“I’ll bring her at lunch, I’m going to go have a free friendship fish for lunch,” Sam said, batting her eyes, “Naturally”

“Your friend,” Chip said, “Do I know her?”

“Probably not,” Sam replied, looking behind him at a clump of customers, “As she’s a raven, but off with you I got some selling to do.”

Chip was pushed unceremoniously out, with an armful of spices and sauces to try.

He was twenty paces out when he realized that he hadn’t paid for anything she’d handed him. He hoped that she wasn’t going to put him on some credit system, like the company scrip that his parents lived off of. You could exchange clams for company scrip but usually not the other way around, and scrip was only good at the company store. You could get anything at the company store, but the real underground was trading the otters who made clams for their outside businesses, and of course the betting markets.

There was only one legitimate route to exchange scrip for clams, and many illegitimate ones.

Returning to the bench by the cart, he saw that his father and uncle were again speaking about some political business.

“I’m telling you, Brit, it’s not natural what those foxes and mice and rabbits do,” Stone said, shadow boxing the air as Brit was grilling the first round of fish ahead of the upcoming lunch rush.

“They pair up in mated pairs, and you think that isn’t right?” Brit replied.

“At least with the beavers, they’re doing the raft thing, even if they’re doing it wrong, I give them clams for style if not substance,” Stone replied, “Even if they call it a float, which it doesn’t go at my float, as they say.”

“You’d give them company scrip worth nothing to them outside of the community trust,” Brit replied.

Sniffing the load of spices, brit pointed to one in particular. If just so happened to be the one that Chip was wary of.

“Ummm….” Chip said, “ You might want to try this out first before you just use it in an otterly stupid fashion.”

Brit looked at him, made a show of sniffing more deeply and then he nodded.

A fluttering of wings interrupted their conversation as a customer dropped in from the air.

“Ah, our first bird of the lunch rush,” Uncle Brit said, leaning into the grill, “What’ll it be?”

Underneath a hood, a dark face with yellow eyes leered at the grill. The bird pointed to the sweet isekai sauce.

“You know that’s hot, right?” Chip asked the raven.

“Did I stutter?” the cold voice said,”Did I even say anything?”

Uncle Brit grumbled as he handed a fish on a stick to the corvid. Chip crossed his arms. The fish disappeared under the cowl as only a black beak popped out.

“You’re friends with Sam, aren’t you?”

“I think that you’re looking for something special?” The raven said, looking to him.

“I am looking for some sort of information,” Chip replied.

The Raven pulled out the approximate amount of company scrip that one stick would be worth and handed it to Chip.

“More where that came from if we can work something out, I am called River,” she said lowering her hood back. Her midnight blue feathers accentuated her yellowed eyes. A white headband accentuated her forehead giving the appearance of a warhawk of feathers.

“And you look fabulous, oh my gawsh,” Chip said, “Did you get that headband as a gift, because you are working it!”

“Actually it’s from my work,” she said, “But that is a story for another time. Sam told me all about you, but I need to understand this festival.”

“Oh, let me tell you how we’re going to win it,” Chip said, excitedly.

Brit groaned as the two talked.

Immediately disarmed, the two chatted excitedly, not noticing the large otter mercenary making his way around the bazaar.