“Huh?” Lawrence said, and Holo nodded after taking another glance around their surroundings.
“I suppose you humans wouldn’t exactly call it recent, but look, there. Does it not look as though that cliff collapsed?” Holo said, pointing at the base of the mountain by the waterfall. “The rocks or whatever fell from there piled up to create the waterfall spot. The lake was originally bowl shaped and surrounded by mountains like so.” She made a circle with her arms, perfectly demonstrating what she meant.
It did seem like the sort of thing that Holo, who had lived for centuries, was likely to know.
“But if the river level dropped, that means…”
“That’s why. You can’t fill a chipped bowl past the edge of its chip. If the water rises, it will drain down to that level.”
Now that she pointed it out, Lawrence saw that there was a sharp rock at the top of the waterfall that divided its flow in two, and it looked as though it had been somehow stuck there after the fact.
Perhaps someone had seen the moment of that landslide and mistaken it for the angel’s ascension. Lawrence thought about it and decided it was unlikely. It was hard, after all, to mistake falling rocks for an angel’s wings.
“Or perhaps the angel made a foothold so that it could leap up into the heavens from it,” said Lawrence a bit affectedly, at which Holo made a face and pulled away.
“You truly are a dreamer,” she said, heaving a great sigh.
They prepared dinner and waited, and when Col and Fran finally returned, they were soaking wet, as though they had played around in the snow all day. Their bodies had stayed warm beneath their coats, but their arms and legs were like sticks of ice.
Holo reluctantly covered Fran’s hands with her own and placed her feet against Fran’s feet because the best way to warm someone up was with another body. Lawrence stuck Col’s hands underneath his own coat and warmed the boy’s feet up with his own hands.
“So, did you find anything?”
Col’s fine, layered leather boots had soaked up so much water they were like lead. Wherever they had gone must have had thick snow, so they would have needed good reason to be there, Lawrence reasoned—but Fran shook her head. She looked a bit sad as she did so, perhaps out of exhaustion.
“Well, once you’re settled in, we’ll have dinner.”
At these words, Col nodded. Lawrence looked at him and saw him begin to nod off now that he was suddenly in a much warmer place.
Lawrence removed Col’s wet coat and replaced it with a dry blanket, wrapping it around Col’s arms. He was a bit smaller than Holo, so it was easily managed. He smelled faintly musty. Perhaps after having spent so much time around Holo, he was beginning to take on a hint of her scent.
Fran’s limbs seemed to finally thaw, and she said a brief word of thanks to Holo before drawing her arms and legs back in toward herself.
“You have a fine traveling companion,” she said as she accepted a bowlful of the pot’s contents.
When Lawrence realized she was talking about Col, he smiled. “He’s been a great help to us. Though it seems he was a bit short on stamina today.”
Col looked frail and thin, but he had been perfectly fine managing winter travel with thin, meager clothing, and his endurance was at least equal to Lawrence’s, perhaps better. If they had walked around enough to tire him out so thoroughly, then it might be that Fran was the exceptional one.
“Not at all…,” said Fran, sipping the soup. Even when eating, she seemed to have a certain aura about her.
Anyone who came inside after wandering around in the cold all day would have a moment of unguarded relief—but not Fran. Her alertness reminded Lawrence of some forest animal.
“By the way, we did some thinking about the legend of the angel,” said Lawrence as he filled Holo’s bowl with meat, at which Fran’s hand froze. “Have you ever seen the flag of the Torhildt Republic?”
Fran’s eyes were fixed intently on Lawrence. She had taken the bait more thoroughly than he had anticipated.
“…Have you knowledge of the story?”
“Some.” The ember of her interest, so bright before, seemed to have gone out. Fran did not elaborate and sipped her soup as though deliberately regaining her composure. She cut the contents of the bowl up with her wooden spoon and then ate them, carefully scooping the last bite up and bringing it to her mouth.
Her every movement was smooth and efficient, and she ate rather quickly.
The higher in status one rose, the slower one tended to take one’s meals—and so went the opposite. Col was a perfect example, being a traveling scholar whose eating was mostly indistinguishable from that of a thief or beggar.
According to Hugues, Fran had identified herself as a former slave. Perhaps that was true, Lawrence mused.
“I suppose I also think it was a bit of snow or something being blown up on the wind,” she said. The same thing Vino the villager said. Going by boring common sense, it was the most reasonable response.
“Or maybe the real thing.”
Fran revealed a surprisingly honest smile at Lawrence’s joke. “That would certainly be the best answer. However…”
“…I understand you’ve investigated too many legends to truly believe that.”
Fran’s eyes closed and her smile vanished. Her slow breathing made it seem as though she were trying to control her anger, but Lawrence felt it was just the opposite. She was trying to keep herself from laughing.
Her slow breathing stopped, and she exhaled. Her expression was soft, just as Lawrence had expected. “That’s right. Most were shams. A few were from people who mistook what they saw and jumped to conclusions. And still fewer were truly special, truly real, as though something genuinely extraordinary had happened there.”
“And which do you suppose this is?” Lawrence asked, at which Fran shook her head. It seemed like she was both giving her answer and admitting that she did not know.
But Fran’s gaze went into the distance and suddenly she spoke. “I originally heard the angel legend from a dear friend.”
Lawrence was surprised. He had not expected Fran to talk about such a thing. Fran herself seemed to understand this. She glanced at him, embarrassed, a slight bashfulness playing about the corners of her mouth.
“They admitted they could not remember where they’d seen it. But what they told me about was largely the same as this legend.”
Eyes that looked into the past were always sad. In front of the flickering light of the hearth, this was doubly true.
“They exaggerate, but they don’t lie. And after so many years…”
“You think you’ve finally found out.”
Fran nodded and relaxed her sitting posture a bit. It seemed to Lawrence that she had finally taken down some of the barriers she had built. He offered her some wine.
Fran took it without much hesitation. “I can’t bring myself to believe that the legend here is nonsense. I believe it exists and is something that can be seen. The—” Fran’s gaze moved to the rough, tanned skin hanging over the entrance to the back room. “—The nun there believed in it and came here.”
Her faith had caused her to be driven from towns and villages and to be dubbed a witch. It was hard to imagine someone with such deep faith, no matter how eccentric she might be, following a truly phony legend. Such legends and stories were countless. Only a truly special occurrence would remain in minds and capture hearts the way this one had.
“I do believe my friend saw it as well. Something that could be called a miracle…” Her eyes were slightly downcast, a sad smile on her face that was not merely a trick of the hearth’s flickering shadows. “But it is to laugh…to see such a thing and not remember where you saw it.”
Her smile was an almost exasperated one.
Any man would find himself faintly jealous seeing such a smile. Lawrence wondered if she was fond of the person she was talking about. Her use of the word friend felt like an attempt to hide her embarrassment.
<
br /> But with this, it seemed as though Fran’s desire to discover the truth behind the legend was not merely out of passion as a silversmith. She had another reason in her heart, and that was what had driven her to come all this way.
In any case, Fran’s smile was full of shadows.
“Ah, I shouldn’t,” said Fran, putting her wine cup down. She had not drunk much, but perhaps she lacked much tolerance for drink. Or perhaps she was more worried about the temptation to let it loosen her tongue so that she would spill the contents of her heart.
Silence fell.
Lawrence could not help but ask, “Why would you tell me this?”
Her reply was quick. “As an apology.”
“An apology?” Lawrence echoed, hearing a derisive sniff from behind him.
He looked and saw Holo glaring at Fran with suspicious eyes.
“Back at the trading company…”
Had something happened that required an apology? Was she talking about her utter intractability? Even so, an apology would be strange, so Lawrence just sat there stupidly as Fran looked into her reflection in the wine cup on the floor and continued.
“I could have spoken with you differently. I thought you were merely another greedy merchant.”
“No, that’s quite all right…”
“I thought you only wanted a map of the north so you could profit from it.” Fran looked up and smiled apologetically.
Lawrence had told her the previous night that he wanted the map in order to help Holo. So what reason did she have for apologizing? She was apologizing not for her response, but rather the manner of her response. What a strange notion.
Lawrence remained at a loss, and it was finally Holo who spoke up. “So what was it that changed your mind, eh?” Her tone was still a bit harsh, but she seemed amused, too. Looking at her face, Lawrence saw that she seemed in better spirits and wore a faint smile.
Fran drew back deliberately at the question and regarded Holo silently. For a while, the two girls seemed to have a conversation entirely with their eyes.
“Now that we’ve come this far, you wish our help, perhaps?”
Fran nodded slowly.
Lawrence still had no idea what they were talking about, but at the familiar sound of the word help, he started to see where this was going. But before he could interject, Holo spoke.
“Aye, fine then.” The haste with which Holo agreed reminded him of his own failure at the Hugues Company. Lawrence could not help but open his mouth to speak, but then Holo slapped his back. “We’re asking for your help as well, so ’tis hardly the time for holding grudges.”
Her exasperated smile had a strangely good humor to it.
Across the hearth, Fran seemed happy.
Lawrence did not really understand why, but it seemed best to leave things as they were. He nodded.
“Well, then,” murmured Fran, her dark eyes shining with intelligence. “Did you notice anything strange when we arrived in Taussig?”
“As a merchant?”
“Yes.”
Lawrence nodded. “They were grinding flour by hand…even though there’s such a high waterfall so close by.”
Fran gave Lawrence a long, hard look. He had been right.
Lawrence continued.
“In springtime when the thaw comes, there would be plenty of water for a waterwheel, and it’s not so very far from the village. So the only reason the landlord wouldn’t have built a mill is out of pity for the villagers, or…”
“Or if the villagers themselves resisted the idea. And the answer is indeed the latter.” As she spoke, Fran reached into her things and produced a dusty, old book.
It was more a stack of papers than a book so unmatched and disorganized were the parchments and letters that comprised it. Even a brief glance made it clear that it was very old. The pages rustled weakly as she flipped through them.
“The village originally used the legend of the angel as a reason not to build a water mill,” she said matter-of-factly.
“That’s…”
“If a mill were built, it would be for extracting more labor from the villagers—they would have been made to construct the very tool that would choke them. Meanwhile, the northern campaigns were reaching their peak, the landlord, wanting to borrow the Church’s might, took the profit of using the legend of the angel to flatter the Church over the profit of the increased output of a water mill.”
It was often the case that a landlord would lack sufficient military or financial power to protect his own holdings. Fran went on.
“But as times changed, the pagans grew stronger. I assume you know that the northern campaign has been canceled.”
Lawrence nodded. “In other words,” he said, “with the recent decline of Church power, things can turn bad if the landlord gets a whiff of their involvement.”
“Yes. In the past, money was made in providing the northern campaign with supplies, but…lacking shame or concern, and any sort of fear of God, the attitude has changed completely. As you might imagine, in an area like this with so many pagan landlords, it can be dangerous to appease the Church while its power is on the decline. So far their reaction has gone well.”
If you can’t beat them, join them. It was hardly a bad strategy for a long life. However, sometimes it would only make you look like a coward.
“After much worrying, the landlord hit upon an idea. Claim the devout nun who came all the way out here chasing the angel legend was a witch.”
Lawrence drew in breath, but he was the only one. Holo’s expression did not so much as twitch. She knew in her bones just how selfish humans could be.
“By claiming a witch had come and was causing trouble, he wouldn’t have to defy the Church, but could save face with the villagers. And for the villagers themselves it was awfully convenient; since they didn’t want to build a water mill, a witch in the forest gave them the perfect excuse not to enter it. A mill would mean increased taxation, which would instantly make their lives much harder.”
This also explained why they treated salt as such a precious substance. But there was still something Lawrence did not understand.
“Miss Fran…where did you learn all of this?”
In response to his question, Fran casually held up the book. On its opened pages, Lawrence could see writing in a neat, masculine hand.
“It’s all written right here. This is the diary of Katerina Lucci, the nun laid to rest in the next room.”
A single book had been missing from the shelf. This book.
“I expect one of the villagers had an attack of conscience and wanted to let the world know the truth. It’s a total coincidence that it should end up in my hands. An acquaintance of mine who handles such things just happened to mention it.”
She flipped through the pages, her eyes glancing over them. She was not reading the pages, instead perhaps trying to guess at the thoughts of the woman who had written them.
“But if that’s true…why would you tell us? I mean, to begin with…” Lawrence trailed off.
If she knew so much about the landlord, then Fran’s reason for bringing Lawrence along was not simply to help her learn about the angel legend.
Lawrence looked at Fran dubiously. She had been planning to set them up all along.
He felt like the corners of her eyes crinkled just a bit in a mischievous smile. “It won’t be long before the bells ring and the Church arrives.”
A powerful faction was like a big fish. When it moved, water rippled around it, splashing up onto the ground. And the world was one big pond.
“So it’s the Debau Company, eh?”
Fran’s eyes widened in surprise, and she nodded. “So you’re familiar. As you’ve guessed, if the Church comes again, the claim that there’s a witch in their domain won’t work. So this is an extremely dangerous place.”
That much was certainly true.
If the Church came into a volatile situation like this, it would be difficult for Fran to handle it al
one, no matter how perversely stubborn she might be.
Fran regarded Lawrence. “The villagers and landlord alike are probably terrified that an investigation into the witch rumors would be a precursor to another round of Church attacks on the north,” she said.
“So what we need to do is act such that we calm those fears.”
Perhaps something about the way Lawrence spoke was amusing to her, for Fran displayed a quiet smile. But there was a disparity between her smile and the words she spoke next. “On our way back around the lakeside, there was someone observing this place.”
This was why Fran had been willing to compromise.
It was such an obvious reason that Lawrence wanted to sigh. But he swallowed it back; it did not often happen that he got what he wanted taking the easy path.
“Naturally I’m not asking you to stay here with me from here on. Just until the snow melts will be fine. I expect the legend of the angel only applies in wintertime.”
“And then you’ll draw us a map of the north?”
Fran nodded. “So you’ll help me, then?”
If they failed to pack their things and leave immediately, they would lose what little room to maneuver they had. But Fran had let them in on the secret, then asked for help.
It was a cunning move. Like a battlefield general.
He needed that map of the north, and there was Hugues to consider. Knowing the situation, Lawrence could not very well leave Fran on her own here.
Time-wise it would be a hardship to wait for spring, but depending on how circumstances changed, he might have another chance to negotiate. Holo did not move, so the answer was clear.
“Of course,” said Lawrence shortly.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next day of their stay, Fran again took Col with her and made for the lake.
Lawrence worried that if someone was watching them, it would be unsafe to leave the cottage, but Fran dismissed this, saying, “It’s no different than if we were in the cottage.” If anything, she said, it was safer, since it would reinforce the idea that they had come not to investigate the witch, but the angel legend.
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