Some poets called this a worn-down heart, but for whatever reason, the world was not kind to people.
“And it is an unanticipated delight for a traveling merchant to help the lord of a land.”
He said this hinting at his expectation of additional perks.
At that, the taciturn Yergin opened his mouth to speak.
“The Draustem family will reward you for your services.”
He concluded that the wicked one was the merchant who came from the outside for money, and he was the obstinate vassal.
As she watched this exchange, Holo shot a bit of a sympathetic look toward Amalie, but of course, she did not interject. Holo knew better than anyone of the world’s mercilessness.
“Well then, let us go quickly after our meal.”
“Lady Amalie?”
Yergin checked with her, and Amalie raised her head and seemed as though she would say something, but she ended up staring downward again.
Her shoulders shook as she gripped the hemp cloth she had so daintily placed on her lap.
“…Yes, all right…”
Lawrence’s expression suddenly relaxed and not because it had gone exactly as he imagined.
Amalie was softhearted, but she did have the courage to stand up to destiny.
And so all he had to do was cooperate the best he could.
They decided to use Lawrence’s wagon to transport the hand mills. As he was unloading his cargo from the bed, Yergin suddenly spoke.
“Pardon.”
Lawrence did not stop working, but since his eyes met Holo’s, he smiled at him.
“We will be asking a fee for using the wagon.”
Of course, he knew that Yergin was not talking about the wagon.
“And the abbot from Ivan Abbey is relying on me. He’s stingy and thinks of nothing but his abbey and is the kind who has never appropriately rewarded me for my troubles, for carrying his goods. But he said that Lady Amalie is likely in trouble and I should help her.”
That was a merchant’s roundabout way of expressing she was a wonderful person to warrant such a response from the abbot.
Yergin, with the muscles on his shoulders like those of a raging bull, picked up some cargo and gently placed it on the ground.
Though he looked a bit like a bandit, it did not mean he was unrefined.
“I’m sure Lady Amalie will make a great landlord.”
With a smile, Lawrence removed the last of the cargo from the bed.
“It means it will be worth my while to help her.”
Then, once again, Lawrence made his way to the village head’s place. Holo wondered for a moment if she should stay behind with Amalie and comfort her, but Lawrence stopped her. They would soon be leaving the village. That was Yergin’s job. Besides, Yergin would pass away before Amalie would. It was never too early for her to learn while his wisdom was still available to her.
Lawrence headed to the village, pulling the rattling, empty wagon behind him. When he arrived, he found the village head and the others completely unguarded, as they were in the middle of a humble feast.
The furniture had been put away and straw strewn over the hard dirt floor, where the villagers sat around in a circle. Right in the middle was a copper distilling pot. It was likely the village head’s specially brewed ale.
“This—this is…”
Though the village head seemed to be the cleverest of all the villagers, he of course could not hide his confusion.
“Oh, I don’t mind if you stay where you are. I have received the right to collect taxes in the landlady’s stead, so I have come to give notice.”
“The right to collect taxes…Wait, but that is—”
“During the reign of the previous lord, there was a declaration that forbade the use of hand mills, yes? And so by that declaration, I have come to confiscate them.”
He could almost hear the villagers’ hair stand on the back of their necks.
But the village head quickly signaled them with his eyes. It seemed like he gave them a faint nod, perhaps to calm them down.
“Is that so…? But as you can see, we are not sitting around a pile of hand mills. There are no places to hide them in a shack such as this.”
That meant the others were already hidden.
Lawrence did not change the smile on his face and nodded.
“Indeed. Unlike town houses, the beams supporting the roofs are exposed, and so you cannot hide them in the ceiling. The floor is not made of boards but of packed earth. It would be obvious if you buried them in the ground, and of course, it would be difficult to dig them back up.”
The villagers were bewildered by his sudden statements.
“So what about the fields? It would be easy to search them. One simply needs to poke the ground with a stick. And all the crops have already been planted for this season. There should be no large holes.”
One or two villagers gulped. Yergin would pick out those who did.
“I’m sure there are plenty of spaces to hide them in the backyards of the houses and on the roads to the fields, but one would be able to tell from far away by how the weeds grew if they were dug up. I’m sure it’s possible to hide them in the field on the other side of the river, but I doubt anyone would be willing to carry a hand mill that far. Which means?”
Lawrence looked around and peered into the kitchen one room over, no door separating the continuous stretch of dirt floor.
“Inside the stove…which would mean the hand mills would be rather big. And the shaft would burn, too.”
Then where would they hide them? A good part about being a traveling merchant was that he had visited many lands and he had learned that no matter the place, everyone thought the same way.
“Something that would always be included when building a house and difficult to tell if it has been turned over and somewhere that no one thinks to bother with.”
Lawrence turned on his heel and stood before Holo, who rested in the doorway, watching. She stared blankly up at him, and when he respectfully motioned for her to move, beneath her was a stone slab.
“People are constantly passing through here, so the earth quickly hollows out.”
So it would be easy to dig a hole and then place the stone above it. And as the tax collector searched the house, the owner would typically stand around the doorway anxiously, so it was the biggest blind spot.
When Yergin took the metal stick to be used as a lever in his hands, the village head sadly gritted his teeth and looked down.
“Even if we use the water mill, it will only burn in the wildfire…”
They would need to either cut away the whole lot of those ridiculous purple flowers or at least prune the area around the mill. Such worthless plants, during such a busy season.
“I can assure you as a merchant…,” Lawrence said, “that having a water mill would be for the benefit of all the village.”
Yergin pried away the stone slab, and beneath it was a hand mill.
Though there were several houses they could not find hand mills in, those families likely did not have one. He did casually glance at Holo to make sure, but had the villagers been lying, she would have signaled to him.
In the end, they collected seventeen hand mills.
The cart horse snorted unhappily as it pulled the heavily laden wagon along.
“We managed it without force.”
Yergin suddenly spoke, unclear if he was talking to himself or saying it as thanks.
“Craftiness is a merchant’s strength.”
Lawrence made his remark as he gripped the reins.
“The problem is Lady Amalie, correct?”
He thought for a moment that Yergin would hit him, but he only groaned.
“She seems to be a bit too kind to be a landlord.”
“…It is unthinkable that the people would be happy to pay taxes. Even if it is for their benefit.”
“That hits a little close to home.”
Traveling merchants
cheated on customs tariffs and plotted in order to avoid every sort of taxes towns imposed on their people. Even if they knew the tax would expand infrastructure in the town, making it safer, gathering people from all around, and expanding trade.
“Worse, she might run out of money to repair the water mill again. When that happens, she might have to resort to even harsher methods.”
There would not be any more hand mills to collect next time.
“Is there any other way?”
When Yergin asked this, Holo glanced at Lawrence. She was trying to discourage him from getting too deeply involved, so he patted her head to reassure her.
“I’ve done trade in many different towns, and I’ve seen taxes of every kind. I can think of quite a few.”
“…So that really is our only choice.”
“Well, there is the option of finding something that would make the villagers rich.”
Without a means to make or gain money, there was no way they could pay.
“…We are not merchants.”
“Of course.”
Lawrence answered simply, but he imagined that every time Amalie levied a new tax, the soft parts of her heart would chip away.
“With my knowledge of trade, I might be able…”
But before he could finish his thought…
“Lady Amalie?”
They could see Amalie jogging her way toward the manor, coming from a different direction. She held something heavy looking in her arms, and her steps were unsteady.
Then, she disappeared into the back garden.
It seemed that she had gone out somewhere while they were collecting the hand mills.
“What is she doing?”
“Mm…”
It seemed Yergin did not know, either. Thinking Holo might know, Lawrence looked to her, and she seemed surprised at first but then smiled somewhat happily.
He learned why as they reached the manor.
“Y…young miss?”
They found Amalie sitting at the table where they had lunch, and Yergin, without thinking, called her that.
“I thought you promised me you would not call me that anymore.”
Amalie’s response was sharp.
She had her sleeves rolled up while she fiddled with what she had spread out on the table.
It was the purple flowers that had brought disaster to the village.
“These are the culprits, after all,” Amalie continued to explain. “If there was a use for these flowers, then the villagers would be happy to cut them down, and we would be able to protect the water mill.”
This was not the girl who had been thrown about by fate, too helpless to do anything but shed tears.
“And you are a traveling merchant, Mr. Lawrence. If a distant land has need for these flowers, then you will be able to go and sell them for us.”
Holo shot him a teasing glance, as though asking You will?
But he had no other choice but to give one answer.
“Of course. If there are profits to be had.”
That was the one point he refused to negotiate on.
“For now, why don’t we try using it in cooking? I learned how to use fragrant grasses at the abbey. This flower has a nice scent, you know.”
This pioneer had already come up with some ideas.
Suggestions were easy to come up with, but it was more important to have the resolve to follow through.
“If we place it on a thick beef shoulder steak, it may impart a nice flavor.”
“What else?”
“Maybe submerging it in low-quality wine?”
Amalie nodded, placed her hand on her chin, then made another suggestion.
“Perhaps we may be able to eat it as is?”
Yergin cleared his throat.
“That is the one thing I wish not to try again. Whether boiled or fried.”
It seemed he had already thoroughly tried it, and his conclusion was that eating the flowers straight was not bearable.
“And it must be too fragrant, because none of the sheep, cows, or pigs will eat it.”
If it could serve as fodder for the livestock, then the villagers would be happy to turn their animals loose in the flower fields. It was clear to see why no one did.
“It wouldn’t be enough if we just sold them as decorations or fragrances for cooking.”
The flowers came from a practically endless field.
“Then why don’t we place the flower into a scented sachet? We did that often with the herbs we grew at the abbey.”
Young girls to old madams gathered at the all-women abbey, and it must have been an elegant, calming sight to watch them sew the sachets, needle in hand.
“Scented sachets are a thing, and this flower does have a strong, sweet scent. But it certainly isn’t something that sells a lot. I can’t foresee anything like that could sell so much that it would make a difference.”
The question was, would people be more likely to buy a nice-smelling petal or nice-smelling bread?
Not to mention that once someone bought a scented bag, they would not need to buy another one for a while.
“Even if we sell a little bit in one town, then why not sell in many towns?”
“It’s possible the goods might get caught in the rain on the way, and dried-out petals would be light but a burden. The wagon bed is not that big. Selling just one tankard full at one town does not quite make for a lucrative business, and I can’t imagine such a small amount will reduce the field.”
Amalie bit her nails in frustration, but it did not seem to mean she had given up.
“Then…all right. If they burn well, then why not use them as daily fuel?”
“There must be a reason why the villagers aren’t already doing that.”
Lawrence countered her suggestion, and Yergin continued for him.
“We would find ourselves in trouble if those flowers crossed the river and took root on this side as well. They are also a symbol of fire. To store those in our houses would prevent anyone from having a good night’s sleep.”
This was not a problem that could be solved in a hurry. Though they were villagers, these people were not foolish, and their previous landlord was a wise ruler.
But Amalie did not seem discouraged. Lawrence could tell that she was fully aware of her ignorance about the world. She had already prepared herself.
“I will think of something.”
It was a confident declaration.
“If anything, I did a lot of thinking at the abbey.”
“Young miss…”
The large Yergin murmured, his eyes bleary.
“I thought I told you to stop calling me that,” Amalie quipped again, smiling bitterly. “I am now the head of this family.”
Lawrence gave Holo a little poke on her back and took a flower in his hand.
“Then let us brainstorm.”
Though they spoke so enthusiastically, reality was not as sweet as the flower’s scent. They thought about this and that until the evening, and once they ran out of ideas, the candle finally burned out, signaling a stop for the night.
Another tallow candle was lit for them, and Yergin offered them some ale to help them sleep—it must have been his way of giving thanks. They happily accepted.
Once Lawrence returned to their room, he found Holo, who had returned a bit earlier than him, sitting by the open window grooming her tail by the light of the moon.
“This feels like a dream.”
Lawrence spoke as he closed the door, and Holo, as she bit the strands of hair on her tail that had gone crooked, did not seem particularly happy.
“No good thing ever happens when you compliment me.”
“You caught me.”
He poured the ale he had received from Yergin into a wooden mug and handed it to Holo.
She took the mug and quickly went to drink it, and her hands stopped.
“When they brew it, either the flowers are used as fuel or the scent simply hangs heavy in
the village air.”
They noticed that aroma plenty in the dining room, and it smelled so much like flowers that it nearly drove them crazy. Holo was typically happy to try unconventional ale, but she was predictably fed up with it.
“Hmm…Well, the wheat is not bad.”
She gulped it down and finished with a cough.
“But how useless it is.”
“The purple flowers, you mean?”
Lawrence poured more ale into her mug, which had gone empty in an instant.
She looked at him uncertainly and deliberately puffed out her fluffy tail.
“What else could be so good for nothing?”
“Well…There’s the traveling merchant’s cunning.”
Lawrence smiled, and Holo chugged the ale again, then skillfully fell backward onto the bed.
“You’re going to spill that someday.”
“’Tis a dream of mine to fall asleep soaked in liquor.”
“That’s silly. Come on.”
He reached out for the mug of ale sitting on her stomach, and she obediently handed it to him.
It seemed the gears in her head were still churning behind her closed eyelids.
“To think that I, once called the Wisewolf of Yoitsu, would ever fret so much over what to do with a flower…”
“If you could concoct amazing ideas for trading goods one after the other, I would have become the president of a company a long time ago.”
“Fool. I would be saving the money, so ’twould all be mine.”
She rolled over onto her stomach, rested her chin on her arms, and wagged her tail back and forth.
Perhaps she was imagining a hoard of riches the height of mountains and a luxurious life filled with drink and meat.
“But flowers…”
Lawrence groaned, then Holo came to sit beside him. Her tail smacked him gently on the back.
“If only they were roses.”
“Oh?”
“Townspeople use roses a lot in festivals and such, so you can sell them in bunches. People cover the roads with them when royalty and nobility come visit as well. And even farther south, businesses use them in expensive food and candies; they’re really popular.”
“Ohhh?”
She drew closer to him, as if very interested in hearing more. Lawrence quickly gave a disclaimer, saying he only had some secondhand information before continuing.
Spring Log II Page 4
