Author's Note: A story I've long worked on! The idea's changed somewhat from its beginnings, but I think I like where this is going this time :) PS This is largely a fictional story, and any real-life references I make are relatively arbitrary, to be explained as the story goes on or as an FYI footnote. Without further ado...

V A N D E R

The pheasant wandered into Grandpa’s line of shot, and before Jane could hold her breath the rifle crackled to life. Like a heap of freshly fallen leaves, the bird tumbled in an askew pile of brown and reddish plumage. Beside her, Kyle, her twin brother, whooped and ran forward with Grandpa’s dog, Kamoa.

She remained behind as Grandpa and Papa joined Kyle with the pheasant. Her breath had vanished upon hearing the thunder of the rifle, leaving her breathless and slightly dazed. What just happened?

Gideon hadn’t left her side either. He was her older brother by nearly six years. His own rifle quivered and his tattooed hand over hers was clammy, but an exhilarated smile tugged one corner of his slightly parted lips. Unlike her, he looked as if he’d held his breath all along and now struggled to regain it. This was his second hunting trip, but he was yet to bag any game. Jane was supposed to watch him, and learn.

There was only one other woman in her family, and that was Grandma. In fact, there was a distinct shortage of females in the village, with nearly nine men to each woman. She barely noticed what it meant to grow up like a boy, although when Gideon returned from college with his fiancée, Laurel, to get married, Jane began mimicking her foreign female whims. The war meant she had to postpone noticing indefinitely; when Papa and Gideon and nearly all able-bodied men in her village who had enlisted were killed, not even Grandpa could stop Jane when she tattooed herself as befitted the patriarch of her family.

When the Purthians broke through and started the Irrevolution, however, the nature of the hunt changed.

Grandpa raised the pheasant and shook it. “We eat tonight,” he called, a grin splitting his dark bushy beard as if tonight’s dinner would be one of the few to come. He tapped his temple with the rifle’s muzzle. “A man’s best friend.”

Opening theme: Rain Drop Street by Kelun

The tinny radio music was especially loud in the arena, adding to the feverish racket of the spectators and announcer. It had been raining, so the ground was muddy. My booted feet sank deep into the muck as I tried gaining purchase to lunge at my opponent. The very atmosphere echoed that of those ten-cent movies my caravan mates and I liked to watch every night, with the pretty young man facing a bearlike man of an enemy where the young man always wins the fight. Except that dogfights weren’t really that hard to win. And, of course, although only Takeda and I knew, I wasn’t really a young man.

Because of the rain, few watched me take on Kiyoshima, the local champion. I was the favourite among non-gamblers not exactly because I had the underdog rep, but because I was a Vand slave, bought by Takeda Yusuke and put into the travelling dogfight business—and because Takeda had betted five hundred yen no matter the strength of my opponent. He loved this trick; nobody understood yet that dogfights are more like choreographed dances, and the fighter with better technique and tactics almost always wins. I won.

Nao and Kaede were laughing gleefully as they tossed me a towel and a water bottle. Dogfights were rare enough these days that unless I lost, the men were delighted long after. My charm as the “slave boy” always drew in big bets. As for me, I liked the break from working in Takeda’s sketchy caravan transport business.

“Two thousand yen in one day!” crowed Nao, waving the plastic bag with all of Takeda’s winnings in the air. “You are the best, Kotarou-kun!”

Kotarou was the name Takeda had bestowed me. To this day, I still didn't understand the exact reason why Takeda had me pretend to be a boy, but everyone treated me better because of it, so I kept shut about my real gender. At his enthusiasm for my victory, I grinned as belligerently as unbefitting my gender anyway.

“Drinks on me tonight!” I yelled, eliciting shouts of laughter from my friends. “The rest of the day’s ours!”

Well, of course it wasn’t —I was the slave here and I was going to get the smallest share of the winnings. But Nao and Kaede laughed so hard even Takeda had trouble hiding a smile. The older man reached up and took the plastic bag from Nao's hands.

"Let's find somewhere to sit out the rain, shall we?" he suggested, and began walking back to the caravan. Tossing the towel across the top of my head, I followed them to the abandoned petrol station, under which the rustic wooden caravan and our donkey was sheltering from the rain. The small crowd we had drawn to the empty building lot was dispersing, but as suspicious as ever; Takeda let us into the back of the caravan first before he pulled the cash out of the bag.

“Hm, how shall we split this…?” He started making small piles in front of him. “Eight hundred for me, five hundred for Nao and Kaede, and two hundred for Kotarou. How’s that?”

Nao chuckled and swept his pile into his hands. “You’re getting better at division,” he joked. Kaede grinned; Takeda had been generous in splitting the winnings today. I picked up my two hundred yen and carefully tucked it into the zippered palm pouch that was my wallet.

“Saving your money again, ne, Kotarou?” noted Kaede, eyeing my wallet. I smiled crookedly at him and replacing the pouch in my coat pocket I pulled the jacket on.

--

Takeda bought us drinks that night, which quickly warmed Nao and Kaede’s drunken hearts to their employer. Both were nephews to the man, so his treats were justified, albeit in sporadic doses. With both men sleeping off the booze, Takeda decided that we would still move on through the night. Although I also had trouble staying awake and focused, he left me in charge of driving the donkey, a mild-tempered creature he’d named Pachimaru, after an old video-game character.

I had thought that everyone had fallen asleep, so when I heard shuffling in the caravan toward the porthole beside the driver’s seat, I slowed Pachimaru and ducked down to look at Takeda.

“Take a right at the next fork,” he mumbled, his words somewhat slurred. “Keep a sharp eye.”

I was used to his imaginary enemies. Sure, there were bandits and other dangers nowadays in Emcada, but we were so close to the Warlord’s territory I wasn’t sure anyone would dare venture near to attack us. I nodded patiently and started to drive Pachimaru faster, when Takeda spoke again.

“Kotarou-kun…Jane.”

The unfamiliar name surprised me. “Yeah?”

“It’s been five years, hasn’t it?”

I ticked off the days mentally. “Next week should be my twenty-first birthday, so yeah.”

“Do you begrudge me for holding you so long?”

He was asking me this, as he ordered a hung-over girl to drive all night? Sometimes he was a real kidder. But for all his miserliness and cynicism, I hated that Takeda could also be unbearably kind. “No. This is a lot better than what I’d hoped for when Yoshino was reselling the bunch of us. A lot better than anything I can still hope for, actually.”

“You don’t feel troubled thinking about your home?”

“Not really.” I did, but I wouldn’t tell him that. “I’m better off here in Emcada than Vander.”

“Kotarou—Jane—Jane-san, I mean. Turn right.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I hastily directed Pachimaru around the corner. “Why do you call me Jane? What if the others hear?”

“Don’t you miss being a girl?”

His question startled me. “No.” But I did.

He sighed and settled back on his thin futon. “Follow the signs from hereon,” he said. His voice hissed like a settling train engine, breathless from the journey. “We are heading to the heart of the Warlord’s capital—Tokyo.” He said the city’s real name longingly, like he always did whenever he received the red letters.

“Okay.”

I stared into the inky darkness, lit in front for only five metres by the oil lamp hanging beside me. Something wet landed on my cheek, and then a glaring ray of lightning stung the distant horizon, illuminating the dewy, shadowed surface of the earth. It was craggy with rotting skyscrapers and broken lampposts. Tokyo.

“Pass me my jacket, Takeda-san. A thunderstorm’s ahead.”

I accepted my coat as Takeda passed it through the tiny window and began pulling it on as the first raindrops hit my face. There had been a time that I would’ve weathered the storm with the delight of a child clinging to a treetop, but not tonight. I couldn’t afford to be ill anymore.

--

We reached the outskirts of Tokyo just as the sun began to rise. Here, I stopped the caravan and knocked on the back door.

“Nao, Kaede. One of you drive. I need a pit stop.”

Kaede poked his head out, wincing at the light like a bear waking in the spring. As he groggily watched me scramble for a place to hide while peeing, he called, “You can be such a girl, Kotarou. We aren’t going to look at your weenie widdler.”

“Respect my cultural differences,” I retorted before finding a bush big enough to hide me. Besides, I had to rebind my chest.

I was tying down my chest when Nao suddenly appeared nearby, making me jump out of my skin. “Nao!”

“Sorry, sorry, little sister,” he grumbled, undoing his pants as he blearily searched for me. I hastily finished my bindings and stood. Nao had no qualms about whipping out his widdler, and he waved when he finally spotted me heading back to the caravan.

With only Takeda in the caravan at this time, I took the opportunity to change my shirt. When I found I’d run out of clean t-shirts and pants, I started rummaging through Nao’s bags. His stuff was so ugly. I pulled out one pair of jean shorts and a red t-shirt that had read in big yellow letters “McDonald’s”, grimaced and started changing.

Choosing not to remain cooped inside the caravan, Nao and I walked alongside Pachimaru while eating our breakfast, a meal of stale bread from our rations. Takeda remained on board, having woken up with the paralyzing weakness in which his condition tended to take form. We had at least half a day before we would reach the Warlord’s keep, and then we could rest.

When the city’s walls came into view, I jogged ahead as messenger. Spying the guns immediately train themselves on me, I stopped and waved emphatically. “Kotarou representing Takeda Yusuke, owner of caravan Mino 321 under the commission of the Warlord, requesting entry into the eastern capital!”

“One moment!” At the signal, the gatekeeper popped out of his station and followed me back the caravan. After checking through our wares, he nodded and went back to the wall. “Open up!”

The gates creaked open laboriously, and we were through. Into Tokyo. Upon entering, Takeda stuck his head out of the wide windows.

“Ah,” he sighed, looking like a man was seeing his hometown after years of absence. After his little moment, he looked to me. “Shall we deliver our goods now? Then we will see what the Warlord has summoned us for.”

Once inside the walls, Nao visibly relaxed beside me, but my hands remained on top of the two knives Takeda allowed me to carry in defence of the caravan. Bandits and enemies of the Warlord should not be found within the Tokyo jurisdiction anymore, but I never trusted these shadowy city walks.

Our first stop was at a dilapidated bookshop, tucked deep into one of the last remaining malls in downtown Tokyo. I hadn’t expected a regular stock exchange today; Takeda’s business was never regular, and although most of the time our jobs actually involved shipping books, there were other times when we received a mysterious call for our easily overlooked services as couriers, shippers or escorts… Except for Takeda, none of us knew what his connection to the Warlord was and how much we were better off not knowing.

This time, I knew too much. The knowledge had been stumbled upon by accident: while searching for our records of official business I had uncovered instead a thick book bound in the Purthian style and written entirely in English. For all that I had rarely read that language in the past five years, the contents sprung out to me so quickly that by the time my common sense returned it was too late. The book was about the Apocalypse, and something called the antigod.

Takeda was inside, alone with the bookseller for a long time. Nao and Kaede had opted to stay with the caravan, but I wanted to explore the mall. More specifically, I wanted to see the basement.

It was easy to let my guard down once I was inside the mall. I walked past walls made entirely of glass, once perfectly transparent, now fractured and filthy. The crystal lamps high above me had been fitted with undersized but cheery incandescent light bulbs, reflecting off the slightly damp floor made of uneven marble tiles that crumbled at the edges. The shoppers, mostly servants of merchant families, seemed content regardless of the dreary setting, and proud shop owners had decorated their little niches garishly. The place looked more like an alleyway market, complete with the street urchins and pigeons nosing through the thin crowd.

The basement was almost entirely abandoned. A small cafe somehow thrived in the courtyard at the base of a set of rusting mechanical stairs, under the galleries of upper floors. A rat-like man had set up a fortune telling booth outside the restrooms, which leaked water smelling of urine. Further in, away from the cafe and into the eerie recesses of the basement, a line of feeble light bulbs glowed along a forgotten hallway, lined with more shops, all deserted, before curving sharply into a barricade of steel turnstiles to the left and disappearing into complete darkness.

Nervous eyes watched my back from the cafe as I headed hesitantly down the hallway. What reason could that young boy possibly have to venture into such dangerous territory? I was sure nearly everyone had the same thought occur to them at one point: that perhaps I was an agent sent by the Warlord to deal with some denizens of the underworld. Of course no one would’ve thought I was a curious cross dresser who was also crazy enough to explore the underworld.

My heartbeat quickened as I proceeded further and further into the shadows. From the corner of my eye, I made out mannequins that stood behind store windows, their frayed clothes miraculously intact to flaunt ancient, alien fashions due to the soggy plastic sheets that wrapped their bodies. A homeless old woman slept as if dead on the floor of a newspaper store, and, just before the light blinked out at the end of the hall, there was a ticket office for the Tokyo Metro, very much like the ones we had in Vander to buy train tickets. Very much like the one at the station where I said good-bye to Gideon, Papa and Uncles Frank and Paul before they left for the war.

I frowned. I had expected everything beyond this point to be abandoned, but for all the obvious efforts for discretion there were indications of recent use. For one, the glass in the booth window was clean on the other side; upon peering through I could make out a single mouldy futon. I could even smell leftover food from within. Someone had scrawled Iron Road over pictures of a rowboat manned by stick people with the intention of making it look like graffiti, but the symbolism was too clear.

As I inspected the ticket office, I finally caught the sounds of footsteps and muffled whispers down the corridor to my left. Instinctively I reached for my long knife and then, against all other self-preserving instincts, I climbed over the turnstiles and began tiptoeing down the corridor.

The sounds grew distinctively louder as the walls crept closer around me. I struggled to focus ahead, but as darkness overtook me entirely, it was all too easy to become distracted by the squeaking of rats and the clicking of cockroaches as they scuttled against my boots, the dripping of water from overhead pipes and its gloomy echo into the depths of the metro tunnels, and the rasping of my breathing as my hand followed the wall. What was I doing here? Something lured me forward, and I began to wonder if my curiosity was really that strong…

A new sound stopped my foot in midair. Whoever was before me came from below me, and from the cautious thuds of footsteps they were climbing stairs. I held my breath upon hearing them whisper to one another—and then, with a scrape and hiss, a lighter flicked to life scarcely six steps from my knee. I stumbled back, but it was too late.

The man shouted and nearly dropped his lighter as he tried to lunge at me from his perch on the mechanical stairs. A woman shrieked, and then they were surging out of the stairs to surround me.

“Stay back!” I yelled, yanking out my knife and reaching for my second. The flash of my blade threw them back a bit, giving me enough time for me to back into the corridor, keeping them in front of me. In the dim light of the single man’s lighter I could see others also draw their knives. In the darkness, I heard a man cock his gun, and braced myself.

“Stop!”

The new voice startled everyone. A stunned silence counted one heartbeat amongst us before one man glanced back. A woman was hurriedly pushing the armed people aside to reach me. With a jolt, I recognized her. It was Laurel.

She planted herself squarely in front of me, forcing me to raise the point of my knives. Impatiently she reached into her coat jacket and drew out a penlight. Sweeping it across my face, she sighed with relief and reverted to English. “Jane. It is you.”

“Laurel.” Palming my knives in a defensive hold, I leaned forward to awkwardly embrace the slight older woman. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d like to ask you the same question,” she said, her voice hardening. “If I must, I won’t call them off. Who sent you?”

“Nobody,” I said, stupefied. “Takeda’s upstairs, and I just wanted to explore—”

“Speak in English,” she cut in brusquely. “It is dark here, and they can’t tell that you are Vand.”

I hadn’t even realized I was still speaking Japanese. “Honestly, whenever have I been an agent for anyone?”

Laurel’s eyes narrowed, but her shoulders visibly relaxed. “You’re right. Gideon told me that you were overcurious.” She turned around. “Asane, she’s my friend.”

“She?” asked one man suspiciously. I sighed and considered dropping my pants to prove it. Hoping to win their trust, I sheathed my knives and raised my hands. Looking exasperated, Laurel abruptly reached forward and yanked up my shirt to reveal my chest wrap, making me yelp and jump back. Embarrassed, I waited until the others nodded before straightening my shirt.

“Can I go now?” I asked, turning to look at Laurel. “I won’t ask you what you are doing here, much less in this company.”

She hesitated, momentarily shrinking back to her usual sweet, temperate self. Then her mouth pressed into a thin line and she replied curtly, “Keep your word. Go.”

I was amazed at the change in her. Scanning the stony faces watching me, I sighed and turned. “Will I see you at the citadel?”

Her shoulders grew rigid, and she did not look at me as she said stiffly, “I’ll find you.”

She’ll find me? How come that sounded more like she didn’t want to see me at all? “I’ll see you later.”

I trudged glumly out of the mall and back toward the caravan. Nao or Kaede must’ve made a snack run, because they’d laid out a picnic on their park bench, complete with a blanket. Takeda was back, and he leaned against the bench with a can of cold coffee in one hand and a stick of fish balls in the other.

“Kotarou! Where the hell were you?”

“Sorry!” I yelled back, trotting across the street to their seat at the park entrance. Swooping down on the last can, I foisted one of Kaede’s tonkatsu. Only as I popped it into my mouth did I see how filthy I had become from my little adventure. Nao groaned to see his favourite T-shirt further smeared when I opened my can and milk tea sprayed down my front.

Takeda stood and cleared his throat loudly to get our attention. “I have an important question for the two of you,” he said seriously, looking at the two younger men. “Kotarou, will you ready Pachimaru to move?”

Plucking one last tonkatsu from a protesting Kaede, I nodded and headed toward the donkey. From where Pachimaru was parked, I couldn’t hear what they were saying as I worked, and tried not to feel too nosy. They would tell me eventually. Today had enough trouble because of curiosity.

I was back in the metro station, but this time I found myself at the bottom of the mechanical stairs. Laurel and her companions were there, and so were Takeda and Kyle. They had their backs turned to me, as they looked toward an underground river.

We were down in the metro network on the waiting platform. The rails were submerged in murky, stinking water that flowed sluggishly out of the station; on its oily surface, drifting relentlessly closer, was a rowboat. Graffiti that read Iron Road was painted on its prow.

Takeda suddenly was behind me, and I felt him press the butt of his handgun against my palm. “There is never a final destination,” he said. “Go forward, change lines, or you will return to where you began.”

I thought I heard a train approach our station. That was impossible; the tunnels have been flooded for a century—

The sound of the air conditioner rattling away in the window frame woke me. It was too cold. Sitting up in bed, I went over to the machine and turned it off. Could I go back to sleep again? The sun was just starting to set. I might as well get up.

We had arrived shortly after midday at the Warlord’s citadel, otherwise just called the Koujo. After a real lunch I crashed for the afternoon. After all, I had spent the whole night driving half-drunk all the freaking way to Tokyo. Now that I was awake, I was hungry.

With no clean T-shirts in sight, I grubbed through Nao’s pack again and pulled out a yellow T-shirt that read “Shining Melon Punch” and a clean pair of grey cargos. I was reluctant to put on the chest wrap, but did so faithfully. Life always seemed safer when I pretended to be a boy.

At the Koujo, Nao, Kaede and I shared a single, enormous room in the couriers’ house, which was a small, tacky building tucked into a long-forgotten corner behind the aeroplane garage. All of us were loathe staying in it except to sleep, so I knew I wouldn’t find either of them until tonight, if they could find their way back after drinking at a local tavern outside the citadel’s walls. Takeda wouldn’t be locatable either, if the Warlord’s message for him was important enough. That meant I had the evening to myself.

Kyle was easy to find. Although I rarely visited at times that he was available, I knew him well enough to pinpoint the places he could be found whenever his master, Yasuhiro Ryuusuke, was not at his residence. This time, I found him with a couple servants and an off-duty guardsman in the billiard room. With his fine livery, clean light brown hair and fair skin, and what looked like a stolen cigar in his mouth, he could easily be mistaken him as a wealthy merchant’s son outside of Emcada, but anyone else would recognize his slave collar, cleverly arranged to look like a simple accessory.

When I came through the door, he straightened immediately with a small smile. “Hey. Didn’t know you were here.”

“Long time no see.” To the others, “Nice to meet you. I’m Kotarou. Mind if I join you?”

Kyle ignored the polite introductions between me and his friends as he took his turn. He never understood the Emcadan etiquette of introducing yourself to strangers you probably wouldn’t see again, much less care to revisit. As the game wrapped itself up, he did not say another word to me as I exchanged small talk with the servants and guardsman; then, with the last ball sunk, he set down his pole.

“Ja,” he called carelessly, then, tapping my arm, he left with me in tow and the others to clean up.

“You never learn,” I burst out to him once we were in the hallway. “What makes you think you can get away with being rude?”

“Easy,” he said smoothly. “Have a powerful master.” He flicked what was left of the cigar out the window. “If Yasuhiro was your master, you’d come to hate the world too.”

I knew there was no sense contradicting him. Since he was a child he had a tendency of expecting the world to simply hand him the best; otherwise he’d sulk. Besides, Takeda was a lot better than Yasuhiro.

“Well, how’ve you been? Has the Warlord tired of him?”

“Hell no. He grows fonder of him every day,” replied Kyle bitterly. “Apparently his cruel streak makes him the perfect successor.” Very suddenly, he whipped around and punched the wall. The bang reverberated down the elegant, polished hallway, but nobody came hurrying out to check the noise. I stopped beside him, waiting tensely for the bad news.

“I—” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I rested a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go on top of the wall, shall we?” He usually liked that, since, unlike mine, his slave collar allowed him only five metres beyond the wall before blowing his head off. Like a trapped animal within the Koujo, he had long grown to be much paler and skinnier than me, and I had grown to top his height by more than two inches. Before Emcada, we were virtually identical.

We paced nearly three laps around the wall before Kyle wanted to talk. What first came out sounded like simple gossip; too much bile couldn’t be spilled around the Warlord’s guardsmen. But as his recounts grew darker, his face became more drawn and, continuing in the same cordial, passive tone he switched with the grace of a spy to English in mid-sentence.

“…and just like the others, Yasuhiro had his third wife executed, this time for being barren. Spying, cheating, now infertility. His imagination is boundless when it comes to ridding his wives. He had her shot to death in the middle of his garden, with all of us watching. What with no ‘fun’ at night…” His brow furrowed, and as his mouth hardened, I knew he was about to tell me what he hadn’t been able to before. He rubbed his eyes once before he spat, “You know that Laurel is the one who cleans his bedroom. I hear everything, and it’s been the same every night for nearly two weeks. I swear: she’s going to die.”

My throat closed up, and for a moment I stopped breathing. “No.” No—Laurel…

“That’s it.” Kyle’s voice was breaking. Later I was surprised nobody did hear, but at the moment I wasn’t checking if anyone was eavesdropping. “I want to murder that man.”

--

I lay awake that night, unable to sleep. Insomnia was rare for me, because I loved to sleep. But not tonight. Somewhere in the Yasuhiro manor, Kyle was lying on his own cot, located just outside the main bedroom so that he could play messenger for the man, also unable to sleep. Listening as Laurel became more and more like stone.

Nao and Kaede hadn’t returned from their night out, so I had left off my chest wrap, tucking it securely in my pack. My pajamas weren’t baggy enough to hide my breasts; I fought the urge to have them hidden completely, no matter how uncomfortable and impossible it was.

I found myself praying. It was a practice Vands tried not to repeat, as that was one difference we were able to distinguish between us and the hated Purthians. But tonight, I wasn’t sure if I was really praying to God, as Purthians did. Instead, I think I prayed to Gideon.

The next morning, Takeda found me eating breakfast alone in the couriers’ house. Neither Nao nor Kaede had returned, and I hadn’t had the guts to look up either Kyle or Laurel for company after last night.

“Whoa, you look terrible. Didn’t you sleep?”

I looked up blearily from my cup of tea. “Sort of. You want some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He became quiet, and as I absently washed my face a second time I grew curious. “What’re you doing down here?”

“Can’t I visit? The Warlord hasn’t stopped badgering me about when I plan to leave already. What a friend.”

It was weird to imagine him as friends with a man so powerful and ruthless he was almost mythological. “Did we do something wrong?” If we did, we’d better ditch pronto.

“No, no. He is anxious to have me run the errand. It seems I am the only one he trusts to do this.” When I glanced at him, he looked startlingly pallid.

“Takeda-san…?”

“Sit down, Kotarou-kun. I need to ask you something important.” He watched me carefully as I reached for my chest wrap and sat down on the bed. Turning away, he talked as I bound my chest.

“This job will be different from anything we’ve done before. As their uncle, I’ve already made sure that Nao and Kaede remain off this trip, just in case. As for you…would you prefer to stay behind as well? The Warlord forbids me to release Vands, but I can arrange for a good master to buy you instead—”

“Are you joking?”

Takeda stopped as I rose to my feet angrily, not thinking as I threw aside my chest wrap. “What the hell! You need me! How many times have all of us risked our asses for whatever harebrained job the Warlord gave us?” I made myself stop. “That was rude. But true. He might have you scared, but to me, this job is no different.”

A pang went through my chest when he smiled wanly, clearly relieved. “I shouldn’t be happy to hear that, but I am. Perhaps we would be better off with you by our side… Jane.” He turned to talk to the door. “Masao-kun, you may come in. It seems Kotarou will come with us.”

“Kotarou?” came a new male’s voice. “I swore that was a girl talking inside.”

Crap! “Takeda-san! Why didn’t you tell me someone was outside!”

Creeeeak. A mountain of a man entered the room. When he looked down at me, I swore he took all the air in the room when he sniffed. Then his great, crusty face split into a wide grin. “Your slave boy is a girl? What a surprise!” He extended a large, bear paw to me. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Kanenari Masao.”

“J-Jane,” I stuttered. There hadn’t been a person who dwarfed me so badly in years. “Or Kotarou. No last name.”

He definitely saw my discarded chest wrap, and quite casually, he reached over to take it. “Best put that on,” he said as he handed it to me, as I stood there dumbstruck and red-faced. “Takeda-san, it is best that we leave soon. The Warlord is an impatient man.”

--

With the midday sun above our heads, I drove the caravan beyond Tokyo’s fortifications, feeling rather lonely. Despite the discomfort and heat of the summer day, Takeda and Masao had insisted on sitting inside the caravan to discuss whatever job matters were at hand. Even Pachimaru seemed bored as I idly urged him forward, one hand on the reins, the other on the pistol beside me. It was a rare weapon for me to touch, but Masao had insisted that, if I was going to be part of this jaunt I might as well be armed for it.

I became curious of the load we were carrying. Takeda had not allowed me to look inside, but from Pachimaru’s insistently slow pace, I knew it was heavy. And I was allowed to carry a gun! It had to be precious cargo we were transporting.

The silence was unbearable, and finally I began to whistle a cheery tune. Almost as soon as I did so, the driver seat window snapped open, with Masao’s face pressed against the frame.

“What are you doing? Trying to draw attention to us?”

I stopped whistling. “Come on,” I complained. “I whistle all the time and no bandits come. Besides, I’ve got good aim.” Hoping to show off, I rolled the pistol into my palm with a single finger and put two shots into a nearby tree.

My antics silenced the man instead of infuriating him more, and I peered at him with interest. He looked bemused.

“And you’re a girl?”

“Watch what you’re saying!”

“Relax, Masao.” Takeda’ voice floated up over the big man’s shoulder. “Kotarou’s right. If we act any more secretive, bandits will certainly become suspicious.”

Masao sighed and retreated back into the caravan. When he tried to close the window, however, I threw it back open and, as bawdily as possible started whistling the most lurid song in my repertoire. Behind me, I could hear Takeda laughing.

As I drove on, whistling away enthusiastically, I heard Masao and Takeda resume their conversation. They must’ve thought I couldn’t hear them over my noise, but every word came to me crystal clear.

“Are you sure that girl’s trustworthy?” Masao sounded worried. “She seems too…spirited to truly be reliable.”

“Trust me, Masao,” said Takeda, still sounding amused. “Kotarou—Jane—is as true as people, male or female, come.”

I heard Masao begin to speak, and embarrassed that I had eavesdropped, I loudly interrupted. “Takeda-san, where are we headed?”

“Nagoya,” he called back. “Take the back road; we don’t want to be followed.”

--

The trip did not turn out as tense with Masao as I’d feared. For all his suspicions (and my own—after all, he was one of the Warlord’s men), we managed a cordial camaraderie on terms that both of us were here to escort Takeda, little more. At least, so Masao thought. After our second bandit attack in four days, I lost my patience and, tossing the spent pistol on the driver’s seat, headed around to the back of the caravan. As soon as I rounded the corner, Masao was there, rifle in my face.

“I’m unarmed,” I snapped. “Look, what’s so important that I can’t even see what I’m driving?”

“Why do you have to see it?”

“What the hell am I protecting? There’s been two bandit attacks since we left—two! I mean, what the hell?”

Takeda appeared around the other side of the caravan. “Step down, Masao,” he said severely. “She can look.”

“You can’t trust her that much!”

Without replying, Takeda marched over and flung the caravan doors open. Masao jerked back in alarm, and I leaned forward to look. The back was filled with guns. Lots of guns.

I straightened with an indignant snort. “This is what the big deal’s about? We’ve shipped these before. Did the Warlord shout from the towers that we had these, or what’s the deal with the bandits?”

“They aren’t bandits,” explained Takeda. He walked over to one of the dead bodies littering the road around us. “These are mercenaries sent by the Daimyou. They don’t plan on stealing from us; they want to stop us from reaching Nagoya.”

My indignation died like a flame doused in water. I swallowed hard. The Daimyou? Aside from the Warlord, he was the most feared man in the central Honshu region. But weren’t they supposed to be on each other’s side…?

“And these are our supplies?” I asked, scanning their faces. “To last us until we reach Nagoya?” Now I remembered the significance of Nagoya: it was the communications hub between the Daimyou’s men and the Warlord’s forces. If we weren’t shipping something there, we were bringing something back. And it was going to be dangerous, if we didn’t want to give an official reason for the Warlord and the Daimyou to openly engage in civil war.

Reaching into the back, I startled Masao into lunging at me, but I only took two pistols. “Tell me any more, and TMI,” I told them dryly, and returned to the driver’s seat. “Let’s get a move on. There will be more waiting to ambush us.”

Ending theme: Blue by Utada Hikaru

Author's Note: Yeah, you probably noticed the opening and ending themes. Sorta a cheesy idea!! But these songs were the ones I listened to as I wrote this chapter, so I thought I'd sort of dedicate these songs (which I don't own obviously) to the story. Another note: Yeah, Emcada is sorta based on Japan. I mean, what other country is as familiar to the Western world while boasting huge metropolises and mountains and oceans?? Other than the occasional reference I'll make to the culture, however, I'm trying to keep as much fictional as possible. Yay no research! Feedback plz :P