'We think we have a killer trapped in here.'

'Countess Emmanuelle?' Hasselstein said. 'Yelle?'

Rosanna stopped outside the door of the von Liebewitz apartments as if she had walked into an invisible wall. She pointed at the door, her hand shaking.

'What is this about Yelle?'

The door was locked.

'Break it down,' Johann ordered.

Kleindeinst put his shoulder to the door, but rebounded with an oath.

'That's solid oak, with iron crossbars.'

A guard stuck his halberd into the crack, between the hinges, and tried to prise the door open. The shaft of the weapon snapped.

Beyond the door, there was feminine laughter. The sound squirted icewater into Johann's blood.

Johann kicked the door and uselessly jarred his bones.

'Get axes,' Kleindeinst ordered.

'Yelle? Yelle!'

'Shut up, Lector,' said Johann. 'Rosanna? What's happening in there?'

Rosanna was flagging. She had made it this far, but the strain was showing.

'Dying,' she said, 'she's killing dying him'

The axes came.

'This door dates back to the time of Wilhelm II,' said Mnoujkine, 'it's a valuable antique. The Emperor will be most distressed.'

'We'll buy him a new one,' said Kleindeinst, hefting the first axe.

A chunk of wood flew out of the door and the passage shook.

'Stand back,' said Johann, pulling Rosanna out of the way. She clung to him, like a child.

He was glad he was not seeing in his mind what she was in hers.

Kleindeinst smashed the wood around the lock and the door began to split.

There was still laughter.

The door came apart, falling in three pieces. Kleindeinst threw the axe away and pulled out his knife. 'After me,' he said.

Inside the von Liebewitz apartments, everything seemed ominously in order. Cloaks and coats were hung neatly in the hallway. There was an open fire in the reception room and a book was open on the dining table. The Treachery of Oswald, by Detlef Sierck.

'Careful,' Harald said, cautioning the others.

The laughter was coming from somewhere.

'Lector,' Harald said to Hasselstein, 'where is she?'

The cleric had to be shoved by the baron to make a reply. 'Her dressing room. It's just down the corridor.'

A woman who killed women. That was something new in his experience. There were always surprises, although few were ever pleasant.

'Countess,' he said, loudly, 'this is the watch. We would like to talk to you.'

The laughter stopped.

'Emmanuelle,' said Baron Johann, 'it's important.'

Quiet.

Harald looked at the baron and guessed that he received the elector's approval.

He stepped sideways into the corridor, pressing his back against the wall opposite the row of doors.

'Which one?' he asked, softly.

'The third,' said Hasselstein.

Harald edged down until he stood opposite the door.

Johann and the three guards cautiously came into the narrow corridor. Harald hoped that none of the company would have to die.

He touched the point of his Magnin to the door and pushed hard. The door was not latched, it swung open.

First, he saw someone lying, dead or in a faint, by a dressing table, a green velvet cloak thrown over them.

Then, he saw the Beast. The murderer came at him, her train flying behind her. She was veiled and wore a richly decorated ballgown. There were some contraptions fitted over her hands, gloves with sharp hooks. The Beast had claws.

He raised his knife to slash, but his hand was slammed out of the way.

Mikael Hasselstein had crammed himself through the door and thrown himself at Harald's arm, dragging him down. He sank his teeth into the watchman's hand.

Harald slammed the Lector with his elbow, but Hasselstein kept his grip.

The Beast stood still, poised, claws ready.

The baron tried to haul Hasselstein off Harald, but couldn't get a grip.

The wiry cleric was fighting as if possessed. Hate could do that, or love.

Incredibly, Hasselstein off-balanced Harald and pushed him back into the corridor, tumbling in a bruised bundle with Johann.

'Yelle,' Hasselstein said, dropping to his knees before the Beast, 'Yelle, Hove'

The Beast slashed him across the face, her claws sinking into his cheek and hooking onto his skull. He was lifted off his knees and hurled aside, a cloud of blood blossoming around his head.

The Beast laughed like a little girl, then howled like a wolf.

317 5037.

The number rolled in Rosanna's mind.

Johann crawled across the floor, trying to disentangle himself from Harald Kleindeinst.

She saw the number written in blood on the underside of a barrel-lid.

317 5037.

Rosanna had her hands under Johann's arms and was pulling him up.

The Beast was still laughing. Hasselstein was yelping, his hand to his bloody face.

She got her arms around Johann and got him upright. She felt his body close to hers.

317 5037.

The lid circled.

Urgently, Rosanna kissed him. He was astonished, but responded.

As their mouths met, so did their minds.

Suddenly, without any communication in words, they knew a lot more about each other. She saw Johann in the woods, firing his fatal shot, and at the top of the world, facing the monster that had been, and would be again, his brother.

He saw her as a little girl, resented by her sisters, kept at a distance by her parents, impressions flooding into her mind from everywhere.

Rosanna hoped they would both survive.

Together, they saw the numbers.

317 5037.

The lid was rolling across a floor, revolving like a wheel.

317 5037.

They had read it wrong.

The lid rolled and fell, so that they could see what Elsaesser had written rightside-up.

It was obvious now. There was no clever code. The officer had just tried to write, but been unable to finish, the name of his murderer.

Not 317 5037.

LEOS LIE.

Their minds parted. Johann and Harald were standing up again, facing the Beast. Hasselstein was not in the way.

The Beast's veil slipped.

VI.

The viscount's face was painted, his lips rouged. He looked like a younger version of his sister. He had been a handsome young man, now he seemed to be a startlingly beautiful woman.

Johann, his mind still reeling from the touch of Rosanna, tried to understand. Leos was mad, and dressed as his sister. He was the Beast, a murderous she-creature with razor claws. But he was still Deadly Leos, the calculating duellist. Two murderers, the brutal and the elegant, in one body.

Leos slashed at the air, snarling.

Harald parried with his knife. The Magnin clashed with Leos's claws and there were sparks.

Not hampered by the ball gown, Leos moved fast, striking out and just missing Harald's throat.

The watchman stumbled over a carpet and sat down, his knife spinning away across the polished floorboards.

Johann had his sword drawn. He thrust in front of Leos, preventing him from bending over Harald and tearing out the man's throat.

Leos hissed and turned on Johann.

The Beast held up its claws and rattled them together, like a woman showing off her painted nails.

Johann was reminded of the man-woman altered he had duelled with at the top of the world.

For a moment, Leos was back. He stood up straight, the dress hanging absurdly on him, and beckoned with his right hand, his left reaching behind him.

Too late, Johann saw he was picking up a sword from the top of a chest. The weapon had been neatly placed on top of a pile of folded garments. Leos's clothes.

The claws didn't affect Leos's grip. His blade came up.

Finally, it had come to this.

Johann made the first strike and Leos effortlessly brushed it away. They both had the measure of the fight and joined in serious sword-work.