When I first met Francisco five years ago, he'd been a merchant trader whom Aki had encountered on his travels somewhere. Aki invited him back to The Mountain as a kind of cultural exchange – Francisco was to teach me Portuguese and I tried to teach him Japanese (one of us was a lot more successful in this endeavor… whether it was because I was a motivated student but a terrible teacher, or because Francisco just doesn't have an ear for language, I can not say). Upon his arrival at Aki's manor, Francisco had taken one look at Aki's chatelaine Fume and inexplicably fallen in love. One month stretched into another, and eventually Francisco decided to stay in Japan, setting in Sakai, and making frequent visits to his lady love.

Unfortunately, his Japanese is still… well… horrible, and after listening to him struggle through the simplest greeting, I switched to Portuguese. Otherwise, we would have been standing in the middle of his front room all day.

"It is a relief that my message reached you first, instead of one of Aki's other messengers." Francisco took me back to his private quarters – a room with a hodgepodge of Japanese and Western furniture … none of which matched. It was jarring to see a silk tapestry carelessly tossed over a desk, as if it were a tablecloth and not art. "Because I am certain that he would want you to know what happened. He's always spoken very highly of you. I have no idea why Fume believes otherwise."

Since it wasn't worth getting sidetracked to another 'why Fume hates Katsu' chat, I instead seated myself in one of the extremely uncomfortable chairs at the desk, and suppressed a protest when Francisco set a pot of tea down on the tapestry. "He was supposed to meet me in Niigata over two weeks ago. When was the last time you saw him?"

"Longer than that." Francisco dropped some konpieto right into his tea and stirred it with a chopstick. "It was in Junho… er, what you call the sixth month. I did not know he was missing; only that he planned to meet me last week, and he never appeared. Normally, Aki always meets me when he says he will." It didn't escape me either that Francisco was using Aki's least formal name. I wondered if their friendship was closer than appeared. Or. It could be that Francisco didn't have any patience with formality.

"Was there anything he said that gave you an idea where he was going? Did he ever share the results of his investigations with you?" It was a silly question, really. Though Francisco was valuable as a language consultant, it wasn't like he'd ever been part of our investigations.

Francisco loudly cracked down on a piece of candy – hopefully he wouldn't break a tooth on those because… well, lets not go into medieval dentistry. "No. No. Never." He shook his head emphatically. "We only talk about trade goods. Fabrics. Spices. Sometimes I tell him of my religion. I ask him what things Fume likes. But we never ever talk about what he does. Never."

Like the castle seamstresses back in Azuchi, Francisco had unleashed a flood of too much information – and three "nevers." Was it a signal that he was lying? I tossed a quick, blunt question out there to gage his response. "What about weapons smuggling or imports? Did he ever ask about those?"

"Weapons? Why would…? No. He wouldn't have. He knows I only import rugs and fabric." He offered to refill the tea, but I still had most of my barely drinkable first serving.

Hm. Francisco had seemed genuinely surprised when I asked about the weapons. Perhaps there was something he was avoiding, but it didn't have anything to do with guns. Unless Francisco was a far better liar than I credited him as being (which… not impossible). For a brief moment, I considered pulling Mitsuhide's favorite trick of asking 'what aren't you telling me?' but the opportunity passed and Francisco asked me where I was planning to stay. "There is room for you here, and when you go back to the Mountain, I will accompany you."

I wasn't certain I wanted to return to the Mountain without Aki, but that was a problem for another day. So, I gratefully accepted and offered to translate for him while I was in Sakai. "Although before that, there is a building I want to get a look at."

It had been almost five years, but some places live in your memory. The building where I had nearly died was one of them. It was easy enough to find it again. It had loomed like a boogeyman in my dreams, but now, in daylight, it was a simple warehouse close to the docks. Nothing to worry about on the outside.

On the inside…

I walked through the unlocked door…

…into an empty building.

Well, that's anticlimactic.

Ok, it wasn't completely empty. There were a couple of piles of rope and rough cloth… basically evidence that the warehouse was still being used, but at the moment, whatever was normally stored here had been loaded onto a ship or distributed to buyers already. I sniffed the air and took in the faint scents of ginger and turmeric. Probably the most recent items passing through here had been spices from Goa.

Near a pile of rope was a torn-up scrap of paper – a list, in Portuguese. I lit a candle and spent a moment puzzling out the handwriting and translating the text. Various shades of cotton fabrics, which would confirm Goa.

Maybe there was an office of some kind in here? A room with records or other correspondence might lead me to the name of the owner of the warehouse. I didn't immediately see a door or a hallway, although further back from the entry, it was too dark to see anything anyway.

I was trying to decide whether to risk lighting one of the lanterns, when-

"Who are you and what are you doing in here?!" The voice came from the entry - I had left the doorway open just a crack. I heard it slide open wider and a shaft of the late afternoon sun, cast a long silohouette across the floor.

One rule of sneaking is that, when caught, pretending you have a perfectly rational explanation sometimes works. I prefer to talk instead of fight my way out of trouble, so I pasted on my best 'I'm supposed to be here' smile, and turned around to face my interrogator.

A little boy?

He was maybe ten or eleven years old and dressed like an ordinary citizen – not expensively enough to be from a merchant or warrior family, and not roughly enough to be a beggar. That didn't give me much to go on when formulating a response to his question and I ended up with what was more or less the truth. "I'm trying to find out who owns this building." I considered adding that I worked for someone who wanted to rent some space, but at the last moment, I changed that to, "I'm new to the city and am looking for work."

The boy relaxed. "I suppose if you were a thief, you'd more likely go to a place where there is something worth stealing." He gave me a brief friendly bow. "I'm Hiko."

I bowed in return. "Katsu. From Niigata." I'd certainly spent enough time there recently to display knowledge of the place if quizzed. I could even relate the number of cracks in the floor of a certain inn.

"That's very far from here." Hiko came closer, looking at me with interest.

You have no idea kid.

I shrugged, then pulled out three of my remaining juggling bags and tossed them into the air. Showing off for him a little, but also trying to prove I was no threat. "I wanted to see the world… or at least the ocean."

"My master is the merchant Shojumaru. If you want to see the whole world, he could probably find a job for you aboard a ship." He watched the juggling bags spin for a moment. "How long did it take you to learn that?"

Nine days.

"Not too long." I slowed down to show him how I alternated the toss and catch of the bags. "A job aboard a ship might be fun." Or at least learning more about shipboard opportunities would be a good multi-tasking option for me, given that there was still a possibility that my brother was aboard one somewhere. But I needed to continue looking for Aki here in Sakai first before sailing off to parts unknown. So, I told a slight fib. "Except I can't swim – that's a problem."

As soon as those words came out of my mouth, I got a weird flash of a little boy – this little boy? – flailing about in a flooded river. The sensation of savage rapids and cold water slapping at my face.

Grab the branch… it floats!

The memory – or was it a dream? It had to have been a dream - was so vivid that I nearly dropped the beanbags. Luckily the kid didn't notice. "Does your master… this Shojumaru, own the building?"

"I don't know." Hiko took the beanbags and attempted to juggle them, with no success. "Many merchants use it – it's only empty today because there haven't been any ships docking this week."

Hm. No clear answer, possibly dead end. Even if I learned who owned this building, there was no guarantee it had been the owner's weapons' shipment five years ago. All I knew was that those crates of guns had belonged to someone named Motonari and he had purchased them from a Nanban merchant. A lot can change in five years.

There had to be a better way. I needed an "in" with the Kaigoshu, the merchants who governed Sakai, to learn who was who, and who had been who five years ago. But that was akin to trying to get a meeting with a Daimyo, and a courier like Katsu just didn't have the connections to do that. I wasn't even sure that Francisco did, given his continuing difficulties learning the language. Perhaps he would know someone who knew someone, though.

Meanwhile, the sun was getting lower in the sky. Hiko reluctantly gave me back my bean bags. "I need to return to Shojumaru's offices. He sometimes worries about me if I am too late."

Really? My estimation of this Shojumaru raised a little. It was nice that he cared for his servants. Hiko's loyalty to him was clear in the boy's voice. Maybe Shojumaru would be that someone who knew someone?

Part of finding stuff out was knowing when to press for information and knowing when to back off. I sensed it was time to back off… just because Hiko was a little boy didn't mean that he wouldn't get suspicious if I kept asking questions. "Better hurry then." Together we walked out of the building, and I slide the doors shut behind me. "You should not worry him by being late."

He nodded solemnly, in sort of a mini-adult way. I guess he was kind of an old soul. As he started to walk away, I called after him again. "Hiko – you can keep these." I tossed him the bean bags. I could easily make more.

"Thank you, Katsu." He smiled as he hurried on his way.

Shojumaru.

Another name on my list to investigate. I turned and headed back to Francisco's. This part of town, so close to the harbor, seemed a bit less safe in twilight. I didn't exactly hug the shadows, for that would have called more attention to myself, but I was alert to any sign of trouble. The last thing I wanted to do was become 'disappeared' myself. There was already far too much of that going around.

I was carefully making my way across the road when my attention was caught by the chatter of Portuguese. Two Nanban merchants were sitting at a table in the front of a restaurant. They were accompanied by a pair of beautiful Japanese women, in kimonos so pretty that I momentarily regretted that the only women's clothing I owned was one ugly brown maid's kimono.

Courtesans, apparently, for they seemed to be doting on the merchants far out of proportion to the men's looks. Or, well, I suppose that was unfair. The men might have nice personalities?

I stepped closer, close enough to hear their conversations, close enough to learn that the Portuguese were saying extremely rude things about their female companions.

So much for having nice personalities.

It was too bad that the women couldn't understand them, or I'd imagine a couple plates of food would get dumped in laps. Or… maybe the women understood perfectly well what the men were saying and just pretended—

!

A germ of an idea took root… a courtesan could get access to the Japanese and Portuguese merchants.

But… could I pull something like that off? I didn't want to become a courtesan in truth … just to-

"Boy! What you staring at?" One of the merchants yelled at me in heavily accented and broken Japanese.

"Sorry." I bowed. "I was only trying to decide if I wanted to eat here. Is the food good?"

They looked at each other in confusion. Taking advantage of their distraction, I shrugged and moved on.

"I am sorry, Katsu. Your Portuguese is usually better… but I thought you just offered to be my concubine." Francisco was caught between confusion and horror.

"No, I don't want to be your concubine. I'm going to auction myself off, and you shall buy me." I had refined my plan in between the time I left the restaurant and now. "That will give me the opportunity to see what goes on behind the scenes of the auction."

Francisco held up one finger. He walked over to his desk and poured himself a glass of some kind of wine, then gulped it down. "Now, please explain this idea in terms that don't make me mistreat another glass of Madeira."

"As Aki's representative, I'm investigating the smuggling of weapons into Sakai." My third lie of the afternoon, but Francisco wouldn't know that Aki would never have asked me to do this. Nor did I mention that I was worried about the possibility that Aki had been taken prisoner and auctioned off, or shipped to China, or beyond. "I need to be able to move amongst the merchants and see what I can learn. If I am auctioned off as a slave, I will be able to listen in on their conversations – these people don't know that I speak Portuguese. Then – you'll buy me. It's perfectly safe." I realized as I said this out loud, that my logic wasn't completely clear, but I figured Francisco would chalk that up to the language barrier.

"Akihira will murder me if I let you do such an insane thing." Clearly, I had more convincing to do for he instead downed another glass of that wine.

"I can handle myself. I would prefer, of course, to do this with your help, but…" I let the statement trail off into the air to give him a moment to imagine where I was going. Of course, I wouldn't be stupid enough to try this without a partner, and if Francisco said no, I'd get one of Aki's other couriers (not Takauji though) in his stead. But that would take more time than I wanted to spend. Easier to convince Francisco that I would act alone if he didn't step in. "If it is the money you are worried about, I will find a way to pay you back."

He heaved a long, deep, shuddering sigh, as if I had called the weight of the whole world down on his shoulder… or more realistically, the kind of sigh he would make if I had called the whole weight of Aki's anger on his shoulders. "If we must do this, then let us do it correctly." He unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled out a bag that jangled. "These are yours."

He dumped the contents of the bag out onto his desk and a shower of Takeda minted gold, Portguese real, and copper mon bounced onto the polished wood.

Whoa… that was a lot of money.

Almost as interesting was a sealed letter addressed to me.

Ok, who am I kidding. The letter was more interesting than the cash (and the cash… was pretty damn interesting).

Meanwhile, Francisco quickly swept the letter, and most of the money back into the bag, leaving a handful of the copper mon. "This ought to be enough for me to purchase you back from an auction."

"So little?" Almost insulting.

He gestured to the male garb I wore almost exclusively these days. "We could spend a week outfitting you and making you look far more expensive, but do you want to waste your own money, not to mention your time, like that?"

Ok. Point to Sancho Panza here. "That letter… I noticed it was addressed to me."

"Akihira left both the letter and the money for you in case anything happened to him. However, I am not yet ready to believe the worst has occurred." He tossed the bag back into the drawer.

"Wait!" I reached for the message, wanting some kind of connection to Aki, even if it was an 'in the unlikely event of my death' letter. "What if there is some clue as to where he is now?"

"Katsu, Akihira wrote this letter two years ago. I do not think there is a relation." He slammed the drawer shut and locked it. "I have some idea of the contents of the letter. Things that he would prefer to tell you in person some day. Things that do not sound as nice on paper as they do in conversation."

All that this was doing was making me really want to read that letter, but I allowed Francisco to have his way for the time being. After all, I saw where he stored the key. I could sneak back in here later and grab the letter once I was established as his concubine.

Three days later, I, or more specifically my "Kaya" identity stood on one of several small platforms arranged along the wall – or whatever the dividers between rooms were called on a ship. I suppose it was still a wall. Clad in my most hated, ugly brown housemaid kimono, I stood with my hands tied in front of me, while strangers, most, but not all, foreigners, walked past, some pausing to look me over.

To leer at me.

This… might not have been the best idea I'd ever had.

I'd been on this ship half a day, and I immediately discovered – nothing. Or, more specifically, I discovered that there was nothing to be learned here. Anyone who might have been captured during the time Aki had disappeared was long gone. And the people running the show? Didn't pay attention to our faces. We were simply commodities.

Though I had thought I was prepared for how I would feel when men eyed me as if they were determining how well I would perform in bed, the reality of the situation was dehumanizing. One of them said to his companion, "rather a diamond in the rough, eh? Give this one a few baths and it might end up quite the prize."

"No. Too muscular," came the dismissive reply.

Aware that the conversation had been in Portuguese, I kept my face blank and my eyes on the floor. Francisco had arranged for 'Kaya' – a housemaid who had gotten separated and lost during an attack on a Daimyo's castle – to be sold. This wasn't even an uncommon situation. In such cases the Daimyo's family would either have been taken as hostages or forced to kill themselves, but servants who were not able to flee or hide often ended up captured and sold into slavery.

In a few moments Francisco would purchase Kaya, thus preventing me from the fate of becoming some merchant's concubine or, even worse, bound for Europe to be the "exotic" plaything in a brothel.

I risked a quick glace around the room, wondering where Francisco was hiding. He hadn't wanted to spend much time on board, as he was prone to seasickness. Even so, by this point, he ought to have arrived and walked past me to look at the merchandise.

But I didn't see him anywhere.

Cutting close, Francisco. Too close.

Another foreigner paused in front of me. A Jesuit priest, complete with hypocritical cross and cassock. With pinching fingers, he grabbed my chin and forced me to look into his face. The man wasn't bad looking, I'd give him that. But the hard look in his eyes and the sneer on his lips – no. Whoever this man bought would be the unluckiest person in the world. "Are you a fighter?"

I blinked. The priest knew Japanese, and he spoke it very well. "Fighter? No. I'm a housemaid. If you need your floors scrubbed."

He smacked me across the face, shocking me into silence. One of the auctioneers yelled at him not to damage the stock but he only shrugged. "I didn't hit her hard enough to leave a mark. Besides. I will give you this right now," he held up a velvet purse and shook a pile of Portuguese real out. "If I can take her without the trouble of an auction."

Francisco did have more than that amount of cash on hand. If he were here… which he is not. Wherever he was, he needed to hurry, because clearly the auctioneer was weighing the thought of low effort high reward.

Father Slappy Hands added three more coins to the pile, one at a time. I felt each clink in the pit of my stomach. "This one has spirit." The subtext being that he would enjoy breaking it.

Again, the auctioneer hesitated, and the man continued, "You won't get any more for her in the auction." He tossed another five coins into the pile. "This is my final offer."

I could see the agreement in the auctioneer's face even before he opened his mouth. But before he could say a word, three strings of copper mon, and a substantial handful of Takeda minted gold coins were plopped into the startled hands of the auctioneer.

"I believe this amount will match and exceed the offered price," came a new voice. A different voice.

The good news. Someone overbid Father Slappy Hands.

The bad news. That person wasn't Francisco.

The worst news. I knew whose voice that was.

Cinnamon and sandalwood…

I turned my head to look… or rather to confirm… but I knew, from the way that voice again activated that prickly feeling inside me, I knew, even before I had visual, that I was going to be looking right at Mitsuhide.

His silver hair was hidden under a long dark wig… but the golden eyes and knowing smirk were all too familiar.

Well. Hell.

The priest eyed Mitsuhide. Mitsuhide eyed him back with that one eyebrow raised in a challenge and his hand resting on his sword.

The thing about bullies is that when faced with someone stronger, they'll slink away. Father Slappy Hands held ground for just a moment, then… slunk away. Still, just to make sure he was leaving for good, I kept my eyes on him until he exited the room. I wouldn't put it past him to attack me later.

Not that he was currently my biggest concern.

No, my biggest concern was the snarky warlord in the wig who was currently tucking my 'purchase papers' into his kimono.

He then turned to me, and without a word, Mitsuhide unceremoniously slung me over his shoulder and strolled through the room.

And for a third time, I'm upside down.