The interpreter looked askance at them. “I’m going to have to send you to a holding cell overnight, and in the morning you can pay the fine.”
“That’s going to be a problem,” Jebi lied—they had the money right now—“but my sister will be good for it.” They smiled as unctuously as they knew how, and the interpreter’s eyes clouded with distaste. They gave Bongsunga’s name and address, neither of which were secrets to the Ministry of Armor. Even if Bongsunga had gone into hiding, as indeed they hoped she had, someone would hear and get word to her.
“Oh, a Fourteener,” the interpreter said dismissively. “You lot are always getting into scrapes, aren’t you? Well, come along, and maybe next time you’ll have the good sense to pay heed of laws that are set in place for your own good, and the rest of us besides.”
Wonderful. They’d found a philosopher, and one determined to educate them. Jebi nodded and made penitent noises as the automata surrounded them, ignoring the urge to bolt. After all, the interpreter thought them an ordinary feckless Fourteener. Being locked up in one of the overnight cells, however unpleasant, might be safer than wandering around at night. They doubted that Hafanden would look for them there.
The interpreter passed them off to another patrol, who passed them to another, until Jebi arrived at the nearest lockup. The bored magistrate’s assistant on duty misspelled Jebi’s Hwagugin name, and they didn’t bother correcting him. With any luck, the Razanei would be looking for Tesserao Tsennan, and not Gyen Jebi.
See, there’s a practical use for this business of two names after all, Jebi wanted to tell their sister. Granted, they knew that Bongsunga would retort that this sort of duplicity was a business for spies or... revolutionaries? Suddenly they weren’t sure what she’d say after all.
Jebi was flung into a cell with five other people, two finely dressed, three in rags. The cell reeked of alcohol fumes, vomit, and piss, and even the straw bales that served as makeshift seats smelled moldy. Jebi resigned themself to an unpleasant stay standing up.
Nevertheless—Jebi pressed against the bars of the cell and waved at the guard. “Please, if you have a moment—”
The guard didn’t glance in their direction, or give any indication that they’d heard Jebi.
Jebi fished surreptitiously in their purse for a coin of appropriate denomination, not so large as to attract unwanted attention, but not so small that it would offend someone looking for an honest bribe. This time they held it out, turning it this way and that so it caught the flickering light of the lantern. “Please, honored guard—”
Someone beyond Jebi guffawed at the obsequious address, but they ignored them. The guard yawned ostentatiously, then strode forward and snatched the coin. “Speak your piece,” they said in a gruff voice. “And make it quick.”
Jebi wondered how much drunken oratory the guard had to endure on any given night, but it would have been rude, or unwise, to inquire. “My sister will pay to have me let out early,” they said, servile in their own turn. “Her name’s Gyen Bongsunga.” They gave her address.
The guard looked pleased at the prospect of another bribe. “I’ll see what can be done. You’d better not be wasting my time.” They called to one of their fellows and conferred briefly with him before he stomped out, presumably to send someone to fetch Bongsunga.
“Of course not,” Jebi said despite the unease pooling in their gut. Now that they’d escaped, the number of things that could go wrong weighed on them. The guard might not be honest. Or Bongsunga might not be willing to bail Jebi out after all. Or worse, maybe Hafanden had lied to them from the beginning, and Bongsunga was already rotting in a cell of her own, or—
She can’t be dead, Jebi thought. They would have felt it if she had died—wouldn’t they?
{I am looking forward to meeting her,} Arazi said.
For a second Jebi resented having it in their head. Then they reminded themself that they’d set up the connection in the first place. Besides, the dragon was trying to be comforting. It would be unfair to spurn its kindness.
The Summer Palace wasn’t the only place where time lost meaning. The jail didn’t have any windows, just the one flickering lamp. Jebi longed for clear sweet electric lights, then hated themself for it. {Sunlight is best,} Jebi told Arazi.
{I remember it,} the dragon said, its tone wistful. {And the light of the half-moon, too, the way everything looks different at night. But the lantern light is interesting, too. The flickering sounds very different from the steady light we have in the Summer Palace.}
{What about the light in your cavern?} Jebi asked, remembering the storm-torn quality of it.
{A gift of the Dragon Queen, I heard Issemi say once,} Arazi said. {Storm-light for one of her children. It’s a pretty story, but the light there is an artifact of one of the pigments. They would have liked to use it elsewhere to save on the cost of fueling the electric lights, but they ran out.}
Just as Armor had run out of Phoenix Extravagant.
One of the other prisoners sidled closer to Jebi while they were engrossed exchanging stories of the dragon spirits with Arazi. “You have any money for me?” she asked in a wheedling voice, reaching toward Jebi’s pouch.
They shrank back. They should have realized the guard wouldn’t be the only person interested in their coin. The problem was, where could they go? If they backed up any more, they’d be stepping in a puddle of old vomit.
{I confess I’m glad I’m not in there with you,} Arazi observed. {You have a very vivid sense of smell.}
{You wouldn’t fit anyway,} Jebi said, briefly distracted by the image of an immense dragon squished into the lockup.
“Hey,” the guard called out, finally paying attention again. They scowled at the woman bothering Jebi. “None of that.”
The woman slunk away, and Jebi breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Bless the guard for their straightforward corruption. For the moment, the coin—and the promise of more—had bought Jebi a bit of protection.
The hours trickled by. Come the morning, a servant came in and emptied the waste pail—Jebi had had to avail themself of it once—and after that, two of the prisoners were released. Jebi realized, with a dismal sense of failure, that the guard’s greed meant they were trapped in here until Bongsunga showed up, or Jebi themself revealed that they had more money.
Jebi was so ravenous that by the time the servant returned with some plain, stale rice, they wolfed down their share with their fingers. No utensils were provided. {It must be nice not to get hungry,} Jebi said to Arazi.
{Issemi said once that masks can wear away and reduce automata to motionless husks,} Arazi replied. {It sounds unpleasant. I like being able to move, even if it is only in circles.}
Jebi flinched. {I should have thought this plan through more carefully.} They were almost starting to wish that Zakan would show up and liberate them, furious though she must be.
Jebi had given up hope that Bongsunga would ever appear and that they’d be stuck in this pit forever when the second guard returned with her in tow. She was bundled up in the neatly patched coat that Jebi knew so well, and gloves, and beyond that a scarf that Jebi didn’t recognize, of sensible undyed wool. Jebi’s heart lit at the sight, despite Bongsunga’s forbidding expression. Had her face always had those lines around the eyes and mouth?