The Grand Dark. Richard Kadrey
lovely material,” she said. “If you were to die tonight you’d make a gorgeous cadaver.”
Remy took Hanna’s hand away from Largo’s chest and placed it on her own. “And what about me? Would you sneak a feel of my corpse?”
Hanna placed another hand on Remy’s breasts. She said, “Alive or dead, you always look good enough to eat.” Remy gave her a dainty kiss on the cheek.
“Already on to necrophilia, are we?” said Strum, the poet. “Or is it cannibalism? And barely eleven o’clock.”
Hanna sat down on a pillow at Remy’s feet. She looped an arm around one of Remy’s legs and one around one of Largo’s. He looked at Remy and she clinked her champagne flute against his. He didn’t know what that meant, but he smiled as if he did, wishing they could sneak off together and take more cocaine.
Lucie said, “Strum was telling us about his new epic poem. What was it called again?”
“The Sailor’s Call. It’s all empire and blood and sacred duty. Complete garbage.”
“Then why did you write it?” said Bianca.
“Because it paid more than my last two books combined,” he said in an attempt at a joking tone. “There’s art and there’s keeping a roof over one’s head. Sadly, in those moments, the roof always wins.”
“How sad for you,” said Hanna.
“If only you enjoyed the rain more,” said Baumann. “Then you could look at a roof as a luxury.”
“True,” said Strum. “It’s my fault for being born a poet and not a duck.”
A few of them laughed, but most smiled politely. Largo felt a pang of pity for the man. Seeing a respected artist forced to betray his gifts made him happy that he had no such ambitions. Before he could dwell on it, a shout cut into his thoughts.
“It’s Frida!” Bianca said, pointing across the room to where an elegant woman in furs and a salmon-colored gown looked this way and that. “She must have married that Baron she’s been after. Frida!” yelled Bianca. The woman waved her over. Bianca and several other members of the group got up and went to her.
The only ones left around the chaise were sleeping Lucie, Remy, Largo, Hanna, and Enki.
“A Baron,” Enki said contemptuously. “The very class that’s ruining this country. They’ll drag us into another war before any enemy does.”
“Please don’t start a tedious screed, Enki,” said Hanna. “Can’t you see I’m trying to seduce these young innocents? You’ll put them right to sleep.”
“They’re already asleep,” said Enki. “So are you. So is everyone in this room. I’m telling you, we’re heading for a catastrophe.”
Largo had never heard anyone speak with such passion about politics before. Well, he had, but only for a few seconds. He sounds like one of those cranks standing on a chair in the Triumphal Square, condemning both the upper classes and the bourgeoisie. If he hates everyone, though, who is he speaking to?
“We must organize and resist the ruling class’s bloodlust,” said Enki. “Take up arms, if necessary.”
“Arms?” said Remy. “I used to think your speeches were scandalous fun. But if you insist on being arrested for treason you’ll have to do that alone.”
“I thought you were smarter than the others, Remy,” he said. “But you’re just another dullard artiste.”
Largo stared at Enki, angry but torn, wondering if it was his place to speak up to someone so prominent in Remy’s artists’ circle. Finally, he couldn’t stand it. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s right. You are a bore. And I’ve never liked your paintings. They’re as pretentious as your politics.”
Remy laid a hand on Largo’s back and Hanna gave his leg a squeeze. “Good boy,” she said. Slowly, Largo settled back onto the chaise. It felt good to speak up, but it left him confused. Had he made a terrible mistake that would ruin Remy’s reputation with her friends? Enki said, “Largo to the rescue, so eager to attack a blind man.
I wonder how brave you’ll be when the bullocks come knocking on your door?”
“Why would they do that?” Largo said.
“Do they need a reason?”
What the hell does that mean? he wondered, before Branca’s comment about König came back to him. “It’s likely you won’t see him again.” Largo’s day had returned to being strange.
As he considered that, the other members of the group came back with Frida in tow. Bianca had the elegant woman’s fur draped across her shoulders. “You might want to keep your trap shut for a while, Enki,” said Hanna. “The vile ruling class is almost upon us.”
Frida greeted Remy and Hanna like old friends, and gave Largo a peck on each cheek when they were introduced. She and Enki studiously ignored each other.
“How is everyone?” Frida said.
“Still sober,” said Hanna. “So, in a word, tragic.”
Frida made a complex hand gesture at one of the servant Maras.
“At once, ma’am,” it said, and left the room.
She winked at the others. “A little secret I learned from the Baron. It’s not necessary to even talk to them,” she said. “We’ll have more drinks momentarily.”
Largo couldn’t help noticing a chimera—a long snakelike body with a miniature wolf’s head—with its fangs buried in the Mara’s leg so that the automaton limped. More ugliness, he thought. He wondered if the chimera was one of Hanna’s creations. He’d ask her later, if he got a chance.
“While we wait for our champagne …,” said Frida. She reached into her purse and took out what Largo thought at first was a tube of lipstick. Frida unscrewed the top with great care, tapped out some powder onto her hand, and sniffed it up. Then she held out the tube to the others. “Does anyone care to join me?”
The cocaine made its way quickly around the group. No one tried to hide what they were doing because many other partiers were doing the same thing. Even Enki took some of the powder. Largo wondered if he was trying to fit in or was simply a hypocrite. With luck, I won’t spend enough time with him to ever know.
On the end of the chaise, Lucie sat up and looked around sleepily. “What happened to my champagne?” she said. Everyone in the group laughed. No one replied because Frida handed her the tube and Lucie squealed with delight. She snorted a copious amount of the powder and looked at Remy in surprise. “When did you get here?” she said.
Remy put an arm around her and pulled her close, saying, “You’re a goose.”
In a few minutes, Baumann presented the group with hashish cigarettes, which they also passed around. Riding the blissful high of the cocaine and hashish, Largo disliked the too-handsome actor a little less.
The cigarettes made their way around the group once, then twice. The third time Remy puffed one she doubled over in a coughing fit. Lucie and Baumann laughed together. Largo patted Remy’s back, hoping it would help clear her lungs. It didn’t.
“My god, she’s turning blue,” said Bianca. Hanna spun around and looked up at Remy’s face. She pushed Lucie and Largo off the chaise and laid Remy on her back. She was limp.
“We have to get her breathing properly,” Hanna said. She tilted Remy’s head back and breathed into her mouth.
Frida touched Baumann’s shoulder. “Do you know Dr. Venohr?”
“Of course.”
“Bring him here. Quickly.”
Baumann jumped up and disappeared