Opening theme: Rain Drop Street by Kelun

Pachimaru snorted and shook his head as I undid his harness and let him graze under a tree. Shaking rainwater off the leather, I started back up the stairs to the shelter of the shrine’s canopy, where Masao and Takeda waited. Behind them sat our captive.

It was early evening, and although we were only a little ways from entering Nagoya proper, we had decided to pitch camp at the back door of Atsuta Shrine to avoid the rain. To passers by we looked like the typical travellers seeking a place to stay the night, but after seeing Masao’s rifle slung across his shoulders and the bound mercenary, the priests probably wished they hadn’t opened their doors to these strangers. But nothing could be done about that now. The interrogation was about to begin.

Takeda was sitting, face wan and sickly-looking. In comparison, Masao looked grim, his face tight as he watched the man struggle against his binds. He had tried to escape after the ambush failed and his comrades quickly shot down. I had caught the man, maiming him in the leg and then suggesting that we question him.

Masao turned abruptly to me. “You will interrogate him,” he barked harshly. “This is your job.”

“Me? This trip wasn’t my idea.”

“Neither was it ours. It is our lives, Jane, and your idea.” He held out my pistol to me.

I swallowed hard. Clearly, he expected me to torture the man for answers. Shooting bandits was one thing; their faces were covered, and it was easy to ignore the crack of gunfire and focus on defending ourselves. This wasn’t defending. I was taking the offensive.

Watching the captive follow me with his eyes, I grabbed the pistol and striding over to the captive, tore off his mask. Before me sat a man scarcely my age, face slick and drawn as he panted in terror and pain. We had bound the gunshot wound on his leg to keep him alive, but that did not relieve the agony.

“Kill me!” he shrieked. “You’ll learn nothing from me!”

His voice, shrill like a cat’s, drew cold sweat from all three of us, but I could tell instinctively that he was near breaking point. I had to take a couple of breaths before moving forward.

Cocking my gun, I jammed the muzzle into his mouth. Masao started, but Takeda caught him in time. The man groaned, breaths whining as he pulled away from me unsuccessfully.

I fired. Everyone jumped, and the captive let out a scream. When nothing happened, they finally saw that I’d a second gun in my hand and loosed an empty shot. The man began to weep when he realized that he was still alive.

“Didn’t like that, did you?” I said softly. “Talk and we’ll reconsider your fate.”

The man nodded.

I removed my gun from his mouth, and he began to speak rapidly. “The Daimyou sent us,” he babbled. “The other lords don’t believe him when he said the Warlord is turning against the Court, so he decided to act on his own and stop you before you reached Nagoya, but it’s too late: we couldn’t stop you, and he’ll have to use his trap in Nagoya, because if you get what you came for, the Daimyou will declare war against the Warlord, no matter if that he loses the backing of the Court… it’s that important, it’s that important…” His words faded off into sobs.

I gripped my pistol even tighter. “What is the trap he is setting for us?”

“I don’t know! I shouldn’t even know why the Daimyou sent us! I was eavesdropping, but I had to leave before they caught me—”

“Who were you eavesdropping on?”

“The old twenty-years advisor and the Daimyou himself!”

“Old twenty-years advisor…?”

“The one who is young and old at once. The man from Purth.”

Purth. I had come to hate merely the word, and had to force myself to refocus. I wasn’t surprised to find such a loathsome character in alliance with the Daimyou.

I turned away from the captive, who was still crying as he slumped against the post to which he was tied. Takeda and Masao did not move as I passed them, sorted through my bag and returned, a can of cold tea in my hands. Setting it beside his bound feet, I tapped it. “You get this when you’re feeling better. Takeda, Masao, let’s get something to eat.”

--

“Who are you?”

Masao’s question surprised me. Perhaps for our good behaviour (except for the single shot I’d dropped), the priests offered each of us a bowl of kishimen, which I was eagerly lapping up.

“What?”

He jerked his head toward the captive, who appeared asleep. “Are all Vands like you?”

I thought of our rep outside of the country, and attempted a feeble chuckle. “We aren’t all the ferocious, bloodthirsty savages that Purthians have you believing.”

“And you?”

I hesitated. “I learned to fight the Irrevolution,” I said finally. “Although I’ve never interrogated a man before.”

Masao started to take a seat beside me, and then jumped back to his feet when he found the shrine’s steps too wet for his liking. Instead, he crouched and watched me for a bit as I slurped the noodles.

“May I see your tattoos?”

“Mm.” I set down my bowl of noodles and proudly showed him my palms. “Here, on my left,” I said past a mouthful of food, “is my badge of adulthood. I got that when I was thirteen. This one, on my right, represents the Faulkner clan—my clan. And this one—” I pulled down my collar to expose the tattoo under my left collarbone. “—is one of the self. I chose it after the rites of adulthood.”

He studied my right palm closely, tracing the sun as it ran from my hand to my forearm, disappearing under the sleeve. “And the sun around your clan mark? I’ve never seen that before.”

I was impressed by his curiosity. “That’s the patriarch signature.”

He sucked in a breath. “You’re Bloody Jane.”

I snatched my hands back. “Where did you hear that?”

“The Purthian ambassador talks about you. About how much trouble you caused the Irrevolution. I heard the rest from…others.”

“You have friends among the slaves?” Was this why he was so friendly to start, even though I was a Vand slave?

He pretended not to hear my question. “You probably prefer not being called Jane. Is that why you answer to Kotarou here?”

“Takeda gave me the name,” I replied tersely, through gritted teeth. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Seeing my face, regret passed through his eyes and he nodded before leaving. I set down my bowl, not hungry anymore. I hadn’t talked about my past in years; it seemed as if every painful memory was sifted to the surface. Trying to ignore them, I picked up my bowl and headed over to the captive.

“Wake up,” I said. He moaned, but his eyes fluttered open as he smelled the kishimen. Clamping some noodles with chopsticks, I brought it to his face. “Time to eat.”

He looked ready to refuse it; then, almost inaudible, he mumbled, “Thanks,” and ate the mouthful.

--

As the evening fell, more travellers wandered into the shrine to shelter for the night. With another drizzle nigh, the darkening air was moist and comforting, lit by three lamps surrounding the courtyard. Moths danced around these lamps, soft, whitish glows that flickered to and fro under the bleached eaves. The sight was familiar; I had spent so many nights on the road that the very idea of a permanent residence had become absurd.

Sleepy in the muggy air, I tried to recall happy memories of Vander. My hometown was located just outside of Mesota and not big enough to merit a name of its own; instead the world merely referred to us as West Mesota, but we always called ourselves the people of White Lake, even though the lake’s shores extended north for another mile.

Closing my eyes, I desperately searched for memories. How had it become so hard to remember? When the wind blew through the temple trees I thought I remembered something of the Chinook that made the evergreens crackle on nights so dry the skin on my knuckles grew tight… But among those memories were others, ones that I’ve tried so hard to forget…

I swallowed hard. I missed Vander. But after five years, I wasn’t even sure it was there anymore.

“Kotarou!” Takeda had stuck his head out of the caravan to look for me. “Masao’s got first watch. You coming in here?”

“It’s too hot,” I called. “I’ll sleep outside, thanks.”

The distraction was enough, and necessary. I looked down at my hands. Emcadan weather was wet. Here my knuckles would never crack from dryness.

For all I knew, I might never see Vander again. Even if I did survive an escape, Purth would never let Bloody Jane step onto their continent again.

Grimacing as sore muscles protested, I got to my feet and wandered over to the haiden. Despite my meagre finances, I dug into my wallet and pulled out fifty yen as an offering. I couldn’t think of a prayer, but I sat down beside a pillar and readied myself to sleep.

Takeda poked our only spoon into our pot of rice one more time before sitting back with a grunt. “We need a plan of action.”

Masao nodded while I looked up with a grin. “A plan?” I asked. “Whenever have we made plans before diving into messes?”

“We’ve never gone against the Daimyou. If the mercenary is right, then likely we are also walking into a well-established trap.” He drew out a pot lid and a scroll from his bag; the lid he used to cover our cooking rice, and the scroll he unrolled a careful distance away from the gas burner.

“The Warlord gave me a map of Nagoya. The fortifications illustrated here should be the most recent, but we should expect newer, hidden forces awaiting us. If we successfully escape, we must anticipate pursuit.”

I listened with great interest as the older man described each guardhouse along the city walls, and their strengths and weaknesses. This was the side of Takeda that I rarely saw: the man who secretly worked for the Warlord, the most feared man in all of Emcada. On previous red-letter missions he always acted the stereotypical world-weary merchant. Today was different.

“The question still remains: what is the trap?” continued Takeda. “I have a fair guess, but I want to hear yours.”

“Why don’t we ask him?” I jerked a finger at our captive. This morning, he’d sunken into a caustic mood and refused any food offered to him. He probably was regretting breaking honour with his dead comrades by fleeing the battle, and then by confessing. After yesterday, though, interrogating him shouldn’t be that hard—

“That’s enough,” cut in Takeda sharply. “No more jingoism from you. This isn’t Vander.”

His words came as a stinging slap. I stared at him incredulously; somewhere inside me I thought something snapped. Masao broke in awkwardly, “Takeda, the information we learned was extremely valuable. We should work with what we’ve got. No matter what lies ahead of us—”

I stood abruptly, cutting off both men. “Keep talking,” I said coldly. “After all, I’m just the bloodthirsty slave here.” I stomped off.

Masao found me a short while later by Pachimaru, grooming him so vigorously the donkey bobbed his head with pleasure. He had two bowls of rice in his hand, held out like a peace offering.

“Breakfast,” he said. His mouth hung open for a moment as he tried to speak, before he gave up and shut it.

I accepted the bowl with a grunt as thanks. Masao hesitated as I ate, and then went on. “Takeda is certain the Daimyou doesn’t know exactly who we are. That the attacks were more or less random, with the men directed to ambush, capture and search all travellers heading toward Nagoya.” He trailed off, and finally I nodded to indicate I was listening. He continued, “Notwithstanding, we should disguise ourselves.”

I snorted. “Yeah. Most slaves don’t run amok.”

Masao shifted his feet uneasily, clearly thinking of my spat with Takeda. “This mission has all of us tense. Seeing you yesterday, like a machine… That shook us.”

I couldn’t say anything to that. There was a brief, uncomfortable stretch of silence. Masao coughed. “Give us time,” he said uncomfortably. “The feeling will pass.”

I sighed. He was right. That was it. I just had to forget the hurt. Too much recently had dredged up the past, and I was acting pretty immaturely about it. Our lives were at stake, and that meant other thoughts had to be put on hold to focus on surviving. Five years ago, I was good at that. Today was no different.

“What are the plans?”

Masao scowled. “I can only tell you how we will enter the city for now. If everything goes well, we should be in and out of Nagoya with them in no time.”

My shoulders stiffened, but I said nothing as Masao began to detail the scheme to me.

Them?

The plan of action was simple. After breakfast, Masao and I stowed our remaining guns in our smuggling compartment—under the driver’s seat—before the soldier left alone, on foot. Meanwhile, Takeda bought clothes from a woman who had also stayed the night at Atsuta Shrine—clothes for me. When I came out from inside the caravan after changing, I saw Takeda thanking the priests for sheltering us, and for accepting custody of our captive.

Grumpily, I tugged at the hem of the skirt, but the floral summer dress wouldn’t hang any lower than mid-thigh. I was lucky the former owner had been relatively stout for an Emcadan woman. Unable to pull on the sweater over my shoulders, the dress left them bare. When I left Tokyo, I hadn’t bargained for our mission coming to this.

The plan was looking kind of half-assed.

Takeda had an odd look on his face when he saw me, as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or smirk. “You look like a girl,” he pointed out, face straight. “Good. I was afraid your time as a man had rendered you irreversibly gender-confused.” He saw that I’d kept on my board shorts. “Those will have to go. No decent woman wears pants in Emcada.”

“Nor do they wear short dresses with boy briefs underneath,” I snapped, face red with embarrassment. I hadn’t worn a dress since I was thirteen. Whether or not I was gender-confused, I couldn’t just hop into girl clothes at any time like it was no big deal. Brusquely, I took off the shorts, drawing some excited looks from a couple boys nearby. Flinging them into the back, I marched over to Pachimaru. “Let’s go, or we’ll miss the night traffic.”

Behind me, I could hear Takeda chuckling. “Dampen your pride, Jane. Remember, the key to our success is for you to be meek. No guardsman will believe we are harmless if you are Kotarou, the slave dogfighter.”

I shook my head, growing solemn as I thought of the job ahead. “I still don’t think it is a good idea to assume they haven’t identified us.”

“Trust me,” came his breathless reply. “I know the Daimyou.”

Night had fallen by the time we reached the gates. It seemed Takeda was right about one thing: they were searching every caravan that came through. The wait time, already infamous among locals, had become legendary.

I waited by Pachimaru, nervous, as the guard inspected our vehicle. He came over to Takeda, who stood a few feet from me. “You are shipping nothing?”

Takeda sighed, never looking more the despairing book merchant than today. “I told you, after the book trader died, I have nothing to sell. It is my job to tell my customers in town.”

The guard still looked suspicious. “And the slave girl?” He eyed me up and down. Takeda must’ve sensed an impending knee-jerk response, because he spoke up quickly. “A valuable asset, sir, before my family’s business went under.” Catching the sly look in the soldier’s eyes, he added firmly, “She is like my daughter.”

The guard snorted, but stepped back. “Sentimentality will get a man nowhere these days, merchant. You may pass.”

Takeda shook his head as he climbed into the driver’s seat next to me. As we drove away, I heard him mutter caustically, “Some men have no honour.” I didn’t argue; too many at the gates had tried getting a look up my skirt.

I let Takeda take the reins, so that I could inspect the city. Compared to Tokyo, it wasn’t much. There weren’t as many high-rises, and most of those to be found had been partially demolished, by man or earthquakes. Fewer shops were decorated, and pedestrians nervously circumvented guardsmen that stood at street corners. Women walked past with their heads bowed, wearing long skirts and heavy shawls even though it was the summer, with their children huddling close like scared ducklings.

I hid my clenched fists in my lap, but anger made me tremble uncontrollably.

The ride into the city was a silent, tense one. Finally, I spoke up. “Where are we headed?”

At first, it didn’t seem as if he’d heard. He was looking around, frowning and forehead creased. “There should be a hotel with a bar that the guardsmen like to visit. I heard about it while in line at the gates. I think we could gather intelligence there—clues about the Daimyou’s trap.”

I nodded. “Good idea. It’s a death wish not to outwit a sitting enemy.”

He glanced at me. “Did you do this often?”

“Hm?”

“In Vander.”

I didn’t answer him. He rarely asked about my history before, probably because he heard all the stories at the Warlord’s citadel. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if I’d forgiven him for calling me jingoistic.

“The Daimyou probably expects us to be sneaky,” I pointed out, pretending I hadn’t heard his question. “We’ll have to be careful.”

“You will have to be careful,” said Takeda quietly. “If his guardsmen report a violent Vand slave, man or woman, he will be suspicious. We must avoid being noticed at all costs.”

“What about Masao?”

“We will meet him before we make our next move. I expect that he will learn about the hotel in time and come our way.”

I wanted to ask him more. It was unsettling to be instructed on each step of the plan just before we took it. But I remembered the book I’d accidentally read. If this was about three hundred years ago, and whatever the antigod was, I would really rather stay out of it.

We stopped in front of a building sporting a rusting sign that read in English, Hyatt. As Takeda got down, I looked around for a station house for the caravan, but saw none.

“There’s one down the street,” said Takeda. “Here is fifteen thousand yen. That should be enough to cover the costs.”

I watched him leave uncertainly. He was acting as if this was no different than any red letter mission. But how could I believe that, when he’d gone so far as to keep Nao and Kaede from coming along and even tried to sell me so that we wouldn’t be in danger?

The public station house was at the end of the block. Built in the metal skeleton of a building before the Apocalypse, it had little for walls, but at least there was a roof and stalls for about ten horses, as well as parking space for caravans. Once Pachimaru was tended to and I’d made sure the smuggling compartment was securely locked, I started heading back to Hyatt.

On my way back though, a group of young men hanging outside a tavern tried to stop me.

“Hel-lo there,” called a man. I saw them shift slightly to block the sidewalk. Unruffled, I stepped onto the road to pass them.

One of them caught my shoulder. “What’s the matter, girl? We’re talking to you.”

I gripped his hand tightly, squeezing hard until he released me. “I wouldn’t do that,” I told him, my voice iron. “Vand women are unafraid of men.”

Taking advantage of the amazement that stopped these men, I left as quickly as possible. It was hard not to smile; I loved talking back. There was another feeling, too, another I had felt only years ago, when I first looked at myself and saw a woman, separate from man.

That had been when I met Laurel. My smile faded.

--

When I arrived at Hyatt, Takeda was waiting in the lobby for me. He smiled thinly as he got to his feet, tucking something into his pocket. “There you are.” He handed me a set of keys. “Our room is on the second floor, number two-six-five.”

He turned to leave, but when I tried to follow, he stopped. “I think,” he said hesitantly, “that it would be best if you stay behind when I visit the tavern.”

“Why?”

He shot me a disbelieving look. “Don’t you remember them at the gates? They will harass you, especially because you are a slave.”

I thought about how I’d handled the young men on the sidewalk. “Surely there will be other girls to harass,” I said bluntly, wincing inwardly at the thought. “Or I could change to being a boy.”

“No,” he said sharply, startling me. “He has men reporting to him in the guards. If one were to recognize you from the gates and see you disguised a boy, our secrecy would be ruined.”

“No matter.” He sounded paranoid, and I was undeterred. I didn’t like the idea of letting Takeda gather all the intelligence. I wanted to find out about the trap too, and if I didn’t find it he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell me all about it.

Takeda stared at me, thinking hard. Finally, he said curtly, “Fine. But if even one man touches you, you are leaving.”

The bar itself was located in what looked to once be a fine dining hall, big enough to hold at least a hundred people. The gold-washed wallpaper had to date from before the Apocalypse, but three centuries of half-hearted maintenance, cigarette smoke and other, unidentifiable stains had marred its former grandeur. Tarnished brass stubs remained on ceilings from which chandeliers once hung. The furniture was new: small round coffee tables sported mugs of drink, and short stools settled for chairs. At one end two tacky billiard tables were completely surrounded by groups of players and watchers alike, while at the other end a small, empty dogfighting ring had been set up. At this time of the night, the room was full of off-duty guardsmen and the occasional group of regular soldiers. There were guests of the hotel, like us, but they kept off to the side, preferring to drink in peace. And then there were the guardsmen’s women.

“Let’s stay by the bar, shall we?” murmured Takeda. I glanced at him. Outwardly, he seemed tired of the job already, but I caught that glimmer in his eyes, the same as this morning. Sometimes I wondered if he deliberately made crappy plans because he enjoyed the thrill of danger.

He ordered the both of us a beer and sat down. “Listen, but don’t talk too much,” he advised in English to me, then turned to start chatting with the man next to him. Bristling, I took an angry swig of the beer and turned my back on him.

Almost as soon as I did so, someone stumbled into me. It was a trifle of a girl, younger than me and dressed for a party. I caught her hastily as her knees gave out, and giggling, she clung to me as she hauled herself to her feet.

“Sorry, sorry, onei-san,” she gasped between titters. She tilted her face up at me, her dancing eyes circled by smears of black makeup while the odour of hard liquor rose from her red lips. “I just want to sit for a moment…”

I helped her into a stool, whereupon she then slumped across the counter. She wasn’t finished with me, and kept talking. “If a man picks me up now I’ll lose money,” she cooed, a silly grin on her face. “Because you know you always lose money when you’re this ku-ro-ku-ro-pa, ha ha ha…”

“At least you make sense when you talk,” I joked. “You’ll sober up.”

She reached up to touch my shoulder. “You’re not nihonjin,” she murmured, using the banned word carelessly. Lightly grasping my chin, she turned my face from side to side. “I’ve never seen a white woman before. A gaijin sometimes is here too, you know, but he always gets mad when I want to talk…”

I froze at her words.

“What did you say?” She kept on giggling, and gently I shook her hand. “Where is this man?”

She groaned dramatically and lolled her head on the counter. “I don’t remember right now… No, wait, senpai, stay with me,” she pleaded when I started to turn away. “Keep me company.”

I sighed. “Call me Kot—Jane. I’m Jane.” Stopping the bartender, I asked him for a cup of water.

She didn’t catch my slip, but she buried her head into her arms as if to sleep and sighed. Scanning the room for anyone suspicious, I absently accepted the water and placed it in front of her, but she didn’t notice. “Douzo yoroshiku. I’m Umeko.”

--

That night, I was glad to leave the bar before I saw any man “pick up” Umeko. Takeda remained behind for another hour, during which I took the chance to use the showers. After so many days on the road, I smelled like unwashed donkey.

I was scrubbing my dress in the sink when Takeda returned. He look tired, and even more depressed than usual.

“Did you hear anything special?” I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice; I was still annoyed he wouldn’t let me help him.

“No,” he said wearily. “None at all. I find that worrying. This is unlike the Daimyou.”

“Maybe that Purthian adviser has something to do with that,” I noted. “By the way, there was a tart I met who said a foreigner sometimes visits the bar.”

He looked startled. “She said that? Do you know if he is Purthian?”

I shrugged. “No. She didn’t say, but it’s likely. What other country has Emcada not closed itself off to but Purth?”

“He may be another Vand,” he suggested, but he sounded uncertain. “We will have to watch our step.” He went to the windows and drew the blinds. “I hope Masao finds us soon. In the meanwhile, we should continue to gather information.”

“And if we run into this man?”

“If he is another slave, we don’t have to worry.” He hesitated. “But if he is a free man of Purth, we will try to talk to him.”

He saw my shoulders grow rigid. “Jane,” he said sternly, “I need your help if we want to survive.”

The next morning, I woke up to the sounds of rain pounding against the window. For all the hotel’s relative stateliness, the poorly fitted glass rattled noisily against the frame. When I pushed aside the curtains, a desolate draft chilled my skin and a splash of water soaked my socks. The water was getting through the cracks in the frame.

Takeda remained asleep while I went to the bathroom, retrieved some towels, and stuffed them in between the cracks. For that reason, he did not notice when I stopped abruptly and stared out the glass.

Our view from the window looked out to the old harbour. In the tempest, the scraggy trees sagged like saplings against torrential gusts and acrid rain smeared every detail in sight like a bad photograph. The ocean roiled and splattered against the barren rocks, its surface slick with oil and sewage.

A man stood on the empty docks. Behind him were the slave pens, and I could see that even they had been evacuated. Although he wore a coat and had the hood up, he must’ve been drenched by the downpour. But he just stood there, staring out across the ocean.

That night at the tavern, Takeda got us invited to the table of a group of off-duty guardsmen. Most were older men, who had lived to see the years of the Warring States and the formation of the Court, and after a decade they still talked a lot about it. I listened with interest, but had difficult fighting the urge to speak up. Takeda had been very explicit about me not talking.

During a lull in the conversation, I noticed Umeko at the bar, with some other girls. I glanced around the table, and at Takeda’s face. I knew he enjoyed this rare chance to socialize. But there was still nothing to be heard about the Daimyou’s trap.

Well, it wasn’t like they were going to miss me. I stood. “May I be excused?” I said as meekly as possible. My honey-sweet demeanour procured me some fond smiles back, and I was excused. Studiously ignoring Takeda’s eyes, I left my seat and headed for the bar.

Umeko saw me and greeted me with an enthusiastic hug. “Senpai!” she squealed. “It’s so nice to see you again!”

“I’m not her senpai,” I said quickly, seeing the confused looks on the others’ faces. “I’m Jane. Douzo yoroshiku.”

“Risa,” said one girl, extending her hand to me. She was very tall, and unfortunately built on the frame of a clothes hanger. She was careful not dig her plastic nails into my palm.

“Ayumi.”

“Chiyo.”

Looking around, I saw that the other two girls were relatively similar, with frizzed coloured hair and heavy eye makeup. Compared to them, Umeko was quite pretty, petite and with a curvy build.

“Jane’s sooooo cool,” sighed Umeko, still clinging to me. Clearly she was drunk, again. “I want to look like her so badly…”

“Please,” I said, trying to extricate me from her hold. “Um, I actually have a question for you.”

She grinned goofily. “Oooh, it’s about the foreigner, isn’t it? You naughty girl!”

“It’s not like that,” I yelped. I added, lying, “I want news from home.”

Her friends were giggling at Umeko’s behaviour. Just as the small woman was about to reply, a man came up and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Ohayou, Hisao,” she carolled to the man, who grinned and looped his arm around her waist and handed her a drink. “Why, thank you, darling…” Still chuckling, she literally sagged into his arms and let him pull her away.

I watched her leave with a sinking heart. Her friends didn’t looked perturbed one bit, and I tried to hide my unease.

Chiyo bobbed her head amiably before sipping her drink. “You wanted to meet the foreigner?” she asked. “He usually comes every fifth day of the week, with a young man from the university. He should be here tomorrow, around midnight.”

I tensed before asking, “Is he Purthian?”

She shrugged, smiling. “He barely speaks Emcadan.”

I tried to return the smile. “Thanks.” Taking a seat, I tried to make conversation and pretend the news didn’t matter much. “Do you girls come here often?”

After a while of chatting with the women, I headed back to Takeda’s table to excuse myself for the night. I was careful to play extra sweet, and although none of the men showed overt suspicion of my autonomy, Takeda looked slightly annoyed. And the best part is that I’m the one with the leads, I thought smugly as I left.

Before heading upstairs, I went to use the tavern restrooms, since our room’s toilet was broken and not flushing properly. It was some ways off to the side of the hall, so I wasn’t surprised to see numerous couples flirting in the corridor. In my lapse of judgement, I did not even anticipate what I would find in the restrooms.

I was fixing the hem of my skirt when I pushed open the door, and was greeted by a flurry of sounds that made my head jerk up in alarm. There, with that guardsman, was Umeko.

“Oh my God,” was the first thing I said. Then I tried to leave. But it was too late. Umeko gasped, and the guardsman, thinking that I was no ordinary intruder, scrambled to leave. Before I could react he was gone.

Umeko looked a little dazed as she stared at me, not even bothering to get off the sink. My face was hot with embarrassment.

“I’m going to leave now…” I began to say, but stopped. She looked ready to cry.

“You saw me,” she whispered. “I’m so ashamed.”

Where did carefree, shameless Umeko go? She left me at loss for words. Trying to think of something consoling to say, I helped her get to her feet and straightening her clothes, I told her, “I’m really sorry. Uh, let me get you something to drink…”

Choosing seats by the bar where Takeda wouldn’t see us, I sat her down and ordered the both of us a glass of water. For whatever reason, she remained defeated, with her shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. Glancing at her, I continued trying to think of something appropriate to say.

“I’m not mad—,” I began to say, but Umeko’s head snapped up.

“It’s not about you being mad or not,” she said defensively. Her eyes were teary, and a little fuzzy with residual drunkenness. “But I did not want you seeing me—” she struggled for a euphemism “—like that.”

“Are you going to be in trouble?”

She shook her head. Sprawling on the counter as she rolled her water in the glass, she bemoaned, “What is life for a woman in Nagoya? The cage of domesticity, or the freedom of a bottom-dweller life…? I thought I’d like the thrill of the night, but when I see you, I see the dead end in store for me.”

I was stupefied. “I’m a slave!” I protested. “What have I done to make you think that?”

Raising one hand she curled it into a fist to mimic a punch and then flicked it open. “Revolution,” she murmured, gazing dreamily at her splayed fingers and manicured nails. “We all remember who was brave enough to fight.”

I sighed. “At a steep cost, kohai.” Kissing her absently on the forehead, I stood to leave. “I saw nothing tonight. Good night, Umeko. See you tomorrow.”

--

When I told Takeda my new lead this time, he was not as pleased as before. He sat on the bed, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Huffily, I waited for one of his snarky little comments.

I waited, but all he did was sit there. Then, he nodded. “Tomorrow, we look for Masao,” he said. “I want him to talk to this foreigner.”

I raised an eyebrow. No snarky comment? “He speaks English?”

“He studied in university before enlisting in the Warlord’s service, so yes.”

Takeda might not have intended it, but a huge wave of relief swamped me. “That’s good.”

As he stood to go to the bathroom, I spoke up. “Wait, so what’s the next step of the plan?”

He turned. “Since you seem so good at finding out yourself…” He shrugged and closed the door after him.

I resisted the urge to throw a pillow at the door. This insolence wasn’t usual for me. I figured that it was cropping up because Nao and Kaede wasn’t here to do it for me. Instead, I forced myself to meekly change into my t-shirt and board shorts, which I slept in.

After this, I thought fondly, life will go back to normal.

Ending theme: Blue by Utada Hikaru

Author's Note: Aaah, the calm before the storm. More to come! :)