To Hitomaro’s annoyance and the noisy approval of the bystanders, the dumpling man began to gyrate and chant, “Tie ‘em into knots—ooh, ouch!—pick ‘em up, and throw ‘em down—whoosh!—kick ‘em off their feet—whack!—knock ‘em down and fall on ‘em—splat!” He concluded with a brutal knockout punch into the air, followed by a comical pratfall. The crowd loved it, and when the dumpling man bounced back up, they cheered and bought dumplings. With a grin, he tended to his business.

Genba chuckled until Hitomaro cursed wrestling matches and bean paste dumplings roundly and eloquently. Shoving the rest of the dumpling in his mouth, Genba chewed and swallowed. “I’m sorry, brother,” he said. “What would you have me do?”

But Hitomaro had turned his back and walked away.

When Hitomaro stopped to look after a well-dressed female, Genba caught up. “Hey,” he said. “You’re not looking for Chobei. You’re looking at pretty women.”

Hitomaro snapped. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Genba peered into a large pot of soup in a noodle stall. The vendor reached for his ladle and a bowl. “Some nice fresh noodles in my special soup for the gentlemen?” he cried in a high singsong voice. “Best herbs and vegetables only! Gathered this very morning! Only two coppers.”

“Come along,” Hitomaro growled.

Genba sighed. “I suppose after the match, I’ll be put on short rations anyway.”

“Be good for you. The tribunal stairs won’t take your weight.” Hitomaro’s arm shot out, pulling Genba behind the straw canopy of a stall. He hissed, “Duck! There’s the bastard now.”

Two men passed, walking purposefully. One was Chobei. The former sergeant of the tribunal wore a new blue cotton robe, matching trousers, and straw boots. His companion was a short fat man in brown silk and a black sash with an official’s black cap on his head. Chobei talked and waved his hands about. His companion looked haughty and kept shaking his head. They disappeared in the crowd.

Hitomaro stared after them. “Now I’ve seen everything!”

“Who was that with him?” Genba asked.

Someone giggled at their feet. A pretty girl with bright black eyes raised a hand to cover her mouth. She sat among her earthenware dishes and bowls, the owner of the stall they had ducked into.

“Please forgive the intrusion, miss,” Genba said politely. “We didn’t want to talk to those men and took advantage of your canopy.”

Her eyes were on Hitomaro. “Maybe I can help. Which one are you interested in? That good-for-nothing Chobei or the judge?”

“That Chobei!” Hitomaro growled. “Where the hell did he get new clothes? And since when does that bastard keep company with the judge?”

She giggled again. “Since Judge Hisamatsu made him his overseer. That’s how he got the new clothes, and a fine house besides. It’s on the judge’s property.”

“How come that ignorant rascal had such luck?” Genba marveled.

She rolled her eyes. “The judge isn’t right in the head.”

Hitomaro gave a snort. “You can say that again. Chobei’s worthless.”

“No. Really. He thinks he’s somebody else.”

Hitomaro gave her his attention. She responded with a coy smile, and Hitomaro squatted and smiled back. “Who does he think he is? And how come you know these things?”

She brushed back her hair and smiled. “Easy. My mother works for the judge. She says he thinks he’s really a grand minister.”

Hitomaro frowned. “He didn’t sound mad to me. What does he want Chobei for?”

A woman stopped at the stand and picked up one of the bowls. The girl hesitated. “I’ve got a customer.”

Hitomaro grabbed her arm. “Answer me!”

She pouted and freed her arm. “The judge hired Chobei to run his estate,” she snapped. “He said a nobleman needs retainers.”

The customer cleared her throat and glared at Hitomaro, who glared back and stalked away. Genba muttered an apology and put down a handful of coins before following him.

“That’s a really strange story,” Genba said when he caught up. He got no answer, and chuckled. “Your mind’s on other things. You’re looking at girls again. I bet you’ve got a girlfriend.”

Hitomaro turned on him. “What business of yours is my private life?”

“Sorry, brother. I meant nothing by it.” Genba’s eyes were large with shock and hurt. He muttered, “Maybe I’d better go.”

Hitomaro slowly unclenched his fists. “No. It was nothing. Forget it.”

But Genba’s cheerful face had turned grave. “Hito, this isn’t like you. Are you in some kind of trouble? We’ve been through too much together for you to act this way. Either you let me help, or we part company here and now.”

Hitomaro stopped. He bit his lip. “The trouble is someone else’s. I have promised not to tell.” He paused. “Could you lend me some silver without asking what it’s for?”

Genba’s eyebrows shot up. “Silver? When you’ve been putting away every copper cash toward a piece of land. You’ve saved twenty bars of silver already.”

“I... it’s all gone. Please don’t ask.” Hitomaro made a helpless gesture.

“I have fifteen bars. They’re yours.”

“Thanks, brother. I swear, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“Keep it. I don’t need it. If I win the contest, and I think I will, there’s a prize of ten bars of silver and a new silk robe in it for me. Come, now that your problem’s been solved, let’s celebrate in that eating place over there. They make a very fine fish stew.”

This time Hitomaro did not argue. They found a couple of empty spaces on a bench outside, ordered wine and two bowls of stew, and watched the passersby.

But before their food arrived, a commotion caused a general rush up the street. A woman screamed. Someone shouted for constables.

Hitomaro was on his feet. Genba heaved himself up, casting a despairing look toward the waitress who was coming with their order, and followed.

Hitomaro plunged into the press of people. Genba made his way by simply lifting people out of his path until he caught up with Hitomaro.

In an open space in the center of the market street, a tall well-dressed man was bending over the body of a young beggar. The crowd watched the scene, transfixed. A woman sobbed hysterically, but the rest looked merely shocked or curious. The well-dressed man wiped the blade of a slender knife on the man’s rags, then straightened up. Looking about him with a frown, he tucked the knife into his sash. He was a very handsome man, yet Hitomaro felt an instant surge of hatred.