With war always came strife and the need for goods, whatever they were. They were prepared, and their holds had been unloaded and hidden away under the noses of these occupiers. They seemed distracted. Probably because the conflict had only just begun.

Nara sat at a table by herself. Watching the men, the surroundings and the locals as they came and went.

She gulped down some of the local rice wine they called sakè as she eyed the tavern space. It’s not really a tavern—more of an inn. The locals didn’t seem to know what to do with her crew, but they wanted the coin, so they had served them.

Only a few had come ashore—six men in total, and Nara of course. There were plenty of locals here as well. Among them were some cat eye and even an oni man in the corner. These people seemed to stay largely to themselves, and Nara thought she felt tension between them and the local Mikuman inhabitants of Yukai City.

A man came into the tavern, slightly aging. Nara could see immediately that he was out of place. Nervous. Perhaps he was not on good terms with the occupiers. A spy, perhaps?

They had seen fit to leave the eastern part of the bay largely unmolested. Some ships still came and went. It made little sense to the smuggler’s daughter. Perhaps it was some sort of military strategy.

If that was the case, she felt nervous. She didn’t want to be a part of some strategy, especially if the outcome of that strategy was unknown.

She got up, sauntered to the man who had just entered, looked about warily and then finally seated himself. She told the keep to get her another sakè, though she was probably already a little drunk, then had him pour one for the new guy.

“Arigatou,” he said.

“Where you from, stranger?” Nara asked.

“I’m from here.”

“I figured as much,” she said casually. “Why so shifty?”

His nervousness increased. “Nani?—I mean—what?”

“You came in here because you need something—not because you want a drink,” Nara said. “I’m a smuggler. I know how criminals think, and how they act when they’re no good at it.” She said the words, all the time gesturing about with her small ceramic of wine.

“I’m a loyal Mikuman samurai. I have no criminal dealings.”

“Yeah.”

“It is true.”

“Then why you lookin’ about all scared-like?”

The old samurai narrowed his eyes and got up from the counter. “Thank you for the drink. I should be on my way.”

“Hey,” she called, giving the man pause. “I’m a criminal. If you need something, we’re the ones to ask,” she added, gesturing to her crew and her father, a white-haired, white-bearded man at the far end of the counter.

She got off her seat, leaned toward the man. They were of an even height. These locals were so short, though she wasn’t too tall herself. “We’re lookin’ to make some coin.” She smiled, probably stupidly, because she felt great right now. Maybe she had had too much to drink. Surely she had?

No, I’ve drank more before.

But then, she did feel rather light on her feet.

The man looked her straight in the eyes for what seemed like minutes, looked about some more, and then finally nodded.

“Then let’s speak, smuggler.”

She smiled broadly and the man took a step back as his nostrils flared.