“That fool. He came to me last night, pale faced, to tell me you’d asked about our hand grinding of grain. I gave him a smack and told him if you’d planned to build a mill, you wouldn’t have gone out of your way to point out our ways.” Like the landlord, he was skilled at using circumstances to keep the village safe.
Mueller pulled a workbench out and took an old sheaf of paper down from a shelf. “I hope this sort of paper will do.”
The paper Mueller produced was old and discolored with tattered corners. It would not have been worth much in a town.
“For your trouble,” said Lawrence, producing some salt, which Mueller nodded at, satisfied.
“Now then,” said Mueller as he took out a cracked, old inkstone and a battered quill pen. “I don’t think it will take much time, but feel free to sit anywhere.”
Lawrence nodded and sat down on a chest. Holo teased a chicken that had wandered its way into the house.
“So how goes your quest for the legend?” Mueller asked. His gaze was directed at the top of the paper, and though his hand was quickly drawing the map, his attention was entirely on Lawrence.
Lawrence doubted this was merely small talk.
“She seems to have seized upon something. She was very insistent that I come and get this map.”
“Ah, I see,” said Mueller as he drew. He could probably endure any amount of waiting against an animal, but not, apparently, against human opponents. Soon he spoke again. “Was there a witch?”
This was what he was most concerned about. As the one most responsible for protecting the village, he was more worried about shapeless rumors than he was about water mills. When it came right down to it, they could stop the construction of a mill by chaining themselves to the trees. But banishing rumors of a witch was much more difficult.
His hand stopped, and even a child could tell his eyes were not focused on the paper. Lawrence watched Holo harassing the chicken, then smiled and spoke. “No, there wasn’t.”
The quiet scratching of the quill resumed. “I see,” Mueller said and then continued the work in silence. Such a man was well suited to being a hunter. “This map would be different depending on the season.”
As Mueller spoke, Holo and the chicken seemed to have come to an understanding, with the latter tucking its head under its wing and sleeping at her feet.
“She said all she needed was a map for the winter.”
“I see. Well, this should do, then,” said Mueller, standing. His joints popped as though to give evidence of the single-mindedness with which he had drawn the map. When he stretched, there was a final pop loud enough to wake the chicken from its slumber, much to Holo’s delight. She smiled as she listened to the sound.
“You can take it once the ink’s dry. Given the hour, you ought to be able to make it by sunset.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Not at all. I’m sure Vino said the same thing last night.”
It didn’t seem to Lawrence as though Mueller was trying to avoid work, but it was good manners to laugh at the joke anyway.
Mueller accepted the bag of salt. In a village so poor in currency, finding some of the basic necessities could be a constant struggle.
“My thanks,” he said. “Now, I ought to go check in on Vino. You’d be surprised at how clumsy he can be. If he ruins those skins, I’ll have to beat his backside with the tendons.”
It was every bit the sort of thing a master craftsman would say, and Lawrence could not help but laugh. Holo was leaning against the doorway, and she smiled as she watched the village, listening to Lawrence and Mueller’s conversation. If one were to wish for a certain day to continue forever, this would be a good day to pick.
But then, she raised her voice in a curious “Hmm?” as Mueller left the house and had just gotten to the space under the eaves.
“What is it?” Mueller stopped in his tracks and looked off into the distance.
His eyes were fixed on a spot outside the village, roughly where the elder had been sitting when he stopped Lawrence the previous day. It was a place on the road leading into the village that anyone entering would have to pass. Lawrence heard something that sounded like the footsteps of rats and soon realized it was the sound of horses at a great distance. He looked hard and saw what looked to be an old man riding at the head, trailed by many armed men who carried spears.
Mueller watched them disappear behind a house, and his face went instantly pale. “–!” He dropped the bag of tools he was carrying and started running as the riders came out from behind the house and headed for the center of the village. The startled chicken started to run, and Holo stood.
“What’s the matter?”
“I have no idea. But they have spears.”
“Mm.”
If Lawrence’s eyes did not deceive him, there were flags dangling from the spears. Mercenaries would be armed with poleaxes rather than spears. That left few possibilities.
He heard voices calling from the distance.
“We summon Mueller and the village elder!”
Holo turned to Lawrence, but Lawrence had nothing to say – because Mueller had run out of the house across from them and was coming toward them.
“The landlord’s governor. He’s finally come!” Mueller’s forehead was sweaty and his face pale.
He ran into the house, opened a chest, and produced a bundle of parchment from a pot. It was probably the charter that most villages had.
Something that threatened the very existence of the village had happened.
“You two–” said Mueller, looking at the parchment. “There’s a path to the lake from the rear of the village. It’s well maintained, so you shouldn’t have any problems. The governor doesn’t know about you, so if you run you should arrive quickly. Tell the nun, will you please?” he said, rolling the map up on the workbench and thrusting it at Lawrence before bodily urging them toward the house’s rear door. There was a finality to his movement that was more compelling than any physical strength.
Once they got to the rear door, Lawrence peered at Mueller’s face.
“Tell her that the landlord’s come to lay waste to any lands where the legend of the angel remains. And tell her to tell the Church.”
“But–”
“Please! If you don’t hurry, it will be too late!”
Lawrence gave Holo a quick look; she nodded.
Yet there was a hesitation in her eyes – she was surely considering whether or not they should simply run. After all, none of them had come to prove that Katerina was a witch, and the landlord should, if anything, be glad for the existence of Church figures who believed her to be a simple nun.
But then Mueller said a strange thing. “We’ll repay this favor. For the sister’s sake, as well.” He looked back at the door, then again to Lawrence. “The forest and the lake will be destroyed.”
As though pushed away by the force of those words, Lawrence and Holo went out the rear door and left the house. Immediately thereafter, the governor’s soldiers seemed to reach Mueller’s house, calling out for him in loud voices.
Lawrence hesitated but eventually took Holo’s hand and ran.
The forest and the lake would be destroyed?
The question burned inside him as he ran.
Chapter Five
They soon found the path from the back of the village into the forest.
It was narrow, just wide enough to accommodate hunters carrying felled deer. Still, the snow was packed hard with footsteps and brushed free from sticks and branches, so it was well traveled and running was easy.
Lawrence and Holo ran for all they were worth through the trees in the forest.
“What was all that about?”
“No idea. He said that was the governor. Seems like it’ll be… trouble for the village.” Lawrence took a break in the middle of his sentence to jump over a tree root. Lawrence lifted the hem of Holo’s robe to do likewise, which she managed quite lightly.
“He said
the forest and lake would be destroyed.”
“He did,” said Lawrence, and just then he thought of something.
The governor and his troops had descended on the village, sending the village’s representative, Mueller, into a panic. And if the forest and the lake were going to be destroyed, that suggested but one thing.
But he said nothing about it to Holo – not for any particular reason, but simply because his breath was too ragged for him to speak.
Holo started to lag, and Lawrence took her hand as they ascended a gentle hill.
“I should’ve taken… my true form,” said Holo, though whether she was joking or not was unclear. Just then, the path made a sudden left turn and brightened. Following the line of sight, they could see the lake. They kept going that way for a time, soon reaching a side path that descended to the lake. Down the slope they slid.
There were footprints – perhaps Col’s and Fran’s – by the lake, but they seemed to run in two directions, both coming and going.
Lawrence looked around, and there were two figures at the entrance to the path that led to the cottage by the waterfall. They seemed to be watching something and were not moving. Lawrence waved his hand and was about to call out to them, but then Holo stopped him.
“Ngh! Hey – what’s wrong?”
“Don’t raise your voice,” said Holo quietly. For a moment he wondered if she was making some kind of joke, but there was nothing funny about her expression.
Lawrence directed his gaze back at Fran and Col, and then he realized they were not looking at anything, much less being affectionate with each other.
They were stock-still. As though they were holding their breath.
“There’s probably someone at the bottom of the hill.”
“… If that’s so, shouldn’t they hide?”
“Fool. In this kind of place, even if they’re in plain sight they won’t be spotted, so long as they don’t move. But even behind the trees, if we move, we’ll be spotted.”
Holo was a wolf, a hunter of the forest, so if she said so, it was true.
Now that she had told him, Lawrence found that when he looked more closely he could see Fran’s and Col’s bodies frozen in place, with Col in a characteristically awkward, panicked pose.
Fran had done exactly the right thing.
But what Lawrence wanted to know was why she was familiar with the tactics for such rough circumstances when even he had been unfamiliar with them?
“Hmph.” Holo sniffed, probably thinking the same thing.
After a while, Fran’s pose relaxed, and she faced Lawrence and Holo, beckoning them over. Despite the good distance between them, she seemed to have recognized them.
Lawrence gave the displeased Holo a nudge from behind, and the two of them ran in Fran’s direction.
“What happened?” Lawrence asked Fran.
Col’s anxiety seemed to evaporate when he recognized Lawrence and Holo, and he collapsed to the ground in relief.
“Soldiers came to the cottage. And you?”
“The same. Soldiers at the village. Apparently the landlord has come in force. They say the forest and lake will be destroyed.”
Lawrence, for his part, could not understand what the landlord was trying to accomplish. But Fran had a sense of the village’s circumstances before they came here. Hearing what Lawrence had to say, she seemed to immediately understand the direction things were taking. She gazed at the river with a troubled expression that quickly turned to anger, as though it was being painted that way.
“I’m impressed with their lack of scruples.”
“You mean–” Lawrence said, but before he could even finish the question, Fran continued.
“They’ve come here to make Katerina no more.”
In that instant, Lawrence understood their goal.
Katerina was already dead, so Fran’s words took on a more literal meaning.
“I suppose you could say we’re in an age of money, where things like Church or pagan no longer matter.” It was a good line. Fran chuckled blackly through her anger at the joke and then sighed. “I’d come so far… and now the landlord decides to act? I was so close… so, so close…” she said, frustrated, the sound of her clenching fists audible even beneath her robe.
Having been cast about between the Church and the pagans, the landlord had chosen a third option. Seeing the visible decline of Church power, he had surely grown sick of being used by them. He would erase every trace of Katerina, distancing himself from religious conflicts and never bothering to clear her name.
Moreover, he would construct a water mill, and in conjunction with a new northern campaign incited by the Debau Company, he would use the mill’s power to attract craftsmen and workers – for in the face of money, what could the Church or the pagans say?
“Did you get the map?” Fran looked up, almost glaring at Lawrence.
“I did… but please, wait a moment.”
Fran started to step forward, but Lawrence stopped her, giving her a look that was every bit as serious as the one she wore.
“Please calm down. If the landlord has decided to destroy all traces of Katerina, then our presence is an obstacle. Arguing with him will be impossible, and he’s hardly likely to let you continue to investigate the legend of the angel.”
Fran’s face contorted at Lawrence’s words. The girl was no fool. Even in anger, she was just as clever as she had always been.
“I know the legend was right in front of you. And I know you didn’t come here on some whim. But it’s too dangerous.
“We must flee.”
When Lawrence said the words, Fran flinched as though physically struck by them, taking one step back, then another. He could understand Col hurrying to her side to support her. Had he failed to do so, she would have fallen to the ground.
“… No… I can’t… I was so close…”
It was so recently that she had been delighted, unable to contain her excitement as she jumped into the cottage. And now her despair was proportional to her anticipation, too heavy to bear.
Holo’s face was pained, and she said nothing.
If they were going to run, they would have to do so now, while the soldiers had briefly retreated.
“I’m sorry, but…” Lawrence started, and he tried to take Fran’s hand. But then–
“Lud Kieman told me about you.”
Lawrence was at a loss for words, partially because he did not understand what she meant. But it was not because suddenly hearing Kieman’s name felt like she had correctly guessed something that should have been a secret. If she was going to partner with Lawrence and his companions, a simple investigation would have led her to Kerube, where it was reasonable to imagine she would soon have found Kieman.
What gave Lawrence pause was a more rational premonition entirely. Or else his merchant’s instincts had come to a different conclusion on their own, quite separately from reason or logic.
In that instant, Lawrence understood what Fran was trying to say.
“He said you fear no god, you seize opportunities for profit, and you use your connections with skill.” Fran wiped her tears and tried without success to smile a bold smile. Her failure to do so only made her seem more desperate.
Lawrence had to ask, praying he had guessed wrong.
“What is it you would have me do?”
“Please tell them that Katerina Lucci is a saint.”
Lawrence could understand why Col and Holo would look so dubious.
Religious strategies of any sort were becoming impossible. So why would she fixate on that? Surely both Col and Holo were wondering as much – but not Lawrence.
In fact, it was quite the opposite. There was a huge difference between a respected nun and a saint. Both in how they were treated and what that was worth.
“That can’t be…”
“Her candidacy for canonization has been submitted. They hid their identities in Lenos, but she had many among the nobility that supported
her. The petition for her canonization to the pontiff has been submitted and even now is on the desk of the cardinalate. What do you think?”
When she finished speaking, Fran closed her mouth, as though her mind was entirely made up. And it was true – what she said carried weight.
Fran, the dauntless, lonely silversmith. She had made an irritatingly pragmatic decision in perfect keeping with her reputation.
Lawrence swallowed. “When Sister Katerina becomes Saint Katerina, everything in that cottage, including her body, will become holy relics.”
At the words holy relics. Col raised his voice in a surprised “Ah!”
That seemed to be the signal for Fran to finally succeed at smiling a thin, faint smile. “When the landlord learns how much holy relics can be worth, he’ll give up on the water mill. If you doubt me, let’s go back to the cottage and look at her diary. It’s filled with the names and details of lords from many different lands. Even the fact that the cottage has been left alone is probably because the canonization proceedings were stalled.”
It was the sort of thing that Lawrence had only ever heard in rumors.
When someone was canonized as a saint, anything connected to their person could for whatever reason be sold for huge amounts of money. If they were reputed to have performed miracles, then pilgrims would come, and not just from the Church, but also the surrounding region. Noblemen would sometimes band together in order to get clergy from their area canonized, but the application required an extravagant amount of money.
From the perspective of the nobility, it was a large gamble involving their happiness in the afterlife against their wealth while they still lived.
It was said that many had gone bankrupt trying to accomplish it, and yet it kept being tried because the potential gains were enormous.
Katerina Lucci was destined to be dragged into someone’s scheme.
“So you want me to sell… a saint?”
“I have heard that you’re experienced in business.” She smiled the same smile she had used at Hugues’s shop when she claimed a map of the north would cost him fifty lumione. But this time, he could not let it go.
Lawrence delivered his reply. “This is madness. There is no way a merchant like me can handle holy relics. Even if I passed myself off as one, it would last but a moment. With the narwhal in Kerube, it was Kieman who handled the bulk of the exchange, along with another merchant who was former nobility. And in Winfiel, I was on the edges of a deal involving a holy relic, but to be blunt, it wasn’t on a scale that involved me.”
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