“No, sir. I never drink on the job.” Largo wondered if Branca had caught sight of the morphia bottle in his jacket.
“Very good. I myself am accorded the luxury of sixty minutes for lunch. See? You and I are more and more alike.”
Oh god. What a miserable thought.
“I’ll do my best to live up to the company’s standards.”
Branca waved his pen at him. “Get going. I have papers to deal with,” he said. “Oh—and Largo? There’s no need to sneak out the back this time. The door you came in through is the shortest way out.”
Largo hurried away, surer than ever that Branca knew his secret. But if he did, why would he have given him the promotion, and why would he cover for him now? It didn’t make sense. In any case, there was nothing he could do about it right then. He’d just do his job, and sort this out when he had time. He thought then about Rainer Foxx. His friend was older and understood more about the real world than Largo felt he ever would. He sometimes imagined what life might have been like if Rainer had been his brother back in the Green. Maybe he wouldn’t have grown so afraid all the time.
He’ll know what to do. I have to talk to him soon.
Largo checked the address on the envelope, stuffed it into his shoulder bag, and pedaled away from the office as quickly as his legs would carry him.
Of course, Herr Branca had been right about the Kromium district. Its bright, wide streets, quaint cafés, art galleries, and cinema gave the place an open and pleasant atmosphere—the exact opposite of Haxan Green. Largo thought that if all his deliveries were to districts so violently in opposition to each other he might suffer whiplash.
The streets in Kromium were named for various metals, and the deeper you traveled into the district, the more valuable they became. They began at Boron Prachtstrasse, then Tin, Copper, and Iron. Alloys such as Bronze and Steel crossed the pure metal streets. The address Largo was looking for wasn’t among the loftiest metals such as Platinum, Osmium, and Iridium. However, it was still quite respectable and, he thought, it had a much more poetic ring to it than the more precious streets.
The Heller mansion stood near the corner of Electrum and Gold. Largo leaned his bicycle against a wrought iron gate twisted into elegant nouveau curls. He didn’t bother locking the bicycle this time. With luck, he wouldn’t have to worry about that again for quite a while.
The mansion’s front door was decorated with a sunburst made from a dozen precious metals. Even under the overcast sky, it shone brightly. Like many doors in the district, this one was solid steel—not for security reasons, but to keep within the aesthetics of the neighborhood. Rather than rap on the thick metal door with his bare knuckles, Largo used the gleaming rose-colored knocker. It was heavy and slightly dented on the underside. Gold, he thought.
I wonder how long that would last in the Green?
A moment later, a maid in black brocade and a small white bonnet answered the door. Before Largo could have her sign for the envelope he heard a woman’s voice from behind her. “Who is it, Nora?”
“A courier, madam. With a package for Herr Heller.”
A moment later, an elegant red-headed woman in an arsenic-green gown appeared beside the maid. “I’ll deal with it, thank you,” she said. The maid curtsied and disappeared into the house.
A mechanical din boomed from the street as a driverless juggernaut rolled down the prachtstrasse. It was festooned with flags and large photochromes of the war dead. Patriotic music blared from speakers mounted on the front and sides of the juggernaut and the songs echoed off the buildings as it passed.
Frau Heller made a face at the behemoth. “Those things clatter by day and night. Of course, we all supported the war. I, myself, lost a cousin in the trenches of High Proszawa. But must we be reminded of the unpleasantness at all hours?” She looked at Largo.
He shook his head in agreement. “No, madam. It seems like a great inconvenience.”
“Do these dismal little parades go through your neighborhood too?”
“No. I’ve seen them in the Triumphal Square and some of the business districts, but not where I live.”
“You’re a lucky young man,” said Frau Heller. When she turned back to Largo her radiant smile faltered for a second, then recomposed itself. “What an interesting jacket,” she said. “Wool, is it?”
Largo was tired of clients commenting on how he looked, but he smiled back at the woman. “Yes, madam. Very comfortable on cool, gray days like this.”
“You have a lighter one for the summer, then?”
“Well, no, but with my new position—”
“Silk,” she said, cutting him off. “You’d look much better in silk than wool.”
“I’m not sure I can afford silk, madam. But thank you for the suggestion.”
“Try one of the secondhand shops along Tin and Pinchbeck. Some of the servants’ families sell their clothes when a family member dies. I’m told there are some wonderful bargains.”
Largo looked at Frau Heller, trying to grasp her meaning. At least in the Green he knew when he was being tested, but here he wasn’t sure if he was being mocked or given what this woman thought was truly useful advice. However, it wasn’t his place to ask or be offended by anything a client said, so he replied, “That’s most helpful of you. I’ll be sure to stop by very soon.”
“Here, this might get you started on your way to manly splendor,” said Frau Heller. She plucked the envelope from his hand and laid a gold Saint Valda coin on his palm, equal to almost a week’s wages.
“Madam, I couldn’t,” he said.
“Of course you can and you will. What’s your name?”
“Largo. Largo Moorden.”
She looked him up and down and smiled. “You’re a handsome young man, but I don’t want to see you here in wool again, Largo. You’ll frighten the neighbors.” She laughed as she signed his receipt book. Once she’d handed it back, her eyes shifted to a place over Largo’s shoulder and she frowned. “Oh dear.”
He turned to look and saw a small group of Iron Dandies in the street. They often followed the patriotic juggernauts, carrying small flags and begging.
Frau Heller called one of them forward and handed him a few coins, though they totaled less than she’d given Largo.
“Thank you, lovely lady,” said the man in a grating, tinny voice through a small speaker embedded in his scarred throat.
“You’re very welcome,” said Frau Heller. “God bless you for your service.”
She watched as the ragged procession of wounded soldiers continued on, limping and swaying on crutches behind the juggernaut. Without looking at him she said, “Were you in the war, Herr Moorden?”
Largo wasn’t used to being addressed so formally. However, he had a lie prepared for just such occasions. “I’m afraid not. You see, my elderly mother was quite sick at the time—”
“Ah. Your mother. Quite understandable,” said Frau Heller, cutting him off again. “I only ask because my husband is one of the heads of the armaments company, and I wondered if you might have used one of his creations.”
Largo became nervous. Most people stopped asking questions after he mentioned his mother, and he didn’t have many lies prepared to follow up. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t have the honor in this war.”