With the hundred additional lumione he might have from the success of the smuggling, Lawrence had to compensate Norah the twenty lumione she was due, and he planned to give more by way of apology to the various trading companies he had begged for loans. If that came to thirty lumione, that still left him with fifty for himself.
Somehow, he would be back to where he was when he had sold off his pepper in Poroson.
Given that at one point he had resigned himself to dying aboard a slave ship, this could only be called a miracle.
Next, Lawrence used his guild connections to get introduced to a butcher whose discretion could be trusted. He secured a promise from the butcher to receive the sheep from Norah and butcher them, no questions asked, for ten lumione. He was paying the butcher very well and had every expectation that things would proceed smoothly.
After making the various preparations, Lawrence returned to the Remelio Company to retrieve his clothes and then left Remelio to round up and rehire his former employees, who were probably all huddled together, shivering in the cold weather. Lawrence also ordered Remelio to return his cart horse, which he had forgotten about entirely. He was a bit sharp in saying so, as he expected his orders to be carried out quickly.
By the time Lawrence finished all his preparations, the night sky was beginning to pale with the dawn.
He walked along the street quietly in the early morning, a chill still in the air from the previous day’s rain.
His destination was a tavern that was able to remain open all night, courtesy of bribes paid to the appropriate authorities.
The distinctive pale blue sky of dawn hung over the city. An out-of-place lamp, still burning, marked the tavern.
“Welcome.”
The voice that greeted him was listless—not from illegality necessarily, but rather from the exhaustion of staying up all night.
The tavern was perhaps half-full, though surprisingly quiet; the patrons drank their wine quietly, perhaps mourning the inevitable daybreak.
“Ho there.”
Lawrence turned to face the voice and found Holo, who had appeared at his side holding a small cask and some bread. If a priest had spotted Holo (who was dressed again as a town girl) in the all-night tavern, there might have been some real problems—but nobody seemed to mind her presence.
Holo caught the eye of the tavern master behind the counter, and he sleepily waved to her. Holo had probably charmed the goods she was carrying out of the master with some sweet talk.
“Come, let’s go.”
Lawrence had actually wanted to sit and rest for a moment, but Holo took his hand and would not be argued with.
“Come again,” said the tavern master as they left.
The two had no particular destination and for the time being were content to walk.
It was cold outside. Thanks to the humidity, their breath hung in the air.
“Here, bread,” Holo said, and Lawrence’s stomach groaned as he realized that he had not eaten since midday the day before. Lawrence took the bread—actually a bacon and vegetable sandwich—from the happily smiling Holo and bit into it without hesitation.
“Also, this.” Holo held out the small cask.
Once he uncorked and put his lips to the cask, it proved to contain a warm mixture of mead and milk.
“’Tis good for what ails you.”
The warm, sweet liquor was perfect.
“Now, then,” said Holo. She probably hadn’t meant the food and drink to loosen his tongue per se, but as he finished eating, she began to speak.
“I have two questions to put to you.”
Lawrence braced himself for the worst.
Holo paused for a moment.
“How far do you trust that girl?” she asked, not looking at him.
It was a question he both had and had not expected. The fact that Holo had left the time, place, and circumstances unclear meant that there was probably some vague doubt in her own mind.
Lawrence took another drink from the cask. “I don’t know how far I trust her,” he said without glancing at Holo. “However, I do know that if Norah were to take the gold and disappear somewhere, she would be easily followed. I don’t trust her enough to think that would happen and still have handed her the gold.”
Holo was silent.
“Unless she travels a significant distance, no one will buy it up at a reasonable price, and tales of a shepherdess just happening to sell off gold are rare enough to travel far and wide. She would be easy to follow.”
It was certain that he did not trust Norah absolutely. As a merchant, Lawrence was always thinking of the contingencies.
“I see. I suppose that is the size of it, then.”
“And the other question?” Lawrence asked.
Holo faced him with an inscrutable expression.
It wasn’t anger. It was, perhaps, hesitation.
But hesitation about what? Lawrence wondered.
He found it hard to imagine that she was vacillating over whether or not to ask the question at all.
“Whatever it is, I’ll answer it. I owe you a huge debt, after all.”
He took a bite of the now-cold sandwich, washing it down with liquor.
The golden light of the dawn began to reflect on the cobblestone streets.
“Are you not going to ask?” inquired Lawrence.
Holo took a deep breath. She grabbed his sleeve. Her hand trembled—either because of the cold or something else.
“Hm?”
“Do—do you remember...” Holo looked at him with uncertain eyes. “When I was facing the dog and the girl..., whose name did you call out?”
She did not appear to be joking.
Her eyes were seriousness itself.
“The blood was rushing in my head, and I couldn’t hear. But it’s been gnawing at me. I am quite sure you called someone’s name. Do you remember?”
Lawrence hesitated as they walked slowly through the city streets, the sun now beginning to rise.
How should he answer? The truth was that he didn’t remember.
But what if Holo actually did remember and she was only trying to get him to confirm it?
If he had called Holo’s name, that would be fine. The problem would come if he had called for Norah.
In that case, saying he didn’t know would mean he’d blurted out Norah’s name without really knowing or remembering what he was saying.
And in that case, Holo would certainly be angry. It would be better to honestly admit he had called Norah’s name and come up with some vague reason as to why.
There was another possibility, of course—that Holo really hadn’t heard at all.
In which case, it would be best to say he had called her name.
Having thought it through so thoroughly, Lawrence realized the extent of his own stupidity.
The girl next to him was the Wisewolf Holo. She would see right through any lies.
In which case, the correct answer was—
“I called your name.”
After looking for a moment like the eyes of an abandoned puppy, Holo’s eyes flashed with hatred.
“That is a lie.”
She tightened her grip on his sleeve, and Lawrence answered immediately.
“It is. The truth is I don’t remember. However—”
Holo’s ears flicked underneath the kerchief on her head faster than her facial expression could change.
She should know that what he had just said wasn't a lie.
“—In those circumstances, I certainly think I would've called your name,” he said, looking steadily back at her.
As quickly as her eyes had flashed with hatred, Holo now looked back at him with a hint of doubt in her gaze.
There was no way to tell whether or not that was the truth; she would have to decide.
For his part, Lawrence put forth the most persuasive argument he could think of.
“Time was of the essence. I’m sure I would’ve unconsciously chosen to call yo
ur name. After all—”
Holo’s grip tightened.
“After all, it’s one letter shorter.”
He could almost feel the expression drop from her face.
“Also, if I’d shouted ‘Norah’ even hastily, you’d be able to tell. But Holo takes but a moment to say—it would be easy to miss with blood roaring through your head. What do you think? Quite a persuasive argument—”
He didn’t finish his sentence because Holo struck him in the mouth.
“Shut up.”
Even her small, soft hand hurt quite a bit since Lawrence’s lip was split slightly where the Remelio Company book had struck him.
“So you called my name because it was shorter? Dunce! Fool!” she said, yanking on his sleeve. “It’s infuriating that you would even think that!” She looked flatly opposite him as if to turn him away.
Lawrence wondered if it would have been better to just tell an obvious lie, but he had the feeling Holo would’ve been angry either way.
As they walked, they approached the east gate; there were more people around now busily setting about their day.
Holo walked slightly in front of him, alone.
Just as he wondered what she was going to do, she stopped.
“Just—” she stood there—
“—call it out,” said Holo, her back turned to Lawrence.
Past her, Lawrence saw a bell at the end of a long staff.
He heard the bleating of the sheep behind a figure.
What he saw beyond Holo was a shepherd girl leading a black sheepdog.
In that very instant, he knew the smuggling had succeeded. He couldn’t help but be happy. He might easily have called out Norah’s name.
Lawrence smiled at Holo’s clever, bald-faced actions.
The moment he opened his mouth to call out the name, he sneezed.
“Achoo!”
Now the truth of which name he called out would remain forever a mystery.
Holo looked over her shoulder, chagrined. He had gotten the better of her.
Lawrence ignored her and waved broadly three times just as when he had first met Norah on the road.
Norah noticed and returned the wave.
Holo regarded Norah over her shoulder.
That was the moment Lawrence was waiting for.
“Holo.”
Her wolf ears twitched.
“Holo really is easier to call.”
A puff of vapor appeared at Holo’s mouth as she exhaled, admitting defeat.
“You dunce.”
Lawrence loved her ticklish smile even more than the warm late-autumn sunshine.
Afterword
It has been a while! This is Hasekura Isuna. Well, here’s volume 2.I know; I’m shocked, too.
But if you wish to know what is most shocking of all, it’s that when I started to write this second volume, I utterly forgot the personalities of the two main characters.
I know it sounds unbelievable, but it’s true, even though I myself can barely believe it. You always hear about bird-brained people who forget everything after taking three steps, and that definitely fits a chicken who reads a horror story on the Net and gets so freaked out he can’t even go to the bathroom, right?
Now that I think about it, there’s one more surprising thing. What is it, you ask? Well, I bought stock. Having won a prize for writing a novel with a merchant as the protagonist, I put half the prize money into a certain stock. I wrote about it in the afterword for volume 1, too, and I get this evil grin on my face when I think about multiplying my money in the stock market. This time my delusions have just gotten wilder, but perhaps as a consequence of some shadowy group’s trap, the stock dropped steadily for two weeks. It even fell on a day when 90 percent of the stocks on the market rose. Right behind the window I’m writing this afterword in, there’s a stock tool that tells me every minute change in the price, and today it seems to be trading in a very narrow range. Although it is dropping. It seems that it’s not going well, just like the novel. How odd...
I’m a sad piece of work, but I hope you’ve enjoyed this book.
Once again Ayakura Jyuu-sensei provided wonderful illustrations; they fit the images in my head perfectly. Thank you so much. Also, to my editor—I am so sorry for all the mistakes in my Japanese. Next time—next time, I promise!—I’ll try to write the novel so we can finish in a single meeting.
And of course, to all those who hold this book in your hands, my heartfelt thanks.
I hope to see you all again in volume 3.
—Hasekura Isuna
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