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"He went into a storm sewer days ago, and hasn't come out. "
"I'm sorry, sir. "
"Would you look for him, Charlie? Please. Bring him out. "
"Your Majesty, I'm not sure that I'm coming back myself, but I promise, if I find him, I'll try to bring him out. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to open this van and I don't want you to be alarmed by what you see, but I want to get into the pipe while there's still some light from the grates. What you see coming out of the van - they're friends. "
"Carry on," said the Emperor.
Charlie slid the door open and the squirrel people hopped, scampered, and scooted down the bank of the creek toward the culvert. Charlie reached into the van, took out his sword-cane and flashlight, and butt-bumped the door shut. Lazarus whimpered and looked at the Emperor as if someone who was able to talk should say something.
"Good luck, then, valiant Charlie," said the Emperor. "You go forth with all of us in your heart, and you in ours. "
"You'll watch the van?"
"Until the Golden Gate crumbles to dust, my friend," said the Emperor.
And so Charlie Asher, in the service of life and light and all sentient beings, and in hope of rescuing the soul of the love of his life, led an army of fourteen-inch-tall bundles of animal bits, armed with everything from knitting needles to a spork, into the storm sewers of San Francisco.
They slogged on for hours - sometimes the pipes became narrow enough that Charlie had to crawl on his hands and knees, other times they opened into wide junctions like concrete rooms. He helped the squirrel people climb to higher pipes. He'd found a lightweight construction helmet fitted with an LED headlamp, which came in handy in narrow passages where he couldn't aim the flashlight. He was also bumping his head about ten times an hour, and although the helmet protected him from injury, he'd developed a throbbing headache. His leathers - not really leathers, but more heavy nylon with Lexan pads at the k
nees, shoulders, elbows, shins, and forearms - were protecting him from bumps and abrasions on the pipes, but they were soaked and rubbing him raw at the backs of his knees. At an open junction with a grate at the top he climbed the ladder and tried to get a look at the neighborhood to perhaps get a sense of where they were, but it had gotten dark out since they started and the grate was under a parked car.
What irony, that he would finally summon his courage and charge into the breach, only to end up lost and stuck in the breach. A human misfire.
"Where the hell are we?" he said.
"No idea," said the bobcat guy, the one who could talk.
The little Beefeater was disturbing to watch when he spoke, since he really didn't have a face, only a skull, and he spoke without ever making the P sound. Also, instead of a halberd, which Charlie thought should have come with the costume for authenticity, the bobcat had armed himself with a spork.
"Can you ask the others if they know where we are?"
"Okay. " He turned to the damp gallery of squirrel people. "Hey, anybody know where we are?"
They all shook their heads, looking from one to another, shrugging. Nope.
"No," said the bobcat.
"Well, I could have done that," Charlie said.
"Why don't you? It's your _arty," he said. Charlie realized he meant "party. "
"Why no Ps?" Charlie asked.
"No li_s. "
"Right, lips. Sorry. What are you going to do with that spork?"
"Well, when we find some bad guys, I'm going to s_ork the fuck out of them. "
"Excellent. You're my lieutenant. "
"Because of the s_ork?"
"No, because you can talk. What's your name?"
"Bob. "
