The Grand Dark

by Richard Kadrey

  And Margit said there was no alone anymore.

  He left the tram on bright Messerberg and limped into the unlit alleys and back streets that led to the Midden. Even though his right leg burned with each step, Largo picked up the pace, sure that if he missed the rendezvous, he’d never have another chance to get to High Proszawa.

  He slipped a few times on the wet cobbles that led to the heart of the Midden. Most of the shops were closed when he arrived, their stolen and smuggled goods hidden behind windows turned gray with condensation. The only light came from a beer hall that was little more than an open garage with a few wooden planks laid atop old barrels. The dozen or so people inside went silent when he peered into the place. After an uncomfortable moment, he limped on to the Körpermarkt.

  A couple of mannequin limbs and a cheap metal-and-leather prosthetic hung from an awning in the rain. He couldn’t see anything inside through the mist on the windows and there was no one on the street. Largo quietly cursed himself for never getting a watch. Was it past ten? Had he missed his one chance to rescue Remy? He hated himself more at that moment than he could ever remember hating anything.

  It would be perfectly like me to ruin my one chance. I should have been here an hour ago. What’s a few minutes in the rain if it meant seeing her again?

  The rain turned the mask icy. Largo’s face went numb. His knee burned and he wondered how long he should wait before giving up, going home, and putting the barrel of Rainer’s gun in his mouth. The only problem with suicide was it meant he wouldn’t be there to see Branca’s face when he’d spoiled all of the man’s plans and Branca had to explain the mess to his bosses.

  I don’t imagine that the Nachtvogel forgive anyone easily, even their own. Will they execute Branca or ship him off to some new duty station even more awful than the courier service?

  He hoped it was the latter and that Branca would grow old there, knowing that Largo—the useful fool—had destroyed his life.

  While he was thinking this happy thought, a tall, broad man in a bowler hat came out of the beer hall and stared in his direction. After a moment, he walked slowly toward Largo, stopping a few feet away.

  “Do you have any friends?” said the man in a deep, booming voice. His front teeth were all silver and glinted dully in the light from the beer hall.

  For a moment, Largo wasn’t sure he understood the question. Then he blurted the only thing he could think of: “Rainer.”

  The smuggler looked Largo up and down. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I can help you.”

  “Why? I have money.”

  “That’s not the problem,” the smuggler said. “Rainer didn’t mention you were a Dandy. Some of my crew aren’t the most worldly individuals. They’re afraid of Dandies. They think traveling with them is bad luck. It’s nothing personal, but I can’t help you.”

  The smuggler walked away. Largo looked down the street. Several men from the bar were watching him. After his one chance to find Remy turned a corner, Largo ran after him.

  “Wait!” he yelled.

  The man stopped. “Are you deaf? I said I can’t help you.”

  Largo blocked his way and slipped off the mask. The smuggler glared at him.

  “Is this a joke? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I couldn’t back where someone might see me.”

  The smuggler tilted his head back slightly and looked down at Largo. “So, the bullocks want you.”

  “Yes.”

  “That will cost extra.”

  “I can pay.”

  “You understand that I make no guarantees about the trip. Sometimes there are surprise patrols and we have to turn back. There are no refunds.”

  “I understand,” said Largo.

  The smuggler started walking again. He moved quickly and Largo’s limp made it hard to keep up.

  “Once we get to port you can fuck off to wherever you want. Wallow in the mud and shit to your heart’s content.” He stopped and tapped Largo’s chest with a calloused finger. “But if you’re buying or trading, only bring back what you can carry yourself.”

  Largo said nervously, “That might be a problem.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I might be bringing back a person.”

  The smuggler rubbed his chin. “So, now there’s two of you booking passage.”

  “Maybe. But just on the way back.”

  The smuggler thought about it. “If you weren’t Rainer’s friend I’d tell you to fuck off. I’d also charge you double fare for two people. But considering you are his friend, I’ll do it for one and a half.”

  “That’s very reasonable.”

  “Do you have your own suit?”

  Largo said, “What kind of suit?”

  The smuggler spoke as if he were talking to a child. “We’re going into a plague zone, boy. You need a sealed suit.”

  “Like those ones the bullocks use to move people with the Drops?”

  “Those are the ones.”

  Largo shook his head. “I don’t need one. I’m immune to the plague.”

  The smuggler laughed. “You’re funny. I’ll only charge one fare, seeing as how it’s unlikely you’ll be coming back.”

  “Then you’ll take me?”

  “I just said that.”

  “How much is it?”

  The smuggler named a price. It used up almost all of Rainer’s money. Largo was glad he’d taken a chance and talked to Ernst, but with so little in his pocket now he grew worried. What if I have to bribe someone or buy Remy back? Will I have enough?

  After counting the money, the smuggler seemed satisfied. He said, “I’m Steinmetz. Let’s get going. We push off the moment we get back.” He started walking and, again, Largo could barely keep up.

  He said, “Is it a long voyage? I’ve never been on a ship before.”

  Steinmetz clapped him on the back. “You’ll love it. She’s the prettiest thing you ever saw. Luxury accommodations and smooth sailing all the way.”

  At the end of the block sat a heavy motorcycle. Steinmetz got on and pointed for Largo to get into the sidecar. He sat down and gripped the edges tightly. “I’ve never been on a motorbike before either.”

  Steinmetz kicked the motorcycle to life. He said, “Never been on a bike. Never been on a boat. This is a grand night for you.”

  “I suppose so,” said Largo, his stomach queasy.

  “Well, hang on and keep that coat shut. On a night like this, your balls will fall off frozen and rattle around your feet.”

  They started to move and Steinmetz added, “And keep that mask in your pocket. The men already have doubts about bringing a stranger on board.”

  Largo didn’t say anything as the wind and freezing rain whipped at his face. For the first time he wondered if he was making a monstrous mistake and if there was any way he could sneak back to Little Shambles and forget everything.

  What if Remy really is dead and I’m throwing away my life for nothing?

  What felt like another part of his mind replied, What if she’s not? What if she’s just a few miles away and I leave her there? My life is already ruined. Maybe hers can be salvaged.

  Largo knew finally and with absolute certainty that he had to go through with the trip. It didn’t make him feel brave or noble, simply numb again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THEY WERE MOST OF THE WAY THERE BEFORE LARGO WAS CERTAIN THAT they were going to Haxan Green. Steinmetz took them to a partially collapsed wharf not far from where his father had been murdered. Largo couldn’t help looking around as frightening memories flooded him with unpleasant images. He closed his eyes for a moment and forced them away, knowing he couldn’t afford to be distracted by old ghosts, his father’s included.

  I’m sorry, Poppa. Goodbye. Again.

  He followed Steinmetz across loose, water-swollen timbers and out over the water.

  “Where’s the ship?” said Largo.

  “It’s a boat. It’ll be along.”


  He looked over his shoulder at the deserted streets and rotting mansions. I keep leaving here, Largo thought. But I never get away.

  The canal below them began to churn. Fat, gurgling bubbles burst on the surface. Something long and dull metal rose out of the water.

  “It’s a U-boat,” Largo said.

  Steinmetz looked at him. “You don’t say.”

  The submarine looked like it had been patched in a hundred places. Looking at the welded and bolted plates, scarred metal, and rust, Largo wondered how it managed not to sink like a boulder. The hatch on top of the U-boat opened and the ghostly outline of a man emerged. He called, “Do you have the freight, Kapitän?”

  “He’s here,” Steinmetz said. “And stuffed with cash. A veritable Christmas goose.”

  “We’ll try not to eat him all at once.”

  Steinmetz laughed and led Largo across a jerry-built gangway the other man lowered from the U-boat. He said, “When you get below, watch your mouth. Not everyone is as welcoming as Pallenberg.”

  The hatch was narrower than Largo expected. With his bad leg and bulky coat, he was clumsy getting down the ladder and missed the bottom rung. Steinmetz had to catch him to keep him from falling onto the floor.

  The interior of the U-boat was smaller than Largo had expected. It made him think of traveling in the box by his father’s side. The room felt too small for his body, as if the walls were closing in on him every time he looked away.

  Steinmetz said, “Here’s our cargo, gentlemen. The friend of a friend from the war, so don’t fuck with him too much.”

  There were six men, none of whom appeared happy that Largo was there. Only one had a vague smile. That must be Pallenberg, he thought. The interior of the U-boat stank of sweat, shit, and diesel fuel. That, coupled with the humid air, made him feel woozy, but he fought to maintain his balance and keep his face a pleasant blank.

  He said, “Hello. And thank you for transporting me.” None of the men replied or let up glaring.

  “Enough of this merriment,” said Steinmetz. He took off his coat and looked at Largo. “You can go to one of the cabins if you want, or you can stay here. Just don’t get in the way.”

  The decision wasn’t difficult. “I’ll go to a room. Where are they?”

  Steinmetz pointed to the stern. “Back there. The bridal suite is on the far end,” he said. “You understand that if things go bad and we start to go down it means you’ll be the last off.”

  “That sounds fair,” says Largo. The crew laughed at that.

  “He’s a funny bastard,” said Steinmetz to his men. He gave Largo a last look. “There’s a bucket in the room. If you puke, do it there. If you miss, there’s an extra charge for it.”

  “How long will the crossing take?”

  Steinmetz handed his coat to one of the crewmen, who took it forward. “That depends on a lot of things. Mostly patrols. Also what route we have to take. Sometimes we have to go the long way around and there’s dead ships along the bottom, so the going is slow. And then there’s the minefield. That’s very slow. If we’re lucky, we can avoid that.”

  Largo felt woozy again, not from the smell but from the word minefield. He said, “What’s the fastest we can make it across?”

  “Twelve hours.”

  “And the slowest?”

  “Assuming we don’t sink, a day. A day and a half. Don’t worry. We have food and water.”

  “But no hot showers,” said smiling Pallenberg.

  Judging by the smell, I believe you, thought Largo. He said, “That’s all right. We both got a nice shower on the way here.”

  Steinmetz gave him a light shove toward the cabins. “Go back and get settled. We leave as soon as we’re sure the way is clear.”

  Largo limped to the stern and went into the last cabin. It was smaller than the bedroom in his flat. Which won’t be my flat for much longer, he thought. There was a narrow bunk and barely enough room on the floor to turn around. He had to keep his head down so he wouldn’t bump into a cluster of pipes that ran across the ceiling. Largo hung up his wet coat and sat on the bunk, where he immediately took two drops of morphia for his leg and a third to help him calm down. There was a heavy steel clock bolted to the wall. He noted the hour so that he could time the voyage. As the morphia warmed him, Largo lay down. The boat shuddered. From somewhere behind him, engines churned. There was another shudder and he felt a strange pressure in his ears.

  We’re underwater, he thought. This is really it. No turning back now.

  He closed his eyes and breathed the way Branca had taught him to calm his nerves.

  He started awake without realizing he’d been asleep. The boat was quiet and there was no shudder from the engines. Largo looked at the clock. Just over eight hours had passed. His leg felt better, so he left the cabin and went forward to the control room. Steinmetz was smoking a pipe. He watched four others play a board game. Nearby, Pallenberg scanned the surface of the bay through the periscope. Largo went to Steinmetz. “Is something wrong?”

  He didn’t take his eyes off the game. “No. We’re just waiting for a patrol to pass. There must be something going on. It’s a fucking armada.”

  “Will we be stuck long?”

  “We move when we move and not until then. Now go back to your cabin or stop bothering me.”

  Largo walked around the group until he could see what game the men were playing. Instead of chess or checkers, they were using a large board with a seventeen-by-seventeen grid. The men made their moves slowly, clearly used to wasting time quietly. Instead of jumping or removing each other’s pieces, they added more to the board. It looked to Largo as if they were trying to surround multiple enemies at once. He’d never seen anything like it before. It can’t be from High or Lower Proszawa. Even the game pieces were alien, a mix of small brass coins, bullets, and what looked like carved bones. One of the players looked up and when he saw Largo he motioned him over.

  The man was very short and thin, with patches of sunburned skin peeling off his pale forehead and arms. He held out four coins and said something in a language Largo didn’t understand. Steinmetz said, “He wants you to take the coins in one hand, throw them in the air, and catch them.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a game.”

  Largo took the coins in his right hand and tossed them an inch or two in the air.

  “Now close your fist,” said Steinmetz.

  Largo followed the instructions.

  “Now blow on it.”

  Largo did that too.

  “Now slap the coins back into Capek’s hand.”

  The man Steinmetz called Capek put his hand out, palm up. Largo slapped his hand over his. Capek and the other men peered at the coins. A broad grin spread over Capek’s bony face. Several other men laughed. Capek held out the coins to Steinmetz, who also laughed.

  “What was that?” said Largo.

  “Capek just told your fortune.”

  “How was it?”

  Steinmetz puffed his pipe and smiled. “You’re moving on to great things.”

  “Maybe the great beyond,” said Pallenberg.

  “Quiet,” said Steinmetz. To Largo he said, “Don’t listen to him. He’s bored and just looking for a good time.”

  “I don’t believe in fortune-tellers,” said Largo, remembering Vera Baal sending Remy away.

  “Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” said Steinmetz.

  Largo turned back to Capek, but he’d already returned to the game. Even if Largo could ask the man a question, he couldn’t understand the answer, and he didn’t trust Steinmetz or any of the others to translate it properly.

  “I’m going back to my cabin,” said Largo, but no one answered as they’d all gone back to watching the game.

  On his bunk, he was rattled and full of nervous energy. He knew the men had been teasing him, but having Steinmetz join in was unnerving. Largo understood more than ever that he really was nothing to them. Another piece of cargo
to be transported or discarded. He wished he hadn’t left his copy of Der Knochengarten in Remy’s flat. It would be a welcome distraction.

  He locked the cabin door. This time when he lay down on the bunk, he checked that his knife was secure in its harness. While he was willing to be the butt of some jokes if that’s what it took to get him across the bay, that was the limit of his tolerance.

  Anyone who thinks he can hurt me or take anything of mine will get a surprise. That goes for Steinmetz too.

  Thirteen hours passed. He took more morphia, not because his leg hurt, but to calm his nerves and bolster his immunity to the plague. There was a three-month-old copy of a yellowsheet under the bunk and he read it to pass the time. He tried to picture three months ago, but couldn’t. He and Remy had been happy was all he remembered. It had all felt so simple and stupid in the best possible way. Sex. Drugs. Plays at the Grand Dark. Friends. Bliss. Then he got the promotion and everything went wrong. Branca would have missed him by now and have agents out looking for him.

  The Nachtvogel might be searching my flat at this moment. They’ll find the hole in the wall behind my desk. I wonder what will happen to my minder?

  Largo checked his pocket for Rainer’s note. To his great relief it was still there. Have I left anything behind that might lead them to my friends? he wondered. Of course, they would have already had a list when I got the promotion. He wondered what else they knew about him. Then there were all the people he’d spied on without knowing about it. What was happening to them? Is there some way I can make it up to them? What if they’re dead or in prison? What can I do then? He didn’t even remember most of their names or know which of them the Nachtvogel had been watching. That was the worst part, not knowing who or how many he’d betrayed. Even if she’s doomed, maybe I should have helped Margit. Now that Pietr is gone, maybe her group is more reasonable. Or have they found a way to blame me for his death? Who is there left to trust?

  An hour later there was a knock on the door and Pallenberg came in. He tossed Largo a drab green life jacket. “Can you swim?”