Spice & Wolf III

by Hasekura Isuna

  Spice & Wolf

  III

  Written By: Hasekura Isuna

  Illustrated By: Ayakura Jyuu

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Chapter 1

  Lawrence and Holo were six days out of Ruvinheigen. With each passing day, the cold grew more severe, and the sky remained frustratingly cloudy, so that even at the height of noonday, the meager wind was enough to bring a chill.

  Once they drew alongside the river, the cold from the mist combined with the frigid air to make it that much more bitter.

  Even the river water looked icy. It was hazy, as though the cloudy sky itself had melted into the flow.

  However Lawrence and Holo may have been bundled up in secondhand winter-weather clothing they had bought in Ruvinheigen, cold was still cold.

  Nevertheless, the frosty edge was dulled when Lawrence reflected with a mixture of chagrin and nostalgia on the times when, as a young merchant,

  he had to forego cold-weather gear in favor of cargo.

  Evidently, seven years of experience would whip even a rank amateur like him into some kind of shape.

  Besides the warm clothing, there was something else that mitigated the cold this year.

  Lawrence had now entered the winter of his seventh year as a merchant since becoming independent at age eighteen, and he looked sideways at the person sitting next to him in the driver's seat.

  Typically, he’d sat in that seat alone.

  Even on those rare occasions when he did happen to be traveling with another, he would not sit in the driver’s seat with Lawrence—and they certainly wouldn’t have shared the same tarp over their knees for warmth.

  “Is aught the matter?” asked his companion, her slightly archaic speech evident as ever.

  She was a lovely girl who appeared to be in her teens, with a stunning fall of chestnut hair that would have been the envy of any noblewoman.

  But what Lawrence envied was neither her flowing locks nor the expensive robe wrapped about her body.

  No, what he envied was the thickly furred tail that lay across her lap as she carefully groomed it.

  It was the same chestnut brown as her hair, save for its snow-white tip, and the tail was every inch as warm as it appeared to be. Were it made into a stole it would be every nobleman’s wife’s object of desire, but unfortunately, it was not for sale.

  “Will you hurry your grooming and put your tail under the tarp again?”

  Sitting there wrapped in a robe, neatly combing her tail fur, Holo looked for all the world like a nun doing some kind of handicraft.

  She shot Lawrence an unpleasant glance with her red-tinged brown eyes before her lips parted, showing a flash of white fangs.

  “My tail is not your personal muffler.”

  The tail in question flicked slightly.

  That same tail, which a passing traveler or merchant would surely mistake for a simple fur of some kind, was indeed attached to its original owner, who so fastidiously groomed it. And she didn’t just have a tail; underneath her hood was also a pair of pointed wolf ears.

  Naturally, these ears and tail indicated that she was no mere human.

  Though there were people who, possessed by fairies or demons, had this or that inhuman feature when they were born, this girl was not such a person.

  Her true form was that of a colossal wolf who dwelled within wheat; she was Holo, the Wisewolf of Yoitsu. An adherent of the common Church faith would fear such an entity as a pagan god, but Lawrence was past such fear.

  He was much more likely to reappropriate the tail Holo was so proud of as a lap warmer.

  “It’s such fine fur, though; putting it under the tarp keeps my legs as warm as a mountain of pelts would.”

  Just as Lawrence hoped, Holo sniffed proudly and tucked her tail back underneath the tarp across their legs.

  “Anyway, will we make the town soon? We will arrive before the day is out, no?”

  “Just a bit farther along this river,” said Lawrence.

  “And then, finally, a hot meal. I’ve had my fill of cold gruel. I can’t stand another bite!”

  Lawrence could brag of more experience eating bad cooking than Holo could, but he was in complete agreement with her.

  Eating well was one of the few pleasures of travel, but even that pleasure disappeared with the arrival of winter.

  In the freezing cold, the only choices were crusty rye bread or porridge made from the same, with tasteless jerky or those few vegetables that could be stored for long periods of time—garlic and onions.

  With her keen sense of smell, Holo couldn’t eat the aforementioned garlic or onions, and though she hated the bitter taste of rye bread, she managed to choke it down with water.

  For Holo the glutton, this was not far from torture.

  “Well, the town were bound for is in the middle of a huge fair, so you can look forward to all kinds of food.”

  “Oh ho. But will your coin purse handle such extravagance?”

  A week earlier in the city of Ruvinheigen, Lawrence’s greed led him to fall into a desperate trading company’s trap, and he had been on the verge of accepting complete ruin.

  However, after a series of twists, he avoided that but still had not turned a profit, and indeed had come away with some loss.

  As for the armor that was the cause of it all, he had wound up unloading it in Ruvinheigen for rock-bottom prices rather than transporting the heavy goods farther north, where prices were likely to be even worse.

  Despite Holo’s frequent requests to buy her this or that bauble, her last remark showed some consideration for Lawrence’s rather dire straits.

  She was frequently abrasive and high-handed, but her heart was fundamentally a good one.

  “Don’t worry, your food bill’s within the budget.”

  Holo still seemed to be worried about something. “Mm...”

  “Besides, I wound up not being able to get you those honeyed peach preserves I promised you. Just think of it as payment for that.”

  “’Tis true...and yet...”

  “What?”

  “I’m half-worried about your balance but half-worried about myself. If I eat too extravagantly, we’ll have to stay in that much poorer lodgings.”

  Lawrence smiled in understanding. “Well, I was planning on staying in a decent inn. Surely you’re not going to tell me it must have separate bedrooms with a fireplace in each?”

  “I would not go so far as that, but it won t do to have you use my appetite as an excuse.”

  “An excuse for what?”

  Lawrence looked ahead to correct the horse’s path, at which point Holo leaned over and whispered in his ear, “For only renting a single bed, saying you lack the coin to do more. Sometimes I prefer to sleep alone.”

  Lawrence yanked on the reins, and the horse neighed its uncertainty.

  Having become quite used to this sort of teasing from Holo, he was quick to recover.

  He forced calm to his face and gave her a cold look. “I’m not sure someone who snores so readily should be talking.”

  Perhaps taken aback by the rapidity of Lawrence’s recovery, Holo drew away from him, twisting her lip unpleasantly.

  Lawrence pressed the attack, so as not to let this rare opportunity for victory escape.

  “Besides, you’re hardly my type.”

  Holo’s keen ears could easily tell truth from lies.

  What Lawrence had just said was—just barely—not a lie.

  Holo’s face froze, perhaps from surprise at the truth of Lawrence’s words.

  �
��Surely you know I’m telling the truth,” said Lawrence, closing in on the final blow.

  Holo stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Eventually she realized that her response itself was letting Lawrence get the better of her.

  Her ears drooped underneath her hood, and she looked down, dejected.

  It was Lawrence’s first victory in quite some time.

  Nonetheless, it was not a true victory.

  While it was not precisely a lie to say that Holo wasn’t Lawrence’s type, neither was it precisely the truth.

  All he needed to do was tell her as much, and his revenge for all the times he had suffered as her plaything would be complete.

  He reflected on how fond he was of Holo’s laughing face or how innocent she looked as she slept.

  And, indeed, her dejected mien was quite dear to him, as well.

  Or, put another way—

  “So you like to see me this way, do you?”

  Lawrence met Holo’s upturned gaze and was unable to stop himself from blushing.

  “Such foolishness. The more idiot the male, the weaker a girl he fancies, never realizing his head is the weakest part of all,” mocked Holo, flashing her white fangs as she turned the tables on Lawrence.

  “If I’m to be the helpless princess, you’ll need to play the intrepid knight. And yet what are you, really?”

  She pointed her finger at him and pressed him for an answer.

  Countless scenes flashed through Lawrence’s mind—scenes that served as a painful reminder that he was no chosen knight, but an ordinary traveling merchant.

  Holo gave a short sigh, evidently satisfied by his reaction, but then she put her index finger to her chin as something seemed to occur to her.

  “Though come to that, I suppose you are a knight of sorts. Hm.”

  Lawrence sifted through his memories but could not think of any time when he had been particularly gallant.

  “What, have you forgotten? Did you not stand between me and my attackers? ’Twas in the tunnels beneath Pazzio, during that silver coin nonsense.”

  “...Oh, that.”

  Lawrence remembered the incident but still didn’t feel particularly knightly. He had been shaking so badly he could barely stand, his clothes in tatters.

  “It’s not physical strength that makes a knight. ’Twas the first time I’ve been protected by anyone.”

  Holo smiled sheepishly and drew near to Lawrence. The rapidity of her mood swings was always alarming—fast enough to make a merchant, even one used to the vicissitudes of profit and loss, run away screaming.

  Lawrence, however, had nowhere to run.

  “And you’ll look after me henceforth, yes?” The “wolf” smiled a soft, innocent smile that was distinctly kittenish. No hardworking merchant, used to years of toil and travel, had any right to see such a smile.

  But the smile was fake. Holo was still angry at Lawrence’s claim that she was not his type—extremely angry, in all likelihood.

  Lawrence was well aware of this.

  ...Sorry.

  Like magic, Holo’s smile became genuine when she heard that word. She sat up and giggled indulgently “That’s what I like about you.”

  In their back-and-forth teasing, Holo and Lawrence were like two frolicking pups.

  In the end, they were very comfortable with each other.

  “Anyhow, I suppose I don’t mind a single bed, but I’ll take twice as much dinner to compensate.”

  “I know, I know,” answered Lawrence, wiping the unpleasant sweat from his brow—it wasn’t even cold.

  Holo raised her voice in a laugh once more. “So, what’s tasty in this part of the world?”

  “The local specialty, you mean? Well, I don’t know if it counts as a specialty, really, but...”

  “Fish, is it not?”

  Lawrence was about to say just that, so Holo’s quick answer surprised him.

  “Indeed, it is. Yes, west of here there’s a lake. Dishes made with fish taken from that lake are what passes for the local specialty. But how did you know?”

  Holo could generally discern people’s motives, but Lawrence didn’t think she could simply read his mind like that.

  “Oh, I’ve just been catching the scent on the wind,” she said, pointing to the opposite shore of the river along which they traveled. “That caravan, it’s carrying fish.”

  Lawrence looked and noticed for the first time a caravan of wagons that was so far away it was all he could manage to count them—he certainly couldn’t tell what they carried. The caravan would probably meet up with Lawrence and Holo eventually, based on the direction and speed with which the horses were pulling the wagons.

  “Though I can’t fathom what a fish dish would be. Would it be anything like the eel we had in Ruvinheigen?”

  “That was just fried in oil. There are more involved dishes—steamed with meat or vegetables or cooked with spices. Also, this town’s got another specialty.”

  “Oh ho!” Holo’s eyes glinted, and beneath the tarp, her tail wagged to and fro in anticipation.

  “You can look forward to it once we get there.”

  Holo puffed her cheeks out a bit in frustration at Lawrence’s teasing, but she was far from angry.

  “What say you to buying some fish from yonder caravan if they prove to be of good quality?” she asked.

  “I don’t have an eye for fish. I took a loss on dealing fish once, so I try to avoid them.”

  “But you’ve my eyes and nose now.”

  “Can you sniff out the quality of fish?”

  “I’ve half a mind to sniff out your quality!” said Holo with a mischievous smile. Lawrence had to surrender.

  “Mercy, please! I suppose if they have anything worth buying, we can pick some up and have it prepared for us in town. It’s a better deal that way, too.”

  “Quite! You may rely on me.”

  Though it wasn’t exactly clear where Holo and Lawrence would meet up with the caravan that ostensibly carried fish, the distance between the two was steadily closing. Lawrence guided the horse down the road.

  And yet—thought Lawrence to himself, looking first to the caravan, then aside at his traveling companion.

  If her eyes and nose were good enough to tell the quality of a fish, perhaps she really could take the measure of a person the same way.

  Lawrence laughed the notion off, but it still nagged at him.

  He casually brought his right shoulder up to his nose and took a whiff. Despite living on the road, he didn’t think he smelled too bad—and Holo herself had but a single change of clothes.

  He was mulling this excuse over when he felt a gaze upon him.

  “Goodness. You really are so charming, I’ve no idea what to do with myself,” said Holo, exasperated.

  Lawrence had no response.

  The river flowed so slowly that at a glance, it seemed not to be moving at all. Soon, people who had stopped to let their horses drink or shift their loads came into view. There was also a rare traveling sword sharpener—a sword stuck in the ground served in place of a sign. The sword sharpener yawned, chin in hands, leaning on his large whetstone.

  There was also a raff moored at a pier, where a knight stood with his horse, arguing with the boatman. The knight was only lightly equipped, so he was probably a messenger from this or that fort. Most likely, the boatman did not want to embark on a trip without more passengers, which was the source of the argument.

  Lawrence himself had been angry at boatmen unwilling to set out when he was in a hurry, so the scene brought a pained smile to his face.

  As the land shifted from endless wild plains to cultivated farmland, peasants doing their work popped up more and more frequently.

  No matter how many times he saw it, a change of scenery that came along with human activity always made Lawrence happy.

  It was about then that that Holo and Lawrence finally met up with the caravan.

  There were thre
e wagons in all, each drawn by a pair of horses. The wagons lacked drivers’ seats, and one well-dressed man sat in the bed of the last cart while a hired laborer guided each cart as he walked.

  Lawrence was impressed by the extravagance of using two horses per wagon, but as they got closer to the caravan, he realized it was not just for show.

  Piled on the wagon beds were barrels and crates big enough to hold a person. Some had been filled with water—apparently for the captured fish to swim in.

  Unsalted fish of any kind was a luxury. Live fish was all the more so.

  Although the transport of live fish was rare in and of itself, there was something else about the caravan that surprised Lawrence even more.

  The person who evidently transported these three large wagons of fresh fish was a merchant even younger than Lawrence.

  “Fish, you say?” said the young man in the last cart, responding to Lawrence’s question. He wore the traditional oiled leather coat of a fishmonger.

  “Yes, I was wondering if you might sell me a few,” said Lawrence, who had traded places with Holo.

  The young merchant’s reply was quick. “I’m terribly sorry, all of our fish have been spoken for already.”

  It was an unexpected answer; the young man seemed to realize the surprise he had caused in Lawrence, and he pulled back his hood to show his face properly.

  The young man’s face was as boyish as his youthful voice. Though he could not strictly be called a “boy,” he was certainly not yet twenty.

  Fishmongers were a generally rough and manly lot, but this young man was unusually slender. His wavy blond hair only added to his aura of refinement.

  Even if the man was as young as he looked, the fact that he transported three wagonloads of fresh fish meant he was not a merchant to be underestimated.

  “You’ll pardon me for asking, but are you a traveling merchant?” asked the lad.

  Lawrence couldn’t tell whether the young man’s smile was genuine or mercantile, but in any case, the only reasonable response was to smile back.

  “Yes, I’ve just come from Ruvinheigen.”

  “I see. Well, there’s a lake about a half day’s journey up the road we’ve just come down. I’m sure you can deal with the fishermen there. They’re bringing in excellent carp of late.”