Spice and Wolf - Volume 1 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The rain was a true downpour. The threatening storm finally caught up with Lawrence and Holo, but fortunately they caught sight of a church through their rain-blurred vision and hurried into it. Unlike the monastery, the church survived on tithes from travelers and pilgrims who would stay the night and pray for a safe journey, so Lawrence and Holo were greeted warmly, without so much as a single fell glance.

Nonetheless, a girl with wolf ears and a tail would hardly be allowed to walk into a church. Holo thus covered her head and face in a hood, and they spun the lie that she was Lawrence’s wife, whose face was badly burned.

He knew Holo was snickering to herself beneath the veil, but she understood her relationship with the Church, so her performance was good enough. That she had suffered many times at the hands of the Church was surely no lie.

Even if she weren’t a demon, but an animal incarnation, that was little distinction as far as the Church was concerned. To the Church, all spirits besides the god it worshipped were anathema, tools of evil.

But it was through the gates of that church that the two passed easily and rented a room, and when Lawrence returned to the room after attending to his soaked wagonload, he found Holo, naked to the waist and wringing out her hair. Water fell in great, undignified drops from her beautiful brown locks. The floor was already full of holes, so a little bit of water wouldn’t hurt—Lawrence was more concered with the problem of averting his eyes.

“Ha-ha, the cool water soothes my burns, it does,” said Holo, indifferent to Lawrence.

Pleased by their lie or otherwise, Holo smiled. Brushing aside the hair that stuck to her face, she swept it up and back in a grand motion.

The boldness of the gesture was undeniably wolflike, and it was not hard to see that the wet hair, disarrayed as it was, resembled the stiff fur of a wolf.

“The furs will be all right, surely. They were good marten skins, and martens live in the mountains, mountains where my kind live as well.”

“Will they sell high?”

“I hardly know. I’m no fur merchant, am I?”

Lawrence nodded at the entirely reasonable answer, then began to disrobe and dry his own clothes.

“Oh, that’s right,” he said, remembering. “What shall we do with that wheat sheaf?”

He finished wringing out his shirt and was about to do the same with his trousers when he remembered Holo’s presence; he looked to her and discovered that she was now quite naked and wringing her own clothes free of water. Feeling somehow vexed, he ventured to strip nude and do the same.

“Mm, what do you mean, ‘what?’”

“I mean, shall we thresh it, or shall we leave it as it is? Assuming the talk of you residing in the wheat is true, that is.”

Lawrence was teasing Holo, but she only cracked a slight smile.

“As long as I live, the wheat will neither rot nor wither. But should it be burned, eaten, or ground into the soil, I will likely disappear. If it’s in the way, you could thresh it and keep it safe somewhere; that might be better.”

“I see. I’ll thresh it and put the grains in a pouch, then. You should hold it, right?”

“’Twould be a boon. Still better to hang it ’round my neck,” Holo said.

Forgetting himself for a moment, Lawrence glanced at Holo’s neckline, but hastily looked away.

“I’d hoped to sell some of it elsewhere, though. Could we set aside a bit for sale?” Lawrence asked after he’d calmed himself.

He heard a rustling, and turned to see that it was Holo’s tail waving wildly. The tail’s fur was very fine, and shed water readily. Lawrence frowned as his face was dampened by the flying drops, but Holo seemed not the least bit contrite.

“Most of the crops grew well because of the region. They’ll soon wither—that’s the point. No use taking them elsewhere.”

Holo looked thoughtfully at the clothes she’d finished wringing out, but as she had nothing else to change into, she put the wrinkled items back on. Since they weren’t cheap like what Lawrence wore, they shed water well. Lawrence thought the situation rather unreasonable but said nothing and changed back into his own damp, wrinkled clothes, then nodded to Holo.

“Let’s go dry ourselves in the great room. With this rain, there should be plenty of other people gathering around the furnace.”

“Mm, a good idea, that,” said Holo, covering her head with the thin cloak. Once covered, she giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Heh, I would never have thought to cover up my face because of burns.”

“Oh? What would you have done?

“The burns would become part of me, just like my ears or tail. Proof of my uniqueness.”

Lawrence was somewhat impressed with her statement. Nonetheless he wondered uncharitably if she’d feel the same way if she were actually injured.

Holo interrupted his reverie.

“I know what you are thinking,” she said.

Underneath the cloak, she smiled mischievously. The right corner of her mouth curled up in a smirk, showing a sharp fang.

“Want to injure me and see for yourself?”

Lawrence was not entirely disinclined to respond to her provocation, but he decided that if he actually reacted and drew his dagger, things could really get out of hand.

It was possible that she meant it. More likely, though, it was just her mischief-loving nature.

“I’m a man. I could never injure such a beautiful face.”

Hearing him say so, Holo smiled as if having received a long-anticipated gift and drew playfully near to him. A sweet scent swirled vaguely around him, rousing Lawrence’s body. Completely indifferent to his reaction, she sniffed him, then drew slightly back.

“You may have been caught in the rain, but you still smell foul. A wolf can tell these things.”

“Why, you—”

Lawrence threw a half-serious punch, but Holo moved adroitly aside and he hit only hair. She laughed, cocking her head and continuing.

“Even a wolf knows to keep its coat clean. You’re a good man, aye, but you need to keep neat.”

He didn’t know whether she was joking or not, but hearing it from a girl like Holo made it impossible to deny. For as long as he could remember, Lawrence maintained his appearance only insofar as it would help his professional negotiation, with no thought given to whether it would appeal to a woman.

Had his negotiation partner been a woman, he might have taken the trouble, but unfortunately, he had not once met a female merchant.

He didn’t know how to answer, so he simply turned around and fell silent.

“The beard, though, is quite nice.”

The medium-length beard that grew from Lawrence’s chin had always been well-received. Lawrence accepted the compliment gracefully, turning back to face her, somewhat proudly.

“I daresay I’d prefer it a big longer, though.”

Long beards were not popular among merchants. The thought automatically occurred to Lawrence, but Holo drew a line from her nose across her cheeks with her index finger, continuing her jape.

“…Like so, like a wolf.”

Lawrence was now finally aware that he had been made sport of. He ignored her and walked toward the room’s door, even as he felt childish for doing so. Holo giggled and followed. Truthfully, he was not actually angry with her.

“There will be many people around the furnace. Best not to let anything slip.”

“I am Holo the Wisewolf! Long ago I traveled clear to Pasloe in human form. Worry not!”

The churches and inns far from the cities were important sources of information to a merchant. Churches in particular attracted all kinds of people. An inn might house poor travelers and grizzled merchants, but churches were different. One might find anyone from master brewers to wealthy nobles in a church.

The church Lawrence and Holo had stopped in housed twelve guests. A few looked to be merchants; the others were of various professions.

“Aha, so you’re here from Yorenz, then?”

“Yes. I delivered salt from there to my customer and got marten furs in trade.”

Most of the guests sat on the floor in the main hall, taking their meals or picking fleas from their clothing. One couple monopolized the bench in front of the furnace. Despite being a “great hall,” it was not particularly spacious, so no matter where one was in the crowded room, the generously stoked fireplace would dry one’s clothes. The couple’s clothes did not appear wet, so Lawrence imagined they were probably wealthy, and having made generous donations to the church could be here as they pleased.

Lawrence was not wrong; he pricked up his ears to listen for a point in the couple’s conversation where he could enter and waited for his chance.

The wife had gone silent, possibly because of the exhausting journey, and her middle-aged husband welcomed conversation.

“Still, going all the way back to Yorenz, isn’t that rather arduous?”

“That depends on how canny the merchant.”

“Oh ho, interesting!”

“When I bought the salt in Yorenz, I paid no money. Rather, I’d already sold a measure of wheat to a different branch of the same company in another city—but when I sold the wheat, I took no payment; neither did I pay for the salt. So I completed two separate deals with no money exchanged.”

This system of barter had been invented by a mercantile nation in the south about a century earlier. When Lawrence’s master had explained it to him, he’d agonized over the concept for two weeks before finally understanding. The man in front of him had apparently never heard of it himself and appeared similarly unable to grasp it, hearing the explanation but once.

“I see…what a strange contrivance,” he said, nodding. “I live in the city of Perenzzo, and my vineyard has never employed such a method when selling our grapes. Will we be all right?”

“This barter system was invented by merchants who needed a convenient way to deal with people from many different lands. As the owner of a vineyard, you’d need to be careful not to let vintners claim your grapes to be poor and buy them cheaply.”

“Yes. We have such arguments every year,” said the man with a smile—but to the accountants he employed, the red-faced arguments they had with sly vintners were no laughing matter. Most vineyard owners were noble, but almost none of them took a personal hand in the farming or sale of their product. Count Ehrendott, who managed the region surrounding Pasloe, was highly eccentric in this regard.

“Lawrence, was it? Next time you’re in Perenzzo, do come by for a visit.”

“I shall, thank you.”

As was common among the nobility, the man did not give his own name, assuming his name would already be known. It was seen as plebeian to give one’s own name.

Undoubtedly if Lawrence were to visit Perenzzo and ask after the master of the vineyard, it would be this man. Had this been Perenzzo, though, a man of Lawrence’s stature would find it practically impossible to simply arrange an audience with him. Churches were therefore the best place to establish such connections.

“Well then, as my wife appears tired, I’ll take my leave of you.”

“May God allow us to meet again,” said Lawrence.

It was a standard phrase within the Church. The man rose from his chair and, along with his wife, gave a polite nod before leaving the hall. Lawrence, too, vacated the chair the man had requested that he bring over from the corner of the room. He then returned the chairs the couple had occupied to the corner.

The only people who sat on chairs in the great hall were nobility, knights, and the wealthy. Most people disliked all three.

“Heh-heh, you’re not a man to be trifled with, master!”

Once Lawrence had cleared the chairs and returned to Holo’s side in the middle of the hall, a man approached them. Given his dress and affect, he, too, was a merchant. His bearded face looked young. He had probably not been working on his own very long.

“I’m merely a traveling merchant like any other,” said Lawrence shortly. Beside him, Holo straightened. The hood over her head shifted slightly; only Lawrence would know that it was her ears pricking.

“Far from it, master. I’d been wanting to speak with him for some time but couldn’t find the opportunity. Yet you slipped right in. Thinking that it’s traders like you that I’ll be going up against in the future, why, it’s hard not to despair.”

The man grinned as he spoke, revealing a smile that lacked one front tooth, giving it a certain charm. Perhaps he’d pulled the tooth on purpose to lend his foolish smile persuasion. As a merchant, he’d know how to use his appearance to best effect.

Lawrence realized he’d better not be careless.

Nonetheless, he himself had struck up conversations just like this one when he was starting out, so he held a spark of empathy for the man.

“That’s nothing—when I was starting out, all the established merchants seemed like monsters to me. Half of them still do. But I’m still eating. You just have to keep at it.”

“Heh-heh, it’s a relief to hear you say so, sir. Oh, by the way, I’m Zheren—and you’ve probably figured it out, but I’m just starting out as a merchant. Begging your indulgence, sir!”

“I’m Lawrence.”

Lawrence remembered that when he himself had just started out, he’d also tried to strike up conversations like this one and gotten frustrated by the cold responses. Now on the receiving end of a solicitous young merchant’s conversation, he understood those cold responses.

A young merchant just starting out had nothing to share and could only receive.

“So, then…is this your companion?”

It was unclear whether Zheren broached the subject because he truly had nothing to share or if he’d committed the common beginner’s mistake of trying to gain without offering anything in return. If this had been a conversation between veterans, they would already have traded information on two or three locations by this point.

“My wife, Holo.” For a moment Lawrence hesitated, wondering if he should use a false name, but ultimately decided there was no need.

Holo bowed slightly in greeting as her name was mentioned.

“My, a wife and a merchant both?”

“She is an eccentric and prefers the wagon to the village home.”

“Still, covering your wife in a cloak this way, she must be very precious to you.”

Lawrence had some grudging respect for the man’s charisma; perhaps he’d been the town rogue. For his part, Lawrence had been taught by his relatives that it was best not to say such things.

“Heh-heh, but it is a man’s instinct to want to see hidden things. God has led us together here. Surely you can let me have a look at her.”

What shamelessness! thought Lawrence in spite of the knowledge that Holo was not actually his wife.

But before Lawrence could take the man to task, Holo spoke.

“The traveler is happiest before the journey; the dog’s bark fiercer than the dog itself, and a woman most beautiful from behind. To show my face in public would dash many dreams, and thus ’tis something I cannot do,” she said, smiling softly underneath the veil.

Zheren could only grin, chastened. Even Lawrence was impressed with her lilting eloquence.

“Heh-heh…your wife is something else, master.”

“It’s all I can do to avoid being quite henpecked.”

Lawrence was more than half-serious.

“Yes, well…it’s certainly providential that I’ve met the both of you. Can you spare a moment to hear my tale?” said Zheren. Silence descended as he flashed his grin that was one tooth short and moved closer to the pair.

Unlike typical inns, churches only provided lodging—not food. However, the hearth could be used for cooking, provided one gave the proper donation. Lawrence did so and placed five potatoes into a pot to boil. Naturally the firewood for cooking had to be purchased as well.

It would take time for the water to boil, so Lawrence threshed the wheat that housed Holo and found an unused leather pouch to keep it in. Remembering that she’d said she wanted to keep it around her neck, Lawrence took a leather strap and attended to the hearth. Altogether the potatoes, firewood, pouch, and strap came to a significant cost, so he mused over how much to charge her as he brought the potatoes back to the room.

Because his hands were full, Lawrence couldn’t knock on the door—but Holo’s sensitive wolf ears could identify his footfalls. When he entered the room, however, her back was turned to him as she sat on the bed, combing her tail fur.

“Hm? Something smells good,” she said, raising her head. Evidently her nose was as sensitive as her ears.

The potatoes were topped with goat cheese. Lawrence would never have indulged in such luxury had be been alone, but now that he was in a party of two, he decided to be generous. Holo’s happy reaction made it entirely worthwhile.

Lawrence set the potatoes on the table beside the bed, and Holo immediately reached out to help herself. Just before she could grab a potato, Lawrence tossed the pouch full of wheat to her.

“Wha…oh. The wheat.”

“And here’s a strap, so you can work out a way to hang it around your neck.”

“Mm. My thanks. But this takes precedence,” she said, tossing the wheat aside with surprising nonchalance, then licking her lips and reaching for a potato. Apparently eating was a priority for Holo.

Once she had a potato in hand, she immediately broke it in half. Her face fairly glowed with delight at the steam that rose from the food. With her tail wagging back and forth she looked undeniably canine, but Lawrence was sure that if he pointed it out she’d be irritated, so he said nothing.

“So wolves find potatoes delicious, do they?”

“Aye. It is not as though we wolves eat meat year-round. We eat tender buds from trees. We eat fish. And the crops that humans raise are better still than tree buds. Also, I rather like the human habit of putting meat and vegetables to a fire.”

It is said that a cat’s tongue cannot stand hot food, but wolves did not appear to have this problem. Holo held half of the potato in her hand and popped the entire piece into her mouth at once after blowing on it two or three times. Lawrence felt that she’d bitten off more than she could chew, and indeed she soon appeared to choke. Lawrence tossed her a water-skin, and with it Holo managed to get the potato down.

“Whew. Rather surprising, that. Human throats are so narrow. It’s rather inconvenient.”

“Wolves swallow things whole, right?”

“Mm. Well, we lack this, so we cannot chew at our leisure.”

Holo pulled at the edge of her lips; presumably she was talking about her cheeks.

“But I’ve choked on potatoes in the past, it’s true.”

“Oh ho.”

“I suppose potatoes and I are ill-fated.”

Lawrence resisted telling her that it was her gluttony that boded ill, not potatoes.

“Earlier,” he began instead, “you said something about being able to tell when someone is lying?”

Upon hearing the question, Holo turned to face him mid-bite, but suddenly looked aside and moved her hand.

Before Lawrence could ask what was wrong, her hand stopped, frozen in midair as if she’d grabbed something.

“There are still fleas.”

“It’s that nice fur of yours. I bet it’s a lovely bed for them.”

Transporting fur or woven goods often involved smoking the fleas out of them, depending on the season. Lawrence spoke from experience, but Holo seemed quite shocked, and thrust out her chest as she spoke proudly.

“Well, it’s a credit to your eye for quality that you can tell as much, then!” she said haughtily. Lawrence decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

“So is it true that you can tell truth from lies?”

“Hm? Oh, more or less.” Wiping off the hand that had grabbed the flea, Holo turned her attention back to the potato.

“So, how good at it are you?”

“Well, I know that what you said about my tail just now was not meant as praise.”

Lawrence, stunned, said nothing. Holo giggled happily.

“It’s not perfect, though. You may believe me or not…as you wish,” said Holo impishly, licking cheese from her fingers.

She’d gotten the better of him again, but if he were to react, that would only give her another opportunity. Lawrence composed himself and tried again.

“So let me ask you this—was the lad’s story true?”

“The lad?”

“The one who spoke to us by the furnace.”

“Oh. Heh, ‘lad,’ you say.”

“Is something funny?”

“From where I stand you’re both but lads.”

If he tried a comeback she’d only toy with him more, so Lawrence stifled the reply that rose within him.

“Heh. I daresay you’re a bit more grown than he, though. As for your lad, it seems to me he is lying.”

Lawrence calmed himself; this confirmed his suspicions.

During their conversation in the hall, the young merchant Zheren had spoken to Lawrence about an opportunity for profit.

There was a certain silver coin in circulation that was due to be replaced by a coin with a higher concentration of silver. If the story was true, the old silver coins were of poorer quality than their replacements, but their face value would be the same. However, when being exchanged for other currencies, the new silver coins would be worth more than the old. If one knew in advance which coin was due to be replaced, one could buy them up in bulk, then exchange them for the new coins, thus realizing what amounted to pure profit. Zheren claimed that he knew which coin among all those circulating in the world would be replaced, and would share the information in exchange for a piece of the profit. Since Zheren would certainly have made the same offer to other merchants, Lawrence could not simply swallow the story whole.

Holo stared into space as if thinking back on the conversation, then popped the piece of potato into her mouth and swallowed it.

“I don’t know which part is a lie, though, nor do I understand the finer points of the conversation.”

Lawrence nodded and considered. He had not actually expected that much from Holo.

Assuming that the transaction itself wasn’t a lie, Zheren must be lying about the coins, somehow.

“Well, currency speculation isn’t rare in and of itself. Still…”

“You don’t understand why he’s lying…no?”

Holo plucked a bud from the surface of her potato and ate the rest. Lawrence sighed.

He had to admit that she’d long since gotten control of him.

“When someone’s lying, what’s important is not the content of the lie, but the reasoning behind it,” she said.

“How many years do you think it took me to understand that?”

“Oh? You may have called that Zheren person a lad, but you’re both the same to me,” said Holo proudly.

In times like these, Lawrence wished Holo did not look so frustratingly human. To think that the youthful Holo had long understood the principles that he had suffered so much to grasp was too much for him to take.

“If I were not here, what would you do?” asked Holo.

“First I’d work out whether it was true or not, then I’d pretend to believe his story.”

“And why is that?”

“If it’s true, I can turn a profit just by going along with it. If it’s a lie, then someone somewhere is up to something—but I can still come out ahead if I keep my eyes and ears open.”

“Mm. And given that I am here, and I’ve told you he’s lying, then…”

“Hm?”

Lawrence finally realized what had been eluding him. “Ah.”

“Heh. See, there was nothing over which to agonize so. Either way you’ll be pretending to accept his proposal,” said Holo, grinning. Lawrence had no retort.

“I’ll be taking that last potato,” said Holo, snatching the potato from the table.

For his part, Lawrence was too abashed to even split the potato he held in his hand.

“I am Holo the Wisewolf! How many times longer do you think I have lived than you?”

Lawrence’s mood only worsened with her concern for his feelings. He took a vindictive bite out of his potato.

He felt like an apprentice traveling with his teacher all over again.

The next day was beautiful with clear autumn skies. The church awoke still earlier than the merchants, so by the time Lawrence rose, the morning routine was already finished. Lawrence anticipated this and was unsurprised, but when he went out to the well to wash his face, he was shocked to see Holo walking out of the worship hall with the members of the Church. She had her head bowed and was wearing her cloak, but even so she stopped frequently to chat pleasantly with the churchgoers.

The sight of the devout chatting with the god of the harvest whose existence they refused to acknowledge was amusing, though Lawrence lacked the nerve to find it so.

Holo took her leave from the congregation and quietly approached a dumbfounded Lawrence. She clasped her small hands together in front of her chest and spoke.

“Lord, grant my husband courage.”

The well water was chilly due to the approaching winter; Lawrence poured it over his head anyway and pretended not to hear Holo’s laughter.

“It’s gotten a bit more important, the Church has,” said Holo.

Lawrence shook his head to clear it of water, just as Holo had done with her tail the previous day. “The Church has always been important.”

“Hardly. It was not so when I came through here from the north. They’d always be going on about how the one god and his twelve angels created the world and how humanity was but borrowing it. Nature is not something created, though. Even then, I thought to myself, ‘When did these people learn to tell such jokes?’”

This centuries-old harvest god was talking like a natural philosopher criticizing the Church, which made it all the more amusing. Lawrence dried off and dressed. He wouldn’t forget to leave a coin in the tithe-box that was prepared there. One was expected to leave money in the box if one used the well, and the people of the church would be checking. Anyone who failed to leave a donation would have unlucky things said about him. The constantly traveling Lawrence needed all the luck he could get.

Nonetheless, what he tossed in the box was a worn, blackened copper coin that could barely be counted as money.

“I suppose this is a sign of the times, then…much has changed.”

Presumably she referred to her homeland, given the desolate expression on her face.

“Have you yourself changed?” asked Lawrence.

“…” Holo shook her head wordlessly. It was somehow a very childish gesture.

“Then I’m sure your homeland hasn’t changed, either.”

Despite his youth, Lawrence had endured much. He’d been to many nations, met many people, and gained a wide variety of experiences, so he felt qualified to say as much.

All traveling merchants—even those who had run away from their homes—couldn’t help holding their homeland dear, since when in a foreign land, one could only trust one’s countrymen.

Holo nodded, her face emerging slightly from underneath the cloak.

“’Twould be a disgrace to the name Wisewolf to be comforted by you, though,” she said with a smile, turning and heading back toward their room. She gave him a sidelong glance that could’ve been interpreted as gratitude.

As long as her attitude was that of a very sly, very old person, Lawrence could cope.

It was her childish side that he found difficult.

Lawrence was twenty-five. If he lived in a town he’d be married and taking his wife and children to church. His life was half over, and Holo’s childish demeanor penetrated his lonely heart.

“Hey, what keeps you? Hurry!” shouted Holo, looking over her shoulder at him.

It had been a mere two days since Lawrence met Holo, but it felt like much longer.

Lawrence decided to accept Zheren’s offer.

However, Zheren could not simply rely on Lawrence’s word and hand over the information; neither could Lawrence afford to pay up front. He would have to sell his furs first. Thus the two men decided to meet in the riverside city of Pazzio and sign a formal contract before a public witness.

“Well then, I’ll be on my way. When you arrive in Pazzio, find a tavern called Yorend; you’ll be able to contact me there.”

“Yorend, is it? Very well.”

Zheren smiled his charming smile again as he took his leave, hefting his burlap sack of dried fruit over his shoulder as he walked on.

Besides actual trading, the most important task that faced a young merchant was exploring the many regions, becoming familiar with the locals and their goods, and making sure his face was remembered. To accomplish this, it was best to carry something well-preserved that could be sold at churches or inns and used as an excuse for conversation, like dried fruit or meat.

Lawrence watched Zheren, feeling a certain nostalgia for the time before he’d acquired his wagon.

“Are we not going with him?” Holo asked as Zheren’s form disappeared into the distance. Having checked to see that there was no one around to see her, she was grooming her tail fur.

Possibly because she had to cover her ears with the cloak, she did not bother combing her fall of chestnut hair, merely tying it back with a length of hempen rope. Lawrence felt that she could at least comb it, but he had no comb to offer. He resolved to acquire a comb and hat when the arrived in Pazzio.

“It rained all day yesterday, so he’ll make better time on foot than we can on the wagon. There’s no need for him to slow down on our account.”

“True, merchants are always on about time.”

“Time is money.”

“Ho-ho! An interesting saying. Time is money, is it?”

“As long as we have time, we can make money.”

“’Tis true. Though it’s not how I think,” said Holo, casting a glance to her tail.

Her magnificent tail was long enough to hang past the back of her knees. The abundant fur would probably fetch a good price if shorn and sold.

“I imagine the farmers you watched over for so many centuries were mindful of time.”

As soon as Lawrence said it, he realized he probably shouldn’t have. Holo glanced at him as if to say “I’ll let you have that one,” smiling impishly.

“Hmph. At what have you been looking? The farmers care nary a whit for time. It’s the air they’re mindful of.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“They wake in the dawn air, work the farm in the morning air, pull the weeds in the afternoon air, twist rope in the rainy air. They worry over their crops in the windy air, watch them grow in the summer air, celebrate the harvest in the autumn air, and in the winter air they wait for spring. They think not of time—like me, they note only the air.”

Lawrence couldn’t say that he understood all of what Holo said, but there were parts he followed. He nodded, impressed, which seemed to satisfy Holo; she puffed up her chest and sniffed proudly.

The self-proclaimed Wisewolf evidently didn’t feel the slightest need for humility.

Just then, a person who seemed to be another traveling merchant came across the road.

Although Holo’s ears were hidden by the cloak, her tail was in plain view.

The passerby stared at Holo’s tail, although he didn’t speak.

In all likelihood he didn’t realize it was a tail. Lawrence imagined that if it were him, he’d wonder what kind of fur it was and how much it was worth.

Still, when it came to keeping a straight face, that was a separate matter entirely.

“You’re quick enough, but you lack experience.”

Apparently having finished her grooming, Holo tucked her tail back underneath her skirt and spoke. The face underneath the cloak was that of a girl barely in her mid-teens, which showed occasional glimpses of someone much younger.

Yet her words had the air of someone much older.

“Still, one will grow wiser with age.”

“How many hundreds of years do you think it will take?” Lawrence headed off her attempt to tease him.

Surprised, she laughed loudly. “Ah-ha-ha-ha! You are rather quick, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps you’re just old and slow.”

“Heh-heh. Do you know why we wolves attack people in the mountains?”

Lawrence was unable to keep up with Holo’s sudden segue, so he could only answer with a confused, “Er, no.”

“It is because we wish to eat human brains and gain their knowledge.” Holo grinned, baring her fangs.

Even if she was joking, Lawrence shivered unconsciously, his breath catching.

A few seconds passed; he realized he’d lost.

“You’re still a pup. Hardly a match for me.”

Holo sighed. Lawrence gripped the reins tightly and stifled a frustrated expression.

“Still, have you ever been attacked by wolves in the mountains?”

It was a strange feeling being asked such a question by a girl with ears, fangs, and a tail. He was having a conversation with a wolf—the same wolf whose presence in the mountains he feared.

“I have. Perhaps…eight times.”

“They’re quite difficult to handle, are they not?”

“They are. Wild dogs I can handle, but wolves are a problem.”

“That’s because they want to eat lots of humans, to get their—”

“I’m sorry, all right? So stop.”

The third time Lawrence had been set upon by wolves, he was part of a caravan.

Two of the men in the caravan had been unable to clear the mountains. Their cries echoed in Lawrence’s ears even now.

His face was expressionless.

“Oh…”

Apparently the perceptive wisewolf had figured it out.

“I am sorry,” said a contrite Holo, slumping, almost shrinking.

Lawrence had been attacked by wolves many times. With the memories of the encounters swirling in his head, he was in no mood to answer.

Splish, splosh, went the horse’s hooves in the muddy road.

“…Are you angry?”

Such a crafty wolf—she must have known that if she asked like that, he’d be unable to truthfully answer that he was angry.

So he answered. “Yes, I’m angry.”

Holo looked up at Lawrence in silence. When he looked back at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pouting—it was charming enough that he almost forgave her.

“I am angry. No more jokes like that,” he finally turned to her and said.

Holo nodded resolutely and looked ahead. She now seemed quite meek.

After a period of silence she spoke again. “Wolves live only in the mountains, but dogs have lived with humans. That’s why wolves make tougher opponents.”

He probably should have ignored her, but doing so would make later conversation difficult. He turned slightly in her direction and gave a sign that he was listening.

“Hm?”

“Wolves only know that they are hunted by humans, and that they are terrifying creatures. So we are always thinking about what to do when they enter our forest.”

Holo stared straight ahead as she spoke, as serious as Lawrence had ever seen her.

He didn’t think she’d made that story up; he nodded, slowly.

But there was something in her vagueness that worried him.

“Did you ever—”

But Holo stopped him before he could continue. “There are some things I simply cannot answer.”

“Oh.” Lawrence chided himself for speaking without thinking ahead. “Sorry.”

Holo then smiled. “Now we’re even.”

A twenty-five-year-old was not, it seemed, a match for a Wisewolf.

There was no further conversation, but neither was there any bad air between the two. The horse plodded along, and soon the day had passed and night fell.

A merchant never continued his travels after dark when it had rained. If the wagon became stuck in the mud, seven times out of ten it meant that the goods would have to be abandoned.

To turn a steady profit as a traveling merchant one had to minimize losses, and the road was full of dangers.

Holo suddenly spoke, nestled in the fur pile beneath a sky she’d promised would be clear the next day.

“The worlds we live in, you and I, are very different,” she said.