The Grand Dark

by Richard Kadrey

  “Not really. The bullocks shoved everybody around, then shot the Dandy.”

  Ernst shook his head. “I’d trade one of Oskar’s balls for a photochrome of that.”

  A bespectacled man at a nearby desk looked up. “What? Did you say something?”

  “No, Oskar. Herr Moorden and I were just having a chat.” He smiled at Largo. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. You’ll just have to get here quicker with the next story.”

  Largo looked out the window at his bicycle. He’d come a long way for nothing. “I suppose so. The bullocks were taking chromes. Maybe you could bribe one of them.”

  “I’ve already put out the word,” said Ernst. “If there isn’t anything else, we’re busy getting tomorrow’s edition ready for printing.”

  Largo nodded. “Too bad you can’t bribe a Nachtvogel. I bet they have much better chromes than the bullocks.”

  Ernst blinked and leaned on his desk. “Wait—there were Nachtvogel?”

  Largo nodded. “Two cars full, and a juggernaut.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “They scared off the bullocks and took the bodies themselves. Ask anyone.”

  Ernst slapped his desk and jumped out of his chair. He looked around and threw his pencil at a man across the room. It hit him in the ear. The man yelled, “Who fucking did that?”

  “I fucking did,” said Ernst. He pointed at Largo. “How is it you didn’t know about the Nachtvogel in the plaza today?”

  The man, young and with yellowed teeth, said, “There weren’t any Nachtvogel.”

  Ernst glanced at Largo. “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “Yes. They scared off the police and put the bodies in the juggernaut.”

  Ernst dropped back down into his chair and found another pencil. He said, “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

  Largo told him everything he could remember, especially how the lead man turned off all the Maras.

  “That certainly sounds like the Nachtvogel,” said Ernst. “You know what this means, right?”

  Largo said, “No. I haven’t a clue.”

  Ernst rocked back in his chair. “It means the Dandy did know who he was attacking. He was no lunatic. This was a political murder. There’s no other reason the Nachtvogel would be there.”

  Good. That’s got to be worth something, thought Largo. He said, “I didn’t think your readers would be so keen on politics.”

  “They’re not,” said Ernst. He tapped his notes. “But they love a good conspiracy.”

  Largo took a step forward. “It seems that I didn’t bring you the whole story, but did I bring you enough to count for something?”

  Ernst handed him several silver coins. It wasn’t as much as the Valda, but it was still good money.

  “Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you. If my idiot writers can’t get the whole story in the future, I just might have to fire them and hire you,” said Ernst. “You hear that, you lazy bastards?” No one replied.

  Largo put the coins in his pocket and started to leave, but Ernst put a hand on his arm. “Let me give you a story this time. People are being kidnapped right off the streets. Have you heard anything like that?”

  Largo shook his head and thought for a moment about Enki’s disappearance. But he’d returned on his own and, anyway, he was a drinker and had probably just blacked out. “I haven’t heard anything.”

  “The bullocks think it’s a new gang in the city. They might be grabbing people to hold for ransom. If you pick up any rumors, drop whatever you’re doing and come straight here. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Largo liked the sound of that. “I’ll bring you anything I learn.”

  An hour later, he was drinking and laughing with Parvulesco and Roland at the Fräulein Sabel. Largo bought the first round of drinks with his Ihre Skandale money and everyone was in a fine mood. However, during a lull in the conversation, Parvulesco became serious.

  “You need to watch yourself,” he said. “I heard that Andrzej took a runner from the hospital.”

  Largo said, “Are you sure? I’m surprised he could walk after that beating.”

  “I must be losing my touch,” Roland said.

  “It gets worse,” said Parvulesco. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Weimer wasn’t at work today. And he didn’t come back from his rounds yesterday.”

  “Do you think he and Andrzej are up to something together?” Largo tensed. If what Parvulesco said was right, they could have had a day and a half, perhaps two days to come up with ways to get back at him. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Don’t go out alone at night,” Parvulesco said.

  “And don’t take your normal routes on the job or going home. Avoid patterns,” said Roland. “It will make it harder for them to lay an ambush.”

  Largo gulped his whiskey. “This can’t be happening right now. Things were looking up.”

  Parvulesco said, “I know your promotion was good news, but it’s not worth getting hurt over.”

  “To hell with the promotion,” Largo said. “I met someone who might help me leave the job altogether and start something better. A whole new life.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Parvulesco.

  “Yes,” said Roland. “What kind of new life?”

  Largo wasn’t sure what to say. The further the meeting with Baron Hellswarth receded into the past, the more fantastic—and absurd—it seemed. Me, working in a lab with chimeras. He was probably joking. Having fun with a gullible idiot just desperate enough to take him seriously. Largo swirled around the last of his drink. “I can’t say yet. Besides, dealing with Andrzej and Weimer is more important than mooning over something that probably won’t happen.”

  Roland said, “You’re right. Staying alive should be your only concern right now. Never go anywhere without your knife.”

  Largo looked at him. “Will you show me how to use it?”

  He smiled. “I’m glad you finally asked. Yes. I know where we can go.”

  In general, Largo didn’t have a fear of heights, but standing on the roof of Roland and Parvulesco’s building he felt distinctly dizzy.

  “It’s just nerves,” said Parvulesco. “You’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

  “I’m learning to fight for my life,” Largo said. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be fine again.”

  “Calm down. We all felt that way the first time they handed us a weapon in the army,” said Roland. “The basics are simple and that’s all I’m going to teach you. After that, it’s a matter of you practicing on your own. Got it?”

  “Got it,” said Largo.

  “Good. Now take out the knife and stand like you’re going to fight me.”

  Largo felt like a child brandishing the weapon, knowing that Roland could take it away from him in a second.

  Roland walked around him, giving orders. “Extend your fighting arm. Get your weight onto the balls of your feet so you can move quickly. If I’m holding a knife, don’t look at my hands. Look at my eyes. They’ll tell you more.” He went behind Largo and adjusted his hips. “Get more sideways,” he said. “It makes you a smaller target. And relax.”

  “All right,” said Largo, not believing a word of it.

  Roland taught him how to thrust the knife and how to move forward and close the distance on an opponent. He showed Largo how to defend himself from another knife and the best places to punch with the spiked knuckle dusters. At the end of the lesson, Parvulesco applauded. Largo, drenched in sweat, raised his hands high over his head.

  “How do you feel?” said Roland.

  “I didn’t fall off the roof or have a heart attack. I count that as a victory.”

  “Practice is the key. Do that and muscle memory will take over and you won’t have to think so much.”

  “Practice,” said Largo. “I will.”

  When he left, Largo took a circuitous route home. There, he toweled off, put on a clean shirt, and rode an equally absurd route to Remy’s flat. They took mo
rphia together, made love, and fell asleep. He dreamed of running after Remy through the back alleys and worst districts of Lower Proszawa. She dashed ahead of him and he had a hard time keeping up. Largo didn’t know why she was running. He wanted to grab her, hold on, and tell her that everything was all right, but he couldn’t. Her body was a ball of flame.

  In the morning, Remy handed Largo a postcard with a picture of a beautiful woman on the front. Her body was covered by a few strands of woven silk. “Blow on it,” she said. Largo did as he was told, and the silk flew aside to reveal that the woman was nude.

  “A cute trick,” he said. “Is she a friend of yours?”

  Remy took back the card and blew on it several times. Setting it on the mantel over the fireplace, she said, “Don’t be silly. It’s Anita Mourlet, the Madonna of Depravity. The wickedest woman in the world.”

  “I’ve heard of her. She strips while she sings.”

  Remy gave him a look. “She doesn’t just strip. Anita isn’t some beer hall girl. She’s an artist who uses her voice and body to seduce, beguile, and corrupt audiences around the world.”

  Largo thought for a moment. “Didn’t the city fathers ban her from performing here? Something happened at one of her shows?”

  Remy came back to the sofa and did a mock swoon into Largo’s arms. “Yes. She practically deflowered the mayor’s son during a performance at the opera house.” She laughed. “Anita had half his clothes off before the bullocks rushed in and stopped the show. It was wonderful.”

  “If she’s banned, what’s the card for?”

  Remy looked up at him. “She’s performing here tonight. It’s a secret show at the Golden Angel, one of the old theaters near the Grand Dark. There aren’t any tickets. It’s invitation only.”

  “And the card is the invitation?”

  Remy sat up. “Yes, and we’re going tonight. It will be the perfect opportunity for you to wear your new formal clothes. I know exactly what I’ll wear. It’s going to be so much fun. Maybe she’ll seduce you this time.”

  Largo opened Remy’s robe and ran his fingers over her breasts. “What would you do then?”

  She put his hand between her legs. “I’d sit back and enjoy the show.” Remy climbed on top of him and he used his fingers on her until she let out a little scream and fell back on the sofa. “See?” she said. “Anita is already working her wicked magic.”

  “If that’s what her postcard can do, then I’m looking forward to the real show,” said Largo.

  “Meet me at the Grand Dark after the last performance. Don’t wear your formal clothes there in case they get dirty. Just bring them and you can change in my dressing room.”

  “You have it all planned out, don’t you?” he said.

  “Not all,” Remy said. “We have to leave something to chance. It’s more fun that way.”

  “I agree.”

  He left for work soon after that. He was riding along the edge of the city, taking the long way around to the courier service, when something occurred to him.

  I wonder if the knife will fit under my formal jacket?

  There was no way to know until he tried it on that night. It left him anxious all day.

  Remy was already dressed by the time Largo arrived at the theater. She wore a long, low-cut bloodred empire-waist gown with matching opera gloves. Her ears sparkled with diamond earrings. Around her throat was an intricately webbed crystal necklace that pulsed with pinpoints of light from tiny bioluminescent chimeras floating inside.

  “What do you think?” she said.

  For a moment, all Largo could do was stare. Finally, he said, “I’m speechless.”

  Remy gave him a peck on the cheek. “That’s the right answer. And that’s the only kiss you’ll get right now because my lipstick is perfect and I don’t want to muss it. But don’t worry. I’ll make up for it later.” She swatted him on the ass and said, “Now it’s your turn to be beautiful. Let’s see the new you.”

  Largo took off his work jacket and draped it over a chair back before putting on his formal clothes. Unfortunately, he couldn’t wear the knife under the jacket, but he reasoned that the odds of Andrzej and Weimer sneaking into an event like this were minuscule. Still, he’d grown used to having the weight against his body and it bothered him now that it wasn’t there.

  As he dressed, he watched Remy making small adjustments to her outfit in the mirror. She really was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. He recognized the dress as one from her closet, but he’d never seen the jewelry before, though he knew she had quite a lot. The earrings were probably expensive, but her necklace looked like it must have cost a fortune. Were they more trinkets from her wealthy admirers? Largo shook his head. Even if he managed to get a job at Schöne Maschinen, would he ever be able to give her gifts like those? He put it out of his mind for now. Even though all he had was a bicycle and a shabby piss-yellow flat, Remy chose to be with him when she could have been with so many other wealthier men.

  That has to mean something, he thought. Right?

  When Largo was dressed, he looked at himself in the mirror. The clothes fit reasonably well, but something was missing. He touched his collar and said, “We forgot to get a proper tie.”

  “Relax,” said Remy. “I remembered this afternoon and stole this from one of the puppets.” She handed him a black silk bow tie.

  He turned it over in his hands, then smiled at her. “Guess what I’m about to say.”

  Remy cocked her head at him. “That you don’t know how to tie it?”

  “I’ve never even held a real bow tie before.”

  She stepped behind him. “Let me show you,” she said, and reached over his shoulders, sliding the tie around his neck. As she pulled it tight, Largo said, “Is this when you finally do away with me?”

  Remy grinned as she cinched the tie snugly into place. “How did you know my plan?”

  “It’s obvious. You want my millions.”

  She looped the tie around into a bow and said, “And your yacht. The rule among ladies is that you poison for money, but strangle for a yacht.”

  When she was finished, Largo said, “Well, you missed your opportunity.”

  Still behind him, Remy rested her chin on his shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe I like you more than your silly boat.”

  Largo turned and put his arms around her. “That works out well. I like you too,” he said.

  She sighed. “Now I suppose no one is going to murder anyone tonight.”

  “Don’t worry. There’s always tomorrow.”

  “Goodie. That gives me time to plan something diabolical.”

  “I wouldn’t want to go any other way.”

  Remy put a hand on his cheek. “I want to kiss you right now.”

  “Careful. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

  She picked up a white fur wrap and gave it to Largo to drape around her shoulders. “Silly boy. I didn’t say I was going to kiss you, just that I wanted to.”

  “Thank goodness I escaped that fate.”

  Remy laughed and grabbed him, kissing him deeply. When they parted, she touched his lips. “You have lipstick all over you.”

  “That’s your fault,” he said, and wiped it off with a tissue.

  “No, leave it on. You look gorgeous like that.”

  “Another night, perhaps.”

  After Remy fixed her makeup they went outside to find a Mara cab. A light rain began to fall as they reached the Golden Angel, so they rushed inside.

  The theater was more sumptuous than the Grand Dark, but older and more decrepit, Largo noticed. The lobby carpet was stained and paint peeled from the walls. There was also a slight smell of mildew. What impressed Largo, though, was that no one seemed to care. The crowd reminded him of the one at the Petersen party—a mix of well-dressed aristocrats and considerably scruffier artists. It didn’t take long for Largo to not feel so out of place in his secondhand clothes. Remy pulled him into the theater and rushed to claim a small table for two nea
r the stage. There was a slim vase holding a single white rose. Propped against the vase were two domino masks.

  “What are these for?” he said.

  “For fine gentlemen and ladies who want to be here but don’t want to be recognized.”

  Largo held one of the small masks over his face. “Do these actually work?”

  “Of course not,” said Remy. “But it makes them feel better. And anyway, it’s all a game. A lot of people wear them just to feel wicked.”

  Largo put his mask on. “How do I look?”

  “Terrifying. Now take it off. I want to see your face.”

  Largo put the mask on the table.

  “Gorgeous.”

  He smiled and looked around. Curtained box seats ringed the sides and back of the theater. They were decorated with paper fans and small blinking lights. Balloons and long strands of silver tinsel hung from the chandeliers overhead. Some of the balloons had fallen and people were swatting them from table to table. Largo thought that the Golden Angel looked more like a party than a theater.

  A hostess in her own domino mask and silver-spangled bustier came by their table and Remy ordered absinthe and sekt. Largo whispered to her, “We should have taken morphia before we got here.”

  Remy looked concerned. “Do you need some?”

  “I’m all right for now.”

  “But you’d like to feel more relaxed. Poor baby.” She plucked two petals from the white rose, put one in her mouth, and gave the other to Largo. “Chew this,” she said.

  He squinted at the petal. “There are perfectly good masks. Why are we disguising ourselves as cows?”

  “Stop stalling.”

  “What does it taste like?”

  “A rose, silly. Now chew it like a piece of gum. Like me. See?”

  Largo felt stupid and wondered what the joke was, but seeing Remy chew a petal with no ill effects, he did the same.

  “How do you like it?” said Remy.

  “Moo,” he said.

  A moment later, though, he began to feel something—an ease in his arms and shoulders. A pleasant looseness spread all over his body. He plucked another petal and held it up to the light. “What are these?”

  Remy smiled. “Rose petals,” she said. “But they’ve been dipped in chloral hydrate. Aren’t they lovely?”