That being said, the abbot had been the first to ask about the ink and whatnot that the lord had bought from the minstrel, so Lawrence had no choice but to give up on it. Just as he was thinking about having Holo wait patiently until they got to Atiph, the abbot spoke.
“But, Lord Beavery, it most certainly is God’s will that Sir Lawrence came to the inn looking for ink and paper.”
“What?”
When Lawrence asked that in response, Beavery, the abbot, and the innkeeper all looked to him with a smile.
The innkeeper spoke first.
“Lord Beavery has been searching for help. It is very common that knowledgeable and learned people drop by here, after all.”
“Unfortunately, I am neither, but I think you would be perfect for the job, Sir Lawrence.”
When the abbot spoke, Beavery adjusted himself in his seat and looked straight at Lawrence. It was a display typical of those in power.
“I, Beavery, have devoutly prayed to God here in a land that was once deemed heretical territory. It is a pure stroke of good luck that I have come across you, Sir Lawrence, such a notable and skilled merchant, who has been quietly supporting the Debau Company.”
Lawrence was perplexed, unable to figure out where this was going at all, but Holo beside him was leisurely sipping on her drink, which meant that there was nothing dangerous about the situation.
Lawrence cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and replied:
“How could I possibly be of service to you, my lord?”
Beavery responded quietly. “Could you save my land from its plight? With that keen sense you have for trade?” the bearded, sleepy-looking lord implored and then looked to the abbot beside him. “I would like to present Sir Lawrence with some ink and paper as thanks. Would you mind?”
“Oh, of course not. I am sure that is what God desires as well.”
Beavery nodded and turned back to Lawrence.
“And so that is what I propose. What do you think?”
These were the urgent wishes of a neighboring lord. And since it seemed the shortage of ink and paper was spreading, there was no guarantee they would get any even if they went all the way to Atiph.
His merchant alarm bells were loudly ringing, wondering what sort of thing might be asked of him, but he could also feel silent pressure emanating from Holo. If he said no here, then he would have to be ready to sleep without Holo’s tail for quite a while.
“Very well. I will do all I can to help you.”
“Oh, how wonderful!”
Beavery stood, gripping Lawrence’s hand with both of his.
The abbot offered a prayer at the sight, and the innkeeper started to fill the cups for a toast.
Lawrence wore a wary smile fit for a merchant, but the situation still bothered him.
What in the world could a lord who frequented this inn be searching for?
While he felt uneasy, he also was curious.
They wanted his knowledge about trade, so he would draw upon all his past experiences.
“I’d like you to come to my land straightaway. I will treat you to the bounties of my—” The genial Beavery said that much before stopping and looking to the innkeeper. “Would that get in the way of your trade, keeper?”
Beavery seemed serious, but both the innkeeper and the abbot burst into laughter and shook their heads.
It seemed like Beavery was the type of lord who was beloved by many people. Even Holo, who was typically strict in her evaluations of people, seemed to be enjoying herself as she sat beside Lawrence.
“Then let us go before the sun sets. My manor is not far from here.”
When Beavery spoke, Lawrence respectfully lowered his head.
Beavery’s territory was truly not far from the inn. According to what Lawrence heard along the way, the inn was originally a lumber-cutting house that used to belong to the lord’s family.
The trees began to thin out, and just as they reached what looked like a small plain between forests, a pastoral village came into view.
As villagers passed Beavery and his lone horse guard, they greeted him casually.
There was a simple feel to the village with no cows or horses in sight and only a few pack mules milling about, but it seemed like a peaceful and well-governed village.
“Sir Lawrence, there’s a major problem I’d like you to take care of that’s giving the village’s head some trouble.”
That was what Beavery brought up as they made their way down a path that led between wheat fields, both of which had been fully harvested.
“Something that requires my knowledge of trade?”
“Very much so.”
Beavery offered a pleasant smile to a villager passing them on the way home from farmwork before continuing.
“As a matter of fact, none of us, including myself, knows anything about trade, so we don’t know what to do…”
“But this village seems peaceful enough to me. It doesn’t seem like there are any problems.”
Most of the time, simply by stepping foot into a village, it was clear whether the people were deep in debt because they had caught the attentions of a wicked merchant or if they were plagued by heavy taxes under a tyrannical lord.
“Luckily, it’s not something that’s interrupting the villagers’ daily lives, but…that is the very reason why we have not been thinking seriously about it.” Beavery sighed. “Even in remote villages like this, when the currents of the world—or the waves, rather—reach us, people get tossed about. In a similar way, I, too, have started to lose confidence in my way of thinking.”
“What do you mean?”
When Lawrence asked, Beavery spoke with sad eyes, as though revealing shame within his family.
“It’s what we should do with this forest that supports my land and my people.”
“The forest?”
There was a glint in Holo’s eyes, tipsy from drinking wine at the inn.
“Yes. Just as the father abbot said, the world is forging ahead at a hurried pace, and we have been impacted by it. In essence—”
The modest-looking landlord’s home could now be seen, standing at the end of the road before the forest.
“We are arguing over how we might be able to get the greatest return from our forest,” the homely lord said, the expression on his face showing that he was truly at his wit’s end.
The dinner Beavery treated them to that night had the table lined with hare, quail, snipe, and goose.
It was not the large sort of meat meant to be preserved, like beef or pork, but instead the blessings of the mountains meant to be caught fresh every time, and the mere thought of eating something like this in a town would’ve caused gold coins to fly out of Lawrence’s wallet.
Holo was of course absolutely delighted, but Lawrence only felt even greater pressure.
What Beavery told them as they sat around dinner did not sound like something that could be solved simply.
“Phew…I’ve not had meat quite so delicious in such a long time…”
Holo, laying on the bed with her hand on her stomach, swished her tail back and forth, wholly satisfied.
“The meat makes it clear—the forest behind this mansion is of exceptional quality. To think they might lay their hands on it to cut down the wood—it is the height of folly. The bearded one’s point of keeping the trees where they are in the woods is worthy of note.”
Lawrence, who sat on the corner of the bed, looked to Holo when she gave a quiet burp, and then looked back toward the candlelight and sighed.
“You may be right, but…”
“What, you side with the fools?”
Holo’s words were rather stern because they were dealing with the future of a forest.
Even if it was not her own territory, she could not bear the thought of a bountiful forest being brought to ruin.
“I understand how the villagers feel when they say they want to cut down the trees and sell the wood.”
“
…Hmm?”
Holo opened one of her eyes to look at Lawrence.
“The war with the pagans ended, trade boomed, and a great many things shot up in price. That’s also the reason why we’ve been so worried about the shortage of small change in Nyohhira.”
Fresh in Lawrence’s mind was the memory of the bathhouse owners, hearing that he and Holo were headed on a trip, all approaching him and asking for help in exchanging their money for petty change.
“Among those, wood is in high demand for boats, carts, crates, and barrels, so it’s jumped up in price. Using this opportunity to cut some wood and make some money isn’t an unwise choice.”
Holo then rolled onto her side, propped her head up, and grumpily thumped her tail against the bed.
“Fool. Doing that would lay waste to such a beautiful forest. Have you forgotten how delicious that meat was?”
“I appreciate that position, too. The reason the village has been able to preserve such a relaxing atmosphere is probably thanks to how rich the forest is.”
“Mm. So you do understand.”
Holo seemed proud, as though she had been praised; she was probably a little drunk.
“Beavery seems like an understanding and good-natured lord. He said he has been generously allowing the villagers to gather mushrooms, honey, and even wild oats and rye from the forest. So even if the harvest fails, they never have to worry about food.”
“Aye. ’Tis not a bad thing…”
Holo spoke with half-lidded eyes. It was probably because she had just eaten and drank her fill, but she was also likely tired from being on the road for the first time in quite a while.
“But that being said, they can’t make a living without silver. The village needs to make money in order to purchase goods they can’t produce on their own.”
“Mm-hmm…But to cut down and sell the trees? What a daft plan…”
Holo’s head dropped from the support she was giving it.
She would soon go straight to curling herself up, so Lawrence stood with a sigh and began to remove the robe she still had on.
“Rrrgh…I do not mind sleeping like this…”
“Yes you do. You’ll damage the fabric.”
“Fool…”
Holo’s movements grew more sluggish as she spoke. It amazed him that she could act like this on one hand and on the other, insist that she was the wisewolf, a great being once worshipped as a god.
After he peeled the robe from her, he removed the pouch of wheat from around her neck and placed it by the pillow.
By then, she was already in the world of dreams, snoring softly.
“Really, what a handful.” Lawrence sighed, folded the robe, and then walked over to the window.
The nighttime autumn wind was a little cold on his skin, and the forest harbored a deep darkness despite the moonlight cast upon it.
“Cut trees will still grow back…so it’d be best to sell them at a high price while they can, huh?”
There were more than a handful of villagers who thought that way.
However, Beavery, who had managed this land for generations, was afraid that laying waste to the forest for such an impulsive leap would mean that they would no longer be able to rely on the blessings of the forest as they always had.
Even if that was a sort of religious view of the forest, it was not entirely groundless.
Even mushrooms would stop growing after a few years if uprooted entirely to sate greed. By cutting down the trees, the direction of the air currents would change, the flow of water would change, the plants would change, and so would the habitats of animals like the birds and the bees.
And it would take more than a generation before the trees would begin to grow back.
In the end, there was ample reason to be cautious over whether they should take this shortcut.
But what if the value of lumber went down as they hemmed and hawed, only for the village to find itself beset by crop failure, or fire, or any other disaster that required a large amount of money?
He could imagine they would start quarrelling over how they should have sold the lumber earlier.
The landlord, Beavery, wanted to lessen the villagers’ troubles while also preserving the lush forest for the future and putting some money on reserve for his territory.
Then what were they supposed to do?
Lawrence had been staring into the distance toward the nighttime forest, but he finally sighed and shut the window.
This was not a problem that would unravel itself after a bit of thinking. He would have to hear what the villagers had to say and, depending on the situation, even talk to the village chief or the community leaders directly.
Ultimately, Lawrence would say that this was more than a simple commerce issue, seeing as how it was a problem that had more to do with governance: accurately grasping the people’s desires to find a point of compromise that would satisfy everyone. The very person who would be a great help at a time like this was Holo the Wisewolf.
As Lawrence thought about all that, he crossed his arms with a sigh to himself.
Holo was curled up and clinging to the blanket, snoring quietly.
“So this is why they call you the Great Wisewolf.”
When he saw her peaceful sleeping face under the blanket, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.
After giving her a kiss on the cheek, he blew out the candle and crawled under the blanket himself.
For now, he would put everything aside for tomorrow.
Sleep came to him in an instant.
It was not as laudable as thanks for the meat they were treated to the night before or anything like that. Rather, it was the indignation that the abundant forest might be brought to ruin that spurred Holo into taking enthusiastic action.
“Hey, Holo…wait!”
Both Lawrence and, unusually, Holo woke up early to see the forest for themselves, but on the way there, Lawrence complained about Holo’s quick pace.
“What, did you drink too much last night?”
How someone walked was apparently more important than their strength or stamina when it came to trekking through the wilderness.
Holo’s gait was literally that of a wolf, and she practically flew across the ground. It was too much for Lawrence, who had settled down as a bathhouse owner, to keep up with.
“But you…cough, cough…Why are you getting so worked up?”
Lawrence’s breath caught, so he drank the cool water from his waterskin, and Holo looked back with her glinting red eyes.
“I am not getting worked up. I simply think that those who would dare to ruin a forest like this are irredeemably foolish!”
It would be useless pointing out that was exactly what being angry meant.
Lawrence sighed and took the wooden board he had under his arm in his hand. There was a layer of wax on it meant for writing with a pointed wooden pen.
On it were the detailed notes of how the villagers felt about the forest.
“Either way, the Beavery forest really does seem to go on forever. Here we have, um…the place where they harvest wild grains.”
Even rye and oats could be found in the forest. They were not as high quality as properly farmed crops, but they could be useful for adding to the brewing process of ale or as feed for the pack animals.
“Mm. It has been moderately opened up so it has good sunlight, and since ’tis on a hill, the drainage is good. I could chase away the deer and the boars and promise to take care of the farming for a thousand years.”
Holo was the avatar of a wolf who resided in wheat, so that was very likely true.
“Some think that cutting the trees down here might not have too much of an impact.”
Lawrence thought that by widening the land, the villagers could expand their fields even more.
“Hmph, they truly are fools.” Holo, however, whirled around to look at this clearing in the woods as she spoke, almost like she had brushed away that line of thought with her
tail. “Go ahead—cut down the trees around here. The wind will come with days of bad weather and mow down all the budding ears of wheat. Then, the only things that will thrive will be the short and needlessly fat, and those shoots will go on to barely produce anything. In a few years’ time, there will be nothing but thorny grasses that cannot be boiled or fried.”
Holo had lived for centuries in the wheat fields of a village, and before that, she had reigned over a region called Yoitsu, which was deeper into the mountains than even Nyohhira. There was no doubt that she had watched forests change for a span of time he could scarcely even imagine.
“I see. A long time ago, the people in a village I visited for trade were complaining about suddenly losing the blessings of the forest. I guess that’s what that means.”
“Aye. ’Tis a given for them, so ’tis not that I do not understand how they think: that their good fortune will persist no matter what they do. But the forest is more sensitive than the scales you trifle with.”
Holo crouched, took a piece of straw that had been left on the ground, and aimlessly flung it around like a child.
“Where to next?”
“A place east of here…Hmm?”
As Lawrence read out the notes of what he heard from the villagers, he raised his voice in surprise.
“What is it?”
“Well.” Lawrence turned the board to Holo. “It’s a caution for bees.”
There was still a hint of redness where he had been stung while harvesting a beehive.
He was rubbing an ointment kneaded from pig’s fat over it, and Holo, who was rubbing it over the places he could not reach, of course knew Lawrence’s pain.
But standing there was a gluttonous wolf.
“Do you mean we should take advantage of this opportunity?”
“No! I’m not collecting any more hives!”
If he did not refuse outright, then he would gradually be coaxed into harvesting another beehive.
Holo chuckled, bit into the straw she held in her hand, and pointed east.
“Then we shall head that way.”
Spring Log IV Page 10
