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“You were the court magician for Joshua Norton, the nutcase who declared himself
emperor of America and protector of Mexico,” Marla said. “In the 1800s.”
“The 1870s, mostly,” Cole said. “It’s not as if we dominated that entire century. But,
yes, I knew Joshua, and helped him, as he helped me. It is a curious thing, but when a
land has a monarch, even one of such peculiar pedigree as His Majesty, that land gives
up certain secrets, and allows itself to be molded in a way wild lands and places
governed by more enlightened forms of government do not. As the court magician to a
reigning emperor, one at least humored if not exactly obeyed by the public and the
government, I was able to shape things in this city that might have otherwise been
beyond my power to change.” He frowned. “When I decided to…rest…I thought things
were in fair shape. The city had survived an earthquake and a fire, and risen like a
phoenix from the wreckage to enter a new century. But now, in the next century, I find
that things are very dire indeed, with all but one of the city’s protectors murdered or
fled—so many of the cowards fled!—with the surviving protector mad with
vengefulness and neglecting his duties, and with a madman set to open the mouth of
Hell. This pending disaster woke me, and I had been comfortable in my slumber. And
here you are, a stranger, doing what you can to stave off the destruction of the place I
hold most dear.”
“I didn’t come here to interfere in this city’s business,” Marla said, still holding the
door. She couldn’t tell if Cole was pissed or not, and if this was him, returned—and she
suspected it was—she didn’t want to face his anger. “But I’ve been swept up in things.”
“I understand,” Cole said. “Your help is most welcome. This has always been a city of
immigrants, after all. A place where people come to make a new life.”
Marla snorted. “I’m happy with my old life, thanks. I’m here to keep my old life from
ending, actually.”
Cole nodded, though he looked a trifle hurt. “This is also a city that admires a healthy
self-interest, and so long as the needs of San Francisco are congruent with your own, I
would appreciate your assistance. And, in return, I will do what I can to help you
achieve your own goals.”
Marla thought about that. It didn’t take much thought. She stepped aside, and Sanford
Cole, the closest thing to Merlin this age had ever seen, came inside.
18
M arla didn’t have anything to offer Cole, except crappy coffee brewed in the little fourcup
coffeemaker the hotel provided. Sipping from a Styrofoam cup, Cole made a face.
“I can say in all honesty that this is the best cup of coffee I’ve had in decades.”
“Right,” Marla said. “Suspended-animation humor. If I survive the rest of the day, I’ll
buy you a grande latte. Coffee’s come a long way since your day. But we’ve got other
things to do first.”