Spice and Wolf - Volume 10 - Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The moment it left port, a ship became a very unreliable mode of transportation.

While sailors considered a certain amount of pitching and rolling to be hardly worthy of mention, those unused to sea travel evidently felt such motions as though the earth itself were giving way.

“Evidently”—as Lawrence himself was not the one who felt this way.

He had two traveling companions, who played happily about on the ship’s deck while it remained at the port. Once it launched, though, and they had gone belowdecks with the rest of the cargo and passengers, Col clung to Lawrence and refused to let go.

Slight of build and delicate, his trembling, curled-up form gave him the look of a kitten. Lawrence, naturally, did not laugh, instead letting the boy sit, trembling, upon his lap.

In the seven years since he had turned eighteen and ventured out on his own as a traveling merchant, Lawrence had traveled far and wide and sampled all manner of experiences. He remembered well his first sea voyage and how every movement of the ship had made him want to cry out, so he could hardly laugh at the boy.

Such thoughts occupied his mind as he gently patted the boy’s trembling back.

Yet he couldn’t help but smile wryly, looking over the dim, musty interior of the ship’s hold.

Though it was a bit unfair to the trembling boy, Lawrence rather wished it were his other companion who was in such a state.

If only Col had been the energetic one—the wandering student was often mistaken for a girl and was normally both perceptive and well behaved.

Lawrence sighed as he caught sight of a form descending into the hold from the ship’s deck.

“’Tis the sea! The sea!” His other companion, Holo, plopped herself down, eyes aglitter.

She was hooded and wore a robe that reached all the way down to her ankles, dressed every inch a nun. But with her frolicking atop the deck and her casual cross-legged posture, it was plainly obvious to anyone that she was no nun.

Her appearance was only for convenience’s sake; it was easier for all if she appeared as a nun.

So Lawrence had no particular desire to furrow his brow at her coarse manner, but he did pull down the edge of her robe with the hand that wasn’t busy patting Col.

“Hmm?” Holo looked over her shoulder at him with a quizzical expression.

“The tail you’re so very proud of.”

Holo grinned at Lawrence’s words, hiding her tail under her robe.

In addition to identifying Holo as a nun, the long, hooded robe she wore served another important purpose. It hid the wolf tail that sprouted from the rump of what appeared to be a young girl, as well as concealing the wolf ears atop her head.

The mouth with which she grinned had very sharp teeth.

Holo was not the young girl she appeared to be.

She was a centuries-old wolf god transformed into human form.

“Still, though—the sea!”

“I know, I know. Could you not calm yourself a bit? You’re like a dog seeing snow for the first time.”

“Urgh…how can one remain calm? ’Tis so vast! Vaster than the vastest plain I’ve ever seen! ’Tis well they call it ‘the deep’!”

“You’ve seen the sea before, haven’t you?”

“Aye. I’ve run my heart out along the beach, jumping into the waves out of a longing to cross the ocean. How grand it would be if I could race over its boundless surface—when humans see birds, do they not long to fly? How can you not long to run, seeing the sea?”

Though she had many a time proclaimed herself to be the Wisewolf of Yoitsu and demonstrated her cleverness to Lawrence time and again, in that moment Holo seemed every bit a puppy to him.

Feeling a bit irritable, he answered her. “I might well wonder what lands lay far across the ocean, but even then, I hardly feel like running over it.”

“You’re a useless male.”

Despite being cut off so curtly, Lawrence didn’t so much as wince. He certainly understood what it was to be excited at the sight of the ocean.

While he did occasionally catch a glimpse of Holo’s more beast-like tendencies, seeing her act so thoroughly puppyish made him anxious about what could happen in the future.

After all, their ship was bound for the snowy kingdom of Winfiel. A cat would want to curl up in front of the fireplace, but a dog would go dashing through the snow. He wondered seriously if a collar and leash would be appropriate.

As Lawrence mused over such things, Holo sneezed grandly.

“Here, get under this blanket. If you keep running around in the cold and wet, you’ll catch cold.”

“Mmph…’Tis a shame the sea wind is so wet. The salt smell confuses my nose, it does.” Beneath the blanket that she wrapped around over her robe, Holo sniffed, as though the scent of the familiar fabric would clear her nose. “Oh, by the way—”

“Hmm?”

“I faintly saw a bit of land ahead. Is that our destination?”

“No, that’s just another island. We’ll head north from here and probably arrive in the evening.”

The kingdom of Winfiel was a large island surrounded by a scattering of smaller ones, separated from the mainland by a strait, across which one could just barely make out the opposite shore.

There was a legend that long ago, a war had raged across the strait, and a warrior who was the incarnation of a war god had thrown a spear all the way across it.

That was, of course, nonsense, but it did illustrate the narrow width of the strait.

“Hmm. Well, I surely hope the wind blows steady.”

“The wind?”

“We’ll make no progress with a headwind, will we? ’Tis well now, though, with our sails full of a tailwind.”

For a moment, Lawrence was not sure of what expression he should make. If he flaunted his better knowledge too obviously, there was no telling what hell he might catch for it later.

He smiled, though not so smugly as to invite irritation. “True,” he said. “But a ship can make progress even with a headwind. It’s a bit slower, of course.”

“…” Partially concealed beneath her robe and blanket, Holo looked up at him suspiciously, like a fox peering out of its burrow. Her flicking ears made it clear she doubted the truth of his statement.

“I can understand why you might not believe it without seeing it. But even with a headwind, a boat heads diagonally into the wind, tacking left, then right. Evidently the first sailors to discover this technique were accused of witchcraft by the Church.”

“…” Holo glared at Lawrence dubiously for a moment, but eventually seemed to believe him.

“Still, to think we’d end up crossing the sea,” he murmured with a slight smile, then looked up at the ceiling of the hold.

With each undulation of the ship, the decks would creak worryingly, but it was a lullaby one had only to become used to. The first time he had been on a ship, Lawrence was terribly afraid it would simply fall to pieces.

“I suppose your beloved horse is resting easy, munching on hay at this very moment.”

“It’s not as though I wanted to give him a break—there’s just little for him to do right now. I envy him.”

“Oh ho, whence this bitterness?”

Broadly speaking, the stated reason for Lawrence and his companions’ current journey was to fulfill Holo’s wish. Of course, both Lawrence and Holo were well aware that was a mere pretense, so Holo was clearly just teasing him a bit.

“I suppose it’s true that both of us are on a hiatus from our work…but it would be nice to just relax, that’s all I meant.”

Up until a few days previous, Lawrence had been caught up in a disturbance that threatened to rip the town of Kerube—from which they’d departed—in half.

A legendary animal, a narwhal, had been caught in some fisherman’s net, and some very clever merchants had fought over the tremendously valuable creature.

Lawrence’s original goal had been information regarding the foreleg bones of a wolf-god like Holo, but after a series of twists and turns, he had wound up in the very heart of the tumult.

Many times he had thought of himself as a dirty, money-hungry merchant, but the incident had taught him the truth of the saying that there’s always a bigger fish. In Kerube, he had met Kieman, the young manager of a trade guild’s branch office, and Eve, who had planned to betray the entire town and keep all the profit for herself.

But in the end, Lawrence had been the key to settling everything to the satisfaction of all and had managed to get the information he sought on the wolf bones, though not necessarily in return for his services. Thus had he found himself aboard this ship.

In his breast pocket were letters of introduction from Kieman and Eve that would give him at least some moderate advantage. On this, his first trip to the kingdom of Winfiel, those letters were weapons whose presence reassured him greatly.

Of course, just as beasts hated the smell of iron, Holo hated the smell of those letters.

“Still, you did receive a reward for all that trouble, did you not? Surely ’twill count as a bit of savings, anyway.”

“…Ah, so you’re the reason those silver coins went missing from my coin purse, eh?”

“Without my help, you’d hardly have managed such a crisis. Given that, my price is a cheap one,” said Holo easily, pulling the blanket more snugly about herself.

The wolf knew exactly how far she could push someone before they lost their temper. Though the contents of a merchant’s purse were his lifeblood, Lawrence could not rouse himself to anger and simply gave a helpless sigh.

“Surely you gave the boy his share, too, yes?” Lawrence said, pointing to Col, which Holo sniffed at and closed her eyes.

Col’s wits had proven the key to solving their problems in Kerube. But given his personality, he could not possibly have asked for any reward, and even if offered one, he would not have accepted it.

By stealing money from Lawrence’s coin purse, Holo had forced him to take it. No doubt she had made sure to do her thieving while Lawrence was out and Col was watching, thus making him an accomplice.

Lawrence patted the boy’s curled-up form. Holo’s tail swished audibly.

“Still, the Great Abbey of Brondel will be a troublesome place.”

“Is it filled with bigoted old men?” Holo’s face popped out of the blanket.

Lawrence coughed and patted his chest, then answered. “‘The great abbey of Brondel’s reputation precedes it far and wide. Its august grandeur makes pagan gods tremble, and its magnificence supports countless men. Ah, mighty abbey of Brondel, dwelling place of the most high God.’”

Holo wrinkled her nose at Lawrence’s grandiose recitation of the famous lines of poetry. As she was one of those same pagan gods, it did not sound like a particularly pleasant place for her.

“Of course, regardless of how many saints it may have produced long ago, these days people like us should feel right at home there.”

“Hmm?”

“Its holy reputation means it receives huge donations of land and truly outlandish tithes—and given that, they have to manage those assets, whether they want to or not. And being the dwelling place of God, they have keep those assets sparkling. These days it’s practically a trading company itself. And as it’s run by an arrogant monk, it’s got all the ingredients to be a nasty place indeed.”

Once, when the papacy of the main Church sect had clashed with a secular monarch, it was said that the pope had banished the king to the snowy plains for a full three days. A merchant would hardly have gotten off so easily. Anecdotes of the unreasonable obstacles the Church foisted on merchants were a popular topic of small talk among them when trying to close a deal.

Nevertheless, recent rumors were that the great Abbey of Brondel’s business had receded, though the only ones to suffer during such recessions were the commoners—the nobility only grew more confident.

“And the bones we seek are in this nasty place?” Holo lowered her voice, given the topic.

Lawrence nodded vaguely—though he had received the information from Eve, he was none too confident in it.

“There’s a good chance of that, but in any case they’ll be hidden away behind the great walls of the abbey. They say God himself doesn’t know what happens within them.”

“I once heard a sermon that said nothing can be truly hidden.”

“Your feelings show up well enough in your ears and tail, it’s true.”

“Aye, and yours are all over your face,” said Holo, yawning lazily, which Lawrence could not help but yawn at himself. Regardless of how they’d been when they first met, conversations like this were mere greetings between them now. At the moment, he was more worried about his exchanges with Col than with Holo.

Lawrence gently pulled back the blanket Col was wrapped in and saw that the boy had fallen asleep. If he stayed asleep, he would not have to fear the rocking of the boat, nor worry about getting seasick.

He replaced the blanket carefully and saw Holo retreating back within her own blanket, having leaned out of it to peer at Col—evidently she was concerned about him, too.

“Wake me once we’ve arrived.”

In response to her muffled words, Lawrence patted her hunched-over back lightly, which made the blanket rise, then fall. Taking this as a satisfied sigh, Lawrence smiled, leaving his hand on her back.

The ship’s progress continued uneventfully, and it arrived as planned in the Winfiel kingdom’s port town of Jiik.

When they had launched, they sky had been a leaden gray, but as they descended from the ship’s deck to the docks, it was dyed a deep red, and Col—who had ended up sleeping the rest of the journey—squinted his eyes at the brightness of it.

A port in winter could often make one think of a summer sunset. Perhaps this was thanks to it being a place where the activity level rose with the temperature, a place that had now grown quiet. It felt languid, suffused with melancholy. And yet it felt too quiet, perhaps because of the cold.

The kingdom of Winfiel was the very image of a northern country, as the winter snows closed much of the land off.

As the sun set, the port air grew shockingly cold, and looking around, Lawrence could see piles of snow at the corners of buildings and the edges of the streets.

Col had only a tattered pair of straw sandals, and he shuffled his feet rapidly, as though unable to keep them still for even a moment.

“Come, you, if we don’t find an inn soon, we’ll all freeze on the spot,” said Holo. She, too, had slept most of the journey away, curled up in a blanket, and having just awoken evidently found the chill intolerable.

“Didn’t it snow often in your homelands? Have a little endurance.”

“You fool—should I cover myself in fur right here, then?” said Holo, wrapping her arms around Col from behind.

Lawrence only cocked his head by way of response and then produced the letter of introduction he had gotten from Kieman and looked it over.

“‘See Mr. Deutchmann of the Tyler Company,’ eh?”

On the letter was a careful drawing of the Tyler Company’s seal, and Lawrence began walking, letter in hand. The docks were full of well-known companies, some of them with names that nearly anyone would have known.

Despite the Winfiel winters being very snowy, the other seasons were quite mild with plenty of rain, and the fertile, grassy plains stretched on and on. Any livestock raised there, be they horses or cattle, grew healthy and strong in such conditions—but the sheep were particularly famous.

It was often said of the kingdom that it grew more wool than grass, and it exported more wool than anywhere else in the world.

The loading docks of the trading companies along the port were piled high with bundles of wool bags, and dangling from each company’s eaves was a sign sporting the ram’s horn mark that was proof the merchant had the monarchy’s permission to deal in wool.

The Tyler Company was at the end of a row of shops, and its facade was of the highest quality. The sun had set, and candlelight from within the building seeped out, which was the best sign of a successful business.

Lawrence knocked on the wooden door, which soon opened.

No matter the town or port, merchants and craftsmen were always very particular about their hours of business.

“And who are you?”

“My deepest apologies for the late hour. I’m hoping to see Mr. Deutchmann of the Tyler Company.”

“Deutchmann? And you are—?”

“Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild. I come by Lud Kieman of Kerube,” said Lawrence, offering the letter of introduction.

The bearded, middle-aged merchant stared openly at Lawrence’s face for a moment before accepting the letter, then looked it over front to back before saying, “Just a moment, please,” and retreating back within the building.

The door was still open a crack, and warm air trickled out of it. Additionally, perhaps since they had arrived just at the end of the workday, that warm air carried the scent of honeyed sheep or cow’s milk. Even Lawrence found the smell tantalizing, and to Holo’s sensitive nose, it seemed nigh unbearable. Her stomach growled audibly.

Just then, the merchant returned and opened the door. The stomach growl had been quite loud, so he might well have heard it.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting. Please do come in, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Ah, thank you.” Lawrence gave the man a small bow and went inside, followed by Holo and Col.

The merchant closed the door, then walked ahead of them, saying, “This way, please.”

Immediately inside the trading house was a space for negotiation, with several desks and tables made ready. All the furnishings were very finely decorated, and the walls were adorned with banners bearing the face of the ruler of the kingdom. It seemed more like a noble manor than a trading company.

A few of the company’s merchants sat around a table playing cards. While the people of Winfiel loved to gamble, they were generally not vulgar about it and played with refinement and grace.

Rather than heckling and hooting with a drink in one hand, they preferred warm drinks and elegant pastimes, which only added to the air of gentility.

Lawrence took in the trading company’s interior as the merchant led them to the second floor. “Was the sea very rough?” the merchant asked.

“Not at all. Perhaps God blessed our journey, as it was an easy one.”

“I’m happy to hear it. Not long ago I heard it was very rough indeed somewhat north of here. Normally the current flows south to north, but it was so bad the flow reversed itself.”

When the seas were rough in the offing, all sorts of fish could be caught nearer the shore. Perhaps that was to thank for the catching of the narwhal near Kerube.

“The seas in this area are not usually so rough, but once roused they can be quite persistent. Normally when the snow falls, it’s as still as a pond.”

“I see. Perhaps that’s why so many of the people here are so gentle and refined.”

“Ha-ha-ha! We’re just a bunch of choleric opportunists, that’s all.”

All who made trade their business would meet people from every land in the inns and taverns. While everyone had their own unique personality and outlook, each region had its characteristics, and the people of Winfiel were gentle and refined. But just as their guide had so skillfully put it, they could also be described as choleric and opportunistic.

Lawrence wondered if Holo were to spend a few years here, would she grow calmer and more obedient, just like the sheep? But if she turned choleric, it would make her disposition even worse.

He glanced at Holo, and she returned his look with a quizzically cocked head.

“This way,” said the merchant, knocking at a door, then opening it without waiting for a reply. “Do come in.”

As they were led inside, Lawrence felt a hint of surprise color his face.

Holo’s eyes opened wide, and Col made a small sound of surprise.

The room into which they had been led had walls that were covered floor to ceiling in shelves, within which were stored all manner of threads, woven cloth, wool, and looms for spinning it.

But what drew the eye more than anything else was the sheep skulls.

Illuminated by the candlelight, their hollow eyes silently watched the intruders entering their realm—there had to be at least twenty of them, some narrow-jawed, some wide, some with great horns and some with small.

A sudden sound brought Lawrence back to himself. A man sitting and writing at a desk in the corner of the room had gotten to his feet.

If this had been a business negotiation, being distracted by the room’s decor would have certainly cost Lawrence credibility, and the room’s owner surely was trying to accomplish exactly that.

He smiled a very satisfied smile.

“These are the sheep that bring us such wealth, though I can hardly show this to the Church.”

The mustached man seemed in the prime of his life, and when he smiled, his eyes nearly disappeared into the creases around them. When Lawrence shook his hand, his palm was a thick-skinned one. He was certainly gracious, but that was the only expression—not many people could hide the rest of their intent so thoroughly.

Lawrence found himself deeply relieved that he was not attempting a business negotiation with this man. No matter how skilled he became, there would be some opponents he would always find difficult.

“I am Amn Deutchmann, and I’m in charge of wool trading at this company.”

“My most humble apologies for the sudden visit. I am Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild.”

“Well, do sit down.”

“Thank you.”

The standard pleasantries concluded, Lawrence, Holo, and Col all sat down on the couch, and across from them sat Deutchmann. A low table separated them.

The merchant who had led them inside gave a short bow, then left the room.

“Now, then, I must say I could scarcely hide my surprise at seeing Mr. Kieman’s name come up—he was once called ‘the Eye of Kerube.’ To say nothing of the name Bolan. I must wonder just what sort of terrifying deal I’m going to be asked to swallow here!”

It was very Winfiel-like of him to make jokes that elicited wry grins all around. Lawrence took the cue and scratched his nose as though making an excuse. “A king only gives thanks to his subjects during wartime. In such times, even a cup of water can seem like a gift of fine furs.”

“Oh ho. So there’s some sort of disturbance in Kerube, is there?”

“I’m sure you’ll hear of it shortly. I’d be perfectly happy to tell you about it myself, though I’m not certain you would believe me.”

Surprisingly enough, the words seemed to rouse Deutchmann’s interest. His shoulders shook with mirth. “Miracles do happen in business!” He continued, “Now, then, about this letter of yours.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You say you wish to visit the great Brondel Abbey?”

“Yes. I was hoping for help in visiting them for a reason other than buying wool.”

“Oh ho.”

Traveling merchants wore beards, but the town merchants of Winfiel seemed to favor mustaches. Deutchmann fingered his magnificent mustache, twisting it as he regarded Lawrence.

“I believe that pilgrims to the abbey are only received at a building separate from the central complex and aren’t allowed to approach the abbey itself.”

“That is true. Even among those connected to the abbey, only a few are allowed entry. As you may well know, even wool trading is done at a specially designated branch. So…”

“It’s no easy task to knock on the doors of the main abbey.”

“Indeed, it is not, Mr. Lawrence. Of course, the mercantile branch is the main abbey’s lifeline, so it does have some connection…but…surely you’re not suggesting…”

Lawrence knew perfectly well what the canny merchant’s narrowed eyes were seeing.

The signature of Bolan.

If they had come neither as pilgrims to the famous Brondel Abbey, nor as traders seeking wool, the remaining possibilities were few indeed.

And nearly any merchant with a sizable enough business would recognize Eve’s name, the name of a fallen noble family of Winfiel—and there was only one reason for it to come up.

“I am not a political agent. Please rest assured.”

But a merchant’s words were never trustworthy. It was hardly surprising that Deutchmann’s gaze came out from his narrowed eyes needle sharp. The Tyler Company’s wool buyer looked back and forth between the introduction letter and Lawrence’s face and then finally glanced at Holo and Col.

If Lawrence had been alone, he would have been politely shown the door.

But with two traveling companions, it was unlikely that he was anybody’s secret messenger, Deutchmann eventually seemed to conclude.

“My apologies if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“Hardly. It’s only natural you’d be suspicious, I should think.”

“Thank you very much. But this is precisely the sort of problem that Brondel Abbey is facing at the moment.”

“Oh?” Lawrence asked, but just then there was a knock at the door, and a maid entered carrying a tray.

It bore the same thing the men downstairs were drinking as they played cards, Lawrence supposed. The cups steamed warmly, but not too warmly to comfortably hold—evidently the hosts were considerate enough to provide their visitors with something to chase off the cold.

“Please, drink. It’s sheep’s milk with honey and ginger. This time of year, kings and commoners alike drink it. It’ll warm you.”

“Well, thank you.”

The milk was still bubbling, and Lawrence was worried his teeth would melt if he drank it. He didn’t mind sweet things, but there was a limit.

If he just took a sip for politeness’s sake, it seemed likely that Holo would take advantage of the opportunity and drink down the rest.

“So, about what I was saying.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Mr. Lawrence, did anything in particular strike you when you saw the port today?”

Changing the subject and asking a sudden pointed question was a good way to determine someone’s true motives. As such, Lawrence didn’t stop to think and simply answered his mind.

“Out of what I supposed was a combination of the chill and the hour, it seemed a bit desolate.”

“Yes, you’re quite right. Business has been bad recently—and I’m not saying that just to make merchant small talk. It’s the truth.”

“…You’ll have to forgive me, but as a traveling merchant from the mainland, I’m not terribly familiar with the circumstances here.”

“I see. Not even of King Sufon’s ban?”

“Embarrassingly, no.”

Traveling merchants like Lawrence needed a grasp of any proclamations that affected business in the lands they traveled. But unlike traveling merchants who could flee to the hinterlands if things went poorly, a trading company needed a port in order to unload its goods, and to them, such proclamations were like the word of God.

“To put it plainly, imports have been banned. Exports are fine. But wheat and wine are the only imports allowed. The goal is—”

“—to stop the loss of currency, I assume.”

“You assume correctly. King Sufon has been on the throne for five years, and his greatest goal is to make his nation wealthy. But wool sales have steadily dropped—the last few years have been truly awful. And given that Winfiel has little else it can export abroad, it only stands to reason that the more our imports exceed our exports, the poorer our nation becomes. Which is why the king, who has no experience with business, came up with that solution.”

Deutchmann raised both his hands in a gesture of resignation. If his frustration was any indication, no doubt the ban was deeply unpopular in the town.

“No merchant will trouble himself to come here once he learns he won’t be allowed to sell his goods. The number of ships in the harbor has dropped, and the inns are all empty. The taverns sell no wine, nor meat, nor do travelers buy any blankets or mantles. Stables are on the verge of ruin just feeding their horses, and the money changers have nothing to weigh save the dust on their scales.”

“It’s a vicious cycle.”

“Exactly. A king who knows how to swing a sword is at a loss when it comes to applying his mind. Given the situation, it’s no surprise conditions are so bad. Currency vanished from the town in the blink of an eye, and now look—here we are.”

As he spoke, Deutchmann produced a coin with a practiced motion.

The Winfiel kingdom had been founded after ages of conflict with the kings of nearby islands and struggle with the pirates of the northern seas. Sufon was the third in the line, and his profile was embossed on this coin, though this one was so blackened its details could barely be discerned.

“It looks like this because they’ve mixed copper and who knows what else in with the silver. I hear it’s so bad that not even the best money changers can tell how much silver’s left. When a coin loses its faith, it’s no longer useful for business. I hear some landlords have been hoarding copper coins from the mainland so they can at least buy themselves some bread, but that’s a drop in the bucket. And yet with things so bad, the king only turns harsher, so…”

Holo and Col peered at the coin on the table, but straightened when they saw that Deutchmann was continuing.

“And so now merchants have started appearing with an eye toward taking advantage of the situation.”

Business was nothing more than a tug-of-war. By pulling on each thread one found, it was easy to see where they led. The economy was poor and the currency so corrupted that it could not even buy bread, so what then? A nation’s economy was not some secret ritual held behind stone walls, so surely its coin would be compared to the coins of other lands.

So what would happen then, once Winfiel’s currency alone was inferior and devalued? Just as a weakened deer would be devoured by wolves, fortunes whose value was measured with a weakened coin would be devoured by stronger monies.

“You speak of those who come not to buy goods, but assets.”

“Exactly so. Just like sharks attacking a wounded fish. So you see why I was worried you were such a man.”

“I see. It does seem likely that Brondel Abbey will become a target. It possesses reputation, influence, and assets aplenty.”

“Indeed.”

“Incidentally, just who is acting as the shark?”

At this question, Deutchmann bared his canine teeth with a vulgar grin that would not have been out of place in a seedy tavern somewhere. “The crest of the moon and shield.”

“…!”

“Even so. The Ruvik Alliance, whose home territory is the whole of the northlands. It is they who play the shark.”

It was the single most powerful economic alliance in the world, whose many large warships flew a beautiful green flag bearing a crest with a moon and a shield and with whom no less than eighteen regions and twenty-three craft guilds cooperated. It was backed by thirty noblemen and led by ten great trading companies.

One might joke that at their meeting table, they might decide whom to place on the throne of a given nation, but such a joke could not be easily laughed off.

When targeted by such an organization, ordinary tactics were all but useless.

“Naturally we’re all too terrified to do anything, so we’ve been reduced to mere bystanders. And they’re following the rules. They haven’t interfered with the wool trade.”

“I suppose their goal is the land held by the abbey.”

“Yes. My guess is they’re trying to acquire the abbey’s territory, buying out the gentry’s holdings in order to put pressure on the monarchy—and the gentry are already suffering from increased taxation and decreased revenue. Given their vast size, the alliance can hardly act in secret, which in turn motivates them to move forward.”

Lawrence imagined the gentry believing that once this was all over, King Sufon would be reduced to a figurehead.

And once that happened, it would be like an avalanche.

Lawrence looked aside to Holo. They seemed to encounter interesting situations no matter where they went.

“Still, the abbey has been surprisingly stubborn, so the negotiations have run aground. Apparently within the alliance, the various trading companies are each frantically trying to be the first to complete a deal. So, well…”

Deutchmann dropped his gaze again to the letter of introduction, stroking his mustache and cocking his head slightly.

“If you feel it’s worthwhile to risk the danger of venturing into such a lair, Mr. Lawrence, I suppose I can introduce you to one of the hydra’s heads, but…” Then the choleric, opportunistic merchant of the kingdom of Winfiel smiled faintly. “On one condition: You never spoke with our company.”

Lawrence could not immediately reply, but not because he was worried he would change his mind given further time to consider things.

It was because the more interesting the situation, the harder it was to believe that the surrounding merchants would remain uninvolved third parties. When such a fascinating spectacle was to be had, one wanted to see it close up.

Brondel Abbey had set aside a dedicated site for trading with merchants who had come for the wool the abbey raised. And at the moment, it was no doubt in chaos. If he went to check on it and found it too hot to the touch, Lawrence could simply find another way.

He considered this, and without even looking to Holo, he answered, “If you please, then.”

Deutchmann smiled.

Thump went the sack of wool as it hit the ground, no doubt soon to be taken to a ship and then sent to some far-off land—or so Lawrence would have easily believed had someone said so.

Within the flat, hemp-stitched burlap sack was a large bundle of woolen quilts, each one far warmer than ten rough, chilly traveling blankets. Sleeping under just a single one of them would make one sweat.

Three such quilts had been brought back to the room.

“This…mmph. Are you quite sure this is all right?” asked Holo, despite having insisted on the finest room in the inn and tossing piece after piece of firewood into the fireplace in order to dry her hair after having washed it clean of salt-sea smell.

Evidently even Holo, who constantly hounded Lawrence to avoid stinginess and stay at fine inns, had some sort of financial sense.

They had never stayed at an inn such as this one, and it was enough to inspire even Holo to express concern.

“There hasn’t been a guest in this inn for ten days, and it’s been four weeks since any occupied this room, and during this season, guests are even fewer. A single ryut was enough to get us the room and firewood with change left over. Of course…” Lawrence pointed at the tarnished coins lined up on the table. “…It’s rather doubtful whether we can buy anything with coins such as those.”

“Hmph. So you took advantage of their weakness, did you?”

“That’s not a very nice way to put it. When demand for something is low, its price will drop.”

“Well, so long as you didn’t let this room for the sake of your own vanity, ’tis well. Come, Col—take that there.”

Holo busily began making up the bed, teasing Col as he timidly took hold of the fluffy wool quilt.

As he watched all this with a wry smile, Lawrence’s thoughts were elsewhere.

He was thinking about what Deutchmann had told him about the crisis facing this nation and the Ruvik Alliance’s attempt to take advantage of it.

It was said that it was ever the fate of the weak to be eaten by the strong. But what Lawrence found surprising was that even the storied Brondel Abbey could fall victim to that same fate. Even given that the Church’s influence was beginning to wane, Lawrence still had the feeling that it had reserves of power that had yet to decline. Particularly just after he had met Holo, it was none other than the Church that had been responsible for her being taken hostage and the mad events that followed.

Of course, Lawrence was not inclined to either cheer or blame one party or the other. Humans, too, ate sheep and were in turn attacked by wolves.

As he mused on such things, Holo shot him a glance.

“That face of yours—I see you’re planning something no good again.”

Thanks to the fireplace and the sturdily constructed windows, the room had gotten quite warm. Though Holo had taken off her robe, she was still a bit sweaty, probably more from playing with Col than from the room’s temperature. Col sat on the bed drinking water from a jug, hunched over in a posture of exhaustion.

Perhaps the scent of wool had gotten her excited.

“It’s no good, that much is certain. I just found myself hoping the Church would endure forever.”

Holo looked skeptical and sat on a chair, putting to her lips the water jug that was on the table.

Water jug though it might have been, it was filled with wine and was not made of ceramic, iron, or copper. It was instead carved from the shell of a coconut, a fruit from an island nation in the south whose trade must have been prosperous indeed.

“Ah, you mean the conversation from earlier.”

“If it bothers you, I suppose I can transform back into a merchant happy to watch the ignominious fall of a once-strong enemy.”

“…Fool.” After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped on Lawrence’s foot.

The reason for her hesitation was no doubt her recall of the narwhal crisis in Kerube. Holo was actually quite loyal. And yet she could not just extend her hand to a foe who had caused her such trouble in the past.

In Kerube they had come to the aid of Eve, a beautiful merchant known as the wolf of the Roam River. But Lawrence knew that if he ever used that to tease Holo, he would do so at his own peril.

Ever since Eve had taken him by surprise, Lawrence had been on pins and needles. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

“It’s simple sentimentality. Despite my mixed feelings, the Church has come to my rescue many times.”

“Mm. I suppose I can understand that. Still, that fellow with the trading company spoke of the situation with no small pleasure.”

“He’s surely quite pleased. Deutchmann said he was responsible for wool buying, didn’t he? Dealing with the abbey must be quite a bother. No wonder he’s happy to see them put at a disadvantage.”

“Choleric and opportunistic, eh?”

“Exactly. But don’t you think you’ve been a bit too pleased ever since the quilts were brought up?”

Holo frowned at this, her ears pricking and her cheeks puffing out. She then seemed to feel self-conscious and exhaled the contents of her cheeks in a sigh.

“’Twill be hard for me to sleep in such quilts. The scent of sheep will keep me awake.”

“And the scent of money will keep them awake. And we’ll probably have no cause to be involved with the abbey’s crisis. Even with your wits, Col’s wisdom, and my nerve, this is one opponent we can’t face.”

“What kind of notion is that?” Holo looked at Lawrence in amused exasperation, her elbow on the table, propping up her chin.

“What should we do, then?” It was Col who took the opportunity to get a word in as he checked the fireplace and placed another log into it. He was quite good at placing the firewood—a true northerner, Lawrence mused.

“I don’t imagine that the Ruvik Alliance is after the wolf bones. Had that been the case, Eve or Kieman would’ve heard something about it.”

“So we’ve just happened to run into them while chasing different prey.”

“I don’t know if ‘run into them’ is quite the right phrase, but…in any case, the Ruvik Alliance is a nation-sized opponent. We’re no match for them. However, this could be a good opportunity, depending on how we think about it.”

“Oh?”

As he listened to the conversation, Col shook his coat out in front of the fireplace, probably trying to use its heat to drive any insects out of it.

“The abbey’s been seized by jaws as persistent as any snake. The whole of their estate is in full view, which saves us the trouble of estimating it. Also, according to what Deutchmann said, the alliance is after the abbey’s landholdings. Even if the abbey’s holdings include the wolf bones, its unlikely they’re viewed as important.”

Even the Ruvik Alliance couldn’t ignore assets worth thousands of gold pieces. But no matter how valuable the wolf bones, they were in the end simply an item that could be purchased with money.

What was truly valuable was that which could not be had for any amount of money.

“I don’t think there would be any real danger in simply stopping by the abbey to see. If there were a danger, I suppose it would be…”

“What?” Holo tilted her head curiously.

“It’s said that the great Brondel Abbey has flocks of sheep totaling a hundred thousand head. Can you manage that?”

He had first thought about it as a joke, but given Holo’s reaction to the wool-stuffed quilt, he was not sure exactly what her reaction might be.

This was the season when merchants came to buy up wool for the coming spring, and simply for purposes of comparison, the number of sheep on display would be huge. And even if that was not the case, sheep-related goods would be everywhere anyway, along with scores of the shepherds whom Holo so detested.

On top of that, there was no telling how excited Holo might become at the sight of the snowy plains, given how she had acted on the ship—Lawrence’s worry was outstripped only by his uncertainty.

“All will be well surely,” said Holo casually.

Lawrence regarded the unconcerned wolf, wondering where that easy confidence came from.

The cunning wisewolf grinned and continued. “I need only eat so much mutton that the very scent of it drives me off. One may tire of even their favorite food, after all—or am I wrong?”

“…”

“So, it’s decided then. Let’s prepare! Eating so much it turns distasteful requires some preparation. And look, don’t you think young Col wishes to eat mutton, as well? ’Tis written all over his face.”

She was only using Col as a pretense, but he seemed none too displeased by it, which made Holo’s words that much harder to ignore.

But he had to say something.

“I’ve started to find constantly treating you to such feasts itself distasteful. What do you make of that, eh?”

Holo put on her robe, seemingly unconcerned that it was stiff with accumulated sea salt, pulling the hood over her head. “I don’t mind being resented once in a while. If you truly tired of me, though, that would be truly painful,” she said flirtatiously, placing both hands on her chest.

He would look utterly foolish if he played along with her. “Indeed it would,” he answered.

Holo cackled and took Col’s hand, walking toward the door. She then twirled around and looked back at him, speaking innocently, like a child. “Come, hurry!”

There was nothing to be done, Lawrence murmured to himself. He took his overcoat in hand and stood.

A strong currency is the most powerful weapon.

A great merchant who had crossed seas and conquered nation after nation with naught but coin had once said those words, and Lawrence did not consider himself particularly lucky to have been a merchant himself for long enough to realize their truth.

Deutchmann had extended them an invitation to stay at his trading company, but Lawrence had refused. From what he could discern given what Deutchmann had said, the offer had only been put forward because foreign visitors were viewed as easy marks.

And that guess was confirmed the moment they arrived at the inn.

Naturally, Lawrence took heed of Deutchmann’s warning not to change any of his coin for Winfiel currency.

Just as a test, Lawrence pulled out a silver ryut coin worth slightly less than a trenni, and the tavern master’s face split in a huge grin.

A heaping pile of mutton, perfectly cooked and covered in a layer of yellow fat, was placed on a plate.

In this season, when grass was thin on the ground, it cost money to feed the sheep. Evidently, shepherds slaughtered more than the usual number of sheep in order to stay afloat, which drove up the cost of the salt and vinegar used to preserve the meat.

But here the cold climate could be used to preserve the meat, so quite naturally it was less expensive. Being able to feast on meat so fine that a thin layer of oil was left in the wine cups, which they drank from to wash it down, was not something that happened every day.

However, the bread was of fairly poor quality.

It was said that a nation’s health could be measured by its bread. This was because, unlike meat, grains like wheat and rye were easy to preserve and store, so in times of hardship, the better grain would be reserved for future use.

“To think that my first customers in such a long time would have such great appetites! Surely this is the will of God!”

The tavern master’s words were an obvious exaggeration, but the tavern was indeed only half full, and most of those were only drinking.

They all appeared to be locals, roughly half craftsmen and half small-scale merchants and peddlers.

There did not appear to be anybody from companies whose headquarters were abroad, probably because showing off their prosperity would only earn them the ire of the people in town.

Of course, for a traveler, the opposite was true. Once Lawrence generously treated the other patrons to meat and wine, the fat and liquor became perfect social lubricants.

“Just look at this lifeless tavern! Hey, you lot! This is how you eat and drink, by God!”

“Ah, shut up, old man! You’re the one who always skips the wine and drinks the watery ale they brew right over a dirt floor!”

“Aye! I hear you put so many beans on your bread it drives your wife to tears!”

The tavern master and his regulars traded jabs and then immediately burst into laughter.

When times were hard, it was easy for town dwellers to feel as though the world itself were ending. But when a well-to-do traveler appeared, it could bring them hope that all was not yet lost—or so Lawrence had heard from town merchants in the past.

“By the by, where’d you come from, traveler?” asked the tavern master as he brought the pickled cabbage-and-mutton stew Lawrence had ordered to break the monotony of the endless roast meat.

The master did not bother asking Holo, not because she appeared to be a young girl, but rather because she was devouring mutton at such a rate that the other patrons were standing around her, cheering her on.

“From Kerube across the sea. Before that we were still farther south.”

“Kerube, eh? I hear there was quite the hubbub there. What was it again…? Hey, Hans! What happened in Kerube, again?”

“The narwhal, wasn’t it? Hey, aren’t tavern keepers supposed to be good with gossip? Anyway, I hear they caught a big devil in their nets, turned into a real problem. Last time I was at the docks, the boys from the Lyon Company were talking about it.”

It was truly amazing how quickly information could cross the sea. It had only been a few days since the events in question had happened.

“That’s right, the narwhal. Was that really true?”

The tavern master’s face was full of interest. He would never have imagined the one responsible for the situation’s sudden reversal was standing right in front of him.

Lawrence glanced at Holo to share a private smile with her, but found himself totally ignored. Had he looked to Col, he was sure the boy would have returned the smile of co-conspirators who shared a secret.

If asked which of his traveling companions he was more inclined to show kindness to, well—it hardly bore asking.

“Yes, it was true. It was such a crisis that the town was split in two over it, north and south. In the end, a single company brought several crates of gold coins to the church and loudly demanded the narwhal be sold to them. Thanks to all the commotion, it was impossible to enjoy any time in the town.”

“Oh ho, crates full of gold coin, eh?” The surrounding patrons reacted most strongly to that part of the story. It revealed all too clearly where their current interests lay. “And you say you came all the way up here from south of Kerube? For trade?”

“No, we’re on pilgrimage to Brondel Abbey.”

Given how keen their reaction to any news of coin was, Lawrence avoided the topic of money. From what he could tell, he guessed most of the patrons were merchants or craftsmen. If talk turned to business, not only would the conversation cease to progress, but they would surely start trying to sell him their goods.

“Ah, Brondel Abbey…”

“Difficult though it may be to believe, my two traveling companions are indeed children of God. I’ve been moved to repent and try to atone for my past sins.”

“I see. Still, to think a merchant would be making a pilgrimage to Brondel Abbey…such irony,” said the tavern master to the other patrons, having at some point gotten a cup of wine for his own hand. He grinned sardonically, as did his customers.

Lawrence did his very best to play the ignorant traveler.

“Why is that ironic?”

“Well, only because Brondel Abbey is cleverer with business than you might think and hasn’t treated pilgrims properly in many years. Most foreign travelers to the abbey come through this town, and we’ve seen many of them returning with disappointed faces.”

“They’re supposed to pay for the upkeep of inns and roads for pilgrims, but the amount they contribute is piddling compared with the money they bring in from the wool trade. Even a child can see which way the scales tilt. May God’s protection be upon us!”

The patron seemed to be a merchant, and at his words, the tavern master nodded firmly.

Be it trading company or abbey, when it came time to turn a profit, the methods they used were much the same. It was crucial to conduct the most profitable business with the most profitable partners.

But in doing so, much was lost.

“It’s thanks to their actions that we’re suffering God’s punishment! These last few years, wool sales in Winfiel have somehow dropped, and it’s Brondel Abbey that’s suffered the most. Even merchants more meek than any sheep have stopped coming to them, and even if they start begging for tithes now, all those pilgrims they drove away aren’t coming back.”

“And if after all that a foreign merchant is coming as a pilgrim, maybe this is the limit of their punishment. Serves them right, I say!”

Given how deeply people revered places of worship, their reactions when their faith was abused were that much more violent. Each of the tavern’s patrons was all too happy to speak ill of the abbey.

Given that, Lawrence was sure it would not be difficult to get them to talk about the Ruvik Alliance.

“So that’s how it is…So does that mean nobody visits the abbey at all anymore?” asked Lawrence, at which the tavern master’s expression turned complicated, looking both pleased and helpless.

But he could not say what he was feeling. Lawrence could tell that much.

Brondel Abbey was still an important center for the town and for the nation—a symbol of their faith.

“Not at all. Even now, merchants gather there. Though they are of a rather different kind. Have you ever heard of the Ruvik Alliance?”

Holo ceased biting into her mutton and sipped her wine as though taking a short break—though her actions were no coincidence. She could tell the lively chatter had come to an end.

“That’s the largest and most famous economic alliance in the world, is it not?”

“Indeed it is. Evidently their people are visiting the abbey in great numbers. At first it was their leaders, riding in black carriages, but apparently the abbey winter was too much for them to endure, and merchants coming on foot replaced them. I hear they come and go constantly, each trying to be the first to strike a deal. This year they’ve passed right by all the taverns, grim-faced as they go.”

“What kind of deal are they trying to make?” This would be the rest of the story Lawrence had heard from Deutchmann, but what came out of the tavern master’s mouth next was utterly surprising.

“Don’t laugh now, but I hear they’re trying to buy the golden sheep.”

Lawrence got the feeling he could hear Holo’s ears prick to attention beneath her hood.

Lawrence himself looked the tavern master disbelievingly in the face.

“The story comes up whenever times are hard. The fields of Brondel Abbey are vast, and when they’re covered in snow, the whiteness extends as far as you can see. Legend has it that at the very edge there’s a sheep as brilliantly golden as the newly risen sun.”

“The story goes that a man once managed to pluck a bit of wool from it, but that the moment the wool was plucked it turned into pure light and vanished.”

It was true enough that such stories did circulate.

Nowhere was the ground more fertile for miraculous stories than a nation beset by war or hardship—tales of statues of the Holy Mother weeping, witches’ grins splitting from ear to ear as they stole children, or the symbol of the Church appearing on a great flag in the sky.

Even across the sea on the continent there were people who had heard the tale of the golden sheep of Brondel Abbey.

It was quite a convenient legend to cling to in times of great difficulty.

“They’re probably trying to buy the abbey’s name, or its land…”

“I heard a rumor the Ruvik Alliance is trying to become Winfiel’s new nobility.”

“But King Sufon’s the grandson of the great Winfiel the First. He won’t just stand by and allow his own retainers to be bought off. There once was a merchant who bought himself the name of a fallen noble family, and the king’s anger was such that his decrees ruined the merchant’s wool trade—and then this.” The patron drew a finger across his neck in a familiar gesture for beheading.

Lawrence realized the merchant had to have been the former husband of someone he knew quite well.

“There’s no money, but taxes keep going up, though I suppose it’s because there is no money that his reaction is so excessive.”

“You’re good customers, so I’ll tell you something. If you’re going to the abbey, watch yourselves. Demons have taken up within the house of God. The God that should have been coming to our aid has been lost on the vast plains for long time now.”

Lawrence couldn’t tell whether they were speaking ill of the abbey or of the Ruvik Alliance. Maybe they did not know themselves.

Maybe they did not care as long as they had something to complain about. But no matter the target of their complaints, it was clear they did not truly hate them.

The Ruvik Alliance and the Winfiel monarchy were entities far beyond their own positions, and even if it had fallen, Brondel Abbey was still viewed with respect.

These nebulous contradictions were all too clear to Lawrence. And because they were so clear, Lawrence understood well just how difficult the tavern’s patrons’ lives were.

“Thank you. We’ll be very careful.”

“Aye. Other than that, you’d best eat and drink such that you’ve energy to spare. The moment you leave the town, it’s naught but snowy fields. Without enough energy, you’ll never make it across!”

The tavern’s noise level rose with the tavern master’s pronouncement, and Lawrence raised his cup.

Col seemed to be at his limit, though Holo was still ready to go.

The great Brondel Abbey out on the snow-strewn plains.

Indeed, they would need to eat plenty while they could.

There was a tik, tik sound.

It sounded like the crackling of burning firewood. But wait, no—no bonfire had been started the previous night. Ah, of course—the fireplace.

And yet despite that realization, the sound was odd.

Lawrence finally opened his eyes and raised his head. Given the still dim room, he knew the hour was yet early, and from the light that entered through the window, he could tell whether the weather outside was clear or not.

The day unfortunately seemed to be a cloudy one. The moment he thought to himself, Seems cold, the frigid air he inhaled through his nose roused him mercilessly to total wakefulness.

It was cold in the room, despite the sound of the crackling firewood.

“Snow, eh?” he muttered, then yawned hugely and sat up.

It had been a long time since he had slept so soundly, thanks to the impressive warmth provided by the wool quilt.

Holo seemed fast asleep, the fluffed-up quilt rising and falling with her breath.

And yet it was cold.

Lawrence felt as though ice had been left on his face. He looked at Col, who like Holo seemed to be curled up and sleeping, entirely covered by his quilt.

Evidently Lawrence was the only one who had slept with his face exposed.

He rubbed his frigid face and exhaled whitely. Getting out of bed, he shivered and walked over to the room’s table, then swirled the water jug there experimentally.

He had not hoped for much, and the water in the metal jug was frozen solid.

“Suppose I’ll have to go downstairs…”

Since beginning his travels with Holo, he had talked to himself much less, but sometimes it still happened. He added some straw to the still faintly flickering fire, and once it flared up, he put another piece of firewood in.

The bricks of the lovely brick fireplace seemed cold enough to put the fire out.

Having confirmed that the firewood was well and truly burning, Lawrence left the room.

The hallway was utterly quiet. Either for want of guests or simply because of the early hour, the silence seemed to swallow all sound.

He was not concerned about the creaking of the floorboards as he walked.

This silence, as though the world were wrapped in cotton, was unique to newly fallen snow.

When he reached the ground floor, he saw that the front door was still barred, and the inn was not yet open for business.

Then he thought he heard the sound of a door opening come from the end of the hallway that continued on to the courtyard. When he looked, he saw the innkeeper, red-nosed and wearing a scarf wrapped about his neck and carrying a barrel.

“Goodness, you’re up early.”

“Good morning to you.”

“My, but it’s cold! Took some effort to break through the ice in the well. Looks like the lid’s coming down starting today.”

The innkeeper carried the barrel in and then poured its contents into a jug at the end of the hall.

Keeping water available was a constant problem for those who lived in colder climes. It seemed ironic to Lawrence that there would be snow falling and yet water was still a concern.

“The lid?”

“Oh, that’s what we say around here when we’re covered in snow. Everything turns white in single day.”

“I see.”

“So, what shall I get you? I can make some breakfast for my guests, though it’ll take some time.”

“We’re fine for breakfast. To be honest, we brought home quite a bit from the tavern last night.”

Things had gotten so raucous at the tavern that eventually the town guard had come by, and Lawrence had gotten their leftovers packed up to take with them.

Everything was of the finest quality, and heated beside the fireplace it would make for an excellent breakfast.

“Ha-ha-ha! I suppose you’ve got to eat such good mutton while you’ve got the chance, eh?”

“Indeed. Ah, but if you could get us some water—”

“Yes, of course. Ah, I suppose the water in your metal pitcher would be solid as a rock. I’ll bring a box of sawdust up later. Keep it in that and it’ll resist the cold a little better.”

“Ah, thank you.”

After receiving an earthenware jug of water from the innkeeper, Lawrence returned to the room.

It seemed to him that “putting the lid on” was an apt phrase for snowfall. Once long ago, while drinking cheap liquor at a meager lodge one cold night, he seemed to remember a mercenary saying something similar.

The man had said that if you had to go to war, the northlands were the place to do it, where the snow would cover all the pain and suffering.

Snow made people sentimental.

Lawrence smirked wryly at the notion and then opened the door to his room. “Oh, you’re awake—”

He cut himself off the moment he realized the mood in the room.

Holo sat on the bed, staring out the open window.

She was totally motionless, looking straight ahead, and but for the white exhalations of her breath, she could easily have been mistaken for a clay statue.

Lawrence entered the room and closed the door behind him, but Holo continued to gaze outside.

The wood was still crackling away in the fireplace, but Lawrence added another piece.

He set the water jug on the table and then walked over to Holo’s bed.

“’Tis snow,” said Holo, still not looking at him.

Lawrence did not answer immediately, following her gaze before saying, “Indeed,” and sitting beside her.

Holo continued to stare out the window.

Her legs were not crossed, nor did she hug her knees as she gazed silently outward, as though she had been left in some particular moment.

Lawrence’s sigh mingled with the chill air that poured in through the open window, and he placed his hand on her head.

Her beautiful hair felt like so many strands of ice.

Lawrence knew all too well what Holo must have been thinking about as she looked out over the snow.

So rather than hugging her close, he simply stayed there.

“…”

“What’s wrong?”

Holo look at him wordlessly.

She no longer wore the blank expression, with which she’d looked out the window; her still face was filled with pathos.

Her cold, thin lips, too, had regained some of their softness.

“I see even you can manage some kindness after all,” she said.

“You’ll catch cold,” said Lawrence instead of giving her a proper reply, at which Holo nodded.

The very next instant, she sneezed, then immediately dove back under her quilt. Lawrence stood and closed the window.

“Were I in my true form, I could gaze at the snow for as long as I liked.”

“No doubt you’d become covered in snow as you watched,” said Lawrence. Holo smiled and pointed to the water jug.

Lawrence gave it to her, and with her other hand, she took his.

“I told you snow was no great problem, did I not?” she said with a faint half smile.

For her, snow was no occasion for play.

In the village of Pasloe, where she had stayed for centuries, it did not snow—unlike her homelands of Yoitsu.

Lawrence held her cold hand and answered, “I wonder about that. You’re hardly a weeping, frail maiden after all—you might well go dashing happily off over the snow at any moment.”

“…”

Holo smiled wordlessly, then sat up and put the jug to her lips.

Immediately thereafter, her smile turned to a glare. “This is no wine.”

“You fool,” said Lawrence, imitating her particular tone, which made her force the jug back into his hand and then flop sulkily back onto the bed.

“So you’re going to sleep, then? Breakfast is going to be rather magnificent today.”

Snow made one sentimental.

And yet it was just as true that good food improved any mood.

Perhaps it should have been unsurprising, given that they were in sheep-farming territory.

Along with the leftover mutton that had been packed up for them was an unfamiliar leather pouch, which turned out to be packed full with butter.

A very pleased Holo spread it upon her rye bread before stuffing the bread in her mouth, while Col, smaller of appetite and particularly so in the morning, could only look on queasily.

“Sho, wha’ shall whe do nexsht?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Given that Deutchmann said he would introduce us to a trading company affiliated with the Ruvik Alliance, we’ll simply wait for them to contact us.”

“Mm…mmph.” Taking a breath after finally swallowing her mouthful of rye bread, she then opened her mouth. Lawrence thought she was about to speak, but she simply took another huge bite.

“Are you planning to hibernate anytime soon?”

“That migh’ no’ be sush a ba’ idea.”

It was impossible to talk to Holo while she was preoccupied with tasty food.

Lawrence put some fireplace-warmed mutton between slices of bread and took a bite.

“But it’s already so cold—it’ll be hard to travel with the snow, won’t it?” said Col as he put a cup of warm sheep’s milk to his lips after happily watching Lawrence and Holo’s exchange.

“True. What did you do when you were traveling alone?”

“When I first left home, it was a good season for travel…and I decided to avoid traveling through places where it seemed like it would snow, since it suddenly got very cold once I crossed the Roam River.”

“Indeed. In those clothes of yours, it’d be up to God’s grace whether you woke up or not after getting snowed upon.”

Lawrence plucked a bit of mutton fat off of Col’s face, and the boy grinned sheepishly, though it was unclear whether his embarrassment was over his clothes or the scrap of food on his face.

“Still, there’s a certain amount of preparation done along routes that can expect snow. Signposts are erected at set intervals, and there are small way houses placed at distances where even in deep snow, a traveler could expect to reach them. The blizzards around Arohitostok are indeed terrible, but thanks to the weather there are no bandits, and the bears and wolves stay holed up in their dens so travel was surprisingly easy.”

“You’ve even been to Arohitostok? Isn’t that the northernmost town of all?”

“Just once, to deliver the personal things of a traveler who passed away. It’s northwest of even the Dolan Plains. I saw the land there as smooth and flat as a calm sea. It was an amazing sight.”

It was said that the land had been stripped bare by the great wind caused by a dragon that flew up to the ends of the sky, with grass and trees alike uprooted.

Owing to all the snow that fell on the nearby village of Arohitostok, it was extremely dry despite the cold, which made for a strange landscape.

It was where Lawrence first learned what it meant for a place to have truly nothing.

“They say Saint Alagia spent thirty years as an ascetic there…If that’s true, then he’s a saint, no mistaking it.”

“Wow…,” breathed Col in wonderment.

Lately Holo’s mood had been turning sour after meals, but it could not be helped. She would not listen to Lawrence like this, the way Col did, and so his treatment of her naturally differed.

Hopefully God would forgive him.

“In school, I learned the names of towns all over the world, but I’ve been to so few of them myself…”

“That’s true of people everywhere. I’ve only rarely joined caravans or traveled fixed trade routes—that’s why I’ve traveled so far and seen so much.”

“Have you been to any towns in the south?”

“I expect you’re more familiar with the south than I am. I’ve gone east, as well—”

Just then Lawrence stopped, but it was not because Holo was about to start crying from having been so thoroughly left out of the conversation.

It was because there was a knock at the door.

“Coming!” said Col energetically, jumping out of his chair. He had gotten quite used to handling such minor duties.

Holo continued eating her breakfast, but it was obvious that she was in a foul temper; despite the arrival of a guest, she had not put her hood up.

Lawrence reverently took her hood and placed it over her head.

“Who is it, please?” Col opened the door, and there stood a man wrapped entirely in heavy clothing, in a manner reminiscent of Eve.

A turban covered his head, and he wore two long coats, each reaching to his ankles. Animal hides that still held their fur covered his shins, and he had a large burlap sack over his shoulder.

He seemed ready for a long march through the snow, but there was already snow on his head and shoulders. It seemed very likely that he had just arrived, and after casting his gaze this way and that from under the scarf around his head, he began unwrapping it.

“Is this the room of Mr. Kraft Lawrence?” The voice was surprisingly youthful, and the face beneath the turban was the face of a young man.

“That’s right. I am Lawrence.”

“Oh, well then! I apologize for my appearance. I received word from Mr. Deutchmann, you see—”

Lawrence stood from his chair and walked to the door.

If he had come at Deutchmann’s invitation, then he was from the Ruvik Alliance.

“Not at all, not at all. We’re the ones who should’ve paid a visit to you. In any case, please do come in.”

“If you’ll excuse the intrusion, then.”

The man was a bit shorter than Lawrence, and he entered the room with light footsteps, despite the heavy load and clothing that should have precluded such lightness.

If he was a traveling merchant, he was one who traveled harsh climes indeed.

“What a lovely room.”

“Normally we cannot afford such niceties.”

“Ha-ha-ha, benefits of the job, eh? I enjoyed the same thing myself when I came at the beginning of autumn.”

The man had blond hair cropped quite short. His manner of speaking was pleasant and good-natured—enough so to surprise Holo, it seemed.

“Ah, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. I am Lag Piasky of the Fias Company, affiliated with the Ruvik Alliance.”

“And I am Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild. Normally I’m a traveling merchant on the continent.”

“Ah, this is surely God’s will—as you can see, I, too, am a traveling merchant.”

After exchanging pleasantries, they shook hands, and Lawrence was relieved to note that the man’s hands were about as rough as his own.

Holo had taken her breakfast and moved to the bed, so after inviting Piasky to sit, Lawrence sat himself.

“What I’ve heard from Mr. Deutchmann is that you wish to visit Brondel Abbey.”

This statement did not strike Lawrence as hasty. Rather he seemed to be a sort of man that Lawrence had rarely encountered recently—a merchant who if he had time to be exchanging friendly greetings with other people would rather use that time to shave the edges off of silver coins.

“Yes—if possible, we’d like to visit the merchant house that’s closer to the main building rather than the pilgrimage house.”

Lawrence said nothing about their search for the wolf bones.

Unlike previously, when they had had no idea where the bones actually were, they now possessed the important information that the bones were likely within the abbey. There was nothing to be gained in letting slip that information.

And Piasky was from the Ruvik Alliance.

“…As you were introduced by Mr. Deutchmann, I won’t inquire as to your goal, but given what you’ve said, I assume you’re not here to purchase wool.” Piasky’s eyes looked steadily at Lawrence. Piasky’s reaction was hardly surprising—after all, Lawrence was seeking a guide to the abbey while refusing to say why.

But Lawrence did not falter. He was sure that having gained Deutchmann’s trust via Kieman and Eve, he could gain Piasky’s via Deutchmann.

Trust was the invisible currency.

Piasky finally smiled and continued, “Still, I do a bit of business guiding to the annex those interested in watching our skirmishing with the abbey, so I won’t press you. Besides, whenever people gather, that’s draw enough to bring still more people in.”

One couldn’t do business alone. Nowhere was more attractive to a merchant than a place where many merchants gathered.

And business was always more profitable if one didn’t carelessly spill one’s plans. Piasky certainly knew that much.

“The banner of the moon and shield will always fly in the wind, so I won’t worry about such minor details, eh?”

Lawrence did not neglect to inwardly add the statement that implicitly followed that one: But if you interfere with our business, we will spare you no mercy.

“Thank you very much. I’ll make sure your consideration is a good one.”

Piasky’s smile at hearing this was a bright one, proving that he was indeed a real merchant.

Lawrence shook hands with him again, formalizing their contract for the time being.

“Now, then, as I am a rather impatient person, I’d like to discuss our departure. May I assume both your companions will be coming along as well?”

“Yes. Will that make us unable to use the pretense of wool buying?”

Col was one thing, but Holo in no way resembled any sort of merchant.

“Hardly. It’s not uncommon to bring a member of the clergy along on a business venture for the sake of one’s spiritual tranquility, after all. And things at the merchant branch of the abbey are quite lively at the moment, so it’s unlikely your companions will be noticed, no matter who they are. So long as we can pass through the gates, we’ll have no troubles.”

“I see, good.” Lawrence made certain to act especially relieved.

He wasn’t particularly trying to deceive Piasky—but the man’s manner was so easy and pleasant, Lawrence was careful to remain on his guard.

“So, about our departure…”

“We can leave any time.”

“I see…actually, as I function as the agent between the abbey and a mainland trade house, I estimate that there’s some value in setting out as quickly as may be possible.”

His faintly sarcastic way of speaking seemed to be a deliberate parody of the roundabout manner of the people of Winfiel.

Lawrence looked at Holo and Col.

Both of them nodded that they were ready.

“Since this is all at our behest, we’re happy to leave immediately.”

“I appreciate that. I’d like to try to embark around the midday bell.”

“And will we travel on foot?”

“No, by horse. Though the snow is yet thin here, toward the abbey it’s gotten rather deep. I’ll make arrangements for the horses myself, but please bring your own rations. Oh, and also—” Piasky smiled and added one final statement very deliberately. “—There’s no need to change your coin into the local stuff.”

The first thing a traveling merchant did in a new region was exchange his money.

Lawrence made no attempt to hide his laughter at Piasky’s joke, a joke that only a fellow traveling merchant would make.