Spice and Wolf, Vol. 1

by Isuna Hasekura

  This reassured Lawrence. The Milone Company was powerful.

  “Ah, here it is.”

  Lawrence heard the echoes of his splashing footfalls and realized he’d reached the end. He reached out and soon felt the wall.

  A traveling merchant was used to being attacked by wild dogs on moonless roads. Lawrence was confident that if the worst happened and he had to run down this tunnel, he’d be able to find the wall.

  Above and to the right, there was supposedly the warehouse of a general store with connections to the Medio Company. This was where Holo was being held. Directly above Lawrence was their temporary base of operations, and apparently they’d secretly constructed a path between the two. The degree of preparation was chilling, but it might also have been built to facilitate the company’s expansion into other lands, Lawrence reminded himself.

  A distant bell sounded from somewhere. It was the signal to open the marketplace. It was also the signal to begin the plan, so undoubtedly all hell was breaking loose above him. If they couldn’t free Holo in the time between now and the bell that signaled the beginning of work, they would be in real trouble—the general goods merchant would return to his warehouse.

  He might have been a Medio protégé, but bills came due whether or not he was housing a hostage. Commerce never stopped, after all.

  The problem was the number of people guarding Holo. If their opponents used too many people, it would be obvious to the Milone Company, but if they used too few, it wouldn’t be an effective guard. Lawrence hoped they had allocated people with the intention of keeping Holo’s location secret their top priority.

  The more people there were, the worse the fight would be. The attackers wouldn’t be holding ropes and blindfolds, but edged weapons and clubs.

  This would further complicate an already difficult situation, and Lawrence desperately wanted to avoid that.

  Lawrence wondered how much time had passed while he’d been thinking. He was calm initially, but his legs now shook enough to splash the water around him. He was deeply troubled. He tried to calm his trembling legs, to no avail.

  He tried stretching, but it only exacerbated his worry and made his heart pound harder.

  He looked up, hoping the trapdoor above him would open soon.

  Suddenly he froze, stricken with fear.

  Had he come to the wrong place?

  “S-surely not,” he answered himself, making sure that it was the correct dead end.

  Just then, he heard a voice above him.

  “Racche,” it said, immediately followed by the sound of floorboards cracking free of a foundation.

  “Racche,” said the voice again, to which Lawrence said, “Numai!” “Pireon,” came the reply, along with a blaze of light as the floorboards slid aside.

  “Holo!” exclaimed Lawrence in spite of himself when he saw her face.

  Unmoved, Holo said something to the person standing next to her. She looked back down at Lawrence.

  “How am I to get down there if you don’t make way?”

  It wouldn’t be wrong to say Holo was her usual self, but when he heard her speak, Lawrence realized he wanted to see her happy face and hear her lively voice.

  He did as Holo suggested and stepped aside, waiting for her to descend—yet what filled his heart was not satisfaction at seeing her face, but rather disappointment at missing her joyful voice.

  Of course, he knew it was nothing more than wishful thinking and said nothing, but once Holo descended and looked up to receive a bundle from above, paying him not the slightest heed, the discontent in his heart grew stronger.

  “What are you daydreaming about? Here, this is for you. Take it, and let’s go.”

  “Wha—oh.”

  Lawrence held the bundle that was shoved at him and headed down the tunnel as if pushed. Something jingled in the bundle—they must have stolen some valuables to give the appearance of thieves. Soon another person descended from the trapdoor, whereupon it shut. The tunnel was completely dark again. That was the signal to move. Lawrence said nothing to Holo and began walking.

  They would turn right at the end of the passage, feeling along the left-hand wall until reaching its end. They would then climb out of the tunnel and into the carriage that awaited them there to be taken to another underground passage.

  Walking the tunnel wordlessly, they finally reached their destination.

  Lawrence climbed the ladder that had been prepared and knocked three times against the ceiling.

  If the escort failed to make the rendezvous, they would have to take a different route—but just as the possibility crossed Lawrence’s mind, a hole opened in the ceiling, and immediately above it sat the carriage.

  After confirming each other’s identities with an exchange of “Pireon,” “Numai,” Lawrence crawled up into the carriage.

  “Looks like you made it safely,” said the Milone employee as he pulled Holo up. He was understandably surprised to see her wolf ears. “Business is full of surprises,” he said with a smile, sliding the large cobblestone back into its original position.

  “There was another with us,” said Lawrence.

  “He’ll be collecting the ladder and emerging elsewhere,” said the employee. “Once he’s delivered the information about those Medio rascals to our friends, he’ll leave the city.”

  The almost frightening efficiency was due to their daily execution and refinement of plans and counterplans. Once the employee replaced the carriage floorboards, he said a quick “good luck to you” and took Lawrence and Holo’s bundles before exiting the cart. At the employee’s signal, the driver started the carriage moving. So far, everything was going according to plan.

  Everything except for Holo’s reaction, that is.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right,” was all Lawrence could manage. He could say no more to Holo, who sat opposite him, unfolding a strip of cloth that had been around her neck in an attempt to cover her ears.

  She only replied after finishing a few adjustments to the fit of her makeshift hood. “It’s good that I’m all right, is it?”

  Lawrence wanted to say yes, but the words caught in his throat. Holo was glaring at him as if she were about to bite his head off.

  Perhaps she wasn’t well.

  “Say my name, then!”

  If she could shout like that, she wasn’t in the condition Lawrence feared. Still, her vehemence made her seem twice her normal size, and he flinched at it.

  “Uh…Holo?”

  “Holo the Wisewolf !”

  It sounded almost like a threatening growl, but Lawrence had no idea what she was angry about. If she wanted an apology, he was ready to apologize a hundred times over. She’d been a decoy for him, after all.

  Or had something happened to her that she couldn’t say?

  “I can remember every single person that’s ever shamed me in my life. And now I must add another name to that list. Yours!”

  Something had happened to her. Still, her anger seemed different from the manner of girls he’d seen in villages that had been taken by thugs or brigands. And if he said something foolish, it would only be throwing oil on the fire of her rage.

  Thus the silence grew longer; and perhaps the silence itself began to irk her because she rose from her seat and closed in on Lawrence.

  Her white, clenched fists trembled.

  There was nowhere for Lawrence to run. Holo stood directly in front of him.

  Their heads were at the same height, which lent Holo’s level gaze an incredibly penetrating quality. She opened her small fists and grabbed the chest of Lawrence’s shirt. Her strength matched her appearance—Lawrence hadn’t imagined her grip would be so weak.

  Again he noticed how long her eyelashes were.

  “You told me, didn’t you—you told me you’d come for me.”

  Lawrence nodded.

  “And I…I utterly believed that you would come…grrh…just thinking about it is infuriating!”

  Just then, Lawrence
came to a sharp realization, as if waking from a dream.

  “You’re a man, aren’t you? You should’ve been in the front, fighting tooth and nail! But you were in that hole in the ground—you let me make a fool of myself—”

  “But you’re unhurt, right?” asked Lawrence, interrupting her. Holo sneered at him, displeased.

  She hesitated for some time before finally nodding, as if forced to drink something very unpleasant.

  Holo had probably been blindfolded. She may have mistaken whoever came to her aid for Lawrence and said something meant for him alone. That was probably why she felt—and blamed him for—such needless shame.

  The realization made Lawrence happy. He knew that if he’d been the one to rescue her, she would have shown the expression he longed to see.

  Slowly putting his arms around Holo, who was still gripping his shirt, he drew her closer. Holo resisted a bit, irritated, but soon relented. The once angry-looking ears that were clearly visible underneath her makeshift hood now drooped. A mildly sulky expression replaced her original anger.

  Though he might travel the world and amass a great fortune, the one thing Lawrence could never have was right here.

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said.

  The eyes that had flashed in anger only a moment earlier threatened to close. Holo nodded, her lips slightly pouting.

  “So long as you carry that wheat with you, I’ll not die.” Holo poked his breast pocket without moving his arms away. “For a girl, there is a kind of suffering no easier than death.”

  Lawrence took Holo’s hand, and Holo drew near to him, resting her chin on his shoulder. He felt her weight intensely, heavier than a burlap sack full of wheat.

  “Heh. I’m so lovely that even human males fall for me. Not that a one of them is fit to be my mate,” said Holo mischievously.

  When she finally released Lawrence, she wore her usual grin. “If they tried to touch me, I’d just remind them that they might lose a limb, or worse—they’d pale at that, oh yes! Hee-hee-hee,” she chuckled, her sharp fangs visible behind her pink lips. It was true; anyone would falter at such a sight.

  “But there was an exception,” she added, her delight vanishing. This was a new anger, a quiet anger, Lawrence thought.

  “Who do you think was there among those who captured me?”

  Her expression was the height of disgust. She bared her fangs slightly in rage, and Lawrence unconsciously let go of her hand.

  “Who was there?” he asked.

  Who was it who could so enrage Holo? Perhaps someone from her past.

  Holo wrinkled her nose as Lawrence considered. She spoke.

  “It was Yarei. You remember him, no doubt.”

  “That—”

  Can’t be, he was going to say—but Lawrence never got that far because something else suddenly occurred to him.

  “That’s it! The figure backing the Medio Company is Count Ehrendott!”

  Holo had been ready to vent her spleen at Lawrence, but now her eyes widened in surprise at his outburst.

  “As someone with huge tracts of wheat, he can request payment in whatever coin he wants! And if he could arrange favorable duties for his wheat, it would be like a gift from heaven to the Medio Company, the count, or even the villagers! Of course! And that explains why there was someone there who knew you were a wolf!”

  Holo looked at Lawrence blankly, but Lawrence didn’t notice her as he leapt up to the window that faced the carriage drivers. He opened the small window, and one of them leaned down to listen.

  “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “I did indeed.”

  “The one backing the Medio Company is Count Ehrendott. The count and the merchants that deal with his wheat are the reason silver is being collected. Please inform Mr. Marheit.”

  “It shall be done,” he said, then jumped immediately off the carriage and took off running.

  Lawrence imagined that the horses carrying the negotiators bound for Trenni had already left, but if the negotiations were at all prolonged, they would be able to propose additional conditions. Knowing the source of the Medio Company’s silver meant it might be possible for a company with the reputation and resources of Milone to snatch the deal right out from under them.

  If he’d figured this out earlier, perhaps Holo’s capture could have been avoided and this entire transaction could have gone much more smoothly.

  It frustrated Lawrence to think about it, but there was nothing to do about it now. It was good they’d discovered the truth when they had.

  “…I do not follow you.”

  Lawrence returned to his seat, arms folded as the possibilities raced through his head, when he heard Holo’s complaint. That’s when he realized he’d cut her off mid-sentence.

  “Explaining it all could take some time. Let’s just say that your information was the key to figuring everything out.”

  “Huh.”

  Lawrence knew that it would not take much effort on Holo’s part to understand what was going on, but she didn’t seem inclined to bother.

  Holo simply nodded her head, uninterested, and closed her eyes.

  She seemed irritated at the sudden change of subject.

  Lawrence chided himself for finding her sulking as charming as he did.

  It might have been a trap she’d set for him, after all, to demonstrate how irritated she was at the interruption.

  “I’m sorry I interrupted you,” said Lawrence by way of an honest apology.

  She opened a single eye briefly to glance at him, then brushed off his apology with a small “It’s nothing.”

  Undaunted, Lawrence continued speaking. Holo was either childish or cunning—one extreme or the other.

  “Yarei should still be locked away in the storehouse for the harvest festival. If he’s in the city, that means he’s involved in the deal. He’s acquainted with the merchants that buy wheat from the village, and the village leader trusts him to do the dealing. Also, the bulk of the wheat sales are conducted immediately after the festival,” said Lawrence.

  Her eyes closed, Holo seemed to consider this, finally opening both eyes at length. Her mood appeared to have brightened.

  “He must have heard my name from that boy Zheren. That Yarei was wearing clothes far too fine for any village and thought rather highly of himself.”

  “He must be deeply connected to the Medio Company. Did you talk to him?”

  “Just a bit,” said Holo. She rid herself of the last of her anger with a sigh. Perhaps it was the recollection of her conversation with Yarei that had angered her so.

  Lawrence wondered what he could have possibly said to her. Holo had no love for the villagers, that was true enough, but she had decided to leave. He didn’t think her grudge went any further than that.

  As Lawrence pondered these things, Holo spoke.

  “I don’t know how many years I lived there. Maybe as many as there are hairs on my tail.”

  Holo’s tail swished beneath her coat.

  “I am Holo the Wisewolf. In order to provide the greatest harvest, there were years I had to let the land rest, so there were seasons of meager harvest, too. Still, the fields I lent my aid should’ve been more productive than others over time.”

  This was the second time she’d explained this, but Lawrence nodded for her to continue.

  “The villagers did treat me as the god of the harvest—but not out of respect. It was akin to a desire to control me. Do they not chase after the person who cuts the last sheaf of wheat, after all? Do they not bind him with rope?”

  “I’ve heard they lock the harvester away in the storehouse for a week with treats to eat and all the tools they’ll use in the following year.”

  “The pork and duck were tasty, ’tis true.”

  It was an amusing reflection. The tales were apparently true—tales of people locked up for a week only to be relased with no recollection of having eaten all the food. And the perpetrator sat right in front of
him.

  The vague fear that accompanied these stories now possessed a concrete form: the image of Holo in her wolf form, devouring duck and pork.

  “Still,” said Holo seriously as she set out to explain the reason for her anger. Lawrence composed himself.

  “What do you think Yarei said to me?” Holo bit her lip, momentarily at a loss for words. She rubbed the corner of her eye with her finger and continued. “He said he heard my name from Zheren, and it made him wonder. I…it is pathetic, but I was so happy to hear that…”

  Holo’s head hung low, and tears overflowed from her eyes.

  “Then he told me that the days when they had to worry about my mood were over. That they need no longer fear my fickle nature. That since the Church was already after me, they should just hand me over and be done with the old ways for good!”

  Lawrence knew about Count Ehrendott’s exchanges with natural philosophers and how he’d introduced new agricultural techniques to boost crop yield.

  Even the most devout prayer must eventually show results, or the spirit or god responsible will be discarded, and people will begin to find the idea of depending on their own efforts much more appealing. If new farming methods brought prosperity where prayer failed, it was not surprising that the people would start to believe that the god or spirit to whom they prayed was capricious, unreliable.

  Lawrence himself sometimes ascribed the vicissitudes of fortune to some inscrutable god.

  But the girl before him was not what came to mind.

  She had said her reason for staying in the village was that she got along with the villagers, that her friend from long ago had asked her to see to the harvest. She had always meant for the fields to prosper. But after she oversaw the land for centuries, people began denying her existence, and now to hear that they wished to be rid of her—how must that feel?

  Tears fell freely from Holo’s eyes. Her face showed a mixture of frustration and sorrow.

  She’d said she hated being alone. When a god forced people to worship it, perhaps it was only out of loneliness.

  If Holo’s predicament elicited such wild-eyed notions in Lawrence, it was hardly surprising it also made him want to wipe her tears away.