He was pushed against the wall of Bruno's Brewhouse by the press of people. His chest hurt where he had cut himself.

He tried to struggle free and heard a scream, sharp and pained, close by his head.

He realized he had dragged his hook up through a man's back.

He tried to apologise, but could only gabble. He was practically sobbing.

His hook came free and the man staggered off, blood flowing, apparently without noticing his wound.

There was a green velvet carpet down by the Matthias II. The mob snatched it up and it was torn instantly to shreds.

'Death to the green velvet.'

Wolf didn't understand.

He saw Yefimovich, the agitator, among the crowds, his arms waving.

He staggered into the alley between the two inns, making his way towards the sound of flowing water.

He was free of the crush.

His hand went through an open window and, on an impulse, he pulled himself through into the darkness.

There was darkness outside, but it was the dark in himself that made him terrified.

De la Rougierre watched Milizia trying hard with young von Liebewitz and felt sorry for the silly girl. There was no way she could know she was wasting her time on him.

Still, this was proving to be a most interesting and rewarding evening.

'Out of our way' Harald said, 'let us through.'

Rosanna supposed there were very few men in the Empire who could make themselves be listened to in a situation like this.

The Street of a Hundred Taverns was a battleground again, but on a larger scale than before. The Hooks and the Fish were fighting side by side, following Yefimovich's revolutionaries. And the League of Karl-Franz was pitching in to back up the Knights Templar, the palace guard and what little was left of the watch.

She realized that more people were being killed within her sight at this very moment than the Beast had managed throughout his rampage.

Captain Kleindeinst shouldered his way through.

Wolf still left a trail and she could still fix on it.

The poor creature was mad with fear. This was not the predator she had imagined.

They were very near where this had all started for her, the alley where they had found Margarethe Ruttmann.

Helmut Elsaesser couldn't be less interested in Milizia. Even the Countess Emmanuelle didn't hold much attraction for him this evening.

It was in the air, like ozone. A kind of excitement that was terrible and wonderful at the same time.

The music gave him a headache.

Inside, he felt feverish, but his face and hands were cold, almost shivering.

Near the door, he could hear something of what was going on outside.

A lot of people were shouting and there was great destruction.

He should do something. But he was under orders to stay with the Baron Johann.

Very well. He would follow the example of brave Sigmar and hold his position to the last.

XII.

Professor Brustellin's heart was broken and so he had thrown himself into the conflict, determined to end his life and lie next to his beloved Ulrike. Without an Angel, the Revolution was doomed, but at least it could die heroically, setting an example. The flame he had lit would burn steadily for a long time. And the fuse would get steadily shorter. The Empire would explode in the end. It was a historical inevitability. Nothing ever stays the same.

He had a hook in his hand and was fighting with the watch. He saw the face of Professor Scheydt, who had had him flogged and expelled, in every watchman he dragged down and ripped.

He recognized some of his former students, fighting on both sides. The old faithful inkies were with the revolution, and the decadent League of Karl-Franz fought for the standard of the oppressors.

He never felt the swordthrust that killed him.

It was accidental, the Hook who struck the fatal blow being unused to the weapon he had taken from a fallen Templar. The man knew what he had done, but never told his comrades, simply taking to drink whenever the names of the martyr heroes of the revolution were recited.

Scythed through the neck and trampled underfoot, Brustellin left behind a book that would inspire revolutions, in the Empire and in distant lands, for centuries after his death.

Of course, that was little comfort to him.

What is this fool woman doing?

Leos von Liebewitz was outraged. If he was being insulted, then the dwarf would pay for it.

The ridiculous woman continued to flaunt herself.

Leos was disgusted.

Harald found the open window.

'He went through here?'

The server told him he was right.

He stabbed into the darkness, then pulled himself through. His shoulders scraped.

He flicked his tinderbox and found himself in a storeroom.

'He's not here. Come in.'

Rosanna squeezed and he helped her.

The room was neglected and there were footprints in the dust.

'An easy trail?'

'Careful,' she said.

'I know. A cornered Beast is dangerous.'

They pushed through a door. There was music coming from somewhere.

The Beast was straining inside the man-shell, aching for blood, for flesh. The music excited it.

Its claws popped out.

The front doors of the Matthias II gave way like boxwood.

Yefimovich led the mob into the inn. It could not have been better. In the hallway, three very frightened footmen were clustered by an overburdened coat rack.

There was a line of green velvet cloaks.

The crowd screamed.

What was this accursed interruption?

De la Rougierre vowed that the landlord would suffer for allowing this to happen.

Even Milizia was distracted enough to miss a few steps.

Johann stood up and signed to Elsaesser. His first duty was to protect the future Emperor.

There must be a back way out of this place.

He looked around. There were four visible doors, not counting any that might be behind the stage curtains.

That might be the safest route, through the dressing rooms. There was bound to be a performers' entrance.

The young officer stepped forwards, but tripped. There was a flood of people into the room. Countess Emmanuelle screamed. She hated being in a room with commoners.

Elsaesser was struggling.

'Highness,' Johann said, 'come with me.'

Luitpold had been in a daze, but Johann pulled him out of it. Taking his hand, he dragged him up onto the stage. The heir's bodyguards saw what he was doing and tried to block the surge of the crowd with a few prods of their halberds.

There was a backstage door.

'Highness,' he said, 'through here'

'But'

'No arguments. Do it. Now.'

The future Emperor went before him.

Johann had a sword in his hand. He would be turning into Leos von Liebewitz next.

There was a great deal of shouting out in the banquet room. The word 'death' was being used a lot.

Johann wrenched open the backstage door, not caring whether it was locked or not.

Someone was behind the door.

He pushed forwards, squeezing between Johann and Luitpold, as if running from his own mob of would-be executioners.

Johann felt the old phantom knife in his heart.

'Wolf!'

His brother was startled by his own name and half-turned There were more people coming through the door.

Harald Kleindeinst. Rosanna Ophuls.

Johann had a bad feeling about this.

Wolf he said. 'Wolf'

Then he didn't have anything more to say.

Wolf was frozen, not sure whether to turn to or away from him.

Then, the curtain fell down and everything went dark.

Yefimovich was carried away by revolutionist zeal.

He didn't care if he killed for Tzeentch or for Social Justice, just so long as he killed.

Fires were set around him and he strode through them.

'Green velvet,' he cried, looking around the room.