Batista grunted in the affirmative. It had been three days since the incident at Santa Jésica and though they managed to get across the border, the stab wound got infected. It didn't take long for Batista to get feverish and weak, to the point where he wondered if the knife used against him had been poisoned.

Even now that they were out of Shannanxi, Batista didn't think it was safe to go to a hospital or even some back-alley clinic. If news of the bounty had spread to this province, any hospital would be the end of the line for him. Though by now he was barely coherent, earlier he checked the route map and found a possible safe haven for them. He wasn't all that eager to go there, but they'd stand a slightly better chance of getting out alive and uncaptured. It was the best he could do.

It was difficult walking straight. The aching had sunk deep into his bones and his fever was so high that he could scarcely string two thoughts together. Though so much smaller than him, Masako tried to support him as they walked. It was taking all his garbled brainpower to navigate out of the train station and toward their destination. He had only been there once, but it was etched deep in his mind. Not even the fever could have much luck throwing him off course.

He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. His vision was getting hazy, but still he tried to scan his surroundings, looking for any potential threats. The people passing by, were they just staring at him because he was staggering along propped up by some kid or was it because they recognized him? Who might be gunning for him?

The temptation was to reach for one of his weapons, but that would only draw more attention to them. It was hard to rein in his paranoia as it was to keep his sluggish legs moving one step at a time.

Where they were going, it wasn't far from the station, wasn't far from the main road going through town. It had to be easy to find or how else would they get any business? Just a little bit farther...

Batista tried answer, but all he did was moan like someone who was sleeping restlessly. His eyelids were getting heavy. He steered Masako around the corner. He was the one doing the steering, right? Sure, had to be. They were almost there. Had to be.

Yes, there it was. Right where they needed to be.

Though there were more accomplished polyglots than her, Masako was fluent in the three main dialects of Zhong as well as the native tongue of her ancestors. She could generally follow what her Zhao servants were saying and had a working knowledge of five of the so-called archival languages. These availed her little on the surface. The closest thing to a lingua franca among the Infernals seemed to be a much debased version of the Xi language. Without Batista, she had to make do combining the classic form she learned in school with what she had picked up over the past several weeks. It seemed to be just enough to get by, but she would be grateful when Batista regained consciousness.

The woman went back to Batista's bedside, taking the washcloth on his forehead and dipping it in a basin of water, wringing it out enough so that it did not drip too much and then placing it back on his forehead.

As Masako was taking a sip of the tea, the woman glanced over at her and asked, "You like?"

Masako nodded. It was sweeter than anything they would drink at the Capital, as bitterness was seen as a virtue in the tea drunk by the highborn. Just sweet enough to be pleasant if not particularly conducive to enlightenment.

Even though these were people Batista trusted enough to seek out for refuge, it did not seem particularly wise for Masako to give out her real name, but so much had happened that she could not remember which alias she was supposed to be using now. She would do just as well to make one up.

It seemed rather forward to use Masako's given name right away, but all Nayeli gave was her given name, so perhaps it was the custom here for people to drop all propriety and address each other as children who had not yet learned proper manners.

Nayeli seemed to be about Batista's age, maybe a little older. She was pretty enough as Infernals went. Perhaps with Charter School training, she would have made a suitable maidservant, but she seemed more suited for the surface, so it was just as well that she remained here below.

Masako did not know how to answer. She could not very well tell the truth, but she had no confidence in any lie she might make up. Silence seemed to be the most prudent course, even if it would only serve to make her look all the more suspicious. She continued to sip on her tea while Nayeli proved to be the sort who was compelled to fill in during awkward silences.

That at least seemed like something she could answer with little consequence.

Nayeli smiled pleasantly and said, "Don't mention it." After a brief pause, she then resumed her questions. "Where are you from? I can't place that accent. Are you from out west? I seem to recall that Batista went out west."

Masako was spared the trouble of answering by Batista's weakened voice inserting itself into the conversation. Nayeli turned to him and softly rested her hand on his forehead.

Batista moaned.

Batista's arm could be seen moving around under the sheet that was covering him. He seemed to be checking his wounds, and then he asked, "Where're my damn clothes?"

Nayeli gave him a mischievous grin, like some pranking pixie, prompting Batista to look away in annoyance. Now that he was looking at Masako, he asked her in curt Celestial, "What'd ya tell her?"

Batista stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

Saying out his full name like a scolding mother, Nayeli told him, "Juan Batista Avilar Rodrigues, you know you can't lie to me. You might try it, but it doesn't work."

Nayeli stood up and took hold of Batista by his shoulders. In a voice so soft Masako could barely hear, she said, "Tito, tell me."

Batista bit his lip, as if it were taking all of his willpower to keep quiet. Something stirred inside Masako, forcing her to speak up.

Masako turned to see the big man who was apparently Nayeli's husband, probably the Jorge Batista mentioned earlier. His Celestial was a little more polished than Batista's, but still rough as you would expect from an Infernal.

The big man was having none of it, though.

Batista scowled at the big man and without saying a word, started to get up out of bed. Nayeli immediately tried to push him back down, saying, "No, Batista, you shouldn't be getting up yet." She then shot a mean glare to the big man and said, "Jorge, you take it back this instant or I swear—"

The big man—who was indeed Jorge after all—was not easily budged.

Again, Masako found herself compelled to intervene, for better or for worse.

Realizing that he had been beaten, Batista slumped back and sighed.

Masako could not help feeling a little wonderstruck at Jorge. He did not show the slightest fear or apprehension. His steely resolve reminded her of Batista, only without the impatience. Just who was this man?

Jorge looked to Batista and his stern expression gave way to a grin.