Spice & Wolf III

by Isuna Hasekura

  “All right,” said Lawrence, taking Holo’s hand and preparing himself.

  Holo laughed at his over serious resolve. “Just mind you don’t tread on my feet,” she said with a smile.

  “...I will do my best.”

  The two exited the inn and plunged into the reveling crowds.

  How many years had it been since he’d celebrated so much?

  Lawrence had danced, drunk, and laughed so much he could not help but wonder.

  This was also certainly the first time he had basked thus in the post-revel afterglow.

  Normally, once the fun had passed, it was followed by a rush of terrible loneliness.

  But as he helped Holo, unsteady on her feet from a surfeit of merriment and wine, up the inn stairs, the heat of the moment faded to a pleasant warmth. As long as Holo was with him, he felt, the celebration would continue.

  The inn room’s window had been left open, and the sounds of the continuing festival filtered through it. The night was young, and the merchants and craftsmen who had to work through the day were only now beginning to join in the festivities.

  The festival seemed to have entered a new phase. As they returned to the inn, Lawrence had looked back at the intersection to see it filled with people busily coming and going.

  If Holo had had any strength remaining, she surely would have wanted to see. Unfortunately, she was exhausted.

  After putting her to bed and setting her things in order (continuing his manservant duties from the previous day), Lawrence sighed.

  It was not, however, an unhappy sigh. It came out as he looked at Holo’s flushed cheeks as she lay sideways and innocent on the bed.

  He felt a bit bad for Amati. He was no longer even remotely worried about having to fulfill the contract.

  Far from it—in fact, he’d forgotten about it entirely until they had returned to the inn.

  Once they came back, the innkeeper told Lawrence there was a message for him. It was from Mark; the message was “I’ve found how Amati plans to make the money—come to the shop as soon as you can.”

  The first thought that crossed Lawrence’s mind was I’ll go tomor­row. Normally such procrastination would never have occurred to him, and when he thought on it, it illustrated just how low of a priority it was for him.

  What concerned him more than Mark’s message was the letter that had come with it. It was sealed with a wax stamp and had "Diana” written in a lovely hand on the envelope. The letter had apparently been delivered by a stout man with a coffin-like build, which had to be Batos.

  Lawrence had asked the chronicler to please let him know if she should happen to recall anything more about Yoitsu, which is what he expected the letter to be about. He considered opening it right then and there, but he decided that once he sat down and opened the envelope, he would be even less inclined to go visit Mark, so he decided against it.

  Lawrence slipped the envelope back into his coat, and closing the window against the clamor still wafting in from the street, he headed out.

  Just as he was about to open the door, he felt a gaze on his back, and looking behind him, he saw Holo forcing her sleep-heavy eyes open to look at him.

  “I’m just going out for a bit.”

  “...Quite, and with a letter from a female tucked near your breast?” Her irritation did not seem to come from her struggle to stay awake.

  “Aye, and she’s a beauty, I might add. Does it bother you?”

  “...Fool.”

  “She’s a chronicler. Do you know what that is? She’s the one telling me about Yoitsu. She’s quite knowledgeable about the tales from the northlands. I haven’t read the letter yet, but just talking to her yesterday gained us some excellent information. I even heard a story about you.”

  Holo rubbed her eyes like a cat washing its face, and then she sat up. “...A story? About me?”

  “A town called Lenos has a story of you. Holoh of the Wheat Tail. That’s you, is it not?”

  “...I’ve no idea. But what do you mean by excellent information’?” With her homeland as the subject of conversation, Holo was now fully awake.

  “Part of the tale included the direction from which you arrived in the town.”

  “I-in...” Holo’s eyes widened and she froze, emotion writ large on her face. “In truth?”

  “I’ve no reason to lie, do I? Evidently you arrived in Lenos from the forest east of it, so the mountains southwest of Nyohhira and east of Lenos are where we’ll find Yoitsu.”

  Holo's hands gripped the bedclothes tightly, and she looked down upon hearing the unexpected news. Her wolf ears trembled as though each hair were overflowing with joy.

  Hers was the relief of a girl who’d long ago lost her way but had finally found a familiar path.

  Slowly and carefully she took a deep breath, which she then exhaled forcefully.

  It was only her wisewolf’s pride that kept her from bursting into tears right there on the spot.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t cry.”

  “...Fool.” Her sneer proved how close to tears she had actually come.

  “Knowing only that it was to the southwest of Nyohhira would have made the search difficult, but now it will be much narrower.

  “I haven’t opened the letter yet, but I’m sure it has additional infor­mation. It should be much easier to find our destination now.”

  Holo nodded and looked aside; then still holding the bedclothes, she looked back to Lawrence searchingly.

  Her red-tinged amber eyes sparkled with a mixture of anticipation and doubt.

  The white tip of her tail flicked to and fro uncertainly, and she looked so much the frail maiden that Lawrence couldn’t help but smile weakly.

  If he’d failed to understand what she was saying with that gaze, he would have no cause for complaint when she ripped his throat out.

  Lawrence cleared his throat. “I daresay we’ll be able to find it within a half year.”

  He could tell that the blood was once again flowing through her stone-still form.

  “Mm!” said Holo happily with a nod.

  “So the sender of this note is like a dove bearing good news. Go reflect on your misguided assumptions.”

  Holo’s lips twisted in displeasure, but Lawrence could not fail to notice that it was an affectation.

  “In any case, I’m now off to see Mark.”

  “With a letter tinged with a female’s scent tucked near your breast?”

  Lawrence couldn’t help but laugh at Holo repeating her pointed question.

  No doubt she wanted him to leave the letter.

  She could not come right out and say as much, though, because it was too embarrassing to admit she was so nervous that she wanted him to leave a letter she could not even read.

  Amused at the normally opaque Holo’s transparent state of mind, Lawrence handed her the letter.

  “You said the sender was a beauty?”

  “Oh, indeed, and fairly wrapped in adulthood.”

  Holo raised a single eyebrow. She took the letter and then looked back to Lawrence, her eyes narrowed. “You’re becoming a bit too adult and cunning.” She grinned, revealing her fangs.

  “Also, apparently Amati's found a way to raise the thousand silver pieces he needs. I’m off to ask about that.”

  “Oh, aye? Well, do try to come up with some way to prevent me being purchased away, hmm?”

  Given their exchange thus far, Lawrence did not take Holo's words too seriously.

  “If you want to read the letter, feel free to open it. If you can read, that is.”

  Holo sniffed and flopped over on the bed, letter in hand, her tail waving as if to say, “Well, run along now.” She was like a dog carrying a bone back to its den.

  He wouldn’t dare to say as much, though, so he smiled word­lessly and, opening the door, left the room.

  Just before he closed the door behind him, Lawrence looked back at Holo one last time, whose tail waved as though she had expected him to ta
ke one last look.

  He chuckled and closed the door slowly so as not to make a sound.

  “I must say, for someone asking a favor, you don’t seem too worried.”

  “Apologies.”

  Lawrence had debated going straight to Mark’s home but decided the man was probably still at his marketplace stall, which turned out to be correct.

  Among the stands scattered here and there in the marketplace, people toasted each other’s health in the moonlight, and even many of the guards responsible for watching over their masters’ goods had succumbed to their desires and were drinking.

  “Though I suppose I’ve time to spare aplenty during the festi­val,” Mark admitted.

  “Oh?”

  “Oh, indeed. No one wants to lug heavy goods about while they lake in the sights, do they? Especially something as bulky as wheat, which I sell before the festival begins and buy once it ends. Of course, the night festival is a different matter, though.”

  The night festival was held after the two-day festival finished, and it amounted to a great feast, Lawrence had heard. It was not as though he didn’t understand the desire to use the festival as an excuse to drink and revel.

  “And anyway, I’ve already turned a bit of a profit thanks to your information, so I suppose I’ll let you off the hook this time.” Mark’s smiling face was every inch the pleased merchant.

  Evidently he’d taken advantage of whatever it was Amati was up to.

  “So you’re on board, eh? What’s his trick?”

  “You’re going to like this. I don’t mean the trick is just clever—I mean it’s like picking up gold off the street.”

  “I’m all ears,” said Lawrence, sitting down in a conveniently close split-log chair.

  Mark grinned at what this implied. “I hear tell the knight Haschmidt is quite a dancer. If he keeps making merry like this, he may have to take the thousand silver and lose the lovely maid.”

  “You’re certainly welcome to bet your whole fortune on Amati—it makes not a whit of difference to me.”

  Mark blocked Lawrence’s attack not with his shield, but his sword. “That Philip the Third has been saying some interesting things about you.”

  “Oh?”

  “That you keep the poor girl in debt simply so you can take her wherever you please, that you treat her cruelly and feed her nothing but cold porridge—and so on.”

  Mark was obviously amused, as though it were a grand joke, but Lawrence could only listen and smile uncomfortably.

  Amati was obviously spreading rumors about Lawrence as a way to justify his own actions. Lawrence’s cheek twitched, more from the annoyance of this mosquito buzzing around his face than from the damage done to his reputation.

  A traveling merchant was no sword-wielding mercenary—he couldn’t simply foist debt off on any girl he wished, forcing her to travel with him. Even if a note of debt was written in a city where the merchant had some pull, it would be meaningless as soon as they were on the road.

  Likewise, anyone used to long journeys would know there was nothing surprising about the meager food one ate during travel. Any merchant who'd tried to maximize profit knew that there were times one went without food.

  So Amati’s slander of Lawrence would not be taken seriously. That was not the problem. What irked Lawrence was that Amati spread the notion that he and Lawrence were in the same ring, fighting over a woman.

  Even if that didn’t have a direct effect on Lawrence’s business, it was hardly something to be happy about in regards to his stand­ing as an independent trader.

  Mark surely knew how irritating this would be, which explained his self-satisfied smirk. Lawrence sighed and waved his hand as if to end the discussion. “Anyway, what’s this talk of profit?”

  “Ah, yes. Once I’d heard that old Batos had figured it out, I put the pieces together.”

  So it was something to do with Batos’s business.

  “Precious gems, then?”

  “Close, but no. You can hardly call it precious.’ ”

  The commodities that ore merchants bought and sold as they traveled through mining country ran through his mind. Sud­denly, Lawrence had it.

  The mineral he’d talked about with Holo that looked like gold—

  “Pyrite?”

  “Oh, so you’ve already heard?”

  Apparently that was the answer.

  “No, I’d just thought it might make a good business myself, because of the fortune-teller, right?”

  “That’s what they say. Though that fortune-teller’s already left town.”

  I see.

  A sudden cheer grabbed Lawrence’s attention; he looked to see a group of men in traveling clothes joyfully greeting some town merchants, embracing one another heartily at their evidently happy reunion.

  “Yeah, the public story is that his fortune-telling was too good, so he was attracting the eye of a Church inquisitor, but that sounds pretty suspicious.”

  “Why suspicious?”

  Mark took a sip of wine and removed a small burlap sack from the shelf behind him.

  “First of all, if an inquisitor had actually come to town, it would be huge news. Secondly, there’s just a little too much pyrite in circulation right now. My guess is he bought up somewhere else and left as soon as he’d sold all his stock. Also...”

  Mark dumped the contents of the bag out onto the table. Some of the pyrite pieces had that beautiful die shape; others were as misshapen as flattened bread.

  “I think he was trying to exaggerate the rarity of pyrite. How much do you think this is worth right now?”

  In his hand, Mark held a die-shaped piece, which was generally considered the most precious form of pyrite. Standard market value was perhaps ten irehd, or one-quarter of a trenni piece.

  But Holo had said the pyrite piece Amati gave her had been bought at an auction, so Lawrence made a bolder guess.

  “One hundred irehd”

  “Try two hundred seventy.”

  “Im—”

  —possible, he was about to say, but he swallowed the word, cursing himself for not buying up stock immediately after Holo told him of the pyrite.

  “To men like us, that’d be a ridiculous price even for a precious gem. But when the market opens tomorrow, it’s going to rise even higher. Right now every woman in town is scheming to buy. Fortune-telling and secret beauty potions will always be in demand.”

  “But still—two hundred seventy? For this?”

  “It doesn’t even have to be die shaped. Other shapes have risen in value, too, thanks to the idea that each one serves a different purpose. The women come to the market and sweet-talk their fat-walleted merchant and farmer husbands into buying them the stuff. And if you want to talk about miracles, they’re even starting to compete among each other, these women, to see who’s been given the most pyrite. It’s gotten to where the price rises with every word of flattery a woman speaks.”

  Lawrence had bought wine and trinkets for town girls before; this was difficult for him to hear.

  But that difficulty paled in comparison to his regret at having let this opportunity get away.

  “It’s not a question of what percentage of profit can be made on an investment now. It’s a question of how many times, how many tens of times you’ll multiply your money. Your Philip the Third has his eye on your princess, and he’s making tremendous amounts of money to get her.”

  If Amati had come up with this plan as soon as he’d bought Holo her piece of pyrite, he might very well have made a fair amount of money already. It was entirely possible he would have the thousand pieces of silver on the morrow.

  “I’ve just barely gotten my foot in the door, and I’ve already made three hundred irehd. That’s how much the price is going up. It’s not an opportunity to let go.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “Apparently, it was spreading around the market this morning.

  I was actually late to the game. Incidentally, the line in f
ront of the ore merchants stall was going mad just about the time you were dancing with your princess.”

  Despite being long-since sober, Lawrence’s face was redder than the still-drinking Mark’s.

  It was not because Mark teased him about Holo, but rather because just when even the dullest of traders would have known to get in on the action, Lawrence had been right next to the marketplace, dancing the night away.

  No amount of red-faced frustration could adequately express his feelings.

  He was a failure as a merchant.

  For the first time since the Ruvinheigen debacle, he wanted to hold his head in his hands and cry.

  “If Amati were doing something complicated, there would probably be something we could do to block him. As it is, I don't think we can. I’m sorry, friend, but you’re a fish in a barrel here Mark was trying to say, All you can do is wait to be cooked, but that wasn’t what depressed Lawrence. He was simply upset with himself for putting fun with Holo before business.

  “Ah, I should mention that the news has already spread through the market, so the number of merchants looking to buy up pyrite to sell has driven the price even higher. What I’m saying is that the wind is just now picking up. If you don’t hoist your sail, you'll regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “True enough. I’ll not sit by and watch those ships sail away."

  “That’s the spirit! And hey, if worst comes to worst, you’ll need money to buy a new princess, eh?”

  Lawrence smiled wryly at Mark. It would be a good opportunity to make up for his losses in Ruvinheigen at least.

  “In that case, I’ll just use some of my credit with you from those nails to take that pyrite off your hands,” said Lawrence.

  Mark immediately scowled as if he suddenly regretted men­tioning anything.

  Lawrence paid Mark thirty trenni for four pieces of pyrite and then made his way back to the inn through the crowds that sang and danced by the light of the bonfires.

  The festival seemed to have entered its second stage, and he heard the sound of drums powerfully beaten.

  The crowds were dense enough that it was difficult to see, but in contrast to the festivities of the day, the revelry seemed to have become wilder. Straw puppets collided with one another and sword dancers whirled.