Spice and Wolf - Volume 10 - Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Once they had shaken hands, Piasky was quick to take action.

Circumstances allowing, his job was collecting people from disparate villages and towns and bringing them together into a single group, so he would have a better mind than Lawrence for knowing how to motivate a group from within that group.

But he did not do anything as foolish as sprinting off to tell his masters that the story of the wolf bones was true. Piasky’s first statement was that they needed allies.

“It needs to be someone curious but who can be trusted with a secret. Someone quick-witted but with time to spare, the kind of person you’d seek out even if they weren’t the head of a great trading company—and perhaps God is with us, because there are many such people in the town right now.”

If they brought the story of the wolf bones to the alliance leadership without first doing a thorough investigation, they would be dismissed as mad and shown the door.

And such an investigation could not be completed without trusted allies.

“Can I count on you to find them, then?”

“Yes. We’ll take a day or two to go over all the records again. Now that we know there’s something to find, it shouldn’t be hard to find it.” Piasky’s bold smile made him seem all the more trustworthy.

“That’s encouraging.”

“I’d like to finish the early preparation before the blizzard ends. We’ll only be able to get others to listen to us if they have time to spare. And we’ll need…something…persuasive enough to bring them over.”

Without Lawrence along, it would be nigh impossible for Piasky to persuasively sell the wolf bones’ story, because if there had been any obvious traces of them in the abbey’s records, they would have been found already.

“I won’t let you down on that count. Leave it to me.”

Piasky nodded. “Incidentally…,” he continued.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to talk about how we’ll divide the profit.”

A merchant’s goal was always profit. Whenever the profit shares were not discussed, it was usually because his true goal was something else.

Piasky’s gaze was fixed unflinchingly on Lawrence. Lawrence looked elsewhere as he replied.

“If things go well, I don’t think we’ll make an amount small enough the division will be worth talking about.”

“…” Piasky smiled admiringly, as though apologizing for having doubted Lawrence. “I can’t say I don’t sometimes wish I were in the simple business of buying and selling something.”

The only reason to be constantly suspicious of one’s trading partners is if the business itself was a frustratingly complicated one.

“I’ve often wished I could trade only for myself,” said Lawrence in response to Piasky’s self-deprecating admission.

“Would that be good or bad?”

Lawrence straightened his collar and found himself glancing around for Holo as Piasky opened the door for him.

“At the very least, it wouldn’t be so tiresome.”

Piasky grinned and cocked his head, sighing with sympathy. “Quite. That’s where disasters start.”

Had they been drinking, they would have patted each other on the back—but merchants are a bit more reserved than that, so they only exchanged a glance.

“We’ll arm ourselves with parchment and ink. And what about you, Mr. Lawrence?”

“My testimony. And some parchment as well.”

Insisting that he had physical proof was a dangerous risk, given that he was without allies in this isolated place. There was a good possibility said proof would be taken from him by force.

But had he been in Piasky’s place, he was quite sure that testimony alone would have left him feeling rather uneasy. Having weighed the two options against each other, Lawrence had spoken, and it seemed to have been the right choice.

Piasky’s face relaxed in relief. “In any case, the whole of my bet will be on you, Mr. Lawrence.”

“I’m well aware of what that means.”

“I’ll go and find some allies, then. What will you do next, Mr. Lawrence?”

“I need to meet with my companions. The situation being what it is, the word of those whose hands are hidden under their robes may be more trustworthy than the word of those whose hands are stained with ink.”

Piasky nodded and opened the door. “I’ll be hoping for the blizzard to continue a while,” he said, “as it seems our time may be quite limited.”

If their negotiations were not completed before either the alliance or the abbey heard of the tax decree, their lives would become much more difficult. Though the weather seemed unlikely to change for the moment, a messenger with a royal notice in his breast pocket might forge undauntedly through it nonetheless.

“Please come directly to my office next time. May I…call on you in your lodgings, Mr. Lawrence?”

“Certainly. I’ll be counting on you.”

They exchanged a handshake and then became strangers.

When Lawrence ventured back out into the snow, he found that the footprints he had left not long before were vanishing, even as he followed them back to the shepherds’ dormitory. He wondered if his actions for others would fade with time, just as his footprints had. Even if he had a body as huge as Holo’s, his footprints would still vanish into the past, given long enough.

Even a homeland was not eternal—not even if it was filled with comrades, not even if it gave the illusion of permanence.

But when one’s footprints disappeared, one simply kept walking. The same was true for homes.

This was another reason for Lawrence to come to Huskins’s aid. It was possible to create a new home. When danger came, friends were there to help. The world was not necessarily a cruel or hopeless place—he would be able to say these things to Holo.

When he returned to the dormitory, he found Huskins and Holo sitting across from each other with the hearth between them, talking quietly. More precisely, it seemed as though Huskins was talking of the past while Holo quietly listened.

“For the moment, it seems our first bait has been taken.”

Huskins nodded deeply and silently, expressing his thanks, though unable to bow.

“I’m going to sleep a bit. Piasky’s capable friends will be poring over the abbey records, so I’m sure they’ll find something amiss soon enough.”

The difficulty would be in what came after convincing the alliance that the wolf bones existed. Once they knew the bones had to be there, the alliance would start mightily pressing their own demands.

Just how hard they pressed would depend on how much they believed.

Lawrence was not at all confident in his ability to keep hold of the reins. He was not as big as a horse or bull.

If he did not sleep soon, his stamina was going to fail him.

Holo had not been able to meet Lawrence’s eyes, perhaps owing to Huskins’s presence, but as he passed by her, their hands lightly touched.

Entering the next room, Lawrence found Col sleeping in the bed. While he had to admit it was nice that the bed would not be as shiveringly cold as it would have been otherwise, something was still missing.

Lawrence grinned wryly as he pulled the blanket over himself.

The windows were closed and snow clogged their cracks, so it was hard to tell what time it was. When Lawrence awoke, he guessed it was past midday. A strange feeling of unease overrode his drowsiness.

It was too quiet.

He sat up immediately and rose from the bed to open a window. Snow caked to the shutter and walls fell with an audible thump, and leaving the window open let a cold wind in.

It was so frigid it hurt his face; the world outside was white.

The wind, though, had largely calmed, and while snow was still falling, it hardly qualified as a blizzard.

The special silence of a snowy landscape had returned profoundly enough that Lawrence thought he could hear his ears ringing.

Perhaps it was the quiet itself that had woken him; silence often roused him more effectively than noise did—because silence always accompanied inauspicious developments.

“…Just you, eh?” When Lawrence went into the room with the hearth, he found Holo there, tending the fire alone.

“I was trying to decide whether to wake you or not.”

“Did you feel bad for me, seeing how tired I’d been?”

As Huskins was gone, Lawrence sat next to Holo.

Holo’s reply was curt as she prodded the embers with an iron poker. “Your face was so foolish I quite lost the desire to rouse you.”

“Did something happen?” Something must have, given that the exhausted Huskins was out—to say nothing of Col’s absence. And the blizzard that had temporarily stopped time had itself ceased.

Holo put the poker down and leaned against Lawrence. “When the snow began to let up, some men from the abbey came. The messenger that was supposed to arrive today or tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet, and they wanted to know if the shepherds know anything of it.”

“What did Mr. Huskins tell them?”

“The dead man he found had definitely been the messenger they sought, he said, and he’d feign ignorance for the time being. The messenger was far enough away that no ordinary shepherd is likely to find him, he said. Young Col went along with him.”

Given that, a different messenger bearing the same message would, at the earliest, arrive the next day or the day after that.

“What shall we do?”

“Right now all we can do is wait. Once Piasky finds something that we can use as proof, we’ll try to get an audience with the alliance authorities.”

“Mm…”

At Holo’s listless response, Lawrence glanced from her profile to her tail, at which point she grabbed his ear.

“Could you just once make a decision without checking on my tail, hmm?”

“O-one always needs proof before taking major action!”

“Fool.” Holo released his ear with deliberate force and then looked away sullenly.

She had pulled on his ear with some strength, and it still stung—but it let Lawrence know just how irritated she actually was. A maiden’s heart was a subtle thing—or perhaps a beast’s heart. She probably felt that when her ears and tail were checked to divine her true feelings, whatever answer she gave with her mouth would be ignored.

“Of course, you’ll have a role to play as well,” said Lawrence, at which Holo looked up, her ears pricking to attention.

She was so easy to read he wanted to pat her on the head.

Or at least that was what he thought until Holo’s reply reached him.

“Do you want me to chew those ears right off your head?”

Lawrence was quite fond of his own ears, so he hastened to shake his head. “The alliance is a large organization. The members that are here in this town now are only a part of it. I imagine the real leaders are somewhere nice and warm, far from all this snow. But the reality remains the same—to spur a large group to action, you need persuasion equal to the scale. Sometimes something beyond mere facts and proof is needed.”

Holo looked up at him, exceedingly dubious. She was probably being so intentionally sulky because she knew how much he liked it.

“I get very nervous when I have to stand up before a group, but you’re a natural actress,” he said, addressing her dubiousness.

Holo sniffed as though her fun had been ruined, but her tail swished happily nonetheless, betraying her good spirits.

“For knowledge we have Col. I’ll take care of putting it into practice.”

“And what of me?” Holo asked, but Lawrence had difficulty finding the words.

“Atmosphere.”

Holo burst out laughing as though she could not help it and giggled there for a while and then sighed as she clung to Lawrence’s arm.

“’Tis true, I’m always the one who creates the atmosphere. And you’re the one who always ruins it,” she said, her mouth very close to his ear.

“…” Lawrence of course had many things he wanted to say, but he cleared this throat and continued, “Atmosphere and mood are very important since displaying concrete proof is impossible. It’s very important to make them think this bet is one worth taking. All joking aside…” He faced Holo before finishing. “It will determine success or failure.”

He was met by the red-amber pupils of her big, round eyes.

Despite having witnessed so much of the world, she still had the wide, innocent eyes of a young girl.

They blinked once. And in a moment, her mood completely changed.

“You may rely on me. The old man told me something, you see.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that upon our success, he’ll give me the fattest sheep of the year.”

It was just the sort of promise Lawrence would expect from a wise, old sheep spirit that disguised himself as a human, ate mutton, and worked hard both in the shadows and in the open to create a second home.

Holo must have been speechless when the clever offer was put to her. And she must have realized that she had to help him.

“He told me much of his troubles—in creating a new home and in protecting it.”

Her profile showed a mix of quiet anger and seriousness. Holo had a strong sense of honor and could be surprisingly humble.

“Was it useful?”

Holo’s tail swished audibly. “…Aye.”

“I see.”

If Holo had in that moment opened her mouth and asked him to make her a home like Huskins had made for himself, Lawrence would not have been able to answer in the affirmative.

Both of them understood this, but as neither of them really trusted the other to completely avoid the topic, parts of their conversation was awkward.

Lawrence could tell that Holo was reassured, though. He put his arm around her shoulders and was about to pull her closer when—

“Now, then,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Time is running short.”

“…”

“Come now, don’t make such a face. Or did you want to flail about again?”

Past her mischievous smile, Lawrence heard the quiet sound of a staff and footsteps. Col and Huskins must have returned.

Holo stood and stretched. Her joints cracked and her tail fur puffed out pleasantly. Lawrence only had a moment to enjoy gazing at her, though. Not because she pinched his cheek for staring at her tail, but because she was covering it and her ears up.

There was no need to hide them from Huskins now.

Which meant that Holo’s ears had caught the same sound that Lawrence heard, but that she could tell it was not Col and Huskins.

Surely not—

Lawrence’s hair stood on end, and even though he knew it was pointless, his hand went to his breast where the royal decree that Huskins had recovered from the dead messenger still was.

Even if he tossed the sheepskin parchment into the fire, it would not burn immediately the way paper would. Holo looked at him, shocked, as though wondering what was the matter.

Lawrence could only pray to God.

“Excuse us.” It was a quiet voice and one that would brook no argument. Its owner was a man wearing a robe—different from Holo’s—who spoke as though used to having his commands obeyed.

Huskins stood between the two men.

“You’ll have to excuse us for a moment. You there—” said the older one.

“Yes!” The younger monk entered the room and looked around, immediately reaching for Huskins’s belongings. Huskins watched calmly, his ascetic expression completely hiding any emotions.

The problem was Col, who lacked both experience and beard.

Lawrence met his eyes and could tell Col might start trembling in fear at any moment.

“A traveling merchant, are you?” the older, fatter monk asked, still standing in the doorway. Perhaps he considered a shepherd’s home to be unclean.

“That’s right. We’re staying here as we couldn’t find a room elsewhere.”

“I see. So you’re with the Ruviks?”

“No. I’m attached to the Rowen Trade Guild.”

“Hn.” The monk nodded and sniffed. It was possible that the utterance was merely the sound of air being expelled by the fatty flesh around his neck as he nodded; in any case, the impression was not a good one.

“Might I ask what the matter is?”

The atmosphere was too tense for idle chatter. The monk behind Lawrence was still roughly rummaging through bags, blankets, and firewood, after all.

There were few possibilities. First and foremost, Huskins was under suspicion of having encountered a messenger while out searching for lost sheep. No doubt they thought he had gotten greedy and stolen something. Such occurrences were quite common.

“Oh, nothing too out of the ordinary…You said you were in the Rowen Trade Guild?”

Lawrence had no choice but to answer. “Yes.”

“I don’t recall that our abbey has had any dealings with that organization.”

If he panicked here, he would have no cause to complain when Holo buried her foot in his backside later.

“True. We’re not actually here on business.”

“Oh?” said the monk, narrowing his eyes.

“The little lamb there and I have come to the grand Brondel Abbey in the hopes of receiving its blessings.”

“…You’re on pilgrimage?”

“Yes.”

It had been quite some time since the abbey had received pilgrims. It strained belief that a merchant would come here with a young nun and a boy on pilgrimage.

The monk smiled, but not with his eyes. “Speaking of Rowen, I seem to recall hearing that name across the strait. There are some famous churches and abbeys over there, are there not? St. Liebert Abbey, La Kieak Abbey, the Church of Gibralta. Or Ruvinheigen.”

Given the other monk ransacking the dormitory behind them, the questions were an obvious interrogation.

“We heard tell of a holy relic.”

“A holy relic,” the monk repeated flatly.

“Yes. I heard that this place has a love of sheep as well as of God. It seemed perhaps better suited than the other places you just named, to a merchant like myself.”

The monk chuckled in reply to the levity, but his gaze remained fixed on Lawrence. The other monk moved to the next room.

Lawrence’s belongings were there, but like most merchants, he had a habit of keeping dangerous items on his person. They could turn the room upside down, and he would still have nothing to fear.

“I see…Well, you seem a well-traveled merchant. God’s blessings be upon you!”

The monk was surely being sarcastic, but Lawrence nodded meekly anyway.

“Marco!” the older monk called out, and the younger one came rushing out of the room with the bed, like a dog called by its master.

These monks hardly appeared like they spent their days quietly praying; they seemed more like well-drilled mercenaries.

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing.”

“I see.”

Lawrence wondered if the monks were openly having this conversation in front of him, Col, and Holo in order to intimidate them. Or perhaps they were just trying to save a bit of face, having found nothing.

In any case, the danger seemed to have passed.

Or so Lawrence thought.

“The cuckoo lays its eggs in the nests of other birds. Search these two.”

A former merchant—but by the time Lawrence realized the older monk’s true nature, it was too late.

The monk called Marco looked back and forth between Lawrence and Holo, a lecherous look passing across his face. He pushed past Lawrence and approached Holo.

“In God’s name, please endure this.” His words were polite, but that only made him seem more snakelike.

Under Holo’s robe was her tail, and beneath her hood were her wolf ears. Her face was as serene as a saint faced with martyrdom, but Lawrence did not feel so calm.

Marco should have checked her sleeves first, but he went straight down from her shoulders along the line of her figure. Holo flinched away when his hands reached her chest.

“What’s this?” he said. His notice of the pouch of wheat that hung from her neck made it clear what sort of method his search was using. “Wheat?”

“It’s a charm…,” Holo answered in a tremulous voice no bigger than a fly’s, which brought a sadistically obscene smile to Marco’s face. Lawrence felt his hands closing into fists but held himself back.

If Holo could endure this, he would also endure this, lest all their effort be for naught.

As his hand continued their slide down Holo’s flanks, the difference in their heights forced Marco to crouch down. If he moved his hands around behind her, her tail would be right there.

Would Holo be able to fool him?

The only thing that let Lawrence restrain his anger was that uncertainty.

Then, as Marco’s hands began to curve around Holo’s waist—

“Wah…uuh…”

A small sob was heard. Holo’s face was downcast as Marco shamelessly stroked her waist. He looked up and clicked his tongue.

Tears fell from Holo’s eyes. She held the pouch of wheat as though clinging to it.

Seeming to decide that this amusement was over, Marco removed his hands from Holo, hastily checking her sleeves before standing up.

“God has proven your innocence.”

Holo nodded meekly.

Lawrence was sure she was not really crying, but she had done a magnificent job of faking it. But this relief did not last long.

With Holo searched, he would of course be next.

“If you’ll excuse me.” The look in Marco’s eyes was different now. He had no reason to hold back when searching Lawrence, and Lawrence was the more suspicious party.

He had several letters in his breast pocket. If the parchment with the notice of taxation on it were found, all would be lost.

If only he had a chance to rid himself of it.

The moment Marco’s hand reached out to Lawrence, Lawrence met Holo’s eyes.

“Look out!” Lawrence shouted, pushing past Marco to reach Holo’s side. When he had exchanged the look with her, Holo had nodded minutely, then tearfully clutched the pouch as though praying to God, then wobbled unsteadily, her nerves seemingly causing her to faint—and she started to fall in the direction of the hearth.

Lawrence threw his arms around her, and they both tumbled to the floor. They had bought themselves another moment.

But what to do next? What could be done? Lawrence thought frantically as he held Holo in his arms.

Footsteps approached, and someone stood immediately behind him. He would not be able to deceive them for much longer.

“Is she hurt?” Marco had the gall to ask, as though he were concerned.

But of course Lawrence could not allow himself anger. “She’s safe,” said Lawrence, sitting up. Holo was feigning unconsciousness, her eyes closed.

The footsteps behind him had been Col. He helped Lawrence prop Holo up.

“We’ll take her to the other room.”

With Col’s help, Lawrence carried Holo to the next room and laid her on the bed. Marco watched them carefully the entire time, and there was no opportunity for Lawrence to remove the letter and hide it elsewhere.

Lawrence’s stomach churned as he frantically tried to think of what to do.

“Are you finished?” Marco asked pitilessly, and Lawrence had no choice but to obey, sheep-like.

“Right, take off your coat.”

Lawrence sluggishly removed his coat and handed it to Marco.

Marco shook it, checked the pockets, and searched the lining for anything that might be hidden there. He was not an amateur at this.

“Next.”

Dear God! Lawrence cried out in his heart, trying to keep his composure as he removed the article that contained the letter, and then—

“All right.” Marco finished searching the piece the same way and then returned it to Lawrence. “God has revealed the truth.” With those words he turned to face the older monk with his results.

“We’re sorry to have troubled you. God will surely reward the faith you have shown in your pilgrimage.”

With those hollow words, the two monks left. Huskins saw them off from the hallway and then returned, and Col closed the door behind him.

All three of them heaved a sigh of relief.

“I honestly never noticed,” said Lawrence to a grinning Holo as he approached her room and leaned against the doorframe.

“So you thought I was just bawling the whole time? Funny—” Holo produced the letters from her own breast pocket and fanned them through the air as she approached Lawrence. “I was sure you’d noticed.”

That had been the reason Holo had grasped her wheat pouch and kept her hands at her chest as though pretending to pray. Lawrence gave a strained smile; as to whether or not it had been Holo’s plan, if he had not met her eye in that instant, there was no telling what might have happened. The realization caused another wave of fear to hit him.

“Ah, well, we’ve gotten away with it so I suppose it hardly matters. And I got to see your foolish face, too.”

Holo nudged his chest, and surprisingly it was Huskins who laughed faintly. It sounded like a cough as he sat down by the hearth.

“Apologies,” he said. The short apology was only more embarrassing.

Holo did not seem to mind, but Lawrence reddened.

“Still, the abbey may now send men out to meet the messengers.” Only when Huskins returned to the topic at hand was Lawrence able to regain his composure.

“Will they return by tomorrow?”

“There’s quite a distance involved, and the sun will soon be setting. It will be tomorrow evening or possibly the day after…so what say you? Will things go well?”

“I cannot guarantee that. But I have faith in the man I’ve asked to help.”

“I see…Still…” Lawrence was about to ask what Huskins was referring to, but Huskins shook his head and looked down, continuing on. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. Humans are very clever. I just didn’t want to admit it out of pride. Or envy,” said Huskins amusedly.

Just then, the sound of footsteps reached Lawrence’s ears—strong footsteps, too, that were heading directly their way in something of a hurry.

Lawrence had often held his breath and listened closely to the footsteps of bandits or wolves, so he could generally tell whether they were friend or foe. And this was a friend.

There was a knock at the door, and when Col opened it, Piasky was there.

“Mr. Lawrence.” His cheeks were rosy like a child’s. “I found it.”

Lawrence exchanged a look with Holo and Col, and standing, he looked at Huskins.

But Huskins only pointed to the staff next to him and shook his head, as if to say, “I’ve asked for your help, so I trust you.”

Lawrence nodded and spoke to Piasky. “May I bring my companions?”

“I don’t mind. Quite the contrary, please do. Did I see monks from the abbey here a moment ago?”

“Yes. They were extremely unpleasant.”

Piasky’s smile had a childlike innocence. “Were they? Still, I assume from your saying so that the outcome was pleasant. I’m encouraged that they were already here. Or maybe the opposite of that.” As Lawrence and his companions started to walk, Piasky continued, “If we’re going to strike, we must do it now.”

The sun was about to set.

As they went outside, the snow had completely ceased to fall.

Piasky’s office was packed with eccentric merchants.

It did not seem to be because of a lack of trading partners, but some of them had huge beards, and one had grown his hair out like some vain knight.

Following Piasky, Lawrence brought Holo and Col into the room, where a light whistle greeted them.

“The two monks that visited you are especially hated over at the alliance inn,” Piasky explained over his shoulder to Lawrence, resting his hand on a desk in the corner of the room. “Constantly asking whether their messengers have arrived or whether we’ve gotten their letters. They’ve even tried to go through our things. I suppose that goes to show how desperate they are. The abbey must be worried that if the king plans to decree a tax, he’ll be doing it soon.”

“I see. So they think danger is imminent.”

Piasky briefly looked down to indicate agreement, a gesture that made Lawrence feel as though they were mutually communicating their thoughts in a dark place where no sound could be made.

“So, what have you found?”

“Since we were suspicious this time, it wasn’t difficult. When something expensive is purchased after all, the only way to hide it is with an equally expensive sale. However, this is only a supposition—it only looks as though we’ve found it. We can’t be certain.”

Confirming Piasky’s suspicions about what was written in the ledger would require Lawrence’s help.

“In particular, their regular expenditures are less distinct and easier to hide in. Trying to hide a onetime cost is far more conspicuous. Concretely speaking, such things are robes and such for the monks, building materials, masonry costs, and spices for the periodic welcome banquets they have.”

As he spoke, Piasky pulled out the relevant sections and handed them to Lawrence.

Lawrence looked them over and had to admit that he could not follow them. They seemed like perfectly unremarkable ledgers.

“Our advantage is in having so many merchants. With so many eyes and ears, we can bring together information from places separated by great distances. The spice, saffron, came via two separate towns, and it was the key.”

“Meaning?”

“When the purchase was made, saffron wasn’t the only good to arrive in the town. A comrade of mine happened to be there at the time, you see. The ship it was on was delayed by a storm. The royal merchants handling import and export knew what the monastery’s goal was and managed to turn it to their advantage. If they were going to pay money for empty crates, it could be used to cover a bigger expenditure somewhere. But that wound up being their undoing.”

Once a single lie was discovered, all lies could be seen.

Simply by discovering that a shipment had been concealed in an overpayment, all that was necessary was applying some clever thinking.

“The expenditure for those items was above market value. Either that or the crates really were empty. There were items there that even we didn’t understand. Still—”

“—That’s more than enough,” Lawrence finished, returning the parchment to Piasky. “So, tonight?”

“If the main abbey is going to the trouble of sending out monks, they must be in a desperate state. And they may have even dispatched shepherds out to go meet the messengers.”

Huskins had said as much.

Piasky’s expression was strained. “If you’re ready, Mr. Lawrence, the men in charge are all gathered.”

Lawrence looked at Holo and Col, who flanked him. The two of them slowly nodded. “That is fine.”

“Well, then,” Piasky said, straightening up from the desk on which he had been leaning. “Let us go.”

Entering the alliance inn, the atmosphere had changed.

A strange heat suffused it, as though too many logs had been thrown in the fireplace. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of those two monks coming to cause trouble. Anytime monks acted so high-and-mighty, even the sleepiest merchant would smell blood, like a wolf—because to act so rashly spoke of injury and weakness.

Given that the town was filled with either those looking for the abbey’s wound—all the better to seize it in their jaws—or those simply hoping to see the show, the hot atmosphere was not surprising.

So when Piasky led Lawrence and his companions into the room, the gazes of all present fell upon them.

An outsider merchant, a girl dressed as a nun, and a small boy appearing as an afterthought—all were led by Piasky into the inn and up the stairs, and as they went, all present in the inn couldn’t help but wonder: Had they found something?

The jealous gazes felt like frostbite. Lawrence itched under them; there was no telling how badly Holo was affected. And it was hardly surprising that Col did not dare look up.

“Here we are.” Piasky stopped in front of a room in the very center of the third floor. The young merchant straightened his collar and then knocked. “Excuse us.”

Entering the room, the scents of honey and milk mingled with spices reached Lawrence’s nose.

It was the smell of men who insisted that food without spices like pepper and saffron was not food for humans at all.

Sitting around the large round table in the middle of the spacious room were four middle-aged men. Each of them had the air of a man who owned his own large shop, and they all looked quite tired of life in this snowbound abbey.

However, that not a single one of them so much as glanced toward Piasky or Lawrence had nothing to do with that.

“I, Lag Piasky, humbly approach.”

“There’s no time. Spare us your pleasantries.” A stocky, well-fed man whose hair curled around his ears gestured for Piasky to stop, then narrowed his eyes and looked at Lawrence. “So you’re from Rowen, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” The man asked what he wanted answered but gave no reply himself. The other men at the table sat there watching Lawrence, not so much as reaching for their drinks.

“May I speak?” said Piasky, undaunted, at which the man raised his hand as though telling him to go on. “Thank you for sparing us some of your time to hear us out. First, this—” he said, producing a sheaf of parchment from under his arm, whereupon a servant standing against the wall came to receive it.

It was placed like a plate of so much bread on the round table, whereupon each man reached lazily out to take a parchment, their eyes narrowing as they glanced over the characters.

“Copies of their ledger, eh? What of it?” said another man, this one thin and nervous-looking, sounding already bored. His eyes were sunken, and the wrinkles around them looked almost scaly.

The other men had a similar affect, and after giving the parchments a look, they tossed them back on the table.

“There was a payment for empty crates. We also discovered payments for multiple items at higher than market value.”

The four men did not bother meeting each other’s gaze. One of them spoke up to Piasky, evidently acting as the representative of their consensus. “That’s not such a rare occurrence from places unable to escape the yoke of taxation.”

“Yes, of course.”

“So what is the meaning of showing us this now?”

Piasky took a breath, pierced by the man’s gaze. Now it was Lawrence’s job to speak.

“We believe the abbey is trying to hide not its earnings, but its expenditures.”

The four men’s gazes all fixed on the outsider who spoke up—though it was too early to tell whether out of interest or anger.

“Expenditures?”

“Yes,” Lawrence answered, whereupon another man spoke.

“You said you were from Rowen. Do you speak for Lord Goldens?”

That was the name of the man who controlled the Rowen Trade Guild from a seat at his own round table. He was far, far above Lawrence, possibly even a match for the men sitting around this table.

“No, I do not.”

“So, who then?” Perhaps suspicious of another organization trying to stick its nose in, the man’s tone was extremely harsh. Theirs was the banner of the moon and shield. No guildsman would be allowed to defy that banner.

“Allow me to correct myself. I am a stray traveling merchant.”

“And how are we to believe that?”

Of course.

“Pardon me,” said Lawrence, reaching for the dagger at his waist. He pulled it from its sheath and unhesitatingly put its tip to the palm of his left hand. “If you’ll give me parchment, I’ll be happy to sign in blood.”

If a traveling merchant left his guild, he would have nowhere to go.

Three of the four men turned away in immediate disdain.

“You there.” The fourth gestured with a jerk of his chin to the servant standing against the wall, who immediately left the room. Perhaps he had been sent to fetch a bandage.

“Sometimes you must take risks while you’re young enough to do so. I’ll listen to your tale out of respect for your name, not Rowen’s.”

If Lawrence had not smiled, he would have been lying. “My name is Kraft Lawrence.”

When the servant returned with the bandage, Holo snatched Lawrence’s hand away and began wrapping it, and he knew she would not have done so unless she was giving his performance high marks.

“Kraft Lawrence, what have you and our own Lag Piasky concluded? You said the abbey is hiding its own expenditures. As far as paying for empty crates or paying above market value, these things are not so unusual in the context of paying royal taxation. It’s not worth any special attention.”

“True, if they were merely evading taxation.”

“And what else might they be hiding?”

Having finished wrapping his hand, Holo lightly patted it, as if encouraging him. Heartened, he replied further.

“The purchase of an expensive item. Something whose existence had to be kept a secret.”

The four men shared a brief glance. “An item? What sort of item would that be?”

Their interest had been piqued.

Lawrence clenched his left hand now that Holo had wrapped it in bandages. “The bones of a wolf. The remains of a creature known as a god by the pagans that infest the northlands.”

He had said it.

Lawrence took a breath. If he did not press the issue, his words would be dismissed as a joke.

“This is no baseless rumor. Across the strait is the port town of Kerube, where the Jean Company runs a shop. I suspect you may have already heard of this, but not long ago there was a great clamor about a narwhal and into that whirlpool the Jean Company put fifteen hundred lumione.”

The four men were silent.

Lawrence took another breath and continued.

“They had received backing from the Debau Company in the town of Lesko, up the Roef River, a tributary of the Roam River. Their aim was nothing less than the purchase of those same wolf bones.”

Lawrence’s only worry was that he was speaking too quickly. Save that, he was confident.

He was sure that the higher-ups of the Ruvik Alliance had heard tell of the rumors surrounding the wolf bones, and they were no doubt aware of the Debau Company, who controlled the mines of the north.

Even if they did not immediately believe him, they would have to admit Lawrence was including too much detail for his tale to be simply fabricated. Of that much, he was sure.

“So what say you to this?”

But there was no response forthcoming. The room was suffused with slackness that felt almost tired.

Piasky looked at him. Was there nothing else to say? If they could not convince these men, no further progress was possible.

Lawrence was about to nervously open his mouth, but then he was interrupted—by Holo.

“If you have any thoughts, please tell us.”

All four of them looked at Holo, shocked. But the wisewolf was undaunted.

“God has told us never to pretend disinterest.”

Only a jester or a plain fool would make a joke in a place like this. The four men sitting around the table were not falsely prideful—their confidence was entirely warranted.

But that only held true in the secular world, and there was a merciless fact that applied to the current situation. This was an abbey, and monks here prayed to a being above even creatures like Holo and Huskins—the one true God!

“Miss…no, excuse me, devout sister who lives by her daily prayers—just what do you mean?”

“God is a being whose powers far outstrip those of man. Though my eyes are hidden by the hood I wear and though my head is always bowed, by relying on God’s power, it is mere child’s play to see through all of this.”

Strangeness had its own power.

Even the overpowering aura that emanated invisibly from the four sitting at the table came not just from Lawrence and Piasky’s respect, but also their own belief in their value.

For one to simply not acknowledge that, she was either a stunted fool or—or someone who lived by a different philosophy entirely.

“Well…thank you for your thoughts, sister.”

When a man of power was faced with a beardless lad who spoke impudently, it was simple enough to put him back in his place with a harsh word or two. But when it was a girl, harsh words could make one look worse.

A mere girl needed to be dealt with using an indulgent smile and a patronizing chuckle before setting her in the corner like a flower in a vase.

Lawrence himself had until recently labored under such misapprehensions, but he could not let himself laugh at these men who were now trapped in the same place with their stiff smiles.

“So, shall I ask again, then?”

Four rigid faces reddened, and as they were all quite pale to begin with, it was all the more noticeable.

They were trapped between their stature, common sense, and their own dignity.

Even a poor blanket would warm when rubbed.

Was Holo planning to rile them up and then wait until they exploded before beating them down and forcing them to listen?

That would work in many situations, and if it worked here, it would have been quite the feat.

But this was no child’s quarrel. Lawrence was about to speak up when—

“No,” said one of the red-faced men through tightly drawn lips. “That’s quite all right.”

He raised his right hand to about shoulder height, whereupon the servant stationed against the wall quickly handed him a white kerchief.

After a quick blow of his nose, his face almost magically regained its former color. “That will be quite all right. I was simply reminded of something from twenty-two years ago.”

Another man sitting around the table raised an eyebrow.

“It reminded me of my wife when she and her dowry joined my house. Logic is not the only path to truth.”

A thick rumble reached Lawrence’s ears, and he realized it was the four men laughing.

“And indeed, common business decisions often surpass mere logic. Gentlemen,” he said as though making a proclamation at a round table meeting. “May I ask the final question?”

“No objections,” said the other three men after reaching a consensus.

The man turned his gaze to Lawrence. “Regarding all of this, Kraft Lawrence, I would ask you one thing.”

“Yes?” His hands were moist with blood and sweat.

“Pray tell, just what is it that you’ve discovered that gives you such confidence in this story?”

Lawrence immediately reached into his breast pocket and produced a single letter. It was the trump card that showed the story of the wolf bones was no mere fairy tale.

There in his hand were the signatures of Kieman and Eve, both names well-known across the Strait of Winfiel. Eve was even a former noblewoman of this land.

He had those signatures and Eve’s word that she had heard of the abbey purchasing the wolf bones. And to wrap all that up, he had a name.

“This letter was given to me by Fleur von Eiterzental Mariel Bolan.”

A long name was the proof of nobility but only to those who could understand what meaning it held.

The eyebrows of two of the men at the table rose, and Lawrence looked to the sheet of parchment that lay there on the table.

Knowing what sort of merchant Eve was was common knowledge for anyone doing business in Winfiel. And here was a traveling merchant to whom she had given her secret full name.

Two of the men at the table shared a look, and then three of them nodded slightly.

The moment Lawrence dared to think he had won—

“Anything else?”

“—?” Lawrence nearly repeated the question back but managed to stop himself with a short cough.

He cleared his throat several times before gesturing toward the table with his empty hand to pardon himself, all of which were unconscious habits drilled into him over years of negotiations.

Lawrence’s mind was like a blank white sheet of paper.

“Anything else?” the most important-seeming man at the table had asked.

Was this not enough?

Lawrence had played his trump card—and in the best possible moment, under the best possible circumstances. If this was not enough, then there was nothing else he could do.

Keen gazes regarded him from the round table.

“The Wolf and the Keen Eye—it’s true that the names of two such famous merchants carry some weight. But if we are to be basing our decisions on the weights of names, there are others to whom we should lend our ear. Even here.”

Negotiations were the merchants’ battleground.

Just as a moment’s inattention by a soldier on the battlefield could invite death; likewise, if a merchant was distracted during a negotiation, the contract could be lost.

Lawrence’s eyes had been looking elsewhere the moment the men replied, and thus was he slain by those who sat at the round table. His confidence in himself was gone, and the words of another had made him seem a fool.

Sighs were audible from the round table. Lawrence could see Piasky opening his mouth to speak. It felt as though the horizon was shifting crazily and time was slowing down.

If the names of Kieman and Eve could not win them trust, there was nothing to be done.

They had failed.

Then, just when Lawrence was mentally murmuring the words to himself—

“Lawrence.”

It was a familiar voice, saying a very unfamiliar thing.

He looked, and it was Holo next to him.

Holo fixed Lawrence firmly in her gaze, her eyes exasperated. He could hear the sound of various items being cleared from the table and the sound of the door to the room opening, then closing.

But Lawrence kept looking back into Holo’s eyes—into those exasperated, red-tinged amber eyes.

Whenever those eyes looked at Lawrence, they always had the answer. Lawrence simply had not realized it yet, but the simple, almost complete answer was always right there.

This fight was not over. He had only to believe that.

Seize the initiative! Think back on the conversation!

Lawrence wracked his brains. There was no time—but merchants are notoriously bad at giving up.

“Wait, also…!” he shouted as loud as his voice would go.

All present flinched and looked at him. They looked as surprised as they would have been if a dead man had come back to life—which was not so very far from the truth. A traveling merchant whose gaze wavers in the middle of a negotiation was a rotting corpse.

After Lawrence’s outburst, no further words would come, so the assembled eyes and ears were treated to silence.

But his nervously throbbing left hand was the proof that he was still alive. And the hand that grasped his own reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

“I’ve seen a wolf.”

It was but a moment, but silence felt as though it lasted for eternity.

“A wolf?”

“A giant wolf.”

Lawrence was not entirely sure why he chose those words. He was only sure that they were the right ones, which was why he had been able to say them.

They had been the answer right from the beginning. What had the men around the table said when they had first decided to hear him out? They had said they would respect his name.

No wonder even Holo had become exasperated with him producing a parchment with others’ names on it. They hadn’t wanted him to produce proof; instead, they wanted to hear the reason why he personally had such conviction.

“That wolf is why I’m traveling. That giant wolf.”

He wondered if they would think he had lost his mind out of nervousness. Or if they would think he was trying to grab attention with an absurd claim.

Under normal circumstances, his uncertainty would have shown on his face. But since he was not lying, there was no need for uncertainty.

“…Were you born in the north?” one of the men asked.

“These two were.” Lawrence indicated Holo and Col, and the four men narrowed their eyes as though looking at something far away. As though Holo and Col were actually in the far-off northlands.

Piasky seemed to be agonizing over when to speak up. Lawrence himself felt as though he were treading on thin ice without looking at his feet, so no wonder it was too terrifying for anyone else to watch.

The four men closed their eyes and were silent.

Lawrence stood there, standing tall. There was no logic to what he was doing.

“I see,” said one shortly, breaking the silence. “I see. I suppose this, too, is fate.”

“God’s blessings be upon us!”

Lawrence was sure he was not the only one who found this reply ominous.

Four men sat at the round table, men whose clothes were suffused with the scent of pepper and saffron, their tones refined and fluid.

“The truth will always be revealed. No matter how extraordinary it may be.”

“…Wha—?”

“We’ve been waiting. Or perhaps that’s not quite it—perhaps it’s better to say we’ve been unable to make up our minds.”

“What do you…?” Lawrence and Piasky both murmured, then looked at each other.

They might have drooped a bit with age, but the ears of the men around the table were still in good order.

“We had word that the Brondel Abbey had purchased the bones of a wolf. But the decision to act carried consequences too heavy for the four of us to bear. We couldn’t commit to the decision. You see…” The man stared at Lawrence, but while his gaze was stern, it was also somehow gentle. “…We’re old, and we’d unearthed the information with rusty tools and could not trust it. But if someone younger were to reach the same conclusion without relying on logic alone, then we could believe it.”

“S-so…”

“Yes. We know that Brondel Abbey is backed into a corner. There will be no more delaying. But if they’ve truly purchased the wolf bones, there is action we may take.”

The four men all smiled tired smiles.

“The war has been hard on old men like us. When you get to this age, you fight with dirty tricks.”

“Quite so! Our opponent has no shortcomings, but this information will be a fatal poison to the abbey.”

The men at the table suddenly began talking like men their age would.

Piasky looked down, and Lawrence found himself doing likewise. Holo cocked her head to one side, and while Col did not appear to understand very well, he seemed relieved.

It filled Lawrence with a bitter feeling to have to say these words to someone other than Holo. The men at the table possessed cunning to warrant it, though, and pockets deep enough.

“Well, then,” Lawrence and his companions had no choice but to say. “Please leave it to us.”

The old men were acting out of self-interest and practicality. They could use Lawrence and his companions to act in their stead. And Lawrence in turn was on the path to success. The relationship was not so simple as attacker and victim.

Lawrence was attracted to Holo for just that perverse reason—she was not so easily dealt with.

And Lawrence had come to seize those reins.

“Incidentally, I also have this.” He produced another letter from his breast pocket.

This one bore the seal of the king of Winfiel and was a declaration of taxation.

“This is…but…how did you…?”

It was Lawrence’s turn to smile and meet that question with silence. Clearing his throat, he continued, “I believe this taxation decree could lead to one of the following outcomes.”

As Lawrence took the center stage and began to speak, the four men could not help giving him the whole of their attention.

The traditional way of avoiding taxes was to simply claim not to have the money.

Tax could not be collected when there was nothing to collect, and a nation where homes and goods were constantly seized was a nation none would visit.

But given that, people would use every possible method to hide their money, thus beginning the battle of wits between tax collector and citizen.

Money was hidden in vases and buried under floorboards. Golden statues were encased in lead. There were all sorts of methods, and the essential advantage remained with the hider. Moving huge amounts of money would be obvious, but move small amounts at a time up into the mountains for burial and who would know? And there were always far more taxpayers than there were tax collectors.

But did the king, council of elders, or Church then give up on taxation? God always opened another door. No matter how few the tax collectors or how many coins were buried, they were always creating new ways to force taxation.

Of course, using brute force was a double-edged sword.

If you hit someone with a staff, your hand would hurt where you held that same staff. There were always limitations, and on that count the kingdom of Winfiel could count itself fortunate.

King Sufon had only taxed by force when absolutely necessary—that is, when he had to collect old coins and mint new ones. Under such conditions, it was forbidden to circulate old coins, which meant that coins hidden in bottles or buried under floorboards became completely useless.

While digging such coins up and melting them down for their base metals would yield a certain amount of value, melting coins was not free, and town furnaces were closely observed.

Thus, everyone would bring their old coins to the mint. The king would then exchange old coins for new at whatever rate he liked, which allowed him to levy a tax.

“Traditionally the abbey will have money. The king knows this, which is why he’s chosen this method. Even a merchant will have a nest egg in either cash or real goods. I very much doubt they’ll be holding certificates.”

“The king is probably thinking to seize this opportunity to destroy the abbey, which holds such influence in this area, while simultaneously driving us from his nation. He’ll both seize the abbey’s land in lieu of taxes, then conveniently rid himself of us by eliminating our goal.”

“He’s probably also thinking to monopolize the wool trade.”

“That’s quite possible. Nowhere else moves nearly as much wool. He could set prices however he liked.”

Lawrence, Holo, and Col stood around the round table with Piasky opposite Lawrence. In the center of the table lay a branching diagram that Lawrence and Col had labored all night to construct. Even if one was not clever enough to improvise such deductions on the spot, given time and careful thought, a reasonable plan could be formulated.

“If the abbey hasn’t purchased the wolf bones, they would be able to scrape together the coins to comply with the tax. But if they don’t have the money at all…”

“…They’ll simply pretend to pay,” said Piasky, finishing Lawrence’s thought. “They could just fill crates with stones, then toss them into a valley somewhere and claim there’d been an accident during the journey. The shepherds doubtless know of places where such an incident could be staged, and if there isn’t a valley handy, then a frozen marsh would do fine.”

Everyone nodded, and then one of the men at the table spoke up. “So how much money will they be told to move?”

No matter how brilliant they were, a simple number would not be sufficient for a group of old merchants who had been out of the field for so long to really grasp the amount.

“It probably won’t be entirely gold coins, so…hmm. Probably ten or fifteen crates, each roughly this size.”

“Even if they put them on a sleigh, given the snow, there’ll be a limit. They’ll have to make it a caravan.”

When the two traveling merchants were sharing views, no one else dared to contradict their guesses on travel arrangements.

Lawrence continued. “It won’t be a group small enough to hide.”

“I see. So if we reveal our knowledge of the tax decree, there will be very little they can do. And if we offer to cooperate with them in their tax evasion, we might get a seat at the negotiating table.”

It was as though they were discussing in which direction a cornered rat would flee.

Lawrence remembered being treated as a mere speck himself back in the port town of Kerube. Compared with this, his old life of buying and selling seemed peaceful and bucolic.

It was not as though he preferred one over the other. But this was an entirely different kind of risk than he had experienced before, which somehow made it easier for him to think through clearly.

“If we’re going to act, we should act soon. If we induce them to panic, they might do something rash and lose everything. After all, no matter how desperate they become, they’re still servants of God. The could decide to die as martyrs rather than live in shame.”

“And some of them are worthy of a measure of respect. We’re not thieves. We must act carefully.”

There was a proverb: “The castle on the hill is seen by all.” It meant that a person of status had to act in ways that befit their position. It did not seem the men around the table needed to be told that.

“Well, then, let’s reveal the truth to the monks here in the annex. Is the unpleasant pair from before still wandering about somewhere?”

“I’ll go check. If they can’t be found, shall we tell the others?”

“No, don’t tell them. Those two are the louts of the sanctuary. Tell Prior Lloyd. He should be doing his daily duties at the moment, and most of all, he can actually still ride a horse.”

This elicited a ripple of laughter since many of the monks in the area were too fat to ride.

“Very well,” Piasky replied politely as he bowed his head.

“Let’s have men posted in all the taverns and lodges, just to be safe. Though I doubt the sluggish sanctuary council will be able to reach a quick enough decision to start moving crates.”

“There are some blood relatives of some of the high-ranking monks in the royal court. Given those connections, the monastery may be anticipating things to a certain extent, so we can’t be too careful.”

“Quite so. However, I do think everything will work out in our favor.”

“The blessings of God be upon us.”

And with those words, the meeting was concluded.

It was as though the annex had caught fire. In fact, the commotion was so great that the figure of speech felt more like a description of the actual truth.

The prior, a monk named Lloyd, was so disturbed that he accidentally dropped the book of scripture he was piously clutching as he listened to the news of the king’s decree; then when he went to pick it up, he knocked over a candlestand instead.

The snow and wind had stopped, so he immediately arranged for horses, along with five horsemen to drive them, and took the notorious pair of monks from earlier with him on a torch-lit ride on the snowy road to the main abbey.

Given that they spent their days dealing with the wool trade, the monks at the abbey’s mercantile annex had the calculating minds one would expect, and they hurried to the alliance officers’ inn rooms to ingratiate themselves, just in case.

Piasky hurriedly put a list of demands for the abbey in order, working with his comrades to settle the scale of the village he hoped to create and the things they would need to do so.

It seemed to Lawrence that everyone was working toward a common goal.

Speaking of Lawrence, he was thoroughly questioned on everything he knew about the wolf bones and was kept very busy handling the evaluation of that information—the connection of the Jean Company and the Debau Company, the flow of coins, the treatment of goods, the reception of the story of the wolf bones in Kerube—everything. Even Holo and Col added what they had learned over the course of their journey.

With utter preparation, the abbey would be defeated. A strange sense of excitement filled the air.

In the middle of all of this, Holo left to update Huskins on the situation and then returned.

It was late, and Lawrence was thoroughly tired when Holo came back with Huskins’s message, but when he learned what Huskins had said—“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help”—he couldn’t very well sleep.

“’Tis true, we no longer possess any real power.”

Dawn was breaking by the time Holo spoke those self-recriminating words, by which time everyone had performed their respective roles, crystallizing knowledge and wisdom and delivering the results to those in the best positions to utilize them.

It was sad but also somehow bracing.

Not even her claws and fangs could stop the might this many humans could muster. And surely no animal could match the strength shown by humans when they worked together in such numbers.

Various alliance members slept here and there around the room, exhausted. Holo smiled as she looked them over. She might even have been feeling a bit jealous.

“Huh. When I grow weary, look how maudlin I become.”

Col was curled up against the wall, completely spent.

Lawrence put his arm around Holo’s shoulders and pulled her close as though supporting her head.

The sky was visible through the window, so clear and blue it felt as though one were being pulled up into it.

If ever there could be a day when all would go according to plan, surely it would be a day like this one.

Holo soon dozed off, and Lawrence realized he, too, must have fallen asleep.

There was shout from someone running through the gates. At first, Lawrence thought it was part of a dream he was having.

“They’re here! The men from the main abbey are here!”

The abbey proper had been built on a grassy plain perfect for construction. It meant that anyone approaching from that direction could be naturally identified as a messenger from the central building.

Immediately after Lawrence raised his head and realized he wasn’t dreaming, he jumped to his feet and dashed to the entrance. Merchants lined the road, their gazes all directed to the gates that opened to the vast plains beyond.

“Aren’t they here yet?”

“Hush!”

Many such exchanges could be heard here and there before all fell completely silent.

Then—the silence was broken by the heavy footsteps of a horse, at which the alliance leaders filed out of the inn, as though having been waiting.

Lawrence and the rest stepped aside to let them pass, but they were still mostly surrounded by curious merchants.

The sound of horses’ hooves drew nearer and then stopped.

They were in front of the inn.

There was a single large horse led by two footmen.

“I am a messenger from the abbot,” said the large man who sat atop the horse. He was wearing a long fur-lined robe that hid even his feet, and his hood was pulled so low it was difficult to see his face.

But the problem was not his clothing.

What everyone assembled found odd was that he had come with only two horsemen and spoke with such a threatening manner from high up on his horse.

Everyone, Lawrence included, had expected all the abbey leaders, including the abbot himself, to arrive ashen-faced.

“Thank you for coming. Perhaps we should move inside, first.”

In contrast to the merchants milling about the area, one finely dressed man addressed the messenger with a politeness that spoke of years of practice.

In point of fact, the inn was already making ready to meet their guests. The scent of food wafted out, tormenting the stomachs of all who’d endured a night with no meals.

“There is no need,” the man replied.

Then in front of the stunned onlookers, the mounted man produced a sealed letter from his breast pocket, affixed it to the end of his riding crop, and then handed it to the member of the alliance as though he were the bearer of a royal command.

“This is the abbot’s reply: ‘As the servants of God, we will never submit to faithless foreigners. Never! We shall pay the king his taxes and continue to offer our prayers to God.’”

The instant the confused alliance representative took the letter, the mounted man struck his horse’s hindquarters with the crop. His mount wheeled, his driver frantically holding the reins.

The man did not bother saying farewell.

The only sound that reached Lawrence and the rest of the assembled crowd’s ears was the thump, thump of the horse’s feet.

All they saw was its rear.

Stunned, all were silent.

“What is the meaning of this?” someone murmured; it didn’t matter who—it was what everyone was thinking.

The letter was passed to the four men who had sat at the round table, and they opened it on the spot. Once each man read it, he passed it to the next. The letter left behind palely confused faces in its wake.

“It’s impossible…do they claim they’ll have funds left over, even after they pay their tax?”

That statement was all that was necessary to guess at the contents of the letter.

A commotion began to stir as each person started chattering with his neighbor. But there was no conclusion to be drawn from these conversations. That the abbey had been in dire straits was nearly incontrovertible fact.

“This can’t be…What are they thinking? Do they believe they can gain the king’s protection by paying his tax? They should know better than anyone such a thing will not happen…”

The king had been constantly extorting the abbey, although not specifically in anticipation of this tax. It was hard to imagine the abbey suddenly trusting him now.

Confusion was spreading like a drop of oil in water.

It seemed there was now a real possibility the abbey had not purchased the wolf bones and, in fact, did have sufficient funds set aside in order to pay the tax.

But even so, there was no reason for them to behave so bullishly toward the alliance. It was always better to have more partners to provide emergency funds, just in case.

So had they come up with some clever stratagem? Had they somehow extracted some sort of guarantee from the king?

Amid all the discussion, a merchant watching the tumult from a distance suddenly raised his voice high. “If they said they’ll be paying the tax, won’t that mean they’ll have to transport the money? Then we have but to confirm that! If it comes out that they’re actually unable to pay—”

The majority opinion seemed to be that the abbey was truly unable to pay, but even if it did, it was obvious that it would immediately face more difficulty.

So it made sense to conclude that the abbey would be filling crates with pebbles, and if there was a bet to be made, that was the wisest one.

“Or maybe they plan to feign an accident while we’re still thrown into confusion!” said another merchant.

“That could be. Perhaps that’s why they arrived at their decision so quickly. They don’t want to give us any time to think.”

Voices rose in support of this notion. “Yes, that’s it!”

Lawrence looked at the leaders standing at the edge of the crowd; they did not seem to agree. Neither did Lawrence.

“Did the letter say when they were going to pay the tax?”

If the abbey was truly planning to force confusion upon the alliance while making its countermove, it might well have been confident enough to write the exact date on the letter. And that did in fact seem to be the case.

Lawrence knew why the leader holding the letter had such a bitter look on his face. The abbey wanted them to read the date aloud. And now the situation was out of control; there was no way the alliance leaders could hide it.

“Today at midday, following the path Saint Hiuronius took across the snowy plains.”

“I knew it! They’re practically challenging us to come!”

“If they’re leaving at midday, there’s no time to waste. The area around Sulieri Hill is mostly bogs—the perfect place for faking an accident.”

“Let’s go! Profit takes courage!”

Most of the men were giddy from their long night spent working, and the battle cry they shouted had a strange energy.

Holo had found Lawrence’s side, and she tugged on his sleeve, but he did not know what to do. The alliance leaders themselves looked at a loss, and why would they not?

Lawrence, not being a member of the alliance, was able to be a bit more objective, and as he thought about it, he came to another conclusion.

There was a possibility that this was a trap set by the abbey.

If the crowd’s strange energy led them to confuse courage for profit, they might attack the procession carrying the crates.

If those crates were filled with stones, then all would be well. But if they truly held coins, what then?

The alliance would immediately be trapped.

The abbey had no obligation to show them the contents of its crates, which the alliance mob would dispute, and the argument would be a heated one. It would be easy for the abbey to then claim that the alliance was attempting to commit the unforgivable crime of trying to steal the tax funds.

Or they could simply claim that the alliance had stolen the funds en route to the king, and the conflict would then worsen as each side clung to their own story. It would be a completely fruitless dispute that might end in bloodshed, which would simply strengthen the abbey’s claims.

If the king were to resolve the dispute, he would see it as a chance to rid himself of an alliance that was trying to take control of his nation’s economy and would surely rule in favor of the abbey.

At which point, the alliance would be cornered by the abbey and would have no choice but to do as they were told.

Would they be forced to pay the abbey’s taxes and buy up its wool at a high price? In any case, the abbey would try to extort as much money as it possibly could.

But the leaders of the alliance could not say this aloud, and Lawrence knew why.

Without opening the crates, there was no way of knowing whether they contained stones or coins. The leaders feared that opposing the will of their members without proof would only serve to fracture the alliance.

Just as they had cornered the abbey and looked for a fracture to exploit, now they themselves were trapped in the very same way. But the alliance leaders had to stay neutral because they, too, were members of their alliance. Their goal was the same, and they feared division.

So what about Lawrence, who was not a member and who did not share the same goal?

Lawrence had good reasons for wanting to prevent the alliance from falling into a trap. If the abbey was trying to use the alliance and had laid this trap for them, and the alliance did indeed fall into that trap, it would put Lawrence in an exceedingly poor position.

The abbey might be thinking that if it exploited the alliance’s weakness, it could lead them about at will, but the alliance was a group of merchants, and merchants prized profit above all else.

As soon as they determined that the reward did not merit the trouble, they would simply withdraw.

Lawrence could tell that these were not the alliance’s most important dealings, given that the top-level leaders, the ones who rode around in black carriages, had long since disappeared.

Which meant that the moment it became clear the alliance had stumbled into a trap, there was a good chance they would simply settle things up and retreat. And they would probably never return.

Who would protect the abbey then?

The abbey might gain a temporary stability, but without the alliance, all it would have was sheep producing wool for which there was no longer a buyer. If the price of wool rose, Lawrence could understand this sort of optimism. Anyone would want to believe a once high price would rise again, all the more so when it was something that had always sold well in the past.

The abbey would not last long before collapsing.

What waited for them after that was the royal annexation of their lands and the dissolution of the abbey. The land would be parceled up among various nobility in order to buy their support, and Lawrence could see all too clearly the fighting that would break out over the sizes of those parcels.

When war broke out, those who lived there were always driven from the region—which meant people like Huskins.

Next to Lawrence, Holo and Col also wore uneasy expressions. Holo could defeat anyone with her teeth and claws. But the nature of that power was not one that could change these events.

Lawrence had good reason to speak to the men who were even now readying to form up and march across the snowy plains.

“The abbey may have laid a trap.” The most nervous faces of all were the ones of those who had been thinking the same thing but had held their tongues. “If we go, we’ll be playing right into their hands.”

When he added this second statement, the other merchants stopped and glared at him. “Why is that?”

“If we open the crates and they’re filled with coin, that does the alliance no good.”

“Perhaps. But it’s just as likely we’ll play into their hands by not opening the crates. We’ve done all this work and it’s come to nothing. So now we have this chance, and it’s a good one. What could it be but God’s will? If we let this chance slip, all of this will have been wasted!”

A cry of assent from the crowd followed these words. It was entirely clear who they thought was the coward and who they thought was brave. One hardly ever saw philosophers hailed as heroes, after all.

“And if we do fall into a trap, what then? We’ll just escape. We were going to leave if we couldn’t buy the land anyway, so it matters little. So why let this chance for profit escape?”

“That’s right!”

The crowd pushed forward, backing Lawrence, Holo, and Col up against a wall. Lawrence caught glimpses of the leaders, who continued to avoid reining in the angry alliance merchants.

“Wait…you’re not even with the alliance, are you?”

Lawrence felt a chill in his gut, but not because of the cold weather.

To one who lived by travel, those words inspired more terror than any wolf’s howl could. He looked around and saw only men who answered to a different authority than he did.

“You’re just trying to divide us and buy them some time.”

When accused of being a spy, it was nearly impossible to clear one’s name. The only statement they would accept from Lawrence would be him admitting that he was indeed a spy.

“So, what of it?”

A bead of sweat rolled down Lawrence’s cheek, and his vision swam. His dagger was buckled to his belt, but that was meaningless in a large group of people like this. And the instant he unsheathed it, any chance to prove his innocence would disappear.

What could he do? His mind raced.

Huskins had left everything to him, because the old sheep felt his hooves could find no purchase in the complicated human world. And now Lawrence and his companions were about to be crushed between the teeth of gears that were turning the wrong direction.

The crowd pushed closer. There was nowhere to run.

Was there truly nothing? Truly? Not even a paradox or a loophole?

Lawrence racked his brains as he tried to shield Holo and Col. If he could not reverse this situation and stop the alliance from pursuing this course of action, the ruin of the abbey would be a near certainty.

Huskins would lose the second home he had worked so hard to create, and Holo would learn yet again that there was no place for her kind in this world.

Lawrence could not stand idly by and let that happen.

If a single merchant lifted his hand, the mob would take that as a sign and attack.

It was over.

Holo put her hand to her chest as though giving up.

Was this the only place where the beings once worshipped as gods could still employ their astounding power? Lawrence hated himself for putting Holo in this painful place; he wanted to cry out.

Huskins, too, would surely put this land behind him—taking his sheep, his countless sheep with him.

“Huh—?”

The moment the avalanche was about to come crashing down on them, the image of a huge flock of sheep moving across the landscape filled his vision.

“Wait, please!” shouted Lawrence. “Wait! There’s a way to find out what’s in the crates!”

The instant before the explosion came, silence fell. He had driven his wedge in at the very last second.

“What’d you say?”

This was the only chance he would have to calm the raging mob. One of the leaders seemed to realize this and took the opportunity to speak. “Wait! Let’s hear him out!”

It was not overstatement to say that they were on the verge of bloodshed. Lawrence took a deep breath, exhaled, and then took another deep breath.

“A trap is useless if you don’t catch the game you’re after.”

“What do you mean?” asked another one of the leaders.

“If they’re after the alliance, all we have to do is let someone else fall into the trap. It’ll be useless then.”

“Hmph…so, are you saying you’ll go in our place?”

That line of thinking was pointless. Just as proving to the alliance he was not a spy was impossible—likewise, proving to the abbey he was not a member of the alliance would be impossible. So Lawrence shook his head.

“Well, then, who will undertake this duty?”

Lawrence was not completely confident in the idea he had come up with.

But it was Holo and her grasp on his hand that helped him regain his courage and composure. He would never have undertaken this risk if he was only acting for himself.

“The sheep.”

Everyone froze at Lawrence’s brief answer.

Then—

“Oh, of course!”

And the gears began turning the other direction.

It goes without saying that sheep are herbivores and a fine example of a gentle creature. However, just as Norah the shepherdess had once said, sheep did not know the meaning of restraint.

This was even true of Huskins, the golden sheep. Once he had made his mind up on something, he could not be dissuaded. He was unperturbed eating the flesh of his own kind to blend into the human world.

If so led by their shepherd, a flock of sheep would not stop even at the edge of a cliff. It was not uncommon for people to be badly injured if they were swept away by such a flock.

The abbey had laid a trap and depending on circumstances was prepared to spill alliance blood when they fell into it, claiming justification. But before a wave of sheep, not even a grizzled mercenary band could stand.

And Lawrence had seen the size of the merchant annex flocks for himself and knew firsthand how skilled their shepherds were.

So none had opposed his proposal.

“So that’s how it is.”

Huskins sat by the hearth like a rock gathering moss, and when Lawrence finished explaining the situation and plan, he moved very slowly.

“You want me to use sheep…to attack humans?”

“To put it simply, yes.” Holo stood disinterested at the entrance. Col had remained back in the alliance inn as a sort of hostage. “Will you lend us your strength, Mr. Huskins?”

For a plan involving sheep, there did not exist a better-suited individual.

If there was a problem at all, it would be in his pride as the golden sheep—his pride as one who had once been called a god. Those might be obstacles.

Thinking about it himself, Lawrence realized Huskins could no longer act either openly or in secret, and he had to use his ancient power in a manner that was compatible with the customs of humans.

He was not even a shadowy influence; he had been reduced to nothing but a pawn.

Truly understanding that with his heart held a different weight than the mere intellectual comprehension of it, Lawrence realized.

Lawrence himself had found it difficult the first time someone had dismissed his name, only to change their bearing entirely when they heard the name of his guild. Such moments that made him truly feel how insignificant he was and that the world was a very big place.

Huskins threw another log onto the fire, and the flames flickered brightly.

“Hah-hah…so it’s finally come to this for us, eh?”

His words made it seem as though he enjoyed having fallen so far, and they were refreshingly clear.

Having taken human form and crossed a line past which he could never return, he still had some dignity. Watching his last defenses finally crumble was somehow painful and simultaneously beautiful.

But hearing Huskins’s words, it was Holo who interjected and entered the room. “Have you forgotten just who it was who asked for my companion’s aid?”

Huskins turned his thick neck, staring at Holo as the corners of his mouth turned up.

“Holo,” Lawrence said, which made Huskins look back from Holo to him and speak, his voice cheerful.

“I don’t mind. Only a man can understand the beauty of decline, after all.”

Once he led wild sheep across grassy plains; now he tried to protect his comrades’ tiny remaining refuge. His sense of responsibility and purpose covered him like armor, hiding his true emotions. Bitterness, sadness, anger, refusal—he had to swallow them all and keep moving forward.

Huskins was his flock of sheep.

And with that one sentence, the scholarly shepherd showed that blood ran through his veins, that he was capable of appreciating wit.

It was enough to cut Holo short, who seemed to think she was being made fun of and wanted to make a retort.

Lawrence stood and lent Huskins a hand. “So you’ll help us, then?”

Huskins was slightly shorter than Lawrence, but his sturdy frame gave off an imposing air. He was a man to be reckoned with.

The curly silver hairs of his hair and beard shook as though lightning struck. In that brief instant, Lawrence got a glimpse of Huskins’s true form.

“Of course. Who but me could do it?” He picked up his shepherd’s staff, which jingled. “I thank you kindly. With this I feel I’ll finally have found a place in this new world.”

Even Lawrence could not help a pained smile at these words.

Huskins then looked at Holo and continued, “We cannot act with the freedom we once had. But…” He looked down at his hand, then finally to the fire that had finally caught the new log. “But we still have homes, and we still have roles to play. You haven’t yet seen your homeland, so don’t start weeping just yet. You’ll make this poor young man’s life very hard.”

Holo’s eyes went wide, and even through her hood, it was clear her ears had pricked up in irritation. Undoubtedly her tail was swishing rapidly, too. And yet all she could muster as Huskins left the room was a quiet murmur.

“A mere sheep, and yet—”

There were things only Holo and Huskins could comprehend. They exchanged but the briefest of looks, but from that they had come to a mutual understanding, Lawrence could tell.

Lawrence took Huskins to the alliance inn, with Holo following behind at a short remove. All who had worked in the merchants’ annex agreed that Huskins was the right choice.

Things proceeded smoothly, and in no time at all, a flock of sheep was made ready.

The monks who remained at the annex seemed confused over why the flock was being taken out at this strange hour. The sound of the sheep’s hooves as they flooded out of the pen echoed like the rumbling of an earthquake.

Lawrence and Holo held hands as they watched the lone form of Huskins recede. His staff in hand, he led the flock out.