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? Sure
ly 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.”
Money was not something that just accumulated. Its quality and nature could change from one moment to another. From an amount that could purchase a good to an amount that could purchase a person’s heart to one that could change a person’s destiny.
A holy relic was in that same company.
But Fran never took her gaze from Lawrence, and standing her ground, she played her final trump card. “In exchange, I’ll draw you a map of the northlands. Right away, if you like.”
A moment passed.
“…What?” he replied out of simple shock.
It was as though she felt it was entirely fair to offer a simple map in return for him fabricating a saint and undertaking the dangerous business of dealing in holy relics constructed from lies.
Fran looked at him evenly.
“Do you truly believe that’s a fair trade?” Lawrence could not help asking.
In that moment, Fran’s face was somehow charming. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, as though she might reply at any moment, “I do indeed!”
But unlike when Lawrence had told her about the villagers who had come to the cottage, something else poured into her expression, replacing her fading surprise.
That brown skin and those black eyes.
He would not have objected to someone calling her a sorceress. Fran spoke in a flat, low tone. “Are you saying you won’t risk danger to get your map of the northlands?”
Lawrence glanced over at Holo.
Holo was expressionless, staring at Fran, while Col was obviously distraught.
If it had only been about the danger, then of course he could have taken the risk. But to take Katerina, who had already endured being called a witch, and to now claim she was a saint and sell her off to some landlord was flatly impossible.
After doing such a thing, how could Lawrence then take Holo’s hand with a clean conscience?
“To falsely approach the landlord and then negotiate with him on the pretenses of selling a saint? I cannot do it.”
“I see,” said Fran and began to walk away.
Lawrence did not move. So smooth was her motion that after she passed by Lawrence, she held in her hand the map that he had previously tucked near his breast.
“Where are you going?” He knew it was a stupid question, but could not help asking.
Fran stopped as though mulling something over, then came slowly walking back. “You got Hugues to talk to you, so I thought you were made of sterner stuff.”
He thought back to how Hugues had endured Fran’s haughty treatment. His first, biggest priority was to have Fran create paintings of his homeland. And it was true, Lawrence had convinced Hugues to talk.
Fran continued. “I thought you were the same as me. But I was wrong.”
“What do you—” Mean, Lawrence was going to finish, but he did not have the chance.
“Do you think you’re going to get a map of the north with only that much resolve?”
“—!”
Lawrence felt as though he had been stabbed through the heart. Fran started walking again.
His feet refused to move; they felt sewn in place. He could not even think. He felt as though they had all been playing some kind of prank, and she had just dumped freezing water on them.
Why not just say it, plain and simple: To what lengths was he willing to go to find a map of the northlands? His resolve was insignificant.
He wanted to travel with Holo. It was a lukewarm promise they had made to each other, not to give up. Chasing after the wolf bones and tracking down a map of the northlands, these were not meaningless things. Taken individually, they could not be overlooked.
But as to what sort of foundation they made when taken as a whole—he understood that all too well. It was the simple, childish wish to simply stay with Holo. And only a very meager tower could be built upon such a foundation.
Lawrence knew that, but to have it so clearly pointed out made him feel deeply wretched.
He was standing there, nailed to the ground, when Holo took his hand. “She certainly hit you hard.”
He looked at her, and her eyes seemed almost relieved, like a girl whose mischief had been uncovered.
“But do you suppose she truly plans to sell that dried-out, old thing?”
Impossible, Lawrence immediately thought.
In which case, the course of events was obvious. Holo’s eyes said as much as they admonished Lawrence.
Holo’s righteous anger had been roused before, to say nothing of when it was for the sake of helpless villagers.
But he was not thinking to use Katerina for their own aims after she had died following a lifetime of abuse at the hands of the villagers and the landlord.
So many regrets remained. And yet he could not approve Fran’s proposal. In the worst-case scenario, he could end up killed to keep things quiet.
“We should run,” said Lawrence, and Holo nodded.
It was Col who raised his voice, having listened carefully to the conversation. “We’re going to leave Fran behind?”
&nb
sp; Lawrence and Holo exchanged a look. There was no argument about Fran’s importance.
“Once we’ve escaped to a safer place, we can ask Holo or even Hugues for help. We’ll make sure she’s safe. There are many people who need Miss Fran, after all.”
No one was going to let her die pointlessly.
But Col seemed on the verge of tears. “No, I mean…are you giving up on the legend of the angel that Miss Fran was chasing?”
Lawrence was at a loss at how to honestly reply. The legend of the angel had been Fran’s own reason for coming and had nothing to do with Lawrence and his companions. But then he soon corrected himself.
Had Col not heard Fran’s goal? Had she not confided in him the reason why she was so determined to claim Katerina’s sainthood and deceive the landlord?
Lawrence was just about to explain how unreasonable it would be to take the risk of chasing the legend now—but bit the words back because of a book.
Col, nearly crying now, thrust a single volume at him. “I know I forced myself off on you and Miss Holo, Mr. Lawrence, but I just can’t abandon Miss Fran like this,” he said, and handing the book to Lawrence, he shouldered his pack and set off after her.
Lawrence never even had a chance to say anything.
Col was a kind, gentle boy. If Fran’s quest was a sincerely felt one, then once he heard her reason, he could not help but be moved by it, Lawrence assumed.
But his assumption was soon scattered to the wind.
The book Col had handed Lawrence—from the writing on its cover, he could tell that it was a book of scripture.
Lawrence’s face stiffened, but not because he had just had a holy book shoved at him. It was because the cover of the book was discolored by large bloodstains.
“What’s that?” Holo asked, bringing Lawrence back to his senses.
“Seems to be a book of scriptures…” Lawrence gently opened the book. The pages’ edges were torn here and there, and some were stuck together with blood. It didn’t seem like overstatement to say it had been through the hell of war.
Then Lawrence noticed there were several folded pieces of paper stuck between the pages of the book. He opened them and saw the terse notes there, written in needle-sharp handwriting.
Spice and Wolf, Vol. 12 Page 13
