The city had fallen into one of those quiet peaceful afternoon’s that are particular to only the hottest of places. People fled the sun to hide in the chill of their homes or the cool shade of trees, trying to escape the sun’s scorching heat.

Much to Rei’s chagrin however, Nana had insisted on continuing their investigation.

“Can’t we just wait till evening?” she pleaded, skipping in place to not stand on the hot sand too long.

“They’ll be sailing at dawn. At the latest.”

“So?”

“So,” Nana said curtly, “We can’t. Get moving.”

“Can we at least ask for directions?”

“Rei, honey,” Nana said baffled, “Are you having a sunstroke?”

“Why?”

“Because you want to ask directions to a drug den.”

Nana shook her head, suppressing a chuckle, “You’re right though. This isn’t working. So...new plan. Give me your swords.”

Without protest, Rei drew her weapons and handed them to her tassi, who ran her hand through Rei’s hair before taking over the weapons.

“Now take mine.”

Rei drew the two blades from Nana’s side and tucked them under her arm.

“That looks suspicious,” Nana said calmly, “Wear them like you normally would.”

She gave the long blade a dubious look, vaguely feeling that carrying the Dragonfly’s blade would be unearned, then as always, did as told.

Nana meanwhile removed the blades from Rei’s swords, leaving her with two empty hilts. She discarded the black chitin blades to the hot sand, then tucked the empty hilts into her waistband.

“As for you, Rei.”

“Tassi?”

“Go have a nap,” she said calmly, then dropped to her knees. For a moment Rei thought she was collapsing, then scrunched up her face when she saw Nana smear dirt onto her face until the listener’s makeup reverted to a drab green-brownish paste of filth.

Nana got back to her feet, dusted herself off, then arched a brow, copying Rei’s expression.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, preemptively stopping any questions she had, “Where will you be staying?”

“The usual place.”

“Rei,” Nana sighed, “Honey…”

She considered saying something more, then simply squeezed her shoulder, “Mind yourself, girl.”

“Yes, ma’am,” was the sullen answer, then Rei headed to ‘the usual spot’.

Looking as pathetic as she possibly could, Nana stumbled into one of Choukishi’s many shopping streets. At this time of day, only a few shoppers that desperately needed something or other were out and about, but for the rest all the company she found was store owners sitting on their porches, fanning themselves and waiting for the evening shopping rush to start. They glared at her, waving their fans when they saw her approach, none wanting to deal with a recently degraded Giya.

Nana put on a face of despair, then stumbled into the first store where the owner wasn’t sitting out front. It was a rice merchant who was mixing scoops of old product in with the new grains.

“Emobu,” the hosseru said with barely disguised distaste, “Out, before I beat you with my broom!”

“A small loan,” Nana cried, dropping to her knees and pressing her head against the hardwood floor.

The merchant grabbed his broom to make good on his threat, which Nana’s cue to leave. She shuffled backwards like a roach, pleading for a small loan until she slipped down the step up to the store, rolling onto her butt in the warm sand.

She stood up, bowed deep and muttered a halfhearted apology, then looked for another shop to repeat the charade.

Five stores down her repeated spiel, she was accosted by two burly men, who had chosen rich tapestries of tattoos over clothes of any real substance. The few patches of skin not decorated with some sort of venomous insect were red with sunburn. The little they did wear were loincloths and, if they hadn’t needed them to keep the sickles they carried at their side, they most likely would have chosen to keep those off too.

“Hello ma’am,” one of them said as she squatted down next to her. He had a single braid on top of his shaven head, which was the only way she could tell the two men apart.

“I see you need money,” he said, trying to sound like a friend offering a shoulder to cry on, but with the man’s gravelly voice booming in her ear, it sounded anything but.

“You can help me?” Nana said, trying to sound properly eager.

“Of course,” the other, who went entirely bald and had a somewhat effeminate voice, sounded cheerfully. He clapped his hands enthusiastically, “He can offer you a loan til pay day. At very competitive rates!”

“Oh, bless your hearts, gentlemen!” she said, dropping down in the sand again to properly show her thanks by groveling in the dirt.

“Come on, girl,” the one with the braid boomed, pulling her to her feet and guiding her towards their boss.

“The Dung Beetle will love you.”

Nana glanced at the faces of the merchants who had seen the spectacle in front of their store. They shook their heads in regretful sympathy.

She hid her victorious smirk, then trudged after the men.

They made their way to a secluded alley, where halfway down the path was a small stairway that descended into the earth. It was a strange place to make your keep in a country where few people had cellars, save for the very rich who used them to store their collections of imported alcohol.

The cellar in question was not a wine cellar, but a large relaxation room filled with cushions of all shapes and sizes. It would probably be full by nighttime, but for now there was only a single man, best described as ‘nondescript’ sat cross legged on a single large pillow. He had a single light silk jacked open over his chest, barely hiding the tattoo of a dung beetle on his chest, and appeared to lack the presence of mind to greet his guests.

The reason for this lack of awareness was the pipe in his hand, in which was an illegal drug known as ‘toetherm’ that was regularly smuggled into the Empire.

Had his brain been in the same place as his body, he probably would have rushed to hide his pipe when he saw Nana’s listener uniform, but he simply kept smoking.

“We have a lost Giya, boss,” the one with the braid said, “Needs some money until she gets a job.”

“Does she now?” the man, who was probably the Dung Beetle replied, his voice trailing off even before the end of his sentence.

“Not really,” Nana smiled calmly, folding her arms, “I just needed a way to find one of your kind.”

The man lowered his pipe and squinted at his guest.

“Oh my,” Nana continued, “It’s been a while, Daigaimon.”

“You know,” the man started, then coughed through his acrid smoke before trying again, “You know me?”

“We’ve met a few times,” Nana retorted, baring her teeth in a cheerful smile, “Though last time I saw you, you said you’d stop smoking that crap.”

Daigaimon dropped his pipe and he squinted harder, “Speak again, Tassi, I can’t see your voice.”

“You’re still a sebi, Daigaimon.”

“Oh by the five hells…” the man said, scrambling for his pipe. When he had it, he waved it wildly through the air, “Kill her! KILL HER NOW!”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” she laughed, reaching for the weapons at her side, only to remember she carried nothing but unbladed hilts on her.

“Oh,” she mumbled, “Right.”

From the corner of her eyes, she saw the loinclothed men draw the sickles from their waistbands. She drew her harmless weapons anyway, receiving a mocking laugh from them as they saw what she had to defend herself with.

The first sickle came at her and she expertly caught it on the small protruding bit of chitin where normally the blade would have been. The sickle grazed off and she sidestepped at the sound of the other man approaching behind her.

She dropped down, moving her legs in a neat split, balanced on her hands and with a flurry of legs sent her opponents spilling to the ground. She ended her acrobatic display by neatly returning to her feet and falling into a calm combat crouch. She kicked one of the sickles aside, looked for the other

and to her disappointment found that the other combatant held tight to his weapon. He was already hlfway to his feet.

“Nice moves, girl,” he laughed, copying Nana’s battle crouch now he realized that he was facing actual danger.

Nana twirled one of the empty hilts into the air, caught it when it was aligned how she wanted and threw the piece of hardwood full force at the man’s hand.

He never saw it coming, catching the hard hilt to his temple, stumbling back in shock and watching his opponent with some disbelief.

Nana meanwhile heard the shuffling feet of somebody carefully trying to approach her from behind. Ducking and turning, she found herself eye to eye with the man’s loincloth.

Acting on instinct, she hooked her fingers into the whitish fabric and pulled it down. The man stopped his assault in the middle of raising his fist and gave her a quizzical look.

It was the distraction she needed to rise back to her feet and grab him by the throat. The man, not bothered by being on display as he was responded in kind with two hands, starting to squeeze on her windpipe.

The man was stronger than Nana, but she still had a weapon. She brought the empty hilt up, struggling to breathe as she did.

He noticed her laborious breathing and smirked, forcing more thumb on her throat. Nana closed her eyes, then moved the hilt up to the man’s nose, aiming carefully.

The blade’s rest went into the man’s nose, where it already barely fit. He cursed and let go off Nana’s throat to grab her wrist, which was what Nana was waiting for. She ripped the hilt back, tearing the flesh from her face and showering herself with blood.

She dropped it when she was done, turned around and smiled manically at the other man who was preparing to attack her again. She dove for the discarded sickle, then jumped back to her feet to face the braided man.

She jerked her head at the bald man, who for some reason was looking for the missing pieces of his nose.

“I did that without a weapon,” she said calmly, “You want to try me with?”

“Lucky,” the braided man snarled, then charged at her.

She moved to catch the overhand swing, barely had time to register it was a feint and tried to avoid the weapon that now swung at her side.

It cut through the fabric of her jacket and into the soft flesh of her belly.

She stepped back, ran her fingers over the shallow wound, then angrily cocked her head at the man.

“I will give you one chance to apologize.”

The man laughed, his confidence growing, and prepared for the next attack. Nana lowered her sickle, still glowering at the braided men, calmly waiting.

As she expected, the man’s pattern didn’t change any more than coming from the other side now. Underhanded and from the left. Just what she needed. Her hand shot to the man’s wrist and she quickly found the soft spot just above his wrist, digging her thumbnail in and exerting pressure until he

dropped his weapon.

“Hells,” he started, though never got the chance to finish his sentence.

She kneed him in the groin, followed with a kick to the stomach and finally a harsh elbow to his spine and she contently watched him spill to the floor.

“Ruin my clothes, will you?” she mumbled to herself and turned to the Dung Beetle.

“Now that the show is over,” she said, catching her breath and trying to sound calm, “I just want to talk, Daigaimon.”

The man looked at his whimpering guards, the at his pipe asi f he were going to use it to defend himself. He nodded reluctantly.

“Good,” Nana said and casually walked over to the man, “I need somebody to infiltrate.”

“...The castle? A guardhouse? The bank?”

“The foreigners’ ship.”

With shaky hands, the man brought his extinguished pipe to his lips, more out of habit than any desire to smoke the toetherm.

“I think I have your spider.”

“Good,” Nana said, then squatted down, grabbing Daigaimon’s cheeks between her index finger and thumb.

“Play nice next time,” she said softly, “You have an hour to get them to me.”

He nodded, then looked at his men.

“You two,” the Dung Beetle snarled at , “You know who. Go get them!”

“But boss…” the man with the damaged nose sobbed.

“Go!” he cried, his voice turning to a screech, “Just go!”

Nana let go off her victim, then headed to a corner away from the man, who carefully lit his pipe again.

“I’ll wait here.”

“Of course, tassi…”