This was all absurd, but amusing. Only trousered barbarians could bind themselves with so many rules in such a simple matter as murder.

Graf Volker pulled his sword away and barked with panicky laughter. Viscount Leos stayed cool, his weapon still at the ready.

'Hold,' said von Tuchtenhagen. 'I invoke the rules of chivalry.'

Leos straightened up and let his sword rest by his side. He was a chilly character and strange for a Westerner. Ch'ing wondered if the beardless young aristocrat had any Cathay in his blood. There was certainly something subtle in his eyes.

'I am unable to fight and so I request that my champion, Toten Ungenhauer, stand in for me.'

Leos did not seem concerned. Von Tuchtenhagen's champion was a full foot and a half taller than the youth and had a chest as big as a barrel. He wore a tunic emblazoned with the von Tuchtenhagen arms. It left his massive arms bare.

At the Second Siege of Praag, Ch'ing had seen Gotrek Gurnisson, the dwarf Trollslayer, in action, wielding a two-edged axe against a horde of beastmen. Toten Ungenhauer was proportioned like Gotrek, but nearly twice his size. Leos von Liebewitz was rumoured to be the greatest duellist in the Empire, but surely he could not stand against such a monster.

Ungenhauer stepped into his master's place and took a sword. It looked like a knitting needle in his ham-sized fist. Ch'ing assumed he would throw it away and simply wrench the viscount's head off, ignoring any feeble cuts he might sustain in getting past Leos's foil. That would not be against the rules of chivalry.

Although it was not strictly according to the code, spectators were filing in to the chamber and taking seats. A knot of von Tuchtenhagen creditors who had hoped to see the Graf Volker shredded were leaving in disappointment, but other courtiers were settling in. Ch'ing saw Johann von Mecklenberg and the future Emperor sitting high up, near the back of the hall. Hergard von Tasseninck, who had been present when the original insult was delivered, was there with his mistress. And, veiled, Marquess Sidonie of Marienburg, whose husband Bassanio had been efficiently despatched by Viscount Leos late last year in a similar duel. The most notable absence was that of the Countess Emmanuelle, who supposedly didn't care for the sight of blood.

Von Tuchtenhagen had overcome his fear and was excitedly walking back and forth, chortling to himself and to the audience, working himself up.

'Von Liebewitz,' he said, 'I should like to elaborate upon my comments of the last night. Your sister, I understand, spreads her legs for servants and sailors'

The audience gasped. Leos seemed unmoved.

'If it were dark enough, she would take a dwarf or a halfling into her bed. Or an altered if he were freakish in the right direction'

Leos brought up his sword slowly and placed its point against Ungenhauer's outstretched blade. The giant grinned, displaying gaps in his teeth.

'I believe it would take a beast to pleasure her to her full satisfaction,' von Tuchtenhagen spat, 'an absolute beast!'

Ch'ing raised the kerchief and let it flutter to the floor.

The swords clashed and parted with a resounding chink!

Karl-Franz I of the House of the Second Wilhelm, Protector of the Empire, Defier of the Dark, Emperor Himself and the Son of Emperors, poured sugar into his coffee. He was mildly surprised that his son had not turned up yet for their hour together. It was part of the palace ritual. Karl-Franz would quiz Luitpold on his lessons and try to impart some of the wisdom he had acquired in his years of office. Still, it was not the first time the future Emperor had found some distraction elsewhere. He yawned. These days, nothing ever seemed to happen There was a '317' worked into the headstone above the door. On the docks, there was a joke that the sign signified the average number of bribes the Dock Watch accepted in any given week. The watchmen at the Luitpoldstrasse Station admitted him without question. The older ones recognized him and the youngsters had heard of him.

Elsaesser said good morning and he nodded to the young officer.

He found Economou, a sergeant he remembered, and enjoyed the burst of rage and fear in the man's face.

'What?!'

Harald curled his lip and held up his fist.

A couple of bullies came up behind Economou.

'Joost,' Harald said, 'Thommy. Have you missed me?'

A slow grin spread over the sergeant's face. 'You're trespassing, Kleindeinst. You two, strip your tabards and eject this intruder from the station.'

The bullies enthusiastically pulled off their apron-like garments, embroidered with the emblems of the city and of the Dock Watch and rolled up their sleeves.

'I've looked forward to this for a long time, Kleindeinst,' said Joost. 'It took me years to work off the black mark you put on my record.'

'Yes,' agreed Thommy, unconsciously massaging his once-broken collar bone. 'It's a delight to see you again, especially now you're a civilian'

Harald held up his fist and uncurled his fingers, letting the officers see his badge.

Economou's jaw hit his chainmail choker.

'You came back?'

Harald let a slow smile spread. 'Yes, sergeant. I came back.'

Joost and Thommy hustled back into their tabards and backed off.

'Find me a desk, sergeant. And get me what you've got so far on the Beast.'

Economou hurried away. Joost and Thommy crammed into the door, trying to follow him.

Harald miaowed at the retreating watchmen.

'I beg your pardon,' said Elsaesser.

'Pussies,' Harald explained. 'Just a pair of pussies.'

The young officer nodded. 'Oh.'

The double doors pushed inwards and a pocket of fog belched into the station. A man stepped out of it, gasping. It was a messenger and he had run a long way carrying a fog lantern.

He put the dripping lamp down and got his breath back.

'There's been another one,' he gasped, 'down at the docks. Another killing.'

'The Beast,' said Elsaesser.

The messenger said, 'Yes.'

'Come on, boy,' Harald told the younger man, 'let's go goose Dickon and get this investigation underway.'

Etienne Edouard Villechaize, Comte de la Rougierre, the ambassador from Charles de la Tete d'Or III of Bretonnia, inflated his chest like a peacock as he prepared to explain, for the millionth time, that yes, he was a dwarf and yes, did also hold high office in one of the kingdoms of men.

'My parents were hostages for life, Gropius,' he told the dancing master. 'I was raised in the household of one of the king's ministers. My brothers were content to become jugglers and jesters. I have always felt a higher calling'

He twirled his waxed moustaches and waved his puffed sleeve at the man, allowing a shower of lace to flutter around his arm. The auditorium of the Flamingo Club, a private theatre located on the wrong side of Temple Street, was small, but still encouraged de la Rougierre's flair for the dramatic gesture.

'I have repudiated my dwarfish name and taken that of my noble benefactor. My body may be that of a dwarf, but my soul is Bretonnian to the core. I am the best of both races, strength and style.'

'Pardon my ignorance,' beseeched Gropius, 'but I was not aware that there was any great population of dwarfs in Bretonnia'

'If there were, do you think they would have allowed my parents to be hostages for life. You are a very stupid man and I decline to explain further. I am not a freak to be gaped at and petted. I am a powerful individual in my own right and my abilities are of the highest. I must uphold the honour of King Charles wherever I go.'

The dancing master was properly cowed. He applied a taper to the lights that fronted the stage.

'Your prowess is indeed legendary,' he admitted, his astonishment overcome and his natural inclination to fawning and toadying returning. 'We have heard of your many um conquests.'

De la Rougierre strutted, hand on hip, dismissing the subject with a wave. He took his seat.

'And those stories about the Countess Emmanuelle,' he licked his lips, 'are they'

'Please, I insist! There is a reputation at stake here'

namely, his own, should it come out that the countess had persistently refused his advances.

'there are matters a de la Rougierre does not discuss with a tradesman.'

The dancing master bowed and let the subject drop.

'Now,' the ambassador said, 'bring on your finest.'

'Uh, certainly, your excellency.'

Gropius snapped his fingers and said, 'Miele.' A pert, petite girl stepped out from behind the curtains and stood on the tiny stage. She simpered and danced a few steps.

'Enough,' said de la Rougierre. 'Show me another.'

Her face fallen, Miele slouched off, trailing her fur boa.

'This is Tessa Ahlquist,' Gropius explained.

A slender dancer with long, ladylike legsadequately displayed by an immodest costumereplaced the first girl. The ambassador was more interested, but quickly tired and had her dismissed. Tessa Ahlquist stormed off in a flurry of feathers.

Angry, de la Rougierre turned on the dancing master. 'I thought I made my instructions quite clear. This is a very special function and I have very special requirements.'

Gropius paid attention, nodding like an imbecile.

'I want a big woman, you understand. Big!'

Gropius chewed his moustache. 'Ah, of course, your excellency. I understand perfectly. You want a dancer of stature.'

'Why yes, that's it exactly. Stature! The girl should be heroically proportioned, you understand. Heroically.'

A ratty smile spread across the dancing master's face.

'Milizia,' he shouted, 'would you come out and dance for the gentleman!'

The next girl appeared and de la Rougierre fancied that he was again in love.

VI.

It was the most incredible thing Luitpold had ever witnessed. And it was over in seconds.

He was just about to intervene, invoking the ancient rights of the Imperial family to save his fencing teacher, when Johann laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. The elector was right. Leos von Liebewitz would never forgive him if he were robbed of his honour that way. The viscount would rather die.

Luitpold had imagined that the duellists would step back, take the measure of each other and then join in combat. That was what he had been taught to expect.

Instead, they stepped forwards. Ungenhauer, the von Tuchtenhagen servitor who was rumoured at court to be affected by the warpstone, lunged for Leos, his arms out Leos seemed to move casually, as he half-bent out of the champion's way. He just touched Ungenhauer's neck with his foil, then danced out of his reach, coming around behind the man.

A gigantic gusher of blood came from Ungenhauer's throat, spraying the floor in a circle as he turned. Dien Ch'ing raised the skirts of his robe and scuttled away from the mess, but Graf Volker had his boots ruined and one of the seconds got a faceful, forcing him to retire, choking, against the wall.

A roar began in Ungenhauer's chest but it came out of the new mouth in his neck, not the old one in his face.

He raised his hands, as if in triumph, and collapsed to his knees. The whole gymnasium shook.

Leos picked up Dien Ch'ing's silk and wiped off the point of his sword.

Ungenhauer toppled forwards and tiles broke under his face.

There was a moment of incredulous silence and then the applause started.

Leos was indifferent. He was busy wrapping his weapon and handing it to his second. Graf Volker was on his knees praying to Sigmar.

The Celestial raised his hand for quiet and was rewarded.

'By the rules of chivalry, honour is restored. The life of Graf Volker von Tuchtenhagen is the property of Viscount Leos von Liebewitz, to be disposed of as he sees fit'

Von Tuchtenhagen was crawling towards the viscount, incoherently begging for forgiveness. Doglike, he licked Leos's boots.

'Call for a cleric,' Leos told Dien Ch'ing, 'and a barber. I will not kill a man who is unshriven, much less unshaven.'

'It is confirmed, Lector,' said Ruhaak. 'A messenger has brought the news from the docks.'

Mikael Hasselstein was preoccupied. His junior repeated what he had just said. It sank in. He rolled the facts around his mind and worried at them.

'I did not doubt it, Siemen. Miss Ophuls has an extraordinary gift.' He could not keep his thoughts on the murders. Last night had been a bad one. At the von Tasseninck ball, Yelle had been threatening to break it off, had been insistent. It had taken all his persuasion and all his skills to bring her round. That, and a quick coupling in an antechamber, made all the more exciting by the possibility of imminent discovery. But his attachment was becoming a nuisance. It was affecting his work.

Ophuls sat in the corner, knowing everything and keeping it inside. Hasselstein resented the girl. How simple his life would be if he were able to read thoughts.

Yelle had changed him, he realized. Loving her was draining him, leeching time from his days that he could not afford to spare.

Ruhaak waited for orders. He was a fine instrument, but had no initiative. The Grand Theogonist had not been the same since his bastard Matthias was killed and the whole burden of the Cult of Sig-mar had descended upon the shoulders of Mikael Hasselstein. Until now, they had been broad enough to stand it, but the strain was pressing him close to the ground.