“Now, then,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Time is running short.”
“…”
“Come now, don’t make such a face. Or did you want to flail about again?”
Past her mischievous smile, Lawrence heard the quiet sound of a staff and footsteps. Col and Huskins must have returned.
Holo stood and stretched. Her joints cracked and her tail fur puffed out pleasantly. Lawrence only had a moment to enjoy gazing at her, though. Not because she pinched his cheek for staring at her tail, but because she was covering it and her ears up.
There was no need to hide them from Huskins now.
Which meant that Holo’s ears had caught the same sound that Lawrence heard, but that she could tell it was not Col and Huskins.
Surely not—
Lawrence’s hair stood on end, and even though he knew it was pointless, his hand went to his breast where the royal decree that Huskins had recovered from the dead messenger still was.
Even if he tossed the sheepskin parchment into the fire, it would not burn immediately the way paper would. Holo looked at him, shocked, as though wondering what was the matter.
Lawrence could only pray to God.
“Excuse us.” It was a quiet voice and one that would brook no argument. Its owner was a man wearing a robe—different from Holo’s—who spoke as though used to having his commands obeyed.
Huskins stood between the two men.
“You’ll have to excuse us for a moment. You there—” said the older one.
“Yes!” The younger monk entered the room and looked around, immediately reaching for Huskins’s belongings. Huskins watched calmly, his ascetic expression completely hiding any emotions.
The problem was Col, who lacked both experience and beard.
Lawrence met his eyes and could tell Col might start trembling in fear at any moment.
“A traveling merchant, are you?” the older, fatter monk asked, still standing in the doorway. Perhaps he considered a shepherd’s home to be unclean.
“That’s right. We’re staying here as we couldn’t find a room elsewhere.”
“I see. So you’re with the Ruviks?”
“No. I’m attached to the Rowen Trade Guild.”
“Hn.” The monk nodded and sniffed. It was possible that the utterance was merely the sound of air being expelled by the fatty flesh around his neck as he nodded; in any case, the impression was not a good one.
“Might I ask what the matter is?”
The atmosphere was too tense for idle chatter. The monk behind Lawrence was still roughly rummaging through bags, blankets, and firewood, after all.
There were few possibilities. First and foremost, Huskins was under suspicion of having encountered a messenger while out searching for lost sheep. No doubt they thought he had gotten greedy and stolen something. Such occurrences were quite common.
“Oh, nothing too out of the ordinary…You said you were in the Rowen Trade Guild?”
Lawrence had no choice but to answer. “Yes.”
“I don’t recall that our abbey has had any dealings with that organization.”
If he panicked here, he would have no cause to complain when Holo buried her foot in his backside later.
“True. We’re not actually here on business.”
“Oh?” said the monk, narrowing his eyes.
“The little lamb there and I have come to the grand Brondel Abbey in the hopes of receiving its blessings.”
“…You’re on pilgrimage?”
“Yes.”
It had been quite some time since the abbey had received pilgrims. It strained belief that a merchant would come here with a young nun and a boy on pilgrimage.
The monk smiled, but not with his eyes. “Speaking of Rowen, I seem to recall hearing that name across the strait. There are some famous churches and abbeys over there, are there not? St. Liebert Abbey, La Kieak Abbey, the Church of Gibralta. Or Ruvinheigen.”
Given the other monk ransacking the dormitory behind them, the questions were an obvious interrogation.
“We heard tell of a holy relic.”
“A holy relic,” the monk repeated flatly.
“Yes. I heard that this place has a love of sheep as well as of God. It seemed perhaps better suited than the other places you just named, to a merchant like myself.”
The monk chuckled in reply to the levity, but his gaze remained fixed on Lawrence. The other monk moved to the next room.
Lawrence’s belongings were there, but like most merchants, he had a habit of keeping dangerous items on his person. They could turn the room upside down, and he would still have nothing to fear.
“I see…Well, you seem a well-traveled merchant. God’s blessings be upon you!”
The monk was surely being sarcastic, but Lawrence nodded meekly anyway.
“Marco!” the older monk called out, and the younger one came rushing out of the room with the bed, like a dog called by its master.
These monks hardly appeared like they spent their days quietly praying; they seemed more like well-drilled mercenaries.
“Did you find anything?”
“Nothing.”
“I see.”
Lawrence wondered if the monks were openly having this conversation in front of him, Col, and Holo in order to intimidate them. Or perhaps they were just trying to save a bit of face, having found nothing.
In any case, the danger seemed to have passed.
Or so Lawrence thought.
“The cuckoo lays its eggs in the nests of other birds. Search these two.”
A former merchant—but by the time Lawrence realized the older monk’s true nature, it was too late.
The monk called Marco looked back and forth between Lawrence and Holo, a lecherous look passing across his face. He pushed past Lawrence and approached Holo.
“In God’s name, please endure this.” His words were polite, but that only made him seem more snakelike.
Under Holo’s robe was her tail, and beneath her hood were her wolf ears. Her face was as serene as a saint faced with martyrdom, but Lawrence did not feel so calm.
Marco should have checked her sleeves first, but he went straight down from her shoulders along the line of her figure. Holo flinched away when his hands reached her chest.
“What’s this?” he said. His notice of the pouch of wheat that hung from her neck made it clear what sort of method his search was using. “Wheat?”
“It’s a charm…,” Holo answered in a tremulous voice no bigger than a fly’s, which brought a sadistically obscene smile to Marco’s face. Lawrence felt his hands closing into fists but held himself back.
If Holo could endure this, he would also endure this, lest all their effort be for naught.
As his hand continued their slide down Holo’s flanks, the difference in their heights forced Marco to crouch down. If he moved his hands around behind her, her tail would be right there.
Would Holo be able to fool him?
The only thing that let Lawrence restrain his anger was that uncertainty.
Then, as Marco’s hands began to curve around Holo’s waist—
“Wah…uuh…”
A small sob was heard. Holo’s face was downcast as Marco shamelessly stroked her waist. He looked up and clicked his tongue.
Tears fell from Holo’s eyes. She held the pouch of wheat as though clinging to it.
Seeming to decide that this amusement was over, Marco removed his hands from Holo, hastily checking her sleeves before standing up.
“God has proven your innocence.”
Holo nodded meekly.
Lawrence was sure she was not really crying, but she had done a magnificent job of faking it. But this relief did not last long.
With Holo searched, he would of course be next.
“If you’ll excuse me.” The look in Marco’s eyes was different now. He had no reason to hold back when searching Lawrence, and Lawrence was the more suspicious party.
He had sever
al letters in his breast pocket. If the parchment with the notice of taxation on it were found, all would be lost.
If only he had a chance to rid himself of it.
The moment Marco’s hand reached out to Lawrence, Lawrence met Holo’s eyes.
“Look out!” Lawrence shouted, pushing past Marco to reach Holo’s side. When he had exchanged the look with her, Holo had nodded minutely, then tearfully clutched the pouch as though praying to God, then wobbled unsteadily, her nerves seemingly causing her to faint—and she started to fall in the direction of the hearth.
Lawrence threw his arms around her, and they both tumbled to the floor. They had bought themselves another moment.
But what to do next? What could be done? Lawrence thought frantically as he held Holo in his arms.
Footsteps approached, and someone stood immediately behind him. He would not be able to deceive them for much longer.
“Is she hurt?” Marco had the gall to ask, as though he were concerned.
But of course Lawrence could not allow himself anger. “She’s safe,” said Lawrence, sitting up. Holo was feigning unconsciousness, her eyes closed.
The footsteps behind him had been Col. He helped Lawrence prop Holo up.
“We’ll take her to the other room.”
With Col’s help, Lawrence carried Holo to the next room and laid her on the bed. Marco watched them carefully the entire time, and there was no opportunity for Lawrence to remove the letter and hide it elsewhere.
Lawrence’s stomach churned as he frantically tried to think of what to do.
“Are you finished?” Marco asked pitilessly, and Lawrence had no choice but to obey, sheep-like.
“Right, take off your coat.”
Lawrence sluggishly removed his coat and handed it to Marco.
Marco shook it, checked the pockets, and searched the lining for anything that might be hidden there. He was not an amateur at this.
“Next.”
Dear God! Lawrence cried out in his heart, trying to keep his composure as he removed the article that contained the letter, and then—
“All right.” Marco finished searching the piece the same way and then returned it to Lawrence. “God has revealed the truth.” With those words he turned to face the older monk with his results.
“We’re sorry to have troubled you. God will surely reward the faith you have shown in your pilgrimage.”
With those hollow words, the two monks left. Huskins saw them off from the hallway and then returned, and Col closed the door behind him.
All three of them heaved a sigh of relief.
“I honestly never noticed,” said Lawrence to a grinning Holo as he approached her room and leaned against the doorframe.
“So you thought I was just bawling the whole time? Funny—” Holo produced the letters from her own breast pocket and fanned them through the air as she approached Lawrence. “I was sure you’d noticed.”
That had been the reason Holo had grasped her wheat pouch and kept her hands at her chest as though pretending to pray. Lawrence gave a strained smile; as to whether or not it had been Holo’s plan, if he had not met her eye in that instant, there was no telling what might have happened. The realization caused another wave of fear to hit him.
“Ah, well, we’ve gotten away with it so I suppose it hardly matters. And I got to see your foolish face, too.”
Holo nudged his chest, and surprisingly it was Huskins who laughed faintly. It sounded like a cough as he sat down by the hearth.
“Apologies,” he said. The short apology was only more embarrassing.
Holo did not seem to mind, but Lawrence reddened.
“Still, the abbey may now send men out to meet the messengers.” Only when Huskins returned to the topic at hand was Lawrence able to regain his composure.
“Will they return by tomorrow?”
“There’s quite a distance involved, and the sun will soon be setting. It will be tomorrow evening or possibly the day after…so what say you? Will things go well?”
“I cannot guarantee that. But I have faith in the man I’ve asked to help.”
“I see…Still…” Lawrence was about to ask what Huskins was referring to, but Huskins shook his head and looked down, continuing on. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. Humans are very clever. I just didn’t want to admit it out of pride. Or envy,” said Huskins amusedly.
Just then, the sound of footsteps reached Lawrence’s ears—strong footsteps, too, that were heading directly their way in something of a hurry.
Lawrence had often held his breath and listened closely to the footsteps of bandits or wolves, so he could generally tell whether they were friend or foe. And this was a friend.
There was a knock at the door, and when Col opened it, Piasky was there.
“Mr. Lawrence.” His cheeks were rosy like a child’s. “I found it.”
Lawrence exchanged a look with Holo and Col, and standing, he looked at Huskins.
But Huskins only pointed to the staff next to him and shook his head, as if to say, “I’ve asked for your help, so I trust you.”
Lawrence nodded and spoke to Piasky. “May I bring my companions?”
“I don’t mind. Quite the contrary, please do. Did I see monks from the abbey here a moment ago?”
“Yes. They were extremely unpleasant.”
Piasky’s smile had a childlike innocence. “Were they? Still, I assume from your saying so that the outcome was pleasant. I’m encouraged that they were already here. Or maybe the opposite of that.” As Lawrence and his companions started to walk, Piasky continued, “If we’re going to strike, we must do it now.”
The sun was about to set.
As they went outside, the snow had completely ceased to fall.
Piasky’s office was packed with eccentric merchants.
It did not seem to be because of a lack of trading partners, but some of them had huge beards, and one had grown his hair out like some vain knight.
Following Piasky, Lawrence brought Holo and Col into the room, where a light whistle greeted them.
“The two monks that visited you are especially hated over at the alliance inn,” Piasky explained over his shoulder to Lawrence, resting his hand on a desk in the corner of the room. “Constantly asking whether their messengers have arrived or whether we’ve gotten their letters. They’ve even tried to go through our things. I suppose that goes to show how desperate they are. The abbey must be worried that if the king plans to decree a tax, he’ll be doing it soon.”
“I see. So they think danger is imminent.”
Piasky briefly looked down to indicate agreement, a gesture that made Lawrence feel as though they were mutually communicating their thoughts in a dark place where no sound could be made.
“So, what have you found?”
“Since we were suspicious this time, it wasn’t difficult. When something expensive is purchased after all, the only way to hide it is with an equally expensive sale. However, this is only a supposition—it only looks as though we’ve found it. We can’t be certain.”
Confirming Piasky’s suspicions about what was written in the ledger would require Lawrence’s help.
“In particular, their regular expenditures are less distinct and easier to hide in. Trying to hide a onetime cost is far more conspicuous. Concretely speaking, such things are robes and such for the monks, building materials, masonry costs, and spices for the periodic welcome banquets they have.”
As he spoke, Piasky pulled out the relevant sections and handed them to Lawrence.
Lawrence looked them over and had to admit that he could not follow them. They seemed like perfectly unremarkable ledgers.
“Our advantage is in having so many merchants. With so many eyes and ears, we can bring together information from places separated by great distances. The spice, saffron, came via two separate towns, and it was the key.”
“Meaning?”
“When the purchase was made, saffron wasn’t the only good to a
rrive in the town. A comrade of mine happened to be there at the time, you see. The ship it was on was delayed by a storm. The royal merchants handling import and export knew what the monastery’s goal was and managed to turn it to their advantage. If they were going to pay money for empty crates, it could be used to cover a bigger expenditure somewhere. But that wound up being their undoing.”
Once a single lie was discovered, all lies could be seen.
Simply by discovering that a shipment had been concealed in an overpayment, all that was necessary was applying some clever thinking.
“The expenditure for those items was above market value. Either that or the crates really were empty. There were items there that even we didn’t understand. Still—”
“—That’s more than enough,” Lawrence finished, returning the parchment to Piasky. “So, tonight?”
“If the main abbey is going to the trouble of sending out monks, they must be in a desperate state. And they may have even dispatched shepherds out to go meet the messengers.”
Huskins had said as much.
Piasky’s expression was strained. “If you’re ready, Mr. Lawrence, the men in charge are all gathered.”
Lawrence looked at Holo and Col, who flanked him. The two of them slowly nodded. “That is fine.”
“Well, then,” Piasky said, straightening up from the desk on which he had been leaning. “Let us go.”
Entering the alliance inn, the atmosphere had changed.
A strange heat suffused it, as though too many logs had been thrown in the fireplace. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of those two monks coming to cause trouble. Anytime monks acted so high-and-mighty, even the sleepiest merchant would smell blood, like a wolf—because to act so rashly spoke of injury and weakness.
Given that the town was filled with either those looking for the abbey’s wound—all the better to seize it in their jaws—or those simply hoping to see the show, the hot atmosphere was not surprising.
So when Piasky led Lawrence and his companions into the room, the gazes of all present fell upon them.
An outsider merchant, a girl dressed as a nun, and a small boy appearing as an afterthought—all were led by Piasky into the inn and up the stairs, and as they went, all present in the inn couldn’t help but wonder: Had they found something?
Spice and Wolf, Vol. 10 Page 18
