Genevieve 03 - Beasts in Velvet

by Jack Yeovil

  '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 brother×it was still hard to think of him as a her and as the countess's sister×dressed 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 men×heroes 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 investigation×the nine women and Elsaesser×but 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.

  'I suppose I shall not be needing this any more.'

  Johann picked up the badge.

  'I understand,' Kleindeinst said, 'that the countess-elector has petitioned for my prosecution. Doubtless, Hals von Tasseninck has forgotten the service I did him during the riots and seconded her motion. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to get my old job back at the Reik and Talabec.'

  Johann handed the officer the badge.

  'I have talked with the Emperor. This time, I really have. Karl-Franz isn't so bad, you know. The countess will not be welcome at the palace for a long time. He has personally blocked her paper and I doubt that she'll press it further. I have told her that if she does, I shall tell Detlef Sierck the true story of the Beast and he will cancel that Zhiekhill and Chaida play and stage instead a spine-chiller called The Secret Life of Leos von Liebewitz.'

  Harald nearly laughed. He pinned the badge on again.

  'Back to the docks, I suppose,' he said.

  'Dickon has been removed, I understand.'

  'Yes.'

  'You'll be the new commander in Luitpoldstrasse then?'

  Harald shrugged. 'I'm not a commander, I'm a street copper. Besides, there's no station in Luitpoldstrasse, remember'

  'I'll have extra funds diverted to the watch, I promise. I'll make it my business to get the station rebuilt. But it will be different this time.'

  'It will have to be.'

  Harald Kleindeinst walked out of the coffee house and left them together.

  Johann looked tired for a moment.

  Outside, the fog had completely dispersed, but it was winter. There was already a light fall of snow and the windows were frosted over. There were still plenty of burned-out buildings in the city and whole areas of the East End were ruins. There was a tent settlement amid the cinders and ashes, and the cold was already a problem. Grand Theogonist Yorri's Riots Commission wasn't doing anything about that. Yefimovich was still at large, with a thousand crowns offered for anyone who turned him in, sought for the Beast's crimes as well as his own. The insurrections had died down, but Prince Kloszowski's latest pamphlet harped on the familiar neglects and the freezing inner-city dispossessed were repeating his verses under their steaming breaths as they stamped their feet, as much with irritation as the cold.

  After Leos's death, there was a rash of singular occurrences, which Rosanna thought of as omens in reverse: Dien Ch'ing, the Cathayan ambassador, disappeared from the palace; Detlef Sierck announced a horror play which would give the rest of the city the nightmares Rosanna had already been having to cope with; Etienne de la Rougierre was recalled to Bretonnia and rebuked by King Charles Tete d'Or for his licentiousness; Ch'ing's proposed expedition to the Dark Lands, suspected as a scheme to distract the Empire from subtler evils closer to home, was abandoned; Mikael Hasselstein resigned his position as Lector and entered a secluded branch of the Cult of Sigmar, taking a vow of silence as part of a self-induced penance; by night, the network of streets between the docks and the Street of a Hundred Taverns again became thick with women soliciting; people still lived, suffered and died

  'I never found my brother,' Johann said. 'He's not returned to the University.'

  'He's hurt and confused, but he'll mend. I scry him occasionally. He's still in the city. He knows he's not the Beast now. I promise you.'

  Johann let his coffee cool. 'I must find him,' he said. 'He was the reason I got into this thing. I must see it through. I think he still has a trace of the warpstone in him. You must have felt that when you touched his mind.'

  Rosanna agreed. 'But the warpstone isn't the only thing that can twist a person out of true, Johann'

  'You are right. There are worse ways of altering than to have a face of fire or daemon's horns or a little wolfishness.'

  Rosanna thought of Leos and was angry again. The girl inside the boy-shell had been a walking knot of agony. Then, she looked at Johann and calmed herself. The baron needed a scryer and she was without a position.

  She centred herself and tried to reach out with her mind

  The city teemed with hurts and resentments, with plenty and poverty, with nobility and savagery, with devotion and injustice, with Law and Chaos. She brushed hundreds of minds as they were tossed around like peas in a soup, each sealed in its own little shell of skull. She was wary of letting any of them in. The taste of Leos was still too strong with her. Over the last weeks, she had often found herself dreaming Leos's dreams, choking on her memories. No matter how much she tried to dispel, her gift still gave her a curse. Also, she had flashes of Johann's past, of Elsaesser's, even of Wolf.

  She knew the feel of Wolfs mind and searched for it. Her senses swelled to encompass the whole of the city. It would be like picking out one particular pea in a lake of soup, but it could be done. Johann noticed her distraction. 'Rosanna, what is it?'

  'I can help you, Johann,' she said, laying her hand over his.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  PART TWO

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  PART THREE

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  PART FOUR

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  PART FIVE

  I

  II

 
; III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  EPILOGUE