cocked her head and looked at him. “Pardon?”
They went out the backstage door and Remy hailed a Mara cab for them.
“It’s just something Herr Branca said at work today,” said Largo. He left his bicycle chained behind the theater and held the door for her as they got into the cab.
“No,” said Remy firmly. “I forbid you to talk about him or work. This is a night for fun, not worrying about the cares of stuffy old men.”
“I agree completely,” said Largo as Remy spoke Werner Petersen’s address into a small Trefle mounted in the back seat of the cab.
“Thank you,” said the Mara in a static-filled voice. It whirred to life and sped off. Largo put his arm around Remy and she rested her head on his shoulder. While he was still nervous about the party, the morphia helped him to not care too much.
From the profile “The Theater of the Grand Darkness” in Ihre Skandale
It seems entirely appropriate that the land where the Grand Dark sits was once known to the area’s residents as “Ein Verfluchter Ort”: a cursed place.
A boardinghouse once stood where the theater is now. Among the house’s long-term residents was Otto Kreizler, the serial killer better known as the Brimstone Devil for his habit of burning his victims alive. In the year it took the authorities to track Kreizler down, he murdered at least thirteen people. After a short trial, he was hanged and his body was buried in an unmarked prison grave. Still, it seemed that the Brimstone Devil hadn’t finished his work, since soon after his death the boardinghouse where he’d once lived burned to the ground, killing three people.
After the boardinghouse burned, the land stood vacant for some time. Since the area was known as an entertainment district for the lower classes, the first building to occupy the spot was Kammer des Schreckens, a wax museum of horrors depicting famous historical murders. This was later expanded to include a small cinema specializing in illicit erotica, thus adding to the area’s already dire reputation. Still, the Kammer drew steady business, so local cafés and merchants didn’t complain.
During the Great War, stray bombs leveled every building on the street—except for the Kammer. However, during those years of social repression and heavy censorship, the authorities eventually forced the theater to close.
Una Herzog, along with her business partner and lover, Horst Wehner, purchased the Kammer just a few weeks before the armistice was signed. Wehner is acknowledged to be the Dr. Krokodil in the theater’s name, but little else is known about him, as he disappeared soon after the site was rechristened the Theater of the Grand Darkness.
Like Wehner’s, Una Herzog’s past is shrouded in mystery. It is rumored that Wehner had been a spy during the war and might have been killed on one of his assignments. It’s further rumored that Una was credited with seducing one, and perhaps more, enemy officers and obtaining vital war plans. A darker version of the story goes on to say that, having grown weary of Wehner’s secrecy and possessiveness, Una convinced one of those officers to arrange for his murder.
Of course, this remains mere conjecture.
Una has stated publicly that the Brimstone Devil’s murders were her original inspiration for the Grand Dark. She’d already seen Schöner Mord—short one-act plays of murder and depravity—while abroad and believed strongly that she could bring the form home to Lower Proszawa.
While the theater went through renovations, Una’s theater troupe performed in the nearby ruins of bombed-out buildings, giving the productions a level of verisimilitude never before seen in the city. Even with the area’s unsavory reputation, the plays brought in viewers from all over Lower Proszawa, and the theater was a success from its early days.
There is one question that certain critics and conspiracy theorists always come back to when discussing Una Herzog: Where did her puppets originate? No other theater in the city had them and few people had seen similar appliances outside of the military and large corporations such as Schöne Maschinen. Whatever the truth, the strange stories swirling around Una have only enhanced her enigmatic reputation and added to the otherworldly luster of the Theater of the Grand Darkness.
The Mara cruised them past bright cafés, restaurants, and dance halls. The music was frantic, the crowds laughing and boisterous. Though they were moving through Kromium, Largo knew that the streets in Little Shambles were just as wild. It had been this way since soon after the armistice was signed, an endless frantic party.
Largo frowned when he saw Petersen’s home. It was nothing more than a large but old-fashioned Imperial mansion—a great granite-and-marble box meant to show off old money. He expected more from an art patron.
Remy paid for the cab and Largo held the door for her. He could hear music, and shadows flitted by the bright windows. “What a mausoleum,” he said.
“What?” said Remy, adjusting her hair in the cab’s side mirror.
“The house. I didn’t expect your friend to live in such a dull old place. It’s not a home. It’s a bank vault.”
“If it were a bank vault he might have made it himself. His family supplies most of the steel to the government so they can make the little bombs and tanks they’re so fond of.”
“I suppose rich codgers like that have to keep up appearances,” Largo said. He turned to Remy. “Which makes you and your friends his attempt at radicalism. At least he has good taste in vices.”
Remy kissed her index finger and pressed it to Largo’s lips. “I’m your vice, dear. As for Petersen, I’m here to drink his champagne and smile prettily so he’ll shower more of those lovely war profits on us poor, deluded artists.”
She looped her arm around Largo’s as they went up the long walkway to the mansion. Maybe it was the morphia wearing off, but Largo’s self-consciousness returned. He held his free arm straight at his side, hoping that the holes in the elbow wouldn’t show. This would be so much easier, he thought, if he really were a failed poet or an aspiring musician. He wasn’t even sure he could lie well enough to pass himself off as either to justify his shabby clothes. The best he could hope for was that everyone would already be so drunk and drugged that it wouldn’t matter what he said.
A tall servant Mara, like the one in Empyrean, greeted them at the door.
“Lovely to see you,” it said, and ushered them inside. Seeing the automaton did nothing to improve Largo’s mood. Still, he forced himself to smile. The last thing he wanted to do was let Remy down in front of these people.
A large Proszawan flag on the wall directly across from the front door caught Largo’s eye. He supposed it was there to signal patriotism during uncertain times, but festooned as it was with balloons and tinsel, the flag looked more like something that would be up in the back of the Grand Dark as a joke. Next to the flag was a winding marble staircase lined with ancient tapestries and flowers in golden pots. Below that was a white grand piano. A man in a tuxedo played something light and fast, but Largo couldn’t pick out a melody over the sound
