The Chemickal Marriage

this – by
design
. We know the explosions were deliberate – and now, just as deliberately, the city is strangled to a halt.’
    ‘Axewith and Vandaariff,’ said Chang. ‘
This
is why they met.’
    ‘But
why
?’ asked Miss Temple. ‘Even if Vandaariff wishes everything in ruins, why should the Privy Council agree to –’
    ‘The oldest lure of all,’ said Svenson. ‘He has given the Ministry an excuse to expand its power. Whether Axewith is a pliant fool or a knowing rogue scarcely matters. If money cannot move and the streets are filled with soldiers, who can fight him?’
    Miss Temple did not understand at all. ‘But how does expanding Axewith’s power serve Vandaariff? I should think it makes it harder for any villainy to occur. As you say, soldiers on every street corner –’
    ‘But
whose
soldiers?’ Svenson asked with a vexing certainty. Miss Temple knew her mind was not strategic – the month after next might as well be Peru – but the Doctor spoke as if the world were a chess game worked out three moves in advance.
    Chang eased himself between them, speaking quietly. ‘Whether thiscarnage justifies the soldiers or conceals their purpose, they
are
in place – and, especially after the gunplay in the Palace, they reduce
our
efforts to skulking.’
    ‘As being in hiding has reduced the Contessa’s,’ added the Doctor, ‘and if we
are
in her position, perhaps we can better understand her own intentions. Remember, she was in the Palace, but showed no interest in Vandaariff’s meeting with Axewith –’
    ‘All the more reason not to emulate her methods,’ replied Miss Temple.
    ‘That she follows a separate path does not make it
wrong
.’
    Miss Temple huffed. ‘But all that has so exercised you – the soldiers, these writs, the Ministry – if those have nothing to do with the Contessa, then why do we speak of her? There are only the three of us – which would you have us address? Vandaariff, the Ministries or the Contessa?’
    Svenson sighed. ‘We must address them all. I cannot see which holds the key.’
    ‘But that is
impossible
–’ Miss Temple stopped at a sour exclamation from Chang. ‘What?’
    ‘Keys. I had forgotten. The book that contains the Comte’s memories. The Contessa forged glass keys to read it safely.’
    Miss Temple clenched her throat. ‘Even with a key that book is deadly.’
    ‘The Contessa is no fool.’ Svenson laid a gentle hand on Francesca’s shoulder. ‘She would recruit an exceptionally brave assistant to do the reading for her.’
    The girl acted as if she did not hear, idly rubbing her shoe against the floor, proud of her secrets.
    The cloaked figures had left the trading hall. At Chang’s insistence they clung to the edge on their own way across, creeping beneath the great chalkboards upon which the previous day’s figures were still visible. Atop the dais stood a massive clock, large enough to be seen from the floor. Its ticking echoed oddly – perhaps the machine contained a double works to prevent winding down in the midst of trading. To Miss Temple, the doubled ticking only made clear the narrowness of her luck. But for Chang’s swift action in the square, she might well have lain amongst these anonymous dead.
    They were nearly to the other side when Svenson pressed Francesca’s hand into Miss Temple’s, to the dismay of both.
    ‘A moment. Keep going, I beg you.’
    The Doctor dashed through the lanes of bodies to where the party of cloaked men had been. He knelt, lifting the covering from several corpses in turn. Svenson went still, staring down, then hurried to rejoin them.
    Chang extended a hand for silence. They had reached the other side, and he cautiously peered into the column-swept portico. Miss Temple detected voices echoing from the front entrance.
    She turned to ask what Svenson had seen, but the words died in her throat. From the field of corpses three figures had risen, wrapped in sheets like ghosts on the stage. Then the sheets fell away to reveal three cloaked men, positioned to block any angle of retreat. Beneath their cloaks Miss Temple glimpsed flashes of green. Soldiers from Raaxfall.
    A dry chuckle drifted from the portico and from the columns emerged three more soldiers, Mr Foison and the man – the one amused – who’d hobbled with a cane.
    ‘Forgive my little ruse,’ called Robert Vandaariff. ‘Spirits from beyond! And yet you were fooled – of
course
you were, so inevitable as to be
dull
.’ The