The Chemickal Marriage

desk and opened the window. Did he think to draw pursuit away? He hauled himself through to the waist. He held a handful of papers from the desk and flung them out.
    ‘A trail to follow,’ he said, jumping down. ‘The ledge is wide and the roof is flat – why are you not in the damned closet?’
    Chang yanked it open and propelled her into a line of hanging garments.
    ‘There is no
room
!’
    The back of the wardrobe had hooks from which cloaks had been hung and Chang shoved her beneath them. Then the doors were shut and he was with her, limbs overlapping, bodies crammed together. Chang squeezed her arm, his words faint as a sigh.
    ‘They are here.’
    Miss Temple heard nothing. She had reached to steady herself and taken hold of Chang’s belt in the dark. Chang had shifted, settling his weight, and one knee rolled forward, gently, to press between her legs. The corners of her mind began to crawl.
    From outside came a scrape of floorboards – someone climbing on the desk. She tightened her grip. She wanted to lean forward and kiss his mouth. She tipped her body against the hardness of his knee. She bit her lip to keep silent.
    With another shudder she heard his breath in her ear. ‘Do not be afraid …’
    She almost laughed aloud. He thought she shook with fear. She squeezed his hand. It would be the simplest thing to guide it to her breast.
    The door to the wardrobe opened. The hanging clothes were jostled. She went still at the
chok
of a blade thrust home above her head. Another thrust, near her hand –
chok
! – and then a third, piercing the cloak directly between them. The blade was pulled free and the wardrobe door slammed shut.
    They waited, Miss Temple at the edge of her control. Chang patted her hand. She rocked her body forward in a last sensual grind before he crawled cautiously out.
    ‘They’ve gone.’
    She pushed the cloaks away, feeling the heat in her face. He reached to extricate her. She did not meet his gaze.
    Miss Temple opened her eyes. She jumped up, sure she had heard the jingle of metal.
    A key scratched at the lock, slipped in, then turned. Miss Temple crept to the wall. The door swung inwards. She would kick as hard she could, jump through the door –
    ‘I know you are there. Do not attempt to break my head.’
    It was a voice she knew. ‘Mr Pfaff?’
    Jack Pfaff peered around the doorframe. ‘As ever.’
    Miss Temple restrained herself from rushing to his arms, content to present her still-bound wrists. Pfaff drew a knife and smiled as the cords gave way. Miss Temple began to rub the vivid marks, but Pfaff put his own hands on hers, chafing the skin to life.
    ‘What have they done to you? And your poor arm!’
    ‘It is nothing.’ She pulled her hands away, disquieted by a lingering ache from her dream. ‘Where have you been? How did you get a key to this awful prison? Who told you I was here?’
    ‘First, we’ll make you safe.’ Pfaff took Miss Temple’s uninjured arm. ‘Can you walk?’
    ‘Do not doubt it.’ Miss Temple made a point to lift her dress with both hands, despite a stab of pain. ‘But you must answer as we go. Where have you
been
?’
    ‘Following the glass, as we agreed.’ Pfaff laid a hand against her back, yetsuch was her relief that she did not slap it away. ‘As for the keys to this place, I found them in the outer door, as was arranged.’
    ‘
Arranged?
’ Miss Temple spun to face him.
    ‘We’re not out of it yet, miss. You must trust me and play along.’
    ‘Play along with what?’
    ‘Kicking and cursing will be enough. I shall take your weight with my other hand, so it will
appear
that I drag you by the hair. Here we go!’
    Pfaff shoved the vault door wide. One insolent hand snaked round her waist while the other seized her curls. Before she could protest, Pfaff deftly tripped her ankles, so he entered the lane dragging her behind. She did her genuine best to kick and scratch, and shrieked aloud when – having jostled him off balance – Pfaff did yank her hair so hard she feared it would rip.
    He staggered through the Egyptian gate. No black-cloaked men, no green uniforms, only a single coach with a shabby fellow holding the reins.
    ‘There!’ Pfaff cried, speaking loudly. ‘And I’ll have no more of your nonsense!’
    He shoved her in the coach. She scrambled onto her back, kicking out. He caught her foot and closed the door. The driver cracked his whip and eased his team forward. Pfaff paused … listening … then sat