The Grand Dark

by Richard Kadrey

  Later, when he asked Remy if she wanted to leave she walked him to the door. “Of course I do,” she said. “But Ilsa and Una will be upset if I go in the middle of the party. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? We’ll see each other tomorrow.”

  He nodded, disappointed about so much, even as they kissed in the fog beside the Grand Dark. Before he left, she hung on to his sleeve. “Was it all right what I did with Ilsa? Going off with her like that?”

  “Of course,” said Largo. “You cheered her up. I could tell.”

  “Good. You’re the only one I ever really want to kiss.”

  “And you’re the only one whose trash I want to take out.”

  Remy laughed. “Maybe instead of a Mara, I should get us a pretty little concubine.”

  “I think Ilsa might volunteer after tonight.”

  “Ilsa is drunk and would agree to almost anything, I think. Which reminds me. I ought to go back and check on her.”

  “That’s true love,” said Largo, smiling.

  Remy blew him a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As he rounded the corner by the coal power plant a block from home, something hit Largo broadside, knocking him off his bicycle. His first thought was that a driverless Mara had lost itself in Little Shambles and was turning corners blindly, trying to find a way out of the district. But that couldn’t be right. If he’d been hit by a Mara, wouldn’t he be unconscious? And in a lot more pain? He was a little dizzy, but both his arms and legs felt fine. When Largo opened his eyes, he looked straight up into the angry black clouds that billowed from the power plant smokestacks day and night. Every now and then, a star winked through a hole in the roiling darkness. Then the clouds were replaced by a face, but not like any he’d seen before. His first thought was that he’d fallen and was being helped up by an Iron Dandy. But the face wasn’t hideous, just—strange. There was something about it that reminded him of a horse, but also of a large dog. And it seemed to have small antlers. It sniffed at him and its great gray tongue licked at its nose and lips. Someone nearby was shouting, and the sound grew louder by the second. The strange face looked toward the sound and shuffled back a few feet. Now Largo could see that he’d been right. Whatever it was had a long, vaguely horse-shaped body, but it seemed to stand on pairs of very human-looking legs. At the sound of another shout, the creature ran gracefully into a vacant lot full of coarse black shrubs. Largo tried getting to his feet but was knocked down again by a speeding herd of running—somethings. These, however, he recognized immediately. They were the catlike chimeras from the carnival, mostly small ones but a couple big enough to leave him on his ass and dizzy. They all ran into the lot after the horse creature. Largo looked around, afraid for a moment that he’d gone as mad as Rainer, and whoever had been shouting rounded the corner.

  It looked as if the whole carnival had come to his rescue. Roustabouts and dancing girls, strong men in leopard skins and lion tamers in red jackets and jodhpurs ran to him. A spangled dancing girl and a red-headed clown with a purple nose got to him first and pulled him to his feet.

  “I’m so sorry,” said the dancer. “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Largo. “Were those all chimeras? I’ve never seen any that big before.”

  “Yeah, they were a few of the bigger bastards. Sorry,” said the clown gruffly.

  The dancer used her hands to dust off Largo’s clothes. “One of our trucks broke down and they escaped.”

  “Are they dangerous?” Largo said.

  “You’re the one flat on your arse,” said the clown. “You tell me.”

  The dancer shot the clown a look of exasperation. “They’re not dangerous at all. Just scared. Did you see which way they went?”

  Largo pointed to the vacant lot. “Over there. It was too dark to see much after that.”

  The clown ran back to the rest of the carnival workers. “He says they went into the bushes. Come on,” he shouted.

  Largo’s head cleared and his balance returned quickly. The dancer stopped brushing him. She was pretty, he thought. Tall and blond, though her hair was slightly askew, so it might have been a wig. Her face sparkled with glitter. “Nice shirt,” she said.

  “Thank you. My girlfriend gave it to me. Loaned, actually,” he said. Then in a moment of mild panic he added, “Is it dirty or torn?”

  The dancer took a step back. “No, it looks fine enough to be buried in.”

  He relaxed a little. “Oh, good. Remy won’t murder me.”

  “Is that your girlfriend?”

  “Yes,” said Largo. “She’s a performer at the Grand Dark.”

  The dancer smiled and said, “I’m a bit of a performer myself. You should come to the carnival and see me dance.”

  “Thank you, but I’m trying to save money right now.”

  The dancer raised her skirt over one leg and pulled two tickets from under a spangled garter. “Here you go. On the house, partly for being such a help and partly for not calling the bullocks on us.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Largo said. The dancer pushed the tickets into his hand and ran into the vacant lot after her friends. Over her shoulder she shouted, “I’m Nico. Bring your lady friend to see me dance. I’m not as wild as the tavern girls or nude as Anita Mourlet, but I’m very good. You can find me in the big tent every night.”

  As she disappeared into the dark, Largo said, “Thank you, Nico. We’ll come and see you.” He pulled his bicycle upright and checked it over to make sure it was undamaged. It seemed fine. But he didn’t ride the last block home. Between the morphia, the hashish, and being knocked on his head, he’d had enough of riding for one night. When he made it to his flat, he barely got his clothes off before falling into a deep sleep in which he dreamed about Rainer and a ghost battalion riding a herd of huge chimeras with human legs into the plague zones of High Proszawa.

  Largo had never seen him so happy.

  Eugenics

  Final Report to Schöne Maschinen Board of Directors, Personnel Injury Incident C39–01, Eugenics Hold #6

  Franck von Krell has worked with eugenics for many years, first in the underground pens in building 2 at Schöne Maschinen, and again in the army during the Great War. He received a severe leg wound in the early days of combat and was sent to the rear echelon. However, due to von Krell’s knowledge and enthusiasm, he was able to remain in the army training bitva eugenics for duty at the front.

  When he started working with eugenics, he’d been assigned to raise and train docile hausmeisters, a doglike breed the municipal authorities used to clean the streets by eating trash and detritus. After his promotion to Senior Aufseher in Hold #6, he oversaw the full range of eugenic species.

  When not attending to supervisory duties, he mainly worked with bitva eugenics because, he said, they took him back to his war days. Von Krell is skilled in socializing the whelps and teaching the young ones basic commands. During this period of training, he was able to wear his ordinary work overalls and gloves. However, several employees testified that when working with grown bitvas, he wore the required body armor, along with a steel mesh face mask and helmet. Von Krell’s specialty was training his bitvas to be vicious enough to kill, yet disciplined enough to show restraint when given the proper command. It should be noted here that it was not von Krell’s actions that precipitated the incident in Hold #6, but those of a careless underling.

  Unter Vorgesetzten Solveig Kuhlne has stated that late spring is the most difficult period in the bitva pens. In fact, workers have been known to falsify excuses for not going in. Allergies are a common excuse. Others claim injuries. Over the years, some have even claimed mental disturbances, especially the so-called “bomb shock” from the war. Testimony shows that von Krell has dealt quickly with such shirkers and layabouts.

  “You’re lucky to have these duties,” he reminds the staff. “Do you not imagine that there’s a line of willing young workers ready to take your place? Dismissal from Schöne Maschinen is somethi
ng that will haunt you the rest of your days. No one will employ you and you’ll remember until your dying day the opportunity you’ve squandered.”

  It was in late April, the height of eugenic mating season, when Incident C39–01 occurred. While cleaning the pens, Leopold Rabus, an apprentice with a spotless record, was foolish enough to get between two full-grown male bitvas that were fighting over a female. Though he was dressed in body armor, two adult bitvas were more than the young man could handle. According to witnesses, the bitvas cornered him and managed to bite through one of Rabus’s gloves, whereupon the presence of blood only intensified their attack.

  When von Krell was called to the pen, Rabus was on his back and unresponsive. Through years of experience, von Krell immediately recognized that the eugenic specimens Rabus had interfered with were the specially bred Giftig variety.*

  When von Krell found him, Rabus was seconds from death. Von Krell summoned a group of armored security Maras but, to his credit, he didn’t wait for them. Instead, at great personal peril, he entered the pen armed with only a cattle prod and a tranquilizer pistol.

  Using the prod, he managed to move the bitvas away from Rabus, but von Krell had trained the animals well. The original two bitvas were joined by two more. They went into a battle formation, backing the two men against the wall on the far side of the pen. With voice commands, von Krell managed to stand down two of the bitvas. However, the ones that had tasted blood were beyond voice command control. He managed to shoot each of them with a tranquilizer, but as they were now in full attack mode, the drug merely slowed them. Despite this, witnesses testify that von Krell stood firm and protected the young apprentice.

  When the bitvas made a final charge, one managed to rip through von Krell’s armor and bite the leg he’d injured in the war. Ironically, this might be what saved his life because, having lost sensation in the limb due to his injury, von Krell was able to keep a cool head and continue to fire tranquilizers at the eugenics until the Maras arrived. Once they’d secured the animals in a fenced enclosure, it should be noted that von Krell used his antivenin injector not on himself, but on young Rabus, thereby saving his life. By the time a medical Mara administered antivenin to von Krell, he was unconscious.

  Due to his heroic actions, he was moved to a private medical unit usually reserved for managerial staff. On his second day in recovery, Baron Hellswarth himself came to von Krell’s bedside to thank him for his dedication to the corporation and his young apprentice. As a gesture of appreciation, the Baron personally promoted him to Oberaufseher, head of the entire eugenics training program.

  According to medical reports, von Krell healed quickly and he even joked with the staff about reenlisting in the army. However, he was quick to reassure everyone that the comment was merely a joke. He told his physical therapist that he knew his work with eugenics at Schöne Maschinen would be an even greater contribution to the war effort than he could make as a soldier.

  Since returning to the Eugenics Department, von Krell has enacted a series of safety reforms, even consulting on the design of new armor for the workers. Also, no apprentices are allowed in the adult pens without being accompanied by an experienced eugenics worker. Along with a longer, more thorough training program for apprentices, he has mandated that all eugenics personnel carry at least two antivenin injectors at all times.

  According to all reports, Franck von Krell remains an exemplary Schöne Maschinen employee and should be considered an example to others.

  END Personnel Injury Incident C39–01 Report

  Chapter Nine

  THOUGH HE WAS STILL SORE FROM HIS ENCOUNTER WITH THE RAMPAGING chimeras the night before, Largo arrived at work a few minutes early. Herr Branca made a great show of checking the clock and his watch, even pressing his ear to the latter to make sure it was running correctly.

  “I see that you’re taking your duties more seriously today, Largo. Let me be the first to congratulate you.”

  “Thank you, sir. I won’t be late again.”

  Branca looked him over. “I did notice, however, a certain limp in your step when you came in. Will you be able to complete your rounds today?”

  Largo shifted the weight off his left leg, which still hurt from the previous night’s fall. “I took a small tumble last night, is all. It won’t affect my work. In fact, it’s quite a funny story—”

  Branca cut him off. “Were you drunk?” he said.

  The question caught him off guard. While he’d been a bit woozy from the morphia and hashish, he’d not had a single drink, so he was able to say, “Absolutely not,” with a straight face. “What happened, though, was quite remarkable.”

  “I’m sure it was and will make a fine tale for your memoirs; however, today all I care to know is that your faculties are at one hundred percent. Do you remember why?”

  Largo shifted his weight again, this time out of nervousness. “I’ll be visiting the armaments factory.”

  “Schöne Maschinen,” said Herr Branca. “Use its proper name for accuracy’s sake, if not as a mark of respect for its contributions to our well-being.”

  “I will, sir. Schöne Maschinen.”

  “Very good. And you’ve said ‘sir’ twice since coming in. That will be enough of that for today.”

  Largo kept his mouth shut.

  Branca grunted. “Tell me about your clothes,” he said. “The shirt I recognize from yesterday. It’s looking a little drabber today, so let’s do something about that.”

  “Of course. I have the money you gave me.”

  “Meaning you’ll be purchasing new clothes today?”

  “Directly after work.”

  “Very good.” Branca looked Largo up and down. It made him uncomfortable, but he was getting used to it, so he was able to stand perfectly still.

  Branca said, “The shirt is passable, as are the trousers, though just barely. But the jacket—have you taken up bear wrestling recently?”

  Largo looked down at himself. “No, but I know the right elbow is ripped a bit. It has to do with the incident last night. Anyway, I’ll get new clothes tonight, so it won’t be a problem tomorrow.”

  “But it’s today that worries me. Take the jacket off and hang it on that hook over there. I’ll be back in a minute,” Branca said.

  Largo did as he was told, feeling like a schoolboy hanging up his uniform after class. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. A moment later, Branca came out of his office with a clean jacket folded neatly over one arm. “Put this on,” he said.

  Again, Largo did as he was told. The jacket was much cleaner and in much better shape than his own. There were no holes or missing buttons, just a slight fraying at the wrists. However, it was at least a size too big. The sleeves came halfway down over his hands. “It’s very nice,” he said, “but I’m not sure it fits.”

  Branca stood before him with his arms folded. “Stand up straight and push your shoulders back a bit.” Largo did as he was told. Indeed, standing that way, he filled out the jacket a bit, but he felt ridiculous, as if he were pretending to be a toy soldier. “Much better,” said Branca. “It will do for today.”

  Resigned to his awkward wardrobe, Largo looked it over some more. The fabric was good. Wool, but in better repair than his own jacket. In all, it was much more comfortable than what he was used to. When he touched the breast pocket, he felt a stitched crest and that stopped him cold.

  “Whose jacket is this?” said Largo.

  “It belongs to the company,” Branca said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Didn’t König wear something like this?”

  Branca looked at some papers on his desk. “Not something like it. Exactly that jacket itself. Is that a problem?”

  Wearing König’s clothes and knowing how the other couriers felt about him taking his job made him shrink a little. He said, “Isn’t it bad luck, don’t you think? Considering what happened to him?”

  Branca didn’t look up. “The Nachtvogel didn’t arrest him for his sartorial
taste. They took him away because he was a dangerous anarchist. I don’t think you should worry about wearing his jacket. Sedition isn’t like catching a cold. You have to seek it out.”

  “Of course. That makes sense,” said Largo, still feeling like a grave robber.

  In ones and twos, the other couriers came into the office. Every one of them looked at Largo in König’s jacket. None tried to hide their anger or contempt, but no one said a word. Not after what had happened to Andrzej. Parvulesco came into the office last and stood next to Margit. He took one look at Largo and had to suppress a laugh. He gave Largo a quick thumbs-up before turning his attention to Herr Branca. Their boss waited a minute, checked the clock and his watch again, and then turned his attention to the couriers.

  He said, “I note the absence of Andrzej this morning. Does anyone have word of him?” The other couriers shook their heads and looked at one another, feigning innocence. “As I thought. Well, gentlemen, I have news. He will not be joining us today or for many days to come, if at all.”

  “Oh? Why is that, sir?” said Weimer. “Has he taken ill?” A few of the couriers snickered at his stilted performance.

  “That’s enough of that,” said Branca, eyeing the room. He turned his attention to Weimer. “It seems that an accident befell Andrzej last night. He was found behind a truck in the lot out front with considerable injuries. From the state of his body, he might have even been struck by one of the delivery vehicles. Or it might have been something deadlier.”

  “Deadly?” said Parvulesco, playing along with the game. “How so?”

  Branca said, “From the state of his numerous broken bones, it’s possible that Andrzej has succumbed to the Drops.”