The dress didn't slow Leos's feet, but there was a certain awkwardness about his carriage. Johann tried to work on the weakness, but Leos defended perfectly, turning every attack with contemptuous ease.

Johann recognized the echoes of Valancourt of Nuln. He had seen the great teacher give a demonstration for the Emperor once. But Leos had improved upon his mentor's moves. There was a cruelty that undercut his elegance. He was less artful, but more dangerous.

As they fought, Johann looked into Leos's empty face, searching for an answer. Rosanna would scry one, he hoped. For now, there was only the fight.

A double thrust slipped through his guard and he felt his cheek sting. He knew the cut was deep.

He had forgotten Leos's claws. With a snarl, the Beast latched its left hand to Johann's shoulder, biting deep. Leos pulled back, trying to get the distance between them for a decisive thrust.

Johann drove his knee into Leos's stomach and swiped at his opponent's rapier, ignoring the pain in his shoulder.

The hooks came free and the duellists were apart again.

Kleindeinst was up, with his knife ready, but Leos was moving too fast to give him an opening. He was standing in front of Rosanna, protecting her.

With a flurry of moves, Leos advanced, inflicting a dozen tiny rips upon Johann's clothes, scratching the skin beneath. That was for show, but also to wear him down.

Johann had not fought seriously since the Top of the World. He had never considered it a fit amusement. But now, the instincts came back to him. What Leos had studied in gymnasia and duelling courts, he had learned in forests and battles. With each hurt, he felt stronger, faster. Technically, Leos was the greater duellist and the savagery of the Beast powered his attacks. But Johann was the skilled survivor.

Johann picked up a candelabrum with his left hand, his shoulder protesting, and jabbed at Leos with it. The flames were snuffed, but the feint distracted the murderer.

Johann saw his opportunity and took it, raising his swordarm in a muscle-stretching salute, then slicing down, chopping through the air with a whipping whistle. Leos tried to step back, butfor the first time in his career as a duellistwas caught by the end of the blade.

The point of Johann's sword slipped into Leos's flesh just below his collarbone and drew a line down across his torso, tearing cloth and skin. The cut would be too shallow to do anything more than itch, but Johann hoped the flapping dress and the blood would slow him down, make him defeatable.

Surprise flared in Leos's pale eyes. The dress tore and Johann stepped back, bringing his sword up for another thrust.

The dress gaped open, just as Johann's blade was aligned for the heart-piercing move.

Johann saw Leos's white skin and couldn't move. He willed himself to make the fatal strike, but couldn't.

He had won, but he had lost also There was nothing else for it.

Harald tossed the knife around, grabbing the blade firmly, and then threw it.

The Beast was caught, the knife sunk into the naked skin just below the heart.

'Sister' Leos said and collapsed.

For the first time, Harald was unsure about killing a murderer. He felt like a womanslayer.

Rosanna slipped past him and went to the viscount.

He was still alive The dress was torn, from neck to waist.

Baron Johann stood still, his sword trembling, his mouth open.

'Sigmar's holy hammer,' swore Mnoujkine.

Viscount Leos von Liebewitz had been a woman.

Rosanna was holding his head, like a cleric trying to shrive a distracted sinner.

'This isn't enough,' she said. 'We have to know why.'

'No,' said the baron, 'Rosanna, don't'

She ignored him and kissed the dying Beast. As their mouths joined, a shock ran through the server's body 'Help her,' Johann said.

Harald didn't know who he meant.

VII.

As they died, Rosanna lived the Beast's life 'But I don't want a little sister,' a pretty child said, 'I want there to be only me!

Her father protested, but motheralready a convert to the cause of her eldest daughter's position as the Empire's greatest beautywas insistent.

'What my little Yelle wants, my little Yelle shall have.'

Their father, the old Elector of Nuln, knew what his wife and daughter wanted was wrong, but he had always been a slave to women.

In the end, he was glad to have one less in his household. And he had always wanted a son. If he had lived, he would have found an ally in the 'boy' Leos, who grew up to hate women so much 'Don't touch yourself there. That's disgusting!'

Then blows. Leos was taught with whippings to cover her body at all times. She came to think of herself as a boy. He suppressed the memory of his brief life as a girl. He played with wooden swords, not dressed-up dolls. He wanted to be a swordsman when he grew up and face hordes of goblins or trolls single-handed, leaving mountains of green-skinned dead wherever he adventured.

Father, Chancellor of the University, would lock himself up with his books of history, while mother supervised the children. Yelle would be rewarded, Leos would be beaten. If she transgressed, he was punished. He came to tolerate the punishment, then to yearn for it. The idea of punishment appealed to him. Later, he would approach it from another angle and become the chastiser rather than be the chastised. It was only right.

When Yelle was seventeen and Leos eight, mother died in a coach accident. Leos was properly a boy by then, but the Beast was growing inside him as he had grown inside his mother. The Beast was not the girl he would have been if raised as one, but the girl that had been imprisoned, tortured, suppressed. And she was angry.

Shortly after the death of her pet cat, Yelle stopped beating the boy. She was his mother now and could have him sent away or punished at will. She used her power over him sparingly, remembering just what she had created in her brother.

Besides, Leos was now devoted to his sister. If he ever fought with the local boys, it would turn out that his opponent had angered him by insulting Yelle. And if he ever fought, Leos would win. Emmanuelle became quite protective of Leos, mothering him far better than their real mother had.

The Beast had tasted blood already. The two men, who didn't matter, and sweet, ripe Natasha. When her claw had slipped into Natasha's peach-soft flesh, she had known what her purpose was. Women (Yelle excluded) were disgusting. Creatures of Evil. The Beast was born to kill women, to be as great a scourge to them as Sigmar had been to goblinkind.

At the University, Leos was taught swordsmanship by the great Valancourt, and soon his blade was blooded.

The Beast felt strange about the blade. She loved to lick it sometimes, gently scratching her tongue to get the taste of the blood, but it was not a claw. And the boy-shell's duelling partners were men.

The first claw was a hunting knife that had been father's. The Beast loved that claw and still cherished it. After the first kills, when the blade was still wet, the Beast would hold the knife between her thighs, feeling the hilt against her forbidden place. It made her feel complete.

Later, the Beast had fashioned more suitable claws and come out of the boy-shell more often. Yelle had so many pretty dresses, so many pretty jewels, so many pretty things And the Beast's knife-gauntlets matched so many of her sister's dresses.

The Beast still thought women were disgusting. They were weak and foolish, not like herself. The Beast wanted to couple only with men, to feel their rough, hairy bodies. Even the boy-shell had no romantic interest in the feeble girls of the court with whom he danced at balls. He was rumoured to have broken the heart of Clothilde of Averheim through his cruelty, but actually the hurt was done by a simple lack of interest. Sometimes, the Beast would try on her sister's gowns and feel the killing lust flare in her heart.

Usually, she could hide inside Leos, coming out when she had to strike. But on her hunting expeditions, she would frequently dress up as if for a ball, selecting a green velvet gown with a matching cape.

But Leos hated himself for having the Beast's desires. Later than the Beast, he became a killer too. He killed elegantly with his sword, while the Beast ripped with her claws. They never really became one, and would fight continually.

The Altdorf victims were only the latest in an unbroken chain of corpses. Lately the Beast had raged more, been less cautious, given Leos less time to clear up and cover the tracks.

The fight for control of the body became a constant thing.

In the end, as was inevitable, the Beast won.

VIII.

The Countess Emmanuelle's dressing room was filled with people. From somewhere, more guards and servants had appeared. As an Elector, Johann was in charge of the situation.

Mnoujkine had called the palace physician and Mikael Hasselstein was lying on the countess's daybed, having his ripped face seen to. He might lose an eye, and his upper lip was so badly torn that he would have trouble talking, but he would live. Emmanuelle herself was unharmed, but she had fainted and been covered with Leos's cloak while her brotherit was still hard to think of him as a her and as the countess's sisterdressed in one of her gowns.

Johann and Harald were most concerned with Rosanna. She was in another trance state, dreaming furiously. Leos lived for a few minutes with Harald's knife through her heart and died without saying anything.

'We'll never know why' Harald said.

Johann knew the captain was wrong. 'Rosanna will know,' she said.

'Maybe it would be best if she didn't'

Kleindeinst gently eased his knife out of the Beast's breast, wiped it on the cast-aside velvet cloak, and slipped it into its sheath.

'Green velvet,' he said, rubbing the rich material between his fingers. 'This has been a lot of trouble for such rotten stuff.'

Johann picked up Rosanna and carried her away from Leos's body. She was mumbling and fighting the dream.

He took her out of the dressing room and into the first bedroom he could find, where he laid her out gently. The room was sparsely decorated, as untenanted and characterless as a guest chamber in an inn. It had been Leos's room.

The only objects which suggested an occupant were a row of cameos on a dresser, small and cheap portraits of handsome young menheroes of the Empire, popular actors, the sons of distinguished families. Johann recognized an indifferent picture of himself among the collection. In a rack on the wall, there were several fine swords.

Rosanna would wake up on her own, soon. He could leave her to that.

In the reception room, the countess was surrounded by solicitous servants, her face a beautiful mask. Johann had never noticed before how closely she resembled Leos. Normally, the younger sister would have been the greater beauty. But there was very little 'normally' about this business. He wondered how much his fellow elector had known, had guessed, had suspected Then, he thought of Wolf. His brother was still out there, confused and hurt.

Emmanuelle was talking in a low, serious voice, giving orders to Daniel Dorrie, one of her retainers and, it was rumoured, one of her lovers. The smooth-faced young man was paying close attention.

Kleindeinst stood by the door, examining his axe-work. Emmanuelle knew he had brought Leos down and seemed to be talking with Dorrie about the officer. Killing the relatives of electors was getting to be a habit with him. Johann swore to himself that the captain wouldn't get into any more trouble for his action. Any of them would have done the same thing. In the end, Johann thought it was probably best for poor Leos. Earlier today, he had thought of the Beast as a monster. Already, the murderer had become 'poor Leos.'

There was a movement from behind him and Rosanna came out of the bedroom, a hand pressed to her head as if she were hung over. She was unsteady on her feet. He supported her, but she pushed away from him and stood on her own.

Johann and Kleindeinst both looked at the scryer, both asking the same question in their head.

Why?

Rosanna put out her hands to steady herself and knocked a small ornament from a stand. It smashed on the floor. Emmanuelle looked over and tut-tutted, then went back to Dorrie's orders.

The server took a deep breath and became fully awake.

'It's over,' Johann said.

Rosanna shook her head and, without saying anything, walked towards the Countess Emmanuelle.

Dorrie put his hand under his cloak, reaching for a knife, instinctively protecting his mistress. Kleindeinst's hand got to Dorrie's wrist before the favourite's hand got to the knife.

Rosanna took hold of the Countess-Elector of Nuln by the chin and tilted her head upwards. She looked at the other woman, hawked loudly and spat in her face

EPILOGUE.

JOHANN & ROSANNA.

She still couldn't bring herself to explain it all to them. The Countess Emmanuelle von Liebewitz was back in Nuln with her courtiers and her conscience, her sister buried in the family vaults with an inscription referring to her as 'beloved son and brother.' Rosanna could never forget the ten deaths she had experienced during this investigationthe nine women and Elsaesserbut the lifelong death of the girl who had never been allowed to live was the worst thing she had ever known. Leos had never even had a girl's name.

The three met in a coffee house well away from the Street of a Hundred Taverns and mainly sat without talking. Johann was not pressing her to talk, but thought she would tell him eventually. Maybe she would. Harald really didn't want to know, although there was a sore point inside him, a voice that whispered 'womanslayer.'

'Don't blame yourself,' she said.

'I don't. You misread me. I killed something that had to be killed. That's all.'

It wasn't, but she didn't contradict him.

Officially, Leos had fought one duel too many, on a matter of honour, and been bested by Harald Kleindeinst. Followers of the viscount's career were surprised that he should choose to match blades with an untitled watchman, but few were interested enough to question the story. Sam Warble, a halfling investigator hired by the Marquess Sidonie to delve into Leos's character and habits in the hope of uncovering something that would help her avenge the death of her husband, eventually returned to Marienburg, having just missed turning up some real surprises. The investigator had a few questions left, but Harald had convinced Warble not to ask them too loudly and he had proved very persuasive in the matter. The marquess, pleased enough at the end of the business, had paid the halfling his full fee in any case, and was planning on erecting a statue to her husband in the Marienburg market square.

Harald drank his coffee and, impatient with them, got up to leave.

He said his goodbyes and pulled on his coat. His copper badge was on one lapel. He unpinned it and dropped it on the table.