Читать книгу The Grand Dark онлайн | страница 34
Quickly, Largo said, “No, sir. Not necessary at all.” The thought of Herr Branca hovering around him as he tried on pants was horrifying. He remembered what Frau Heller had said. “I even know where to go.”
“Thank heavens. It’s the little mercies that help us sleep at night, don’t you agree?”
“Entirely,” said Largo, not quite certain what he was agreeing with.
“That will be all today. I’ll see you tomorrow promptly at six, yes?”
“On the dot, sir.”
“Very good. And you’re still saying ‘sir’ too much. Work on that.”
“I will,” he said, once more having to choke back the word sir and happy that he managed it.
When he left the office, he saw some of the other couriers gathered around the loading dock, smoking and talking. Weimer passed around a flask, making a great show of it that he wasn’t letting Parvulesco have a drink. Andrzej was the first to notice Largo approaching. “If it isn’t the Lord High Chancellor himself,” he said. “Good evening, Your Lordship. How lovely of you to grace us with your presence.”
A few of the other couriers laughed. Others just glared at Largo. He’d been through enough for one day and wondered if he could leave through the back exit and avoid Andrzej’s nonsense. However, he’d already been called out in front of the couriers and knew there would be trouble if he didn’t answer in kind. There was nothing to do but speak as if he were still in the Green. “What’s up your ass, my fine brother?”
“You. You’re what’s up my ass,” Andrzej said coldly. He was five years older and a head taller than any of the other couriers. “König isn’t gone a day and you’re in there mincing around with high and mighty Branca, trying to steal his job.”
“I didn’t steal anything. When Branca gave me the job I was as surprised as anyone. I was even late this morning, for shit’s sake.”
Parvulesco grabbed Weimer’s flask, took a quick drink, and tossed it back to him. Weimer, whose right arm was a simple wood-and-steel prosthetic, fumbled with it in the air and finally dropped it. He claimed to have lost his real arm in the early days of the war, but no one believed him. When asked where he had served, he could never name the same company or regiment twice. Plus, he didn’t have a Red Eagle medal, something all wounded soldiers received. Worse, while drunk one night, Andrzej had told the others that someone else’s name was carved into the underside of the prosthetic, all but saying that Weimer had stolen it. It had been an amusing story at the time, but Largo had never trusted either of them since.