Author's Note: The calendar system is as follows. The year is broken down into four seasons, each containing 90 days. Additionally, four days transition between seasons. Each season is further broken down into nine, ten-day weeks, known as a tendo.
Link dug into his wallet and retrieved his last rupee as he strolled through the crowded street. Nayru Street was one of three roads that connected the lowlands of the city to the castle sitting on top of the western cliff, so it made sense that someone would be looking to sabotage an establishment on one of the most affluent streets of Hyrule Castle Dump. As Link walked south towards the city exterior, the address numbers became smaller and smaller. The address was… 302, he recalled in his mind, which meant that the target was on the eastern side on the third big building north of the street's end at Farore Street.
When Link finally reached his destination, a three story building hosting three shophouses, the heightened security in the area was the first thing that caught his eye. Two men-at-arms, each wearing a hauberk and a surcoat proudly displaying their liege's coat of arms, were posted in front of the heavy, steel reinforced door. The Zawk Brothers' blacksmith, the most famed smith in this side of the city, was indeed worth all the protection. Sandwiched between a tailor to the right and an armorer to the left, the Zawk brothers quickly devoured the surrounding competition. It took less than a season for their reputation to be planted on the lips of everyone that wielded a metal tool or weapon.
As Link nonchalantly waltzed through the street, he began to scope out the security. All the windows on the second floor of the smith were sealed shut with thick wooden panes and most likely locked tightly. Separate to the private security, a pair of city watchmen, armed with their standard issue spears, standard brass plate mail, and the standard royal blue surcoat, were standing at post across the street from the blacksmith, but they were too busy conversing on the other side of the street to notice anything out of the ordinary. They would be gone by the start of the night's watch, when the shops were left to the protection of the long night patrols.
Link whirled around and began walking the other way, this time paying attention to potential access points. The three story building looked scalable up front, but how was he supposed to scale its stony walls without being seen? His best bet was to find an opening in the alleyway.
When he peered around the corner, his eyes focused onto the wooden scaffold set up next to building across from the armorer. Climbing up was easy, and after that, only a three story fall separated the top platform from the roof across, where three chimney stacks poked upward from its wooden shingles. There was no doubt in Link's mind that the largest of the chimneys, the one belching a peculiar black smoke unlike the other chimneys' gray or white smoke, belonged to the Zawks'.
Link closed his eyes, quickly putting together a plan. To put a blacksmith out of commission, he could burn away all their peat or use an explosive to destroy the furnace. His best bet would be to lower himself and a portable but destructive instrument with a rope down the chimney. But what explosive could he buy for cheap? His moist hand slipped into his wallet and focused on the cool touch of the blue jewel as he began to visualize items he could buy with his limited currency. The blue color meant that this particular jewel was worth five of the green jewels. Bomb fruits were as cheap as three green rupees apiece, but they had an unpredictable blast force and a very short fuse. And since hand made bombs with adjustable fuses were out of his price range, Link would have to create his own concoction. Once he solidified the plan in his head, it was time for him to trade his blue rupee for everything required to execute his plan.
He followed the giant building around the corner onto a road that would lead him straight to the Central Market Square, but the sweet aroma of the nearby bakeries and eateries soon infiltrated Link's nostrils and triggered his empty stomach. Each whiff of the fresh baked bread was a harsh reminder that his last meal had been two days ago. The moment Link realized that he was about to walk past The Moblin's Tusk, a pub that offered an entire, a whole pit-roasted cucco with a pint of hard, pumpkin cider for just five rupees tonight, he regretted his decision to walk down Baker's Avenue.
His extreme hunger fueled his sense of smell at the worst possible moment. Link steeled his willpower and suffered through the mixture of pleasant aromas stemming from pit-roasted meats cut from the finest Lanayru livestock and steaming meat pies coated in all types of exotic seasonings. Link clutched the blue rupee in his hand as he took step after step. What if he spent one rupee for a juicy fruit? One lousy rupee for a large apple would not hamper him significantly. Surely four green rupees could get him what he needed. The debate in his head intensified as he walked past a produce vendor, where almost all of the fruits and vegetables were only one green rupee. Just keep walking, Link reminded himself.
The hunger was so painful that he began contemplating simply stealing a fruit off the stand. Or maybe he could quickly rip off a leg off a roasted cucco on display. Stop! Don't be foolish! he chided himself and shook his head, freeing himself from all the stupid suggestions popping up in his head. He could easily have stolen some food off of some stalls, but stealing in broad daylight would only attract unwanted attention from the authorities. Once the job was done, he would have plenty of time to enjoy a honey glazed Dodongo rib paired with a delicious apple scone. The imaginary taste only made his mouth water and his belly hungrier.
The street ended at a plaza that housed the largest flea market in the city. It spanned three city blocks long and wide, surrounded by multi-storied stores, houses, and a gigantic tax collecting agency on the north. What was once known as Castle Square was one of the largest open spaces in the city, until the homeless refugees decided to make their homes on the large public space.
What made this square all the more distinguishable was the bronze statue of the Hero of Time pointing a replica of the legendary Master Sword into the sky. His face was lifted upwards, eyes directed away from the injustice below him, and frozen in the midst of a battle cry. What was once a monument to celebrate the fabled hero that saved Hyrule from Ganondorf's evil had very rapidly become a vandalized ornament of the square as refugees from all over Hyrule began to pour into the city.
Link's destination took him right into the heart of the market. Stalls importing everything from food to colorful stones to smuggled ingredients for magic potions were scattered chaotically, facing whichever direction the owner wanted to set up. The gaps between shops served as pathways for navigation, but they were so unorganized that one could easily get lost in the gigantic maze of filth, feces, and foul smells (thankfully the nauseating scents effectively killed Link's monstrous hunger). Shops grew in size and moved frequently; pathways were subject to change in any given tendo. This was where those who could not afford to pay rent set up shop and lived. The poverty in the Castle Market Square brought significantly reduced prices as well as unchecked criminal activity.
"Little child!" the pressing voice of an older Gerudo called out to him. "You look like you could use a new toy! Come see what I have and share with your friends!" Link did not even stop to peruse through the stall's wares. He may have been a child physically, but none of the childish games appealed to him.
Next to the toy vendor was an apothecary's store. Perfect. Link cleared his throat, "Afternoon ma'am!"
The tall woman looked taken aback from the unusual sound of Link's voice, as did everyone else who heard Link speak. As she sat poisedly and looked downward past her long, hawkish nose, she responded with bemusement, "How can I help you?"
Amidst the large collection of many colored dusts and powders, Link's finger pointed straight to the glass jar with a yellow powder. "I shall have a small bag of that stuff," answered Link as innocently as possible.
"Hmph," was all the aging woman let out as she disbelievingly eyed the sincerity of the child who knew exactly what medicine he wanted, "Three rupees."
Link placed the blue jewel onto the counter next to the display of the apothecary's various uniquely colored liquids and powders. Satisfied, she took the jewel and replaced it with two green jewels. When the apothecary removed the jar lid, the pungent smell of rotten eggs filled Link's nose and confirmed the ingredient in his mind. She retrieved a small, paper envelope into which to dump the small spoonful of the yellow powder.
Happy with his purchase, Link searched for the next vendor. He needed to find a butcher's shop. Or a spice store. The setting sun had not yet made navigating through the narrow spaces impossible, but Link had no time to spare to wander aimlessly. In less than an hour, the poorly lit pathways would be at the mercy of the ruffians. To search for his ingredient, he followed the smell of meat amidst the heavy odor from Hylian sweat and Hylian filth stained on the flaps of tents. His bare feet could feel all the muck, dirt, and feces that had been accumulating for seasons.
These were mere obstacles, however, to his hunger driven sense of smell. As he zig zagged through the dynamic pathways, the delicious aroma became stronger, and his stomach squeezed tighter. Finally, he arrived at the charcuterie responsible for the smell.
The owner of the stall was a hefty woman wearing a red, summer dress with a dirtied white apron over it. The slight tan on her skin indicated she was not originally from the city, which was built into the Death Mountain range in the north. Her greasy, dark brown hair was tied up into a bun and busily bounced up and down as the she went about her work. If her gentle yet swift salting technique was not an indication of her many seasons of experience, then the many wrinkles on her aged face were.
He cleared his throat before eyeing the legs of lamb hanging overhead. "Excuse me ma'am!" Link called out to her while waving like a child, interrupting her work. The distinct smell of ground rosemary and peppercorn combined with the sight of pink, lean meat required making conscious efforts to prevent his drool from leaking from the corner of his lip.
The butcher immediately gasped upon seeing Link, "Oh deary." It was usually anyone's first reaction upon seeing his face. Oh well, nothing a drunk, abusive father could not explain. She apologized, "Forgive my manners, how can I help you?"
Link continued to use the childish act as best as his battle worn face could allow it, "I'd like to buy some salt to prepare the meats for my Mama to make!"
She warmly smiled at the innocent request for a sale, "Why, of course! Looks like your mother is doing a good job raising a cook in the house." The enthusiastic boy nodded up and down, exciting the butcher even more, "You know, 'tis a fast way into a woman's heart. You best remember that when you grow up!" The irony was too tangible to Link.
She bent over behind the counter, pulled up three hide bags filled with powders, and set them onto the countertop. She pointed to the left bag and lectured, "This here is good ole table salt harvested from the eastern shores. It's the most popular type of salt us butchers use. I'm sure your Ma wanted more than just me special salt."
Not that one. "What about this one?" Link pointed to the bag in the middle containing the reddish orange powder.
"Ah, that's fire salt!" she exclaimed. "It's a special blend that comes from the Gerudo desert. I like to use this to make my meat taste spicy." The name of the mysterious powder almost tempted Link to purchase it, but he thought better. It was probably nothing more than table salt mixed in with some Gerudo spices. The butcher continued her lecture, "Beside the normal table salt, certain tribes of the desert have added their own…" not only was her voice difficult to pay attention to, Link was too focused on how the raw chops hanging behind her must taste like. Gone were the woman's informative words, replaced by an imaginary pit roasting a leg of venison with thickened honey wine drizzling over the succulent-
"Did you want to try some of it?" asked the butcher, which brought Link's attention back.
"Yeeess," he hungrily replied, still thinking about the taste of the meat, and then he corrected himself once he realized she was talking about the salt, "Oh, I mean no." There was only one more before Link would leave to find a different butcher vendor. "How about this one?" said Link as his finger pointed to the bag on the right.
"Oh, this salt is special!" said the Butcher with a more hushed tone, "It makes the meat look more pink when cooked. It's more expensive because people harvest this salt from Keese."
Otherwise commonly known as poop salt to the other Links, this salt made his eyes narrow with interest. Staying in character, Link conjured his best manners and innocently asked, "May I have a small bag of that to take home to my Papa and Mama?"
"Why certainly you may!" responded the butcher without hesitation to Link's pleasure. He had no qualms with manipulating her generous nature; there was a blacksmith that needed destroying. The woman generously poured some of the white powder into a small, paper box. When she made eye contact with Link again, the boy summoned his cute pinching gesture, asking for a little more. The woman nodded and added another scoopful. "Here you go my deary! Here's a small sample to take home for your Ma, no charge. And if your Ma likes what she sees, let her know where you got it from!"
Link grabbed the box and expressed his gratitude melodramatically, "Thank you thank you thank you!" before running off to the next vendor.
The last few things Link needed could all be bought at a familiar forge. The only blacksmith in all of Market Square sat on the western path connecting the central statue to the plaza outskirts. It was a matter of finding the bronze statue, and then walking along the path towards the great castle off in the distance. Once he reached the statue, he could see the big, beige tent sitting on the right side of the path.
The tall muscular man hammering at a steel bar behind the counter had a long bushy beard and greasy, sweaty black hair that ran down the his back. Great muscles guided the Goron-like figure with every hammer stroke. Even though the night was drawing near, he doggedly continued his work.
Despite the fact that Papa Wapapa's back was facing towards the counter, he sensed Link's presence before the boy was even three steps there. "Piss off," said the blacksmith as hammer struck metal. Link's favorite blacksmith also happened to be the rudest person in all of Hyrule.
Link shouted back, "What? I haven't even said anything yet!"
The big blacksmith turned around and loudly slammed his hand onto the counter, ferociously stabbing his hammer at Link, "You still owe me twenty rupees for the last three repairs! And don't think I don't know who you are! You may be a Link, but anyone can recognize those ugly marks on your face."
A Link. A nameless child. A bastard born. A street orphan. Every unwanted on every corner of every block. A name Link picked because he did not know what else to call himself. Link had no history. He did not know his parents, and he did not have any siblings growing up. What little history he could remember had faded from his memory over the years. Other Links he knew from years back had grown into adults, learned trades, adopted new names, started families, and lived comfortable lives. It was the dream of every Link to no longer be named so.
"Fine. You got me," Link conceded as he threw up his arms to the burly, intimidating blacksmith, "I do owe you a sum. But!" shifting his tone to pitch a sale, "I just need some of your finest flint and steel for a new job, and then I shall have your money before the first rays of the morning sun strike your tent!"
"HA! Do I look like the kind of guy that lives on promises?" Wapapa's enraged retort even made Link take a step back, "I can't live on promises! And my family can't live on promises!"
Link raised his arms to calm down Wapapa's animal-like temper. "Okay then," he said calmly to a man breathing like he was ready to jump over the counter and strangle the boy, "I can purchase flint from you. One green rupee for your lousiest flint rock. Another rupee for steel." He slowly retrieved the two green jewels and placed them on the counter.
With a family to feed, Papa Wapapa eyed the rupees sternly yet hungrily. Those rupees were enough to buy a loaf of bread or a basketful of eggs for his family. What was stopping him was his pride. He did not want to accept any of Link's offerings on principle, but those rupees did look tantalizing, and the piss poor condition of Papa Wapapa's tent was a clear sign of his financial trouble.
Several long heartbeats passed before Wapapa's large, hairy hand swiped the two green jewels and replaced them with a small flint stone.
"And the steel?" he asked.
"I would never sell either for less than two, so what makes you think I'd sell you both for less?" Wapapa seethed.
"Fine, fine!" was the boy's quick response. Link emptied the box of salt and the envelope of egg yolk dust into his now empty leather wallet before retrieving his newly purchased items with a cheery bright smile on his face. But he rudely dashed off towards the western cliff without saying another word.
The boy turned north when he reached the end of the square and began walking back towards the sabotage target. As he walked, thoughts poured through his mind. All because he asked himself, Where am I supposed to get rope without any money?