“Yes, sir. I can.”
“Very good. Now stop cowering at the back of the room and come up here so I can explain the lofty position to which you have ascended without having to shout.”
Largo was still wary as he approached Herr Branca’s desk, waiting to find out that the promotion was a mistake or a cruel joke and his supervisor was going to fire him after all. Branca was looking over more papers when he reached the desk and once more Largo couldn’t help himself.
“Why?”
“Why the promotion or why you?” said Branca without looking up.
“Both, I guess.”
“Did you happen to notice König was not with us this morning?”
König was the company’s chief courier, a tall, handsome man just a few years older than Largo. “No, sir. I didn’t,” he said.
Branca tugged at his collar. “I didn’t expect so. But it’s true nevertheless—he wasn’t with us. And it’s likely you won’t see him again here . . . or anywhere else,” Branca said. “He’s been arrested by the Nachtvogel.”
Largo didn’t say anything for a moment, still not sure whether Branca was playing him for a fool. König was a nobody, as were all the other couriers at the company. Why would the secret police take away a nobody?
“You saw it happen? I mean, they arrested him here?”
Branca nodded. “Right where you’re standing now.”
Largo looked at the floor, not sure what he was expecting to see. Then, feeling foolish, he looked back at Branca. “I don’t understand. What would the Nachtvogel want with König?”
“I have no idea because I didn’t ask, an attitude I advise you to emulate should you ever find yourself face-to-face with them.”
Largo took a step closer to his supervisor and said very quietly, “What were they like?”
Branca cocked his head for a moment as if looking for the precise words. “Men. They looked like men. Very serious men.”
“That’s it?”
“Except for the horns and hooves. And their long, forked tongues, of course,” said Branca. He made a face at Largo. “Don’t ask silly questions, boy. They were citizens like you or me. And before you ask one more idiotic thing and I’m forced to reconsider your promotion, I’ll tell you this. I heard one significant word as they were putting König in irons: anarchist. Personally, I never took the man for a political extremist, but there you are.”
Largo shook his head. “I wouldn’t have guessed. I mean, he never talked about politics. It was always about money, his girlfriend, and work. The same things we all talk about.”
“Would you expect an anarchist to shout slogans from the loading dock at lunchtime?” Branca said. “And as for his talk about money, well there you are. More than one good man has been turned to crime by dreams of easy cash. Don’t let that happen to you. You’ve been given a rare opportunity. Use it wisely.”
Largo nodded, his earlier fear giving way to feelings of guilt at his good fortune. Good fortune that came on the back of—no, not a friend, but someone like him, at least, someone he knew and moreover had nothing against. He felt a little queasy, but then he straightened. Branca was right. This was an opportunity, and a promotion would mean more money in his pocket. With luck, there would be enough that he wouldn’t ever feel hungry again at the sight of a crushed sandwich in the middle of the street. He thought of Remy and his mood lightened slightly. He couldn’t wait to tell her about it after work.
Branca leaned on his desk to get closer to Largo. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “The reason I’ve told you all this was to impress upon you the importance of your new position. It’s a great embarrassment for the company to have one of its trusted employees hauled away in chains. If the news got out it would be very bad for business. Therefore, we must redouble our efforts and do everything we can to keep up the company’s good name. Do you know why?”
“Because we’re grateful to them for the opportunities they’ve given us?” he said.
“Don’t be naïve.” Branca tapped his pen on his desk. “Because you and I are utterly disposable. Never forget that.”
“I won’t.”
“Good. Now, welcome to your new position, chief courier.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Branca held out a hand to him. When Largo shook it, he was surprised by the force of his supervisor’s grip. He’d never seen Branca move more than a step or two in any direction, so it was a shock that there was any strength left in his large body. And what an even greater shock to hear the man’s concern for his own position. It didn’t exactly make Largo like the old fossil any more, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit of sympathy to hear someone Branca’s age refer to himself as “utterly disposable.”
“Does the promotion mean that I’ll be spending more time in the office?” Largo said.
Branca let out one grunting laugh. “God help us all if it did. No, you’ll continue your normal duties, making deliveries and picking up goods, but you’ll be doing it in parts of the city that you’re not used to—including some of its most prosperous districts. That’s why I chose you. None of the other rabble here know Lower Proszawa as well.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Also, you seem generally honest, which is important. Some of the parcels and documents you’ll be carrying will be worth considerable sums of money. Can I count on you to do your job honorably and intelligently?”
Largo was a little shocked by the question. No one had ever asked him anything like it before. “Yes, sir. Of course,” he said.
“Good. I thought so. Here are some forms for you to sign to make your promotion official,” said Branca. He handed Largo a stack of papers, then dropped a leather box about ten inches long on top. “And here is a new tool of your job. With luck, you’ll never need it.”
Largo took the papers to a nearby table, set them down, and picked up the box. Turning it over in his hands, he found a small brass lock. With just a little pressure it popped open. At first, Largo wasn’t sure what he was looking at. It was made of a dull gray metal. There were holes in it that were clearly meant for his fingers. He put them in and felt a sort of metal grip against his palm while the rounded loops over his knuckles were studded with spikes. He pulled the strange object the rest of the way out of the box. It was a knife. A trench knife from the war, with blood channels down the blade and brass knuckles over his hand. Largo looked at Herr Branca.
“Sir?”
His supervisor glanced at him. “You wear it in a harness under your coat,” he said. “Understand, with every job comes certain liabilities. Your promotion will bring you new respect and a larger salary. Unfortunately, it will also make you a target.”
“Oh,” Largo said. He hesitated for a moment, not liking the word target. However, he shook off the feeling and reached back into the box, pulling out a tangle of worn leather straps and clasps. The harness, he guessed. “I don’t know how to put it on.”
The old man nodded. “I’ll show you. Welcome to your future, Largo.”
Having Herr Branca strap him into the harness was an embarrassing experience. The couriers were all required to wear black suits and ties while making their deliveries. Years before, the company had given them a clothing allowance to make sure they remained clean and tidy on their rounds. However, the allowance had stopped during the war and never been reinstituted. Largo’s one suit was of cheap wool and barely thicker than paper. Worse, the seam had split along one side of the white shirt he’d worn that day, so it was held together with safety pins. To his credit and Largo’s relief, Branca said nothing about any of that as he wrapped the harness around the young man’s back and shoulders so that, with his jacket on, it and the knife were entirely invisible. Largo moved his shoulders and twisted this way and that, feeling tight and uncomfortable.