A woman caught his eye, trying to get through a door sideways to avoid getting her dress trapped.

Jewels sparkled on her bosom.

Daggers drawn, he went for her * * * * *

Dien Ch'ing sat quietly and let whatever would come come.

Someone tried to put a knife into his eye, but he swept it away with a simple movement.

After that, he was left alone.

This was much more amusing than the clumsy, grotesque-bodied dancer had been.

Rosanna found Johann and helped him struggle to throw off the thick red curtain.

They didn't have to talk about Wolf. A touch was enough for the exchange of views.

If Wolf was the killer, Johann wanted him caught. Not killed, but caught.

Fine. He could argue with Captain Kleindeinst later.

When they were free, the inn was a hell of tangled bodies. Everyone was shouting at the top of their voice.

She sensed a very powerful, very evil presence. Another one.

Emmanuelle lifted her skirts and ran. The horrible man was chasing her, daggers slicing through the air.

She was in a dead end. Backing down a dark passage, she had come up against a wall.

She prayed to all the gods. She asked for forgiveness. Mama, Papa, forgive me! Leos, forgive me!

The horrible manYefimovich the fire-breatherwas coming slowly now that she was trapped, enjoying himself, making passes in the air.

'Snick-snack,' he said.

As he came into the darkness, she saw that his features weren't quite natural. Something was shining under the skin, making his face look like a luminous mask.

There was something with him, something small and horrid that scuttled along the ceiling.

She screamed.

Yefimovich laughed.

Leos had his sword out and was holding off the mob.

'Look out,' someone said, 'he's dangerous.'

The fool woman was clinging to his shoulder, using him to shield her naked body. She might get in the way if it were to come to a slash-up fight.

He prodded the air in front of several revolutionists.

Their enthusiasm for the overthrow of the aristocracy was pricked and they backed away.

Cowards! He should have expected no more from peasant rabble.

Harald sliced through the curtain with his blade and stood up, shaking the heavy folds off his shoulders.

There were a lot of dangerous people in the room. But Wolf wasn't one of them.

'Yelle,' Hasselstein shouted, charging down the corridor.

The fire-breather was standing over his mistress, cackling.

The Lector was not a man of action. He was a strategist, a tactician, a politician. Within the Cult of Sigmar, he had chosen the Order of the Anvil over the Knights of the Fiery Heart, studying the Law rather than the Arts of Combat.

But he picked up a chair and ran down the corridor, shouting.

The chair smashed into Yefimovich and came to pieces. He found himself holding a leg and bludgeoned the agitator's head with it.

Yelle was screaming at the top of her lungs.

Her hands reached out and grabbed at Yefimovich's face and it came off.

It was like a burst of light in the passage.

Emmanuelle shut her eyes, but the fiery face still burned in her mind.

XIII.

Elsaesser had been forced into a backroom. He looked around for something useful as a weapon and found a kegspike.

'Look,' said a hard voice, 'it's an inky!'

Two Leaguers were in the room, armed with heavy clubs.

'Let's spill his swotty brains!'

He recognized them.

They had applauded at Brustellin's expulsion, and stolen the library's copies of the professor's books to use as privy paper.

'Stay back,' he said, waving his spike.

'What have you got which could make us, quill-head?'

Elsaesser reached into his jacket.

'This,' he said, producing his copper badge.

'Now,' he said, 'up against the wall and spread your legs, ape-men!'

Yefimovich's face was gone.

The cleric of Sigmar was a trembling wreck. And the countess-elector a screaming harpy.

Respighi opened the hidden door, releasing the catch at the top. The High Priest of Tzeentch stepped into another room.

Number Two was a wash-out, Milizia decided, and gave him the shove. She could tell he wasn't interested in girls much.

Her first mission now was to get out of this mess.

No, make that second. First, she needed some clothes.

Gallantly, the Norseman threw his fur waistcoat at her. Belted around her waist, it was like a dress.

Now, escape.

She made a run for the door.

They had Hals von Tasseninck down on the floor and were kicking the teeth out of his head.

The Grand Prince's idiot son was trying to force a window and shrieking whenever anyone tried to touch him.

Harald waded into the brawl and pulled two people away from the elector's boot party. He knocked their heads together and dropped them on the floor. The rest of the kickers backed away.

Harald picked the Grand Prince up and looked into his battered and bloody face.

'Good evening, elector,' he said. 'Remember me?'

Milizia was in the dark. She was outside the inn, in an alley. The cobbles were like ice chunks under her bare feet. At least she was safe now.

The Beast was savage, but it could be calm when it had to be.

Its chosen prey scented, it stalked her, ignoring the other blood scents whirling around in the air like fog.

Its claw was out.

The fighting was dying down now, dwindling to mere confusion. Johann had been shielding the Prince with his body, but the young man had slipped away somewhere. He prayed to Sigmar that Luitpold was sensible enough to stay away from knives and fires.

'Yefimovich's an altered,' someone had said.

'It's true, I saw him. His head is a living flame.'

'What?'

The revolutionists were getting rapidly disillusioned with their leader. No one was sure what was going on.

Suddenly, Johann was surrounded by strangers. Harald was there, with the von Tassenincks. And so was Rosanna, over with the Norseman, the Kislevite and the blue-faced, parrot-nosed Marquess Sidonie. Mornan Tybalt was sobbing and rubbing injured hands; someone had clipped one of his thumbs for him, reducing his taxable digits by one half.

But everyone else in the de la Rougierre party had spilled out into the dark.

Milizia was almost out of the alley when she bumped into him. 'You,' she said, 'out of my way.'

The shape stood firm and then stepped forwards. She backed away. Its eyes were shining. She felt a scream beginning The claw stuck into Rosanna's mind, 'Johann,' she shouted, 'it's happening now!'

The Beast's claw stuck into the girl's stomach and her eyes clouded.

There was no time for a proper job.

Harald and the baron collided in the door Rosanna was pointing at. He swore and helped the elector up. Rosanna was with them. 'Which way?' he asked her. 'The alley. The way we came.'

The passage was full of bodies. They had to struggle. Harald realized that Rosanna was screaming. 'It's killing me!'

It was killing her!

Johann thumped someone out of the way, but it was useless. The failed revolutionists were streaming against them, pushing them backwards.

Tears were pouring from Rosanna's eyes. Her screams scratched at his mind.

It was if he could feel it too.

Elsaesser had knocked the Leaguers out with a tap apiece from his spike and was feeling quite chipper. That was a blow for the inkies, if not for the revolution.

There was an empty barrel in the room, standing up like a tub, its round lid resting against the wall.

There was a small, square door, bolted, at the rear of the room by some casks. He guessed it was for rolling in barrels.

Outside, a sharp scream rose and was then cut off.

He cursed himself for standing about feeling pleased.

The bolts were rusted, but he knocked them free with his spike and put his shoulder to the door.

It fell out of the wall and he stumbled into the alley, knocking his head on the opposite wall.

There was blood in the water again. He remembered this place. Number seven, Margarethe Ruttmann.

He saw the two figures at the mouth of the alley.

And now, number nine.