The Truth that wasn't there

Two

"This is a bad idea, sir," Owondiki said, shaking her head as she held her glasses to keep them from falling off her face. She rushed after the director of Clans Authority, down the dark, dusty corridor of Ibesan.

Behind them, five prison guards followed, whispering to themselves and nearly pissing their clothes at the thought of a clans-blood visiting the prison. An Izeh was in their midst.

One of the men from the prison was older than the prison guards. He was the warden of the prison. He'd been beside himself when the director walked into his office because they hadn't been warned that a clans-blood was coming. Owondiki, herself, hadn't even been aware. She'd been at her desk, going through a list that her superiors had dumped on her, earlier in the week. She hadn't expected to be uprooted and rushed from the office like a goat to the fire.

"It won't hurt to try," the director said as they got to a rickety, wooden door at the end of the corridor. Without windows, the place was dark and musty. But if the director could stand there, in his immaculate green and brown uniform, looking like the place didn't stink to hell, then Owondiki had to suck it up and ignore the urge to bury her nose in her kerchief. "Open the door," the director ordered.

The prison warden hopped into action.

"Excuse me, please," he said, flattening himself against the wall. When he turned his back to them so that he could open the door, his black uniform was covered in yellow paint. "Just a moment." He continued to struggle with the sturdy, metal door. When it creaked and unlocked, he had to heave and push it. The other guards moved in to help as Owondiki and the director stood back.

As the door opened, the director followed the guards in, but Owondiki remained outside. The director dropped his briefcase on a bench, standing at ease as he looked around.

The room was a wide, square room with wooden benches. It had yellow walls with two green lines drawn vertically across. The paint was chipped in several places, as well as the cement on the ground. Some of the benches were broken.

A big, metal bell clanged, somewhere outside. Currently, it was a shock to hear the sound of the gong hitting the body of the bell. She had no idea public offices still used such ancient devices.

After five, long minutes, the warden came running in as he opened the door on the other side. Owondiki moved closer, peeping through the opening in her door. The familiar face of Jera Franklin stood at the other door.

The most notorious Jiki commoner. The woman who'd been a thorn in the side of the clans for years now.

She was so skinny that the prison shirt hung off her body like a hangar. There were cavities in her face and her collar – places where flesh used to be, long ago. She had aged twenty years in the months since her incarceration and it wasn't pretty. Her trousers were black, but the shirt that was supposed to be white was almost the same color as the walls. Her hair was braided in three chunks that stood like hungry palm trees on her head. She was bound by ropes and not metal cuffs. Another testament to the deficient care and maintenance that the Ibesan staff ensured.

If only Usehjiki could see their biggest cause for concern in recent history.

"Director, O di mi nuoh," she said in Jiki. Director, so we see again.

The warden entered the room with only two of the four guards. Two of them stood on either side of Jera while the warden moved closer to the director.

"I need some privacy," the director told the warden.

"Sir," the warden began. "The prisoner–"

"Please leave."

Concerned, the warden headed for the door where Owondiki was, with his two guards.