For the fact that Milly had previously been incensed at the prospect of rescuing the kidnapped infant, Sayuri thought she was spending an inordinate amount of time doting on her. Boiling the knife first, Milly cut, carved, and seeded an apple and fed the baby tiny chunks while cooing at her.

Sayuri leaned over to Thomas who was sipping on tea. “Do you suppose it is because the baby reminds her of herself? Or do you believe this stems from evolutionary maternal instinct?”

He shrugged. “I got nothin’.”

“You do not think her behavior queer?”

“Sayuri, my head’s bonked up. Everything is queer right now,” he replied, rubbing a knuckle against his temple.

For whatever reason, the motor noise calmed the infant at a sweet spot of 2000 rpm. Fukuzawa used it as a lesson for Sayuri to keep the boat at a steady speed. The trip back took longer but Sayuri was, for various reasons, in high spirits. Once settled into confident command of the boat’s throttle, she eavesdropped on Thomas and Milly’s conversation.

“Everything went okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah. There were some rocky moments, but obviously it worked out,” Milly said, sounding deflated. “It came down to golden girl’s hatsuden again. They were scared shitless when she turned their rifles into a sculpture. Their head guy, Wulfric? He saw right through me. At the end of the day, I didn’t do much.”

“That’s not true!” Sayuri yelled over the motor. “I could not have sold our cover story half as well as you did!”

Milly snorted. “You’d’ve been fine. Honest to Hel, if you exploded Wulfric’s head they’d’ve made you their new queen.”

“You are not skilled at accepting praise, Milly,” Sayuri replied. If Milly had a response, Sayuri couldn’t hear it over the motor.

For the final approach, Fukuzawa reclaimed control of the boat. The whole of Birch Home roused and came out to the shore. There were, by Sayuri’s estimate, around sixty inhabitants. Hilda stood in front with her arm wrapped around the waist of a Kaihonjin man in the same overalls and flannel shirts as the other loggers. She burst into tears at the sight of Milly holding her baby and buried her face in her husband’s shoulder.

Fukuzawa pulled the Daisagi-Maru up to a bollard and some men peeled off to help him dock. No sooner had the gangplank been laid then Milly stomped up with the baby in the wicker basket and handed him to Hilda. Once her fingers were free, she used them to stab the chest of the Kaihonjin man.

“Where the fuck were you!?” Milly said.

“P-Pardon me?” the man said in a thick Kaihonjin accent.

“Where were you when your child was kidnapped?”

“I-I was logging—”

“Where were you when you should’ve been comforting your wife!?”

The crowd went silent. This was the most enraged Sayuri had ever seen Milly, even more than when she was cursing the men who bludgeoned Thomas.

Hilda looked up from cooing to her child. “Really, it’s alright—”

“No. He needs to apologize. Out with it.”

Thomas started towards the gangplank. “Milly…”

“No, she is correct,” the Kaihonjin man said, “I should have been by your side, Hilda. We had enough men looking for help. I apologize.”

Milly’s mouth hung open as though she wished to say more, but she backed down as the man kissed Hilda in apology. She turned and marched back to the boat. Sayuri thought she was still seething before seeing her quivering chin and sniffling nose.

“You ought to go see to her, Mr. Chester,” Sayuri said to Thomas standing dumbly.

“O-Oh, s’pose you’re right,” he said.

Sayuri was still wrapping her head around the coupling of Kaihonjin and Afujin when the gathered crowd, deprived of a hero, ushered Fukuzawa and Sayuri ashore to shower with praise and lunch, the latter of which was a welcome alternative to apples and tinned fish. The late lunch consisted of smoked sausages and fish from a wood-paneled smokehouse. The smoked proteins were added to ladled bowls of mixed porridge of oats, cornmeal, buckwheat, and rice along with healthy dollops of root vegetable.

She was surprised by the ingenuity of what at first seemed inferior ingredients. The porridge was lightly seasoned in anticipation of salt from the cured meats and fish, but was rich on the tongue from butter and cream, the flavor being delicately deepened by acidity from cheeses and bittering herbs. Sayuri decorously declined a second helping, however it was thrust upon her by several old women insisting she was too skinny.

Sayuri was sitting upon a birch stump, mid-way through her second portion, when a group of children wandered over.

“You one a’ Akira’s cousins? You speak Æfrian?”

The inquirer was a young boy about her age or a little younger, who was the oldest and largest of the group and therefore their appointed spokesperson. He wore dirty overalls and was barefoot and his sandy brown hair hung over his eyes. He smelled like sweat and fermented leaves.

“I am unacquainted with anyone named Akira, however, I surmise by context you are referring to Hilda’s husband?” Sayuri replied.

The boy picked at his teeth. “You talk weird. Where you from? One a’ the cities?”

He was feigning disinterest, to her and to the other children, but he had the telltale signs of nervousness. His hands and temples were sweating despite the cold weather and his fingers twitched. He was hiding something.

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you wish to know?”

“I don’t! I was jus’ makin’ polite talk’s’all. If you’re too good for that, city girl, I can’t help ya,” he said, hocking a loogie at her feet. She pulled them up in time to avoid it.

“Rude and uncouth!”

“Eddie, you get over here and stop botherin’ her right now! A proper lady don’t want nothin’ to do with a bumpkin like you,” a portly woman said, swaggering out of the crowd to whack him on the side of his head.

Eddie grumbled and walked away after sticking his tongue out at her. The other children followed except for a tiny boy who stared open-mouthed at her until she offered him some of her sausage, whereupon he fled.

The adults were more subtle about their staring. Curiously, Fukuzawa was under no such scrutiny, perhaps because he looked like an older version of Hilda’s husband Akira and was therefore old hat. Fortunately, they did not try to engage in conversation with her. Sayuri was masterful at commanding a two-way conversation, however her brilliance dimmed in logarithmic proportion to the number of conversation partners, arriving at total incompetence around six or so. She much preferred to spectate social proceedings than perform in them.

She watched the group which congregated around Hilda and the baby with a puffy-eyed Milly at its center.

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“What’s her name?” Milly asked as the baby clutched her finger.

“Robin. They were singing when she was born, so Akira insisted on it,” Hilda said, looking over at her husband rubbing his neck.

“Hilda wanted a Kaihonjin name. We had one picked out, but at the final time, something said to me it would be good for her to have an Æfrian first name. Her family name is Kaihonjin already. So, she is Robin Birch Mijima,” Akira said, rubbing the girl’s pudgy cheeks which made her squeal and laugh.

“That’s a good name,” Milly said.

Sayuri’s attention shifted to Thomas locked in conversation with three men talking about their war experiences. She tried to pay attention, as she was curious about Thomas’ life, however she found it hard to pay attention with each man giving their own drawn-out story with side-tracks, clarifications, and halting pauses. Eventually she gave up trying to follow them.

Overall, she found the village’s conviviality uncomfortable. Sayuri possessed none of her mother and father’s ability to “mingle.” Her role at social events was to be shepherded between people and places where she would perform social rituals with practiced grace. Amid the tumult of spontaneous conversation, unrestrained laughter, and voluntary grouping, Sayuri felt bewildered.

Perhaps she should not have dismissed that uncouth boy so swiftly. Though, he had spat at her feet, which was hardly endearing. Calling him back now would signal deference, which was below her. Thus, she resolved to persevere through social discomfort.

“Hey! Hey! News!” a woman shouted, emerging from one of the cottages with a silvery radio. A fuzzy, thickly accented Æfrian voice spoke over garbled music. The promise of news stopped the party in its tracks. All fell silent and swarmed around the woman and her radio. Sayuri felt compelled to join the huddle.

Shhhh “...Kintoki gunships’ve been shot down…” shhhh “...Genji appears the winner of this spat between the Propertist exploiting class…” shhhh, “...ji navy has secured the Æfrian city of Burnehithe, moving southward…” shhhh, “...civilian buildings struck. We do not know at this ti…ow many of our Æfrian compatriots were injured or… Propertist in-fighting…” shhhh, “...stay tuned for updates. This is Radio Æfria, the voice of the producing class…” shhhh…

Sayuri grimaced at the blatant and undisguised propagandizing. The static broke and the garbled music burst into crystal-clear Kaihonjin girl group pop. Disquietingly, the Birch Homers sounded happy about the news, uncritically accepting its biased packaging. She wished to ask if they were in favor of Genjūkō, but found herself intimidated by alien circumstances. Fortunately, Milly asked for her.

“You don’t support Genji, do you?” Milly asked Hilda as the crowd dispersed.

“Gods no, we support the conglomerates blowing each other up,” she replied.

“What about the Æfrian casualties?”

Hilda blinked as though this had not occurred to her. “Well, we’re gonna be hurt either way, right? Better the conglomerates take a hit too, especially the ones charging us taxes to use the river. Plus, more gunships means more jobs for Æfrians. The Kaihonjin sure aren’t buildin’ anything. Well, most aren’t,” the woman said, patting her husband’s broad, tree-chopping shoulders.

Milly shook her head. “They always find a way to make us bear the brunt somehow. You remember the famine…”

Hilda nodded, but that was the end of the conversation.

Sayuri wondered how much of her newfound anxiety stemmed from the illegal Companionist propaganda exploiting the ignorance of the poor, and how much stemmed from her allies being badly defeated.

The loss of Burnehithe was worse than it appeared, as the town gave its owner control over a supply depot, the headwater of two rivers, and a convenient airstrip for attacking the coast. With deep perturbation, Sayuri now understood how well-planned Genji’s surprise attack had been. In less than a week, Genjūkō had gained control over Suigenkyō and the river down to Burnehithe. If they kept that strategic advantage, total control of the Æfrian colony was within the realm of possibility.

But, on the other hand, how many other Afujin had been lulled into accepting the dangerous ideology of Companionism, which had led to so many unnecessary deaths in Ryūkoku, the continental micro-states, and the Daimidori colonies? While Genji was a threat to her personally, Companionism was a threat to civilization itself.

“D’ya figger we oughta arm ourselves? The radio was sayin’ we should,” one of the veterans surrounding Thomas asked.

Thomas sucked his lower lip in and jutted his chin out while taking a long breath through his nose. This was his personal expression of cogitation

“Probably not a good idea,” he replied.

“How come?”

“Better to be unarmed than poorly armed. That way you’re not a target. Whatever you can get your hands on, you’re still defenseless. Hel, you were there in Ryūkoku, you know that,” Thomas said.

Sayuri could picture in her head some of the images used in the public campaign for the dissolution of the Imperial Army. Newsreels of Imperial soldiers firing machine guns into crowds of rock throwing Ryūkokujin peasants armed with sickles and crossbows. They didn’t show these clips in her academy’s Kaihon history class when it covered the demilitarization movement, but she had found old nitrate-films during her own investigation in the academy’s library. The stomach-turning pictures had turned her into an ardent anti-militarist.

“We hit the unarmed ones too,” the veteran said.

Thomas sighed. “I know. Just… not as often.”

The men grunted at each other in a way that suggested they appreciated Thomas’ input but would purchase arms anyway. Sayuri thought it exceedingly paranoid and foolish. This was a conflict between Genjūkō’s property and allies and Ueden’s, and Birch Home belonged to neither. She faulted the Zukunashi propaganda station for grafting an artificial narrative of class conflict onto a conflagration it did not pertain to.

“We oughta get goin’ soon,” Fukuzawa said. “Sounds like Genji’s chuggin’ on past Burnehithe. We’ve got a headstart, but it ain’t a big one.”

“Right,” said Milly, who had wandered over to Thomas’ side. “I’ll see about a reward while you three get the boat ready.”

“A reward!? How can we possibly ask more of these people? We would be no better than the pirates!” Sayuri said.

Milly rubbed her temples. “We’re not holding them at gunpoint, just asking for some money since we put our lives on the line for them. Besides, we need money to get you on a ship or a plane back to Kaihon.”

“Good deeds are their own reward.”

“Which is why they’ll be happy to do us a good deed too.”

Before Sayuri could retort, Milly disappeared into the crowd to search out someone to negotiate payment. It didn’t sit right with Sayuri, but she supposed they had technically been contracted by the village for a job. Nonetheless, something else nagged at her.

Sayuri turned to Thomas. “What do you mean paying for a ship or a plane? Would it not be easier to call my clan to send private means of transportation? That would seem the most convenient method.”

“Ah, well… consider, lass,” Fukuzawa said, butting in. “We may need to get you out of the colony sneaky-like. Genji might’ve got secret positions set up to target your family’s private jets. It’d only take one guided missile to do the trick, and they can fit ‘em in suitcases these days.”

“But do they not wish to capture me in order to investigate my kinkawa?” she asked.

Fukuzawa looked away. “I don’t like thinkin’ about it, but Genji might decide it’d be better if Ueden gets you back in pieces rather than let you slip away.”

Sayuri went white. “Y-You do not think…”

That another clan-conglomerate could do that. But after everything, that was a naive thing to think. She had seen clan members gunned down in front of her. They could, and had. Her lip quivered, but she refused to cry. There was nothing to be done about it.

“I-I understand, we shall purchase another form of transportation. And procure me some travel documents, even if we must regrettably forge them,” she said, chin turned up.

Sayuri counted herself lucky her contractors were so thoughtful and analytical, compensating for her own tendency to lose herself in the bigger picture. Their willingness to be frank and truthful with her on matters which were uncomfortable rendered them all the more reliable.

As they headed towards the pier, Bada flagged them over and clapped Thomas on the shoulder with his rough hand.

“Thank you all again, truly. Getting Hilda’s girl back means more to us than you know. So, as an added little bonus, I’m gonna throw in some information you might wanna know.”

Thomas nodded gravely.

“The radio’s been saying Éstfýr might go on strike. The whole city. Kintoki’s not gonna like that. Might be hearsay, but if it’s true, it’s gonna get dangerous there. If you all’d rather stay and wait things out, you’re welcome in Birch Home. We gotta help each other, especially when things look rough. Might have you rolling a few logs in the meanwhile though.”

Thomas put his own arm on the man’s opposite shoulder. “We appreciate it brother, but we’ve gotta get moving. Even more so if Éstfýr’s going on strike. Thank you for everything.”

“We’ll stop by when we’re upriver again,” Fukuzawa added.

“Right then. May Ethylturf look over you, friends,” Bada said.

“And Fleothe you,” Fukuzawa said.

“And Heáhrodor,” Thomas said, a little less earnestly.

Sayuri decided it would be inappropriate to invoke Wotenha. As it was, despite offering up her blood to Fleothe, she was staunchly agnostic. Her invocations of Wotenha were cultural baggage. It was better to not upset any gods who might help them with insincerity.

Once Milly returned with an amount of compensation she declined to disclose, they returned to the Daisagi-Maru and departed.