Chapter 2 - 1

The city’s Chinatown was even more cluttered and claustrophobic than you’d expect, the streets crowded with locals and tourists, the shops practically face-to-face and almost slammed next to each other. It’s easy to lose a wallet in the various tight alleys and squeezed rows of merchandise, and even easier to ignore someone hunched over on the side of the road. It was here, in this position, that you often found the Emperor; a humble, unassuming Chinese man, balding with a wisp of facial hair on his chin, wearing the insufficient cloth of the poor. No one ever noticed him, as he wandered up and down the streets, filching small dried tomatoes from open stands and snatching wallets from careless tourists. The only ones who knew he was there at all were those who called him King.

He was resting in a side alley, watching the flow of traffic and ogling the short skirts of the various teenagers spending their summer vacations learning how to be swindled, when he caught the glimpse of someone he recognized moving his way. He did not move or acknowledge the figure as it approached, knowing beyond a doubt what it had to say to him and what he was expected to do. Those who came to the Emperor were beyond predictable.

“Whose name am I writing down?” the Emperor said as the tall, thin figure in fine clothing stopped in front of the inattentive old man.

“Travis Garamond,” the figure said.