'Etienne,' said the dancer, Milizia, 'is this appropriate?'

The Bretonnian ambassador cast an eye on the girl's costume. It was tight in the right places and cut away to display her body. It was a gravity-defying miracle.

'Wondrous to behold, my sweet,' he said, 'now leave us alone. We men have business that must be discussed. The landlord will feed you in your dressing room and I shall send for you later.'

Milizia curtseyed, setting herself wobbling like a jelly on a plate and withdrew. De la Rougierre felt his amorous spirits rising again and fingered the waxed ends of his moustaches.

'The lady,' began Dien Ch'ing, 'is most substantial.'

De la Rougierre laughed out loud. The Celestial was a sly one.

'You have no women the like of our Milizia in Ear Cathay, I'll bet.'

'No, indeed we do not.'

'More's the pity, eh? Tell me, those sailors' stories about the girls of the East'

Ch'ing waved his serious anthropological inquiry aside and tapped the papers on the desk.

'This treaty, de la Rougierre. Tonight, I would like to see our guests put their seals to it. It is most important.'

'Of course, of course, but nothing is more important than love, my friend, nothing'

The Celestial gave a thin smile. 'As you say.'

'But after love, there must be war, eh?'

De la Rougierre thumped his barrel chest. 'The Bretonnians are as renowned for their prowess on the battlefield as in the boudoir, my friend. The foeman trembles when the armies of Charles de la Tete d'Or III are on the march.'

'So I am given to understand. I am a poor stranger in these lands, but even I have heard of the high reputation of the Bretonnians.'

The dwarf clapped his hands like an excited child and lifted his goblet. The Celestial was a fine man, a fine diplomat.

'This treaty will be the start of a great campaign against the Dark Lands, a campaign that will strike at the goblins in their homes. It will be magnificent.'

'Of course,' the Bretonnian agreed, 'with a de la Rougierre in it, it could hardly be anything but magnificent!'

'That is indeed so.'

'I'm glad to hear you agree with me. I'll call for another bottle of this establishment's best Quenelles rose and we'll drink a toast to our victory over the dark.'

Ch'ing laughed softly, almost under his breath.

For an instant, de la Rougierre felt as if someone were tickling his skeleton with a roc feather. There were shadows in this room and he could swear that there was something small lurking up in one of the corners, hanging from the ceiling, spying on them with glittering eyes. When he looked again, there was nothing there.

The wine arrived.

'Our guests will be here soon,' de la Rougierre told the landlord. 'Make sure they are conducted up here with no trouble. These are important people.'

The landlord, who was taking more money for this private party than he usually did in any given three month period, was nervously obsequious and assured the Bretonnian that all that could be done would be done or he would know the reason for it and be using a stick on his staff.

The Celestial sipped his wine.

'Wonderful vintage, is it not? The best wines in the world are Bretonnian. And the best wine-drinkers.'

De la Rougierre drained his goblet, then refilled it.

He thought of Big Women.

Getting across the city to the palace had not been easy. Two of the main bridges had been blocked, Emperor Karl-Franz Bridge by the wreckage of a couple of carts and an armed band of Hooks, and Three Toll Bridge by the Knights Templar and the Imperial Militia, who had sealed off each end and were keeping some unfortunate travellers penned between their positions.

In the end, Elsaesser found a lone ferryman and paid him over the odds.

Out in the fog, everything seemed peaceful. But he could see the flickering of distant fires in the East End and hear shouts of anger and pain.

'Bad fog,' said the boatman, 'worse than the coronation year and that was as bad as it's ever been.'

A rowing boat floated by, keel-up.

'Nothing as bad as fog, unless it's torrential rain with thunder and lightning.'

There was a series of splashes. Some people were being thrown off one of the docks.

'Maybe an earthquake would be worse, if we ever got them. Or the Southlands hail where the stones are the size of coaches.'

Everyone was busy tonight: the watch, the Templars, the Hooks, the Fish, the militia, the fire-fighters.

That would make things easy for the Beast if he wanted to venture out.

'Of course, an invasion of hideously altered beastmen would put a bit of a dent in trade and spoil everyone's day.'

To Elsaesser, it was personal now. He felt as if it were just him and the Beast. That wasn't true, of course. There was Captain Kleindeinst and Rosanna.

'And a rain of fire from the skies, called down by a black wizard, would be just awful.'

And Baron Johann? He was with them, wasn't he?

'You have to look on the bright side in the ferry business.'

Elsaesser was sure the baron wasn't trying to protect the Beast. That would not make sense. Even if his brother were the killer, the baron would want him stopped, if not necessarily executed.

'Here you are, sir. Have a nice evening.'

He paid the man and ran all the way to the palace. He passed more Knights of the Fiery Heart, marching from the Temple, armour clanking.

Reinforcements. They were talking about taking on the enemy and putting them to the rout, but none of them seemed to know which enemy. After some discussion, they decided they were probably supposed to put down a rebellion in the notoriously slack and untrustworthy palace guard.

The portcullis was down, but Elsaesser had wound up with Baron Johann's imperially-sealed document and that was enough to get him into the palace. None of the men on the gate knew where the baron was, and neither did the steward he bumped into in the courtyard.

Elsaesser had never been inside the palace before and was surprised at how big it was. You could fit his entire town into its walls. Even without the fog drifting through the courtyards, it would be easy to get lost in the place.

He saw a slim young man striding across towards some outbuildings, looking as if he knew where he was going.

'Excuse me, sir,' Elsaesser asked.

The man turned. He wore one of those damned green velvet cloaks that were causing such trouble.

'I beg your pardon,' he said, 'do I know you, officer?'

'No,' he admitted and the courtier sneered, as if Elsaesser were committing a grave offence by talking to someone to whom he had not been introduced.

The officer remembered Professor Brustellin's lectures. This man was typical of the aristocratic cancers the great man had diagnosed, handsome in an unmanly sort of way, with a bred-in-the-bone contempt for anyone without a lineage.

'I'm with the watch,' Elsaesser explained. 'I need to see Baron Johann Mecklenberg.'

'Von Mecklenberg, I think you mean.'

'Yes, of course, von Mecklenberg,' said Elsaesser, impatient. 'Do you know where he is?'

The youth looked amused. 'I'm going to meet him now, at our carriage. Is it really necessary that you disturb him?'

'Oh yes, he'll thank you for conveying me to him. It's to do with the Beast.'

The aristocrat dropped his effete pose and looked serious, a single line appearing between his fine brows.

'Viscount Leos von Liebewitz,' he said, not extending his gloved hand. 'Come on, hurry up.'

They walked through the fog and soon the outlines of a coach were discernible. The baron stood beside it.

'Elsaesser,' he said, 'what are you doing here?'

The viscount stood back, faint in the fog, and Elsaesser wondered why the man was so brittle. There was more than just aristocratic distance in it. He was acting like a jealous girl.

'Captain Kleindeinst sent me. I'm your bodyguard.'

The baron laughed, not unkindly.

'You don't seem the type.'

'Sorry, sir.'

'No, fine, it's a good idea. You can fill me in on your progress'

Elsaesser knew that would come up and wondered whether he should tell the baron what they had learned about his brother's relationship with the last victim.

'You've met Leos, I see.'

The viscount emerged from the fog, his face a mask.

'Elsaesser and I have been hunting the Beast.'

'The murderer of commoners? I'm surprised at your interest, Johann.'

Elsaesser felt something pass between the baron and the viscount. All these titles confused him and the subtle tensions that went along with them were worse. He was glad he only had to deal with Hooks and Fish, and murderers.

The baron ignored the viscount's implied criticism and turned to talk with Elsaesser. 'Leos is a champion swordsman. He'll be useful in the fog, I think.'

The viscount smiled sheepishly and tried to shake off the compliment.

'Leos, will you throw in with us? Will you join the hunt?'

The man was uncomfortable, torn between two impulses. He wanted not to have anything to do with a nasty common series of killings, but he desperately needed the baron's approval. In the end, he did not have to make a decision, for someone arrived to interrupt the impromptu conference.

'Elsaesser,' said Baron Johann, 'may I present the viscount's sister, the Countess Emmanuelle.'

A lady, wrapped up in transparent gauzes to protect her dress and face against the fog, appeared out of the gloom.

Elsaesser's knees went unaccountably weak.

He was travelling in distinguished company. He wondered what Mrs. Bierbichler would say.

Undoubtedly, he would be told that he could die.

The Beast smelled the fog and crept out of the man-shell, claws extending.

It tasted the blood in the air and howled for joy. With each night, this city became more hospitable.

Tonight would be magnificent

VI.

Their cart rattled through the streets of the East End, drawn by two stolen horses. He stood up, no longer even needing to speak. The crowd was with him, surging behind the cart. In the back, Stieglitz was making torches with efficient skill, using his teeth to compensate for his missing arm. Dipped in pitch, they were then handed to Brustellin and Kloszowski to be lit and, flames growing, to Yefimovich and Ulrike to be thrown.

A torch spun into the air, spinning wooden end over flaming head, and disappeared into the fog. He heard it land and then the soft whump! of the flames spreading.

'Down with the green velvet!' shouted Ulrike, her long hair streaming behind her, her face aglow in the torchlight.