“You need to get better,” Vei replied. “I hope you’ll eat what you’re able. Stay in bed, and call for a servant if you need anything.” And she left the tray on the table next to Jebi’s bedroll.
She’s so thoughtful, Jebi thought at Vei’s retreating back. Too bad she killed Jia.
Resentfully, Jebi choked down half the porridge, horrified by how drained even that little effort left them. I just need a little rest, they thought, and lay down. Their eyelids drifted shut.
Jebi was appalled to wake up hours later. Scraps of dream clung to them: a squad of clockwork dragons parading through the city’s streets, along with patrols of the more common human-shaped automata. They’d woken when the dragons started to leak fire from between their articulated joints, setting the city alight.
Jebi almost wept with sudden fury at the way the light in the hall didn’t tell them anything about the hour. It could have been morning, or midnight, or anything in between. Time, they thought. What I need is time, and that’s what I don’t have.
They stood with an effort, swaying, and considered that Vei was probably right and they should stay in bed. But they didn’t know how long it was safe to delay, if at all. They pressed their ear to the door, struggling to hear anything—anything at all. The Summer Palace’s passages carried sound quite a distance, both a blessing and a curse.
The strokes of a hammer came to them, and animated chatter. People were still up, then. Jebi ground their teeth and made their way back to the bed. They couldn’t risk lying down; they’d only slide into sleep again.
To keep themself awake, they grabbed a book off the shelf and began paging through it. The Classic of the Orderly State, with their hash marks in it. They’d stopped keeping track of the days after Vei’s duel. Jebi started yawning within the first ten pages. The dense, flowery text was difficult to understand, and they’d never cared for philosophy. The author was concerned about ways for the citizenry to give voice to their opinions, and ways for the government to act on their righteous desires, and how to tell righteous desires from selfish desires, all of which Jebi agreed with in principle, but did it have to be so wordy?
Fuck this, Jebi thought, and pulled out a pencil. Maybe the reading would go better if they illustrated it. While they normally didn’t approve of marking up books, it wasn’t as if there weren’t a zillion copies of The Classic of the Orderly State floating around, in Razan, Hwaguk, and Huang-Guan, and probably beyond. Besides, they’d already written in this copy.
Jebi doodled cartoon bureaucrats and animal magistrates in robes that started out as traditional Hwagugin judges’ outfits and steadily became more and more fanciful, with tassels and lace and elaborate headpieces. Soon they lost the thread of the text entirely. The doodles became more intricate textured drawings of a civilization on the moon where people and automata could live in peace, with domed colonies and more friendly animals. They drew their imaginary automata with wide, smiling mouths.
With a start, they looked up. How much time had passed while they were lost in their reverie of drawing? They rose, tucked the much-abused book under their arm and—feeling even more feverish—tottered to the door.
This time they heard nothing more than a few laughs and the enthusiastic thrashing of lovers. That would be Tia and Mevem again; no one else quite had that same luxurious laugh as Tia. Jebi flashed on an image of Vei, wondered what she would look like as she disrobed. You need to get over this. Flushing, they nudged the door open and crept out.
It took all their self-control to walk as though they belonged here. I do, Jebi thought despite their growing sense of alarm. No one has any reason to suspect anything if I don’t act suspicious.
That did nothing for the rapid patter of their heart. If it beat any faster, it would burst out of their chest. Taking deep, calming breaths didn’t help, either.
Jebi made it to the workshop without their heart exploding. Unfortunately, when they slipped through the door, they saw Shon at his workbench, patiently sorting artifacts. They bit back a groan of dismay. Should they sneak away and try again another night? But there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t be there then; or someone else, for that matter.
The matter was decided for them when Shon looked up, alerted by a clattering noise. Jebi had been trying to walk quietly, but someone had discarded an old, splayed brush on the floor and they’d kicked it by accident. Jebi cursed their own carelessness, to say nothing of people who couldn’t be bothered to dispose of old brushes properly. To the extent that old brushes ever needed to be disposed of; like many artists, Jebi found even completely dead brushes to be of use for spatter effects. What kind of person just left a brush on the floor for people sneaking around to trip over?
“You look dreadful,” Shon said, blunt as always. Although Vei had been likewise blunt, so maybe they did look as sick as they felt. “I’ll escort you back to bed.”
Jebi hated themself for what they were about to say, but they needed him out of the way as quickly as possible. “I didn’t know that was what you were after,” they snapped, crossing their arms and backing away from him.
Guilt flashed over Shon’s face, then was gone so quickly that Jebi almost thought they’d imagined it. “I don’t mean any discourtesy,” he said, his voice gruff. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“I came here because I think better in the quiet,” Jebi said, still rudely. That part was almost true. Of course, their own coughing was more disruptive than any amount of grinding or hammering or water-splashing could be, but they weren’t about to admit that.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Shon said. He stalked out of the workshop, his back stiff.
Jebi winced as they watched him go. There must have been a better way to coax him into leaving, but they were so damn tired and achy, and nothing else had come to mind. It’s done now, they thought.
Still unsteady, they walked over to their own workbench. They were still carrying the defaced book; they hadn’t meant to, but maybe it could serve a purpose. Voice of the people, Jebi thought, wondering what the connotations of the phrase had been in the original Huang-Guanmal text. It dovetailed with what they planned, now that they thought of it.
Jebi already had several blank masks made to fit the dragon Arazi’s head, a whole box full of them. Tia had made them to Jebi’s specifications. Jebi had never had a chance to try them on Arazi earlier, but it couldn’t be helped. Besides, they trusted Tia’s insistence on precision.
“I’m sorry I thought you were stuffy and boring,” Jebi said to the anonymous author of The Classic of the Orderly State. “I should appreciate your ideas even if your translator is terrible.”
They still didn’t have a source of Phoenix Extravagant, but that wasn’t why they’d come back.
This could be a terrible idea, Jebi thought as they ripped out a handful of pages. The tearing noise made them cringe, but then, some of the other artists had a habit of shredding their sketches whenever they were having a bad day. With any luck, anyone listening in would think it was just someone having a tempestuous night.
What if the dragon chose to stay silent, after all the trouble Jebi had gone to? What if, instead, it wanted to eat them? Not that automata had ever evidenced hunger that they’d heard of, but they couldn’t rule out the possibility that they’d missed something in the new grammar.