The Grand Dark

by Richard Kadrey

  Even though they knew better, just the sound of the word sent a murmur through the room. Weimer was the only one who didn’t say anything. Instead, he stared fiercely at Largo. For his part, Largo pretended to look at Herr Branca and not notice Weimer’s death glare. He put his hands in his pockets, making sure to push back the side of the jacket to reveal his knife. Weimer turned back to the front of the room.

  Branca was going on as if nothing had happened. “Let us keep Andrzej in our thoughts and prayers in the coming days, shall we?”

  There was a general murmur of agreement.

  “And, of course, let’s watch out for our own health, as the Drops are said to be quite contagious. For instance, it might be best to avoid groups of you gathering together by the loading dock,” said Branca. After a moment he added, “This goes for the front gate too. Let’s avoid gathering there after work, shall we?”

  Heads nodded and some of the couriers whispered, “Yes, sir.”

  He knows, thought Largo. But who is he covering for with the ridiculous story about the Drops? Possibly himself? Largo hoped that was the case. An assault on one of his couriers while he was in the office wouldn’t look good on his record.

  “Enough of that gloom and doom,” said Branca. “It’s time to get to work. Line up to receive your parcels.”

  The couriers did as they were told and a few battered Maras rolled from the back room, distributing boxes, cardboard tubes, and letters. After receiving their deliveries, the other couriers left, some shooting glances at Largo but most looking straight ahead as if he weren’t there. Parvulesco winked as he went by. “See you at lunch?” he said. Largo nodded and shooed him away.

  With the couriers gone, the Maras left the room. Herr Branca took a receipt book and a smooth wooden box from a nearby table and handed them to Largo. As he put them in his shoulder bag, Branca said, “I don’t need to remind you that this is your most important delivery yet, do I?”

  “No, Herr Branca.”

  “Good. Here is how things will proceed. When you arrive at Schöne Maschinen, you will be buzzed inside. You are to give the parcel to no one but Baron Hellswarth himself. Is that understood?”

  “Completely.”

  “Good. Now, here is the other thing to remember. Depending on the Baron’s mood and schedule, you might be dismissed immediately. If that is the case, come back here as quickly as you can and tell me everything that happened during your trip.”

  “I will.”

  “There is, of course, a second possibility. If the Baron is in a different sort of mood, he might want to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “About anything that crosses his mind,” he said in a peeved tone. “The weather. What you had for breakfast. Whether the moon is made of cheese. It doesn’t matter. You will answer his questions simply and truthfully, but carefully and without interjecting your opinions. Also, you will address him as ‘Baron,’ but not ‘Herr Baron’ or any such nonsense. You don’t want to sound like a bumpkin or make it appear as if the company hires the feebleminded. Is all that understood?”

  “Yes,” said Largo. “Speak simply and truthfully. Try not to sound like an idiot.”

  “Very good,” said Branca. He looked Largo up and down again. “Do these things well and you’ll seal your job as chief courier. Do them poorly and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the consequences.”

  “Not at all. I understand completely,” said Largo, wishing for all the world the older man would have a heart attack on the spot.

  “There’s one last thing,” Branca said. “If the Baron is in a talkative mood, he can go on at some length. You will stay as long as he likes, even if it’s through lunch. Even if it’s until the end of your shift.”

  “Stay as long as he likes. I have it.”

  “Who knows?” said Branca, going back to his desk. “If the Baron takes a liking to you, this might be your only delivery of the day. Then you can nurse that limp tonight. With Andrzej gone, I can’t afford to lose any more couriers.”

  “I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” said Largo.

  “And newly attired. Don’t forget.”

  Largo pushed the jacket sleeves back from his hands. “Then can I give you this back?”

  “After tomorrow you may throw the jacket away or give it to a passing donkey, for all the company cares. König doesn’t need it. We won’t be seeing him again.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Largo, wanting to know more but also not wanting to know anything about the matter at all. He left the office before Branca could correct him about saying sir too much.

  When Largo reached his bicycle, he stopped in his tracks and took a long breath, feeling a combination of terror and fury.

  Someone had slashed his tires.

  It would take almost an hour to fix them and get to Schöne Maschinen.

  “Largo!” someone called. He whirled around, his hand going to the knife. When he saw that it was Margit he relaxed and turned his attention back to the bicycle.

  When she reached his side she said, “What happened?”

  “Branca insisted I wear König’s jacket. I think someone objected to it.”

  Margit knelt and examined the tires. “They’re cut all the way through. There’s no fixing them.”

  Largo shifted the bag on his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to be on my way to Schöne Maschinen already. I don’t have time for this shit.”

  Margit stood and clapped her hands together to clear the dirt off. “Take mine,” she said. “None of my deliveries are very important. I’ll stay behind and get new tires from the equipment shed.”

  “Take your bicycle?” said Largo.

  Margit shifted her hips and laughed. “Don’t worry. Your masculinity will remain intact. It’s a boy’s bike. See?”

  Largo smiled sheepishly, a little ashamed of himself. “It’s not that. Won’t you get in trouble if you’re late on your rounds?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. This sort of thing happens to me fairly regularly.”

  “Your bicycle being sabotaged?”

  “The tires or seat slashed. The chain broken,” said Margit.

  “Why? I’ve never seen you bother anybody.”

  “You also haven’t noticed how some of the other couriers look at me, have you? I’m not popular.”

  “I mean, I’ve heard a few jokes here and there—”

  Margit pushed Largo’s bicycle against the loading dock. “Girls like me—degenerates who don’t go out with boys—we’re not well thought of in some circles.”

  Largo felt like a fool. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have known there was more to it.”

  Margit wheeled her bicycle to Largo. “It’s all right. We’re taught what to see and not see. It’s hard to break the pattern.”

  “It won’t happen again,” he said, remembering the jokes other couriers made about Parvulesco when he wasn’t around. Jokes Largo never had the nerve to object to.

  “That’s sweet of you, but if you’re really going to change, don’t just do it here,” said Margit. She looked out past the gate. “Do it there. Out in the world.”

  “I will. I promise,” said Largo.

  Margit drew closer and said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you last night. Things came up. It wasn’t safe for either of us.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If you’d been here we couldn’t have talked anyway. There was a fight. That’s what really happened to Andrzej.”

  Margit opened her eyes a little wider. “Did you fight him?”

  Largo didn’t like the startled way she said you, but he knew she was right. “No. It was Parvulesco’s friend Roland.”

  A smile spread across Margit’s face. “I bet he wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Neither was I,” said Largo. “Roland was amazing. Utterly fearless.”

  “That’s the only way there is for us degenerates.”

  Largo frowned. “But Parvulesco—I mean, everybod
y knows he prefers other men. No one slashes his tires.”

  Margit said, “That’s because for men and women, everything is different. We walk through entirely different worlds. Open your eyes a bit. What you see might not make you happy, but it will make you more human.”

  “I . . . I will,” said Largo, feeling even more foolish than when he’d been dressed down by Branca. Hearing about these things from Margit, someone of about his same age and status, someone he liked, stung in a way he hadn’t expected.

  “Thank you,” said Margit. “Now take my bicycle and get going. You’re already late.”

  Largo looked around. “Before I go, I have to tell you something. The leaflet that Pietr gave me yesterday? Herr Branca saw it.”

  Margit pursed her lips, thinking. “Did you tell him where you got it?”

  “No. I said I found it on the street. I tried to get it back from the trash, but it was already gone.”

  “I see,” she said. “It’s probably all right, but don’t come back to the Black Palace. If you have any more deliveries there, give them to me and I’ll take them.”

  “I’ll let you know,” said Largo, feeling a bit relieved. He’d dreaded the idea of returning to Machtviertel and now he had an excuse not to.

  Margit said, “You should get going before Branca sees you. Good luck with the Beast today.”

  “The Beast?”

  “Baron Hellswarth. You’ve never heard that name?”

  “König said it once. I thought he was joking.”

  Margit pushed Largo toward the gate. “Now you’ll get to find out for yourself.”

  Between Branca’s orders and Margit’s cryptic warning, the excitement Largo had originally felt at finally going to the armaments factory had greatly diminished. It didn’t help that he was going there on a strange bicycle sized and geared for someone smaller. However, as he crossed the Ore Bridge the sun came out from behind the clouds of the belching power plants and warmed him. On his left, fog was rolling in along the bay. If he hurried, he might just make it to Schöne Maschinen before the city settled back under its normal gray shroud.

  The sun was just starting to fade as Largo reached the front gate and some of the thrill at finally seeing the inside of the plant returned. Still, he couldn’t quite shake what Margit had said.

  “The Beast.” What am I walking into?

  Largo settled on the simplest plan he could think of. He would follow Branca’s instructions to the letter. Listen intently, no matter how mad the Beast might be. Be polite no matter what he heard. Stay as long as the Baron wanted him there. Also, don’t expect a tip. Men in as lofty a position as the Baron usually weren’t aware of the concept, if they thought of money at all. It was hard to imagine. What must that be like? To snap your fingers and have tons of steel and massive war machines instantly appear at your door? No, a tip was out of the question. Largo would simply get on with his job and, if the Baron was too much to endure, he would soothe himself after work with Remy and morphia when they went clothes shopping.

  Largo sat by the Schöne Maschinen gate for a moment simply taking in the place. The factory had been such a site of wonder and mystery his whole life, and now he was about to enter it. There was something almost supernatural about the moment, as if he were about to leave the solid, simple world he’d grown up in and enter another, one marked by mystery and danger. There was even a beast inside, he thought, and laughed. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t one of his mother’s fairy tales. Schöne Maschinen was just another company. Just another client. Workers came and went. Materials flowed in and goods flowed out. Margit had said it: he just needed to open his eyes and see what was really there.

  In this case, what was there was a massive steel gate flanked by twin stone columns at least fifty feet high. Figures were twined within the metal of the gate—victorious soldiers, scientists, and workers towered overhead, hand in hand. Above the gate were the words

  Protection Progress Perfection

  On the left column was a dull gray box with a small grate and a red button. Largo went to it and pushed the button. There was a dull buzz and a moment later a woman’s voice said, “Yes?”

  “Hello. I have a delivery for Baron Hellswarth.”

  “You are from the courier company?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Largo Moorden.”

  After a moment, the voice said, “I don’t have a Largo Moorden on my deliveries list, just König. Where is he?”

  Largo considered his words carefully. “I’m afraid König is no longer employed by the company. I’m very sorry for the mix-up.”

  “No one informed me,” came the woman’s voice. She sounded annoyed and frustrated. “This will take a moment. Wait there.”

  As Largo waited, the gate swung open and two gleaming juggernauts rolled noisily into the street. Behind them came a long flatbed truck sporting the bull crest of the War Department. Largo couldn’t make out what was under the tarp on the back of the truck, but when a gust of wind lifted a section of the material, he saw something that seemed to him to resemble a large mechanical hand. With a belch of diesel smoke, the truck moved on, followed by two more noisy juggernauts. A soldier stood up out of the hatch of the closer one. Largo nodded to him, but the soldier merely stared until he lost interest and turned his gaze back to the road. As the gate swung closed, the speaker on the column crackled and the voice said, “Proceed inside and go to building three. Someone will meet you there.”

  “Thank you,” Largo said, and he pedaled Margit’s bicycle quickly through the gate before it slammed shut on him.

  The factory was immense, spreading out for acres in all directions. Office buildings lined both sides of the road into Schöne Maschinen, but they were dwarfed by the numbered buildings where the factory’s private foundry and assembly plants spread out in a sprawling grid. Large Proszawan flags hung on either side at the road, near the entrance to building 1. Building 3 stood to the left, so Largo turned that direction and went to a side door. He had to keep to the shoulder of the road as a steady stream of Black Widows moved from building to building carrying raw metal and heavy machine parts.

  Massive I-beams and ingots of raw steel were stacked on every patch of open ground. Through one of building 3’s windows, Largo could see sparks flying high into the air. A gray box was affixed to the side of building 3, but before he could press the button the side door swung open.

  “Largo Moorden,” said a tall woman in a dark, formal business dress.

  “Yes. I’m Largo,” he said.

  “Of course you are. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

  Largo wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said, “I have a delivery for Baron Hellswarth.”

  “So I understand.” The woman turned away from him. Before she disappeared into building 3 she said, “Leave your bicycle there and come with me.”

  They entered an anteroom ringed with windows. Through them, Largo could see the immense furnaces and conveyors that moved red-hot ribbons and ingots of steel throughout the foundry. Buckets as big as tram cars poured liquid metal into molds, sending up fountains of sparks to the ceiling. A rhythmic pounding shook the ground. The roar of the machines hurt his ears.

  “I am Dame Karoli,” said the woman. She had to raise her voice for Largo to hear her. “I am the Baron’s private secretary. If you are to be the new courier, we will no doubt get to know each other.”

  “Very good to meet you, Dame Karoli,” said Largo. “I look forward to working with you.”

  She said, “You won’t be working with me. You’ll be working with the Baron. I’m here simply to make sure you don’t get lost and end up wandering into one of the blast furnaces. It would slow production and ruin the steel.”

  “Yes, that would be very inconvenient,” said Largo. He wished König had talked more about his own deliveries to Schöne Maschinen. It would have been nice to be better prepared for the officiousness of the pla
ce. Then another thought struck him. Perhaps König did talk about it to the wrong person and that’s what got him in trouble.

  Dame Karoli walked to the entrance of the foundry floor. By the door, she reached into a pile of what looked like heavy Bakelite earmuffs and offered Largo a set. Hearing protection, he realized. Before he put them on he looked at the woman’s hair. She wore it pinned up in a bun.

  “Will you be wearing them too?” he said.

  “Of course not,” she said. “I work here. These are for our new and more”—she looked at him—“delicate visitors.”

  Largo drew in a breath and let it out slowly. It was like being back in Empyrean again, although this time no one was trying to throw him out—just humiliate him enough so that he would leave. Largo’s fascination with Schöne Maschinen began to fade and he just wanted to get on with his job. Whatever the reason for Dame Karoli’s tone, he wasn’t going to give her any more opportunities to look down on him. He set the earmuffs back on the table with the others and said, “Thank you very much, but I don’t want to be late getting Baron Hellswarth his package.”

  “Then come with me. The Baron’s office is all the way at the top, overlooking the factory floor.”

  The noise inside the foundry was indeed staggering—a driving, grating, screeching wail that never let up. Largo had never heard anything like it, but he managed to keep an impassive expression on his face as Dame Karoli led him to a freight lift. Inside, the sound diminished from awful to merely unpleasant as they rode to the top of the building. In a way, he was glad the Baron’s secretary had treated him with such derision. He was tired enough of people trying to bully him that his fear of the Beast evaporated. If he walked into the Baron’s office and the man simply swallowed him whole, well, he reasoned, it meant that he wouldn’t have to suffer through another meeting with Dame Karoli.

  When they reached the top floor, she led him out of the lift onto a metal walkway overlooking the foundry. Largo was even more impressed looking down at the factory. And from this new angle, he noticed something that seemed peculiar. The immense space below was nearly deserted. Almost all the work of smelting, shaping, and producing finished metal was done by Maras, some of which towered three stories tall.