Horo at last lifted her face, which had been facing down ever since she set down her mug, and sure enough, she still wore a troubled smile.
"You really are such a softy. Such an expression really troubles me a great deal.”
What was the best thing to say in this situation? Lawrence could not formulate the appropriate words in his mind.
At this moment and place, it was clear that a rift had formed between the two.
Yet Lawrence could not find the words to fix this rift. Even if he were to come up with a lie, it would be useless against Horo.
Most importantly, Horo's words had made it even more difficult for Lawrence to say anything. Lawrence couldn't bring himself to say something like, "No matter how long it takes, I'll find Yoitsu and take you there." Merchants were overly-practical creatures, practical to the point of not being able to utter such a line. To Lawrence, the centuries-old Horo was too far-away an existence.
"It is I who have forgotten the obvious. Because it has been so comfortable by your side, I accidentally…became a bit spoiled,”
Horo said with a shy smile, her ears trembling slightly in embarrassment. Such maiden-like talk perhaps came from the bottom of her heart.
Yet, hearing this did not make Lawrence happy at all. Because Horo's words seemed almost like a farewell.
"Heh, it seems like I am drunk. Must to bed, else I do not know what other things I will end up saying.”
Horo had not fallen into silence. The way she talked as if to herself made it seem all the more like she was simply pretending to be strong.
Yet till the very end, Lawrence had been unable to speak to Horo.
The one thing Lawrence could do was to be mindful that Horo didn't pack up and leave once everything had settled into a dead sullenness. Although he didn't think this would actually happen, he also felt on the other hand that Horo seemed like someone who would do such a thing.
However, Lawrence felt so powerless for only being able to do so much, and wanted badly to yell at himself loudly.
The night deepened noiselessly.
Through the closed wooden window could be heard the merry laughter of a drunkard, but hearing this only multiplied Lawrence's sense of emptiness.
Chapter 2
It is said that, even under the most worrisome circumstances, a merchant will always manage to fall asleep at night.
Even though Lawrence had been worrying constantly about whether or not Horo would leave alone, when he came to, the sound of singing birds could already be heard through the wooden window.
Although Lawrence wasn't one to lose his composure and jump up from his bed in a flustered manner, when he had directed his gaze toward the adjacent bed and made sure that Horo had not left, he let out a sigh of relief.
Lawrence got out of bed, opened the wooden window, and poked his head outside. It was already quite cold inside, but the morning air outside was even more so. Lawrence's exhaled breaths appeared whiter than mist.
However, the sky outside was clear and brilliant, a morning like a crystal.
People had already begun appearing in the large street in front of the inn. As Lawrence watched the town merchants, who woke up even earlier than the early-waking traveling merchants, he went through a mental checklist of the entire day's agenda before uttering an "Alright" to drive his motivation.
Though not exactly to make up for the previous night's failure, Lawrence felt that in order to fully enjoy the festival that would start the next day with Horo, it was best to take care of all the trivial matters today.
"First I have to sell off the merchandise I brought from Rubinhaigen," Lawrence thought as he turned around to face the interior.
Although a night had already gone by, Lawrence was still feeling a bit heavy-hearted, but he still intended to wake up his companion who was as yet still fast asleep, and so approached the bed. At this moment, he suddenly gave a frown.
Because Horo frequently slept till noon like an aristocrat, Lawrence wasn't much concerned over the fact that she was still sleeping, but he had suddenly noticed something.
Horo wasn't producing the carefree snore that she usually did.
"It couldn't be." Lawrence thought to himself and reached forth with his hand. Horo seemed to have noticed. The covers over her body moved slightly.
Lawrence lifted the covers gently. Then let out a sigh.
Horo's face appeared beneath the covers, her expression frailer than that of an abandoned kitten. "You got another hangover?”
Because it was painful for Horo to move her head, she could only respond by moving her ears slowly.
Lawrence wanted very much to say something to scold Horo, but having recalled the happenings of the previous night, he swallowed his words. Besides, Lawrence didn't think Horo would have paid attention anyway.
"I'll prepare a jar of water later, and a pail just in case. You just be good and sleep.”
Lawrence intentionally emphasized the words "be good," but Horo was still only able to respond by moving her ears weakly.
Even if he said it a thousand times, it would be impossible for Horo to simply be good and do whatever he said. However, seeing as how she was in such pain, it was probably unlikely that she would drag herself outside. Therefore, she couldn't possibly pack up and leave in Lawrence's absence. Having considered this, Lawrence loosened up a bit.
Of course, Lawrence had already considered that this could just be Horo's acting, but no matter how skilled the acting, it would be impossible to change one's complexion as well.
Lawrence carefully pondered all of these things. Without speaking to Horo, he swiftly made preparations for going out. Lawrence then once again approached Horo, who was incapable of even turning her body, and said to her: "The festival doesn't officially start until tomorrow. You don't have to be anxious.”
Horo's barely-alive and completely powerless face, which looked well beyond suffering, immediately showed a relieved expression. Seeing this, Lawrence couldn't help laughing.
To Horo, the festival seemed of more concern than her suffering from a hangover. "I'll return for a bit around noon.”
Horo's ears remained motionless; she didn't seem to be interested in what was just said.
Lawrence could only smile a strained smile at such a bold reaction. At this moment, Horo opened her eyes slowly, a smile surfacing from the corners of her mouth.
Horo seemed to have done that on purpose.
Lawrence gave a shrug before pulling the covers over Horo's head. He was certain that she was laughing at him under the covers.
Even if he was being laughed at, it seemed like the unhappy atmosphere of the previous night had not lasted till today, at which Lawrence was able to relax a bit. Before leaving the room, Lawrence turned to look in Horo's direction once more. The front part of her tail that was exposed outside the covers wagged twice, as if waving.
"Guess I'll buy something tasty for Horo on my way back," Lawrence thought as he quietly closed the door.
Basically, the ruler of any town would not approve of people doing business before the bell toll signaling the opening of the marketplace had rung; this was especially true for doing business within the marketplace.
However, depending on the particular time or occasion, this rule was not always strictly enforced. In Kumerson, during the period in which the town fair was being held, in order to alleviate the over-crowdedness following the opening of the marketplace, people were even half-encouraged to do business outside of normal business hours.
As a result, even so early in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to emerge from behind the buildings, a large number of merchants were already working in the marketplace, which took up over half the total area of Kumerson's southern square.
Within the marketplace could be seen wooden crates and piles of gunnysacks placed in the corners, as well as pigs, chicken and other livestock tied in the small spaces between the merchandise and vending stands. In addition, due to the fact that within t
his region so distant from the sea, Kumerson was the largest fish-exporting town, live fish could also be seen swimming in large barrels much like the ones Amati had been transporting the previous day.
Just as Horo would be unable to remain calm when faced with arrays of food vendors, Lawrence had naturally become excited in the face of such a great variety of merchandise.
How much profit could be gained by transporting that item to that town? The quantity of that item is so large, which means it must be in oversupply somewhere, so its price should have lowered? Thoughts as these continually surfaced in Lawrence's mind.
When Lawrence had first become a traveling merchant, because he lacked knowledge about the prices of the various merchandise, he could only run about randomly in the marketplace. Now, however, he was able to discern a great number of things instantly.
Once a merchant had fully grasped the intricate netlike product relationship map, he became an alchemist (note: alchemists in this time period mainly tried to produce gold out of lesser metals. Thus, the implication here is that a merchant could produce money out of a good understanding of product relationships).
Lawrence couldn't help becoming a bit drunk on this smart-sounding description, but he soon remembered his failure in Rubinhaigen, which brought a strained smile to his face.
Constantly looking up greedily often caused one to misstep accidentally.
Lawrence took a deep breath to calm his frivolous spirit before regaining the reins and continuing further into the marketplace. The vending stand Lawrence had finally arrived at was already in business early in the morning just like any other. The owner of the stand used to be a traveling merchant just like Lawrence, and was a year different from Lawrence age-wise. However, he now owned a stand in the marketplace equipped with a roof. Despite his stand not being great in scale, he was, surely enough, a proper town-dwelling wheat merchant. Concerning this point, both the owner himself as well as others considered it a blessing from the goddess of fortune. As for the defining characteristic of town merchants in this region, which was trimming their facial hair so as to shape their faces like a square, the facial hair on this owner's face certainly had the right look.
The moment he realized Lawrence's presence, the wheat merchant named Mark Cole blinked continuously in amazement, then revealed a smile and lightly raised his hand in greeting.
The merchant who had been talking business with Mark also turned his gaze toward Lawrence and nodded a greeting. Because chance encounters often led to good business prospects, Lawrence responded with his usual business smile, and gestured for the merchant to proceed with his business talk.
"Ri, si bon dia mito. Vant errje.” “Haha. Pireje, bao.”
It seemed like the business talk was just ending. The merchant exchanged a few words with Mark in a language Lawrence didn't understand before going off. Of course, the merchant hadn't forgotten to show Lawrence a business smile as he was preparing to leave.
Lawrence memorized the merchant's face so that he would recognize him should he encounter him again in another town.
Such small actions, accumulated over time, could potentially bring about unexpected profits.
Only when the merchant, who had apparently come from somewhere in the North to do business had disappeared in the crowd did Lawrence step down from his cart.
"Looks like I interrupted your business talk.”
"Not at all. That guy was just telling me passionately about the greatness of the god of Pitora Mountain. Good thing you came and saved me,”
Mark said as he sat on a wooden bench rolling up a sheet of goatskin paper, smiling with a look on his face that said he had just about had enough.
Like Lawrence, Mark was a merchant belonging to the Rowen Trading Guild. Their acquaintance resulted from coming to the same marketplace at the same time each year to do business. Because they had known each other since they were both just beginners in the trade, they were not so formal with each other in speech.
"If I'd known earlier, I wouldn't have learned their language. Though those guys aren't bad in character, as soon as they find out that someone knows their language, they start passionately proclaiming the grace of their local god.”
"Compared to a god who's not even willing to take a step out of his gold-coin-filled shrine, perhaps a local god really does provide more grace,” said Lawrence. Hearing this, Mark tapped gently on his head with the roll of goatskin paper, and replied with an easy smile: "Haha, that must be it. Besides, I heard that most harvest deities are beautiful women.”
The image of Horo's face appeared in Lawrence's mind. He smiled and nodded in agreement. Although, he kept the thought, "But with terrible personalities" to himself.
"But, let's stop talking about such things, lest I get a scolding from my wife. Let's talk business then. You did come to talk business, didn't you?”
Mark's casual conversational expression had transformed into a business expression. Though there was no need for formal speech between the two, their relationship was after all based upon the standpoint of calculating merchants. Lawrence changed to a serious expression as well before opening his mouth to speak: "I brought some nails from Rubinhaigen. Would you like to buy them?”
"Nails? I own a wheat store. Did you hear somewhere that people were starting to nail up wheat sacks?" Mark responded.
"I was thinking that many people from up north would be coming here to stock up on necessary supplies in preparation for the long winter. I just thought that you could perhaps sell some nails along with your wheat. As a countermeasure against the snow, nails are a must for repairing houses right?”
Mark's line of sight circled once through the air before falling back on Lawrence. "There is demand for it indeed, but nails huh.how many do you have?”
"120 three-patte (note: apparently a unit of measure for length) ones, 200 four-patte ones, and another 200 five-patte ones. In terms of quality, there's an attached letter of guarantee issued by the Rubinhaigen Blacksmith's Guild.”
Mark scratched his cheek with the roll of goatskin paper and sighed softly. It was a habit of town merchants to tease people in this manner.
"10-and-a-half Rumiones and I'll buy them from you," he said.
"What's the exchange rate of Rumiones, in terms of Trenni silver coins?” “It was 34 right when the market closed yesterday. So that's…357.”
"Too little.”
This amount was even lower than the amount Lawrence had spent in his purchase. Hearing Lawrence's immediate reaction, Mark said with a frown: "Haven't you heard the news about the price crash of battle equipment? Because the Northern military expedition was canceled this year, swords and armor are all being sold at extremely low prices. In other words, the amount of melted metal has increased, so the market value of nails has probably fallen as well. Even ten Rumione could be considered expensive.”
Lawrence had already predicted that Mark would make such an argument, and so replied coolly: "That's only the case for southern regions, isn't it? Even if the amount of metal that can be melted has increased, that doesn't match the continuously-rising price of the raw material needed to melt metal. If you can find a place to melt metal in Proania during this season, then I'd sure like to see it with my own eyes. If anyone dared to do such a thing, I'm sure someone would split his head in half with a wood-splitting axe.”
When winter came, the supply of firewood in snowing regions would freeze. Consequently, melting metal for iron forging, which required huge amounts of firewood to be thrown into furnaces, did not occur during the winter season. If someone did forge iron in the winter, the price of firewood that served as the fuel would immediately skyrocket, and he would incur the furious curses of the town residents. That being true, even with the increase in supply of swords and armor that could be used as raw materials for making nails, the price of nails in this region would not be influenced.
Any merchant with some experience would possess this level of common sense. Surely enough, Mark said
with a malicious smile: "Seriously. Please stop trying to sell nails to a wheat merchant will ya? If it were wheat, I'd be able to come up with a variety of reasons to haggle; but as for nails, that's beyond my field.”
"Then, how about sixteen Rumione?" Lawrence offered. "Too expensive. Thirteen Rumione.”
"Fifteen.”
"Fourteen-and-two-thirds.”
Mark, slightly shorter than Lawrence and neither fat nor thin, exerted an air akin to an unshakable pillar. That was Mark's way of showing that he would yield no further.
Demanding too forcefully would ruin their relationship, so Lawrence nodded and, reaching out his right hand said: "This price settles it then.” “Haha, that's my good buddy.”
For Mark, this price was probably already yielding a lot.
Theoretically, under the identity of a wheat merchant in charge of a wheat shop, Mark was not permitted to buy or sell nails. Each guild had rules governing the types of merchandise that could be sold in each shop. When attempting to sell a new product, it was necessary to either acquire the permission of merchants already selling the same product or to share the profits with them.
Although at first glance this seemed like an unfair rule that would hinder the successful carrying out of business deals, in the absence of such a rule, large and wealthy companies would soon swallow up the entire market. The rule was established precisely to prevent such a situation.
"Then, do you want cash or credit?" Mark inquired. "Oh, credit.”
"Excellent. A lot of places are charging cash this time of year. It's such a pain.”
Although it was permissible for merchants to conduct deals using credit or written receipts, if person selling was a resident of another village or town who demanded cash for the imported goods, such a method would be invalid.
Yet, insufficient cash currency was a problem that afflicted all towns. With insufficient cash, the person buying would be unable to complete a business deal even if he otherwise possessed the financial resources necessary to buy the product. As for an illiterate farmer, a written receipt was good only for blowing his nose.
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