The Chemickal Marriage (34 page)

‘I am aware of it, yet I think we have a few minutes to extend this
fascinating
talk.’

‘You speak of Vandaariff’s fist. According to Doctor Svenson, these explosions apparently elude your concern.’

‘On the contrary, I am inspired to avoid large gatherings.’

‘Is that why you quit the Palace?’

‘The Palace is in actuality as dreary as a beehive – the buzzing of
drones
–’

‘
Enough
. On every front where Vandaariff has extended himself, you have only ceded ground. The explosions, his control of Axewith, martial law, property seizures – you have opposed none of it.’

‘How could I? Have you?’

‘I have tried.’

‘With what result, apart from Celeste Temple being blown to rags?’ The Contessa reached for a small clutch bag at her side. Chang caught her hand and she disdainfully opened the bag to reveal a flat lacquered case and her cigarette holder.

‘How did you know that?’ he asked tightly.

‘How do you think? From the wife of a deputy minister who heard it directly from Vandaariff himself – what else is that gaggle of harpies good for? I am at least
informed
.’ The Contessa wedged a white cigarette into her holder. She set a match to the tip, shut her eyes as she inhaled, and then let the smoke out through her nose. ‘Sweet Christ.’

Her momentary surrender to pleasure – or, if not pleasure, relief – brought the taste of opium back to Chang’s mind. How simple it would have been to preserve just one of Lady Axewith’s jewels. The Contessa waved the smoke from her face.

‘Oskar was never like the rest of us. He truly
is
an artist, with the calling’s every dreadful quality. He seeks no sensation for itself, but only to further his
work
.’

‘But Oskar Veilandt is not Robert Vandaariff. You saw what happened at Parchfeldt – if you have tasted that book, you
know
what he’s become. Whatever may have guided his intentions before –’

‘I disagree – or, yes, he has changed his destination, but not the path. Not his
style
.’

‘You cannot pretend this
chaos
is what the Comte d’Orkancz would have done.’

‘Of course not, but neither does he care about it now.’

‘I have seen him care for nothing else!’

‘You are wrong. He stretches the canvas and sets his paints in order. He has not
begun
.’

‘But the city –’

‘The city can burn.’

‘But Axewith –’

‘Every lord and every minister can burn as well – to Oskar they are mindless ants.’

‘But how can you stand apart –’

‘For the moment, I am trying to survive.’

Chang snorted with disbelief. ‘The day you are content with mere scrabbling –’

‘Don’t be a damned fool!’ hissed the Contessa. ‘That day has dawned. Ask the corpse of Celeste Temple if it hasn’t.’

At the Contessa’s instruction, the coach left them in a trim French-styled square of gravel paths and flowers. Chang helped the Contessa to the cobbles, scanning the park for any sign of Vandaariff’s agents. The Contessa
thrust coins into the driver’s hand, whispering in the man’s ear. Before Chang could overhear she had broken off, walking along the square.

‘This way, Cardinal, if you insist on coming.’

Many of the large houses bore brass plaques, some announcing a nation’s diplomatic mission, in other cases an especially exclusive practice in medicine or the law. That the streets were empty seemed a strangely opposite reaction to the city’s turmoil. Were these enclaves so protected? The Contessa paused at a narrow alley next to the Moldovar Legation. She took his hand, turning so as not to drag her dress against the wall, and held a finger to her lips for silence. He had assumed their destination to be the embassy, but instead it was the mansion next door, a servant’s entrance, he would have said, though the alley was too narrow to allow deliveries. The Contessa rapped lightly, then looked past Chang’s shoulder.

‘Is that man watching us from the street?’

He turned, like an idiot, and then it was too late. He felt the edge against his neck – a blue glass card snapped raggedly along its length.

‘I have not been entirely honest,’ the Contessa confessed.

The wooden door opened, to Chang’s utter disgust.

‘Well, look who it is!’

Jack Pfaff gave the Contessa an adoring smile.

Pfaff relieved Chang of his stick and led them in. The ground floor of the house had been converted to the needs of a consulting physician, with examination rooms, surgery and a private study, where the proprietor awaited them.

‘Doctor Piersohn, Cardinal Chang. We have little time – Cardinal, if you would remove your clothes.’ The Contessa nodded to Pfaff, who pulled apart Chang’s stick. She rummaged in her bag and set to fitting a cigarette to her holder. Chang had not moved.

‘Your
clothes
, Cardinal. Piersohn must examine you. We must send an answer at once.’

‘What answer?’ Chang gazed coldly at Piersohn, who stood behind his desk. The Doctor was short and barrel-chested. His protuberant eyes were
ringed with the faintest excrescence of dried plum: the fading scars of the Process. Piersohn’s thick hair matched the surgical coat he wore over a patterned waistcoat, and shone with pomade. His hands were chapped like a laundress’s. Chang wondered what sort of practice Piersohn actually pursued.

‘To Robert Vandaariff, of course,’ replied the Contessa. ‘He has offered an exchange, and I must decide how best to
prepare
the one sent.’

‘Prepare for what?’

‘For God’s sake – will you take off your coat at least? I promise you I have seen a man in his shirtsleeves and will not faint.’

Chang began to undo the red silk buttons of the cleric’s coat. He glanced at Pfaff, measuring the distance between them. The Doctor, behind the desk, could be discounted, and the Contessa had made the mistake of sitting down. The dagger cane would be an unfamiliar weapon to Pfaff, and, once Chang’s coat was off – their request put his best weapon straight in hand – it would be a moment’s work to whip it across Pfaff’s eyes and step past the blade. Two swift blows and Pfaff would be down. Chang did not even need to recover the dagger. He could snatch up an end table and dash out the Contessa’s brains.

He slipped off the scarlet coat and took casual hold of the collar. ‘If you hope to exchange me, may I ask what you will receive in trade?’

The Contessa blew smoke at the ceiling. ‘Not what, but whom. I was not strictly forthcoming during our ride. Celeste Temple lives. Vandaariff has her, and offers her to me, in hopes that I will hand over Francesca Trapping. However, my
intuition
says he would be even more delighted to get
you
.’

Chang blinked behind his dark spectacles.

‘That is a lie, to make me cooperate.’

‘It is not.’

‘Why should I trust you, of all people on earth?’

‘Because our interests are one. Besides, Cardinal, can you afford
not
to believe me? Will you fail her yet again?’

The Contessa’s face might have been made of porcelain for all he could penetrate her thoughts. He knew she viewed his compliance with contempt.

‘Where do you gain in this? Celeste Temple is your enemy.’

‘She remains useful – providing Oskar has not too much
despoiled
her, of course – another reason time is of the essence. Because I will
not
deliver Francesca Trapping –’

‘As you’ve given her to Doctor Svenson.’

‘I have done nothing of the kind. She is quite easily recovered.’

‘You underestimate him.’

‘The question is whether I have underestimated
you
. If you do not choose with speed, I must refuse his offer, and Miss Temple will surely die.’

‘What would you have done had I not found you?’

‘Something else. But once you did appear, I was able to oblige everyone. Our driver has carried word to Vandaariff.’

‘Then take me to him and be done with it.’

‘I said I was obliging, not that I was stupid. Take off your
shirt
.’

She tapped her ash into a dish of liquorice sweets. ‘Near the base of the spine, Doctor. Any
adaptation
will be there.’

Chang draped his coat over a chair and set his spectacles atop it. He hauled his black shirt over his head, restored the spectacles and laid the shirt next to the coat. Piersohn had come around the desk, pulling behind him a standing tray of shining implements.

‘So many scars.’ The Contessa studied Chang’s bare torso. ‘Like one of Oskar’s paintings. Sigils, he calls them – as if some ancient, lost god has scratched its name on your flesh. Isn’t that a charming thought, Cardinal, fit for poetry?’

‘Fit for a graveyard,’ said Pfaff. He aimed the stick at a line along Chang’s ribcage. ‘How’d you get that one?’

‘Do you mind, sir?’ snapped Piersohn, waving the stick away.

Pfaff only lifted it out of reach and then, as soon as the Doctor’s attention returned to his tools, darted it forward, tapping Chang’s scar. Chang snatched at the haft, but Pfaff, laughing, was too quick.

‘Please, Jack,’ the Contessa called genially. ‘The
time
.’

Pfaff grinned, his point made, and gave the Doctor room.

‘If you would turn, and place your hands there.’ The Doctor indicated a leather-topped table. Chang did as he was asked, leaning forward.

‘Christ in heaven!’ blurted Pfaff. ‘Is it plague?’

‘Be
quiet
, Jack!’ hissed the Contessa.

Chang felt the rough tips of Piersohn’s fingers palpate the perimeter of his wound.

‘The original puncture just missed the spine on one side and the kidney on the other – a shallow wound, and lucky, as the blade pulled upwards –’

‘
Yes
,’ the Contessa said impatiently. ‘But what has been
done
? That
colour
.’

Piersohn pressed against the object Vandaariff had placed in Chang’s body. Chang clenched his jaw, not at pain, for he felt none, but at a queasy discomfort. Each time Piersohn touched the wound, Chang sensed more clearly the piece of glass inside him. Piersohn reached to feel Chang’s forehead.

‘The inflammation,’ the Contessa asked, ‘is it sepsis or an effect of the stone?’

‘As far as I can determine, the discoloration is inert, almost a kind of stain.’ Doctor Piersohn resumed his pressure on Chang’s back. ‘Is this painful?’

‘No.’

The Contessa leant over the arm of her chair so she could see Chang’s face. ‘Did he say
anything
? You must tell me, Cardinal, even if you took it for nonsense –’

Chang stared at the table. He could feel the heat in his face and sweat under each eye. ‘He told me I could cut his throat in three days.’

‘What?’

‘Just that. As if it were a joke.’

‘When?’ The Contessa shot to her feet. ‘
When did he say this?
’

‘Three days ago. Today is the day. Believe me, I am perfectly willing to take him up on his offer –’ Chang turned at the rattle of Piersohn taking something from his tray. ‘If that man draws a drop of blood I will break his neck.’

The Contessa whispered in Piersohn’s ear, ‘Pray do not mind. He is deranged.’

‘That seems all the more reason
to
mind, madam.’

‘Is drawing blood strictly necessary?’

‘All manner of tests depend upon it.’

‘Derangement, Doctor, mere derangement –’

‘But what threads bind him to reason? Without knowing the
programme
of his new master –’

‘I have no master!’ shouted Chang.

The Contessa nodded to one of the squat bottles. ‘Very well, Doctor. Do what you can.’

The Doctor doused a ball of cotton wool from the bottle, staining it a pale orange. ‘Now, let us see. If the inflammation recedes –’

‘It won’t,’ said Chang quickly. Piersohn paused, the cotton suspended inches from Chang’s lower back. ‘Doctor Svenson attempted a similar procedure, with the same orange mineral, with drastic results.’

‘Doctor Svenson?’ asked Piersohn. ‘Who is he? Did he even know how to apply –’

The Contessa grasped the Doctor’s arm. ‘Drastic how, Cardinal?’

‘I was not in a position to take notes,’ replied Chang. ‘The inflammation deepened and spread. He also applied blue glass, with an equally dismal effect – a congestion in the lungs –’

‘An imbecile could have foreseen
that
,’ sniffed Piersohn.

‘Shouldn’t you cut him open?’ asked Pfaff. ‘If we want to see what it is, that’s the simplest way.’

‘Why don’t I open up your head?’ Chang growled.

‘Hush. I have an idea of my own.’ Chang felt the Contessa’s slim fingers on his spine and tensed himself. ‘Try the iron.’

Piersohn dunked another cotton ball from a second bottle. Chang inhaled sharply as it touched his wound, icy cold. He could not hear them speak for a hissing in each ear. He arched his back and broke the contact.

‘A palpable reaction,’ muttered Piersohn, ‘but it fades already. Perhaps if we try the metals in sequence –’

‘What in hell are you doing?’ demanded Chang. It was as if he had returned to the table at Raaxfall.

‘Isolating the alchemical compound, of course.’

Chang flinched again. The taste of ash curled his tongue.

‘Why, look at
that
. Do keep going, Doctor …’

Chang shut his eyes, wanting to pull away, to thrash Pfaff to a pulp, to kick Piersohn across the room, but he did not move, knuckles whitening as he squeezed the table. Celeste Temple was alive. If he was not exchanged, there was no telling what Vandaariff would do.

The next application sent sparks across his vision. The one after that was like he’d been pricked with a hundred needles. The one following – against every bit of reason – sparked a vivid
scent
. Chang had lacked the ability to smell for more than ten years, but now he shook his head at the searing aroma of cordite. The next set off a fire in his loins and for the instant of contact he felt like a bull in rut, snorting air through each nostril with the shock of it. Then the cotton ball was removed and he gasped with relief, barely noting the Doctor’s procedural murmur.