The Chemickal Marriage

‘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, yet such 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 back with a smile.

‘I think we’ve done it –’

Her boot landed square on his kneecap. He clutched it with both hands, hissing with pain. ‘O! O – damn you to hell!’

‘If I had any weapon now you would be dead,’ she spat. ‘If you ever take such liberties again I will see your back flayed white!’

Pfaff rubbed his knee. ‘You’re an ungrateful witch. Do you know where we are? How many eyes observe our every move?’

‘I will not be trifled with.’

‘That is no answer!’

‘I am not obliged to answer. Do you remain in my employ or don’t you?’

‘I am not in the habit of accepting such abuse from anyone.’

‘But you are in the habit of flinging a woman without care like a bale of cloth?’

‘You’ve seen worse, I’m sure.’

To these hot words she said nothing, taking the moment to settle her dress. Pfaff smirked at its condition.

‘What’s he like, anyways?’

‘Who?’

‘Robert Vandaariff. I once caught a glimpse of his hat, on Race Day at the Circus. Did he mention the Contessa?’ His gaze drifted across her body. ‘Did he … mistreat you?’

‘What is that?’

She pointed to a leather notebook poking from Pfaff’s orange coat.

‘Why, do you know it?’

‘Of course I do. You were under the bridge. You took this from Minister Crabbe’s laboratory. That notebook belonged to Roger Bascombe.’

‘It did indeed. I’ll admit, Miss Temple, I only half believed your stories – but now …’ He broke off with a grin, showing his brown teeth. ‘I kept it for you. Don’t you want to peek inside?’

‘I do not.’

‘Liar.’ He tossed the notebook onto her lap, then laughed at her discomfort. ‘You act like I’ve given you a scorpion.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Come, how else could I learn where you were, or collect you without being killed? You thought the glassworks would lead to Vandaariff, but they led to her.’

‘Why should she want me saved? She hates me.’

‘She described you to Vandaariff’s messenger as her intimate.’

‘Nonsense.’

Pfaff gave his own sceptical shrug. ‘It saved your life.’

She could not read him – did Pfaff remain her man or not? She did her best to soften her tone. ‘Do you know, Mr Pfaff, that every man you hired in my service has been killed?’

‘That’s a pity. I think Corporal Brine quite liked your maid.’

Perhaps Pfaff never felt sorry about anything. Chang’s ill-will for the man stewed inside her. Why had she ever defended him?

‘Why was I taken to the Vandaariff crypt?’

‘Because it is isolated, I suppose, and easy to observe.’

Miss Temple knew this was wrong, and berated herself for not having examined every inch of the place. But there seemed nothing to find – the Comte had so little expressed himself in its making. If the real Ishtar Gate indeed had blue tile, the Comte’s improved artistic version would have been made from coal and painted blood red.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Nowhere at all until I’m sure we aren’t followed …’

Pfaff pressed his face against the window. Miss Temple scooted to the opposite side. She did not recognize these streets.

‘Was there a second explosion today? At the Shipping Board?’

‘Explosions all over.’ Pfaff peered out, distracted. ‘Terrible stuff.’

‘The blasts are Vandaariff’s doing – to provoke unrest. Who knows what he plans next, while you waste our time. Do you?’

Pfaff closed the curtain. ‘Do I what?’

‘Know where he is!’

‘No, miss.’

‘And you smile to say it! Of all the imbecilic –’ Miss Temple’s tirade was cut short by a sharp knock against the coach. ‘What was that?’

The window near her head was shattered by a fist-sized chunk of brick. She squeaked, flinching from the flying glass. Luckily most was caught by the curtain.

‘Perhaps you’d best lie down,’ offered Pfaff.

Cries rose around the coach and Miss Temple recalled the faces on the Raaxfall dock. Their driver cracked his