After all, Amati was essentially proposing to spend a thousand silver pieces on something he would never be able to resell, so any merchant would be curious as to the source of such wealth.
Lawrence was deep in thought, trying to decide what to investigate next, when Mark suddenly spoke.
“Oh, that’s right. Apparently there’s another bet on – about what’s going to happen after the contract.”
“After the contract?”
“Yes, if Amati wins the contract, who will be the victor after that.”
Mark grinned provocatively; Lawrence turned away, his face betraying his irritation.
Holo had evidently taken an interest in the grain and flour laid up in Mark’s shop, and she wandered about, listening to the apprentice’s grand explanations.
She seemed to hear Mark and Lawrence and looked their way.
“But you’ve got the advantage as far as the odds go.”
“Maybe I should demand the bookmaker give me a cut.”
“Ha-ha-ha. So what are you actually going to do?”
Mark was obviously trying to get some information that would allow him to make some money on the wager, but he also seemed genuinely curious.
Lawrence only shrugged, not giving a proper answer to the question, but then Holo (who had evidently approached the two at some point during their conversation) spoke.
“Even if a question has a proper answer, sometimes one cannot simply give it away. For example, the mixing of your flour there.”
“Erk–” Flustered, Mark shot his apprentice a sharp look, but the boy merely shook his head, as if to say, “I didn’t tell her anything!” The mixing of the flour surely referred to its purity. Mixing in cheaper grades of flour with wheat flour to increase its volume was a standard merchant trick.
Even a merchant that dealt with flour day in and day out would probably have a hard time noticing small fluctuations in purity, but for Holo, whose very spirit resided within the wheat, it was simplicity itself.
She continued, “You want to ask what I’ll do if he truly pays my debt, do you not?”
She gave the unfriendly smile that was her specialty.
Mark now shook his head frantically, much like his apprentice, as they looked to Lawrence with beseeching eyes.
“At this point, all we can do is observe our opponent’s actions,” said Lawrence.
“How treacherous.”
Holo’s sharp appraisal pierced Lawrence’s heart.
“I’d be happier if you called it a hidden contest. He’ll certainly have someone watching our moves as well, you know,” Lawrence said.
Mark recovered his composure enough to differ. “I wonder about that. Amati ran away from home and came alone all the way to this town, achieving all his success independently. And there’s his youth to consider. He’s very self-confident. Not only does he not give much thought to the connections between merchants, he would probably consider tricks like that beneath him. He trusts only in his eye for good fish and his ability to sell them. That and the protection of the gods.”
Amati sounded more like a knight than a merchant to Lawrence, who found himself envying the boy’s ability to achieve such success on his own.
“That’d explain why he’d fall so hard for a charming girl who’d just arrived in town,” Mark continued. “The townswomen are even more closely connected than the merchants. They seem to care only about reputation and are always watching each other. If one starts to stick out a little more, the others beat her down. I’m sure he finds it distasteful. Of course, not all women are like that, as I found out when I married my Adele.”
As a traveling merchant, Lawrence well understood Mark’s explanation. The town could certainly look that way from the outside.
Lawrence glanced sideways at Holo. He felt that yes, if he was in similar circumstances and saw a girl like Holo, he might well fall for her instantly – all the more so if he thought she was just an ordinary girl.
“Amati may well be as you say, but I will not hesitate to use any connection I need to. Treachery may be forbidden when knights duel, but there’s no crying in a contest of merchants.”
“I surely agree,” said Mark. He looked at Holo.
Lawrence likewise looked at her again. Holo put her hands to her cheeks in a gesture of embarrassment, as though she had been waiting for the moment, and spoke.
“I wish just once someone would attack me from the front.”
No doubt Mark was finally realizing, Lawrence mused, that there was no winning against Holo.
In the end, Lawrence decided to use Mark’s connections to get more information on Amati. He made sure to mention to Mark the peddler Batos’s hint regarding Amati’s potential reserves of capital.
Lawrence trusted Holo, but there was no telling what she would do if he rested on his laurels in this contest. And there was always the possibility of being able to make some money in Amati’s wake.
Holo and Lawrence couldn’t very well hang around Mark’s shop all day long, so after Lawrence asked Mark to help him with information, they put the stall behind them.
The town was becoming livelier and livelier, and the crowds did not diminish at all as they passed from the market to the plaza.
Midday approached, and people lined up in front of every stall alongside the road. Holo was not shy about lining up herself, clutching the money she’d relieved Lawrence of.
Lawrence watched her from afar, thinking it was just about time for the midday bell to ring, when he heard a low, lazy tone sound.
“A horn?”
The horn’s sound made him think of shepherds, and for a moment, he remembered Norah and the danger they had faced together in Ruvinheigen. If the keen-eyed Holo saw through him, though, it would be trouble.
Lawrence chased the thought from his mind and tried to see where the sound came from just as Holo returned, bearing the fried bread she’d managed to successfully buy.
“Did I not just hear a shepherd’s horn?” she asked.
“You did. I wasn’t sure, but if you call it a shepherds horn, then it must be so.”
“It fairly overflows with the scent of food here. I cannot tell if there are sheep or not.”
“There would be sheep aplenty in the marketplace, but there’s no need to blow a horn in town.”
“And no comely shepherdesses.”
Lawrence had been expecting the jab, so he was relatively unaffected.
“Hmph,” said Holo. “When you fail to react, it does rather feel like I am trying to win your affection.”
“I’m just terribly delighted. Scarify so.”
Holo happily bit into her bread with an audible crunch. Lawrence chuckled and looked out over the plaza again, realizing that the crowd seemed to be flowing in a particular direction. People were heading for the center of the city. Perhaps the horn had been the signal for the opening of the festival.
“Sounds like the festival has begun. Shall we go see?”
“’Twould be boring to do naught but eat.”
Lawrence’s smile was a bit forced as he started walking; Holo took his hand and followed.
They moved with the crowds, bearing north along the marketplace’s edge, until eventually they began to hear cheers amid the sounds of drum and horn.
All manner of people were gathering – town girls dressed much like Holo, apprentice craftsmen (their faces black with soot after having snuck away from their work), itinerant priests with the customary three feathers pinned to their robes, and even lightly armored men who might have been knights or mercenaries.
The noise seemed to come from the intersection of the two main streets that quartered the town, but the crowds made it impossible to see. Holo craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse ahead, but even Lawrence couldn’t see past the crowds, and he was much taller than Holo.
Lawrence remembered something, and taking Holo’s hand, he ducked into an alleyway.
Once they were a few steps into the alley, things we
re much quieter, unlike the clamorous street. Here and there were beggars clothed in rags, dozing away as though to proclaim their disinterest in the festival, along with craftsmen who busily prepared the wares they would sell in their stalls, their workshops open to the alley.
Holo soon seemed to understand where they were heading and silently followed.
If the festival was being held in the main streets, they would be able to see the sights perfectly well from their room at the inn.
Holo and Lawrence walked easily down the uncrowded back alleys, entering the inn from its rear door and climbing to the second floor.
It seemed that someone else had the same idea and was making a business out of it. As they arrived on the second floor, they noticed several of the doors along the hallway leading to their room had been left open and a bored-looking merchant sat on a chair in front of them, idly playing with a coin.
“We’ll have to be thankful to Amati on this count anyway.”
Upon entering their room and opening the window, they immediately had front-row seats.
To see everything that was happening at the large intersection, Holo and Lawrence had but to lean a bit out the window, and even without leaning, they had a perfectly acceptable view.
The musicians playing pipes and drums in the intersection were clad head to toe in ominous black robes that obscured even their sex.
Behind the group in black walked another strangely dressed troupe.
Some of the costumes consisted of sewn-together pieces of clothing large enough to cover any number of people. Such a costume had several people hidden underneath it and was topped with a mask where the head would be. Other performers wore robes that concealed what must have been one person riding on another’s shoulders, their head popping out of the top of the garment. Some carried great swords made from thin pieces of wood; others had bows taller than they were. They brandished the weapons wildly to great cries from the crowd.
But just as Lawrence thought that was all there would be, there was a noticeably louder shout from the crowd, and a new set of instruments could be heard.
Holo gave a small cry of surprise, and Lawrence leaned his head out the window so as not to block her view.
The inn sat at the southeast corner of the intersection, and it seemed another group in strange costumes was emerging from the east.
Leading the group were people clad in black, but behind them followed another group whose dress was wholly different from those who currently occupied the intersection.
Some people had paint-blackened faces and wore cow horns upon their heads; others carried bird wings on their backs. Many were covered in animal skins of some sort, and it seemed likely that if Holo was to walk among them with her ears and tail exposed, no one would bat an eye. After that column passed, there arose a riotous cry and with it appeared a giant straw figure far bigger than a human. It was vaguely lupine in shape, four legged, and larger even than Holo’s wolf form. The figure was supported on a wooden rack, which was carried by ten men or so.
Lawrence was about to say something about it to Holo, but he abandoned the notion when he saw the intense focus with which she watched the festival.
Animal costume after animal costume appeared in the intersection-cum-stage as the column continued along.
The black-painted marchers at the head of the procession now pointed at the signposts that had been erected here and there in the intersection, milling about as they did so.
Seeing this, Lawrence guessed that this was no mere costume parade. He thought there was some kind of tale being told– unfortunately, he was not sure. He was just thinking he would ask Mark about this later when he saw another procession arrive from the north.
These were normal folk, though some were dressed in tatters, some in noble robes, and some as knights and soldiers. The single commonality was the spoon that each one of them carried. Lawrence wondered why spoons, of all things, when the three groups collided in the intersection and began crying out in a language he had never heard. A slight ripple of nervousness ran through the assembled spectators as they watched the exchange; Lawrence, too, felt some trepidation.
Just as he was wondering what would happen next, the black-clad group all pointed in the same direction as one.
It was southwest that they pointed, and everyone’s gaze soon turned that way.
Carts loaded with large barrels had evidently been prepared beforehand. Their stewards laughed loudly (if somewhat forcedly) and pushed the carts into the intersection.
The black-clad people began to play the instruments they held, the people in costumes began to sing, and the barrel carriers opened the barrels and began to sprinkle their liquid contents about.
As if that were some kind of signal, the onlookers now flooded into the intersection and began to dance.
The ring of dancers expanded rapidly. Many of the strangely dressed revelers had jumped out of the intersection and danced along the sides of the streets.
The merriment spread, and in no time at all, the entire boulevard was a huge ballroom. In the middle of the intersection, the participants of the original procession linked arms and began to dance in a circle. The festival was well and truly under way now; the singing and dancing would continue into the night.
It seemed that the opening of this festival – this revel–was complete.
Holo pulled her body – which heretofore had leaned well out of the window – back into the room.
“I’m going to go dance,” she said, though it was not clear if she spoke to Lawrence or not.
Lawrence could count the number of times he’d danced like this on one hand. He tended to avoid festivals such as this one, and dancing alone was always a depressing affair.
Thus he hesitated for a moment, but he soon changed his mind after seeing Holo’s outstretched hand.
Everyone would be drunk anyway – no one would notice if his dancing was a little clumsy.
And Holo’s outstretched hand was worth ten thousand gold pieces.
“All right,” said Lawrence, taking Holo’s hand and preparing himself.
Holo laughed at his over-serious resolve. “Just mind you don’t tread on my feet,” she said with a smile.
“… I will do my best.”
The two exited the inn and plunged into the reveling crowds.
How many years had it been since he’d celebrated so much?
Lawrence had danced, drunk, and laughed so much he could not help but wonder.
This was also certainly the first time he had basked thus in the post-revel afterglow.
Normally, once the fun had passed, it was followed by a rush of terrible loneliness.
But as he helped Holo, unsteady on her feet from a surfeit of merriment and wine, up the inn stairs, the heat of the moment faded to a pleasant warmth. As long as Holo was with him, he felt, the celebration would continue.
The inn room’s window had been left open, and the sounds of the continuing festival filtered though it. The night was young, and the merchants and craftsmen who had to work through the day were only now beginning to join in the festivities.
The festival seemed to have entered a new phase. As they returned to the inn, Lawrence had looked back at the intersection to see it filled with people busily coming and going.
If Holo had had any strength remaining, she surely would have wanted to see. Unfortunately, she was exhausted.
After putting her to bed and setting her things in order (continuing his manservant duties from the previous day), Lawrence sighed.
It was not, however, an unhappy sigh. It came out as he looked at Holo’s flushed cheeks as she lay sideways and innocent on the bed.
He felt a bit bad for Amati. He was no longer even remotely worried about having to fulfill the contract.
Far from it – in fact, he’d forgotten about it entirely until they had returned to the inn.
Once they came back, the innkeeper told Lawrence there was a message for him. It was from Mark; t
he message was “I’ve found how Amati plans to make the money – come to the shop as soon as you can.”
The first thought that crossed Lawrence’s mind was I’ll go tomorrow. Normally such procrastination would never have occurred to him, and when he thought on it, it illustrated just how low of a priority it was for him.
What concerned him more than Mark’s message was the letter that had come with it. It was sealed with a wax stamp and had “Diana” written in a lovely hand on the envelope. The letter had apparently been delivered by a stout man with a coffin-like build, which had to be Batos.
Lawrence had asked the chronicler to please let him know if she should happen to recall anything more about Yoitsu, which is what he expected the letter to be about. He considered opening it right then and there, but he decided that once he sat down and opened the envelope, he would be even less inclined to go visit Mark, so he decided against it.
Lawrence slipped the envelope back into his coat, and closing the window against the clamor still wafting in from the street, he headed out.
Just as he was about to open the door, he felt a gaze on his back, and looking behind him, he saw Holo forcing her sleep-heavy eyes open to look at him.
“I’m just going out for a bit.”
“… Quite, and with a letter from a female tucked near your breast?” Her irritation did not seem to come from her struggle to stay awake.
“Aye, and she’s a beauty, I might add. Does it bother you?”
“… Fool.”
“She’s a chronicler. Do you know what that is? She’s the one telling me about Yoitsu. She’s quite knowledgeable about the tales from the northlands. I haven’t read the letter yet, but just talking to her yesterday gained us some excellent information. I even heard a story about you.”
Holo rubbed her eyes like a cat washing its face, and then she sat up. “… A story? About me?”
“A town called Lenos has a story of you. Holoh of the Wheat Tail. That’s you, is it not?”
“… I’ve no idea. But what do you mean by ‘excellent information’?” With her homeland as the subject of conversation, Holo was now fully awake.
“Part of the tale included the direction from which you arrived in the town.”
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