Chapter Text
“Think of me like the sun, girls,” says Tae, her voice raised above the pleading crowds as she benevolently selects her lunchtime table. “There’s plenty of me to go around, but I can’t shine everywhere at once, now, can I? Perhaps in the morning I’ll shine on the front garden so your flowers look their very best, and in the afternoon I’ll shine warmly in through the entrance of the dojo, and by the late afternoon I’ll shine at just the right angle for you to write your letters at your bedroom window without turning on the lights, and by the evening I’ll shine across the other side of the world. Come on, now – move up, move up,” she says, chivvying away the current occupants of her chosen table, “I expect you to treat my deputy with the same respect you’d treat your boss herself, and you’d never ask me to eat in such cramped quarters, would you?”
“Never, boss lady—”
“Course we wouldn’t, boss lady—”
“Not in a million years, boss lady, you know we wouldn’t—”
Space is hurriedly made for Tae, and space is hurriedly made for Kyuubei, and the newly displaced occupants of their chosen table drift hurriedly off into the swarm of the cafeteria like irrelevant, unwanted, unnecessary seed pods cast loose by wind.
Today’s lunch is brown, mostly. It doesn’t serve to think too hard about the specifics. “You know, everyone’s making an awful fuss about this,” Tae remarks. “Shin-chan, and Kagura-chan and Gin-san, and the Shinsengumi too... But I really don’t see the issue. It’s hardly any different from a holiday, once you think about it, isn’t it? Like an all-expenses-paid holiday. No work, no grocery shopping, none of Shin-chan’s laundry to worry about...”
Without looking up, Kyuubei holds out a hand. Into it is carefully placed the offering of the round-faced woman loitering nervously near Tae’s side: a chipped red hairclip, decorated with a smiling yellow flower carved from wood. Kyuubei accepts it, inspects it, and passes it to Tae. Tae accepts it, inspects it, and clips it to the front pocket of her grey pyjama top: approval.
The woman’s exhale of relief is audible, even as she slinks back into the clamour of the cafeteria.
Tae prods thoughtfully at her lunch. “You know,” she says at last, in a tone so confidential it’s very nearly sub-audible, “I’m quite certain any woman here would sooner crap her ugly uniform in fear than dare stand up to me, and so it really shouldn’t bother me at all... But still, I can’t help worrying what they’re getting up to whenever I’m not there. Do you think that’s silly of me, Kyuu-chan?”
A folded letter is being furtively brandished across the table. Kyuubei accepts it, inspects it – crumples it, and tosses it aside. Whatever it was, Tae doesn’t ask: if Kyuubei deemed it unworthy of her time, then she trusts that verdict utterly. “Not at all, Tae-chan. An emperor who remains within his palace is unlikely to hear of the revolution until it has his head.”
“That’s it!” says Tae, in hushed enthusiasm, “that’s just it, Kyuu-chan! And I keep telling myself: with two of us now, it shouldn’t even be a problem – as you can tell me what’s going on anyway, can’t you? You can tell me exactly what the atmosphere is like among them, when I’m in the kitchens and you’re over in the sewing rooms—”
“I’m not,” says Kyuubei.
“You’re not?” says Tae.
“As a celebrity prisoner, I have the right to turn down work duties in exchange for political favours,” explains Kyuubei, and accepts yet another folded letter from yet another loitering hopeful. After a moment’s silent evaluation: “That’s not how you write ‘exquisite’,” says Kyuubei. The verdict is quietly damning. The letter is handed back. “Sewing is women’s work, Tae-chan. I’m not interested in that.”
It’s a puzzled moment before Tae recognises the misunderstanding. “Oh – but Kyuu-chan, you’d never have to sew! Just as I never have to do my own laundry, or rinse my own toothbrush, or wait for my own toilet seat to warm up in the mornings. Just tell any woman there to do yours for you, and she will; and if she doesn’t, then tell her you’ll tell me, and then she certainly will. That’s what it means,” she adds, her voice lowering to a confidential whisper once again, “to be boss and deputy – we don’t have to do a thing, except perhaps pace around a little, and cast occasional threatening looks in random directions, and look as though we’re always on the brink of violence.”
“I see,” says Kyuubei, deep in thought – and accepts a small slice of shrinkwrapped home-made cake, and sniffs it, and passes it on to the woman volunteering as Tae’s poison tester for the morning – and eventually, sombrely, continues: “Yes, I see. I understand, Tae-chan. Even in the nicest holiday destinations, someone has to stop the hotel guests fighting over the sun-loungers when the hotel manager isn’t there, don’t they?”
“They do,” says Tae gratefully, “they really do. Then you’ll keep them in line for me, Kyuu-chan?”
“I’ll tolerate no insubordination, Tae-chan.”
Someone slides an extra sugar packet onto Tae’s lunch tray. She slides it onto Kyuubei’s. In return she gets a private, secretive smile, and she passes that back as well. Since Kyuubei’s arrival, prison life has become something not just to be endured, but to be enjoyed; with a friend, an ally, and a spare pair of hands, prison life has revealed itself as a kaleidoscope of attractive possibilities.
It’s not just about what admirable personal virtues Tae can give to the prison; it’s about what the prison can give to her. And sometimes, when the prison is unforthcoming, it’s about how she can ball her fists and take it from the prison anyway.
+++
“It’s like shounen manga,” says Gintoki, whose silvery hair is singed to an ashy, smouldering grey at the tips, “in that it’ll all be fine in the end, probably, but who knows when the end will actually happen? Two hundred, maybe three hundred chapters more, and throw a spin-off or two in there as well... Maa, and even though they told us the original villain was the worst villain in all of time and space, now there’s a worse villain. And even though the protagonist’s original goal was only to keep an innocent woman out of prison, now the Joui have seized onto that innocent woman’s plight as an excuse to launch their biggest recruiting drive of the last few years, and the selfless noble good-hearted protagonist has had it up to here,” he slams his hand passionately onto the counter between them, “with idiot wig-heads taking over the protagonist’s own goddamn office as a base of idiot leaflet-printing operations—”
“And Sadaharu’s grown extra toes on his paws,” announces Kagura, whose hands are stained black with printing ink and whose cheek is smeared black with it as well, “because of all the lasers those green gorillas keep shooting round the city, uh-huh. And I haven’t grown anything extra yet but I hope I do, so I can make footprints in the mud and take photos and become the famous Bigfoot and do breakfast talkshows about being Bigfoot, where I wrestle mountain lions and then I eat the mountain lions and everyone calls me The Mighty Bigfoot, and on my dressing room door it says The Mighty Bigfoot and then we become Yorozuya Mighty Bigfoot-chan—”
“And the Amagaeru are still causing trouble for the Shinsengumi,” says Shinpachi, who’s wearing the faded, colourful traces of lime-green face paint, with lime-green dye streaked through his dark hair as well, “so Kondou-san’s having a lot of problems, Hijikata-san says, with making sure they’ve got enough men for patrols each day as well as defending the headquarters, since the Amagaeru are still fighting to be allowed to supervise every squad that goes out—”
“And the Young Master’s beauty isn’t diminished in the slightest by rough prison clothing or unflattering prison lighting,” says Tojo, at the next visiting booth along, “and in fact if anything I’d say it’s accentuated, like a mournful yet exquisite lone blossom flourishing on a dying tree or a delectable cherry-capped cupcake placed invitingly atop a reeking heap of monkey poop—”
“I didn’t give permission for this man to visit,” Kyuubei tells the nearest guard. “Take him away. Get rid of him. Dispose of him.”
“And so you see how it is, Otae-san,” concludes Gintoki, and shakes his head wearily. “Tomorrow the Shinsengumi gorilla is sitting down for a meeting with that Amanto gorilla you punched; hopefully they’ll bond about excessive body hair and being punched by you, and agree to disagree, and settle their differences and spend the rest of the meeting braiding each other’s fur and it’ll all be over, just like that – but this morning there was a bomb scare in the business district and Zura says it wasn’t him who set it, so really, who knows?” He turns up his hands in a weary shrug.
“We’re doing all we can out here,” says Shinpachi. “But until the worst of it blows over, there’s nothing you can do but sit tight and wait for it to end. I’m sorry, ane-ue.”
“That’s all right, Shin-chan,” says Tae kindly. She scoots her chair aside on the stone floor to make space for Kyuubei, who joins her at the Yorozuya’s visiting booth. “You and Kagura-chan are doing your best, and that’s enough. And Gin-san – one very small point,” she says pleasantly, and Gintoki looks sharply, warily up at her. “I couldn’t help noticing you described yourself as the protagonist here.”
“What?” says Gintoki.
“It seems to me like I’m the source of all the drama,” explains Tae, “and the heart of all the drama, and the keystone of the drama; so really, Gin-san, it seems to me like I’m the protagonist for the time being.”
“No,” says Gintoki. He shakes his head hard, just once. It looks more like he’s trying to dislodge her words from his ears than anything else. “No, no – no, that’s not how it works. No, no. The protagonist leads the plot, and you can’t lead a plot in prison, Otae-san.”
“You did, Gin-chan,” objects Kagura.
“More than once, Gin-san!” says Shinpachi.
“Well,” says Gintoki, “yes – but it’s a completely different situation, you see. Because I’m the protagonist.”
“You can only lead a plot in prison if you’re a protagonist,” says Kyuubei, “but you can only be a protagonist by leading a plot. Does that make sense to you, Tae-chan?”
“Not at all, Kyuu-chan.”
“This is Gintama,” says Gintoki, growing increasingly strident, “as in Gintama! As in Gintoki! As in Sakata Gintoki is the protagonist of Gintama—”
“When was the last time you heard the opening credits roll, Kagura-chan?” Tae asks, in a furtive undertone. “I thought I just hadn’t been able to hear them from in here, but perhaps...?”
“Not for days, boss lady,” says Kagura, equally furtive.
Gintoki jabs a finger into the counter several times. He’s agitated enough that he’s sitting bolt upright, not a trace of a slouch to be seen. “Thinking that being a protagonist is all about being the source of drama is like thinking that an idol is as beautiful every hour of the day as she is under two inches of make-up and hours of styling in the single photo-edited image that the magazine chooses to print out of all the hundreds of images taken in her two-hour photoshoot! It’s not true! And it’s naïve! And—”
“Well, it’s interesting you should mention that, Gin-san, actually—”
Gintoki claps his hand across Shinpachi’s mouth and continues without a pause. “—and you only think that because of how hard I’ve worked behind the scenes! It’s a lot of work, Otae-san! The protagonist is an iceberg, in that you see only my cool collected surface and not the hours upon hours I spend slaving away at promotional appearances, or crafting product endorsements that sound just genuine enough, or perfecting my expression of enigmatically badass cool, or—”
“That does sound like a lot of work,” says Tae sympathetically. “It must be very hard for you, Gin-san. Perhaps it’s a sign that being the protagonist doesn’t come naturally to you? Perhaps it’s a sign that the baton should be passed to the next generation. Perhaps it’s time for the next iceberg to inherit.”
Gintoki manages to restrain himself from leaping to his feet, but it seems a close thing. “Just this morning, I gave an inspirational speech about believing in your friends while I was dodging a volley of laser beams in the middle of a five-on-one fight! And that’s what makes me the protagonist, Otae-san! That’s my bread and butter! That’s how I earn my title!”
“It wasn’t that inspirational, Gin-san,” says Shinpachi, apologetically.
“Six out of ten, at best,” agrees Kagura, whose interest seems mostly focused on her little finger where it’s rooted deep inside her nose.
“Six, really? That’s interesting – I’d have said at least a seven, myself; but I suppose I always do mark a bit too generously,” says Shinpachi, with a self-deprecating little laugh. “What about the fact it took place during an action scene, Kagura-chan? Did you mark it up for that?”
Kagura nods, preoccupied by careful extraction of her bounty; she inspects it for a moment, then flicks it carelessly aside. “But then I marked it down again for the topic,” she announces. “The genre’s in a rut, Pachi, if you ask me, all because of main characters like Gin-chan giving speeches about the power of friendship every time they get too lazy to think of something new.”
“She’s got a point,” Shinpachi says fairly.
“We need something fresh,” says Kagura, and slams her fist into her palm. “Something exciting. Gin-chan should give a speech about the power of egg-over-rice every now and then, or the power of making someone give up information by roasting them over a slow fire, uh-huh – now, that’d be a seven. Maybe an eight, even.”
“Kagura-chan,” says Gintoki, with a brittle-looking smile that shows rather more teeth than usual. “Shinpachi-kun. Oi, oi, you’re really not helping me here, do you know that? Do you realise that?”
“The Young Master is the only rightful protagonist,” says Tojo conversationally, leaning in from his solitary visiting booth, “if such matters are determined the way they should be, by the most important measures of worth, which is to say by historical pedigree and present-day wealth and nobility of birth—”
“Kagura-chan,” says Kyuubei.
“Got it,” says Kagura, and punches him all the way into the wall.
“If I lose my place as protagonist,” says Gintoki, pursuing his point with rather desperate focus, “then what becomes of you two, huh? You’d be out of work in a heartbeat, have you forgotten about that?”
“I don’t think I would, actually,” says Shinpachi thoughtfully. “I mean, I’d probably still be quite a major character, given that ane-ue’s my sister.”
“And I’d still be the sidekick,” says Kagura, “but I’d just be boss lady’s sidekick now instead, and we could have a later airing time so everyone knew the violence rating had gone up. And Sadaharu would still be the super-cute mascot. And you’d probably be another Madao, Gin-chan. You’d have to fight him for screen time. You could have brawls in the street and I could charge people to watch, and they’d throw coins at you and call you Permadao. Perm-Madao, like your hair, and perma-dao, like you’d be Madao forever and ever—”
“Did you say Kondou-san is meeting the ambassador tomorrow?” Tae asks Gintoki.
Gintoki stops scrubbing his knuckles into the top of Kagura’s head and looks at her. It’s a bland look, his usual dead-mackerel-half-filleted-on-the-ice-slab look, but the single solitary resemblance he bears to an iceberg is that so very little of what he’s thinking is available on the surface. “Yeah, he’s spending the afternoon getting coached for it by Little Lord Mayonnaise. Learning when and when not to whip his dick out, that sort of thing.”
“Then you can tell him I wish him luck,” says Tae firmly. “That should give him some motivation, and if it doesn’t give him enough then tell him I’m wasting pitifully away in here. And if he screws up the meeting, then tell him I’m dead, and it’s his fault, and he’s not invited to the funeral. But I do trust Kondou-san, and I’m sure he’ll do his best,” she adds, and she bats her eyelashes down and smiles prettily, and adds again, “and tell him I said that, word for word, and tell him that I batted my eyelashes down and smiled prettily as well.”
“Will do,” says Gintoki, and flips her a thumbs up. “You’ve got my Yorozuya Promise, Otae-san.”
“There’s no such thing as a Yorozuya Promise,” says Shinpachi, “but we will do, ane-ue.”
“I also have a question,” says Kyuubei, and hesitates. “About... the original issue. The most serious issue. I want to know...”
“Kyuu-chan?” prompts Kagura.
“Could I play... a samurai, Kagura-chan? From the future? In the new series? Could I be a samurai from the future?”
“Kyuubei-kun! There is no new series!”
“An old classic with a modern twist,” says Kagura, and taps her ink-stained fingers pensively against her chin. “I like it, uh-huh! No problem, Kyuu-chan. You could be a robot too, if you like.”
“I’d rather be a human, Kagura-chan. Robots don’t have the flexibility a samurai needs.”
“There is no new series! Kyuubei-kun, Kagura-chan, there is no new series! I’m the protagonist, this is my series—”
Shrilling buzzers erupt into noise on both sides of the plastic divide: the end of the visiting hour. Quickly, before the guards descend, Tae presses her hand against the divide and Shinpachi does the same, one brief moment of farewell that’s not a hug but that’s as close as they can get. In the next booth along, Tojo presses his hand optimistically against the divide as well, but Kyuubei waves goodbye to Kagura and leaves without looking back.
+++
One week moves smoothly into the next. By Tae’s second Friday in prison, her days have already settled into a peaceful routine. She whiles away her work time in the kitchens, cooking whatever she wants, as over in the sewing room her will is carried out from afar by Kyuubei, her trusty second-in-command. Her free time she whiles away once reunited with her trusty second-in-command, either outside in the sunshine of the rec yard or indoors in the comfort of the rec room’s best sofa. If there’s a visit, she greets her visitors. If there’s a sense of mutiny in the ranks, she crushes the mutiny. If there’s a whiff of blood in the water, she doesn’t rest until there’s at least twice as much blood in the water as water. And meanwhile, breakfast, lunch, and dinner continue to be heartwarming communal events, during which she’s able to relax, and socialise, and accept the offerings, supplications, and deserved gratitude of her loyal subjects.
One afternoon, while strolling the rec yard, she shades her eyes and peers up into the sky, and points out to Kyuubei the colourful smoking contrails of several glittering, beetle-bright Amanto saucers spinning feverishly fast among the clouds. Another afternoon the rec yard itself is choked with smoke, ashy and grey with a smell like washing-up liquid. Sometimes the sound of distant music can be heard, but it’s no music known to Earth: its tone is harsh and high, and the clusters of notes that shudder through it seem impossible and scraping.
Rumour has it that one grey morning in the prison’s west wing a wild green light bursts suddenly through the high bars of a dusty, unused window, and skitters and refracts across the floor and walls and cells for a brief few moments before it’s gone again: the blinding light of Amanto laser cannons. Not hunting, though, but searching, and searching, and searching.
The same rumour also has it that the women who this light touched have since sprouted several extra fingers on each hand, and several extra toes on each foot; but the women of the prison’s west wing are largely under life imprisonment, which tends to make for very dull, self-absorbed conversation about nothing except being under life imprisonment, and so Tae doesn’t bother seeking any of them out to confirm it for herself.
There’s something going on in the city: that much is obvious. But Tae has been forcibly removed from the city by the Shinsengumi’s brute injustice; she’s a convict without a conviction, and she’s got far more pressing matters to worry about.
+++
“We’re considering opening a zoo,” says Tae.
Shinpachi’s smile fixes into place for a moment, then wilts – then bursts back to life with twice as much manic, desperate enthusiasm as before. “To keep everyone’s spirits up?” He clenches his fists, bubbling over with encouragement. “That’s great, ane-ue! That’s just the kind of generous action I’d expect from my big sister!”
“Oh, it’s nothing special,” says Tae modestly. “And so far it’s only what we’ve been able to source from inside the prison, of course – lizards, beetles, a few rats—”
“But still, it’s better than nothing!” Shinpachi says enthusiastically. “And I bet everyone’s glad for it anyway, aren’t they? I bet everyone’s glad to have something new to talk about!”
“—a few stray dogs,” continues Tae, “a tiger with a cub or two or three, someone’s lost pet rabbit—”
“—several varieties of monkey,” adds Kyuubei, “golden and howler and flying, and one antelope—”
“—a box of cockroaches, a couple of penguins—”
“Ane-ue! What do you mean, you sourced this all from inside prison? What kind of zoo is this? What kind of prison is this?”
“Only one penguin now,” Kyuubei tells Tae, in a private undertone, “as the first was trampled by the hippopotamus and the second was incinerated by one of the lizards—”
“And what kind of lizards are you keeping?” demands Shinpachi, and slams his hands against the counter. “Kyuubei-san! What kind of lizards incinerate penguins, Kyuubei-san?”
“Oh, isn’t that a pity?” says Tae, struck by genuine sorrow. “I knew we never should have let those useless east-wing girls look after them, Kyuu-chan. We’ll have to take back the red pandas as well, now we know they can’t be trusted.”
Kyuubei nods in sombre agreement. “Then we’ll have to rehome the meerkats, too, as their behaviour towards the red pandas has proven continually spiteful and provocative. So perhaps if we move the parrots’ enclosure, first of all—”
“Are they dragons?” persists Shinpachi, red in the face and ever more strident. “Do you mean the lizards are dragons, Kyuubei-san? You’ve got dragons in your zoo? Is that it? Ane-ue? How are you getting dragons for your zoo?”
Kagura plants her palm flat against Shinpachi’s face to shove him further from her ear. “Boss lady’s got more womanly wiles than anyone in Edo,” she says, with lofty scorn, “so she activated her womanly wiles and then radars went pinging out all over the prison and told her where the animals were hiding, uh-huh. And then she hunted them down with big nets and a stun gun and used more of her womanly wiles to tie them up and drag them back with her.”
“Not exactly what womanly wiles are, Kagura-chan,” says Gintoki, and gives her head an affectionate pat that would most likely render anyone with a less concrete skull unconscious. “I’d say you’ll learn when you get older, but any girl who spends as much time vomiting on national television as you do has already forfeited her chance to find out.”
“That’s what my womanly wiles are,” Kagura says stoutly, and knocks his hand away. “Zoo animals and sukonbu, uh-huh, that’s me. I don’t want any other stupid wiles. Any other stupid wiles can go jump in the river and drown.”
Tae gives her a firm little nod of solidarity. “And in fact, Gin-san, you’ve visited with perfect timing. We’ve been using the bathroom sinks to keep the stingrays in house and home, but that makes it a little difficult to brush your teeth in the mornings, since you can never be quite sure whether you’ll be unconscious and twitching on the floor before you’re done. So what we’d really like is some sort of paddling pool.”
Gintoki looks at her. His expression is very bland. Even when Kagura squirms free from the armlock he’s pinned her in and smacks him around the back of the head, his expression remains very bland.
“Inflatable or real – either one would be acceptable,” Kyuubei tells him. The very bland look moves to Kyuubei, too. “Just choose whichever you would be able to install most quickly. It’s a matter of some urgency, as the walruses are arriving tomorrow.”
The very bland look moves to Shinpachi – but Shinpachi has dropped his face into his folded arms atop the counter, and seems to be pretending he’s somewhere else entirely, muttering ceaselessly and unintelligibly to himself.
“Well,” says Gintoki, eventually. His voice is very bland as well. “The thing is, Otae-san, Kyuubei-kun – my plate is actually looking sort of... full, at the moment. Sort of very full, what with all these aliens we’ve got shooting lasers all over the place, and all those Joui who keep hatching plots to overthrow the Bakufu within the next two weeks, and how close the city’s coming to collapse. So you can understand that a – that your, ah—”
“Paddling pool?” offers Tae.
“—right,” says Gintoki, blander still, “for your – ah, for your—”
“Stingrays,” supplies Kyuubei, “and the walruses, which are arriving tomorrow, as I mentioned—”
“—for those,” says Gintoki, now as bland as tamagoyaki cooked in any other substandard way than Tae’s own special recipe, “for all of that. And so I’m sure you understand, given the circumstances, why all of that can’t be our top priority right now.”
“I don’t understand that at all, Gin-san,” says Tae, in impeccably polite confusion. “Aren’t the Yorozuya supposed to handle any job that comes their way?”
Gintoki’s expressionless attitude is beginning to show the strain. “Shinpachi,” he says. He jams his elbow into Shinpachi’s side and attempts an appeasing smile. “Oi, Shinpachi. You’re neglecting your duties, Shinpachi. Talking sense into your sister is your job, Shinpachi, that’s why I employ you, Shinpachi. Shinpachi. Shinpachi—”
“If that’s no longer the case, then you should change your promotional material to reflect the Yorozuya’s new policy,” says Kyuubei, in a tone of quiet reproach. “It’s dishonourable to mislead your clients, Gintoki. A samurai must strive for accurate advertising standards.”
Gintoki shoves Shinpachi until he blearily lifts his head. “Shinpachi. Shinpachi—”
“We’ll get it done by the morning, boss lady. I swear it on Gin-chan’s life,” says Kagura, and presses her fingertips earnestly against the divide between them.
“I knew I could rely on you,” says Tae fondly, and touches her own fingertips to Kagura’s. It’s an automatic response by now, an unthinking habit—
Something’s different, though. Tae takes her hand away and replaces it – but still, something doesn’t seem quite right. “Ah... Kagura-chan, have you always had that many fingers?”
Kagura looks at her own hand. Six fingers and a thumb are splayed against the glass.
“The lasers! You let their lasers get you, didn’t you, you idiot?” Shinpachi bolts to his feet, but he’s cut off mid-cry by Kagura balling her brand-new fist and socking him experimentally in the stomach; he doubles up so hard that his glasses clatter to the floor, and Kagura’s joyful, caterwauling whoops of triumph echo through the prison long after the visiting hour is over.
+++
A plastic inflatable paddling pool crammed inside a battered storage box is lying on its side outside Tae’s cell the next morning. She pulls it in through the bars, and shakes it out, and inspects it: printed with cheerful little fish, a few patched-over holes, but perfectly serviceable. For all Gintoki’s protestations, Tae has never once regretted placing her trust in the Yorozuya.
The zoo is a resounding success, until the raid from Edo’s intergalactic branch of Customs & Exports confiscates most of its inhabitants and removes several of the more obliging guards from their posts and transfers them, instead, into cells of their own. But after the zoo there’s the talent show, and then there’s the incident with the home-grown casino, and after that there’s a cookery class to establish – and during all of it there’s the discovery to be made that cigarettes are really only the half of it, when it comes to smuggling, and where the money really is in a filthy hellhole like this one is scented shampoo: the prison halls begin to smell of florals and coconut and honey, clouds of luxurious scent wafting every which way for a few blissful days until the next Customs & Exports raid. Despite this, Tae and Kyuubei’s profits remain untouched – safely tucked inside the sarashi bindings of a celebrity prisoner with the right to refuse all frisk searches.
Kagura and Shinpachi visit alone one afternoon, both miserable and exhausted, with news that Gintoki’s expected to make it through the night but it was a close thing, and the range of motion in his left arm is probably going to be limited for at least the next week. Another afternoon it’s Shinpachi alone, soaked through and frothing with outrage, and he spends almost the entire hour complaining at top volume and top speed about Kagura’s idea of subtly concealing their location by leaping off a bridge and dragging him along behind her. All three of them visit together again, along with someone who – behind the lens-free spectacles, luxurious fake moustache, and yellow velour tracksuit – looks remarkably like Katsura Kotarou, and they bring her news of a city-wide curfew that none of them have any intentions of sticking to. One afternoon Shinpachi visits Tae, and Kagura visits Kyuubei, and while Shinpachi energetically explains how much easier he’s beginning to find it to change into his full lime-green Amagaeru disguise, and how much more quickly he’s able to streak his hair with green for undercover work, from the corner of her eye Tae sees Kagura and Kyuubei at the next visiting booth, sitting together in wordless calm, as Kagura spends the whole hour silently screwing her knuckles into Tojo’s skull and ignoring his blubbering wails.
Peacefully, pleasantly, the days pass by.
+++
“We’ve got some news, ane-ue,” says Shinpachi. He’s trying his best not to smile and he’s not succeeding, and Tae is immediately certain of the nature of the news. “I know we haven’t visited for a couple of days, but that’s because we managed to sneak onto their spaceship – though we nearly got caught because Katsura-san wouldn’t stop touching all the extra toes on all the stray cats in the park, and all the stray cats wouldn’t stop yowling and scratching bits of him off – but then it took off, anyway, after we were onboard, and so that’s where we’ve been this week: in space, ane-ue!”
“That doesn’t sound very safe, Shin-chan,” says Tae. “Has Gin-san been endangering you? Should I have a little talk with him?”
“No!” says Shinpachi. “I mean – in the end Gin-san battled their leader and spared his life, ane-ue! And then their leader was so moved by experiencing human mercy first-hand that he decided to change his ways and start practising it too, and Katsura-san – ah, that’s right, I didn’t mention what Katsura-san was doing! But he was with Kagura-chan, actually – because they stayed back together to hold off the Third Royal Division army when Gin-san went on ahead to find the leader. And I was with Kondou-san and Elizabeth-san – Katsura-san said Elizabeth-san had to come with our group, you see, because he didn’t trust Kondou-san without Joui supervision – but anyway,” he says, pink with enthusiasm, and Tae waits fondly, patiently, handcuffed hands folded in her lap, “the three of us, ane-ue, we went looking for the central command station – which was surprisingly easy to find in the end, given how securely the perimeters had been—”
“Boss lady, you’re gonna be an ex-con!”
Shinpachi skids around in his seat in outrage. “Kagura-chan! That was my news!”
“I know! I know, I know – and I tried to wait,” cries Kagura in protest, “but it’s not safe to hold it in too long, Pachi, you can damage your bladder and then your kidneys start to rot, and you were talking so much I could feel my kidneys rotting—”
“Gorilla-san says you can expect to be out by the afternoon,” says Gintoki, while the bickering continues to rage behind his head. He looks exhausted; his yukata is stained with dirt and blood, and the grimy, unpeeling end of a bandage is shedding itself from his shoulder, but he’s smiling. “I’m pretty sure he wants to come and turn the key himself, so we might have to—”
The plastic divide is nowhere near as heavy-duty as it looks. Tae brushes shards of splintered plastic from her knuckles and gets to her feet. “Oh, there’s no need for him to take the trouble,” she says politely.
The sudden explosion has silenced the room. “Ane-ue,” begins Shinpachi, his voice strained – but he trails off.
She jerks her hands apart, one short sharp motion, and snaps her handcuffs. “Honestly, the state of you, Shin-chan! Of all of you – you all look exhausted. What you need,” she says, all business, as she clambers up onto the counter and through the gaping, jagged hole in the divide to the other side, “is a nice home-cooked meal, isn’t it? Something to get your strength back up. Something warm and nourishing and wholesome. And I know just the thing, so first of all,” as she gives Kagura a boost to climb through into the prison side, “let’s go back and get Kyuu-chan,” as she chivvies an unwilling Shinpachi to follow in Kagura’s path, “and second of all, let’s all go home... Ah – is there a problem, Gin-san?”
Gintoki heaves a tremendous sigh of resignation. “None at all,” he says, and clambers through into the women’s prison. “I’m sorry,” he tells the guards, as he passes by, and if the guards have anything they want to say about that then they’re either so startled, or so afraid, or so admiring of Tae that whatever it is, it goes thoroughly unsaid.
+++
“We’re leaving,” Tae tells Kyuubei, and wrenches open the bars of the cell as easily as though they’re twists of limply undercooked pastry.
“I see,” says Kyuubei. “Just a moment.”
From beneath the tatami emerges a full-size sword of polished steel. From beneath the heap of spare sheets at the back of the cell emerges a plain wooden sheath. Kyuubei slides the one inside the other and steps out of the gap between the bars.
“I didn’t know you had that with you, Kyuu-chan,” says Tae, impressed. “You never used it in a fight, did you?”
“I considered it,” says Kyuubei gravely. “But I wanted to get into the spirit of the thing, Tae-chan.”
They’re at the exit of the wing by now. The guards raise their sticks a beat too late, bewildered by the sight of the approaching group; but even if they’d raised their sticks exactly on time it’d still be useless. The door is locked, not that it makes a difference. Tae leads the way.
“Are you allowed to have swords in prison?” Shinpachi wonders aloud.
“Celebrity prisoners are. I was allowed my own room, too, if I wanted it. With a proper bed. And different food. And heating. But Tae-chan wasn’t,” says Kyuubei, as though this explains everything, which it does. The big terracotta-red main doors of the prison are rising up at the end of the long hall, sweeping up into a high, ominous arch – but those, too, fall open without trouble.
The broad street outside the prison’s front entrance is pot-holed and smoking. Shinpachi waves towards a particularly vast crater, already starting to recover some of his previous enthusiasm, and begins, “Do you see that, ane-ue? With the scorch marks? Because that’s where—”
Gently, Tae says, “It’s better not to dwell on the past, Shin-chan.”
“I’m not dwelling on it,” objects Shinpachi, “all I did was mention it, and you didn’t even let me tell you what I was mentioning—”
More gently still, Tae says, “Let’s just look to the future, Shin-chan.”
“I do look to the future,” insists Shinpachi, “but I just thought you might like to know a bit more about what’s been happening while you’ve been stuck in prison, that’s all—”
“Don’t let your past haunt you,” advises Kagura. “If your past’s haunting you then you’ve got to exorcise it, uh-huh. Cast out the spectres of your youth, Pachi. Look forward and don’t look back.”
“I’m not being haunted by my past, Kagura-chan,” says Shinpachi doggedly, “and anyway, it’s your past too – and anyway, it’s barely even the past! You’ve still got fourteen fingers! It’s definitely still the present!”
Unspeakably gently, Tae says, “Let’s just keep moving forward, Shin-chan, always facing bravely towards tomorrow’s light.”
“Poetic words, Tae-chan.”
“Poetry is simply a matter of speaking the truth that shines inside your soul, Kyuu-chan.”
“I see,” says Kyuubei, deeply moved.
“Ane-ue!” yells Shinpachi. “Ane-ue!” he yells again, louder and shriller. “Ane-ue, don’t you even care?” he bursts out at last, and he wheels around in the middle of the lurching pot-holed road to stare at the troupe of assorted escapees, his eyes wild behind his glasses. “I just thought you might like to get a better picture of what’s been going on out here, that’s all! I thought I could fill you in on all the A-plot you’ve been missing, stuck in there – I thought I was doing you a favour, ane-ue! But don’t you even care?”
Tae says, “It’s very presumptuous to assume you’re the A-plot, Shin-chan.”
“But that’s exactly what you’ve been doing all this time!” Shinpachi wails.
In a tone of chiding, big sisterly rebuke she generally reserves for matters like Shinpachi forgetting to hang up his towels after a bath, Tae says, “I said that it’s very presumptuous for you to assume you’re the A-plot, Shin-chan.”
Shinpachi casts her a look of despair, and tries another approach. “Kyuubei-san—”
“I should contact Tojo,” says Kyuubei, in sudden memory. “He’ll drop the charges against me as soon as I tell him to. But... until such time as I encounter him, I must live my life as a wanted convict on the run.”
“Tojo-san’s right there,” says Shinpachi. “Kyuubei-san, he’s up that tree. I can see his sandals.”
“It won’t be an easy life, and it won’t be a kind life,” Tae says, sincerely heartfelt, “but you’ll always have my support, Kyuu-chan, I promise you – and if ever your rōnin wandering should bring you back through the streets of Edo, there’ll always be a home-made meal for you at the Kodoukan Dojo—”
“I can call him over right now, if you want,” says Shinpachi, but he says it with the gloom of a boy who’s lost all hope. Consolingly, Gintoki reaches out to pat the top rim of his glasses. “Gin-san. Gin-san?”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” says Gintoki, still patting, “I’m just ruffling your hair for comfort, Patsuan, like the wise old mentor figure I know you see me as, even if you’re always just a touch too bashful to say it aloud—”
“That is not my hair! Gin-san, that is not my hair!”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Pachi,” says Kagura supportively, reaching up to pat as well, “there’s still a little hair left, I can feel it right here—”
“That’s my eyebrow!”
“Well, if he won’t listen to his doting old father then you’ll have to tell him for me, Kagura-chan; tell our Shinpachi there’s no shame in balding when you’re young—”
“Oh, but you shouldn’t lie to him, Gin-chan, he’ll grow up coddled and useless—”
The sound of raucous squabbling gets louder, and then the three of them get so distracted by squabbling that they forget to keep walking too, and so Tae and Kyuubei continue on alone into the busy crowds of the only slightly fire-damaged shopping districts. There’s curious graffiti scrawled in neon green paint across nearly every wall, vast furious messages in no language Tae recognises, but it’s really no concern of hers.
“We should go by the grocery store,” she says, at thoughtful length. “I’m sure I’ll need to stock up on eggs – they’re the one thing Shin-chan always forgets to bring home for me, no matter how many times I underline it on his shopping list... Oh, I am glad all that nonsense is over,” Tae says suddenly, “it was very kind of the state to sponsor a little getaway for two like that, but I’ve missed having my own oven. Let’s hurry home, shall we?”
“We can take a shortcut,” says Kyuubei, peering up towards a towering landslide of streetside rubble, “since half of Edo City Hall appears to have been demolished in our absence.”
In a city as huge and chaotically wild as Edo, it’s unreasonable to expect that nothing should have changed in that absence. Equally, it’s unnecessary to question why it might have changed. It’s Edo – the city is alive, and of course it’s always changing, and of course she’s got far more important things to worry about.
“Perfect,” says Tae briskly, and she rolls up the legs of her prison-issue pyjamas and begins to climb the wreckage.