The Chemickal Marriage

seeking favour had dispersed. In their place were preoccupied individuals rushing in opposite directions. No one paid her the slightest mind, and when her path was crossed by officials or soldiers, they cared even less than the guests. What had happened while she’d been in the stable?

Shouts echoed behind her and a glance showed a gang of men in shirtsleeves, faces black with ash. She prudently retreated to an empty reception room whose walls were hung with red draperies. The far door abruptly opened.

‘Stop!’

Miss Temple froze. The uniformed man with his hand on the knob did not see her, his face turned behind him.

‘What is it now?’ called Colonel Bronque with impatience.

Miss Temple darted behind a curtain, flattening her dress and carefully angling her eye to peer out. The imperious voice that had called she recognized too well.

The Colonel stepped aside at the Contessa’s entrance, and gave a grim nod to the two soldiers who were her escort, before closing the door in their faces.

‘What has happened now?’ Bronque’s voice was wary, but the Contessa’s reply was only plaintive.

‘Where have you been?’ she complained. ‘I expected you this last hour, but have seen only that horrid Drusus Schoepfil. Such preening satisfaction.’

‘Why should you care? If he has taken you under his protection –’

‘I am his to deliver to the law at any time.’ The Contessa caught the Colonel’s hand. ‘You are my only friend. If you go, I am at Schoepfil’s mercy.’

‘Rosamonde, please. If you’ve been honest –’

The Contessa slapped the Colonel’s face with an echoing crack.

‘Honest?’ she cried. ‘There is a warrant for my life. Everything I know of Vandaariff’s intentions I have told you both.’

Bronque said nothing. In the charged silence she traced the red mark on his cheek with an extended finger.

‘Such indifference humbles a lady.’

‘I have explained, once I return –’

‘And if you don’t?’

‘Robert Vandaariff’s hired brutes cannot stand against trained regiments.’

‘But you’ve not said where you are going – or why.’

‘You must make yourself content.’

‘That’s very cruel.’

Bronque caught her finger in his hand. ‘Then you must be content with my cruelty.’

‘Must I?’ The Contessa ducked her head. ‘May I ask just one more tiny, tiny question?’

‘By God, you will press every advantage. What is it?’

‘Were you a friend of Francis Xonck?’

Her voice retained the same shy lilt, but the Colonel’s indulgent smile froze. ‘Why in hell do you mention him?’

‘Because you never said how you met Drusus Schoepfil, how you became of use.’

‘We are partners –’

‘Schoepfil is nothing to his uncle, after all – always the dog smelling supper from another room. Admittedly, a clever dog – no doubt why Vandaariff distrusted him. Smart animals make people nervous.’

Bronque sighed. ‘We have spoken too long. You must go back, and be patient –’

‘Blue Caesar blue palace ice consumption.’

She whispered the words and then stepped away. A shudder shook Bronque’s body. His eyes went dull.

‘Drusus Schoepfil is a boat that can venture only on the smoothest seas. He doubts. He trusts no one – which means he should not trust you … yet he apparently does. At first I wondered why, but then it was clear – Francis. I can imagine your relief at his death, silencing the secret of your corruption. But Schoepfil guessed, didn’t he?’

‘He’d seen me at Harschmort … knew I played cards with Arthur Trapping …’

‘And so you secretly underwent the Process. Did you enjoy it?’

Miss Temple recalled Roger Bascombe on the dirigible, slumped against a wall, calmly confessing his own treachery. Every initiate of the Process was instilled with a control phrase. The speaking of this phrase, which the Contessa had deduced from her knowledge of Xonck, delivered the initiate into the power of the speaker, a passive state in which any questions would be answered and all commands obeyed. Colonel Bronque’s reply was vacant and cool.

‘Enormously.’

‘You planned to betray me all along.’

‘Of course.’

The Contessa slapped Bronque’s face twice more, echoing blows that left a bead of red at the corner of his mouth. ‘Tell me.’

‘Schoepfil will sell you to Vandaariff, forcing a meeting where Vandaariff will be killed.’

The Contessa’s lips curled with fury. ‘Why?’

‘We no longer need you.’ Bronque’s reply was distant. ‘And Harcourt’s warrant for your death absolves our action.’

‘Where are you going now?’

‘First to Axewith, so he knows the Queen has refused his writ, then to Vandaariff, to arrange your sale. After the Queen’s denial, he will leap at the chance, and we will have him.’

‘And where is Axewith?’

‘At the fire. The longer he is distracted, the more time we have.’

‘What weapons do you carry, apart from that ridiculous sword?’

Bronque unbuttoned his jacket and plucked out a horn-handled clasp-knife. ‘I keep this for luck, it belonged to my father –’

The Contessa snatched it from his hand, opening the blade – a malignant flashing finger – then snapping it home. The doorknob rattled. She tucked the knife away and hissed at Bronque. ‘You have not told me a thing. Wake.’

Bronque brought a hand to his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned to an agitated Mr Schoepfil, bustling in with the oblong box gripped tightly in one hand.

‘What are you doing alone with this woman?’

‘Nothing of your concern, I assure you.’ Bronque’s voice had recovered its strength, but his face still blazed with the impact of the Contessa’s hand.

Schoepfil glared at the Contessa, who had retreated behind the Colonel. ‘Someone has set a fire in our rooms!’

‘Another fire?’ The Contessa bit her lip. ‘Is the entire town tinderwood? Must we evacuate? Is Her Majesty safe?’

Schoepfil gave a derisive snort and quickly snatched her hands in his. He turned them to study each side, then lifted them to his nose.

‘How gallant. Do you expect to smell paraffin or kerosene?’

He thrust her hands away and waved angrily to the two soldiers who had followed him in. ‘Remove this woman.’

Schoepfil shut the door on the Contessa’s heels and turned, fuming, on Bronque.

‘A fire set in our rooms. Kelling will need hours to even divine the damage. And I find you with her here – alone! Please, Colonel! Think!’

‘How could she be responsible? I distrust her as much as you do –’

Schoepfil reached to rebutton Bronque’s jacket. ‘What has happened to your face?’

‘Nothing has happened.’

‘You are very red.’

‘From the steam. Wasn’t the Contessa under guard?’