'Many people die, many are murdered. Especially in the alleys off the Street of a Hundred Taverns. This woman might have killed a man herself, a few years ago. He could have friends or relations who see the Beast as a way of evening the score without attracting attention. Or it could be a monkey-see-monkey-do madman.'

'I don't understand.'

Elsaesser was patient. 'Violence is like a plague, it spreads without reason. The Beast could have inspired an imitator. It happens with most killings like these.'

'I see. What should I look for?'

Elsaesser blushed, obviously embarrassed. 'Well ah first, you should see whether she was ah molested, um, before or after.

'He means was she raped, Miss Ophuls,' put in Dickon.

Rosanna remembered being led to a stone suspected to have been used as an altar in the Geheimnisnacht rites of a Chaos cult. Literally dozens of sacrifices had been raped in that place and she had felt for every one of them. Afterwards, their throats had been cut and the cultists had drunk their blood.

'Were the others?' she asked.

'We don't think so. The thing with sex crimes as vicious as these is that they are usually instead of rather than as well as, if you get my meaning.'

'Clearly.'

'These madmen usually turn out to be impotent, or inadequate. Mama's boys, most of them.'

The woman in the alley was getting no deader, but Rosanna could feel the residues fading fast.

'And be sure that we are dealing with a human,' said the baron. 'I'm still not convinced that the Beast is not an actual beast, or an altered.'

'So far,' said Elsaesser, 'the wounds have been consistent with some sort of hooked weapon. But it could also have been a set of claws.'

'Does the killer eat his victims?'

Elsaesser looked shocked. 'No, miss. We don't think so. It's hard to tell, but we think she's all there.'

'Well, that's something to be going on with.'

The baron and Elsaesser stood back. Rosanna tottered a little, but didn't feel faint any more. The Beast was gone, leaving only a memory behind. A memory couldn't hurt her.

She stepped across the entrance stone of the alley and the direct sunlight was blocked. The noises of the street were faint in her ears. She could have been distant from everyone, rather than a few steps away.

She walked in a little way and came to the blanket.

Bright blood seemed to run under her shoes in a river, washing into the street. Cries echoed between the walls and there was a dreadful rending sound, as a body was torn apart.

Her heart grew cold.

She felt an ache in her pints and the sting of gin in her throat. One of her eyes wasn't seeing properly. There was someone in the alley with her. Someone tall, in a long coat or cloak. She saw a flash of green and the glare of mad eyes. Then, something sharp went into her stomach.

She staggered back, breaking the contact.

Now, she was standing over the bloody work, watching shoulders heave. She saw a woman's white face. She was old, one-eyed. Her hair was stringy. Blood splashed across her face.

She was the Beast, but she knew nothing. She felt a tangle of impulses driving her, felt the desire to kill. Her cloak flapped around her as she tore away the skin and the flesh. Her mind contained just one idea. She must kill.

She broke the contact again. She had learned nothing. Her knees and ankles were going. The baron was there to catch her and to pull her out of the alley.

'There she goes again,' complained Dickon. 'Useless, useless.'

The baron unlaced her collar and let some air in.

'Well?' asked Elsaesser.

'I felt both of them,' she said. 'The woman had one eye.'

'And the Beast?' asked the baron.

She concentrated. 'The Beast is'

She tried to find the words.

'The Beast is two people.'

Dickon thumped a fist into his palm. 'The sailors,' he exclaimed. 'I knew it! The sailors.'

'No,' said Rosanna, 'you don't understand. The Beast is two people, but with only one body.'

'This is insane.'

'No, captain,' said the baron. 'I think I see what Miss Ophuls means. The Beast is an ordinary person most of the time, as sane and rational as you or I'

Rosanna nodded.

'but sometimes, when the mood or whatever takes him, he is something else, a Beast.'

'Is the Beast a werewolf?' asked Elsaesser.

Rosanna wondered. In the dark, she had seen nothing but the eyes.

'Yes no maybe'

'The same old tune, eh?'

The baron turned on the watchman. 'Captain, I'll thank you to leave this woman alone. She is obviously trying her best and I hardly think you are helping her.'

Dickon was chastened.

Elsaesser had darted into the alley and come out with something.

'Here,' he said, 'try this'

He handed her a small bag.

'What is it?'

'It's Margi Ruttmann's knife.'

'Who?'

'Margi Ruttmann her in the alley.'

'Oh, yes of course'

She had not picked up the woman's name. That happened quite often.

'She may have tried to defend herself. She may have cut the Beast.'

She pulled the drawstring loose and let the bag fall. She turned the knife around in her hand, feeling the hilt.

'If he were wounded in a specific way, we could look for a man with that wound. It would be something to go on.'

She gripped the knifehandle and held the blade up.

Her cheek stung as the blade slipped in, piercing her eye. Half her vision went red and then black.

She was shaking.

She pinned him down and slid the blade into him, ignoring his screeches.

'Rikki,' Rosanna said. 'She killed someone called Rikki.'

Dickon snorted again. 'Well, that's that old case closed. At least we've accomplished something here.'

'Try holding it by the blade,' Elsaesser suggested.

Rosanna considered and then flipped the knife over, catching it in her fingers. It was sharp but she didn't cut herself.

'Excuse me,' she said, holding the knife up. She positioned the point against the bridge of her nose and then tilted the blade up, resting its flat against her forehead. It was cold as an icicle.

'This helps sometimes.'

Elsaesser and the baron looked on, radiating encouragement. They were both, she realized, interested in her.

The blade leaped in the dark and the point sank into heavy cloth. The blade was pulled away. The cloth tore. The ripping sound was extended for longer than was possible. Amplified, she heard it tearing forever.

'Well?' someone asked.

'Green velvet,' she said.

Elsaesser and the baron looked at each other, their hearts sinking.

'Green velvet,' she said again, 'like the baron's cloak.'

VII.

Dien Ch'ing bowed low, in the Celestial fashion, prostrating himself and touching his forehead to the flagstones. They were cold.

'My humble and unworthy self is honoured to be graciously admitted into your estimable presence, noble sir.'

The ambassador knew that Hasselstein had no patience with Cathayan courtesy, but conducted himself impeccably anyway. That was important. His mask must not slip.

'Get up, ambassador,' he said, 'you make yourself ridiculous.'

Dien Ch'ing stood, wiping non-existent dust from his robes. The palace floors were as clean as a virgin's conscience.

The Emperor's confessor was not wearing his lector's hood. He was dressed like any other courtier, in fine white linen and a green velvet cloak. Out of his habit, he did not look especially ascetic.

'Nevertheless, noble sir, I am pleased to be granted this audience.'

Hasselstein was obviously distracted. Dien Ch'ing assumed that the man had actually forgotten their appointment. He was unprepared for their discussions and that made him irritable. He was too much the smooth courtier to give offence to the representative of the Monkey King, but he had other, more pressing business, and he would prefer to be seeing to it. That was interesting. The cause of the Lord Tsien-Tsin could be assisted by such distractions.

Besides, it was just as well. Dien Ch'ing wondered how generous the welcome would be if Hasselstein and his Emperor knew that he did not, in fact, serve the Monkey King and that the real ambassador, despatched two years ago from far Cathay, was resting with his throat cut in an unmarked grave somewhere in the Dark Lands. He assumed that things would be very different indeed.

'Has the Emperor found the time to consider the Monkey King's petition, noble sir?'

Some memory of the matter surfaced in Hasselstein's mind and he dredged the facts together. Behind him, rolled up in tubes, were all the petitions. Dien Ch'ing could see his perfect forgery stuffed in with the others.

'Your proposed expedition to the Dark Lands, eh?'

Dien Ch'ing touched his thumb to his forehead and bowed again.

'Even so, noble sir.'

Hasselstein was playing with the papers on his desk, pretending to be busy. It was not like the man. Dien Ch'ing understood the Emperor's confessor to be a skilled politician, not a distracted curmudgeon. There was something seriously amiss at the court of Karl-Franz.

'It is being considered. The undertaking would be costly and difficult to put together. I'm sure you understand.'

'Indeed, noble sir. That is why the Monkey King proposes a joint venture. The Lord of the East should shake hands with the Emperor of the West. And the encroachments of evil grow greater every day. The time is right for a full-scale campaign.'

'Um,' said Hasselstein, 'possibly.'

Dien Ch'ing smiled inside, but let nothing show. He must be humble, he must be patient. One does not ascend the Pagoda of Tsien-Tsin at a single leap. One must take the steps individually and pause for rest and reflection at each level. The plan for this trap had been laid years earlier, in the Dark Lands, and there would be no haste in springing it. Dien Ch'ing remembered how haste could spoil a recipe, and did not intend to fail his master a second time.

'You will pardon me, noble sir, for daring to express an intuition, but is there perhaps some pressing matter which occupies your thoughts?'