Spice & Wolf Omnibus

by Isuna Hasekura

  “And worries can be banished with trust.” Milton ran his eyes over the contract, then signed his name at the end. While the terms were indeed very favorable, he could still incur debt if things went poorly. “Next, it’ll be my turn to banish your worries. I will sell it all!”

  Her former husband had shouted those same words in their home. “Sell it all! Buy everything!”

  She no longer found this vulgar. The words echoed in her mind like a horse’s gallop on the battlefield.

  “Now, let us turn to the purchase.”

  Fleur signed the contract after Milton, then rang a small bell that sat on the table, calling Hans back into the room.

  “Woolen fabric from Lubick, thin, in various colors, twenty-two pieces. Hempen robes stamped with the mark of the Yirin Craftsmen’s Guild, in various colors, twenty pieces. Silver jewelry from Chuaifult…”

  Hans slowly read off the list of goods Milton had chosen and Fleur had written down. His expression was the same as it always was, so Fleur had no sense of the impression the list of goods might give. Yet she still had the sense that they had been well chosen.

  Of course, since they were buying the goods through Hans’s employer, she didn’t expect there would be any trouble no matter how fine they were.

  Hans checked the quantities again, looking carefully over the colors and prices, then rubbed his eyes and looked at Milton. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get twenty-two pieces from Lubick right now. Their wool is very popular at the moment. There’s no problem with supply, but they know what the current market here is like so they’re keeping the price high. I might be able to get ten or fifteen. They won’t be gold threaded, so shall I put the order in for that?”

  Naturally Hans’s company, being the importer, would earn more if the purchase were larger. And this was an overseas order, so his claim couldn’t be immediately confirmed.

  “I can’t move on the price. Just get as many as you can in that range.”

  “Understood.” Hans wrote the order directly on the paper, then moved to the next item. “The pieces from Yirin… these colors shouldn’t be a problem, and at this price we should be able to buy ones with the guild seal on them. As for the Chuaifult silver… do you have a particular shop in mind?”

  “Not particularly, so long as they all include either pearl or coral.”

  Hans’s eyebrows went up for the first time at Milton’s reply. “I see… so their amber’s no longer moving, eh?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  The strangely antagonistic conversation was full of implications and somehow still friendly. Rather than feeling as though her own negotiation skills needed work, Fleur was taken back to her childhood and the way she had felt excluded when she heard boys exchanging secrets to which she was not privy.

  “Understood. I’ll do my very best to obtain the listed goods. Now, if you’ll both sign here.” Hans put the list down on the table with a smack, indicating the bottom of the page.

  She wondered if this was a substitute for the contract. Milton glanced at her, and Fleur nodded. Milton accepted the quill pen and signed first, then allowed Fleur to take her turn.

  “Please confirm the goods one more time,” Hans said from across the table.

  It was an order from across the sea, after all. If there were any mistakes, returning the goods would be no simple matter. Particularly when colors had similar spellings, small mistakes could cause huge problems. Having Fleur and Milton sign both the list and a warning statement was both for their protection and for Hans’s.

  Fleur thought back on Olar’s words, words she had merely memorized, and started to feel a bit more appreciation toward them.

  “Is this correct?”

  Fleur didn’t know how many times she’d checked the list, but she checked it yet again before signing her name: Fleur Bolan.

  Hans’s eyes lit upon the name and then glanced up at her. She saw a flicker of surprise beneath his inscrutable mask but pretended not to notice.

  “Very well. I’ll now sign. And… in the name of God…”

  Neither Fleur nor Milton were unused to writing with quill pens, but Hans was clearly in a different class altogether. Wil even bothering to sit down, he had the strongest and clearest hand of anyone present – even elegant. And as proof of the agreement that the three of them now shared, he wrote the usual godly phrase beneath the signatures.

  Hans wrote his own name in a flowing script, but the benediction he wrote in bold, solemn letters.

  How many styles of writing had he mastered? Fleur wondered at how many talents merchants concealed.

  “Our company has entered into a contract with you both to obtain these goods on your behalf. May God’s blessing be upon us.”

  Previously Fleur had engaged in trading only with Olar’s help. This was the first time she was personally involved in signing documents.

  With Hans’s statement, the paper that Fleur and Milton signed would now determine their fate. Fleur felt something akin to regret, having now started down a path from which there would be no return.

  She took a deep breath, then exhaled. It was a pleasant nervousness.

  “We leave it in your capable hands,” said Milton as he shook hands with Hans.

  Hans then offered his hand to Fleur, which both surprised and pleased her. The feeling of being treated like a true merchant was a buoyant one.

  “It will probably take around two weeks to procure the order.”

  “So quickly?” asked Fleur, which Hans smiled and nodded at.

  “If we had to go to each town separately, it would take years. But the wonderful thing about the items written here is that procuring them is much simpler. They’re all items that have been stockpiled in warehouses here and there nearby, and none of them will be difficult to find. Hence, two weeks. Of course, that’s provided there are no delays with the ships.”

  Judging that the ink on the contract was dry, Hans carefully rolled up the signed document and placed it in a desk drawer. Fleur took note of this, but perhaps that was simply how deals proceeded when conducted via companies like this.

  Most importantly, there was nothing in the contract that could be taken advantage of. As long as the specified items were purchased, all would be well. If the goods were not purchased, Fleur and Milton would be able to object.

  Fleur reminded herself of that and directed her gaze toward the shelves on the wall. The many documents stored in those shelves were all records of trade, just like this one, and the notion stirred her heart. Even a quick glance revealed the enormous number of them.

  When she tried to imagine how many transactions like this happened in the world, her imagination boggled at it.

  “Let us hope all goes well,” said Hans casually. Fleur and Milton both smiled and nodded.

  To toast the commencement of their contract, Fleur and Milton went to the same tavern where Hans had first introduced them.

  Mornings around the port were the busiest, as ship cargo was taken from the docks and distributed into the town. Come afternoon, the flow reversed, and goods were brought from the town to the docks. And in the evening came the work of loading those goods from the docks onto the ships that awaited them.

  Those ships would depart early in the morning.

  The work continued through the years, repeated tirelessly.

  As Fleur savored her ale, she realized that as of today, she herself was now a participant in this great river of commerce.

  Milton was not saying much, and Fleur did not ask him his thoughts. He was simply sitting across from her, smiling quietly.

  Buy clothes, then sell them. Even splitting the profit, it could come to 20 percent of the original investment if they did well. Fleur had taken a moment to write the figures down and do the calculations. Twenty percent profit in one trade. The next time, she would make another 20 percent of 120 percent. Continuing to repeat the process would double her money in four trades and quintuple it in nine. If the goods could be
obtained in two weeks and it took a week to sell them, they could conduct this trade seventeen times in a single year.

  Thinking about the profit that would result from that made Fleur spontaneously grin. She was like a daydreaming child as she called up the memory of the figures she had written down.

  In a year, she would have twenty-two times her current wealth.

  She could now understand why it was that merchants tended to snicker at the nobility. They must be earning such amounts every year. If she’d told Olar how easy she found trading, he’d surely scold her yet again.

  But the outlook was so bright she wanted to tell him nonetheless – to tell him that there was such a thing as a fortunate encounter.

  Fleur drained her first cup of ale with much greater speed than was her usual wont. She was not particularly strong with liquor, but she felt like she could do anything.

  “Careful – if you overindulge, you may find yourself stumbling.”

  Fleur was overindulging enough that these were the first words out of Milton’s mouth. She had just finished ordering her second round, and facing the tavern keeper with a raised hand, she lowered it in embarrassment.

  “Although truth be told, I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I stayed awake by candlelight, thinking of profit.”

  “Twenty percent in one trade. Double the money in four, right?”

  Milton seemed surprised at Fleur’s words but covered his smile with a quick sip from his cup. “Possibly, but I wasn’t assuming that everything will proceed according to plan.”

  “Do you suppose the Jones Company is up to something sly? Or are you talking about your debt?”

  After gazing out at the men busily working on the docks, Milton looked to Fleur. “There was also the possibility I wouldn’t have been able to gain your trust.”

  “… Add that in, then.”

  It might have been better not to be in so crowded a place. But they had ended up here, which was why they were having the conversation in the first place.

  “It might just be my prejudice to imagine trading companies to have a vicious side.” Milton smiled self-consciously, but unlike their last meal together, there was more than just beans on the table. He stuck his knife into his roast mutton. “For good or ill… they will do anything that brings them profit.”

  “… Sometimes even things that drive one to rage.”

  Last time, Milton had chewed his beans in order to hide his rueful grin. Mutton was apparently less effective for such purposes.

  “I’ve thought about that. They might’ve been more aggressive, like demanding a higher commission or worse conditions for the contract. And yet they were very accommodating. When you’re a company as large as they are, there comes a time when you must worry about your reputation.”

  “So we should be able to worry less, then?”

  Milton cocked his head slightly at Fleur’s question, but not to refute or quibble. He seemed not at all displeased. “And I did receive terms so favorable from you I yet find them hard to believe.”

  Fleur looked bashfully aside at his teasing, though she did so deliberately. They both fell silent for a moment, and then unable to bear it any longer, they simultaneously burst out laughing.

  After the ripples of laughter subsided, all that remained were hearts washed clean.

  “So, here we begin,” said Milton, extending his hand.

  Even Fleur understood that when he said “here,” he was thinking further ahead than this single trade.

  Olar’s warnings echoed in her ears, but Fleur wanted to treasure this fortuitous encounter, rather than doubting it. To earn, to profit – and soon.

  And she was certain that it would be more fun for two merchants to chase whatever lay at the end of that road of anticipation than it would be for either to go alone. And Milton wasn’t such a bad choice of partner for that journey.

  While she had not remembered it, this was very different from their true meeting at the Milan banquet – in that this time, Fleur accepted the hand that was offered to her and grasped it firmly.

  Back then, her hand would smart after the merest brush with another’s. But now she didn’t shake hands without an honorable reason to do so – with a trustworthy partner or a profitable partner. And so shake hands she did with firm strength.

  When she’d been first cast out of her house and walked on her own feet, she was surprised at how firm the ground had been – and now, shaking hands firmly for the first time, she was again thus surprised.

  Milton smiled faintly as he gazed at her. Fleur returned his look, but this was no white-clothed table. After their hands had stayed clasped for a goodly span, they each grinned and returned their attention to their ale.

  “This is the way for merchants, surely.”

  At Fleur’s words, Milton feigned regret, a gesture she wouldn’t forget.

  Milton would be a good partner.

  Fleur raised her cup and knocked it against his.

  That evening over dinner, Fleur reported the details surrounding the contract to Olar, including the amount of time it would probably take, the commission Hans specified, and the impressions he’d given off.

  Olar listened carefully, eyes closed, then finally opened them, his face slowly breaking into a smile. “Let us hope all goes well.”

  Fleur had to laugh – it was the very same thing Hans had said. Apparently all merchants of a certain experience level liked these words. Perhaps it was most prudent to hope for the best while not assuming that it would come to pass.

  They had only placed the purchase order, and when it arrived, the work of selling it awaited them. But that evening, Fleur felt her chest unblocked by something, and for the first time in a while, she was able to take her meal. When she looked back on the experience later, she had the feeling that this moment was where her fate had taken a turn.

  If only she had told Olar about that when she’d discussed the contract with him.

  Hindsight was clear indeed.

  Merchants were no saints.

  Two weeks hence, she would come to understand that.

  During those two weeks, Fleur did grunt work that required no capital.

  If one was trustworthy and had a good sense of geography, the town fairly brimmed with people who needed goods taken from one place to another.

  She took woven goods to a distant mill to be fulled, and on the return trip, she accepted a letter from a villager to a townsperson.

  Both jobs were honest and steady, but the profit was proportionate to them – tiny.

  In her heart, Fleur could think only of the clothing they had ordered. If the business went well, she wouldn’t have to do these demeaning tasks anymore. She was sure of it.

  As for Milton, he had been going around town intercepting servants and messengers, trying to learn the condition of the coin purses and tastes of the nobility.

  She had known as much when she’d come down into the town, but evidently information on the goings-on within the manors around its outskirts was worth money. Servants sent into town on errands were well aware that the hints and gossip they possessed could be converted into cash.

  In the past, Fleur had often wondered why the servants enjoyed going into town so much, and now she knew that in addition to the obvious reasons of food and shopping, there was this more direct incentive as well.

  When she had asked Bertra about it, the housekeeper had looked away, embarrassed. Even she had done it and not just once.

  Fleur had then asked Olar about the practice and learned that Olar’s company at the time – the company run by Fleur’s former husband – had paid a tidy sum to the servant who told them of the Bolan family’s dire straits.

  Surely it had been the maid who had gone missing a few days before the company master came knocking at their door with his proposal of marriage. Now, though, Fleur did not hold the maid in any real contempt and was actually rather impressed with her for taking advantage of her situation. There were crafty people all around
, she realized.

  “Milady,” Bertra said to Fleur as the latter sipped her cheese stew at lunchtime. Bertra had just returned from speaking with a visitor to the house.

  In her hand was an envelope.

  Fleur looked to Olar, who nodded at her.

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting the envelope from Bertra. It was sealed almost apologetically with red wax, and she opened it.

  In it was Hans’s signature, along with news that the ship containing their cargo had safely arrived in port.

  She folded the letter, tucked it into her breast, and stood. Even Olar, who was usually so insistent upon her finishing her meals, would surely overlook this one instance. Fleur apologized to Bertra and took out her cloak and scarf. “I’m off to make money,” she said.

  Bertra’s eyes went wide, and Olar sighed a long-suffering sigh, both of which Fleur ignored as she put on her cloak and wrapped her scarf around her head.

  Her destination was the lodging that Milton rented in a craftsman’s workshop.

  Back when she was as yet unaware of her family’s privilege, she had employed a servant she got along with particularly well who now worked in that same workshop and who had introduced Milton to the place when he was cast out of his own home.

  Human connections truly did cross much of the world – this was another thing Olar was fond of saying, and Fleur was coming to understand the truth of it.

  “Excuse me, is Mr. Post in?” Fleur was becoming more and more confident in her ability to lower her voice to sound like a man.

  A leatherworker who sat astride a long, narrow table, pounding a strip of leather, looked up in vague surprise.

  Fleur asked again, and the man finally seemed to understand she was asking after Milton.

  “Oh, Milton? He just came back from lunch. He’s up the stairs on the fourth story.”

  “Thanks,” she said clearly and briefly.

  The young craftsman flashed her a pleasant smile. Fleur had learned how to charm craftsmen while coming and going from the waterwheel-powered fulling mill over the past few weeks.