The market square moved with life, mostly human, as Zenji walked into the mass of people from the alley, as if stepping into a world frozen, breathing and living only after entering it from an outside world. The smells of Controlite cuisine and street combinations from Destruction and abroad wafted about; the spice and sweetness of Destruction, the meatiness and savory scents of Dispersion, and the softer, more reserved smells of Control. It was a rush of scents Zenji never tired of. There were other, less pleasant ones, of course.

            “There are so many people that live here.” Zenji said to himself.

            “A mere blip on the map of Protesil.” Prisoner said.

            “Protesil?”

            Prisoner sighed. “It’s the world you walk on.”

            Still confused, Zenji said, “Oh, ok.” He shook it off and walked around the mess of shacks, tin shops, and stone outcroppings from other shops jutting into the street and plazas.  

            The fountain in the middle of the cobblestone circular pavilion had two beautiful swords intertwined, standing up amidst the water flowing out the top around the tips of the blades. Each stood for the two primary Virtues of Control: Justice and Mercy. The Sword of Justice was a blue colored blade with a silver hilt, the Sword of Mercy a silver-white blade with a blue hilt. The flow of people went in all directions, with some people throwing in wens and other pocket change coins to seek further help from Justice and Mercy. The nearest shop was only a few feet from the fountain, but everything could be clearly seen even from the farthest shop. It was not as cramped as Zenji expected it to be, tables seeming much closer together and fuller from outside the windows each time he would stare in at the food people had ordered.

            Zenji moved with the traffic of people towards the soup shop on the corner of one of the streets that intersected with the market center. Just as he was about to walk past the fountain, an older man reached out and laid his hand on Zenji’s arm. Zenji jumped back in alarm.

            “A wasp does not seek pollen like its cousin, the Everbee.” The man said.

             “You scared me to death, old man.” Zenji said. “Who are you?”

            “Do you like it?”

            “Like what?”

            “That line. It’s for a poem.” The man said.

            “Poems? I wouldn’t know.” Zenji said, eyeing the old creature crouched on the steps around the fountain.

            “I think it’s good. Quite so.”

            “Then why did you ask me?” Zenji said.

            “Busai.”

            Zenji frowned. “What?”

            “That is my name. You asked, after all.” Busai said.

            Zenji stared at him in confusion. “Why did you pull me to the side? Just for some poetry?” Zenji looked around, the two of them alone next to the fountain. This must be some crazy homeless guy.

            “To tell you your fortune.”

            “I never asked for that. And I won’t pay for any fortune.” Zenji said.

            “This fortune is free, and much more important.” Busai said.

            “Well, what is it?” Zenji said, foot tapping slightly.

            “The roots of a tree are the last thing to burn away when the tree is engulfed in fire. Be the roots, lad, or suffer the flames.” Busai said, demeanor having changed to a more serious tone. That vanished as he continued. “In fact, be the fire! Much more entertaining.”

            Zenji frowned. “What does that mean?”

            “I don’t know. I’m only the messenger.”

            “Something about this man is…strange.” Prisoner said. “But he speaks wisely.”

            Busai looked at Zenji with an intense stare as if it was him that said that, then looked away uninterested again.

            Zenji looked at the old man, dressed in a loose robe, dirtied by nights on the street. How did that seem wise at all, Prisoner?

            “Zen!”

            Zenji turned to see Kurinai coming down the street next to the soup shop. He ran up to Zenji and the old man, Busai.

            “Ah, so you met Busai, did you?” Kurinai said.

            “I guess so.” Zenji said, scratching his head.

            “Hello Kurinai,” Busai said.

            Kurinai bowed deeply. “Hello Master.”

            “Master?!” Zenji said.

            “Busai was my teacher when I studied literature and poetry. He is the Master of Word here in Tokeyama.”

            Zenji looked at the man, staring at the mess of hair and unkempt, thin and wispy beard.

            “A master?”

            “Yes. He’s quite a fantastic poet.” Kurinai said.

            Busai only smiled. “You boys have somewhere to be. And I have poetry to write. Leave me, thank you.”

            “That’s kind of rude.” Zenji said, but Busai showed no indication that he heard nor cared what Zenji said.

            “Come.” Kurinai said. “I’ll buy us some soup.”

            “Kuda noodle? The thick kind?” Zenji asked, licking his lips with hunger.

            “Absolutely. The best kind!”

            Zenji smiled and the two walked the short distance to the shop, a privately-owned business called Bukakeki Soup Shop. The two neared a few well-dressed Controlites standing next to the line out the door. They got in line at the end but close enough to hear the two talking.

“Aye, did you ‘ear of the recent attack on a Control merchant’s ships?” One of them said.

“Uh ‘uh. Nothin’. What ‘appened?” His friend said.

“T’ey say twas a pirate! From Destruction!” The man replied.

“Kurinai, did you hear about that?” Zenji said quietly, nudging him.

“Yes. Father was fuming about it all morning. It happened two days ago.”

“How did he get word so soon?”

“It’s a Progressian technology, the radio. We can talk over long distances with them.”

“That’s awesome. I wonder how they do that.” Zenji said.

Bukakeki Soup Shop was filled with people eating at a bar off the front of the kitchen and other tables along the walls with windows. It was a bit too small for the amount of people in the shop. The smells of spices and raw noodle dough caressed Zenji’s nose. That is so good! Been too long since I’ve had soup and noodles.

            The chef at the back of the open kitchen yelled over the counter to Kurinai. “Hey! Low time not seeing you, Kurinai! Who’s your friend?”

            “Zenji.” Kurinai said.

            “Hello sir. I love your Kuda noodles!” Zenji said.

            “Well you’re like everyone else in here!” The chef gestured to the growing crowd in the shop.

            A few other enthusiastic men in the room raised their bowls in agreement.

            Zenji ordered the mild spice melon Kuda and Kurinai the savory high spice Kuda. They sat at one of the smaller tables to seat four next to the window. They picked up a set of two sticks called Raku with one having a forked point and the other a flat face, like the end of a boat’s paddle and began to slurp up the noodles.

            “This is way spicier than I thought it’d be!” Zenji said, wafting his mouth.

            “That is the mild one. Mine is high spice. You want to try it?” Kurinai said.

            “I can’t even breath next to yours. It’s too much.”

            The two ate in silence for a few minutes, enthralled in hunger and a consuming focus.

            “I suppose,” Kurinai said, breaking the silence, “we should probably talk about our plan, but quietly.”

            “One more bite.” Zenji said, then took a huge bite of Kuda and chewed.

            “So, where do we start?” Kurinai said.

            Once he swallowed, Zenji said, “Should we just ask around? I mean, there’s those pirates. Maybe we could stop them?”

            “No, they are too far away. Besides, asking people could be dangerous.” Kurinai nodded.

            Zenji sighed. “I’m pretty clueless then. Have you heard of anything that your father said, maybe a group of bullies we could smother or something?”

            “Nothing. Not even a peach blossom in spring.”

            Zenji looked out the window, thinking about what to do.

            I don’t even know anything about what goes on in this city, and I live in the alley! Zenji thought. Any ideas Prisoner?

            No response.

            A lot of help, you are.

            As Zenji stared out the window, he saw a man in a white cloak walking towards another man staring at the fountain, a snake in the grass, slithering through the crowds. Zenji’s hair stood on end as he watched the cloaked man near the fountain.

            “Kurinai,” Zenji said, “do you see that guy in the cloak?”

            Kurinai turned his head and looked out the window. “The one walking towards the fountain? Wait, does he have a knife?”

            “Kurinai—” Zenji said, but before he got another word out, the man brought the knife into the gut of the man staring at the fountain. The victim turned and stared at his killer, seeming to recognize him. His mouth moved, but Zenji couldn’t read his lips.

            Zenji jumped from his chair and ran out the door.