The Grand Dark

by Richard Kadrey

  “Let me know if you want more,” he said.

  “Thank you,” said Rainer, “but I’m feeling much better. Now, tell me about the exciting things you mentioned.”

  “It began just yesterday,” Largo said. “First, out of nowhere, I was promoted to chief courier.”

  “Congratulations. We need to have a drink to that.”

  “Thank you.” Largo told Rainer everything that had happened, from his promotion to his trips to Kromium and Empyrean, his strange visit to the Black Palace, and, finally, the fight with Andrzej.

  “Roland is a good man,” said Rainer. “We didn’t serve in the same regiment, but friends in the trenches would sometimes relay stories about other soldiers from Little Shambles. He was wounded in Liebzeit Valley too, you know.”

  “I knew he served, but I didn’t know he was wounded. He offered to teach me to use my knife.”

  “He’ll do a good job. I’d offer to teach you myself, but I’ve lost all sense of fighting. These days, the war seems like nothing more than a strange, bloody dream.”

  “Maybe that’s good. Maybe it’s better to forget,” said Largo.

  “I don’t want to forget. I just want more control of what I brought back with me.”

  Largo looked around the room. “Do you mean ghosts? Is that what the boards are for?”

  Rainer said, “Ghosts, yes. But they’re far away. What I really want is more control of my mind. My memories. Everything in the past runs together. The doctors say it’s the nature of my wounds. Psychological trauma and other nonsense. Apparently I didn’t just lose my face but also my mind.”

  “You seem fine to me.”

  “And who’ll vouch for your mind?” said Rainer, and they both laughed. In the warmth of morphia, it was easy to do. “How is Remy?”

  “Wonderful,” said Largo. “She’s rehearsing a new play tonight. She’s becoming the top actress at the Grand Dark. Really, I wish you’d let me take you one night.”

  “Perhaps. Let me know if they do a play about the war.”

  “I’ll suggest it to Una.”

  “Marvelous,” said Rainer. Having finished his food, he moved from the dinner table to the flat’s sitting area. Largo followed him. They sat across from each other on twin sagging sofas, more castoffs from the shipping company. One of Rainer’s extra masks was on the table between them, upside down so that it looked like a metal bowl. It was full of ash and a single hashish cigarette. Rainer lit it, puffed, and passed it to Largo. Largo sucked in the hashish lightly, knowing he still had to bicycle home later. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see the winking lights of the Maras fluttering over the bay. When he turned to look at them Rainer said, “There’s something going on in High Proszawa.”

  Largo passed the cigarette back. “You mean the flash of light earlier?”

  “That and other things. The lights aren’t always the same. Sometimes they flash, like tonight. Other times they flit to and fro like fireflies. Some seem to move along the ground. Perhaps even under it.”

  The morphia and the hashish made Largo sleepy. “They’re just lights. Probably reflections from passing ships or the Mara drones flying along the shore.”

  Rainer sat forward, his elbows on his knees. “But why would Maras fly over a graveyard in the first place?”

  Largo shrugged. “Searching for looters?”

  “They’d be easier to spot in the bay, where lights from the city reflect on the water.”

  “Then what?”

  Rainer opened his hands in a gesture of unknowing. He puffed the hashish. “One possibility—one that you’ll possibly agree with—is that it’s the enemy probing for weaknesses through the plague zone.”

  “Let’s all hope it’s not that,” said Largo. His head had fallen back against the sofa. He raised it and looked at Rainer. “What’s the other possibility?”

  Rainer pointed at him with the cigarette. “The one you don’t want to discuss.”

  “Ghosts?”

  “Dead soldiers. Dead civilians. Refugees gassed in their hiding places. All the missing and presumed dead. There’s more than a million of them lying just across the water.”

  This time, Largo was careful not to dismiss the idea. “Have you spoken to them?” he said, laying a finger on a spirit board at the end of the table.

  “I’m not sure. I think so. Recently, I was certain that I’d contacted an old comrade-in-arms, Holger Gotho. But I’d been in pain earlier and had taken quite a dose of morphia.”

  Largo nodded, as if he were listening carefully instead of simply worrying about his friend. “What did Holger tell you?”

  “Nothing,” said Rainer. “It’s not important.”

  “That’s not fair. You brought up the subject of ghosts and now you don’t want to talk about them? What did Holger say?”

  Rainer pinched off the lit end of the cigarette and placed the remainder on the edge of his mask. “Holger said, ‘We’re burning. They’re burning us.’”

  Largo frowned. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know,” said Rainer. “Certainly, the enemy dropped incendiary bombs, but those were mostly on ships at sea.”

  “Then what?”

  Rainer stared at the ceiling. “At first I thought that Holger might have died on a naval transport, but then I remembered he stepped on a mine during a reconnaissance mission.”

  Largo didn’t say anything and the silence hung in the air between the two men. After a few uncomfortable minutes, Rainer said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am going mad.”

  Largo sat up. “I never said you were going mad. I simply said that you should get out more.”

  Rainer went to the windows and looked across the bay. “I can’t now. Something is happening. I have to keep watch.”

  Largo got up and went to where he stood. He said, “I understand.”

  Rainer turned his scarred face to the stars. “You do?”

  “I was wrong to dismiss your beliefs earlier. We all believe in something, seen or unseen, and we have to follow it wherever it takes us.”

  Rainer looked at him. “What do you believe in?”

  Largo thought for a moment and could come up with only one thing. “Remy.”

  Rainer laid a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “I’m glad I came too,” said Largo. “But now I should be going. I have to be at work at six.”

  “Come back any time. You’re always welcome.”

  “Thank you.” As Largo walked to the door, he stopped at the living room table and set down the nearly full bottle of morphia Margit had given him. “This is for you. Do you have a jar I could use? I’ll need just a few drops until I see Remy tomorrow.”

  Rainer went into an adjoining room and came back with a small medical vial about one-quarter full. “This is all I had left before you arrived. Please take it.”

  “Thank you,” Largo said. He put the vial in his pocket just as the Trefle rang. Rainer picked up the handset, holding the speaking end up to the horn of his wireless.

  “Hello?” he said. He sounded uncertain. Largo suspected that he didn’t get many calls, certainly not at this time of night. A moment later, Rainer turned in his direction. “Remy. It’s good to hear your voice. How are you?” Rainer listened for a moment and said, “Why yes, I’d love to come see you perform some night.”

  As surprised as Largo was that Remy was calling Rainer, hearing him offer to leave his flat and venture out into the world was even more surprising. It was a lie, he knew, so his surprise was mixed with a deep sadness.

  “You have excellent timing,” Rainer said. “He’s still here.” He handed Largo the handset. When Remy spoke it was difficult to make out her words.

  “What?” he said. “Speak up. What’s all that noise?”

  “It’s a party,” Remy shouted. “It’s Ilsa’s birthday and Una is throwing her a surprise party. You have to come down.”

  “That sounds like fun. I’ll be there
as soon as I can.”

  Remy said something else, but he couldn’t make it out, and then the Trefle went silent.

  “It sounds like you have another appointment,” said Rainer.

  “It’s a party. I’d ask you to come . . .”

  “But you already know the answer.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s leave it at that. It was good seeing you, my friend.”

  “And you,” said Largo. He gave Rainer a brief hug and went down to the street. He removed and reset the webbing without incident but remained worried about his friend. Should he have given him so much morphia at once? Worse, with all the talk about ghosts, was Rainer genuinely losing control of his senses? As he pedaled away, Largo promised himself to come back to Lysergsäurehof more often.

  When he arrived at the Grand Dark, Largo could hear the sounds of laughter and singing all the way out in the alley beside the theater. The stage door was unlocked, so he went inside to the joyful melee.

  He didn’t get two steps in before someone threw their arms around him from behind and kissed him on his cheek. He turned to find Ilsa clinging to him, deeply and happily drunk. “Thank you so much for coming!” she shouted to be heard above the din, then she kissed his other cheek. In fact, Largo barely knew Ilsa, but clearly on her night everyone was a dear, close friend.

  “Happy birthday,” Largo shouted so that she could hear him.

  “I didn’t know that you even knew when my birthday was,” she said. “It’s so sweet of you.”

  He didn’t dare tell her that Remy’s call was the only reason he’d come, so he said, “None of us would miss it for the world.”

  Ilsa wore a long beaded sea-green dress that was a bit too big for her. She had to keep pulling the straps back onto her shoulders so that it wouldn’t fall off. Largo was certain that it belonged to one of the puppets, so he felt a secret kinship with her. We are the puppet people, he thought. Eternally in debt to our mechanical betters.

  “I’m sure I saw Remy here a moment ago,” said Ilsa. She pulled him through the crush of bodies toward the performers’ dressing rooms. It looked to Largo like the entire theater staff—including performers, the band, the lighting and sound crews, and even the carpenters and electricians—were pressed together in the small backstage area. He stepped on a lot of toes and jostled several people with drinks before he spotted Remy a few yards away.

  When they arrived, Remy was chatting with one of the male performers, whose name Largo could never remember, and Volker, who oversaw both the carpenters and electricians and generally kept the theater running. Una was just behind them, talking earnestly to Jünger, who was in charge of maintaining the puppets.

  As they drew closer Ilsa said, “Your delivery, madam.” Remy smiled and drew Largo in close for a long kiss.

  Ilsa sighed. “It’s my birthday and there’s no one who wants to kiss me like that.”

  Remy stroked her cheek. “It’s your night, my dear. The Grand Dark is at your mercy. I wager there are many people here tonight who want to kiss you.”

  Ilsa looked around. “But how am I supposed to know who?”

  Largo shrugged. “It’s obvious. Kiss everyone.”

  Ilsa’s smile was wide and excited. “Do you think I can?”

  “How will you know until you’ve tried?” said Remy.

  Ilsa laughed once and kissed the performer Remy had been talking to, and Volker as well. “This is fun,” she said drunkenly.

  “Well, don’t stop now,” said Remy. “Look at that sea of unkissed lips.”

  “I don’t know. It would take a long time,” Ilsa said uncertainly.

  “Then you’d better get started,” said Largo.

  She laughed at him and Remy, then plunged into the crowd, first kissing the pretty blond singer in the band, then each of the other musicians, before they lost sight of her.

  “I’ve never seen her so happy,” said Remy.

  “I’ve never seen anyone that happy,” Largo said. Then he added, “Except perhaps you when I find a fresh bottle of morphia.”

  Remy put an arm around his waist. “Can you blame me?”

  “Not at all. I feel exactly the same way.”

  “Exactly the same way about what?” said Una. She and Jünger had come over and stood next to them. They startled Largo, who didn’t have a lie prepared. However, Remy didn’t hesitate.

  “True love,” she said. “You can’t go looking for it or track it down with logic. You just stumble across it, and there it is.”

  Jünger nodded knowingly, but Una laughed a silent laugh and shook her head. “You children. You think love is all romance and parties. That it never wanes or sours or that you won’t spend every day wondering just what it is you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “Then it’s not true love,” said Remy, sounding somewhat less merry than she had a moment before. She squeezed Largo’s arm.

  “My grandmother explained it simply,” continued Una, seemingly oblivious to the change of mood she was causing. “She and my grandfather met many years ago, when he returned from the First Eastern War. He had been a soldier and looked dashing in his uniform. She said that they spent their first three days together in bed. But, at the end of the third day, they ran out of food and wine and were confronted with a decision: which of them would dress and go to the market and which would stay home and drag all the trash to the stinking bin out back? It was their first fight. She said they went back to bed after she returned from the market, but it was little things like that—the realities of the world—that ripped holes in their so-called true love.”

  Largo put a hand over Remy’s. “That won’t happen to us,” he said.

  “Are you so sure?” said Una. “Which of you is to be the master or mistress of refuse for the rest of your lives?”

  Largo looked at Remy, not sure how to answer. He was about to volunteer for the position when Remy said happily, “Neither of us. I’ll sell a necklace or two. Our Blind Mara will do it for us.” She looked at Largo. “See? Crisis averted.”

  Una leaned closer to her. “And when you get old and ugly like me? How many automatons will it take to make you happy?”

  Remy looked puzzled. “You can’t possibly mean that,” she said. “You’re not old or ugly.”

  “There’s the other secret of love. Our hearts don’t age at the same rate as the rest of our bodies. You can be old on the inside long before you’re old outside.”

  Jünger gazed into his empty glass. “The night has taken a decidedly somber turn.”

  Largo nodded. “Don’t worry about us, Una. We’ll be fine. Until our Mara appears, the trash duties will be all mine.”

  Una ignored him, her eyes locked on Remy. “Just don’t let your gentlemen admirers know about your current infatuation. Those jewels and baubles might not keep coming forever.”

  “It’s not an infatuation,” said Remy sternly.

  Before Una could respond, Ilsa came back to them. Her skin was flushed and her lipstick smeared. She was perspiring a little. “My, kissing everyone is harder work than I thought,” she said. “I need another drink. Does anyone else?”

  “No, thank you,” said Remy, looking down at the floor.

  Ilsa put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right? Everyone seemed so happy a minute ago.”

  Remy smiled at her. “We’re fine. Just a little tired.”

  Reaching into her pocket, Ilsa pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “This will make you feel better. A boy gave it to me outside when I was smoking with the band. It’s very funny.” She handed it to Remy, who frowned when she opened it. Largo looked over her shoulder. It was a pamphlet. On the cover was a collage of the Minister of War made from money, liquor bottles, and guns. It reminded Largo of some of Enki’s work, but he would never do anything this blatant. It was clearly someone imitating his style. Inside the pamphlet he read the usual down-with-the-government-and-war-profiteers nonsense.

  When she saw the cover, Una snatched the
pamphlet from Remy’s hand. She looked it over and crumpled it up. “Revolting,” she said. She told Jünger, “There was a police car around the corner earlier. If it’s still there, give this to the officers. I won’t have this trash near the theater.”

  Without a word, Jünger took the pamphlet and headed to the stage door.

  When he was gone Una said to Ilsa, “Could you identify the boy if you saw him again?”

  Ilsa shook her head nervously. “It was very foggy. I was surprised he could see us well enough to give it to us.”

  Una pursed her lips in disgust. “These people should all be deported,” she said.

  Seeing Una’s anger, a small group had gathered around them. “Where should they go?’ said Volker.

  She smiled. “Why, to High Proszawa, where they can’t hurt anybody,” she said. The group laughed and toasted the idea. Ilsa looked sullen, her birthday party ruined by politics. Out of politeness, Largo laughed along with everyone else, but the mention of the police made him extremely uncomfortable. Still, he smiled.

  A puppet, his strings pulled by those around him.

  Remy leaned her cheek against Ilsa’s and put an arm around her, trying to get her back into a party mood.

  “Come,” she said. “Shall we go kiss some beautiful strangers?”

  Ilsa smiled up at her. “Really?”

  Remy looked at Largo. “Care to join us?”

  “You have fun,” he said. “I’m going to get a drink.”

  He watched them disappear into the throng. Largo knew that under other circumstances he should be jealous of Remy going off to kiss the handsome theater crowd, but his immediate concern was the morphia in his pocket. He didn’t want to throw it away, but at least in the fog he had a chance if the police stopped him on the way out. But he promised himself that he wouldn’t do anything until the last possible moment.

  When he found the little bar, Una was there as if she’d been waiting for him. As he poured himself a drink, she pointed to Remy and Ilsa gliding through the crowd, kissing men, women, and each other for everyone’s amusement.

  Una held her glass out to Largo. He didn’t want to toast anything with her but, as always, out of politeness he clinked his glass against hers. “To true love,” Una said. She drew out the phrase so that the sarcasm couldn’t be missed. He didn’t turn around to watch Remy and Ilsa because he knew that’s what Una wanted. Instead, he excused himself and found a quiet corner where he took two drops of morphia.