Spice and Wolf - Volume 12 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Hugues offered warmed wine instead of apples. “It’ll warm you. Please, help yourself.”

Lawrence gave his thanks and brought it to his lips, and Holo did likewise. He doubted she would like it and stole a glance at her. Col was the only one who had been given warm goat’s milk, and seeing Holo eye him enviously was rather entertaining.

“Now then, you want to know about Fran Vonely, the silversmith, do you?”

“Yes.”

Lawrence got the feeling that Hugues still had something left to say, and soon he came to a conclusion and replied, “She’s in town right now as a matter of fact.”

Holo smiled an obviously unfriendly smile, which Lawrence had to admit he understood. Still, it was no surprise that Hugues was trying to protect his asset.

Lawrence lightly patted Holo’s knee before turning his attention back to Hugues. “Doing painting or smithing, I suppose?”

“No. She often travels here or there saying she’s making preparations for just that, but just when I was thinking I hadn’t heard from her in some time, she comes wandering in, saying she’s heard tell of a certain legend.”

“A legend?” said Lawrence, as though to make sure he had heard correctly, which made Hugues nod.

“Something about a village known as Taussig. It’s up next to a long, wide mountain range in the north. The mountains are tall, the forests deep, and she’s come in pursuit of a legend regarding a lake in the area, she said.”

Hearing the words mountain, forest, and lake, Lawrence looked at his companion.

But Holo did not look back, and instead his eyes met Col’s, who was sitting on the other side of her.

“Mr. Hugues, do you know anything about this legend?”

“Certainly, I’ve heard tell of it. As I’m sure you’re aware, we have our own information sources, and to a certain degree we can tell whether such things are real or not…”

“So you’re saying there’s a good chance it’s a fake?”

Hugues nodded. “But she’s a stubborn person. Once she’s decided on a shape for a silver piece, she won’t budge—although many people find such vehemence to have a certain charm to it…”

“So she won’t have time to draw us a map?”

“Perhaps not. Though…”

“Though…?” Lawrence prompted, which made Hugues reply with regret in his voice.

“It’s true that she often journeys into the north in search of subjects for her silversmithing, and I imagine that she’s become more familiar with the old names of places there than old Huskins or myself are, since she’s the only one actually going there.”

Lawrence nodded and urged Hugues to continue. What he had said so far did not answer Lawrence’s question.

“So, yes. But I don’t know if she’ll simply draw you a map if asked to. I had to work very hard in order to establish a relationship with her, so…” Hugues wiped the sweat from his face. Assuming it was not an act on his part, Fran Vonely was indeed a difficult person to get along with.

“What? ’Twill be simply done,” Holo said, casually baring her fangs at the rattled Hugues. All they had to do was threaten her—was that the joke?

Hugues smiled, but not out of amusement at the jest. Crafters were a famously stubborn lot. There were stories of legendary blacksmiths who had been unwilling, been driven to the verge of poverty, licking rust from their anvil to stave off starvation, rather than forge a sword they did not want to forge.

It would be foolhardy of Lawrence to just show up one day and ask her to draw them a map of the northlands.

“I understand entirely,” said Lawrence. “But would you be able to put in a good word for us?”

Hugues nearly fell forward at Lawrence’s question. Perhaps it made Lawrence’s firm resolve all too clear.

“She—she’s a very difficult individual, you see…”

It would be difficult to convince her to meet someone she did not already know. Lawrence contemplated the problem.

Hugues was torn between maintaining his relationship with a particular silversmith or doing right by Huskins, who kept the haven for sheep spirits like Hugues. In weighing one against the other, he was leaning toward the silversmith.

Had they not gotten whatever sign from Huskins they needed in order to obtain Hugues’s cooperation? Or was he just not a very duty-bound person?

Or—was Fran Vonely a silversmith of such ability?

It was not beyond Lawrence’s ability to reason this out. Neither was it difficult for an art seller of Hugues’s ability to guess at what Lawrence was thinking during his short silence.

If Hugues displeased Vonely, then he would be facing something even more dangerous than Holo.

In a pleadingly serious tone, Hugues began to speak.

“The reason I’m so loathe to displease her is related to my trade. But it’s not about money.”

Trade was always carried out to seek money. Lawrence’s curious gaze fell upon Hugues, who seemed to gather his resolve. He stood and walked over to one of the paintings on the way.

“The place in this painting was once called Dira long ago.”

It was one of the largest paintings in the room and depicted a jagged, craggy landscape. Standing before a bare cliff was a single hermit, both hands raised to the heavens as though in prayer. It seemed to be a depiction of the legend of Dira’s patron saint.

Such paintings were common. But as far as Lawrence knew, pieces where the setting was more of a focus than the subject were unusual.

As the thought occurred to him, Hugues said something unexpected. “This is my homeland.”

“—!” Lawrence felt Holo stiffen beside him.

“But long ago it was a fertile, productive place. Without any of these rocks. That cliff…is a claw mark.”

Holo’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Of the Moon-Hunting Bear?”

“Yes. It is something that my kind will never forget. These paintings were created with the help of individuals like Miss Vonely. It has been decades now. For the sake of my kind and those similar to me, I collect and deal in such pieces, pieces that show the homes we were forced to abandon or the disaster that made returning home impossible. It would be a lie to suggest that I have not profited in doing so, but that is a secondary concern.”

Hugues gazed into the scene of the painting as though through a great window.

“And even the landscape of this painting is now no more. I hear that veins of gold were discovered there…It’s ironic, actually. The guide I hired in order to have this piece made found the gold. And even if that hadn’t happened, wind and water would wear the land away until it’s entirely different. The paintings in the other room and the paintings hanging in churches and manors, too, mostly show landscapes that have disappeared or are in the process of disappearing. And the paintings themselves will not last forever.”

Hugues touched the frame of one of the pieces, gazing at it for a while after he had finished speaking.

This was a place where tiny pieces of vanishing worlds were stored for safekeeping. The passage of time might seem slow to humans, but to his kind it was surely too fast. Their memories of the past were all that remained, and the gap between it and the present grew ever larger.

Hugues suddenly looked back at Lawrence with a troubled smile. His gaze was probably directed at Holo, but Lawrence did not turn to check. He knew that doing so would surely hurt Holo’s feelings.

The only one who could speak to Holo of this was Hugues, who had lived as long as she had.

“If possible, I would like very much to help you. This place does not exist only for we sheep. My customers have included deer and hares, foxes and fowl as well.”

Lawrence heard the sound of rustling cloth as Holo shifted. He would not ask what she had done.

“However, Fran Vonely’s knowledge and skill are irreplaceable. She has a perfect memory, never forgetting anything she’s seen even once, and a sense of purpose she holds more dear than her own life. She is utterly dedicated to capturing the landscape in her art, and I cannot afford to lose her cooperation. There is no time.”

The energy in Hugues’s eyes was not something that one would see in someone who worked solely for his own profit. The evidence of the life that he and his kind had lived was inexorably disappearing, and he was engaged in the work of trying to preserve a record.

Lawrence dwelled on Hugues’s last words. “There is no time”—did he mean that the landscape was vanishing too quickly?

“There’s no time?”

“Yes. We must hurry. There are a multitude of places I hope Miss Vonely will paint, but her lifetime is limited. I think about it often—if only she could live as long as we.”

Lawrence doubted he was the only one to make a surprised sound at this revelation. He had assumed that Fran Vonely was a special being, like Holo and Hugues. That led him to consider the obvious next question: If time was such a concern, why didn’t he and his kind simply do the paintings themselves?

“Like you, I’m meant to be a merchant,” said Hugues.

Lawrence realized that he had been scratching his head in confusion, and Hugues had likely guessed at what he was thinking.

Hugues looked down, then sighed, smiling. He looked at the paintings on the walls and narrowed his eyes. “I understand what you want to say. And in all honestly, we did once take up the brush…and those comrades of mine who went north and east and captured the old landscapes in the south, landscapes that are now long gone…those comrades of mine were not immortal.”

Holo was the wolf spirit who lived in the wheat, and Lawrence remembered her words—that if the wheat in which she lived disappeared, she too would be gone. And she herself had a natural life span.

But Lawrence could not imagine that Hugues was talking about natural life spans.

Hugues’s quiet eyes regarded him. They were the deep, placid eyes of a wise and ancient man.

“They took up their brushes and traveled abroad, carefully observing the state of the world out of a deep sense of duty. And what they found were forests cleared, rivers dammed and changed, and mountains dug up and scarred. Eventually they could stand it no longer and traded their brushes for swords.”

Lawrence had heard this story before. He glanced at Col, who listened raptly to Hugues’s tale.

“But they were outnumbered. One was burned by the Church, another crushed by an army. One was so mortified by his own powerlessness that he…well. Few remain even as memories, having vanished like so much sea-foam. Humans, they…ah, apologies.”

“Not at all,” Lawrence answered, at which Hugues displayed a sad smile.

“Humans have amassed great power. Control of the world has been theirs for a long time now, and our age has passed. Those unwilling to admit that have one by one fallen in battle and now exist only as legends on parchment. And even those parchments are crumbling, mice nibbled and moth eaten. We are what remains: sheep, in the human sense of sheep. None of us, myself included, have the courage to hold a brush. The bravest of us were the first to fall…It was a terrible cruelty.”

Lawrence understood all too well why Hugues was more concerned with Fran Vonely, a human, over his fellow sheep Huskins or Holo the wolf. Hugues and his fellows had surely not revealed their true nature to her.

If so, there were not many ways they could keep her close. To have her create paintings for them, they would bow down before her, avoid any offense, and hear any demand, no matter how unreasonable.

Even admitting her existence to Lawrence was clearly a great compromise on Hugues’s part.

“It is indeed cruel,” said Holo, sipping the sour wine Lawrence was sure she did not like. “So that is why you were so upset upon seeing me, was it?”

Lawrence looked at Holo, and Col did likewise.

While birds and foxes had visited the sheep, perhaps a wolf never had. Wolves had fangs, claws, and the courage to use them. They would have been the first to turn to violence.

And they would have been the first to die.

Hugues looked evenly back at Holo and then slowly nodded. “Yes. Even so.”

“Heh. But ’tis well. I would have been sadder to learn of the opposite.”

It was because such courage suited her that Holo had earned the name Wisewolf. It was in this moment that Hugues ceased to seem fearful of her.

“…I envy such strength. For my part, I’ve often wondered if I’m to live so long, why I couldn’t have been born as a stone or tree instead.”

At the end of the conversation, Holo began to speak without any inhibition. “Heh. I cannot say I feel the same. Were I a stone or tree, I could hardly travel with these two.”

Hugues smiled. “Indeed. Life in the world of humans can be rather enjoyable.”

“Mm. They’re an amusing lot.”

Yet Lawrence could not help but feel that it surely had not been an accident that the wine they were offered was not very sweet.

Gold, silver, copper, iron, tin, lead, brass, stone.

The phrase gems hidden in the earth was a common one, but sometimes it could be hard to tell what was valuable and what was not.

As Lawrence and company waited for Fran to return from her wandering about town, Hugues showed them around his storeroom. It contained not just paintings but a wealth of fine crafts and ornaments that had been sold off to Hugues alongside those paintings.

“There are many fakes here, but…ah, here’s a bar meant for holding down scrolls. Mm, looks like it’s only gold plated, though. Ah yes, here! What do you make of this one, eh?”

Hafner Hugues, master of the storehouse, seemed not to know exactly what it contained, as he weighed the gold bar in his hand and made his pronouncement.

Hugues had told Holo about Fran because Holo was a being similar to himself, but he was still a sheep spirit and a merchant as well. He had to get some value from this transaction.

He led Holo and Col to the back of the storehouse, as they wanted to know whether he had any paintings of Holo’s homeland of Yoitsu, but as he did so, he kept a close eye on Lawrence. A traveling merchant who wandered from nation to nation did not have much purchasing power, but he made up for that in knowledge and fresh information. No doubt Hugues wanted to know if any of the dusty old pieces in his storeroom were unexpectedly valuable. Lawrence felt like a pig trained to sniff for truffles.

It was true that demand varied from town to town—in one town, anything with a wolf motif would sell, while in another, the color of gold would be so coveted that even gold-plated items would fly off the shelves. Given the occasion, Lawrence was only too happy to spill everything he had heard about towns whose conditions might be good.

Such a town might as well be drunk. Absurd items would sell on the spot, and given the amount of junk in Hugues’s storeroom, it was like a golden trash barrel.

“Well, that’s about the size of it.”

“I see, I see. I’m deeply grateful, yes. While I do hear stories from all over while I sit in my shop here, most of my visitors aren’t walking the path of trade, so I collect little information that’s useful in business.”

Even as he spoke, Hugues took notes with a quill pen in the margins of an old bill of receipt. Assuming his high spirits were not a ruse, he seemed to think they would lead him to a healthy profit.

Holo would scowl if Hugues had asked her, but Lawrence was a merchant.

As he considered such thoughts, his eyes were drawn by a single item in the piles of junk.

“…Is this…?”

“Oh, so this is where I left that old thing.”

Lawrence pulled the item out from between two wooden crates, and Hugues reached for it, smiling merrily.

Lawrence could not begin to imagine what the thing was for. He handed it to Hugues. It was a golden apple; Holo would surely laugh to see it.

“What in the world is this used for?”

“Oh, it’s one of those—you use it to warm your hands.”

“Your hands?”

In response, Hugues handed the apple back to Lawrence, who noticed that it was indeed a bit warmer than it had been a moment earlier.

“It’s for merchants who want to show off their wealth a bit. You can heat it by the fireplace or have your apprentice warm it with his skin, then use it to warm your hands as you do your writing. Though anybody who dares use it outside when traveling in the winter will find their hands sticking to it.”

Hugues was quite right. Still, Lawrence had no trouble imagining Holo curling her body around the trinket while riding in the wagon, like a hen protecting her egg. He found himself thinking it might be rather useful, but then quickly snapped out of it and shook his head.

This was no time to be distracted by such silly items.

Lawrence returned the apple to Hugues.

“Still, thank you ever so much for the information,” said a pleased Hugues, who had nearly blackened the margins of the bill of receipt with notes, careful not to leave as much as a single detail out.

“Not at all. Thank you.”

“By all means, when you’re finished, feel free to linger. You’re most welcome here.” Hugues sounded like an ordinary merchant now.

Lawrence smiled, nodded, and shook his hand.

“Though it seems Master Col and Miss Holo are still looking at the paintings.” Hugues had to exert himself to bring his round body to his feet, and he then peered farther into the back of the storeroom.

Holo was flipping through a stand of paintings one by one, chattering with Col about this and that.

Hugues fell suddenly silent as he watched her. Lawrence had a good guess at what he was thinking about.

“Might I ask how you’re all related?” It was a reasonable thing to wonder about.

Holo should have overheard, but she gave no evidence of it.

Lawrence decided that there was no reason to hide it, so he answered as he walked over. “My trading route generally covered lands farther south. I happened to meet Holo at one of my stops there.”

“I see.”

“Holo had been asked a favor by a friend long ago—that she would guarantee bountiful harvests of the wheat in a certain town. But over time the village forgot about her, and she decided to return home. My wagon happened to be passing by, and she simply hopped in and stowed away.”

Hugues smiled, amused, but there was a coolly calculating quality that showed through. Holo’s story was not irrelevant to his own experience.

“But it had been some several centuries since she’d left her homelands, and so she doesn’t know where they are. So we’ve been traveling here and there in search of them. We met Col on the way. He’s from a town in the north called Pinu.”

“Oh, Pinu?” Hugues’s eyes widened in surprise, and he looked over his shoulder at Holo and Col. “That’s quite far away. Ah…but I see now why old Huskins would have told you of Fran Vonely.”

Lawrence gave Huskins a deliberate smile. There was nothing amusing about the story, but if he failed to tell it with a smile, Holo seemed likely to be angry.

“The northlands are a place of invasion and conquest. The place-names are always changing. It might be that I do know this Yoitsu of yours; I simply know it by a different name.”

Lawrence nodded but was shocked at what Hugues said next.

“When you said you wanted a map of the north, I thought for sure you were involved with the conflict up there.” Hugues was speaking in jest, but seeing Lawrence’s reaction, he, too, was stunned. “Ah…er…you’re not, are you?”

“Are you referring to the events surrounding the Debau Company? So the rumors are true, are they?”

No doubt Hugues collected information along with paintings. And this was the destination of the river that flowed right through the Debau Company’s front door.

“Er, no, I…if you want to know whether it’s true, the fact is that I have no good evidence. It’s a place constantly awash in unpleasant rumors.”

“What do you yourself believe, Mr. Hugues?”

Hugues’s troubled expression was that of a man whose joke had been taken seriously. He seemed to give up on trying to escape and reluctantly opened his mouth. “The simple truth is that…I have no interest in it.”

Lawrence thought he must have misheard. “You have no interest?”

“That’s right. More than a few of us are simply plugging our ears and closing our eyes to the tale, just as we did with the Moon-Hunting Bear. They’ll mine what they can mine, and when they’re done, they’ll leave. In any case, scenery is not eternal. Though the landscape might change completely, the land itself will not simply disappear from the earth, so…”

Even a placid sheep, who only occasionally looked up from its grass eating to regard the scenery around it with its black eyes, could see the way of the world.

It would be easy to curse Hugues for being a coward. But there was a certain truth to his thinking, and he could hardly be blamed for his realistic outlook.

One saw all sorts of things during travel.

Villages beset by mercenaries, towns suffering bitter feuds between landlords. There was nothing to be gained in opposition, and they were powerless to begin with. The only answer was to hold still and hope the storm would pass.

“That’s why I’ve never tried to learn anything more about it. I’m not strong like old Huskins, and if I knew more, it would only worry me. Just as it worries you and Miss Holo and young Col.”

Hugues smiled fractionally at this small joke, a signal that he was hoping to end the discussion of this particular topic.

It was true—the more one knew, the more one wanted to know, and the more detailed the knowledge, the stronger the urge to interfere. It was difficult to argue with the wisdom of someone who had endured cataclysms.

Lawrence had no right to disturb Hugues’s life, and Holo would surely feel the same way. “I apologize for asking.”

“Not at all. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any help. So then, will you be returning to your room?” inquired Hugues.

Lawrence looked at Holo, who raised her head and shook it “no,” then pointed to Col. The boy was busily looking through a stack of paintings. Evidently they still had searching left to do.

“I’ll be returning on my own.”

“I see. Might I offer you something warm to drink in the parlor?”

As a merchant, Lawrence was surprised at these words. This storeroom contained a great many valuable paintings, as well as examples of gold- and silversmithing. To leave perfect strangers unattended in such a room was an act of significant courage, Lawrence reflexively thought. Hugues noticed this and smiled.

“If she wanted to steal from me, it would be faster for her to simply bite my head off. And anyway, we forest dwellers don’t lie.”

It would have sounded as if he was trying to flatter Holo, but perhaps that was reading too much into it.

Lawrence bowed his head politely. “Ah, my apologies.”

Hugues chatted with Lawrence for a while before retreating to the rear of his shop to work.

Lawrence sat in the room waiting for Fran, reading through the travel account of a merchant who claimed to have journeyed the world over and found a city of gold in the Far East. But just like the information that Lawrence had sought from Hugues, the knowledge that could be gathered in a trip around the world would be incredibly valuable if true, and therefore making it public would be the height of idiocy. In other words, the travel account was merely nonsense, but it was amusing nonsense.

Just as Lawrence found himself laughing at the absurdity of one of the more improbable details, a golden something flew through the space between his eye and the book and landed in his lap.

He looked up in surprise, and there was Holo, looking as though she had dropped something. His eyes were next drawn to the dropped object in his lap—it was the golden apple he had been so amused to discover in the storeroom.

“Was it not tasty?” He picked the apple up. It was warm.

Size-wise it seemed just about a fit for Holo’s hand, he thought, whereupon that same hand snatched it away from him.

“You humans do love your gold. Though ’twould be a bother if everything turned to gold.”

Too much of a good thing, went the old saying. But Lawrence was a merchant. “In that case, find something that’s not gold, and sell it high.”

Holo sniffed and then sat down beside him, looking displeased. She did not groom her tail; she simply toyed with the golden apple in her hands.

“Where’s Col?” Lawrence asked, which made Holo tilt her head.

Her ears were flattened, which did not suggest anything good about her mood. She had probably left him in the storeroom. It was a rare state of events, and Lawrence could not imagine many possibilities.

“Couldn’t find anything, eh?” Any paintings of Yoitsu, or its region, or any landscape that Holo remembered.

No doubt she had thought that with so many paintings, surely at least one of them would hold what she sought.

Her disappointment would not have been so great if she had thought from the beginning that nothing would turn up. What stung was having hopes dashed.

Worse, they had surely found many landscapes that Col recognized.

“Mm.” Holo held the golden apple in both hands and nodded faintly.

“That just means you’ve still something to look forward to, eh?” Lawrence knew he would rouse her anger by saying so, and indeed, her ears pricked up.

But that did not last long. The strength slowly slipped from her, and the words came tumbling out of her mouth like water from an uncorked bottle. “Is it…wrong of me?”

“Wrong?” Lawrence repeated, at which Holo nodded.

“Like those sheep, Hugues said. Most of them plugged their ears and shut their eyes…”

Lawrence looked away from Holo momentarily and closed the book. It was a delightful, beautifully bound volume. No doubt the name of the raconteur merchant responsible would be remembered for centuries.

“You mean about wanting to get involved after hearing the truth?” asked Lawrence, which Holo nodded at.

Holo seemed cold and calculating but was quite hot-blooded, and whenever she saw someone suffering or in trouble, she wanted to help. If humans were to assemble and march upon the forests and mounts, ravaging the land and killing the animals, she would want to help the resistance even if the land weren’t Yoitsu.

And while the outcome might well be recorded in legend and song, victory was surely impossible—because if it was possible, someone else would already have won it.

“I may say this or that, but the truth is that I think of myself as special,” said Holo, sounding faintly amused, perhaps to cover her embarrassment. “I can get through most things simply by showing my fangs. I can draw out the way of things. That’s what I thought. But…”

When Lawrence held out his arm, Holo glanced at him with a look of hollow amusement pasted onto her face and then took it, wrapping it around herself like a muffler and clinging to him.

“There were no paintings there of the land I knew. What does that mean?”

Each of the pieces had either been commissioned by a specific buyer or stored away in anticipation of someone from the region appearing and recognizing the landscape. It was not hard, therefore, to come to this conclusion: There were no paintings of Yoitsu because there was no one from Yoitsu to order them. It was easy to imagine her wolf comrades leaving on an eternal journey.

And what was the basis for this?

No doubt many of them, having confidence in their own teeth and claws, chose to fight. And even if they had likely fled from the Moon-Hunting Bear, the world was abundant with absurdities. If they had been able to find weapons, they would have risen up and fought—somewhere.

The ones who ran away from everything, who instead of taking up arms simply fled, would have been called cowards at first. But it was those cowards whose roots still clung to the earth, even now.

“Plugging one’s ears and closing one’s eyes for fear of the truth? ’Tis all I can do to laugh at such foolishness. But who is the master of this shop? Who is it who still knows many of his old friends? Who is it who even now still works to offer comfort to his kind? Compared with that…” The nails of Holo’s small hand dug into Lawrence’s arm. “…What am I doing?”

She was not crying.

Holo was not sad. She was ashamed.

The raging river of time had changed the world, and she and her kind had stood on the shore, not only powerless, but their very existence suddenly in doubt.

It was more than enough reason for Holo to gnash her teeth.

Lawrence put more strength into his embrace, drawing Holo in.

“Nobody knows what the right thing to do is.” Holo’s head smelled faintly of dust, perhaps because of the time she had spent in the storeroom. “You yourself have been prepared to put your life at risk for the sake of your principles. Am I wrong?”

Holo did not move for several moments.

“Just think about when you were buried in the ground. You’re Holo the Wisewolf, aren’t you?”

No doubt her comrades would be very pleased to know that Holo was thinking of them. But what would they think of her standing in front of their gravestone forever? Regret could mean struggling to turn back time, or it could mean swearing not to let the same thing happen again. The two meanings were very different.

Holo nodded. She was neither a child, nor a fool. And yet she still could not contain these emotions on her own.

“And I do know one thing,” said Lawrence, which made Holo’s ears prick up. He smiled, but not to cheer her up. “When you worry, so do I.”

When he had traveled alone, there had been no one to whom he would have uttered such words, nor anyone who would say them to him. When he would get involved in a risky trade, he would make boastful jokes about dying by the side of the road.

A dead friend was dead forever. But a living one existed only in the here and now.

“Fool,” she whispered, though it was by no means clear to whom. Perhaps both to herself and to Lawrence alike.

“Quite right,” said Lawrence. “So, the next thing to do is…?”

Holo’s voice caught in her throat.

She had not left Col alone in the storeroom simply because they had found only landscapes he recognized and none that she knew. Given Col’s disposition, if they were unable to find any paintings of Holo’s homeland, he would just keep looking.

And the more he looked, the heavier the weight of not finding anything became. Holo had not exactly taken her frustration out on him, but back in the storeroom, just how bad was Col feeling?

“I’ll go apologize,” said Holo.

“You do that,” said Lawrence paternally, and Holo broke free from his embrace and grinned a toothy grin.

Time could not be turned back and the correct choice was never obvious, so one had to try to enjoy the present, at least.

That was all Lawrence could say. The rest was up to Holo, he thought as he reopened the book.

“Miss Fran Vonely has returned.”

Before standing, Lawrence lightly tapped Holo’s knee. He looked back—she was wearing a bright smile, which was more than a little suspicious.

From behind Hugues, who was no doubt unused to having such a smile directed at him by a wolf so nearby, appeared a young girl.

She was not much taller than Col, which put her at about Holo’s height.

It was her appearance that made Lawrence’s face pale despite himself. She did not have Holo’s ears, nor horns like Huskins had. She was just a normal girl—if you ignored the color of her skin and her eyes.

“Is this the merchant who called after me?” Her voice was beautiful and clear and spoke of a good upbringing.

There are many forms of beauty in the world, but Lawrence had never before seen the sort that Fran possessed. Her hair and eyes were jet-black, and she had the dark brown skin common in the desert lands of the south. Hers was a bewitching beauty; she had a mysterious charm to her, the power of all who survived in the hellish deserts. It felt as though she would not quail, even if Holo took her wolf form then and there.

Lawrence swallowed and then finally managed to speak. “I am Kraft Lawrence.”

Fran Vonely smiled and gave a slow nod. She introduced herself. “I am Fran Vonely.”

“Shall we sit?” said the considerate Hugues, and Lawrence and company all took a seat.

Col clung to Holo’s clothing before finally managing to sit, seemingly dazed by Fran’s mysterious quality.

“So, what is it that you wished to ask me about?”

The people of the desert spoke a very different language, but Fran’s words were well practiced. Her pronunciation was careful and precise, and her education must have been a costly one.

They were said to be a difficult people, but perhaps such worries were unfounded, Lawrence thought behind his merchant’s smile. He told her his business. “Yes. We’re journeying in search of a certain place in the northlands. All we know is the ancient name of the place. We’ve heard that you’re very well-versed in the old tales, which is what brought us to visit this company.”

Fran’s face was serious as she listened to Lawrence. “And what is the name of the place?”

“Yoitsu.”

Fran narrowed her eyes at Lawrence’s answer. “That’s the old name of a rather remote area.”

“So you’re familiar with it?” Lawrence asked with emotion that was half-act, half-genuine. Fran was unmoved, like some stoic seer.

“I am aware of it, but few are able to draw maps of the north, making them extremely precious.”

“We would compensate you properly.” The moment Lawrence said it, Holo’s foot came down upon his, but it was too late.

Perhaps Holo had seen through to Fran’s true nature.

“Properly?” said Fran, surprised. Standing behind the chair in which Fran sat, Hugues covered his eyes. “In that case, fifty lumione ought to suffice.”

Hers was the attitude of an artisan inexperienced in the ways of negotiation. Lawrence asked himself if he had let his guard down so badly, but even if he had, there was no going back now. There was no way he was going to pay fifty lumione for a single map.

It was such a basic technique that it bordered on child’s play. Lawrence found himself at a loss for words, both because of his own foolishness and because of Fran’s unexpected boldness. But Holo was standing right there, so he had to say something. He was just about to when Fran’s clear voice rang out again.

“However, given the circumstances, I suppose I wouldn’t mind doing it for free.”

“Huh?” Lawrence could not help but let his mask slip completely, and he could feel Holo slump in annoyance.

It was hard to fix a cog once it had gone askew.

But it was not the foolish Lawrence to whom Fran directed her words. It was Holo. “I notice you’re dressed as a nun.”

“…My name is Holo.” Even Holo seemed surprised to be addressed, and she replied only after a short pause.

“Miss Holo, is it? Pleased to meet you. I am Fran Vonely.”

Holo, who called herself the wisewolf, was a calm huntress and never let excitement get the better of her during a hunt. “Have you something for me?”

“Yes. If you’re a nun, then I would ask a favor of you.”

It was Hugues who seemed flustered at these words, probably because he had realized Fran’s aim. He took a breath and seemed about to protest, but Fran raised her hand and silenced him. She was a prickly artist, indeed. The very image of one.

“So long as it’s in my power.”

Fran cocked her head rather than smiling. “It’s not so very difficult a thing. Miss Holo, Mr. Lawrence, and…”

“Ah, er—Col! My name’s Col.”

She nodded at Col. “Mr. Col, then.” Just what would she have them do? “With the three of you, it should be fine.”

Hugues looked at Lawrence with a desperate look that said, “Stop!”

Fran spoke. “I’d like your help in Taussig.”

“…Is that…?”

“Yes. I suppose you’ve heard from Mr. Hugues? It’s the reason I’m in this town. I would ask your assistance in learning more about the village’s legend.”

Lawrence was underwhelmed. It seemed so simple a thing. But from Hugues’s nervousness, it was not as simple as it sounded.

Despite his failure moments earlier, Lawrence prepared himself for the irritation he would earn from Fran when he begged more time to consider. But it was Holo who skipped past that entirely.

“And you’ll draw us a map if we assist you?” she asked.

“Yes. So long as you’ll gather information and verify its truth.”

Lawrence was not unaware of the reason for Holo’s smile. Fran was a clever girl—more than clever enough to inflame Holo’s love of competition.

Normally she would have laughed off such a vague request as “gather information and verify its truth,” demanding a clearer request. Depending on the circumstances, she was not above arm-twisting.

And yet without asking even one more question, Holo simply nodded. “It’s a promise, then.”

“My thanks.” Fran bowed her head, standing after she looked back up. She faced Hugues, who had tried so hard to get a word in and hold her up. “And the preparations for departure?”

“Ah, th-they’re all finished.”

“Very well. We’ll leave tomorrow. Mr. Lawrence, you can handle a wagon?”

Lawrence nodded, and though Fran seemed ready to continue speaking, he headed her off in a final effort to save some small amount of face. “Tomorrow should be fine.”

At this, Fran smiled faintly. Perhaps she found Lawrence’s attempt to puff himself up amusing. Her smile was that of an innocent maiden. Lawrence again regretted his misstep. It was surprisingly easy to manipulate an innocently and honestly stubborn person. What was truly difficult was someone who knew how to use her smile, which was why Lawrence was constantly burning his hands when dealing with Holo.

Had he known he would be facing someone who could deploy a smile like that at will, Lawrence would have prepared better. He had been too hasty in embracing the impression of her that Kieman and Hugues had given him.

“Mr. Hugues,” said Fran, causing Hugues’s round body to stiffen straight. “I’ll take my dinner in my room. I have preparations to attend to.”

“V-very well. Ah, er, but…”

“But?” She used the same smile Holo so often favored.

Hugues fell silent and swallowed. He nodded obediently.

“Please explain the details to Miss Holo and her company, if you will,” said Fran, and then she took her leave.

The tail next to Lawrence was puffed up, but the smile was a pleasant one, which was all the more alarming.

Lawrence attempted to at least avoid the mistake of trying to make an excuse. “I’m sorry.”

“Fool,” said Holo, not so much as looking at him.

Col cringed away as though trying to let sleeping gods lie, and Holo, still smiling, made no move to speak further.

Perhaps feeling the awkwardness, it was Hugues who finally raised his voice. “I’ve suffered my share at her boldness and unyielding smile, too. She is a stubborn, obstinate silversmith. I chased her in town, across fields, and into the mountains, finally saving her from an accident before she would finally speak to me. So…you are fortunate she was even willing to deal with you, even on the vaguest of terms.”

These last words were directed at Holo.

Holo nodded decisively, finally wiping the eerie smile from her face.

“Er, so…Is there something important in Taussig?” Lawrence asked after recovering his composure.

Hugues merely shook his head. “It’s just a village like any other.”

“So why, then?”

Hugues looked down briefly, then back up, as though peering over spectacles. “Their legend of the forest and lake isn’t so special a thing. It’s said that once an angel walked alongside the river that flows from the lake, then leapt up a waterfall to a golden door that opened along with the sound of a heavenly beast’s cry.”

It did indeed sound like the sort of legend one could hear anywhere. But Hugues continued.

“In addition to that, there’s another story like that.”

“Another one?” Lawrence asked, at which Hugues nodded and began to explain, a certain tone of exhaustion in his voice.

“I suppose you could call it a witch legend. I don’t know the details myself, but I hear it’s rather famous upriver around Lenos. Evidently there’s a legend that a nun also said to be a witch came to Taussig and settled there, or perhaps it’s closer to a rumor. The lord of Taussig is loyal to the Church, so of course they all strongly deny that there’s a witch there, but…”

“Ah, I see. And because of that, the villagers there are extremely suspicious of outsiders, right?”

Hugues nodded. “The reason Fran asked you along, Mr. Lawrence, is because she knows full well that no one there will so much as speak to her if she goes alone. If nothing else, her ethnicity is very uncommon in this area.”

Hugues had lived longer than any human, so Lawrence certainly understood why he would say so. Lawrence, too, had only rarely seen people with brown skin like Fran’s.

“Is she from the desert?”

“That is the story. But she’s had no parents as long as she can remember and claims to have been raised by a wealthy money changer in the duchy of Laondirre. I have little sense of how she then came to be a silversmith. She’s joked about being a slave, but given her attitudes, I wonder how much of that is a joke…”

Lawrence understood Hugues’s uneasy smile. Given Fran’s diction, anyone would come to a certain conclusion about her background. Of course, slaves could be treated very differently depending on their master, and she might have been bought into a kind and wealthy household—or just as easily adopted into the family but treated cruelly.

There were places where this matched what he had been told by Kieman, and even if not everything lined up, there was at least a certain amount of truth to it.

“She’s certainly got pluck.”

“Yes. Sometimes I think she must be from a line of warriors somewhere, but…in any case, she has many secrets. Oh, and please keep this—”

“—A secret, of course.”

Hugues nodded, and Lawrence returned to the topic at hand.

“Mr. Hugues, you seemed a bit apprehensive—do you think the village will be dangerous?”

Villages were often less welcoming than one might think for a variety of reasons. If they were situated in a place where few traveled, that alone was enough to make outsiders seem suspicious. If it was the sort of place where rumors of a witch would circulate, they might well start to wonder if every visitor had some secret agenda.

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. They’re not a place of business. The villagers rarely visit the town, and townspeople go there even less often than that. Frankly, they’re like a jar of food where you’ve forgotten what you put in it and when.”

It was an apt metaphor. One would hesitate to open such a jar for fear of what might come out.

“Oh, do you suppose there’s anything there that would be dangerous even with me along?” It was Holo whose quip cut through the atmosphere of heavy tension between Lawrence and Hugues.

Lawrence met Hugues’s eyes. The two were surely thinking the same thing.

“If you say so, it matters little what we might say, but…,” said Lawrence.

“Then I care not. In exchange for fifty gold pieces, she gets to use us as she pleases. Such nerve!” It would have been better if Holo were angry, but she spoke with a smile, so Lawrence’s hands were tied. “And that fool’s even knowledgeable about the northlands that have you all so intimidated. Is it not just as old man Huskins said?”

It was indeed.

“’Tis true that he who chases two hares catches neither, but no matter how many interesting things are stored in that head of hers, it’s still just one head. So if we do not bite it here, when will we?”

It was a lively speech. And yet Holo was not one to say such things lightly. She only did so because she had faith in her comrades to be trustworthy enough to correct her, to challenge her. That was the feeling Lawrence got, looking at Holo’s invincible smile.

Which meant he had no reason to disagree.

“So, that’s the way of it. Ah, and Hugues, was it?”

“Y-yes?” He straightened at Holo’s address.

Holo grinned at the stiff Hugues. “If we should end up angering that fool such that she never trades here again…” It was unlikely, but not impossible, and would be a crushing blow to Hugues’s business.

What was Holo going to say? All eyes were on her as she continued in a casual tone, “…Aye, should that happen…I’ll apologize.”

Hugues was a well-traveled art seller. His forced smile shifted to a genuine one, and he slapped his large belly. “Ah, just like a wolf!”

“Mm.” Holo’s deliberate little performance.

And yet something about the unlikely friendship between sheep and wolf struck Lawrence as miraculous.

The next day, Lawrence and company found themselves swaying in the Hugues Company’s wagon, heading north along the road to the village of Taussig. In the wagon bed was a mountain of provisions: bread and meat, garlic and onions, wine, salt, firewood, and blankets.

Lawrence sat in the driver’s seat of the wagon, holding the reins, with Holo and Col snuggled in what space remained in the bed. Fran, who knew the way to the village, rode on a horse of her own.

It had not been particularly long since the last time he had driven a wagon, but somehow driving someone else’s wagon made Lawrence uneasy.

“Just who…does that little fool…think she is?” Holo finally said, only getting the words out with some difficulty since her mouth was otherwise occupied.

“That delicious, is it?” asked Lawrence with a resigned sigh as he looked over his shoulder, which made Col flinch in alarm as he sat next to Holo. Normally he only ate what he was given, but he had finally been bold enough to reach into the sack for a second piece.

“Not you, Col. That’s only your second piece, right? The one next to you is on her sixth.” Lawrence pointed deliberately at Holo, and Col looked dubiously back and forth between Lawrence and the sack, finally nodding.

They were delicious enough to make a captive even of Col, who was the very image of honorable poverty. The leavened rolls had been made with plenty of rich butter.

Holo noisily tore a chunk off a roll, wolfing it down before popping the remainder in her mouth. As her mouth opened and closed in the process, her breath escaped into the cold air in white puffs.

Not even Col could resist the temptation of fresh-baked bread in a chilly wagon bed.

Lawrence got a piece himself but had eaten no more for fear that he might get used to such food and never return to the traveler’s life.

“If it gets us so much of this sort of bread, you ought to become an artist yourself!” declared Holo.

“I can sketch simple pictures of goods…and drawings of my future shop, I suppose. I showed you, didn’t I?” He was referring to the days when he’d driven his wagon alone, passing his days by scavenging every copper coin that had been dropped in the darkness. Every time he earned a healthy profit, he would spread out some paper and draw the facade of the shop he hoped to one day own.

“Mm…I suppose.”

Lawrence’s dream had been postponed while he journeyed with Holo.

Holo drew her chin in and moved closer to the driver’s seat. She shoved a roll in Lawrence’s mouth. She seemed neither apologetic nor pained.

Lawrence bit into the bread with a smile. The conversation was only possible because they understood each other so well.

“Can you draw, Col?” Lawrence asked over his shoulder.

It looked as though Col was seriously considering shoving the unfinished roll into his own bag for later eating. He flinched as though having been caught doing something embarrassing. He hastily tried to manage some sort of answer, at which Lawrence could not help but laugh.

But before either of them could say anything, Holo popped another roll she had grabbed into Col’s bag.

“Ah, er…well, I suppose I can draw angels or spirits…”

“From copying manuscript illustrations?”

Col smiled ticklishly at Holo and then turned back to Lawrence and nodded. “Yes. When I had no money and was rolling out sheepskin parchments on nails, sometimes the scribes would teach me a little.”

Col was the sort of boy who would journey south alone just to get closer to the center of Church power in order to protect his own pagan village, but he seemed much more suited to poring over books all day than he did to the adventurous pursuits in which he found himself engaged. Had he been born into different circumstances, he surely would have been a famous scholar.

Lawrence turned his attention to Holo. “And what about you…? I suppose there’s no point in asking.”

If Holo was to pick up a brush, no doubt she could draw a highly recognizable picture.

“Hmph. I do not draw. You can’t eat a picture of an apple,” said Holo, as she helped herself to another roll.

“Well, Fran’s skills must be impressive for her to command such tribute. And she’s followed after legends from many lands,” said Lawrence quietly as he looked across the plain before them. The mountains did not seem to be getting any closer. “She’s seen a lot of trouble, I’ll bet. The northlands are still disputed territory. With belief turning to superstition, and superstition to belief with such dizzying speed, tracking down legends is a dangerous business. Given that, her price might be a fair one.”

And the farther north one went, the more difficult it became to find good building stone, which meant even larger buildings were made of wood. Without stained-glass depictions of saints or figures carved in stone columns, which meant their proselytizing would rely on paintings.

With demand up, it stood to reason that the suppliers must profit.

“She’s to be admired,” murmured Lawrence, stroking his beard.

“Hmph. I’ve admired quite enough,” said Holo, patting her belly and then setting about curling up in a blanket.

They spent the night in the dry, brown grasses of the plains.

There was not much difference between a horse’s walking speed and a human’s, so travelers on that road all naturally tended to arrive at that spot come nightfall.

It was there that Lawrence halted the horse and built a fire where the grass had been cut low and the remains of older campfires were scattered about. Happily, there was a large round log perfect for leaning against.

Former visitors had been similarly grateful. One place on the log had been stripped of bark, and there the former visitors had carved words of thanks.

The small party warmed the bread—which had turned hard from the chill—by the fire, roasting jerky and cheese to eat along with it. There was no wind, but it was cold enough for a small amount of snow to have piled up here and there, so they naturally wound up huddled together atop the log like little birds. It was warmer for three people to huddle together under three layers of blankets than it was for three people to each have one blanket to themselves.

And it was just three, not four.

Fran lay down in the wagon bed alone.

“The stone’s warm.” Lawrence had warmed a stone atop the fire and brought it to Fran wrapped in a blanket. She was gazing vaguely up at the sky, using the cargo for a pillow. Next to her was some half-eaten bread and cheese, but she was so absorbed in the night sky that she seemed to have forgotten all about her dinner.

When Lawrence brought the wrapped stone to her, she shifted beneath her blanket and a hand slid out from under it, accepting the warm rock.

As he gave her this, Lawrence thought he saw her holding a thick book under her blanket.

When he had traveled alone, Lawrence, too, had sometimes resorted to stuffing paper under his shirt for warmth when he was unable to light a fire. It could be even warmer than a blanket.

Fran, too, seemed quite accustomed to hard travel.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit by the fire?” Lawrence asked.

Fran arranged the stone beneath the blanket and looked back up at the sky before answering, “It would ruin my view.”

Lawrence understood and nodded.

Fire kept animals away, but it invited humans, whether they were friend or foe. Eyes accustomed to watching the fire would be useless for looking out into the night.

Not only was Fran used to travel, she had accrued a very respectable amount of experience.

“About tomorrow…” Fran directed her gaze to Lawrence after he spoke. She did not seem inclined to sit up, so Lawrence decided to simply continue speaking. “Once we arrive in the village, what sort of arrangements shall we make?”

Lawrence had found himself roundly beaten in their first negotiation at the Hugues Company the previous day. Thinking back on it now, he realized it had surely colored Fran’s impression of his capacity as a merchant. Though she had brought Lawrence along to help her gather information, she probably detested the notion of leaving everything to him and his companions, so he posed this question in a humble, servile tone.

But after looking at him steadily for a moment, Fran suddenly smiled and closed her eyes, as though having seen right through the whole of his thinking. “I shall leave it in your capable hands.”

Lawrence was surprised at this response, but if she was truly going to rely on him, he would do his best to meet her expectations. “In that case, I’ll introduce you as a Church-affiliated silversmith and Holo as a nun. Will that do?”

“…I shouldn’t think there will be any problem with that.” She’d taken a moment to consider the notion. She could probably see through to roughly how such a story would be received.

“Holo will be an apprentice nun and maidservant. Col will be our guide. I’ll be a traveling merchant hired to be the group’s eyes and ears.”

“Very well,” said Fran, but her smile was a thin one.

Lawrence took notice of this. “Is there a problem?”

“…No, nothing. I was just amused at how if we assemble the necessary actors, it’s true that even I might look like a nun.”

The ability to see one’s own self so objectively could indeed be counted as a special skill. Lawrence found himself briefly at a loss for words at how naturally Fran was able to speak as though she were looking at herself from the outside.

“What church?” inquired Fran.

Once he had finished frantically filling in the blanks in Fran’s brusque question, Lawrence answered, “Let’s say we’re from the Church city of Ruvinheigen. There’s certainly more than one church there and many factions besides. Even if our answer’s a vague one, we won’t be easily found out.”

“…” Fran opened her eyes and looked at Lawrence.

Lawrence was wondering if he had made some mistake. Fran then looked back up at the sky and spoke. “You’re familiar with some rather faraway towns.”

Lawrence was relieved that it was only this. “A lie that can’t be disproven is no different from the truth. A place as far away as Ruvinheigen is a safer story, I thought.”

Fran nodded, her gaze still skyward cast. “Was that your base?”

Base was a curious choice of words. It made Lawrence sound like a bandit or mercenary.

“I’m a traveling merchant originally from that area. Holo simply jumped into my wagon bed when I passed through a nearby town. Then…” Lawrence paused and looked behind him at Holo, who sat atop the log sipping wine. Only Col seemed to be looking at he and Fran, so Lawrence turned back to Fran and continued, “…And told me that she wanted to go north and that I should take her. As far as Col goes, we ran into him as we were heading down the Roam River, and he joined our travels.”

Fran’s face was still upturned, her eyes closed, but Lawrence nonetheless got the feeling that she was listening to him. For her to be interested in this story at all made Lawrence wonder if she had some sort of attachment to the region.

At length, Fran spoke as though giving voice to words she heard from the sky. “So this map of the north you want is for…” She opened her eyes, and when she looked at Lawrence, it seemed as though the night sky had melted into them. It was common for stubborn, eccentric people to feel things more deeply than most.

Lawrence was not going to use that to his advantage, but he spoke such that his words would have their greatest effect. “Yes…the only thing my companion remembers about her homeland is that it was called Yoitsu.”

Fran’s eyes did not waver. “I see,” she said, closing them, this time not looking up again, but leaning her head over. She shifted lightly under the blanket, and given that a gentle sigh followed, Lawrence realized she was trying to go to sleep.

Her way of unilaterally ending the conversation made Lawrence understand why she had a reputation for being difficult; it was almost too archetypal.

Perhaps Fran was neither so stubborn nor as eccentric as her reputation suggested, Lawrence mused, but there was no telling what would happen if he was to point that out.

Lawrence quietly made ready to leave her be, but before he did, Fran spoke one last time.

“I shall be counting on you tomorrow.”

Lawrence nodded, whereupon Fran did just as she seemed to be doing and fell asleep.