Zenji awoke with a dust-filled sunbeam shining into the shop attic through a crack in the front wall, glazing his face over with tempered light.

            He groaned as he stretched himself out, eyes groggy from a blissful dream of things of the past, of peaceful lessons with his mother and Kurinai in the hideout they had found abandoned. Zenji laid there, staring up at the slanted ceiling, dust falling from the brace beams across the center and aging wood. It was unfortunately not aging well.

            Zenji kept staring at the roof as his body slowly caught up with his waking mind, but apparently it wasn’t fast enough.

“Arise, youngling.” Prisoner said. “The day ‘errs old.”

“What time is it?” Zenji asked.

“Near the time you are to meet with Kurinai.”

Zenji sat all the way up, a slow edge of perception coming to his limbs, fingers, and toes. The sharp tingling flooded his legs from sleeping on the hard wood. He stood and shook himself free of the numbness and grogginess of a rough night’s sleep.

            “You take your time waking, don’t you, Pavalok.?” Prisoner said.

            “One of these days, you will tell me what that means.” Zenji said.

            “I don’t have to. You will know.”

            Zenji sighed, looking for his tattered boots. “You say that every time! I don’t like it. It’s too early to like it, too.”

            “I’m not here to comfort. I’m here to be the firestick under your—”

            “Why are you here, helping me?” Zenji said as he hunched down to pull on his worn boots.

            “I—” Prisoner started but cut himself off.

            “I don’t think I’ve heard you without words before.” Zenji said.

            “That is not information that I am able to share with you.”

            “Can you, please?” Zenji said.

            “No.”

            “Can’t or won’t?”

            No response.

            Fine, thought Zenji.

            Zenji ruffled his hair up and tried to make himself look a bit more presentable to the outside world. Zenji just knew it wasn’t enough though. Never is, sadly. Hygiene was never easy for him to keep up.

            Zenji smiled at his usage of Kurinai’s words for him during one of the last lessons he had with Zenji long ago, before everything changed.

            He walked out the door and awkwardly placed his finger inside the small, hidden lock and twisted it to lock the door again.

            “So cool.”

            He began to run, making his way to the bakery and running down allies. Luckily, the allies weren’t as dangerous during the day.

            Not as dangerous.

            A pot flew past Zenji’s head.

            Could it be?

            “Hey beggar! I told you—” That hair…

            “I didn’t sleep out here, I promise!” Zenji yelled with a smile.

            The girl eyed him regardless. He eyed her back, but in a different, more flirtatious way.
            I’d take a beating from those eyes any day.

            “Just…don’t sleep here. I hate dirtying my pans.” She then spun and walked back in the alley door to her father’s shop.

            Is this love, Prisoner?

            “It’s hormones.” He huffed.

            “Hormones? What are those?” Zenji said. “That sounds like a naughty word, Prisoner. Shame on you.”

            “You are truly uneducated.”

            “Hey! That was rude!” Zenji said. “Not my fault.”

            “Are you talking to someone?” Zenji stiffened, embarrassment welling inside him. The girl had returned and was poking her head out the door. “And why are you just standing there? Get out of our alley!”

            Zenji smiled best he could through the cloud of awkwardness and ran out the side closest to the market square.

            As Zenji left the alley, he looked back, and their eyes met. A tingling sensation ran down his spine.

            “The name’s Zenji!” Before she could respond, he was in the square.

            Shaking off the feeling, duty calling, he looked for the road that led to the bakery. He found it and made his way through the sea of people to the bakery farther away from the square opposite to where he was currently.

            Kurinai was standing at the door’s entrance, dressed in a servant’s outfit of his Masuroto blue with gold accents.

            “Is this your go at it?” Zenji asked.

            “It’s as good as I can do my first try, I suppose.”

            “Well, it’s a start. Now you need dirt, but after you buy us food. If you show your money, some people will ask questions, not to mention they will probably recognize you without a dirt-covered face regardless of the costume.”

            “Alright. Seems logical.”

            “I’m getting better at thinking, aren’t I?” Zenji asked. “I even used the word hygiene earlier!”

            “With who?”

            “No one. In my head.”

            “Well, it’s a start.” The two laughed, then entered the bakery.

            Zenji looked around the bread-filled shop, saturated with smells of sweet and savory glazed pastries. This is going to be hard picking only one pastry for breakfast.

            The two sat down at a table near the door, next to the window. Zenji tried to see if anything seemed suspicious, but at first glance, there was nothing off about the shop. It actually seemed perfect. Too perfect? It was like the bakery had just the right number of customers—not too full, but not sparse by any stretch.

            “Our adventures seem to be centered around food.” Kurinai said.

            Zenji smiled. “So far. Who knows what’s next?”

The two looked at the pastries on display behind the glass of the counter. A few jumped out at them—savory with a few slices of pork inside. Kurinai walked up to the front and purchased the food. The two ate at a table far too large for just two people. As they ate, trying not to look strange themselves, they looked for anything suspicious.

After the two had scarfed down the food, a man in a hoodless black cloak, with a large hat and scarf against the cold of the dying winter, walked in and sat down two tables away from where the two had decided to sit. He placed a wooden token on the table in the shape of a sparrow.

It’s not that cold outside, is it? Zenji thought. The scarf maybe, but a cloak too? Maybe I’m just used to the cold.

“Look at that man.” Zenji said, pulling his hand just above the table with a relaxed finger pointing to the man.

Kurinai was about to turn, but Zenji stopped him.

“Don’t be obvious. Remember, a vaga doesn’t want to be seen.”

Kurinai nodded and turned his head ever so slightly, allowing his peripheral vision to see the man more.

“I see him. His thoughts are jumbled, chaotic. I am unable to get much from him. For some reason, he seems familiar, but I cannot get enough to tell who he is.”

“He has a wooden sparrow on his table. What does that mean?” Zenji said. Kurinai only shook his head.

The Baker, a man with a wide stance, made his way around the front counter and walked to the table with the strange man sitting at it. He walked away, without a word, leaving a plate with a few pastries on it. The man took only one and walked out of the shop without paying.

“Should we follow him?” Zenji asked.

“Yes.” Kurinai said, then placed a coin on the table and the two slowly left as casually as they could, relaxed shoulders and calm faces.

            By the time the two had left the bakery, the man was down another street, moving quickly.

            “Avoid getting too close. We do not want him knowing we are following him.” Kurinai said.

            “Right. You’re starting to really think like a ‘beggar’ now.” Zenji said, emphasizing beggar.

            “What is that supposed to mean?” Kurinai asked.

            “Well, beggar isn’t a very kind word. Neither is vaga.”

            “But it is correct.” Kurinai said, face wrinkled in frustration. The man turned down another street, fewer and fewer people getting in the way of the chase.

            “Do you ever talk to real people? A term like that is offensive. Reminds us poor people how little we have.”

            “That is…well that does not make sense. Why should a person be so sad about not having as much?” The two continued to walk down the street as it changed from common street to a higher class of reputation.

            “You need to understand people better and how someone who’s not rich feels. You have a lot of head smarts, but not people-smart. You need—”

            “Stop.”

            Zenji frowned. “I’m just trying to help.”

            “No, I know, I am just saying stop talking. Look at the street, the shops.” Kurinai motioned outward.

            The shops had gained a white glow about them, coming from meticulous maintenance and cleaning. The street was no longer cobble, but a new paving method with crushed stone flattened to create smoother traveling with carts.

            But more specifically designed for cars.

            “We’re close to your estate, aren’t we?” Zenji said.

            “Yes. It is only a mile or so to the north.” Kurinai said. “Who is this man?”

            “A noble probably. Or he knows we’re following him and he’s trying to lose us.”

            As Zenji said that, the man began to walk faster, nearing a jog, brisk legs flapping with the cloak as it flew past each leg, nearly making the man trip a few times.

            “You and your mouth, by Pan’s left nut.” Kurinai said, getting a smile out of Zenji.

            “Hey, I said that!” Zenji said, loud enough to echo off the walls of the shops.

            The man’s head turned sharply, looking back to the two. Then, he bolted.

            “For Mercy’s sake!” Zenji said and the two ran after him, surprising a few casual walkers.

            They turned the corner just in time to see the man run down the alley nearest them, frantically looking over his shoulder, a hot mess of worry.

            “Zenji, can you stop him?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Yes, you do, Pavalok.” Prisoner said.

            Zenji grimaced. Some warning when you start talking would be nice. I can barely tell when it’s you or someone else talking next to me.

            “Reach out. Make sure he’s in your vision.” Prisoner said.

            As they ran down the alley, Zenji saw the man, some ways down the thin street hallway, and with his mind, hand out in front of him, willed the garbage pile at the end of the alley to move, throwing itself into the path of the man. The pile was quite high, having not been picked up by the local garbage disposers. So, it stood a good ten feet tall.

            The man screamed and looked back at the two. He looked around in each direction, but knew he was trapped. He ran to the trash pile and tried to climb it, slowly scaling the mountain of filth. A few of the bags had managed to tear as he climbed, making things a tad slippery.

            Zenji pulled on the trash again and it engulfed the frightened man, covering him from shoulder to toe in refuse. The man flailed but couldn’t escape the mess.