Without civility, a long-standing rivalry between (for example) a fishmonger and a butcher might escalate into violence and overflow into the town.
Such manners generally sprung from an aversion to sullying one’s organization’s good name, but they were still very important to merchants.
Commerce depended on trust and reputation, after all.
“Right then, I’ve got business to take care of, so just wait here,” instructed Lawrence once they arrived at the trading house with which he was associated. He saw the building painted in the local style and could not help but feel a certain nostalgia. He kept it to himself, though, out of consideration for Holo, whose homeland was still far away.
Holo regarded him as he feigned indifference. “What, are you not going to bring me in and show me off to your old village mates?”
It seemed she had spotted the bit of pride he’d mustered along the way, but that wasn’t enough to bother him anymore.
“That would basically amount to a preamble to marriage. My town’s marriage ceremonies are quite rowdy—are you sure you’re up for that?”
This sort of thing was quite universal. Holo’s knowledge of the human world seemed to give her some idea.
She shook her head in distaste.
“I’ll be done soon. If you wait nicely, I’ll buy you some sweetbread,” said Lawrence.
“I’ll thank you not to treat me like a child.”
“Oh, you don’t want any?”
“I do.”
Lawrence couldn’t help but laugh at Holo’s serious reply, and leaving her there, he ascended the steps to the building and rapped on the door of the trading company. The door had no knocker, which was a sign that only members should knock.
After waiting some time, however, there was still no answer.
Lawrence ventured to open the door on his own. Given the time of day, it was possible that everyone was out in the marketplace—and as he expected, the interior was silent. The first floor was a spacious lobby set up as a drinking hall in which the members could relax, but the chairs were set atop the round tables, and a mop leaned against one wall. Evidently the room was being cleaned.
Nothing had changed in the year Lawrence had been away, save the hairline of the guild master who tended the front counter—which had receded. He imagined the master’s already large belly had grown larger, but unfortunately the man seemed to find it difficult to stand, so Lawrence couldn’t be sure.
The master lifted his gaze from the counter and with a friendly smile began his usual ribbing. “Well, now, what a poor merchant is this! Wandering around a trading house at this hour—cares not a whit for making money. You’d do better changing into a thief’s clothes and getting yourself to an alehouse!”
“The greatest merchants make money without dirtying their shoes with so much as a speck of dust; their only stain is the ink upon their fingers. Running around the marketplace all day is the sign of the third-rate merchant. Am I wrong?”
Every time they met like this, Lawrence used to get angry recalling the master’s inexplicable habit of jesting at him when he was a young apprentice. Somewhere along the line, he had learned to spar right back without getting flustered.
Lawrence easily returned the master’s jape, then straightened and brought his heels together smartly, squaring himself to the counter as he approached it.
The man ensconced behind the counter was squarely built and stout and slapped his forehead at Lawrence’s reply, grinning. "You’ve gotten clever, boy. Welcome home, my son!”
“Stop the ‘my son’ nonsense.”
“What are you saying? All in the Rowen Trade Guild are my sons and daughters.”
The two shook hands over the familiar exchanges.
"And yet I know of all the times you wet your bedroll after we made camp—and is it not the teaching of God that a good father knows well his son? Or should I mention the time you stole the cash box and snuck off with your friends, trembling, to the whorehouse?”
"All right, all right. I’m Kraft Lawrence, then, son of the great Jakob Tarantino.”
"So, Kraft my boy. You’re back in Ruvinheigen after a year gone. How fares our family in other towns?” Jakob's manner was as overbearing as always, and it hit Lawrence with all the harsh edge and warmth of liquor. The trading house was truly his homeland in a foreign city.
This was the kind of harsh hospitality he only tasted at home.
"They’re all doing well by the grace of the saints.”
"Good, good. Well, now, if you’ve gone the rounds among family, you must be fairly brimming with profit! If your purse is heavy, your trousers sag. If your trousers sag, the ladies won’t like you. And you, lad, are a vain one. Am I wrong?”
Lawrence had no comeback. Laughing at the master’s heavy-handled way of seeking a contribution, he replied, “I’ve heard that the ability to handle figures gets bad with age, but old Jakob’s eyes are still sharp, I see.”
Lawrence seamlessly withdrew ten silver pieces from the purse fixed at his waist and slapped them down on the counter with .1 flourish.
If he’d grudgingly handed over two or three copper coins, he would have gotten an earful.
He wanted to show the old man up, and in any case, his profit from the spice had been sizable. The generous donation was .1 kind of report that he was doing business on this scale now—and Jakob broke into a grin at it.
“Ha-ha-ha, the little bed wetter’s bringing in real silver now! How lovely.”
“Enough about the bed-wetting.”
“You still are one to me, boy.”
Lawrence shrugged, at which point Jakob’s laugh rang out again.
“Well, then, you’ve come all the way out here in the middle o| the day, so you must be here on business. You need a certificate?'
“Yes.”
“I surely look forward to the day when you’re a famous enough merchant that people flinch at the mention of your name,” said Jakob.
“You’re telling me,” agreed Lawrence—then remembered In had something else to mention. “Oh, right. Do you know of any traders in the guild that’re headed to Lamtra?”
Jakob placed a pen and ink pot on the desk, then looked up, and raised his eyebrows at Lawrence. “Now that’s a strange question,” he remarked.
“I was just thinking of providing a shortcut to Lamtra in exchange for a consideration...”
Jakob’s gaze swung around for a moment before settling again on Lawrence. He wore a meaningful smile.
“Oh ho. Have you met a certain young shepherdess?”
Lawrence was taken so off guard that his breath momentarily caught in his throat, but when he stopped to consider it, he found it was far from surprising that merchants in Ruvinheigen would know of Norah the shepherd girl.
Which meant that Lawrence’s radical idea had already occurred to others.
“You’re far from the first to have that idea, boy. Especially after the road that went through the area she wanders was finished. But nobody makes a business of that now, and nobody asks that girl for escort. Do you know why?” Jakob spoke smoothly as he wrote out the certificate.
Lawrence answered with a sigh, “Because there’s no business in it?”
Jakob nodded and looked up. “That girl’s the only one who wanders that area unscathed. Sure, Norah the Nymph’s pretty popular with her charm and skill, but I don’t have to tell you what the Church thinks about that. Nobody wants to get tangled up with those sons of bitches.”
He dipped the tip of his quill in the ink pot and continued, a malicious leer on his face. “I know Norah the Nymph is the type of girl you like, but here’s some free advice: Give it up.”
It was just every day morning conversation, but it cut a little too close to the quick, and Lawrence could only offer a pained sort of smile in reply.
“So, who do I make the certificate out to? Or should I leave it blank?”
“No, make it out to the Remelio Company, please.”
&nbs
p; Jakob paused again for a moment.
He looked back at Lawrence with the appraising eyes of a merchant.
“Remelio, eh? If you already know who you’re selling to..., you must be selling on margin, then, hmm?”
“Yes. Out of Poroson. Is there something I should know?” asked Lawrence, only to be hit by a sudden, severe look that surfaced like a fish from the depths of a pond.
“Mm. Well, you’ll see when you get there. Here, your certificate.”
When a merchant first sold goods to a trading house, the worst problem he might encounter was if a competing merchant forced their prices down.
Such things didn’t happen too often in smaller towns like Pazzio and Poroson, but Ruvinheigen was large, and because of the connections between the many trading firms and associations, it happened often. Ruvinheigen was an obvious place for large transactions, and the smaller transactions of individual merchants were like grains of sand.
Thus, Lawrence would state which trading guild he was associated with and make it clear that he could not be trifled with. With I he name of a guild behind him, he wouldn’t be treated badly.
“The Rowen Trade Guild is under the protection of Saint Lambardos. I’ll pray for your good fortune,” said Jakob.
“My thanks...”
Lawrence took the certificate that proved his affiliation with the Rowen Trade Guild, vaguely thanking Jakob, who clearly knew more than he was saying.
Lawrence knew from experience that if he asked for more information, he would not get it.
However, in such situations, it was likely that he would come to the answer after either further thought or investigation.
What could it possibly be? he wondered.
“Yes, yes, you’ll see when you go. It’s you we’re talking about here, so I’m sure you’ll turn it to your advantage.” Jakob’s words only served to further confuse Lawrence, but if going to the trading house would lead to understanding, he had no choice but to advance. In all likelihood, some commodity’s price had destabilized, and the Remelio Company was in some kind of chaos.
Lawrence put the thought out of his mind, gave Jakob his thanks, and turned to leave. He had come here to sell his goods, and getting distracted before he did that accomplished nothing.
The moment he put his hand to the door, he was stopped short by Jakob’s voice.
Lawrence looked back and saw Jakob smiling pleasantly.
“Oh, and just you wait before getting involved with any girls, you hear? Even a mild one like Norah’s too much for you to handle—a city girl would take up all your profits just like that!”
There were windows in the guild house’s walls, but they were not made of glass like the great trading companies’—instead oil-soaked sheets of linen cloth served as the panes. This let a bit of light in, but one could hardly see through them.
Yet it seemed Jakob had spotted Holo just beyond the door.
It was proof the man possessed the cunning to run a trade guild in a foreign land; his was far beyond that of a normal person.
“You can’t invest without capital.”
“Ha-ha! Well met, you bed wetter!”
Lawrence grinned sheepishly and opened the door; Jakob was still laughing when he closed it behind him.
He remembered his days as an apprentice. When faced with people like Jakob, he had been in such a hurry to grow up, to surpass them. It was nostalgic, but bitter and biting at the same time.
Lawrence reflected on how young he still was as he looked toward the base of the stone steps. Just at that moment, Holo glanced over her shoulder at him.
“Oh, there he is. That’s my companion,” said Holo.
She was sitting at the base of the steps as she pointed rudely at him. In front of her were two boys, probably apprentices to some tradesman. They looked to be around fifteen or sixteen, about the same age Holo appeared. They were carrying packages, perhaps out on an errand for their parents.
The boys, just barely old enough to shave, regarded Lawrence with animosity after hearing Holo’s words. Dealing with them could have been a hassle, but they flinched slightly when Lawrence sighed.
There was a world of difference in the social position of a craftsman’s apprentice and a guild merchant. The boys had probably approached the obviously bored Holo, but now, confronted with Lawrence, they realized there was nothing they could do, so looking to each other, the two apprentices scampered off.
Holo giggled. “They were precious. Called me a beautiful rose, they did,” she said, laughing as she watched the boys dash off, but Lawrence’s face showed his distress.
“Don’t mess around with them. Apprentice boys are like wild dogs. You could get taken.”
“And in that case, you could come rescue me again. Am I wrong?” Faced with her unexpectedly guileless response, Lawrence couldn’t help but feel a bit happy, but his face remained stern. "Sure, I’d rescue you.”
Holo grinned and stood. “Of course, in the end, I was the one who rescued you.”
She had him there.
Lawrence covered his eyes out of irritation and descended the steps. She took his right arm, snickering.
“I don’t know what kind of return you’re expecting, but I’ll take that investment,” she said.
“...You heard all that?”
“My precious little ears can tell when you so much as twitch an eyebrow. So you have a thing for fair hair, do you?”
Lawrence only managed a confused “Huh?” at Holo’s utterly inexplicable reasoning before she continued.
"And so scrawny, too. Or do you like the careworn look? Or do you just have a thing for shepherdesses?”
Her rapid-fire interrogation made Lawrence think of a suspension bridge with its ropes being cut one after another. He stared at Holo, alarmed, but she just smiled back.
Her smile was the most frightening thing yet.
“Now wait just a minute—that’s just Master Jakob’s way of saying hello. If he’s got an opportunity, it’s like a game for him to say stuff like that. I’m not—”
“Not what?” Lawrence saw in Holo’s eyes that she wouldn’t tolerate a lie.
He had no choice but to tell the truth. “W-well, sure, I thought Norah was nice. I can’t say our conversation wasn’t nice. But...that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you, or...well, it doesn't mean that.”
He got flustered halfway through, and it was suddenly very hard to face Holo. He’d never had to say anything like this in his entire life.
Having gotten it out, he took a deep breath. After composing himself a bit, he glanced over at his companion, who regarded him with a measure of surprise on her face.
“I was just teasing...”
The embarrassment and anger Lawrence felt at these words was sliced clean through by the smile Holo gave him.
“I didn’t think you’d take me at my word, there...it’s nice.”
She looked down and squeezed his arm just slightly.
For Lawrence, it hadn’t been the dissembling or prevarication of a business negotiation, but a way of seeing how close they could become.
Mostly unconscious of and unconcerned with how it might look, Lawrence moved to put his left arm around Holo but embraced only air.
She had soundlessly slipped from his grasp.
“Still, males are ever thus. They’ll say anything.”
Looking at her sad, serious manner, even Lawrence could easily imagine that sometime in Holo’s past, someone had said something careless and hurtful, something that she still felt resentment over.
But Lawrence was a merchant. He was always careful with his words.
“So—you’ll need to show me something. Do knights not entrust their swords and shields as proof of their good faith? You’re a merchant, so what will you show me?
Lawrence had also heard the tales of knights who would hand over their swords and shields—said to be their very souls—when swearing oaths of loyalty.
So what, then, of a merchant? The
answer was obvious: money.
Lawrence could just imagine Holo’s unamused expression if he handed her a purse full of coins.
He needed to buy something for her, something that would both make her happy and stand for the money—his merchant’s soul—that he would unhesitatingly use for her sake.
The item that sprang immediately to mind was the ultimate luxury: honeyed peach preserves.
"Fine,” said Lawrence. “I’ll show you I don’t say such things lightly.”
Her eyes filled with a mixture of suspicion and anticipation.
If he could somehow answer the question in those red-brown pupils of hers, well—than honeyed peach preserves would be a bargain.
"I’ll buy you some honeyed peach...”
That was as far as Lawrence got before a strange feeling came over him, specifically regarding the triangular kerchief on Holo’s head.
Holo cocked her head curiously at the frozen Lawrence.
Then, with a quick “Oh,” she hastily put her hands to her head.
Don’t tell me you—,” Lawrence started.
“Wh-what? What’s wrong? You were about to say you would buy me something?”
He had to give her credit for staying shameless, but Lawrence wasn’t going to simply laugh this off.
Looking at the kerchief on her head made it obvious. Beneath it, her ears had been twitching strangely, vigorously. That was the proof.
This was all part of her plan.
“You know, there are some things you just can’t do!” he said.
Holo seemed to realize that her plan had failed, and now suddenly sullen, she stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “You said I should ask more charmingly!”
For a moment Lawrence didn’t follow her, but then he remembered their conversation on the outskirts of Poroson. Exasperated, he looked up to the heavens.
“No, I said you should ask nicely. I never said anything about feminine wiles!”
“But I was charming, was I not?”
Lawrence hated himself for not having a ready reply, and hated himself still more for not becoming angrier with her.
“Though I must say,” continued Holo, “you were twice as charming. That was far more exciting than if my plan had gone as I meant it to.”
Spice & Wolf II Page 10
