The Chemickal Marriage

has killed them.’
    He lifted the light towards the roof of their tunnel. ‘This has been more recently bricked in, of an age with the bridge, I would guess.’
    ‘Deceased labourers.’ Chang turned away and spat. ‘Their bodies hidden away.’
    ‘Hardly unusual,’ said Miss Temple quietly.
    ‘What does that mean?’ asked Chang.
    ‘It means people always die doing this work – making things like bridges and spires and railway stations –’
    ‘Or growing sugar cane.’
    Miss Temple met Chang’s gaze and shrugged. ‘People walk on bones every minute of the day.’ She leant forward and gave Francesca’s arm a friendly squeeze.
    They emerged into a basement corridor, startling a round-faced porter with a mop and bucket, his uniform protected by a cotton apron. His expression of surprise vanished abruptly when he saw the dust upon their clothes.
    ‘You were at the cathedral.’ His voice was hushed.
    ‘I’m afraid we lost our way,’ replied Doctor Svenson.
    ‘Of course you did.’ The porter’s head bobbed in sympathy, and he pointed behind him. ‘It’s back through the trading hall. But I didn’t think – they’re not letting people in, even family. Only from the hospital –’
    ‘I am a physician,’ said Svenson quickly.
    ‘O – well then. I’m told the Shipping Board is given over as well – not that there’s trading today, nor any shipping –’
    The porter hesitated, as if he doubted his licence to say more. His eyes fell to Miss Temple and the girl. ‘If you don’t mind my speaking, it’s no sight for a lady, or a child. No sight for anyone. Straight from hell itself.’
    ‘Thank you for your kindness,’ said Miss Temple softly. The porter excused himself, fumbling for words. He hurried away, but not before Miss Temple noticed that the water in his bucket was stained red.
    On her visit to the Customs House, Miss Temple had been shown the famous trading hall like a child visiting a grist mill is shown the great wheel. She had dutifully murmured amazement at the clamour around the dais, where busy clerks posted the latest figures in chalk. Her father’s agent had escorted her to the firm’s own office above the fray, hoping to shed her presence after a single cup of tea, but Miss Temple had insisted on examining every ledger, matching her resolve against that of the crisp-cuffed men forced to attend her. In the end she had affected a grudging satisfaction, aware that reticence and a scowling demeanour were her best defence against thievery. She had decided to get a recommendation from Roger for someone to study her accounts independently. No doubt that person would have been enmeshed with the Cabal, and she shuddered to think how near her holdings had come to being plundered …
    But now the enormous trading hall was silent. Heatless shafts of morning light fell onto rows and rows of oblong bundles, quite unmistakably human beings, covering the entire floor. At first it seemed the trading hall had been given over as a dormitory for Chang’s dispossessed, but then she perceived their utter stillness, the shapeless huddling … there had to be
hundreds
… hadn’t the porter said the Shipping Board had been so consigned as well? He’d said something else … the
cathedral
–
    Moving through the bodies were several cloaked figures, some standing,some bent low, making observations. Were they Ministry officials? Or perhaps the bereaved searching amongst the dead – only a few let in at a time, out of decency? One figure waved to the others. A lantern was shone on the corpse in question, and a satchel brought forward. The crouching man rifled the bag’s contents, but his back was to Miss Temple and she could not see his work.
    The crouching figure rose and hobbled along the row of bodies – an elderly man, walking with a cane. He must be a doctor, or a savant from the Royal Society. Surely the authorities had found the glass spurs, but had they placed them as the source of the chaos?
    Before Miss Temple could step forward or call out – not that she
would
have called out – Cardinal Chang pulled her from the archway.
    ‘The
scale
of it,’ Svenson whispered. Miss Temple assumed he meant the slaughter, but then the Doctor waved back towards the storage room in which they had emerged. ‘The bridge closed, the riverfront seized – now the Customs House shut down?
And
the Shipping Board? There are private warehouses that could be guarded to contain rumours, but they use