by Jack Yeovil
It takes its claw and prepares for the last of them. The last of the disgusting women. The worst of them.
It is not sure whether it is hunting, or waiting. Anyway, it will be over soon.
This is the last of the grudge kills.
The Beast pads through the palace. It is proud to walk in the light. It×no, she×does not need to hide any longer.
There is someone else in her mind, troubling her. A woman, a filthy woman! The Beast sees red hair, a pretty face.
There's a number, too. 317-5037. The woman presence doesn't understand. 317-5037?
The Beast is puzzled, for a moment. Then, it becomes clear. And she laughs
There was a watch carriage outside the inn. Harald commandeered it and took the reins, while the baron helped Rosanna up onto the seat.
The scryer was almost in a trance, her open eyes twitching. She was like a human dowsing rod. She didn't speak, just sat rigid.
Harald whipped the horses and the carriage tore through the fog. He hoped that the vehicle made enough noise to warn people to keep out of the way.
He imagined the map of the city and took the shortest route to the Emperor Karl-Franz Bridge and then on to the palace.
'It's Emmanuelle,' said the baron. 'The Marquess Sidonie was with us all the time last night.'
Harald didn't say anything. Nothing was proved yet.
'There were no other women in the company.'
A horse reared up in the fog, looming. It was one of the runaways, as yet not rounded up.
Harald pulled back hard and kept his own animals on course.
The stray was panicked, but galloped out of the way, fading into the grey murk.
'But the countess? Why?'
They were over the bridge and the streets were wider. There was mercifully little traffic, what with the fog and the leftover from the riots.
'Kleindeinst,' the baron said, 'earlier, you claimed that a womanslayer was the worst kind of criminal there was.'
Harald grunted a yes.
'Well, could you become one?'
Harald thought of the Countess Emmanuelle, tried to imagine her with knives in her frail hands, tearing away at the dead women, cutting young Elsaesser's throat.
He still couldn't answer the baron's question.
Ahead of them, its massive outline clearly visible, a stone hammer raised high above the structure, was the palace.
And inside was the Beast.
'I think my sister wants you to leave,' Leos said, calmly.
De la Rougierre and Mikael Hasselstein looked at the viscount and were chilled into silence. Leos took his hand away from the hilt of his sword and everyone breathed again.
'Yes,' said Emmanuelle, 'that's right.'
His sister was frayed around the edges. Without her paint on, the delicate lines around her mouth and eyes were visible.
The dwarf and the cleric both wanted to protest, but Leos counted on their taking his swordsmanship seriously.
De la Rougierre broke first. He clapped his hat on his head and left the room, attempting to draw himself up to a dignified height.
'Yelle,' Hasselstein pleaded, 'can't we×?.'
'No,' Emmanuelle said, 'we can not. Please go.'
The cleric made useless fists in the air and backed out of the room, grinding his teeth. He looked as if he would scream as soon as he got out of earshot, or take out his anger on a servant. His robes of office brushed the floor as he walked.
The door closed behind them.
Emmanuelle's face was twisted. Her hands were up in the air, sharp nails pointed like talons.
'Yelle,' Leos said, 'it is over'
Emmanuelle screeched.
Within seconds, Viscount Leos von Liebewitz was dead. And the Beast had killed him.
V
A pair of guardsmen stood in the middle of the gateway, with their pikes crossed, barring the road.
Kleindeinst shouted a warning, but made no attempt to stop.
Johann wondered if the two men would stay and be trampled. He held his breath.
Rosanna was mumbling and painfully gripping his arm.
The guards decided on survival over honour and Kleindeinst lashed the horses. The carriage rushed through the gateway.
Someone had unlocked the portcullis chain and it rumbled down behind them, spikes spearing the stone.
A guardsman drew his sword, but Kleindeinst pushed his badge in the soldier's face.
Johann showed his face and the guardsman saluted.
'Elector,' he said.
'I'm sorry for this,' Johann said, 'but it's urgent. I'm on the Emperor's business.'
Rosanna snapped out of her trance and vaulted out of the carriage, landing well.
'Follow us,' Johann ordered the gate guards.
Rosanna led the way, as if she knew every stone of the palace, and Kleindeinst and Johann had to stride to keep up with her.
She was taking them to the guest apartments.
At the main door of the block, they ran into Mikael Hasselstein. His face was stony and his knuckles white. Rosanna pushed her former patron out of the way without seeming to recognize him and pulled open the door.
'In there,' she said. 'The Beast.'
Hasselstein took notice. 'What?'
There was no time for explanations.
The party marched through the passageway. Along the way, they picked up Mnoujkine, the guests' steward. Johann told him to have all the other servants and guests evacuated.
'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.
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, but×for the first time in his career as a duellist×was caught by the end of the blade.
The point of Johann's sword slipped into Leos's flesh just below his collarbone and dre
w 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 mother×already a convert to the cause of her eldest daughter's position as the Empire's greatest beauty×was 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
