Spice & Wolf Omnibus

by Isuna Hasekura

  The stairs creaked in the morning quiet of the inn.

  When they reached the second floor, Holo fixed Lawrence with her gaze. “I’ve an evil spell cast upon me.”

  Lawrence flashed a quick smile, as if to ask what she was getting at. “I suppose I’d best not clap, so as to avoid breaking it,” he said.

  “You’ve already clapped once.”

  “So you’re saying the spell’s coming undone?”

  There was no telling where the trap in this conversation was.

  This was how Holo would extort him into buying her treats.

  He pondered how to avoid that particular eventuality as they passed the second floor where he saw a pair of travelers who had evidently fallen asleep while chatting in front of the fireplace.

  As they continued down to the first floor, a tug at Lawrence’s hand pulled him out of his reverie.

  To be precise, Holo, who had been holding his hand the entire time, stopped descending the stairs.

  She looked down at him, smiling softly from underneath her hood. “So then, will you cast another spell upon me so that I do not wake?”

  It was a devilish play.

  No doubt Holo would be satisfied if Lawrence was unable to answer.

  But Lawrence wanted to get the best of her every once in a while, so he turned around and took her hand again in his.

  In all the world, there was only one reason a man would take a woman’s hand in this way.

  He cradled her pale hand gently, then lightly kissed it.

  “Will this do, milady?” he asked, his pronunciation appropriately archaic.

  If he wasn’t careful, blood would rush up to his face, ruining the effect.

  But he kept his composure and looked up into Holo’s eyes, which were wide and round as saucers.

  “Come, let’s go,” he said, a smile finally appearing on his lips – a smile both of recognition that he had done something ridiculous and of victory at having gotten the best of Holo.

  He pulled lightly on her hand, and she came down the steps like a slack-stringed puppet.

  Her face was downcast, and he could not clearly make out her expression, but she seemed to be irritated.

  Lawrence chuckled inwardly. Restraining his embarrassment had been worth the trouble. He felt a swell of triumph, but then Holo stumbled forward as if having missed a step, and he hurried to catch her.

  Just as he began to laugh, wondering if she was too frustrated to stand, she hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, “That’s a spell too strong, foolish boy.”

  The voice was peevish, irritated.

  If Lawrence had been the person he was when they first met, either his mind would have gone blank or he would have simply returned her embrace.

  As it was he did neither and simply smiled, which he thought would only be more frustrating for her.

  Back in the village of Tereo, Lawrence had begun to open a box that contained an uncomfortable truth – the truth that these halcyon days with Holo might soon be coming to an end. But he did not want to open the box himself. Holo, too, had put her hand on it.

  But at the time, neither of them wanted to confront its contents, so for now the box remained closed.

  Yet there were some things he understood.

  Holo did not want to confront the issue unless she had to.

  Though he could now maintain his composure as she clung to him and whispered in his ear, he would never have imagined he could be of such help to her.

  Her uncombed bangs against his cheek were still straight and smooth and smelled sweet though untouched by any perfume. They were so fine he didn’t even bother to start counting the strands.

  Holo eventually realized that Lawrence had shown no reaction at all. She pulled away and looked up at him.

  “Just when are you going to become properly flustered?” she asked.

  “Mm, indeed. When you stop doing such things, I suppose.”

  Holo was extremely quick.

  She soon divined the meaning of his words and affected frustration. “You’ve become quite clever, you have.”

  “Mm, perhaps,” said Lawrence, at which Holo let go of him entirely, gave a soft sigh through her nose, and began descending the stairs.

  If she enjoyed seeing Lawrence flustered, then she would have to tease him, but if what truly flustered him was when she stopped doing so, then her only recourse was to behave herself.

  Lawrence allowed himself a bit of self-satisfaction at his skillful turnaround as he followed Holo down the stairs, but when she reached the bottom, she spun around.

  “Yes, you’ve certainly developed a way with words. Whoever has been teaching you, I wonder?”

  What surprised Lawrence most was her smile. It was strangely good-natured and warm enough to thaw a chilled hand.

  He’d thought for sure she was irritated with him, so this sudden change put him on his guard as he stood before her.

  “No – it just came to me in the moment, that’s all.”

  “In the moment?” Holo giggled. “That’s even better.” She seemed so pleased that if she had been a puppy, her tail would’ve been wagging rapidly.

  Uncomprehending, Lawrence looked at Holo as she took his left hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

  “When I stop doing such things, eh?” she murmured again, drawing flirtatiously close to him.

  When she stops doing such things…?

  A strange feeling came over Lawrence when he heard the words again.

  The moment he realized the other meaning they held, he froze in his tracks.

  Holo giggled. “Whatever is the matter?”

  The melted-snow clarity of her high spirits clashed with the swamplike stickiness of her wit.

  Lawrence could not bring himself to look at her.

  It was when she didn’t toy with him that he became flustered.

  What have I said, he wanted to cry out.

  Why, it was tantamount to outrightly declaring that he wanted her attention above all else!

  “What’s this? Your circulation seems to have improved,” said Holo.

  Indeed, Lawrence could not stop the flush that rose to his face.

  He covered his eyes with his free hand, wanting to at least show some shame that he’d not realized the true implications of what he was saying.

  Holo, however, had no intention of letting him do so. “Goodness, there’s no need to be ashamed of such sweet, childish words.”

  Swish, swish came the sound of her tail.

  Getting the best of a wisewolf in a duel of words was truly an impossible dream.

  Holo chuckled. “You surely are adorable, you are.”

  Through the spaces between his fingers, Lawrence caught sight of Holo’s face – cupped in her hands, sporting an infinitely malicious grin.

  Arold had evidently been busy with something in the stables, so fortunately he hadn’t overheard Lawrence’s foolish exchange with Holo.

  There was no question that Holo had been aware of this as she’d toyed with Lawrence.

  “A chronicler, you say?” asked Arold.

  “Aye. Or someone else who would know the old tales of the town.”

  Arold sat in his usual chair and poured some mulled wine into a cup fashioned from a sheet of thin, beaten metal. He raised his left eyebrow in curiosity. It was clear he never expected to hear this kind of question from a guest.

  But where other innkeepers would certainly begin inquiring about a guest’s background, Arold did no such thing. He merely stroked his snow-white beard for a moment before answering.

  “There’s a man named Rigolo who does such things… but unfortunately he’s at the Council of Fifty right now. I surely doubt he’ll take visitors.”

  “The Council of Fifty?” asked Lawrence.

  Arold poured mulled wine into two small earthenware cups, offering them to Lawrence and Holo.

  Just as the name suggested, the Council of Fifty was a council of fifty members – representatives o
f the town’s tradesmen, merchants, and noblemen. Each of them represented their own clan or trade guild and advocated that organization’s interests in vigorous debates. The outcome of those debates decided the fate of the town, so each representative carried a heavy burden of responsibility.

  Once there had been significant political jockeying around seats on the council, but a great plague some years previous had evidently left many seats empty.

  “Did you not see the state of things outside the town…?” asked Arold.

  “We saw. The merchant encampment, yes? If that’s connected with the Council of Fifty, then is there some trouble within the town?”

  Holo put the proffered wine to her lips but froze shortly thereafter.

  No doubt her tail was puffing up at the same instant. There was no telling the quality of a drink from a new region, after all.

  “It’s the furs, you see,” said Arold.

  “The furs?” Lawrence asked, suddenly excited. A chill ran down his spine at the mention of the word. It wasn’t because he was concerned about Holo – far from it. The word was so familiar to him that he felt a visceral reaction at the sudden remembrance of what he’d spent so much time pursuing – profit.

  But Arold continued as if he hadn’t heard the question. “Rigolo’s the secretary of the council,” he said. Apparently he didn’t want to discuss the council meeting, and Arold wasn’t a particularly loquacious person to begin with. “And you’re looking for people who know old tales, then,” he finished.

  “Er, yes. That would be fine. Do you know of any?” He couldn’t let the anticipation show on his face.

  Lawrence’s self-discipline seemed to have worked. Arold’s blue eyes, nearly buried in the wrinkles of his face, squinted off into the distance. “Bolta the tanner’s grandmother was a wise old woman… but she died in the plague four years gone.”

  “And there are no others?”

  “Others? Mm… the old man of the Latton Company, but no, the heat of the summer last year did him in…” Arold set his cup down with an audible thunk.

  Lawrence noticed Holo look over at Arold, probably at the sound he had just made.

  “I suppose the town’s old wisdom only exists as written word now,” said Arold, aghast at the realization as he continued to gaze somewhere far away, stroking his beard.

  Lawrence could tell that, beneath her robes, Holo’s body twitched in surprise.

  There was no one who had direct knowledge of her. Holo herself was that forgotten wisdom.

  Lawrence immediately forgot the thrill he had felt only a moment ago and wordlessly put his hand on Holo’s back. “So that means we’ve no course but to go to Mr. Rigolo and have him show us the chronicles?”

  “I suppose so… The months and years weather even stone buildings, to say nothing of the writings of men. ’Tis a dreadful thing…” Arold shook his head, closing his eyes and falling silent.

  The old man had been a recluse when Lawrence had first met him, and it seemed that tendency had only deepened with time.

  Lawrence couldn’t help but wonder whether it was the ever-clearer sound of death’s approach that drove this.

  Deciding that further conversation would only bring trouble, Lawrence finished his remaining wine in a single draught, and inviting Holo to go ahead of him, he went outside.

  In a sudden turnabout from the previous day, the street was busy, and the sun that shone down from Lawrence’s left was bright enough to make him briefly dizzy.

  He stood there on the still slick cobblestone street and looked at Holo.

  She seemed dejected.

  “Shall we find something to eat?” Even Lawrence thought that was roughly the worst thing he could have said, but things were so difficult at the moment that everything was turned inside out.

  Beneath her hood, Holo gave a long-suffering sigh, then smiled. “You ought to build your vocabulary,” she said, pulling on Lawrence’s hand.

  Apparently it was premature to worry that she was going to start something here in the crowds.

  Just as Lawrence was pulled away, the door to the inn opened once again.

  “…”

  It was the stranger from before that emerged.

  The man was the very image of a busy traveler, but when he looked at Lawrence and Holo, he froze, visibly surprised.

  “… Pardon,” was all he said in a high, hoarse voice after a moment and then immediately melted into the crowd.

  Lawrence looked at Holo just to be sure that her ears and tail weren’t visible. She cocked her head slightly.

  “Seemed a bit surprised to see me,” said Holo.

  “Surely he doesn’t suspect you’re not human.”

  “I did not get that sense from her. Perhaps she was merely taken aback by my comeliness.”

  “Surely not,” replied a smiling Lawrence to Holo, whose chest was thrust out with exaggerated pride. “Wait,” he added. “She?”

  “Hmm?”

  “That was a woman?”

  The well-traveled look and hoarse voice of the stranger had made him assume otherwise, but Holo could hardly be wrong about such things.

  Lawrence looked in the direction in which she had disappeared and wondered what a female traveling merchant could possibly be trading in when he felt another tug at his hand.

  “What exactly makes you think it is acceptable to be standing beside me and staring thus at another female?”

  “Must you be so direct? A more roundabout complaint would be far more charming.”

  “You’re such a dunce you’d never catch on unless I spoke plainly,” Holo shot back without flinching, scorn in her voice.

  Given their earlier conversation, it was sad indeed that Lawrence was unable to refute her.

  “So, what shall we do next?” Lawrence asked, putting an end to the foolish exchange. They needed to plan their day.

  “Will it be difficult to meet that man – whatever was his name?”

  “Rigolo or some such. If he’s the secretary of the council, it may well be difficult, though that may depend on exactly what the council is doing…” said Lawrence, scratching his just-tidied beard.

  Holo took a step forward. “’Tis clear enough from your face that you’re desperate to know what that meeting is about.”

  “Is it?” asked Lawrence, stroking his beard. Holo’s expression as she looked over her shoulder at him was mean-spirited indeed.

  “So we’ll instead loaf about town until the meeting is adjourned, I expect?”

  Lawrence smiled. “The wisewolf’s powers of observation are keen indeed. I’m dying to know what’s going on with this town. Not just that, I–”

  “You want to turn it into profit.”

  Lawrence slumped. Holo cocked her head at him and smiled.

  “Whatever it is, it’s serious enough that they’re passing out these wooden plaques. Something interesting must be happening,” said Lawrence, taking the foreign merchant registration plaque out of his back pocket.

  “Still, though, a warning–” said Holo.

  “Hmm?”

  “Try to restrain yourself.”

  Holo’s words were hard to laugh off ruefully since so far they had been through kidnappings, chased through sewers, faced bankruptcy, and most recently, caught up in a giant feud.

  “I will,” he answered, whereupon the wisewolf that had been so lovely up until a few moments ago turned suddenly angry.

  “I wonder about that,” she said.

  In the face of her sudden suspicion, Lawrence had but one recourse.

  He took her hand and used every ounce of his bargaining charm. “Shall we see the sights of the town, then?”

  The effect of his kissing her hand on the stairs a moment earlier seemed to be wearing thin. Either that or it had just reversed itself.

  Still, Holo seemed to give him a passing mark. Sniffing, she stood next to Lawrence. “I suppose so.”

  “Understood, milady.”

  Lawrence reflected that if
his self from half a year earlier could see him now, he would be terrified.

  “So what sights are there to see? It’s changed so much that in truth I hardly remember ever coming here.”

  “Let’s go to the docks. I hear it’s only recently that ships have become so important. It won’t be as large as seaside docks, but I daresay, it’s still a highlight.”

  He held Holo’s hand tighter and began to walk.

  Who was it that said walking with another was slow and bothersome? As he walked in step with Holo next to him, Lawrence thought about this and smiled.

  Chapter Two

  “Well, I suppose this is how it goes,” Lawrence murmured.

  “Hmm?” Holo looked over at him, her face half hidden by the cup from which she drank.

  “Nothing. Don’t spill that.”

  “Mmm.”

  Holo drained her cup of Lenos’ famously strong ale, then picked up a slightly charred shellfish.

  The clams that were taken from the river that flowed past Lenos, the Roam, were about the size of Holo’s hand. A delicacy famous in the town was made by taking the soft clam meat, mixing it with bread crumbs, and then serving it on the shell. Served with mustard seed, it was hard to imagine a finer accompaniment to a good ale.

  Holo had uttered a cry of delight at seeing the many river scows anchored along the curve of the port, but her heart was soon stolen by the delicious scents that wafted from the food vendors, who had their stalls set up to feed the hungry passengers either beginning or ending their voyages.

  They sat at a table constructed from old wooden crates; in front of Holo were three servings of clams, plus the two ales she had already drained.

  Lawrence endured a nasty look from Holo when he ordered mulled wine, not unlike what Arold had been drinking earlier.

  With this tartness, all he needed now was time to properly enjoy the wine.

  “Still, at a glance it doesn’t look like there’s any particular problem with the town,” said Lawrence.

  Crates as big as a man were being unloaded from the scows and pried open by groups of merchants, who immediately began dickering over their contents, whatever they might have been.

  A port of this size handled a staggering amount of goods. And even without the port, it was clear at a glance that a town like this would demand a massive concentration of materials.