The Grand Dark

by Richard Kadrey

  When Heinz sees what he’s done, ever the coward, he drops the knife and flees, his shirt and hands covered in Elise’s blood.

  Fade to black.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THERE WASN’T A BUILDING IN THE CITY TALLER THAN A SINGLE STORY TONIGHT. Anything above that was swaddled in vapor, turning Lower Proszawa into something old, liminal, and unfinished. The cab had to creep slowly through the gloom. Largo grew frustrated, then furious at their progress.

  “Can’t you go a little faster?” he said into the cab’s speaker tube.

  It replied, “Apologies, mein Herr, but under the circumstances that isn’t permitted.”

  Largo leaned back into the seat as the fog settled farther down onto the road so that the buildings became vague outlines. That could be a bank, he thought. Or a restaurant. Or an elephant. Street lamps and crossing lights were hazy stars that passed overhead. He checked his watch. It was just after five A.M. The city would be waking up soon and he wanted to be done with things before there were people in the street.

  Finally the cab slowed and stopped. There was nothing outside but a solid bank of gray.

  “The Grand Dark,” said the Mara. Largo threw money at the driver and stepped out of the cab. He tripped over the curb trying to get his bearings, but finally saw the dark marquee above him. He went around the side of the building, now happy for the fog since it would obscure his presence.

  It took a moment to find the stage entrance. When he did, he pried open the door with the crowbar from the van. After what felt like an hour, there was a pop as the lock broke and the door swung open.

  The backstage area was pitch-black. Largo fumbled along the wall until he found a light switch. When he could see where he was, he rushed to Remy’s dressing room and found it padlocked shut. He used the crowbar to wrench the lock out of the door and went inside. But she wasn’t there. The room was a shambles, with clothes and furniture thrown onto the floor. He went back out and checked the other dressing rooms one by one. There were no people anywhere, but the furniture and clothes in the other rooms were neatly arranged and in their proper places.

  Largo checked the closets and the storage room where the props were kept. Nothing. Next to the plazma area where the electrics were housed, he entered the room where they stored the puppets and galvanic suits.

  In the dim light from backstage, he remembered how Remy had once called it a madman’s abattoir. Human forms—some clothed and some nude—hung lifeless from hooks in the ceiling. He flipped the light switch, but it didn’t work. Using the crowbar, he pushed a few of the puppets out of the way and went deeper into the room. There was nothing. He was heading back to the stage area when he heard a sigh.

  Largo whirled around. “Remy? Is that you?”

  A small plazma lamp went on. A man’s voice calmly said, “Come in, Largo. Put down the crowbar.”

  He set the crowbar on the floor and pushed puppets out of the way until he came to an open area at the back of the room. Remy was asleep on a cot. Next to her was a small table with the plazma lamp and a plate with food scraps on it. Near the lamp were several small vials and a syringe. Largo started toward Remy, but the Baron stood next to her with an oddly shaped pistol in his hand. Largo had never seen anything like it before. “Stop where you are,” Hellswarth said.

  Largo watched Remy’s chest slowly rise and fall as she slept. “What have you done to her?”

  “Remy is fine,” said the Baron. “She just needs rest.”

  Largo pointed to the syringes. “I mean the other things,” he said angrily. “If you love her, how could you use her like that?”

  “She was sick.”

  “Because she loved me and not you.”

  The Baron looked down at Remy. “Partly. But I’m fixing her, just like I fix any other broken mechanism.”

  “Don’t talk about her like that.”

  The Baron said, “I cured her morphia addiction. You should thank me for that, at least.”

  Largo felt the pistol in his pocket but knew he couldn’t get to it without being shot first. “You didn’t cure her for her own sake or you would have done it before. You did it to make her a better pet.”

  Hellswarth gestured with the pistol. “And what were you doing by giving her morphia in the first place?”

  Largo took another step closer. The Baron raised the gun higher. “I never kidnapped her. I never filled her with whatever filth it is you and Venohr made.”

  Baron Hellswarth didn’t resemble the man Largo had seen at the factory or the Golden Angel. It looked like he hadn’t shaved or combed his hair in days. He said, “You saw Venohr? Where is he?”

  Largo gave him a satisfied smile. “Dead at Schöne Maschinen.”

  The Baron’s jaw clenched for a second. “That’s too bad. We were going to do great things. Still, I can carry on without him.”

  “I destroyed his notes. If there was a copy at the factory, it’s gone too.”

  Hellswarth frowned and stared down at Remy.

  Largo looked at him, wanting to say something. All he could think of was “That’s a strange gun you have there, Baron.”

  He held it up so that Largo could see. It was matte black and instead of a barrel it had two thin electrodes, about five inches long. “It’s new. It shoots plazma instead of bullets.”

  “I’ve heard about those.”

  “Now you can see how it works,” said Hellswarth. He inclined his head toward the door. “Go outside, Largo. Remy is only half-asleep. I don’t want to kill you in front of her.”

  With nothing to lose anymore, Largo went and knelt next to Remy. He held her hand for a moment, kissed it, and laid it back across her.

  “Get up,” said the Baron. “I’ll shoot you here if I have to.”

  Largo got up, keeping his eyes on Remy. When he turned to go, he swept his hand across the table, knocking the lamp toward Hellswarth. It landed at his feet and burst into flame. Burning plazma splashed onto the Baron’s trousers and jacket. He tried to shoot at Largo, but he couldn’t hold his hands steady. Instead, a jagged bolt of white light blew a hole in the ceiling as the Baron spun to the floor, trying to put out the flames.

  Largo grabbed Remy and was trying to pull her to her feet when something slammed into him from behind, knocking him on top of her. He turned and ducked just in time as the crowbar smashed into the wall, scattering plaster and brick dust. As Una raised the crowbar over her head again, Largo grabbed her. She missed his head and her arm swung over his shoulder so that he caught most of the blow on his back. “Shit!” he yelled and tried to push her off, but she was surprisingly strong and wouldn’t let go. They swung around the room as Una slammed the crowbar into Largo’s back over and over.

  There was another bolt of light, and then another. “Move, Una!” shouted the Baron. The two of them swung around again, and this time Largo was the one who wouldn’t let go. The next shot caught Una in the small of the back. She didn’t scream, but lit up a bright, searing red for a moment as her body burned from the inside. The stench of her glowing flesh was awful. It was like being back in High Proszawa.

  Largo shoved her off and grabbed his pistol. Baron Hellswarth’s face and arm were badly burned and his hand trembled as he tried to aim. Largo pulled the trigger on his gun, but it merely jumped in his hand as it jammed.

  The Baron shot again, but the bolt hit a puppet, igniting it. Largo kicked the burning doll at Hellswarth and ran behind it, tackling him as he jumped out of its way. When they hit the floor, the Baron’s pistol went spinning into the dark. He held on to Largo, punching him in the ribs and face. Largo grabbed the Baron’s throat and squeezed until the man’s grip loosened just enough that he could get his knife and slash out with it. He left a deep gash in the Baron’s injured arm.

  The flames from the burning puppet set two others on fire.

  As Largo pulled the Baron upright, they knocked a tool tray off the wall. When he tried to stab him again, Hellswarth grabbed a hammer and swu
ng it at him, hitting Largo’s arm hard enough that the knife fell to the floor. Before he could grab it, the Baron found his pistol. There was a shriek as Remy threw herself on top of him, digging her teeth into his gun hand. He swore and dropped the pistol. As he shoved Remy off, Largo grabbed the knife and swung the spiked handgrip into the Baron’s burned face. He staggered and fell by the open door. Remy thudded to the floor on her back. Largo grabbed her, but when he turned to the Baron he was gone.

  Several puppets were burning and the room began filling with smoke. Largo pulled Remy up and dragged her out, kicking the door closed behind them.

  Remy was unsteady on her feet and looked around the backstage area as if she’d never seen it before. But when she saw Largo, she said his name. “Is it really you?”

  “It is,” he said. She grabbed him around the neck and hugged him tight.

  Smoke crept from under the puppet room door and ceiling as the fire spread. “We’ve got to go,” he said.

  Remy held on to his face. “Good. I don’t like it here anymore.”

  He took her hand and they ran out the stage door. Smoke followed them as they made it to the curb. Remy shivered. Largo draped his coat around her shoulders and put on the metal mask.

  Remy laughed and said, “You look silly.”

  “Boo.”

  Largo held her by the shoulders and they walked back toward the center of the city. Behind them, the fog flickered with orange light as the fire spread and the Grand Dark burned.

  They soon found a cab and Largo had it take them to the edge of Granate. They walked the rest of the way to Anita’s house. As they went, the fresh air seemed to help revive Remy. “Where are we?” she said.

  “We’re going to stay with a friend for a while,” said Largo.

  Remy stopped and took his mask off. “I need to see your face again. It is you, isn’t it?” she said.

  “It is,” he said. “I promise.”

  Remy looked at the buildings and trailed her hands through the fog, making it swirl around her fingers. She said, “I think I was in the hospital.”

  “It was like a hospital, but you’re all better now.”

  “Good. I didn’t like it there.”

  “You won’t ever have to go back,” Largo said.

  He took her hand and they began to walk again. “Uncle Rudy said I was sick. And he told me you were dead,” she said. Remy looked thoughtful and serious.

  Largo put an arm around her. “We’re both all right now. He won’t bother you again.”

  Remy rested her head on his shoulder. She said, “I’m very tired.”

  “We’re almost there. A special friend is waiting for you.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  It took Remy a few minutes to accept that she was really sitting by a fire with Anita Mourlet.

  “I gave you a necklace at the Golden Angel,” Remy said.

  Anita smiled. “Yes. Largo told me.”

  “And then you kissed me.”

  “I remember.”

  Remy held her hand as if trying to convince herself that, like Largo, she was real. He was worried about her. Remy’s eyes were unfocused and she seemed sedated. What was he giving her back there?

  Largo told Anita what had happened and said, “We have to get out of the city. If the Baron is still alive, he’s going straight to the bullocks.” He sat next to Remy and she took his hand too. He said, “The problem is that all the money I have in the world is in that coat. I don’t know how we’re going to live.”

  Remy, who had been resting her head on Anita’s shoulder, sat up and said blearily, “There’s my money.”

  “What money?” said Largo.

  “All the money and jewels Uncle Rudy gave me. I didn’t want them so I put them in a box in the closet.”

  Anita looked at him. “A Baron’s money and trinkets could go a long way to getting you started.”

  Remy looked from Anita to Largo. She frowned and gripped his hand tighter. “Don’t go,” she said pleadingly.

  Largo kissed her hand. “I have to, but Anita will take care of you while I’m gone.”

  Anita smiled and put an arm around Remy. “It’s true. I will.”

  “You’re both very sweet,” said Remy, and she closed her eyes. She seemed to fall asleep sitting up.

  Largo whispered, “Do you have a gun?”

  “The group took them all when they left,” she said. “What happened to yours?”

  “I lost it. My knife too,” he said. He got up and put on the bulky oilskin coat. “I’m not very good at playing the hero.”

  “I think you’re doing fine,” said Anita. “So does Remy, I suspect.”

  Largo took a tram to the artists’ quarter in Kromium. It was almost dawn, but the sky was still a solid gray canopy overhead. A fine mist came down, the precursor to more rain.

  From the outside, Remy’s building looked deserted. As with Rainer’s flat, there was police tape over the entrance and Health Department quarantine posters out front. Largo ducked under the tape and went inside.

  He listened for the sounds of people coming awake, but there was nothing. They cleared the whole building for one woman’s disappearance, he thought. The Baron must be terrified someone might find out what happened. Maybe that means somewhere deep down inside he’s still human.

  There was hardware for a padlock on the door to Remy’s flat, but no lock. Largo pushed the door open. A light went on, blinding him for a moment.

  “There you are,” said the Baron. “Let’s see if we can get things right this time.”

  When his eyes adjusted to the light, Largo saw Hellswarth sitting stiffly on the black sofa. He was covered in livid patches where the fire had burned deeply into his face and arm. On a table in front of him were piles of cash and jewels, and a large glass of whiskey. Next to that was a large box full of letters. The Baron pointed a pistol at him, an ordinary one this time.

  Largo said, “You have a lot of guns, Baron.”

  He winced. “I make them, you imbecile. My family has made them for four hundred years.”

  “You won’t be making them again for a while.”

  “I suppose not.” The Baron gestured with the pistol. “Put your hands up, by the way.” Largo did as he was told.

  The Baron picked up a handful of letters. “I wrote her one a week for years, telling her how I felt. All she did was stuff them in a box.” The Baron shook his head. “What did you do to her? She loved me so much when she was a girl.”

  Largo frowned at him. “She was a child then. Remy loves me now.”

  The Baron’s lips grew tight. “She might think so for the moment, but I’ll fix that.”

  “Venohr told me what you did to her. But it didn’t work.”

  Hellswarth gave him a broad, knowing grin. “Yes, it did. I checked her blood. She isn’t herself anymore. She’s becoming something else. Something brand-new.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Largo. “She’s not yours and she never will be. If she wants me to go she’ll be the one to tell me, not you.”

  The Baron brightened. “Maybe we should both let her go together. What do you say? A suicide pact?”

  Largo ignored him. “Those burns look like they hurt.”

  “They do.”

  “Your face is never going to be the same. Maybe you should be the one wearing a mask. Would you like mine?”

  The Baron opened his mouth, winced, then opened it again. “You’re an arrogant little prick, aren’t you?”

  Largo looked at the ceiling for a second. He hurt all over and the oilskin coat was making him sweat. “Remy loves me and we destroyed your life’s work tonight. If anyone is leaving it should be you.”

  “I could call the police, you know. I’m sure they’ll be happy to torture Remy’s whereabouts out of you.”

  That was a more frightening possibility than being shot, but he knew he couldn’t show it. The Green came out once more—no backing down, no showing
fear.

  “Do it, my fine brother. She’s with people who know how to make things happen. By the time the bullocks finish with me, Remy will be long gone and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Largo added, “Plus, there’s the matter of her hating you.”

  “I’ll make her love me.”

  “You’re a pathetic old man.”

  “Not so old,” said the Baron.

  His first shot knocked Largo to his knees. He knelt there, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. Strangely, he didn’t feel any pain from the wound, just the wind knocked out of him. The Baron had paused for a moment, seemingly to enjoy Largo’s gasping breath. Before he could get off another round, Largo tightened his grip on the table and jumped up, using it as a battering ram. They fell onto the sofa, rolled, and together they tumbled to the floor. The Baron shot again, but Largo had a grip on his gun hand. Seeing that there was still a little whiskey in the Baron’s partially overturned glass, he grabbed it and threw it at Hellswarth. The Baron screamed as the liquor burned into his eyes and the wounds on his face. Stumbling to his feet, he shot two more times blindly, trying to wipe his eyes clean with his sleeve. Largo threw himself at him, knocking the Baron onto his back. But the older man was stronger than Largo had counted on. The Baron worked his gun hand free and pistol-whipped him. Largo’s vision went red for a second. His weight shifted. When his head cleared, the Baron was on top of him with the gun to his temple. Largo reached out blindly and his hand fell on some envelopes. He grabbed a handful and shoved them in Hellswarth’s face.

  “Look at all of them. Remy buried your letters like the trash they are,” he said.

  “You don’t know anything, boy.”

  “I know the real Remy, which you never will.” Largo pressed his head against the muzzle of the pistol. “Go ahead. Kill me. Start a war. Burn the world. She’ll never love you and you know it.”

  For a moment, the Baron seemed to consider the words. The pistol drifted away an inch or two. It was enough. By pure instinct, Largo grabbed the Baron’s gun hand and bit down as hard as he could. Hellswarth screamed as Largo shifted his weight and broke free. When the Baron tried to get up, Largo clumsily threw himself on top of the man, pinning him to the floor in the middle of the pile of discarded letters. The Baron’s gun hand was pointed at the ceiling and Largo kept a tight grip on it.