The back of Largo’s head exploded in pain.
He staggered and fell onto his back, blinded for a moment. When he was able to see again, he found Marta on top of him with a club in her hand. She was going through his inner jacket pockets. After a moment, she pulled something out and squealed with delight. Largo swung his arm up and punched her in the jaw with the knife’s spiked knuckle duster. She fell off him, screaming. He tried to grab her, but she was too fast. Holding a hand to her bloody face, Marta ran around the side of the crates—and straight into Steinmetz. But she spun past him and disappeared into the crowd of wharf workers.
Steinmetz leaned over and helped Largo to his feet. “Lucky you I went looking for your silly arse. These two just about cut your trip short.”
Largo fell back against the crates. He put away the knife and checked his pockets. The gun, telescope, and mask were still there, as were the Valdas in his back pocket. The morphia, he thought. She got my morphia.
Steinmetz pressed his ear to the hunter’s chest.
“Is he all right?” said Largo.
“That’s the wrong question, boy. Are you all right?”
Largo rubbed the back of his head and checked his bloody hand. The cut was long but shallow. Still, there was a lot of blood.
After his burst of anger, Largo felt dead inside. His body ached, but he seemed to have no opinion about it. Largo said, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Steinmetz knelt by the body. “He won’t dance at your wedding, that’s for sure.”
Largo looked around the busy wharf. “Is there someone we should tell? What do we do?”
The smuggler grabbed Largo’s sleeve and pulled him down beside the hunter’s body. “What we do is we don’t say anything to anyone. From what I saw, the prick deserved what he got. And seeing as I helped a little there at the end, I propose that we do a divvy.”
“A divvy?”
Steinmetz went through the hunter’s pockets and laid everything he found on the ground between them. There was a large pile of cash, more than the bills Largo had lost. They must dig up money in the ruins, he thought. Pluck it from the pockets of the dead. There were diamond bracelets and other loose jewels. There was also a round steel ball, like a pockmarked pomegranate.
“What’s that?” said Largo.
Steinmetz picked it up. “This, my friend, is as insidious a toy as there ever was. It’s a plague grenade.”
Largo almost said that he no longer believed in the plague, but he didn’t care one way or another about it anymore. All he said was “How strange.”
“Strange and valuable,” said Steinmetz. “You took the brunt of the beating, so you choose first. What do you want?”
Largo looked at him. “We’re just going to steal it all?”
“He’s not going to the bank anytime soon, don’t you think?”
The light in the goggles dimmed slightly. The eighteen hours were up. Time to go home, he thought.
“Well?” said Steinmetz impatiently.
“Can I have the money?” said Largo. “You can have everything else.”
The smuggler pushed the cash to Largo. He put the grenade in his pocket and handed Largo a small diamond bracelet. He said, “If I took all of them, I’d feel like I’d taken advantage of you.”
Largo looked at it. The stones sparkled in the light. He held it out to Steinmetz and said, “I don’t know what I’d do with it.”
Frowning, Steinmetz said, “You’re not much of a negotiator, are you? Listen, this mysterious person you were looking for. Was it a woman?”
“Yes,” said Largo.
“And you didn’t find her?”
“No.”
“There you go,” Steinmetz said. “She’s probably waiting for you in the city. You can give it to her when you see her. But don’t tell her you tried to give it away. She’ll think you’re as mad as you are dumb.”
Largo put the bracelet in his pocket with the cash. Too tired to argue, he said, “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Let’s get to the boat before somebody sees us.”
“Do we just leave the body here?”
“Unless you want to take him home as a souvenir.”
Steinmetz pulled Largo to his feet and they walked to the U-boat. The rest of the crew were lounging on the gangway, but when they got a look at the blood on Largo’s face and hands, they stepped out of his way. He went straight to his cabin, took off his wet coat, and threw it on the floor with the goggles. Dropping his weight onto the bunk, he lay down. Every inch of him ached. With his knife, he cut out some of the coat’s lining and used it to wrap his bleeding hand. If the chimera bites were bleeding too, he thought, there was nothing he could do about it. He was going to get the bunk bloody.
If Steinmetz gets angry, he can take back the damn bracelet. What am I supposed to say when Remy asks where I got it? “It’s a funny story, dear. You see, I murdered a man for it.”
Soon Largo heard the engine grind to life and his ears popped. He relaxed a little, knowing they were on their way. He felt a kind of dull relief as they left High Proszawa behind. He thought of the colorful banners in Lower Proszawa and the patriotic songs people would be singing to rouse themselves for the glory of a new war. He touched the gash on his cheek and fantasized about murdering all of them—stabbing them like he had the curio hunter and then listening to the last breaths leaving their bodies. He wanted to show them the cruel stupidity that he’d seen and shove their faces in it. Instead, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, several hours had passed and Steinmetz was standing in his cabin doorway.
Chapter Nineteen
MIND IF I COME IN?” HE SAID.
Largo sat up on the bunk. “Of course not. I think I was asleep.”
“Having strange dreams? That will happen,” said Steinmetz. “Killing isn’t easy, especially the first time. But you’ll get over it.”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“It can’t be helped. Now it’s all horror and nightmares. In a month, the memory will begin to lose focus. In a year, it will feel like it happened a lifetime ago. In two years, it won’t even have happened to you. It will be a story you read in a yellowsheet or saw in the cinema.”
The idea of forgetting about the curio hunter troubled Largo, but he nodded, knowing that Steinmetz was trying to help him. “That will be a relief,” he said.
The smuggler had a small medical kit with him. “Is there one damn inch of you that isn’t bloody?” he said. “I don’t know if I have enough bandages to swaddle you like a baby, but I have alcohol so you can clean your wounds.”
Largo wiped his hand and cheek. It stung like fire, but the pain was good. He felt like he was waking up into his body again. By the time he was finished with the chimera bites and the knot on the back of his skull, his head began to clear. He said, “That feels better.”
“I’d offer you morphia, only we’re out. But I can offer you some whiskey.”
“I could use a drink.”
“Come to the control room, then. There’s plenty.”
The smuggler opened the door. There was a clean pea coat hanging from a pipe outside the cabin. “That’s yours, if you want it,” he said.
“Another present from a dead man?”
“It is indeed.”
“You can have it.”
“Keep it,” said Steinmetz. “It’s bad luck to trade a dead man’s things too many times.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Before we go up, strap on that knife of yours. Between that and the bloody bandages, none of the men will be giving you grief again.”
“That would be nice,” said Largo.
Several whiskeys later, Largo went back to his cabin. It was cold in the U-boat without Rainer’s coat, so he put on the pea coat Steinmetz had left for him. He soon fell into a deep, black sleep. There was no Remy or Lucie or home. There was just the darkness and the rumble of trucks. Largo opened his eyes, half-awake. He knew that the con
stant mechanical sound was really the U-boat’s engine pushing them under the bay, but all he could think of was an endless procession of dirty trucks.
He woke up to Steinmetz shaking his shoulder. The smuggler said, “Get your gear together. We’ve landed.”
Largo got up and transferred everything from Rainer’s coat into his new one, then headed for the control room. He felt cold and his hands trembled slightly. He needed morphia.
Pallenberg was waiting at the bottom of the ladder. “I don’t suppose you want to sell that knife of yours?” he said.
Largo shook his head. “No. It’s a gift from a dear friend. I’m looking forward to returning it to him.”
When he started up the ladder, Pallenberg grabbed his shoulder. “I’ll give you a good price for it.”
Largo shoved him away. “Touch me again, my fine brother, and you’ll get the knife, but not how you’d like.”
Pallenberg stepped around to the far side of the ladder and backed away. He said, “It was just an idea.”
Largo went up the ladder quickly, suddenly wanting to be outside. His stomach cramped, but not too badly. Still, he knew that if he didn’t get morphia soon, he’d be helpless.
It was a chilly night on the canal along Haxan Green. Largo walked down the gangway and stood next to Steinmetz. He said, “I suppose you’ll want a ride back into the city.”
“I’d appreciate it. I can pay.”
“Don’t bother. There’s someone I want to surprise with a ruby or two. What about you?”
Largo thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do,” he said. Then, “Can you drop me in the Midden?”
“That shit pile? Why there? Nothing is open at this hour.”
“There’s just something I have to do.”
Steinmetz walked to the shed where he’d left the motorcycle. “Let’s go, then. While you’re wandering those sorrowful streets, I’ll be slipping into clean sheets with a close friend.”
The memory of Remy stabbed him, or it might have been the chimera bite in his side. Still, Largo smiled. “I hope you both have a fine night.”
The trip to the Midden was faster without the rain. When they reached the outskirts, Largo climbed out of the sidecar and shook Steinmetz’s hand.
“Thank you for everything. I might be dead without you.”
Steinmetz laughed. “From the look of you, all you did up there was almost die. Did you find anything you were looking for?”
Largo thought about it. “I know that Remy isn’t up there. I know that alive or dead, she’s in Lower Proszawa. That’s not much, but it’s something.”
“Take care, Largo,” said the smuggler. “And tell that bastard Rainer that I took good care of you.”
“I will.”
Steinmetz gunned the motorcycle and sped away. Largo fell against the side of a building. He didn’t have to pretend to be all right anymore. His hands shook violently and he felt cramped and cold. The ache in his right leg returned, so he limped down the Midden’s main street until he came to the office of one of the district’s charnel house doctors. After a quick look around, Largo broke a pane in the office’s front door and let himself in.
The room was lit only by the moon. He wished he still had the amber goggles. The office stank like the back of a butcher shop. A day ago, that would have bothered him, but the smell was nothing compared to High Proszawa.
He moved around the office, hunting for morphia. By the door to a back room, he found a locked cabinet. He smashed it open with the knife and took a handful of boxes to the front window so he could read the labels. When he didn’t find any morphia, he dropped the boxes on the floor and went back for more.
His second trip was luckier. He found a large box with several vials of morphia inside. Largo put the knife back in its harness and began to open one.
From the back of the office, someone shouted, “Who’s there? Don’t move, you bastard.”
He froze. All he could see was a shadow with an axe in its hand. It seemed to be looking around.
“What’s that in your hand? Give it to me,” shouted the shadow.
Largo clutched the morphia to his chest. He couldn’t run and he couldn’t reach his knife.
The shadow advanced a step. “Don’t worry, thief,” it said. “I’m a doctor. I know where a chop will hurt the most.”
When the shadow took another step, Largo pulled Rainer’s pistol from his pocket and fired once into the floor. He said, “Put down the axe.”
The shadow dropped it.
Largo was shaking all over. His stomach knotted and he almost doubled over. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where else to get it,” he said. “I have money, though.” He put the morphia into his jacket and took out some bills. “Tell me how much.”
The shadow had its hands in the air. “Keep your money. Take what you want and go.”
“But I can pay you.”
“Please, just go.”
Largo put the bills back in his pocket. A small crowd had gathered outside, drawn by the sound of the gunshot. Before he went out, Largo put on Rainer’s mask. He pointed the pistol at the curious group and they backed away.
“Farther,” he said.
When he was satisfied that they had moved far enough away, he ran to the end of the street and stumbled out of the Midden as quickly as he could.
He rounded another corner and ducked into an alley that looked to him like where the residents of the district burned trash. He climbed over mounds of ashes, half-burnt furniture, and torn military posters until he was hidden from the street.
Hunkering down on the dirty ground, Largo tried to catch his breath. He listened as some of the crowd from the doctor’s office walked by the alley discussing what they should do if they caught him. When the street was quiet again, he took the mask off and opened a morphia vial. Because his hands were shaking, he missed his mouth entirely and lost some down the front of his coat. Eventually, he managed to put four drops under his tongue. The relief was immediate and warming. But he still felt awful.
Look at me. I can’t go on like this. Morphia will kill me if I don’t stop. On the other hand, why bother living? In the past day I killed a man and almost shot another. There’s nothing left of me. I’m gone.
Rather than making him depressed, in a strange way, the thought energized him. Remy’s disappearance and the Nachtvogel were a gun to his head. In High Proszawa, he’d pulled the trigger.
I can do whatever I have to now. There are no reasons for fear or limits anymore. I’m free.
Largo put the mask back on and went to the other end of the alley. The street was clear, so he walked out of the Midden and back to the tram line on Messerberg. Though the tram ran all night, at four A.M. it came only on the half hour. He took off the mask and waited in a small commuter shelter on the curb, considering his options. He couldn’t return to his flat. The Nachtvogel would be watching it. He couldn’t go to Remy’s flat because another tenant would likely see him and report him to the police. So where else could he go?
When the tram arrived twenty minutes later, Largo had an idea. He stepped into a deserted car and took off his pea coat. His pants and shoes were caked in dried mud, but he was able to wipe most of the ashes off his coat by the time the tram reached the center of the city. He put the mask back on and headed for the bars and dance halls along the edge of Kromium. There, he found a Mara cab and gave it an address across town. Sitting in the soft back seat he felt safer than he had in days. He watched Lower Proszawa slide by outside. Police and armed Maras pushed through the night crowds. Red-faced men gave impassioned speeches to cheering crowds. Largo felt as far from his home as a gull blown out to sea.
It was five in the morning when he knocked on the door.
A moment later, Roland opened it and frowned at what he saw. “Yes? Can I help you?” he said.
Largo took off the mask and said, “It’s me. Largo. I know it’s a ridiculous hour, but can I come in?”
&
nbsp; Roland’s face relaxed and he said, “Of course.”
When he was in the flat he heard Parvulesco call from the bathroom. “Who is it?”
“Largo,” said Roland. “And he seems to have joined the navy.”
Parvulesco rushed into the living room with shaving cream on half of his face. “What are you talking about?”
Largo said, “He’s joking. The coat was a gift. Mine was unsalvageable.”
“Where have you been the last couple of days?” said Parvulesco. “Branca has been going mad. Barking at everyone. He almost hit Andrzej yesterday. Not for screwing up, but for being too nice.”
“Do you mind if I sit down?” said Largo, suddenly exhausted.
Roland cleared a place on their sofa, which was covered in books and yellowsheets. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Largo sat down and put his head in his hands. Parvulesco sat next to him. “Are you all right? I have to admit that this is unexpected after you telling me to stay away.”
“I know,” Largo said. “And I still mean it. We can’t be seen together. But don’t worry. No one saw me come here.”
“What have you been up to?” said Roland. “Why do you look like warmed-over hell and why are you wearing that absurd coat?”
Largo laughed. “Because I’ve been to sea,” he said. “On a U-boat.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s true. I was on a smuggler’s ship to High Proszawa. I just got back a couple of hours ago.”
“High Proszawa? Are you serious?” said Parvulesco.
“Completely,” Largo said. He looked at Roland. “I’m sorry.”
“About what?” said Roland.
The Grand Dark Page 35
