Wolf & Parchment, Volume 2

by Isuna Hasekura

  The priests in town had a great deal of perks.

  “Yes. Those crowding into the church are people of that sort. There are fourteen parishes that call themselves alleys in this town. The artisans and merchants of each parish have their own associations, and there are even several brotherhoods for their peace of mind. You could easily find fifty of them in this town alone. There are also individuals who come with their own interests in mind, so it’s been quite the handful dealing with them.”

  Even in a place like Nyohhira, where everyone knew one another, community management was still challenging.

  Col could not imagine how much trouble it was for Atiph, a large town that needed a greater amount of resources to operate properly.

  “On top of that, the churches of the surrounding independent cities and monasteries have learned about the terrible degree of the people’s anger toward the Church, and there have been throngs of their emissaries. They’re asking, ‘Should we change our policies as well?’ and ‘How much of a shift is necessary?’”

  Though there must have been criticisms of the Church in the past, rarely has it led to open defiance.

  No matter how questionable its actions, no one could challenge the Church. The people had given up, grown accustomed to the idea that no matter how rotten the institution became, it was still better than any alternative.

  “In addition, there are many questions about the common-language translation of the scripture that you worked on. There were many people who were upset that priests held a monopoly on reading the holy works. Acts meant to discourage the Church from more audacious behavior are spreading like wildfire. It’s all thanks to you two.”

  Col could think of a hundred reasons why that was untrue, but he considered it polite to accept Hyland’s compliment without fuss, so he smiled shyly and filed her words away in his mind.

  Still, their job was not yet over.

  “But fire must always be kept under control.”

  Leaving the embers of reform to spread and burn—that line of thinking would only bring about civil strife. And they were up against the Church, which had more bastions across the world than even the biggest trading companies. They could not haphazardly throw themselves into fights with them.

  “Exactly. We need to add the right amount of fuel to the fire, then watch the way the wind blows.”

  “So what can we do next?”

  After continuing along the back street, they eventually entered an area referred to as the Old Town, from when Atiph was still small. Col knew this because the stones on the ground were worn down, having clearly been around for some time. There was also a bronze plaque on a building that actually read OLD TOWN. He could feel the pride of the longtime residents in how brightly the plaque shone.

  Though it was a bit small to be called a proper square, food stalls had been set up around a small well, while cobblers repaired shoes and the neighborhood elderly played cards in the gaps between. What grabbed Col’s attention most of all was the number of large nets that covered the entire walls of buildings. They surrounded the entire square and even hung from the roof of a five-story building.

  It looked as though the whole square was caught in it.

  “Brother, what’s that? Is it for a festival?”

  Myuri tugged Col’s sleeve as she spoke.

  “It would seem so…There’s something on it. Is that dried grass cut to resemble fish?”

  “This is apparently a festival hoping for a good catch in anticipation for spring. This neighborhood is where Atiph’s fishermen live.”

  As she spoke, Hyland bought four skewers of fried herring from a stall.

  She gave one to Col and two to Myuri.

  “Fish fills the belly more than wheat does in this land. And no one can fight on an empty stomach. By the way…”

  Hyland paused briefly before continuing.

  “How well can you two swim?”

  She smiled meaningfully, flashing her sharp teeth, then took a bite out of the back of the fried fish.

  Violent winds roared like a war cry. Mountainous waves reached high into the sky. Water pouring in from the deck; food already chewed through by rats. Unable to sleep as the ship rocked so intensely that there was no discernible difference between floor and ceiling, he found himself exhaling water more than drinking it. With no place to run, there is nothing to do but pray. Even if he could continue to bear such fear and pain, it would all be over once the ship capsized with the next gust of wind. On the seas, unbeknownst to anyone, he would simply disappear.

  On the other side of that, the names of ships and their value were posted on large sheets of paper in the port town taverns, the crests of various vessels on display. Rather well-dressed merchants would stand all day in front of these papers, hands folded, praying. At the very top of the sheets, written with rough strokes, were the words:

  By the will of God.

  In that tavern, a bet was being wagered as to whether or not the ship would sink. This test of chance was sometimes called by its other name: insurance. The owner would give 15 to 20 percent of the worth of the ship’s load to his betting partner, and if it sank, then he would take the money back. If it did not sink, then the betting partner would be able to keep the money. In essence, it was estimated that there was a sinking in one out of every five sea journeys. This included pirate attacks.

  Anyone who looked out beyond the town on a gray and windy day would find villagers who lived along the coastline standing on rooftops, staring at the sea. They would be on the lookout for foolish merchant ships greedily trying to make their way on the white waves. They could make a profit on the cargo that drifted ashore if those boats were wrecked by the winds, thrown onto the rocks, or simply sank. However, through arrangements between large mercantile entities and landlords, any freight that drifted ashore lawfully belonged to the landowners. That was why it was unthinkable for the villagers to provide assistance to the shipwrecked vessels. It would mean trouble with the higher-ups. If they wanted to be saved, the castaways should have wrapped themselves in gold—but then again, it would be worse to sink under the weight of the coins.

  This world was hell. Truly, the epitome of an adventure.

  God bless those who navigate the seas.

  “Well, that’s the gist of it.”

  The noble of the Kingdom of Winfiel, a country surrounded on all sides by water, mischievously licked the chicken fat that coated her fingers. Before Col lay a massive feast. They were in a tavern where local fishermen gathered, whose work began on the sea before dawn and ended before noon.

  He had not touched his food, though—not because he was shying away from meat as a person who aspired to join the priesthood but because of Hyland’s story.

  On the large model ship hanging from the ceiling, there were wings made of chicken feathers—perhaps someone’s idea of a prank. After hearing her story, it almost seemed as though there was a deeper meaning to those wings.

  “…Are you requesting us to go on such a sea voyage?”

  Col raised the question in a thin voice, prompting Hyland to look up at him as she bit into her chicken thigh. Her refinement shined through even more as she ate, oddly emphasizing her femininity.

  “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to threaten you.”

  It was like she had seen right through to the heart of his troubles. After she placed the chicken onto a bed of oats—a replacement for a plate—she wiped her mouth.

  “My country is surrounded by water, you know. We talk about ships and the ocean more than any other place. We love tales of adventures on the seas. When I was little, the old sailors would often scare me with their stories.”

  When Col imagined a young Hyland, wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire, enthralled by grand stories, he could not help but smile.

  There was no mistake, however, that the sea was a terrifying place, even more so in the dead of winter.

  “Of course, what I just told you was an exaggeration, but there are t
imes when such things can…Hmm?”

  Col followed Hyland’s gaze, and beside him, Myuri had gripped her bread and it crumbled out from between her fingers.

  She was leaning forward, her mouth slack-jawed and her eyes wide open.

  When Myuri spoke, her voice was practically a groan.

  “Ad…ven…ture…!”

  Had he poked her cheek, which was nearly bursting with excitement, her ears and tail might have popped out.

  “Don’t expect too much. I might end up disappointing you this time.”

  Hyland smiled wryly, and Myuri quickly collected the scattered crumbs and sprinkled them over her soup as a topping so as to not waste it. A part of Myuri still seemed like a seven-year-old boy on the inside.

  “But—but a ship? On the sea? Brother?”

  “Calm down. Come on, let go of the bread.”

  Myuri had thrown a fit of excitement over hearing about pirates when they came to the town of Atiph. To a girl who was born and raised in Nyohhira, a hot spring village surrounded by mountain views, exciting stories about the sea were much too thrilling.

  It also took quite some work to loosen her fingers from the bread she gripped.

  “We’ll be taking a ship, but it won’t be a long journey. It’s short enough that you’ll always be within eyesight of land, and no ship will risk the trip if the weather is even slightly agitated. You’ll be at sea for half a day at the longest. It’s just a bit of a trip from port to port. And it won’t be a problem if you get seasick, since you’ll be at the port by the time you wake up.”

  Hyland laid out her explanation, which helped ease Col’s nerves but left Myuri visibly dissatisfied.

  “But it doesn’t mean there won’t be any problems. The seas are difficult around the islands even farther north of here, beyond the diocese of Atiph. No authority of any country reaches that far. They have their own rules and are harsh with outsiders. The weather often changes suddenly, and the shadow of the island can disappear when it needs to—it’s a perfect trap. We call those who control those islands…”

  She paused and looked straight into Myuri’s eyes.

  “…pirates.”

  “Pirates! …Guh—!” Myuri yelled, standing from her chair, and Col, flustered, pushed his hand over her mouth and sat her down.

  Luckily, the tavern was filled with leathery-skinned, red-faced sailors, who were unfazed by such terrifying words.

  Hyland smiled, delighted, and it seemed she was intentionally egging Myuri on.

  Though perhaps it was the kind of joke a noble would tell, but there was likely truth in what she said.

  “And are you saying…to convert those pirates?”

  Though he had knowledge of the scripture, he could not stop violence with aphorisms. He was grounded in reality enough to realize at least that much. Anecdotes of missions where ruffians instantly transformed into obedient puppies after a round of preaching were obviously fantasies.

  “If you have a holiness that puts saints to shame, perhaps, or…”

  Hyland narrowed her eyes in mischief and smiled. In her hand, she held the low-quality ale that the sailors drank.

  But she was clearly not drunk. Even when she stayed in Nyohhira, he did not once see her drunk, and high alcohol tolerance was a sign of nobility.

  “Of course, I won’t ask you to do something so reckless. I’d like you to make the most of your scholarship.”

  “…And that means?”

  “Mhmm.”

  Hyland nodded, gazed into space, and the innkeeper, who had been standing in front of the counter, hurried over to attend to her. It seemed as though it was not a coincidence they came here.

  Then, after she said a few words to him, he disappeared into the back and then returned carrying a small wooden box. It was bound with an odd cord, and upon closer inspection, Col could tell it was fish leather twisted together like yarn.

  She released the string and opened the lid, and laying on a blanket of straw was a black figure.

  “Ooh, a doll?”

  Myuri’s voice was surprisingly girlie and pleasant.

  That being said, when she happily stood from her chair to get a peek inside the box, the color suddenly drained from her face.

  “…Whoa, that’s…weird…”

  He could not bring himself to laugh at how straightforward she was, since it mirrored how he felt.

  “Isn’t this…the Holy Mother? But why is it this color?”

  He thought it was a wooden figure that had been seared. There was, however, a beautiful glint to it, and the craftsmanship in the details was superb. He could tell it was a completed piece and that it was meant to look like this.

  “It’s made of jet,” Hyland said and picked up the black figure of the Holy Mother. “You can sometimes find it in regions where peat and amber are gathered. It’s an odd stone.”

  Hyland handed it to Col, and for a moment, he thought he had dropped it.

  It was that light—completely different from what he imagined by looking at it.

  “They say that it is amber that has turned into coal. Like amber, polishing it attracts sand and wool; but unlike amber, it burns without melting once placed in a fire. It smells like something between peat and coal. That smell reminds me of home.”

  Peat and coal were abundant in the Kingdom of Winfiel. Nyohhira was rich in timber while peat was impossible to find there, so it was never used. During his travels, he had used it occasionally as fuel during his travels.

  He handed the jet to Myuri, and she was also shocked by how light it was, admiring the fantastic decorations.

  “They sometimes whittle it down into small balls and call them black pearls as a scam. It’s merely rare, not precious. It doesn’t have much value.”

  A figure of the Holy Mother made of jet.

  Hyland took it from Myuri and gently returned it to its box.

  “And there is a land that makes these jet figures of the Holy Mother and fervently worships them.”

  “You mean the islands in the north, correct?”

  A region of harsh environment controlled by pirates.

  “As you can see, it’s a very well-wrought figure of the Holy Mother. However, since they have traditionally regarded the mainland as enemies, they’ve kept their distance from the power of the Church that is the foundation of the mainland. In the past, the Church once made various attempts to bring this region into their sphere of influence, but in the end, it was too costly to force them into submission, so they gave up.”

  No matter how he looked at it, the black figure of the Holy Mother, sealed with a string of fish skin, seemed heretical.

  It would not be strange to consider this religious witchcraft.

  “And so…,” Hyland said, “I want you to go see if we should bring the believers of this land into our fold.”

  He returned her gaze. What he saw were not the kind eyes of a distant friend but the sharp glint of his superior.

  “The Church sometimes suspects them of heresy, but their faith may be the real thing. Or perhaps, though they are creating such wonderful figures of the Holy Mother, it might also be a cover against actual subjugation if they were to be called pagans. I know you can connect with them and determine if their faith is true or not.”

  “That’s—”

  “Let me rephrase that. Whatever your judgment is, it will play a large part in my considerations.”

  What she showed him after was a smile for fooling people.

  In their present situation, the number of allies they gathered was not a problem. On the other hand, if one of their allies was a strange religious group, it would create an opportunity that the Church could take advantage of, potentially leading to doubt in the righteousness of the Kingdom of Winfiel. That being said, he could tell that lip service would not be enough. That was because she had qualified her statement with “play a large part in my considerations.”

  Of course, it was the way of the world for people to bow down and follow
the orders of a noble. He and Hyland were never equals to begin with; their relationship would typically not allow them to share the same table.

  However, jesters aside, the only ones allowed to butt heads with rulers were priests.

  Hyland continued to smile, and temptation spurred Col on.

  “Very well. By the light of my scholarship and faith, I shall see if their conviction is true.”

  Still smiling, she stared at him and nodded, satisfied.

  Her gaze suddenly turned to Myuri, who sat beside him.

  “And is there anything you’d like to say, little miss?”

  When she said that, her smile was clearly personable and gentle.

  “My brother’s a coward.” Myuri chewed on the cartilage of some chicken thigh as she continued. “I don’t want to watch him be used like a tool.”

  He looked to her only to see her staring back at him.

  She was carefree, mischievous, always seemed like she thought of nothing but food, and her intelligence was beyond expectation. Her mother was known as the wisewolf who was worshipped as a god once upon a time, and her father was a sharp merchant, highly regarded by a select few in the northlands.

  With such a pedigree, one could not disregard Myuri’s keen insight simply because she was a child. She clearly noticed that he had swallowed every doubt that occurred to him about this job.

  But though he admired her quick-wittedness, she was still a child.

  “It is not because I am afraid of her authority that I do not ask Heir Hyland questions.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Because I trust her.”

  Myuri widened her eyes in surprise, then frowned.

  “Little miss, your brother isn’t the obedient lamb you think he is.”

  “…What?”

  Really? Myuri looked at Hyland doubtfully.

  “He trusts that with the requisite information, I will pass a proper judgment. Those expectations need to be met. Your brother understands that I am serious about my obligations.”

  Hyland added that therefore, there was no need to put everything into words. For some reason, she seemed to be having fun.

  Myuri often put adults to shame, but she made a face as though Hyland was speaking to her in a foreign language.