Beasts in Velvet (Vampire Genevieve Book 3) by Kim Newman

Author:Kim Newman [Newman, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Games Workshop
Published: 2019-07-05T16:00:00+00:00

VI

It was the most incredible thing Luitpold had ever witnessed. And it was over in seconds.

He was just about to intervene, invoking the ancient rights of the Imperial family to save his fencing teacher, when Johann laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. The elector was right. Leos von Liebewitz would never forgive him if he were robbed of his honour that way. The viscount would rather die.

Luitpold had imagined that the duellists would step back, take the measure of each other and then join in combat. That was what he had been taught to expect.

Instead, they stepped forwards. Ungenhauer, the von Tuchtenhagen servitor who was rumoured at court to be affected by the warpstone, lunged for Leos, his arms out…

Leos seemed to move casually, as he half-bent out of the champion’s way. He just touched Ungenhauer’s neck with his foil, then danced out of his reach, coming around behind the man.

A gigantic gusher of blood came from Ungenhauer’s throat, spraying the floor in a circle as he turned. Dien Ch’ing raised the skirts of his robe and scuttled away from the mess, but Graf Volker had his boots ruined and one of the seconds got a faceful, forcing him to retire, choking, against the wall.

A roar began in Ungenhauer’s chest but it came out of the new mouth in his neck, not the old one in his face.

He raised his hands, as if in triumph, and collapsed to his knees. The whole gymnasium shook.

Leos picked up Dien Ch’ing’s silk and wiped off the point of his sword.

Ungenhauer toppled forwards and tiles broke under his face.

There was a moment of incredulous silence and then the applause started.

Leos was indifferent. He was busy wrapping his weapon and handing it to his second. Graf Volker was on his knees praying to Sigmar.

The Celestial raised his hand for quiet and was rewarded.

‘By the rules of chivalry, honour is restored. The life of Graf Volker von Tuchtenhagen is the property of Viscount Leos von Liebewitz, to be disposed of as he sees fit…’

Von Tuchtenhagen was crawling towards the viscount, incoherently begging for forgiveness. Doglike, he licked Leos’s boots.

‘Call for a cleric,’ Leos told Dien Ch’ing, ‘and a barber. I will not kill a man who is unshriven, much less unshaven.’

‘It is confirmed, Lector,’ said Ruhaak. ‘A messenger has brought the news from the docks.’

Mikael Hasselstein was preoccupied. His junior repeated what he had just said. It sank in. He rolled the facts around his mind and worried at them.

‘I did not doubt it, Siemen. Miss Ophuls has an extraordinary gift.’

He could not keep his thoughts on the murders. Last night had been a bad one. At the von Tasseninck ball, Yelle had been threatening to break it off, had been insistent. It had taken all his persuasion and all his skills to bring her round. That, and a quick coupling in an antechamber, made all the more exciting by the possibility of imminent discovery. But his attachment was becoming a nuisance. It was affecting his work.

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