“Patience, Bummer,” the Emperor said to the Boston terrier, who was leaping at the day-old wheel of flat bread like a furry Super Ball, while Lazarus, the solemn golden retriever, stood by, waiting for his share. Bummer snorted an impatient reply (thus the dog snot). He’d worked up a furious appetite because breakfast was running late today. The Emperor had slept on a bench by the Maritime Museum, and during the night his arthritic knee had snaked out of his wool overcoat into the damp cold, making the walk to North Beach and the Italian bakery that gave them free day-old a slow and painful ordeal.
The Emperor groaned and sat down on an empty milk crate. He was a great rolling bear of a man, his shoulders broad but a little broken from carrying the weight of the city. A white tangle of hair and beard wreathed his face like a storm cloud. As far as he could remember, he and the troops had patrolled the city streets forever, but upon further consideration, it might have just been since Wednesday. He wasn’t entirely sure.
The Emperor decided to make a proclamation to the troops about the importance of compassion in the face of the rising tide of heinous fuckery and political weaselocity in the nearby kingdom of the United States. (He found his audience was most attentive to his proclamations when the meat-laced focaccia were still nuzzled in the larder of his overcoat pockets, and presently a pepperoni and Parmesan reposed fragrant in the woolly depths, so the royal hounds were rapt.) But just as he cleared his throat to begin, a cargo van came screeching around the corner, went up on two wheels as it plowed through a row of garbage cans, and slid to a stop not fifty feet away. The driver’s-side door flew open and a thin man in a suit leapt out, carrying a cane and a woman’s fur coat, and made a beeline for the back door of Asher’s. But before he got two steps the man fell to the concrete as if hit from behind, then rolled on his back and began flailing at the air with the cane and the coat. The Emperor, who knew most everyone, recognized Charlie Asher.
Bummer erupted into a fit of yapping, but the more levelheaded Lazarus growled once and took off toward Charlie.
“Lazarus!” the Emperor shouted, but the retriever charged on, followed now by his bug-eyed brother in arms.
Charlie was back on his feet and swinging the cane as if he was fencing with some phantom, using the coat like a shield. Living on the street, the Emperor had seen a lot of people battling with unseen demons, but Charlie Asher was apparently scoring some hits. The cane was making a thwacking noise against what appeared to be thin air—but no, there was something there, a shadow of some sort?
The Emperor climbed to his feet and limped into the fray, but before he got two steps Lazarus had leapt and appeared to be attacking Charlie, but he soared over the shopkeeper and snapped at a spot above his head—then hung there, his jaws sunk into the substantial neck of thin air.
Charlie took advantage of the distraction, stepped back, and swung the cane above the levitating golden retriever. There was a smack, and Lazarus let go, but now Bummer launched himself at the invisible foe. He missed whatever was there, and ended up performing a doggy swish shot into a garbage can.
Charlie made for the steel door of Asher’s again, but found it locked, and as he reached for his keys, something caught him from behind.
“Let go, fuckface,” the shade screeched.
The fur coat Charlie was holding appeared to be swept out of his hand and was pulled straight up, over the four-story building and out of sight.
Charlie turned and held the cane at ready, but whatever had been there seemed to be gone now.
“Aren’t you just supposed to sit above the door and nevermore and be poetic and stuff?!” he shouted at the sky. Then, for good measure, added, “You evil fuck!”
Lazarus barked, then whined. A sharp and metallic yapping rose from Bummer’s garbage can.
“Well, you don’t see that every day,” said the Emperor as he limped up to Charlie.
“You could see that?”
“Well, no, not really. Merely a shadow, but I could see that something was there. There was something there, wasn’t there, Charlie?”
Charlie nodded, trying to catch his breath. “It will be back. It followed me across the city.” He dug into his pocket for his keys. “You guys should duck into the store with me, Your Majesty.” Of course Charlie knew the Emperor. Every San Franciscan knew the Emperor.
The Emperor smiled. “That’s very kind of you, but we will be perfectly safe. For now I need to free my charge from his galvanized prison.” The big man tipped the garbage can and Bummer emerged snorting and tossing his head as if ready to tear the ass out of any man or beast foolhardy enough to cross him (and he would have, as long as they were knee-high or shorter).
Charlie was still having trouble with the key. He knew he should have had the lock replaced, but it worked, if you finessed it a little, so he’d never made it a priority. Who the hell thought you’d ever have to get in quick to escape a giant bird? Then he heard a screech and turned to see not one, but two huge ravens coming over the roof and diving into the alley. The dogs arfed a frantic barking salvo at the avian intruders and Charlie put so much body English into wiggling the key in the lock that he felt an atrophied dancing muscle tear in his hip.
“They’re back. Cover me.” Charlie threw the cane to the Emperor and braced himself for the impact, but as soon as the cane touched the old man’s hand the birds were gone. You could almost hear the pop of the air replacing the space they had taken up. The dogs caught themselves in mid-ruff; Bummer whimpered.
“What?” the Emperor said. “What?”
“They’re gone.”
The Emperor looked at the sky. “You’re sure?”
“For now.”
“I saw two shadows. Really saw them this time,” the Emperor said.
“Yes, there were two this time.”
“What are they?”
“I have no idea, but when you took the cane they—well, they disappeared. You really saw them?”
“I’m sure of it. Like smoke with a purpose.”
Finally the key turned in the lock and the door to Asher’s back room swung open. “You should come in. Rest. I’ll order something to eat.”
“No, no, the men and I must be on our rounds. I’ve decided to make a proclamation this morning and we need to see the printer. You’ll be needing this.” The Emperor presented the cane to Charlie like he was turning over a sword of the realm.
Charlie started to take it, then thought better of it. “Your Majesty, I think you’d better keep that. It looks as if you might be able to use it.” Charlie nodded toward the Emperor’s creaky knee.
The Emperor held the cane steady. “I am not a worshiper of the material, you know?”
“I understand that.”
“I am a firm believer that desire is the source of most of human suffering, you’re aware, and no culprit is more heinous than desire for material gain.”
“I run my business based on those very principles. Still, I insist you keep the cane—as a favor to me, if you would?”
Charlie found himself affecting the Emperor’s formal speech patterns, as if somehow he had been transported to a royal court where a nobleman was distinguished by bread crumbs in his beard and the royal guard were not above licking their balls.
“Well, as a favor, I will accept. It is a fine piece of craftsmanship.”
“But more importantly, it will permit you to make your rounds in good time.”
The Emperor now betrayed the desire in his heart as he let fly a wide grin and hugged the cane to his chest. “It is fine, indeed. Charlie, I must confess something to you, but I ask you to grant me the credulity due a man who has just shared witness, with a friend, of two giant, raven-shaped shades.”
“Of course.” Charlie smiled, when even a moment before he would have thought his smile lost somewhere in the months past.
“I hope you won’t think me base, but the second I touched this, I felt as if I had been waiting for it my whole life.”