Temple’s arm. ‘
Run!
’
    The door was flung wide and an axelike blade shot through, nearly severing Cunsher’s arm. The others fled, but Svenson raised the revolver with an unfamiliar coolness and fired into the mass of men. The two in front sprawled, but a guard behind came on, his long weapon aimed at Svenson’s chest. A third bullet and this man toppled into the guards behind him.
    The fire drew their pursuers, and Svenson retreated up the stairs, hopping like a hare as a halberd stabbed through the railing. He fired again, splintering