“Dame Karoli, his secretary.”
“And what did you think of her?”
“She was charming.”
“Was she now?” said Branca thoughtfully.
Quietly, Largo added, “Charming as a talking viper.”
Branca said, “Finally. The correct answer. For a moment, I was afraid that you hadn’t really gone to Schöne Maschinen.”
“No, sir. I was there,” he said. “It was even more impressive than I imagined inside.”
“A national treasure, to be sure,” said Branca offhandedly. Then he added, “A moment ago, you said that Baron Hellswarth was fine. In what sense was he fine?”
Largo wondered if this was another test. He was growing tired of them. However, there was only one way to find out. He said, “I only meant that he was very nice. We talked for several minutes. He even let me pet Kara, his chimera.”
“What a special moment that must have been for all of you. What did you talk about with the Baron?”
“We talked about Schöne Maschinen and all the different things they do. Did you know that besides armaments, they produce chimeras and Maras?”
“Yes, Largo. I do possess that knowledge. So does ninety-nine percent of Lower Proszawa. Was that all you talked about?”
It occurred to Largo that this wasn’t the first time Branca had asked these questions. König had been going to Schöne Maschinen for years. Branca must know a good deal about the Baron’s interests. This was both good and bad. It meant he couldn’t lie, but it also meant that Branca already knew most of the answers, so he didn’t have to say too much.
“He asked me about myself. I suppose if I’m going to be returning to his office, he wanted to know who I was.”
“And who are you?” said Branca. “To the Baron, I mean.”
Largo had been so overwhelmed by the apprenticeship discussion that it was hard to remember anything else they’d talked about. “I told him that I liked my job and how exciting it was to finally see Schöne Maschinen itself for the first time.”
“Is that all?”
He knew he needed to give Branca something else or the bastard would be picking at him all day. “He asked me what I would do if I could do anything.”
“What did you tell him?”
Largo looked at his raw knuckles. “That I lacked a formal education and would like to do something about that.”
“An education. So, you want to leave us soon? I can prepare your severance papers,” said Branca.
“No, sir. That’s not what I mean,” Largo said. He took half a step forward. “I simply meant that I’d like to better myself.”
Branca’s lips moved minutely into a vague smile. “Calm yourself, Largo. I was joking. It’s good that you want to expand your mind. Most other couriers simply want to drink and bed random floozies.”
If it cheers them up, why not? he thought. What do you know about happiness?
Branca went on. “Ambition is good. The company is always looking for bright young men. A bit of schooling and soon you’ll be my superior.”
Maybe if I fail at everything else . . .
“I doubt that. Anyway, it was just . . . I’m not sure of the word.”
“Theoretical?”
“That’s it. I think that, like you, he wanted to know that I aspired to something greater.”
Branca took a new receipt book from the desk. “Careful how far you climb and how quickly. You wouldn’t want to end up like little Bruno Driest. Have you heard of him?”
Largo tried to place the name. “Was he another courier?”
“No. He was the progeny of a great magician. Being a child, he thought the sun was a beautiful golden apple and sought to pluck it. He flew into the sky in one of his father’s machines. Do you know what happened then?”
“No, sir.”
“He burst into flames and fell into the sea, never to be heard from again. You don’t want that, do you?”
Was that a threat? Largo wondered. “Not at all. If the choice is between drowning and staying where I am, I’m quite happy on the ground.”
“A fine code to live by,” Branca said. He handed Largo the new receipt book. “Go to lunch now. In deference to your accident, take a full hour. Your afternoon deliveries are straightforward and none is urgent. You can do them when you get back. However, you might consider cleaning up in the bathroom before you leave.”
“Thank you. I will,” Largo said.
He put the new book in his bag and started to leave, but Branca said, “I noticed Margit changing the tires on a bicycle this morning. It looked a bit like yours.”
Is the old bastard spying on us?
“Yes. My tires were flat,” said Largo.
“Both of them?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“How unfortunate. And how kind of Margit to help you.”
“Yes, she’s very nice.”
“And what will you be doing for her?” said Branca.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Branca picked up a pen and gestured with it as he talked. “Margit did you a favor. That’s often a reciprocal situation.”
Largo wondered what exactly he was getting at. Did Branca know something he didn’t? “She didn’t ask me for anything,” he said.
“What a generous heart,” said Branca. “Still, I’m sure any favor she might ask you in the future won’t be too onerous.”
He definitely knows something, thought Largo. About the leaflet? Or was he just trying to turn him against Margit? She said people at the company were out to get her. “I’m sure anything she’d ask for would be reasonable.”
“She seems like a reasonable girl. Still, we must look out for our own best interests. Do you understand me?”
“Of course, sir,” said Largo.
First Margit tells me to learn to take care of myself, like I’m a child. Now the fossil tells me to be afraid of Margit. It’s my day for irritating advice.
Branca said, “That’s all for now. Have a pleasant lunch. And watch out for trucks.”
“Thank you. I will.” Largo walked out before Branca could say something else stupid.
It was early enough that none of the other couriers were at the Fräulein Sabel café. Largo pushed his way through the crowd to the Trefle on the back wall. He dropped in some coins and had the operator connect him to the Grand Dark. Lucie answered.
“I’m so sorry, but Una changed the new play and everyone is in rehearsal,” she said.
Largo sagged against the wall. He desperately wanted to tell someone about what Baron Hellswarth had said, and Remy was the only one he trusted. “Will she be much longer? I have an hour for lunch. I could come by.”
“I’m sorry, Largo, but Una says they’ll be at it all afternoon. But I do have some good news.”
“Yes? What’s that?”
“I’m going to be in the play too!” she said. “I’ve been sweeping floors and mending costumes for so long that I’d lost all hope. But today Una gave me a part. It’s a small one, you understand, but I’ll be in a puppet, just like Remy.”
Lucie was sweet, but her moving up in her job when his chance could be years away was the last thing he wanted to hear right now. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t be more excited,” she said. “In fact, I have to go. Una is calling us back to the stage.”
“Good luck. Tell Remy I called.”
“I will. And we’ll both see you soon anyway.”
“You will?”
Lucie said, “Yes. Some of us are coming along to help her pick out your new clothes.”
“That sounds like fun,” said Largo, wondering if he should have let the Widow finish him off after all.
“Goodbye,” said Lucie.
He started to say goodbye back, but she hung up before he had the chance.
Largo walked to the bar and thought about ordering a whiskey. He wanted to see Remy, but he also wanted more morphia. The pain in his
shoulder was a steady ache and he knew it would continue to get worse. He thought about the morphia he’d given Rainer, but considering his friend’s condition, it wouldn’t be fair to ask for it back.
He was pulling change from his pocket to pay for a drink when he decided against it. After the day he’d had, if he started drinking now he wouldn’t stop. Instead, he ordered a mutton sandwich. He had his lunch at a small table in the cramped back of the café, as far as possible from other people and the world.
Branca had been telling the truth. Largo had only two deliveries in the afternoon. Both were all the way on the other side of the city but, barring another encounter with Pietr or Tanz, the rest of the day should be easy.
The first delivery was the more difficult of the two, so he did that one first. It wasn’t that the address was difficult to get to, but it was an import-export company and that meant it was near the docks. After the incident with the Black Widow, he was worried he might be recognized. Largo kept his head down as he took a circuitous route that brought him through the brothel district, where he paused for a moment and watched as the police examined the prostitutes’ identification papers. Any foreign ones or ones whose documents seemed suspect were deemed potential spies, loaded into juggernauts, and taken away. When a police Sergeant noticed him watching, Largo sped down a side street.
Wanting to avoid the butchers’ square, he had to go along the western edge of the city, where he caught a glimpse of the carnival. He thought about the tickets at home and how happy Remy would be when he showed them to her.
Last, he cut through what was, to him, the worst part of the city—the Midden. As bad as Machtviertel was, the Midden made it look like the most refined parts of Empyrean.
The Midden was the shore on which the most dismal refuse of the war washed up. Clandestine and amateur doctors performed every sort of medical horror on the desperate and the indigent. Iron Dandies went there in hopes of new faces, but often left more hideous than before and with their money gone. Prosthetics shops hung stolen limbs outside. The ones with Mara workings twitched like they were in agony. Other shops displayed exotic statuary and strange religious icons from foreign campaigns. The most disreputable shops sold military weapons, uniforms, and medals brought there by grave robbers. The Drops was rampant in the Midden. Was this what Dr. Venohr had been talking about? Was this where the plague entered the city by way of all the misbegotten goods? Largo wondered what the merry men and women in their tuxedos and gowns in the Great Triumphal Square would think if they knew about the Midden.
When he arrived at the import-export company, he gave an envelope to a fat man named Bohm. Largo made sure he signed the receipt book, then got on his bicycle and rode away. He didn’t even wait to see if Bohm would offer him a tip. More than money, he wanted to be away from the docks and the horror that was the Midden.
His last stop of the day was at Ihre Skandale, a yellowsheet that featured the most sensational rumors and gossip in the city. Because it printed lurid articles and photochromes of local murders, Una loved it and used the yarns as the bases for many of her plays. If he wanted to sit backstage at the theater, Largo would often have to move piles of the papers off the chairs.
Inside, he met the paper’s editor in chief, Herr Ernst, a tall, thin man with ink-stained fingers. He eyed Largo as he signed the receipt book, and it made him uncomfortable.
“Going by your clothes and your knuckles it’s been a rough day,” said Ernst lightly.
Largo glanced at his skinned right hand. “Rougher than some. Less than others.” He could tell the man was angling at something, but he couldn’t decide what.
Ernst dropped the box Largo had given him on the desk and spoke thoughtfully. “König used to make our deliveries. I haven’t seen you before.”
Not sure how much to say, Largo replied simply, “König has left the service.”
Ernst wiped some of the ink off his hands with a handkerchief. He said, “If you’re the new König, you must be running all over Lower Proszawa.”
Largo didn’t like being called “the new König,” but he let it go for the moment. “Every inch of it, sir. Wherever customers need us.”
“I bet you see some interesting things on your sojourns.”
“Occasionally, but I try to mind my own business.”
“Of course,” said Ernst. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. The reason I’m asking, you see, is that your profession gives you a unique view of the city. One that could make you extra money. It certainly put some change in König’s pocket.”
Largo looked at the man with more interest. This must be what Parvulesco meant when he’d said this promotion could bring in money on the side. “König sold you stories about what he’d seen on his rounds?”
“Exactly. Now you, if you’re so inclined, can do the same,” said Ernst excitedly. “For instance, have you seen anything interesting today?”
What hasn’t been interesting today? he thought. Largo looked around the office at the scattered police reports and men and women whispering into at least a dozen Trefles. More than he’d seen in one place before. “I’m not sure what would be interesting to you.”
“Let’s begin at the beginning. Where did you start your day?”
Largo wondered if he should tell the truth. He was leery of Ernst, but if it meant extra cash and he didn’t get too specific, what harm could it do? “I was at Schöne Maschinen this morning,” he said.
Ernst’s expression brightened. He said, “Really now? Did you hear about what happened there?”
Largo thought for a minute and decided to see what would happen if he said just a little something. “You mean the Black Widows?”
“Yes!” said Ernst. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the incident?”
He thought about Pietr. Was it possible that the bastard was going to earn him some extra coins? “I was there,” he said. “I saw them escape.”
Ernst grabbed Largo’s arm and pulled him down into a chair beside his desk. “Tell me about it. Everything you remember.”
Seeing the man’s eagerness, Largo got nervous. He knew the less he told him, the better. He said, “I didn’t really see very much.”
“Give me a decent story and I’ll give you a Valda,” said Ernst.
“Right now?”
Ernst took a gold coin from his pocket and set it on the desk, far enough from Largo that he couldn’t grab it and run. “Does that jog your memory? Maybe you saw more than you realized . . . ?”
Largo looked at the coin, then at Ernst, and said, “As a matter of fact, I saw quite a bit of the mayhem.” He then went on to tell Ernst as much of the story as possible, careful to keep himself out of it except as an observer. When he was done, he grew nervous again. “You won’t tell anyone that you got the story from me, will you?”
Over his mouth, Ernst made a motion like inserting a key into a lock and turning it. “Not a word,” he said, sliding the Valda over to Largo, who put it in his pocket. “Let’s come to an agreement, shall we? Any interesting, peculiar, or novel sights you come across in your duties, you observe all you can and then come here and tell me a story like you did today.”
“And I’ll get a Valda when I do?”
Ernst sat back in his chair. “It depends on the nature of the story and what details you have. It might not always get you a Valda, but it will always pay something. Some silver at the very least.”
Largo smiled at him. “It’s a deal,” he said.
Ernst put his hand across the desk and they shook. “If you should ever doubt yourself about a story, especially if you should witness anything criminal, remember that Ihre Skandale has the largest circulation of any paper in Lower Proszawa. Giving us the story, it might have clues that the bullocks don’t. You could help to solve some dastardly crimes. Think of your visits here as serving the public good.”
It was a con and Largo knew it, but it was a good one and he appreciated that—as well as the money. “I always try to
be a good citizen,” he said.
“There you go,” said Ernst. “Now why don’t you get going so I can write up this beauty that you just gave me?”
“Of course.” When Largo got up, he saw a pile of Der Knochengarten horror pulps sitting on another desk. The cover illustration was a terrifying Angel of Death with a shimmering skull peeking from his cowl, a collection of heads dangling from his honed scythe. Under it was the title “You Can’t Escape the Reaper.”
Ernst said, “You read Der Knochengarten?”
“When I can afford it.”
Ernst went to the pile and tossed Largo one. “On the house,” he said. “This new issue will give you the shivers. I don’t think you’ll be sleeping much tonight.”
That made him think of Remy. He said, “That sounds all right to me.”
Ernst went back to his desk and said, “Go on now. Off with you. But let’s talk again soon. Here’s my card. If you can’t come in, you can always call me. I’ll reimburse you for the Trefle charge.”
Largo put the card inside Der Knochengarten and shoved it deep into his jacket pocket so Branca wouldn’t see it. He nodded to Ernst and got on his bicycle. The ride back to the office was much less colorful than the ride to Ihre Skandale, but with a Valda in his pocket, it was much more pleasant.
After work, Largo met Remy at her flat on the edge of Kromium and they walked to the secondhand shops on Tin Fahrspur. Before they left, Remy said that she’d invited a couple of friends to help them pick clothes. Largo already knew that from his call with Lucie, but his heart sank a little when they reached the corner and it looked to him like she’d invited everyone she knew. Lucie and Hanna he didn’t mind so much, but too-handsome Baumann was there as well. Worst of all, Enki was joining them. Why is he here? Largo wondered. He’s blind, so he can’t see a damn thing.
Plus he’s a loudmouthed ass.
Remy waved to the group from across the street. While they waited for a tram to pass, Largo said, “Why is Enki here? I thought you were all sick of him.”
“It’s true he can be a pest,” said Remy with a sigh. “But he’s an old friend and anyway, he sneaked off somewhere for a few days without a word. I want to find out where he went. Maybe he has a new lady love.”
The Grand Dark Page 18