The Chemickal Marriage (70 page)

The other acolytes confidently tended the machines. The four soldiers adopted positions of fire: two at the main door, one by the glass wall, and their leader behind Schoepfil, the revolver pressed to the man’s back. Schoepfil had fallen to his knees, his pinched face red and wet with tears, unable to turn from the horrid remains in Colonel Bronque’s tub.

The Contessa watched from the window, but her gaze most often returned to Miss Temple, who stared right back. This was the Contessa’s promise from Parchfeldt, a slow death after extinguishing all hope.

Doctor Svenson stepped casually between them, facing Miss Temple.

‘My poor Celeste,’ he whispered.

‘Chang and I are lost. I saw what happened to Francesca. Save yourself.’

‘I will not allow it.’

She looked into his blue eyes, despising his decency, even as she knew Svenson’s care was the only mirror that might show her as she had once been. She took his hand and glanced at the machines. ‘The star map. It shows every coupling, every wire and box.’

‘Star map?’ asked Svenson, fumbling his hand into a pocket.

‘In the leather case with the book. It does not matter. How much of this do you understand?’

‘Enough – perhaps as much as Trooste.’

‘Good.’

‘It isn’t
good
. Vandaariff showed me a book. Elöise – a scrap of her. God help me. In that rack, not ten yards away.’

Miss Temple’s voice was cold. ‘Elöise would be ashamed. Destroy everything.’

With that she pushed past him, to the glass. She pointed to the enclosed room’s blazing honeycombed ceiling. ‘That is a
technique
from the Vandaariff tomb. Each shaft draws light from the surface, passing it through different layers of treated glass – each shaft with its own alchemical recipe. The tempered light generates a reaction, and the turbines amplify it. Why did you want
me
to know?’

‘In
case
, Celeste,’ replied the Contessa. ‘And because you might have made something of the knowledge. Did you? No – only a sweet knot of regret in your stomach. But that is enough for me.’

‘How can such an insignificant person as myself command such malice?’

‘You have earned it ten times over.’

‘Why do you risk everything to restore a man who wished your death? Are you so lonely? Are you so old? Are your lovers sickened by your scars?’

The Contessa called with impatience, ‘Professor Trooste, we are past time. Strap the Bride to her marriage bed.’

Acolytes secured Miss Temple to the second table, next to Chang. She did not fight them.

The Doctor shouted to the Contessa: ‘This serves no purpose, madam – her participation is completely unnecessary!’

‘On the contrary, Doctor, it serves several aims in one thrust. Shall I
explain? First, Cardinal Chang dies. Second, so does Celeste Temple. Third, Robert Vandaariff is restored.’

‘You know very well that Vandaariff is long gone.’

‘Robert Vandaariff will be
restored
.’

‘And you will become the next lady of Harschmort? Is it that simple?’

‘
I
am Robert Vandaariff’s heir!’ Schoepfil insisted, wiping his face on a sleeve. ‘Not that inert felon –’

Miss Temple did not mark the rest of his complaint, nor anyone’s reply. She turned her gaze to Chang. His face was wedged into a gap in the table, but his naked back offered its own portrait, muscles, nicks and scars. His strong arms were sheathed in black rubber, sprouting wire, like a bird’s wings stripped of feathers. Her heart ached for him, as it had never done for herself. Professor Trooste worked between them, connecting hoses and wires from Chang’s table to Miss Temple’s body at the hands and feet. He brought up the rubber mask, dangling cords.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I want to see him.’

‘You will know him inside yourself, to every detail, before you succumb.’

Trooste smoothed her hair aside and cinched the mask in place, so hard her eyes began to tear. With a lurch the table was tipped to the same angle as Chang’s. She could look only forward through the narrow slits, straight at the equally faceless Contessa in her den. The room fell silent. Trooste came forward, dipped his head to the Contessa and began to speak.

‘The tale of
The Chemickal Marriage
is ancient, a true account of the defeat of corruption and perfect rebirth. A band of chosen guests make possible through their faith a resurrection. First, the royal party is sacrificed. Then the King and Queen, the Groom and Bride, are reborn. Some of this is metaphor. Much more is fact.’

Trooste bowed again to the Contessa. ‘Lord Vandaariff named you Virgo Lucifera, angel of light, the heaven-sent overseer – the celebrant of this most sacred rite. He knew a certain volume would arrive in your possession, madam. He
relied
upon it.’ Trooste indicated the glass book he had taken from the hamper. ‘Now death is immaterial and the marriage can begin. The ritual will remove the taint of corruption that consumed his body, and thus enact a new covenant. The flesh of life is remade to the flesh of dreams.’

Trooste’s last words were echoed by acolytes as if it were part of a liturgy.

The Contessa nodded gravely. ‘As he was ever the most mighty, so shall Robert Vandaariff be first redeemed.’

Trooste laid a hand on Chang’s scar. ‘The vessel has been prepared, seasoned through the progress of metals. As his essence is restored from the book, our master’s soul will pass through infusions of six sacred alloys, and so by each be
cleansed
.’ Trooste knelt at an empty slot beneath the table. ‘The glass volume is placed in a chamber charged with quicksilver, the seventh metal. An eighth metal, tincture of bloodstone, protects the vessel himself, serving as an alchemical sieve. The soul will take root in its new home.’ Trooste indicated the hoses that linked Chang to Miss Temple. ‘While the corruption of death is
passed on
. Into the Bride.’

Miss Temple’s throat burnt. The more fully Trooste detailed the path of violent energy, the more the Comte’s memories confirmed her doom. Trooste moved to where Miss Temple could see his earnest expression. ‘Thus she becomes the embodiment of pure love.’

‘It will kill her,’ declared Svenson.

‘Not immediately. We should have several hours for study.’

‘Wait.’ Mahmoud stepped forward, eyeing the metal tubs with suspicion. ‘Six metals? You’re not going to kill anyone else.’

Trooste blinked and said nothing.

‘You are
not
,’ repeated Mahmoud, ‘going to kill
anyone else
!’

‘Of course she is!’ bleated Schoepfil. ‘Don’t be a damned fool!’

‘I’ll do it this instant if you don’t be quiet,’ said the Contessa. She called to Trooste: ‘And his mind will be whole again? The corruption, the madness –’

‘All cleansed, madam. Purity. Rapture. Eden.’

Mahmoud began to protest but Svenson touched his shoulder and addressed Trooste: ‘How do
you
know this? Today, healing Mrs Kraft, you had no more idea than I.’

‘Lord Vandaariff instructed me, this very night.’ Trooste was a priest describing a revelation. ‘Just as his
incarnation
informed the child. And all has come to pass as he foretold. The Vessel returned for consumption, the
Bride to accept the sin, the Virgo Lucifera to enforce heaven’s will. He
knew
. And he will know again.’

Trooste raised his hands like the conductor of an orchestra. A snapping sound came from Doctor Svenson’s hands. In a stride he reached Trooste and plunged the broken tip of a blue glass key into his neck. The blood around the wound stiffened to glass, cracking as Trooste’s throat filled. The wound bulged and his face darkened to purple. Trooste’s gasp of shock was swallowed in a gutteral crackling and he fell. Svenson stepped away and lifted his empty hands, three carbines and a revolver aimed at his chest.

‘
You bloody imbecile
!’ shouted the Contessa. ‘You –
you
–’

Svenson’s voice cut through her anger like a sword. ‘If I am killed, this
ends
. None of you know enough about the Comte’s science. Without me nothing can continue.’

The Contessa snarled with frustration. She nodded the helmet, ruefully it seemed and, despite her fury, with a certain appreciation. ‘And, let me guess, you refuse to do so?’

The Doctor reached into his tunic for a cigarette. ‘Not at all. But there will be conditions.’

At once the weapons shifted to Mahmoud and Schoepfil, each of whom had moved towards Svenson. Svenson blew smoke from the corner of his mouth, eyeing them coolly.

‘I’m sorry, gentlemen. At some point a man’s just had enough.’

With a feeling of dread Miss Temple watched Svenson approach the rack of books. His eyes were as absent of feeling as they’d been in the Thermæ. She had passed him Francesca’s key, as they discussed the star map, in the hope that he could somehow open the book and save Chang’s memory, but he had thrown away the tool to secure his own freedom. She had told him to save himself …

Svenson took a handkerchief from his pocket to protect his hand. He pointed to one of the volumes in the padded book rack and looked at the acolytes.

‘This volume has been lately brought by the Contessa – I’m sorry, the Virgo Lucifera?’

The acolytes nodded. Svenson pointed to another book, near it. Despite their disapproval, the acolytes did not prevent his reach. He carefully slid the second book from its slot, keeping a layer of cloth between his skin and the glass.

‘I will want
this
.’

‘And what is that?’ the Contessa sneered. ‘Lost love?’

‘It is my business, madam.’

‘Is that all?’

‘No. Safe passage – let us say a ship sailing east – and a supply of funds. As Lady Vandaariff in all but name, I doubt this is beyond your power.’ He broke off to address the acolytes sharply. ‘Is the quicksilver alloy prepared?’

When they did not immediately reply, he called to those attending Chang. ‘The quicksilver for the book! Has it been compounded?’ He turned back to the acolyte slipping the Contessa’s book from the rack, his hands insulated by the thin silk robe. ‘By God – not with your
robe
! Get away!’ He tucked his own book under one arm and used the handkerchief to lift the book containing the Comte. A properly gloved acolyte came forward to assist, but Svenson simply strode to Chang’s table. ‘Where is the mercury?’

‘Be
careful
!’ shouted the Contessa.

‘The interior of the chamber is already
bathed
,’ explained an acolyte, indicating the book-sized slot beneath Chang’s table. ‘A
sheath
of compounded glass plating –’

‘I must examine it …’

‘We have obeyed every instruction –’

‘And I do not care! You – every one of you – before this day wore other clothes! What were you – a banker? A shiftless second son? Parrot all you want – but I must
know
what has been done! I believe
trust
has been proven quite bankrupt in
this
enterprise!’

Svenson went to his knees, squinting at the brass undercarriage. He shifted the books from arm to arm as he changed position and probed gingerly with his fingers into the slot where the book would go. Finally he stood and thrust a book into the hands of the gloved acolyte. ‘It will need cleaning. There cannot be the slightest blemish or smear.’

‘Doctor Svenson,’ called the Contessa. ‘I admire this zeal for survival, but your demands? Is that all?’

He glanced at Miss Temple. The Contessa clucked her tongue.

‘You cannot save them. Chang is gone already. Celeste will die at your own hand.’

‘Better mine than someone who does not care.’

‘I’m sure she values the distinction. Can you hear us, Celeste? Have you gone to sleep?’

‘Robert Vandaariff was your enemy.’ Miss Temple was ashamed at the quaver in her voice. ‘His restoration will mean your ruin.’

‘Celeste, while you
persist
in refusing to see yourself, I do not. I am very good at some things, and not at others.’ She laughed. ‘
Spelling
, for example. Robert Vandaariff will be wise enough to see the many advantages I can offer. It is a circle returning to its start, for he and I began this whole affair. Doctor, what are you doing?’

‘I am protecting my charge.’ Doctor Svenson crouched near the rack of books, and for the first time Miss Temple saw the leather case, the same she had lost to Foison. The Doctor swivelled it to the Contessa. ‘I do not want
my
book broken in any disturbance.’

But before Svenson could place his book in the leather case, he had to remove the one that lay inside. He slipped it out and then juggled the two books arm to arm, for he’d only the one handkerchief with which to shield his skin, even as he also awkwardly moved the cigarette from his fingers to his mouth.

‘Doctor, please, what is that
other
book?’ called the Contessa impatiently.

Svenson raised it to the light, squinted, shrugged. ‘Mr Foison could tell us for sure, but I
believe
this book holds Cardinal Chang.’

‘Is Foison alive?’ asked the Contessa. ‘I thought not – rouse him! Rouse him! And rouse that idiot as well.’

This last was to the green-coat at her window, who gave a stiff kick to Jack Pfaff’s inert form. Acolytes hurried to Foison, turning his body and tapping his face, and the man rose stiffly to a sitting position.

‘The book in the leather case,’ Svenson explained. ‘Cardinal Chang?’

Foison nodded. ‘What has happened?’

‘Your master is dead,’ Svenson replied. ‘And about to be reborn.’ He knelt and set the other book into the case, standing again with the one Foison had agreed held Chang.

Svenson weighed it in his hands. ‘Perhaps I will take this too, as a condition.’

‘No,’ said the Contessa.

‘Why not?’

‘I do not trust you, Doctor.’

‘Then we are matched.’ He turned to Miss Temple. ‘Forgive me, Celeste. I did try.’

Without another word Doctor Svenson heaved the glass book into the air, straight past the green-coated guard and through the open trapdoor, where – to everyone’s ear – it burst to pieces on the iron steps.