“Of course. Of course.”
Largo leaned closer to the doctor. “How did you know?”
“It’s your eyes. Morphia affects the shape of the pupil. It’s very subtle. You have to look for it. Don’t worry, people on the street, your employer, even most police officers are unlikely to notice unless you go too far.”
“Thank you for the advice,” Largo said. “But before, why did you say there were ironies?”
Dr. Venohr chuckled to himself. “Because it appears that morphia may give users a certain amount of immunity to the plague virus.”
“That’s good news, then. Remy uses morphia too.”
“As much as you?”
Largo sagged against the back of the car. “No.”
“There you are,” said Dr. Venohr. “Continue to addle your senses, young man. Morphia might ruin your life, but it just might save it. That’s what I meant by irony.”
Largo looked out the window. “We’re almost there.”
When they arrived, Dr. Venohr helped Largo walk Remy into her flat and get her into bed. The doctor took a blood sample from her arm and placed it in his bag. On his way out he said, “Remember: do not leave her alone. I believe that Remy has a Trefle?”
“She does.”
Dr. Venohr took a card from his pocket and gave it to Largo. “You may reach me at this number day or night.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“I’ll see myself out,” he said. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?” said Largo.
The doctor laid a finger along the side of his nose. “Don’t tell anybody about our little chat regarding the plague. We don’t want to start a panic, do we?”
“Of course not. I won’t say a word.”
“You have some morphia with you, I take it?”
“A little.”
Dr. Venohr took a vial from his bag and set it on a gilt end table. “Here is a bit more. I don’t want you fainting tonight or being tempted to leave to purchase more. Of course, if anyone asks, you did not obtain this from me.”
“I appreciate it, Doctor. We both do.”
“Don’t appreciate it. Merely stay alert. Remy should be fine by morning. I’ll call then. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Largo sat down by Remy’s bed. The chair had a straight back and was uncomfortable because Remy didn’t buy it for sitting in. She used it as a place to drape her clothes when she got home from the theater. However, recently she’d bought a broken full-size Mara and used it like a dressing dummy. Now the chair belonged to Largo’s clothes when he spent the night. Tonight, though, he remained fully dressed and listened to Remy breathe. Every minute or so he touched her chest just to feel her heartbeat.
Remy’s flat was how Largo imagined all artists lived or, at least, wanted to. In her bedroom was a large framed poster from the Grand Dark. It was for a show called Cannibal Nuns of St. Maria; Remy’s first starring role had been that of the mad mother superior. The floor was covered in exotic, though worn and sometimes moth-eaten, carpets. The carpets were covered in shoes, clothes, magazines, books—whatever Remy had become bored with and couldn’t be bothered to put away. In the living room was a large, comfortable black sofa—a gift from a wealthy admirer. Because of that provenance Largo hated sitting on it, but he never mentioned it. By the window was a cage with a parakeet inside. The cage was covered at this hour and the small bird was asleep.
The walls were crowded with paintings and photochromes of friends. There was even an Enki painting hanging over the mantel. Largo disliked it, but less than the sofa. Since he was blind, Enki painted by feel, using his hands instead of a brush. He’d grab fistfuls of oil paint, then dab and splatter them across images of older artists and political figures. Trying to appear radical and dangerous, thought Largo. Just like all the other Xuxu artists, thinking they can bring down the government with a few paintings and posters.
To Largo, Enki’s paintings looked like drop cloths you might find in a child’s bedroom. Still, the man’s work was well thought of and his paintings were in great demand. Largo suspected that the canvas over Remy’s mantel had been his clumsy attempt at seducing her. Despite his defensiveness when it came to Remy’s admirers, in Enki’s case he just smiled.
She would never fall for something so obvious.
The lamp next to Remy’s bed lit the room with a pale white plazma glow and reflected off her porcelain Trefle. Largo thought of Rainer, whose old Bakelite Trefle wasn’t nearly as impressive. It was going to be a long night standing watch over Remy, and Rainer was older and smarter.
Maybe he’ll know something about Remy’s condition. And after that ridiculous party I wouldn’t mind hearing a friendly voice.
Largo touched Remy’s chest and felt her breathing steadily. When he was satisfied she was stable, he took the Trefle into the living room. Removing the handset, he waited for an operator. When she came on, he spoke Rainer’s number and waited. There was a click as the connection was made and then a soft purr as Rainer’s Trefle rang. Largo let it ring twenty times before hanging up.
He’s probably on the roof with his damned telescopes. Is there a meteor shower tonight?
He looked out the window, but the plazma diffused any light he might have seen streaking across the sky.
He went back into the bedroom and sat down, but the little chair immediately began hurting his back again, so Largo kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed with Remy. He lay down next to her with his hand over her heart and stayed that way until dawn.
Above the City
An excerpt from the Diaries of Gräfin Beatrice Henke*
It was a few minutes after ten in the evening. Or perhaps it was eleven. They’d lost track of time.
The airship moved along Lower Proszawa’s southeast border in a light rain. Buffeted by cool crosswinds, it turned slowly, tracing the eastern border over the Krieghund Mountains, heading north. The ship swayed in the updrafts from the somber peaks, but settled again as soon as it reached the open fields of Die Gefallenen.
None of this, however, was of any interest to the partiers in the ballroom, who were focused on Greta, the Chancellor’s wife’s niece—entirely naked and eating a slice of honey cake with her hands as she fell into Orlok’s lap. A handsome man with long ginger hair, he was the singer in one of the city’s most popular dance bands. Greta mashed the cake into his face and proceeded to kiss it off as the rest of the party laughed.
“Lucky Orlok,” said Gustav. “Another rich little bird lands right in his lap. What is his secret?”
“Don’t whine,” said Petersen. “You had your chance with her.”
“But I’m merely a poet. Not a musical god. All of my little birds flit away in the slightest breeze.”
Greta leaned away from Orlok and pulled Gustav over by his tie. She mashed the last of her cake into his face and began kissing him too. The three fell into a pile on the lounge’s silk pillows.
The gathering had begun as someone’s birthday party, but around the end of day three it had turned into something else. What, no one knew yet. Perhaps it would become clear after another day or two.
For now, though, people were interested in doing everything they could to feel anything . . . or nothing. The languid hedonism in the ballroom. And the foggy boredom in the airship’s forward observation deck. It was a greenhouse full of exotic plants, wrapping around the front of the craft. Helene watched as an industrialist named Frölich pried open one of the side windows and threw out a full champagne flute. “For my customers,” he said, giggling drunkenly. Soon, others were throwing things—food, plants, articles of clothing. Whatever they found amusing. Helene watched them from a bench by herself, growing bored with these people, their dull games, and the surroundings. She was wondering if there was some way that she could get off the airship without the others knowing when the small squirrel-like chimera that Frölich kept in the breast pocket of his jacket leaped to the floor and ran away. Instead of c
hasing his pet, Frölich and the others laughed as it disappeared from sight. Without thinking, Helene jumped from the bench and ran after the poor creature.
She soon found it cowering along one of the interior walkways. Picking it up, she cooed until it stopped trembling. When she heard boring Frölich heading down the corridor behind her, Helene didn’t hesitate to push through a door marked Authorized Personnel Only.
Once inside, she found herself on a bare metal gangway in the true interior of the airship. The craft’s skin stretched over and around her. It’s like being swallowed by a great silver whale, Helene thought. Along the ribs that kept the ship’s skin taut, an army of robin-size Maras scuttled up and down, occasionally darting out onto the skin to mend small holes. Brief bolts of white-blue plazma shot from a central shaft to the ribs, jolting the little Maras with power. Instead of being scared, Helene was delighted by the interior lightning storm.
“Fräulein?”
Helene jumped at the sound of the man’s voice, almost dropping the little chimera. She turned and found herself face-to-face with a tall, ruddy man in the white uniform of the ship’s crew.
“I’m very sorry,” she said. “I’ll go back with the others.”
“There’s no need for that,” the man said. “The Kapitän saw you rescue your little pet and sent me to invite you to see the control room. Only if you like, of course.”
It wasn’t a hard decision, as Helene had no desire to return to the tedious decadence of the party. She stroked the little chimera and said, “Thank you. I’d love to.”
The man made a small bow. “I’m Leutnant Dietze. Please follow me.”
As they went down a short flight of metal stairs, Helene told the Leutnant her name.
“It’s delightful to meet you, Helene. The control room is right through here,” Dietze said, opening a door for her.
It was a whole different world in the control room. A crew of six men and women nodded at her when she came in. The floor rumbled and the noise of the engines was like thunder. Helene looked around, startled by the sound.
A gray-haired man in a uniform with gold stripes on his shoulders approached her. “It is a bit loud, isn’t it? But you get used to it,” he said. “I’m Kapitän Siodmak. Welcome to my ship . . .”
“Helene,” she said quickly. Like the Leutnant had, he made a small bow, but he didn’t extend a hand as she expected. She realized why when she looked closer. Both of his arms were mechanical, intricate contraptions of wood and metal. When Helene looked at the rest of the crew again she realized that many of them also had artificial limbs or eyes. War veterans, she thought. To keep herself from staring, she turned back to the Kapitän and locked her gaze on his eyes.
If he noticed her shock, he didn’t let on. “Would you like to see how we pilot the ship?” he said.
“Very much,” said Helene, gripping the little chimera nervously.
Kapitän Siodmak swept his mechanical arm toward an intricate control panel that took up much of the room. Helene approached it tentatively. A complex array of dials, switches, gauges, and levers covered the console, which was strangely shaped. Instead of the hard lines she expected, the control panel was somewhat rounded, with small pipes that looked like veins running along the top and sides. The panel appeared vaguely organic to her, which wasn’t nearly as startling as what she saw under a glowing dome in the forward center of the console. There was a large knotted mass of what looked like pink tissue. It pulsed slightly with each bump and turn of the ship.
“Is that . . . ?” she said.
“A chimera?” said the Kapitän. “Why, yes, it is. It’s why I’m able to chat with you. Our little friend here can pilot the ship for short periods and even set course for us. In case of emergency, it can help us land, but I don’t recommend the experience. It’s usually a bit bumpy.” The crew chuckled quietly at that.
Before she could stop herself, Helene said, “Is that what happened to your arms?” The moment the words were out of her mouth she went pale, shocked by her own rudeness. “I’m sorry. I had no right to ask.”
The Kapitän shook his head. “It’s perfectly all right. And yes, that is what happened.”
“In the war?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need. I was happy to do my duty.”
Feeling awkward now and wanting to leave as soon as possible, Helene said, “Thank you very much, Herr Kapitän. I’ve truly enjoyed meeting you and your crew.”
However, before she could leave, the Kapitän said, “Actually, I was hoping that you could help us for a moment.”
She looked at him and wondered if he was mocking her for her impertinent question. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she said.
Siodmak pointed out the window at the front of the room. “We’ll be turning into an area with more airships soon. We like to warn them of our approach with a signal flare. I was wondering if you’d like to send it up for us.”
Helene smiled. “You’re not making fun of me, are you?” she said.
The Kapitän shook his head. “Not at all. It’s a simple procedure and quite pretty to see. But, of course, if you’re not interested—”
“But I am. Really.”
“Then step over here, please.”
Attached to the bulkhead was what looked like a pistol grip connected to a long tube that led outside the ship. The Kapitän took a brass cylinder from a small box nearby and loaded it into the tube.
“Is that the flare?” said Helene.
“Yes. There’s a small chimera inside.”
Helene frowned. “The flare is a chimera?”
“You’ll see,” said the Kapitän. He cocked the hammer on the gun and stepped aside.
Helene approached the gun nervously and wrapped her hand around the grip. It was bulky and slightly cold—probably, she thought, from the outside winds coming down the metal tube. She looked at Siodmak and said, “Now?”
“Whenever you like.”
She pressed Frölich’s little pet to her chest and squeezed the trigger. There was a loud whump as the flare shot up and out of the ship. A few seconds later, it burst into purple flames. The chimera was like a fiery bat, flapping its wings as it climbed into the sky. Helene craned her neck to watch it go. A few seconds later, there was a bright flash of light as the bat exploded above the dense clouds overhead. Then something fell from the sky—a thousand small, burning points of light, like a rain of diamonds.
Below the ship, the clouds parted for a moment and Helene could see the edges of the city and her home, Empyrean. For the first time in a long while, she felt at ease. Forward in the ship, Frölich and some of the older men would be talking about steel production and plazma stores for the army. But here, between the ground and the burning clouds above, there were no worries. No talk about the restless poor or war. Helene never wanted to see the city again. She wanted to explode in the sky and rain down on the world like burning jewels.
Eventually, though, she thanked the Kapitän, the Leutnant, and the rest of the crew and made her way forward again. After delivering the little chimera back to Frölich, Helene went into the greenhouse observation deck and found the window he’d pried open earlier. In a few seconds, the freezing wind numbed her face. It would be so easy, she thought, to step out into the sky like the little bat. Helene wondered how far up she could go if she jumped as hard as she could . . .
The rain grew heavy, though, and soon she closed the window and returned to the party. Helene found Greta still wedged between Orlok and Gustav on the pillows. She and Orlok were making love, but drunken Gustav had fallen asleep. Helene pushed him aside and kissed Greta as Alex pulled her down to join in the fun.
Chapter Five
DR. VENOHR HAD BEEN RIGHT. WHEN REMY WOKE UP IN THE MORNING SHE appeared to be fine. She didn’t even remember getting sick at the party.
“It was very frightening,” Largo said. “You scared everybody.”
Remy patted his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me, silly boy. I’m not going anywhere.” Before he could say anything, she looked down at herself and then at Largo. “Why are we still dressed?”
“I told you. You were sick. Dr. Venohr and I put you straight to bed.”
She tilted her head and looked at him. “I don’t mean why are we dressed. I mean why aren’t we undressed?” Remy pulled her dress off and threw it on the chair. Naked, she began to unbuckle Largo’s belt as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt. He barely got it off in time. Remy tugged his pants down over his thighs and climbed on top of him, guiding his cock inside her. Together, they rocked and thrust and scratched each other’s bodies. Largo was amazed that this was the same woman he’d carried home comatose the night before. However fragile she’d seemed then, that was all gone now. This was the Remy he knew. His Remy. And she dug her nails into his chest as she made a few last violent thrusts down onto him before holding still and squeezing him with her thighs. He laughed. Her strong, athletic body held him in place. He couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. Finally, Remy relaxed and fell heavily on top of him.
Still breathing hard, he said, “Well, that was unexpected.”
“Because I’m such a delicate flower?” said Remy.
“Because you were as dead-eyed as one of your theater dolls last night.”
“I trust I’ve convinced you that I’m not about to collapse like an old hausfrau or deflate like a balloon?”
“I pronounce you fit enough to fight an ox.”
She kissed him just as the bell in the Triumphal Square rang the half hour. Largo sat up and looked at the little clock on Remy’s bedside table.
“Shit,” he said. “I have to get to work.”
Remy rolled off him reluctantly and said in a joking whine, “I want to prove to you how well I am again. Can’t you be just a little late?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. Herr Branca promoted me to chief courier, and he can take the promotion away just as easily.”
Remy sat up on her elbows. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have celebrated.”
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