The Chemickal Marriage

he been kept alive only for revenge?

A voice reached him from beyond the glare, soft, chuckling.

‘You have been so long away from any light as to be a mole.’

Chang blinked and made out a padded chair. In it, business attire shielded by an oilcloth apron, sat Robert Vandaariff.

‘You are under my protection.’

Vandaariff used a thin black cane to rise and advanced to the table. His steps were brittle and, as he entered the light, his face revealed new lines of age.

‘Reincarnation disagrees with you.’ Chang’s voice was raw. ‘You look like a fishwife’s dinner.’

‘And you have not seen a mirror.’

‘Now that I’m awake, might I have my clothes?’

‘Are you cold?’

‘I am naked.’

‘Are you ashamed?’ Vandaariff’s eyes drifted across Chang’s body. ‘A handsome man – barring the scars, of course. So many scars … knives mostly, by the stitching. But your face … the damage there is singular – and to most tastes horrifying, I’m sure. The eyes are abnormally sensitive – even when asleep you flinch from a lantern. Do you mind my asking the cause?’

‘A riding crop.’

‘Viciously applied. How long ago?’

‘Where are my clothes?’

‘I’ve no idea. Burnt? No, Cardinal Chang, you remain almost as you were born. For one, to increase the difficulty of slipping away, were you – ever resourceful – to manage it. But, in the main, it makes you easier to study.’

‘Study how?’

‘Such a hopeful question. I will ask one in return, now we are speaking. What do you remember?’

The words hung between them, and Chang knew his inability to recall a thing since the forest was a direct result of something Vandaariff had done. With nothing else to say he could only hope to provoke the man.

‘I remember putting a sabre through your guts on the airship.’

‘But that was not me at all,’ Vandaariff replied mildly. ‘That was the poor Comte d’Orkancz. I was at Harschmort House, left behind by all my former friends.’

‘Left an idiot, you mean. I saw you – him – and I saw everything at Parchfeldt! How in hell did you survive? That mob was set to tear you to pieces.’

‘Very good. The airship and the factory. And after that? What, Cardinal Chang, do you remember next?’

Chang pulled against the chains and exhaled through his nose.

‘If you have done anything to me – I promise you –’

‘Done? I have saved your life.’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘Another excellent question. You are abrim.’

Chang turned at a sound to his left – a panel flush with the wall, swinging clear. A tall man in a shining black coat stepped through, silk rustling against the doorframe. Though he was not old, white hair hung to the man’s collar, and his skin was as brown as a Malay sailor’s. He sank into a silent bow and then spoke gently, tamed.

‘My apologies, my lord …’

‘Yes?’

‘Another incident at the gate. A single man. Not from the town.’

‘Not from the town? Gracious, is he alive?’

‘He is.’ The white-haired man met Chang’s gaze without expression.

‘Bring him, Mr Foison,’ said Vandaariff heartily. ‘We will seize the opportunity to learn.’

Foison bowed and left the room. What town? Chang could see nothing to place where he was. If only he were not so weak. Through the door came the sounds of men lugging a burden. Vandaariff rubbed his hands as if this bespoke an awaited meal.

‘What of the others?’ Chang could not help himself. ‘Celeste Temple, Svenson, the Contessa?’

‘Do you not know?’

‘I’ve asked, haven’t I? Tell me, damn you!’

‘Why, they are all dead,’ answered Vandaariff. Then he smiled. ‘That is, dead or entirely mine.’

Chuckling, he limped through the door and pulled it tight. The walls were not so dense as to stop the screams. It was a relief when Foison finally re-entered with the ether and sent Chang to darkness.

He was shocked to wakefulness, face down again, by a sudden freeze across his lower back, sharp as an animal’s bite.

‘Do not move,’ Vandaariff intoned. ‘It will only prolong the struggle.’

‘What … struggle is that?’ gasped Chang, his chin grinding into the planking.

‘A struggle of metals.’ The chill curled to the base of Chang’s spine. ‘Alchemy tells us of different metals linked in a lattice of power. The natural blood of your body, Cardinal Chang, is suffused with iron – thus we have begun with a vector of quite traditional magnetism.’

‘You’re insane, mad as a foaming dog.’

‘Your body was depleted of course – vital salts, ethereal compounds. After this restoration, the true work may begin …’

Just beyond the light stood Foison, silent, white hair glowing in the shadow. The cold seeped past Chang’s pelvis to his legs. His teeth were chattering.

‘I killed you once. I’ll do it again.’ Chang could scarcely speak. ‘What true work?’

‘A cloth in his mouth, Mr Foison. It would be a shame if his shivering broke a tooth.’ Vandaariff leant to Chang’s ear. ‘The true work of heaven, Cardinal.’

Their final conversation had been prefaced by the entrance of Foison. In the man’s hand was a ceramic bowl with a wooden spoon sticking out. He saw Chang was awake and set the bowl aside. Inside lay a sickly dollop of grey paste.

‘Is that what I’ve been eating? If you free my hand I could feed myself.’

Foison ignored him, glancing instead to Chang’s groin.

‘Do you need the bucket?’

‘And you’re cleaning me as well? I trust the privy-work hasn’t spoilt your lovely sleeves.’

Foison only pulled at the chains and, satisfied with their sureness, left the room.

‘What about the true work of my supper?’ Chang called mockingly.

The cold had left his body eventually, the gradual warming keeping pace until he burnt with fever. This too had passed. His back remained numb around the wound, but Chang no longer felt an invalid’s weakness.

Vandaariff hobbled in with the cane, a leather satchel tucked beneath his arm. He set the satchel down and dug a gloved hand inside. Chang heard clicking, like the beads of an abacus, and Vandaariff emerged with a fistful of blue glass cards. He laid them on the table as if he were playing Patience, eyes unpleasantly bright.

‘No apron?’ Chang asked.

‘Not today.’

‘Are those for me?’

‘You will look into them. I prefer not to prise back your lids, but Foison is within call.’

‘What events do they hold? What do you want me to see?’

‘Nothing at all,’ said Vandaariff. ‘I want your body to feel.’

The first card plunged Chang into the midst of a rousing country dance, a farm girl to either side. Fiddle music sang in his ears. Vandaariff pulled the card away and he was back in the nasty room, panting, sweat on his limbs.

Vandaariff raised the second card. Chang balanced on the edge of an icy rooftop. Three yards away, across an abyss of five flights, stood the next building. Men ran towards him, shouting, waving clubs. He steeled himself and leapt – and once more Vandaariff pulled the card away. Chang’s breath heaved. His body pressed against the chains.