Spice & Wolf Omnibus

by Isuna Hasekura

  It was said that good news waited while one slept, but when Eve awoke from her deep sleep, she might well be facing the longest sleep of all.

  And yet she lay down, as though she truly intended to sleep. She didn’t seem to want to talk anymore, and Lawrence had heard enough.

  Whether the guard was one of Kieman’s men or had been newly hired, he seemed to have a strong sense of professionalism, and with a quick nod, he patted Lawrence down.

  As Lawrence was receiving his dagger from the man, Col stared hard at Lawrence, either unable or unwilling to understand the exchange they had just had.

  Lawrence put his hand on the boy’s head and said nothing.

  Then, as they left the room, he turned and left Eve with one final statement.

  “Sleep well.”

  Eve raised her hand casually in response, but the gesture was strangely memorable.

  When they emerged from underground, Lawrence and Col met with the messenger’s glare. He had probably heard their entire conversation and would report everything to Kieman, but Lawrence doubted any of it would be of any use to him.

  Both Eve and Lawrence were merchants, and nothing was less trustworthy than the words of merchants.

  Merchants did not need words to convey their true intentions.

  “Did you have a worthwhile conversation?” Kieman asked upon their return to his room, where he did not look up from the parchment over which he leaned. His cheek had traces of ink on it.

  “Oh, indeed. Miss Eve is quite a conversationalist.”

  Kieman signed the paper with swiftness that was audible, then passed it off to his underling and turned to the next one. The missives surely ranged from information collection to negotiations, to threats and pleas.

  The larger the scale of something, the vaster its power. But that was nothing to the havoc that could be wreaked when it changed direction.

  “Will the trade I mediated be canceled?”

  Kieman was at the utter limits of his ability as he read letters and prepared their replies, but his activity ceased at Lawrence’s question. The question seemed to require him to use his head a bit.

  “Suppose you lock a baker away in your own shop, but then you go to his to buy bread. Would you consider that a problem of theology?”

  “So long as there are money and goods, you don’t need another person there to conduct business.”

  “That’s true, but we must discover whether there is actually bread waiting to bought. We can always let the baker return to his bakery, but by that point there’s no way to be sure he doesn’t hold a grudge. We heard he’d bought poison from another shop, you see, so in a panic we locked him away, and…”

  “And you’ll know whether the poison was bought to kill mice or mixed in with the bread only when you actually eat it.”

  Kieman’s hand scratched over the parchment again, and he finally looked up at Lawrence. “Or when the mice die.”

  He had locked up a dangerous individual in order to keep a difficult situation from getting worse. That was the sort of idea that only Kieman, who controlled so many people, could come up with.

  He couldn’t try to torture the truth out of Eve, because depending on the circumstances, injuring her could mean danger for him. But in complicated situations, even Holo would agree that eliminating the source of the problem was the right choice.

  “In any case, the wolf seems to like you, so do please mind your own safety. You seem to have taken certain precautions at least.” He seemed to be wryly making reference to the threats Lawrence had made in order to see Eve.

  He wondered what sort of face Kieman would make if he learned that Holo did not actually have possession of any inconvenient documents. The notion made him smile. “Thank you for your consideration,” he answered.

  “Now then, if you’ll show our guests out,” said Kieman to his messenger, ending the conversation and setting his pen into motion once more.

  The man bowed politely and took Lawrence and Col back to the front entrance. All entering guests had to visibly leave. If the numbers didn’t match up, it meant without question that something strange was happening.

  “Remember this, merchant,” spat the messenger through the open space in the door once Lawrence had passed through it. Before Lawrence could reply, the door closed with a loud slam.

  The two guards each looked furtively at Lawrence out of the corners of their eyes.

  Lawrence made a show of straightening his collar. “Thank you for your fine work.”

  After putting the church behind them, Lawrence and Col did not return to the inn, instead making for a corner on a street in the smithing district, where blacksmiths made daggers and horseshoes. The shop there produced forty or fifty daggers per week, and even in towns some distance away, it was common to see blades with its name upon them.

  Lawrence and Col entered the shop without a word. Lawrence was deep in thought, and Col seemed not to want to speak.

  For travelers without money, death was unfortunately a common occurrence – from sickness, hunger, age, or even accidental injury. Whatever the reason, it was not rare for them to embark on the final, eternal journey.

  And yet Col’s hardened face told of his inability to accept that such a journey awaited Eve.

  “Does it anger you?” Lawrence asked, which made Col hesitate, then shake his head – but after a few moments, he nodded.

  “It’s only because of Holo’s and my selfishness that you’re in this situation. No one will blame you if you leave.” Lawrence explained the danger they were inviting.

  But this time Col shook his head decisively. “If closing my eyes would make unfair things disappear, I would do that.”

  He represented a third point of view, different from either Lawrence’s or Holo’s.

  Lawrence nodded and faced forward, and Col did likewise. And yet the boy still seemed to have trouble confronting reality.

  “Miss Eve, she… she can still be saved, can’t she?”

  Many merchants loved to count their chickens before they hatched, but found it still difficult to make hasty promises. “At the very least, that’s what I’m hoping and working for.”

  Lawrence wouldn’t be surprised if his words sounded like a dodge, but they contained many shades of meaning.

  Eve had said there was only one way for her to survive, and that was for Reynolds to gather sufficient funds to buy the narwhal outright, either for himself or for the northerners.

  In that situation alone the deal would collapse into a simple exchange of goods, and like a burglar frightened into sudden silence by a sound, Kieman would gradually begin the work of cleaning up afterward.

  But that path was not lit by as much as a single lamp, and the way through was cloaked in darkness.

  The state of Reynolds’s shop was the proof of that, and one didn’t have to be from Kerube to guess at the condition of his coin purse.

  The odds were one in a thousand. Maybe one in ten thousand.

  “So his scheme with the copper coin boxes… it won’t be enough?

  Col had been the one to discover Reynolds’s manipulation of the crates carrying the copper coins shipped down the Roam River. The number he received was different from the number he shipped – he sent out more than he received.

  “About all we can imagine there is that he’s avoiding paying taxes on the number of boxes he imports. It won’t be enough to buy the narwhal.”

  “…”

  Col looked down, as though stewing in a sea of thought.

  Lawrence knew that fixating on one thing to the exclusion of all others was a bad habit of his, so when he saw such a perfect example of that very same trait right in front of him, it made it harder to correct.

  “It’s important to think hard about these things, but…”

  “Huh?”

  “First we have to protect ourselves. That’s the predicament we’re in now.”

  Lawrence nudged Col forward, urging him on, and once Col understood, he
started running.

  The boy was too honest. If Lawrence had explained everything to him, his trepidation at coming to this place would have been all too obvious.

  For a craft district, the streets in the blacksmiths’ quarter were quite wide, and being frequently used to transport heavy materials, their paving was of good quality. In the twisting, crowded streets elsewhere, locals could navigate much more quickly. But on fine pavement and easily traveled streets, it was travelers themselves who were swifter.

  Pulling up the hem of his robe, Col ran with admirable quickness.

  “Wait! You bastards!”

  It was common enough to see a merchant chasing after a thief – but quite rare to see a thug chasing after a merchant.

  The smiths making knives, spoons, files and nails, spoons, and bowls looked up from their polishing and hammering in curiosity.

  A kidnapping could hardly take place while others watched.

  By the time Lawrence and Col dashed out of the smithing district, exhaling white puffs of breath, their pursuers were suddenly nowhere to be seen.

  But that didn’t mean they had given up. They were surely using their knowledge of the town to circle around and head Lawrence off.

  Col looked up at Lawrence like a loyal sheepdog waiting for a command, but of course, he also anticipated what was coming.

  “Soon, I’d think.”

  And just as Lawrence spoke, a short, thin beggar appeared from an alley ahead of them.

  “Ah–”

  No sooner did Col utter the sound than he and Lawrence ran after the beggar. Saying nothing, the beggar disappeared back into the alley.

  Unlike the streets they had just been on, these were complicated and twisty and fairly difficult to navigate for those unfamiliar with them. The beggar made good, easy speed, and Lawrence and Col were pressed just keeping up.

  They seemed to follow forever, and just as Lawrence began to break a sweat, the beggar stopped and looked back at them.

  “’Tis far enough, aye?” Holo’s breath was short, but under the ragged coat she’d borrowed from Col, her face was happy. No doubt such chases got her wolf’s blood rushing. “So I take it you were able to see the vixen?”

  “She seemed better than I’d guessed.”

  “My, my. Still–” said Holo, peering at Col, who had taken back his coat and promptly covered his head with it. “When you say she was well, was she like this one here?”

  A tangled knot that was impossible to untie could cause problems, and there was no telling what its threads might be connected to. It made sense to simply dispose of it.

  Holo pinched Col’s right cheek, and he smiled.

  “She was tenacious yet somehow upstanding, I’ll bet.”

  “… You don’t seem to hate Eve as much as you claim to.”

  At these words, Holo grinned meaningfully, and she gestured to the north with her chin. “’Twas a riot at the port, as though a bonfire had been kindled.”

  “Did someone make a move?” It was Col who asked the question, his cheek still midpinch.

  Lawrence felt bad for thinking it, but having someone around who was more nervous than he was made him feel calmer. The situation was fluid, and no matter how wary they were, if they simply waited around, their chance to bring about the best outcome would vanish.

  But if they saw their chance, they would have to take it. Lawrence nodded, prompting Holo to continue.

  “Reynolds seemed so humble the other night, but he’s quite the actor. Now he’s full of boasting. The oppressed can be strong – they wish to pay back in full those who’ve made them suffer, after all.”

  “He was negotiating? With the southerners?”

  “He kept railing that he was a customer, demanded to be shown what he was buying. I’ve no particular hatred for the people of this side, but I had to laugh at their nervousness.”

  Lawrence and Col shared a look. If Reynolds wanted to see the goods, it was clear where he would go next.

  “Ah, I suppose your ears cannot hear them. They’re three blocks away from us.”

  “But does that mean he’s actually raised the money to buy it?” asked Lawrence.

  Holo tilted her head, and despite what she was doing to him, Col’s gaze was far away. Just as his face wrinkled in thought, something occurred to Lawrence.

  “D-does he have the money?” Col was the first to speak up.

  In the dark alley, Holo’s ears swiveled as she answered. “’Twas a war of words. He demanded to see the goods, while they demanded to see the money. They were out of their seats in anger, and this Reynolds fellow matched them every time.”

  “Mr. Lawrence–”

  “Yes, but… why? What could this mean?”

  Holo’s shoulders shook with laughter. She’d abandoned thinking about it anymore, seemingly saying that it was a man’s duty to save a captured woman.

  “It would be strange for him to have the coin. No matter how quickly he’s been able to rally support, it still takes time to turn that into cash. So has he had it hidden away all this time?”

  If so, there was no reason to wait until things had gotten so out of hand. As it was there was enough risk of someone like Kieman taking some kind of irreparable independent action.

  And then there was an issue Lawrence had long considered ever since they had started chasing the wolf bones – moving a large amount of cash was like moving a giant. Someone was always sure to notice.

  So how could he have collected enough money to buy the narwhal without anyone realizing it?

  Lawrence was well aware of how clever town merchants could be. They watched over the ports, always careful to note who was dealing in how much goods. Goods were physical things, and physical things could be observed. Which meant that if Kieman determined that Reynolds didn’t have the money that had to be the truth.

  “I know not how. But ’twill be simple enough to discover the truth.” Holo stretched and took a deep breath.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she looked off into the distance as though she were reminiscing, although Lawrence was sure Reynolds was in that same direction.

  “We know their move. They will go to the church.”

  “Why? How does he have the money? Whose is it?”

  Kieman was at the church; so was Eve.

  What sort of farce would happen when Reynolds’s party arrived in force, dragging crates of money with them?

  Money was money, no matter what – so the saying went – but that simply wasn’t true. What kind of money it was, whose it was, its provenance – these things were all of deep importance.

  Kieman and the others had to be terrified.

  Already busy with destroying evidence, now their subordinates were probably fleeing with important documents like rats from a sinking ship. And when it came out that Eve was being held in the church cellar, who would be in the worst position?

  Naturally that would be Kieman and Kieman’s superior, Chief Jeeta.

  It was impossible for Reynolds not to have realized the secret deal between Eve and Kieman. And as the backbone of the northern landlords’ support, he would have learned of Eve’s sudden disappearance. A bit of thought would make her location clear, at which point all he had to decide was what sort of hole to drop them all in.

  Being completely on the defensive, Kieman and the rest could do nothing but run. Lawrence wondered if he had already dragged Eve out of the cellar and begun running her through the alleyways.

  But Kieman wasn’t the only one with spies and lookouts all over the town. And how many of those were foolish enough to overlook important figures like Kieman and Eve if they were exposed? If they were discovered escaping, excuses would be less and less effective.

  This was what it meant to have one’s back against the wall.

  “Mr. Lawrence, at this rate, Miss Eve will–” Col cried, grabbing Lawrence’s shoulder.

  Kieman and his comrades were out of time. They had no way to discover whose money it was that Reynolds held
. So what action could he take in order to protect himself?

  The answer was simple. He’d surround himself with only those who would agree on a story with him.

  There was no chance Eve would be among that group.

  “I see three paths.”

  The transformed wolf who dwelled within wheat yet refused to be called a god narrowed her eyes at the pinprick of torchlight that lit the end of the alleyway.

  “One, you can give up. Two, ask me for help. Three–”

  “–Go see for ourselves.”

  Holo smiled an unfriendly smile. “Go… and do what?”

  “Things will work out one way or another. When you’re cornered, nothing’s more powerful than a little misdirection. With no way to be sure of the truth one way or another, whoever makes the most irrefutable argument wins.”

  “If you can convince Kieman, the vixen may yet be saved.”

  Col’s eyes flicked unblinkingly back and forth between Holo and Lawrence, as though he were being forced to watch a drama he didn’t want to see.

  “So are you sure?”

  Lawrence couldn’t look Col in the eyes. Growing up meant learning how to deceive one’s own self above all others.

  “Even if not, we have to move,” said Lawrence.

  “But that’s–”

  “Not every problem has a satisfactory solution.”

  At Holo’s words, Col’s eyes filled up with tears. “But, but then, Miss Holo, you could–”

  “If you were to break into someplace with so many people, could you make sure that they were all unharmed?” Lawrence asked Holo, carefully lowering his voice.

  At his question, she scratched her cheek and cocked her head. “If the building does not collapse once I smash through the stained glass, aye. Else…”

  Lawrence recalled the church’s great bell tower. Anything so tall, be they toy blocks or brick, sacrificed stability for height. If the building fell, even Holo might not escape safely, and many people would surely be trapped in the rubble.

  That said, attacking the front entrance of the church would put them in front of countless spears.

  Holo was not a god.

  She was not.

  “We can still run now, if we wish. There are good and bad in your pack, and not all of them are your enemies, aye?”