If that was true, then this timing really was the will of God, but Lawrence felt like it was a bit early for the council to have arrived at a conclusion.
After all, Arold had said it might drag on into the spring.
Perhaps someone had forced a vote.
“Goodness, you really are every bit the merchant that the feisty little minx said you were. Didn’t let your guard down for a second, did you?”
Even if Rigolo had seen through his thoughts, it was a third-rate merchant that got flustered and tried to cover it up.
Besides, Lawrence was with Holo, who could quite possibly read minds.
Holo would certainly be able to tell whether Rigolo was trying to trick him into telling the truth.
“Hmm?” Lawrence asked, feigning ignorance, but Rigolo’s smile remained steady.
“When we spend all our time using wiles and tricks, we stop understanding. Just like the back of the back is the front.”
He had seen through the trick and Lawrence’s feigning of ignorance.
Lawrence had been fairly confident that Rigolo wouldn’t see through the ruse, but Rigolo’s smiling eyes were still keen.
“I’m employed as the secretary for the Council of Fifty, you see. I can look at a group of people and perceive the changes in the expressions at a glance. Even if your expression alone doesn’t tell me enough, if I consider the expressions of your companion, the truth naturally comes to me.”
Lawrence smiled in spite of himself. There were people in the world like this – and not all of them were notorious merchants.
Rigolo laughed. “Ah, ’tis but a parlor trick. If I meant you ill, I wouldn’t lay my cards out like this. And even if I could discern your true motives, I’m still unable to convey my own demands. I’d be a failure as a merchant, would I not?”
“… Unfortunately.”
“I also don’t have any success with the ladies.”
Lawrence smiled. He had to admit that Rigolo’s skill with words was rather un-merchant-like.
As he talked like a poet from some imperial palace, Rigolo produced a brass key from within a drawer in the room’s desk.
“All the old books are in the cellar.” He gestured lightly with the key, indicating that they should follow him, then proceeded into an inner room.
Before following, Lawrence looked over at Holo.
“The back of the back is the front apparently,” said Lawrence.
“He was even watching my face…”
“First time I’ve seen anyone do anything like that.”
He had probably developed the ability while having to hear and transcribe all the various conflicting conversations that happened over the course of a council meeting.
In order to grasp who said what, understanding their facial expressions would be of paramount importance.
“Still, he doesn’t seem malicious. More like a child. But if you had someone like that at your side, you’d be able to pass your days without any worry at all,” said Holo with a smirk.
Given how many times Lawrence had fallen prey to misunderstandings with Holo, that smirk was particularly painful to see.
“Meanwhile, you are full of malice,” he said, not waiting for Holo’s reply before he went off to follow Rigolo.
The first floor was constructed from wood, but the cellar below it was made entirely of stone.
Even in the village of Tereo, the cellar had been stone. Perhaps it was natural to want to keep treasures hidden in stone vaults.
But there was a huge difference between a cellar built to hide things and one built to store them.
The ceiling was high enough that Lawrence had to reach over his head to touch it, and the bookshelves that lined the walls reached from floor to ceiling.
Even more impressive, the shelves were organized by era and topic and had a numbering system.
The bindings were thin and flimsy – nothing compared to the thick, leather-bound volumes in Tereo – but the effort spent on organization was on another level entirely.
“Are fires common in this town?” Lawrence asked.
“From time to time. As you may have guessed, my ancestors had the same fear, which is why they built this place.”
Although she had not been in the room that adjoined the garden, Melta seemed to have overheard the exchange there and now appeared in the cellar’s entrance holding a candlestick.
Holo allowed the nun to guide her as she looked for promising books.
The pleasant light flickered in and out of visibility among the shadows of the bookshelves.
“By the way,” began Rigolo once the two men were left to their own devices. “I’m the curious type, so I can’t help asking. Why exactly are you searching for these ancient stories?”
Given that Rigolo hadn’t asked about Holo’s relationship with Lawrence, the heart of his interest was clear.
“She’s searching for her origin.”
“Her origin?” repeated Rigolo, the surprise obvious on his face. His powers of discernment might well have been the equal of any great merchant, but he had no control over his own expression.
“For a variety of reasons, I’m escorting her to her homeland.”
If he omitted a few details, well, Rigolo could come to whatever conclusions he wished, which would allow Lawrence to avoid telling a lie while simultaneously keeping the truth at a distance.
Rigolo seemed to fall for it. “I see… So you’re heading north, then?”
“Yes. We don’t know the precise location, so we’re trying to pinpoint it based on the stories she knows.”
Rigolo nodded, a serious expression on his face.
He probably concluded that Holo had been captured in the north, then sold into slavery in the south. It was commonly said that children from the northlands were hardier and more obedient. There were also many stories of nobility whose children had died or were precariously sick and in danger of having their inheritance taken by other relatives who bought such children to adopt.
“It’s not uncommon for children from the north to stay in this town. It would be best if she could return to her home,” said Rigolo.
Lawrence nodded his wordless agreement.
Holo emerged from the bookshelves, holding five volumes that evidently held some promise.
“You’re certainly a glutton for knowledge,” said Lawrence at a loss. It was Melta, not Holo, who answered him with a smile.
“These were all we found, so I should think it would be best if you took them with you for the time being.”
“I see. Here, let me carry some of those. We’ll be skipping meals for three days if we drop them.”
Rigolo laughed as Lawrence wound up carrying the entire stack of books, and they returned to the first floor.
“Normally I’d ask that you read them here,” Rigolo said, looking at the stack of books that Melta had bound into a convenient bundle. “But I trust Fleur, and Fleur trusts you, so I shall as well. I cannot say the same for others, though…”
Anytime foreign merchants were involved, there were many reasons to be distrustful.
“I certainly understand,” said Lawrence.
“But if you drop, burn, lose, or sell them, it’s three days without food!”
It was a joke, but Lawrence didn’t laugh. Being able to calculate the monetary value of nearly anything, he was well aware that these books were priceless.
He nodded and picked up the bundle. “I’ll protect them as I would protect my most precious cargo, on my honor as a merchant.”
“Right then,” said Rigolo with a boyish smile.
Lawrence wondered if Eve’s heart would be moved by such things.
“Just bring them back when you’ve finished reading. If I’m not here, Melta will be.”
“Understood. Again, thank you.”
Rigolo answered Lawrence’s nod with a smile, giving Holo a jaunty little wave.
Such gestures made him seem less like a merchant and more like a courtly poet.<
br />
Satisfied, Holo returned the wave as the two left.
“It’s easy to wave when you’re not carrying anything.” Lawrence reasoned that a little grumbling was justified. Between carrying books and asking for directions, he had become quite the manservant recently.
“Aye, and you’d do well to make sure you’re not waved off,” shot back Holo, traipsing ahead of Lawrence.
Her teasing was frustrating, but at the same time, Lawrence was well aware that unless they were getting along well, such teasing would be impossible.
The problem was, Holo did little else.
“One can flatter a pig right up a tree, but flattering a male just makes him lose himself,” said Holo, sealing off any protest from him.
There was no room for denial, that was the problem.
“Oh yes, I’m at such a loss I may well lose my temper,” said Lawrence.
Delighted at the joke, Holo clapped her hands, laughing high and loud.
Once they had left the books at the inn, Lawrence made good on his promise to treat Holo to whatever she wanted for dinner, and having picked a tavern at random, Holo decided she wanted a whole roasted piglet.
Such a dish was a rare pleasure – an entire pig, spit down the center and roasted slowly over an open flame, occasionally drizzled with nut oil squeezed from a certain fruit.
Once the piglet was golden brown, its mouth was stuffed with herbs and it was served on a giant plate. It was customary for whoever cut off the piglet’s right ear to wish for good luck.
Normally such a dish would feed five or six people; it was generally ordered for celebrations of one kind or another, and when Lawrence gave his request to the barmaid, her surprise was obvious. A murmur of envy was audible among the other men in the tavern when the dish was brought out.
And when that same dish was set down directly in front of Holo, the voices became a sigh of sympathy.
It was not uncommon for Lawrence to weather envious gazes because of his beautiful companion, but these men seemed mollified once they understood that his existence was an expensive one indeed.
Seeing that Holo would be unable to carve the roast herself, Lawrence took it upon himself to do so, but he lacked the willpower to put any of the meat on his own plate, instead settling for the crunchy skin. The fragrant nut oil was tasty enough, but Holo beat him to the crunchy left ear. Wine went better with meat than ale, and it commanded a fair price.
Holo literally devoured the meal, completely unconcerned when her chestnut hair slipped out from underneath her hood, becoming occasionally spattered with oil from the roast. She was the very image of a wolf taking its food.
In the end, she made short work of the piglet.
As she finished taking the meat from the last rib, a round of applause arose in the tavern.
But Holo took no notice of the noise.
She licked her fingers clean of oil, took a drink of wine, and burped grandly. Her actions were strangely dignified, and the drunken patrons of the tavern sighed with their awe.
Still ignoring them, Holo smiled sweetly at Lawrence, who sat on the other side of the now-ravaged piglet carcass.
Perhaps she was saying thanks for the meal, but having reduced the piglet to bones, she seemed even keener to hunt.
Or perhaps it would serve as emergency rations for the next time she was hungry, Lawrence told himself when he thought of the truly painful bill, giving up all hope of escaping from Holo’s fangs. He would have no choice but to try not to forget about this emergency boon he had left buried in the den.
They rested for a while, and after Lawrence paid the bill – ten days’ worth of bribery surely – they left the tavern.
Perhaps being the center of the fur trade gave Lenos an excess of tallow. The road back to the inn was dotted with a number of lamps, which softly lit the way.
In contrast to the bustle of daylight, people walked in small groups, speaking in low tones as if trying not to blow out the flickering lamps.
Holo had a dreamy smile on her face as she walked, perhaps thanks to the satisfaction that came with demolishing the roast.
Lawrence held her hand to keep her from straying off the path.
“…”
“Hmm?” Lawrence intoned. It had seemed like Holo was about to say something, but she merely shook her head.
“’Tis a good evening, is all,” said Holo, looking vaguely down at the ground.
Lawrence, of course, agreed. “Still, we’d soon turn rotten if we spent every evening thus.”
A week of such indulgence would empty his coin purse and turn his brains to mush, no doubt.
Holo seemed to agree.
She chuckled quietly.
“’Tis saltwater, after all.”
“Hmm?”
“Sweet saltwater…”
Was she drunk, or was she trying to snare him yet again? Lawrence considered a reply, but the mood was too lovely to spoil with boorish chatter. He said nothing, and at length they arrived at the inn.
No matter how drunk they are, town dwellers can always find their way home as long as they can walk, but it is a bit different for travelers. No matter how tired their feet, they can persevere until they reach their inn.
Holo seemed to collapse as soon as Lawrence opened the door to the inn’s entryway.
No, Lawrence thought, she’s probably just feigning sleep.
“Goodness. At any other inn, you’d be scolded by the innkeeper,” came Eve’s hoarse voice. She and Arold were huddled around the charcoal hearth, Eve’s head covered as usual.
“Only on the first night. After that, they’d give us a hearty laugh, no doubt.”
“She drinks that much?”
“As you can see.”
Eve chuckled voicelessly and sipped her wine.
Lawrence passed the two of them, staying next to Holo in order to support her, when Arold – who had been reclining in his chair, eyes closed and apparently sleeping – spoke up.
“About that fur merchant from the north. I talked with him. Said the snow’s light this year, good conditions for travel.”
“I appreciate your asking.”
“If you want to know more… I forgot to ask his name again.”
“It’s Kolka Kuus,” offered Eve.
Murmured Arold, “Ah yes, that was his name.”
Lawrence would have liked to stay longer in this relaxed atmosphere.
“That Kuus fellow is staying on the fourth floor. He said he was mostly free in the evenings, so if you want to know more, go ahead and stop by his room.”
Everything was going extremely well.
But Holo pulled on his sleeve as if to hurry him, so Lawrence paid his thanks to Arold and took his leave, and the two began to ascend the stairs. Just as they did, Lawrence caught a glimpse of Eve raising a wine cup to him, as if to say, “Hurry back down.”
Step by step, they climbed the staircase, finally arriving at their room and opening the door.
How many times had Lawrence half carried Holo back to a room like this?
Before he met Holo, he had drunk and celebrated any number of times, but he always returned to his inn room alone, where the fear lurked that shocked the intoxication and joy from him.
Yet the fear was not gone.
It had merely been replaced with a new fear, as he wondered how many times he would be able to do this with her.
Though he knew it to be impossible, there was no escaping how much he wanted to tell Holo the truth – that he wanted to continue traveling with her forever. He now felt that whatever shape it took, being with her was his dearest wish.
Smiling ruefully to himself, Lawrence turned down the blanket and had Holo sit on the bed. He had gotten so that he could tell when she wasn’t feigning sleep.
He unwrapped her cape and removed her robe, took her coat off, and helped her out of her shoes and sash – all with such skill it was almost sad. He then laid her down on the bed.
She slept so deeply he didn’t t
hink she would notice if he was to fall upon her.
“…”
The wine helped such notions bubble up in his mind, but he suddenly remembered Holo’s shamelessness. She really wouldn’t notice, right up until the end.
There is nothing so futile as all this, he thought, wilting faster than a popping bubble.
“You’re awful,” Lawrence murmured to himself, blaming her for his own selfishness, when she surprised him by moving, drawing herself up a bit.
Holo opened her eyes and gradually focused on him.
“What’s wrong?” Lawrence asked, alarmed at the sudden thought that she might be feeling sick.
But that didn’t seem to be the case.
From beneath the blanket, Holo reached her hand out.
He took it without thinking. Her grip was weak.
“…”
“Huh?”
“… Scared,” said Holo, closing her eyes.
He wondered if she had been having a bad dream. When she opened her eyes again, her face was tinged with a lingering embarrassment, as though she’d said too much.
“What could you possibly have to be afraid of?” asked Lawrence in a cheery tone, and he thought he saw a grateful smile flicker on her face for a moment. “Everything’s going well right now, is it not? We have the books. We haven’t gotten swept up in any trouble. The path to the northlands is unseasonably clear. And” – he held her hand up for a moment, then lowered it – “we have yet to quarrel.”
This seemed to work.
Holo smiled, then closed her eyes again and sighed softly.
“You dunce…”
She snatched her hand away and wrapped herself up in the blanket.
There was only one thing Holo was afraid of.
Loneliness.
So was it the end of the journey that she feared? Lawrence himself feared it, and if that was the case, perhaps their travel proceeded too smoothly.
But even so, that didn’t quite seem to fit the expression on her face right now.
Holo did not open her eyes for some time. Just when Lawrence began to wonder if she was asleep, her ears twitched as if she anticipated something, and she stuck her chin out a bit. “… What I’m afraid of, it is…” she began, then lowered her head when Lawrence reached out to caress it. “This is what I fear.”
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