“Thank you, Officer. Have a good evening,” said Anita, as icy as before. She rolled up her window without looking at the man. The officer waved them around the other traffic and they quickly found themselves close to the front of the line.
Largo held on to his pistol and looked around. “What the hell was that?” he said.
“I told you the papers were good,” said Margit. “Erich and I might be working-class trash, but you three are foreign representatives for Schöne Maschinen.”
Largo thought the idea over for a moment and finally put the pistol back in his pocket. There was a kind of awful, beautiful symmetry to the idea that they worked for Schöne Maschinen. And it was at least partially true, he thought. None of us would be here if it weren’t for Baron Hellswarth.
Erich pulled them into a parking spot about fifty yards from the ship. It was immense, full of lights and movement. Like the tallest building in Lower Proszawa laid on its side, Largo thought. He’d seen chromes of other ships, but this one looked different. The prow was strangely shaped. It bulged in the front, hanging like a belly over the water. What looked like black portholes ringed the bulge. Dozens of flying Maras circled overhead.
Anita said, “I’ve traveled all over the world and I’ve never seen a ship like this. What the hell is it?”
Margit got out of the car and retrieved their bags from the trunk. “You built it,” she said. “Schöne Maschinen. Your employer, remember? It’s a Mara ship. They’re building dozens of them for the navy. They say it practically sails itself.”
“Will the navy’s version fight all by itself?” said Largo.
“We’ll find out soon enough. Apparently they’re sending several north right now for tests. You’re getting out of here just in time.”
Largo put a hand on Margit’s arm. “I meant what I said earlier. We’re going to send all the help we can.”
“I know you will,” she said. “Just don’t go shooting every bullock who gives you a funny look. You’ll run out of bullets.”
He nodded. “How are Parvulesco and Roland?”
“Fine. They’re with us now. They said I should give their ‘sodomite sister’ their regards. What’s that about?”
Largo smiled. “A joke from a long time ago. Back when I was frightened of my own shadow.”
“I’d say you’ve gotten over that.”
“I still get scared.”
“We all do. You just learn to live with it and keep moving.”
Remy came over and put her arm around him. He kept his eyes on Margit. “Will I see you again?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
“Me too. I’d give you a goodbye hug, but—”
“I know,” she said with a light laugh. “The bosses don’t hug the help.”
Erich walked up behind her and said, “Can we go? All these bullocks make my arse ache.”
Remy tugged Largo’s arm. “It’s time for us to go too.”
Anita took off Margit’s hat and ran a hand through her short hair. “I don’t mind saying goodbye to the help,” she said. She gave her a kiss on the lips and headed for the ship with Margit’s hat on her head. Largo and Remy followed.
When they were on board, Largo looked out over the crowd, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Margit and Erich before they left. However, everything below him was a madhouse—a teeming mass of hundreds of people all jostling to get themselves and their luggage aboard first. The ship sailed right on time. It was called Ulfsaxa, the name of a folktale goddess married to Saldr, the god of war. While he was all bluster and confidence, she was smarter. The goddess of guile and subterfuge. Largo asked Remy and Anita, “Do you think that’s a good omen?”
Anita crinkled her nose. “I don’t believe in omens.”
“I do,” said Remy. “And it’s a very good one.”
They sailed through Heldenblut Bay until they reached the open sea. It was considerably colder on the open water. All three of them shivered. “Let’s go inside,” said Remy.
“Just one more minute,” said Largo. “It’s funny. I don’t even know where we’re going.”
“I’ll tell you when we get somewhere warm. I’m freezing my tits off right now,” said Anita.
They started inside, but Largo turned abruptly and walked to the railing at the edge of the deck. He looked down into the black water. Though it was churning against the hull of the ship, to him it looked strangely calm. When he was certain that no other passengers were looking, he took the pistol from his pocket and dropped it overboard. Part of him was frightened watching it disappear into the black, but he felt exhilarated too. Fear would come again, he knew, but it would not overwhelm him. Not now.
You just learn to live with it and keep moving.
The three of them went inside, letting the goddess of guile lead them out to sea and into a dark, new night.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my agent, Ginger Clark, and everyone else at Curtis Brown. Thanks also to my editor, David Pomerico, and the whole team at HarperCollins. Thank you to Borderlands Books, San Francisco’s great science fiction and fantasy bookstore, for their kindness over the years. As always, thanks to Nicola for everything else.
About the Author
RICHARD KADREY is the New York Times bestselling author of the Sandman Slim supernatural noir books. Sandman Slim was included in Amazon’s “100 Science Fiction & Fantasy Books to Read in a Lifetime,” and is in development as a feature film. His other books include Hollywood Dead, The Everything Box, Metrophage, and Butcher Bird, and he also writes comics and screenplays. He lives in San Francisco.
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Also by Richard Kadrey
SANDMAN SLIM
Sandman Slim
Kill the Dead
Aloha from Hell
Devil Said Bang
Kill City Blues
The Getaway God
Killing Pretty
The Perdition Score
The Kill Society
Hollywood Dead
ANOTHER COOP HEIST
The Everything Box
The Wrong Dead Guy
Metrophage
Butcher Bird
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE GRAND DARK. Copyright © 2019 by Richard Kadrey. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover design by Will Staehle
Cover photograph © GrandeDuc/Shutterstock
Frontispiece © Ethnic Design / Shutterstock
FIRST EDITION
Digital Edition JUNE 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-267253-7
Version 05032019
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-267249-0
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* Just before publication it came to my attention that Frau Mila Weill had passed away, not from the Drops but from some other lung ailment. It is to her that I humbly dedicate this piece.
* Readers will notice that the entry is written in a fictive style, as were a number of other entries in Henke’s diaries. It is believed that these tone shifts were her attempt to shield the activities and identities of some of the participants, including herself. We cannot wholly identify many of the players here except, perhaps, for the inquisitive “Helene,” who is almost certainly Henke. It is also believed that the “Petersen” mentioned here is Werner Petersen, the well-known financier and arts patron.
* For those not acquainted with this rarely used breed, their bite is not only ferocious, but carries a neurotoxin that paralyzes and eventually kills their victims.
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