Spice and Wolf - Volume 12 - Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

The next day of their stay, Fran again took Col with her and made for the lake.

Lawrence worried that if someone was watching them, it would be unsafe to leave the cottage, but Fran dismissed this, saying, “It’s no different than if we were in the cottage.” If anything, she said, it was safer, since it would reinforce the idea that they had come not to investigate the witch, but the angel legend.

Logically speaking, that was true enough, yet Lawrence was about to insist that it was still too dangerous—and oddly enough, it was Holo who restrained him. Moreover, she then suggested that Fran take Col with her.

Col readily agreed, of course, since he also felt that Fran should not go alone, which Lawrence found strange.

This was a complete change from Holo’s previous state of finding everything Fran said irritating. Had their conversation with Fran last night changed her view so much?

What had become clear the previous night was that Fran had planned to take advantage of them all along when she brought them here, which ought to have worsened their impression of her—and certainly wouldn’t improve it.

When Lawrence came back from seeing Col and Fran off, he found Holo slowly and deliberately grooming her tail.

Lawrence watched her and decided to try a mildly probing statement.

“I imagine she was thinking only of the legend last night, eh?”

After finger combing the whole of her tail, she began to pluck individual pests off and toss them into the hearth. She gave Lawrence only a desultory ear’s worth of attention.

“Mm?”

“She said as much to Col, didn’t she? ‘Let’s not miss any hints of the legend,’ she said.”

“Ah, mm.”

Fran, too, seemed to have concluded that the angel had to have been some sort of natural phenomenon and had listed all sorts of possibilities to Col—from accumulated snow blowing off a tree branch to water from a hot spring flowing into the lake and causing steam to rise in a wing-shaped pattern.

And it was true that the angel wing phenomenon had to be caused either by something falling from a high place or rising from a low place.

If falling, then the top of the waterfall, with the great difference from top to bottom, seemed the likelier candidate. If rising, then either steam, mist, or billowing snow was not difficult to imagine.

His assistance requested, Col had listened intently to each possibility in turn, nodding as though promising not to miss a single detail as he headed out with Fran.

“It’s true that so long as she seems so serious, neither the villagers nor the landlord can very well come out and quibble with her,” said Lawrence.

He expected Holo to come back with a complaint about Fran being perfectly willing to order her around, but evidently she was not in the mood.

If anything, Holo seemed pleased as she spoke. “’Tis rather absurd for her to have such a reputation as a perverse, stubborn silversmith.”

“…Oh?’

Fran was entirely unlike what he had imagined when he first heard of her, but she was the very image of a serious artisan. She had probably been up thinking about her plans all night and had gone out immediately upon the arrival of morning, without any concern for the danger.

Lawrence said as much to Holo, but she only chewed at the roots of her tail fur, flashing a sharp smile when it was properly fluffy. “I expect she’s simply chasing after whoever it is she’s in love with. That strikes me as neither perverse nor particularly stubborn.”

Holo was talking about the person Fran had mentioned the previous night—the one who had first told her the legend of the angel. Whether or not it was true romance or simply unrequited love on Fran’s part, Holo and Lawrence seemed to be of a mind on the subject.

And to put it as flatly as Holo did, it was true that perversely stubborn was not, perhaps, the right term. In Fran’s position, girls the world over could more accurately be described as “single-minded.”

“’Tis rather charming, is it not?”

“I suppose.” Lawrence very much doubted that Fran had been lying the previous night. Given that, she started to seem to him like a maiden who goes on pilgrimage to pray for her love, who’s gone off to war.

And yet Lawrence still did not understand something. Why had her confession taken the form of an apology for her poor treatment of him at the trading company, and why had Holo’s disposition toward Fran improved so much despite the knowledge that she had set out to trap them from the beginning?

He idly poked at the fire in the hearth as he turned the matter over in his mind. It was then that Holo spoke up.

“And to use an apology to deliver such a story. Rather clever of her, was it not?” A large spark flew up into the air—mostly coincidentally—but it looked as though it had jumped in reaction to his own fluster, which was also true.

Lawrence directed his gaze from the hearth to Holo, who was grinning widely, though it was a stiff, unnatural smile.

“Of course, you do know why it was so clever, don’t you?”

Lawrence realized it was the height of presumption to think he had been able to hide his ignorance from her. If he had to confess, sooner was better. “…Sorry. I have no idea.”

“Fool!” Her face turned so fierce it seemed it would blow all the sparks in the hearth up at once. Her stiff smile vanished, replaced by a look of utter anger.

“Wh-why are you so—”

“Fool! So you’re saying you’ve no notion of why I found her so irritating, either?!”

If she had shouted at him with such force in her wolf form, she would have destroyed the cottage from the inside. Holo’s anger was enough to cause such irrelevant thoughts to cross his mind. He had never seen her tail as puffed up as it suddenly was.

“…Yes.”

He had gone too far, and this was the fall.

Holo’s lips trembled in outrage, and she finally slumped, as though defeated. It was as though she had burst a blood vessel out of sheer rage.

Lawrence hastily tried to say something, but she gave him such a sharp glare from underneath her bangs that he snapped his mouth shut almost as soon as he opened it.

“Well…I suppose that’s the sort of dunce you always were…” Holo sighed a long-suffering sigh and closed her eyes, whereupon the malice seemed to drain out of her. “I was the only one who was angry. She was the only one who was worried she’d gone too far. And you’re not so much generous as you are about as insensitive as a corpse.”

At this point, Lawrence could hardly help but feel irritated, despite still not knowing what this was all about. But before he could reply, Holo continued.

“You were utterly disgraced!”

Lawrence thought back to the trading company, but still did not understand and looked at Holo with eyes more pleading than Col would ever direct at her. Holo the Wisewolf bared her fangs in contempt and then turned away.

“And right in front of me, no less.”

“—Ah…” In that instant, everything connected in his mind.

“Yet still you flail around like some sort of simpleton…”

Holo slumped in utter frustration, seemingly about to collapse sideways at any moment. It was Lawrence, meanwhile, who wanted to stand, but Holo’s eyes stitched him in place, like a dog ordered to sit.

“If you dare speak now, I’ll show you my true ire.”

Lawrence’s mouth snapped shut as though nailed that way, but the words swirled around in his chest with such energy that his hands trembled of their own accord.

Holo was angry that he had been so easily outmaneuvered by Fran back at Hugues’s shop, yes—but what she was truly furious at was that he had done so in front of her very eyes. Given that, he started to see why she had agreed to Fran’s vague conditions. It was not out of amusement at Fran’s cleverness. Holo was planning to intervene.

This was why she had complained at Fran’s silence during the entire time Lawrence had so shrewdly gotten Vino to tell them the whole story and guide them all the way out here—because she was angry not only at Fran but also at the clueless Lawrence.

Aren’t you angry at being made such a fool of? she had been thinking. Aren’t you angry at being made the fool in front of none other than me?

And then had come the conversation last night.

Lawrence recalled every word Fran spoke, along with every one of Holo’s reactions. Immediately, he held his head in his hands, as though enduring a terrible headache, overwhelmed at his own stupidity.

Fran was chasing the legend of the angel because of someone she loved. That was why she had confessed that fact as an apology—because Lawrence was chasing a map of the northlands for the very same reason.

No wonder Holo’s mood had improved. And he could certainly understand why she felt the way she did now.

“…I’m sorry.” He had been the only one blind to his own foolishness. He could neither blame Holo for her anger nor her exasperation.

“You truly do seem to move from one foolish act to the next.”

He had nothing to say in his defense, but Holo seemed to have no further anger to express. It seemed his stupidity really had exhausted her rage.

Holo heaved a sigh and deliberately looked down at her tail. “That was surely more effective than any tiresome grooming.” Her anger had caused it to puff up such that it was much fluffier than usual.

Lawrence knew that if he laughed he was likely to get his throat torn out, so he simply listened.

“Still, I suppose this sort of thing is not so uncommon in life,” she said, arching her back in a stretch.

Lawrence was not so idiotic as to think they were still discussing the same topic, but he was idiotic enough not to know what she was actually talking about. “…I don’t follow you,” he said.

Holo looked at him and smiled a self-deprecating smile. “Oh, just that even the ones that get worshipped as gods had the same troubles, that’s all.”

“Huh?”

“It happened quite often. I didn’t much care one way or the other, but the village elders would scold the younger villagers if they bungled the festival preparations, striking them and saying they’d been rude to me, entirely unconcerned with how I might actually feel. I’d watch this all at a loss…and to think that I’d end up doing just the same thing.”

Lawrence knew such situations arose when each party valued the other. But what was he supposed to say? Should he apologize? Or thank her?

Either one seemed foolish.

Lawrence remained silent, and Holo smiled a dry, little smile, then stood. “Though I suppose ’tis better to carefully consider the other’s feelings and then act with the best of intentions. Though perhaps it will suffice to say that the person in question needn’t worry about that.”

She wore a malicious smile as she spoke, obviously still scolding Lawrence—though as punishment for making her look a fool, it was a cheap thing.

“The problem is,” continued Holo, glancing at the hanging skin partition, “what to do when they’re already a silent corpse.”

Blasphemy against the dead was not so different from hearing about the oppression of innocent people—it demanded righteous anger.

Holo had said as much when they had started looking for the wolf bones: No matter how strong they had been, her kind couldn’t bite back in death. Yet somehow, Sister Katerina had happily accepted being called a witch. Perhaps she had just been eccentric.

But Lawrence did not think so, and neither, evidently, did Holo.

She had been kind, and she had accepted it.

“So—that is my reason for wanting to help the girl.”

Back in the village of Pasloe, Holo had been forgotten, rendered as mute as a corpse. In the end, she was unable to endure this indignity. She had kicked the dust from her feet and left. But Katerina’s name could still be restored.

As Lawrence thought about it, he noted a certain circular logic. Looking at Holo, he saw that the wisewolf had already realized this.

“Though if we go around saying this or that about someone who’s died, we’re no better than the villagers. And that dried-out corpse doesn’t care what people call it. So my lending a hand is not much different than whoever it is that comes and cleans the cottage.”

“It’s useful for the living, though.” After all, one could no more peer into the minds of the living than one could the dead, and there was certainly no way to act solely in the interests of another.

If you dug deeply enough, you would always arrive at the conclusion that you had acted in your own interests. The only problem was acting in such a way that you could live with yourself afterward.

“’Tis hard indeed to continue moving forward as you live. I do feel for the villagers and their landlord. And of course…,” Holo said as she tucked her tail back underneath her robe and then hid her ears in her hood. “…You can’t help but cheer for the girl who goes to such efforts for the sake of the one she loves, eh?”

Her words came with that same nasty smile, but they were not wrong. And if this was an indication of a desire to be properly mourned after death, then one had to laugh that they had decided to help Fran.

Lawrence and Holo smiled at each other from across the hearth.

Lawrence bet that if he said he had put too much firewood in the hearth, Holo would laugh and laugh.

Midday came, and soon Fran and Col returned.

Lawrence assumed they had come back for food, but that seemed not to be the case. No sooner did Fran enter the cottage than she pressed Lawrence with a question.

“Will you go to the village and have them draw me a map?”

“…A map?”

“Yes.”

Despite the cold, Lawrence could see the sweat on her brow, which made it clear just how hurried they had been. Col had sat down immediately upon returning to the cottage and gulped water noisily from a water skin.

Holo brushed the snow off him like he was an unruly little boy, but he was too tired even to thank her.

Given the state Fran and Col were in, there were not very many possibilities as to the cause.

“Did you find a clue to the legend of the angel?”

No sooner had he asked the question than Lawrence found himself very surprised indeed. He imagined that applied to Holo as well, though she was still tending to Col.

The reason was Fran. As soon as she heard Lawrence’s question, she smiled in genuine, unself-conscious delight. It was as though she could not hold it back any longer. The perversely stubborn silversmith. The silversmith of constant and unpleasant rumor. For this innocent, lovely smile to be waiting beneath all that, it had to be her true self.

For a woman to have traveled alone for so long and to have been so successful on the way, she must have suffered greatly. Even someone like Eve had to wear a scarf while doing business to hide the fact that she was a woman. Fran wore the rumors of her nastiness and intractability like a suit of armor.

Col seemed to have caught his breath, so Holo took the water skin to Fran. It would have been unimaginable not long before, but Fran smiled a grateful smile, which Holo returned.

Fran drank, paused to breathe, then drank more.

They must have run hard. Toward the legend of the angel.

“When you say ‘map,’ what sort of map do you mean?”

Fran, having caught her breath, started slightly at Lawrence’s question. “Hmm?” She looked at him blankly before comprehension finally seemed to dawn on her. She must have planned to tell him what kind of map she needed. “I’m sorry. I need…I need a map that shows how the rivers flow out from the lake.”

“The river?” Lawrence asked. It was a strange map to ask for.

“Yes. Walking around the lake, something occurred to me. When it snows and the temperature drops suddenly, all the rivers and streams will freeze. Which means the destination of their flow is lost. Even that waterfall would freeze solid if there were enough snow and cold. But then eventually—well, no barrier will last forever. So I need a map that shows the flow of every stream, no matter how small.”

The formerly taciturn Fran, who always seemed as though she were thinking two or three steps ahead of the conversation, was now energetic and voluble. Her expression was serious, but from her rambling words and rapid arm and leg movements, it was obvious she was in a hurry.

“The water would be full of ice and snow, and it would break through and overflow all at once. And it would look like—”

“It would look like the wings of an angel, I should think,” said Fran, looking steadily at Lawrence.

She was full of conviction but so happy that she could not believe it herself—that was what she looked like.

The water and snow had been blocked up, unable to flow, and had then broken free one moonlit night. It would’ve been beautiful, Lawrence thought, and it was an entirely appropriate thing to have been mistaken for an angel’s wings. Even knowing the truth, he could imagine calling the scene a miracle nonetheless.

Lawrence excused himself by reminding himself that he would normally never say such an irresponsible thing, and then he spoke to Fran. “I think that’s probably it,” he said.

Fran was nearly crying from happiness.

“I hope we get to see it.”

It seemed to Lawrence that everyone who had ever single-mindedly pursued a goal had something in common: this smile.

“Yes!” replied Fran quickly and clearly.

Fran and Col headed out to the lake again. It seemed she could not bear to spare even the short amount of time it would take to fetch the map.

Col seemed to have been infected with Fran’s excitement and followed her out, carrying their things with a seriousness he had never exhibited before.

Holo watched them go, a faintly sad smile playing about her lips. Perhaps she felt as though her favorite little brother were being stolen away.

“Well, then, I suppose we should be off ourselves,” said Lawrence, putting his foot in the horse’s stirrup.

Holo kept watching Fran and Col, but at these words she turned and came over, taking hold of Lawrence’s arm.

He took a breath at the same time she did and lifted her up onto the horse’s back. Lawrence followed her up, sitting right in front of her. Taking hold of the reins, he had the horse walk forward.

“She was like a child.” Lawrence had to smile at the memory of Fran. Even if he went back to Kerube and told Hugues of it, he doubted the man would believe him.

“’Tis even more childish to believe that an adult should greet a happy event with a calm face.” Holo’s arms were wrapped around Lawrence and her cheek pressed against his back so that when she talked, the movement of her ear and chin moved ticklishly against him.

“It’s true that people become more childish as they get older,” said Lawrence, wondering if he should have her sit in front of him.

“Mm. So you’re wondering just how old I’ll become, eh?” She had to be in a good mood to make such jokes. Lawrence laughed and Holo snickered as well, but once the wave of mirth had receded, Holo continued, more seriously. “This seems very important to her.”

There by the hearth, Fran had spoken bashfully of someone she had called a friend. There had to be a reason she had come here without them.

Of course, it could very well be that this friend was an artisan in some town somewhere and unable to leave easily. But in this day and age, Lawrence could only imagine darker reasons.

By the way Fran had spoken, it sounded like there was a time when they had traveled together but had to separate during the journey.

The reason might have been injury, sickness, or worse.

Holo switched the cheek that was pressed against Lawrence’s back from one side to the other. “And to see such a smile from her after she’d worn so thick a mask. I wonder what she would’ve done had we not been the ones to escort her? That little fool.”

Lawrence sighed softly at Holo’s words. “Indeed. They probably would’ve been scared off by her single-minded determination to chase the angel legend, turned tail, and left her on her own. Such things happen quite often.”

Those who feared danger would gain nothing. And yet, pressing on in the face of danger would eventually lead to disaster. If they were to play the part of the bringers of good fortune, they might as well bring it. Holo laughed; she understood this perfectly well.

“Well, she’s got pluck enough to use Holo the Wisewolf of Yoitsu as her messenger. I’d say she’s got good fortune to spare.”

That was true enough. But it got Lawrence to thinking—just how lucky had he been to have Holo join him in his travels? The moment he thought about it, Holo seemed to see right through him, her cheek still pressed to his back. She chuckled an unpleasant, throaty chuckle. No doubt it had been part of her plan to sit behind him, leaving him nowhere to retreat.

“I’m fortunate indeed to have been blessed with such a wonderful traveling companion as yourself. There, are you happy?”

Holo raised her voice in a laugh. “And just who are you thanking?”

He had come along with her this far, so he had to see it through to the end. “Holo the Wisewolf of Yoitsu,” he said, gripping the reins.

“Mm. Well, see to it that you stay good and thankful.”

He heard the sound of her tail swishing.

Profit could warm his coin purse, but never his back. This sort of thing was nice once in a while.

Lawrence urged the horse on, feeling Holo’s warmth behind him.

When they returned to the village, it seemed like a perfectly ordinary day.

Some villagers were tending crops, some led livestock, some mended clothing, and some beat cooking pots clean.

Lawrence noticed Holo narrow her eyes wistfully. This was a scene that they could see anywhere—that they could continue to see no matter where they traveled.

“Their lack of integrity angers me, but I can understand why they would wish to protect this,” said Holo quietly and meaningfully.

“Indeed. And if Miss Fran is to be believed, there are even some villagers who didn’t want to claim Sister Katerina was a witch. Perhaps they meant to gain some redemption by keeping her cottage clean.”

It was exceedingly difficult to lead a straightforward, uncomplicated life. Holo remained silent—she understood that no single person was at fault, but was also unwilling to condone the situation.

“Well, if we do our job, the evil witch may well turn back into a pious nun. Then Fran will be able to dedicate herself to searching out the angel legend, she’ll draw us our map of the northlands, and everyone will be happy. Right?”

The landlord would probably continue his maneuvering, using the nun’s silent corpse as a new reason for the villagers to stay out of the forest. Holo was obviously unsatisfied with that, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Being a clever wolf, Holo could see there was nothing to be gained from anger and let her puffed-up cheeks deflate.

“So first things first—the map. It would be nice if we could track down Mr. Vino.”

The villagers in the fields were all bent over doing their work, and it was impossible to tell who was who. Lawrence decided to head into the village center first.

The people working in their homes took note of them but didn’t seem particularly interested, recognizing them from the previous day’s events. Perhaps Mueller or Vino had explained their circumstances.

Just as they were about to head for Vino’s house, they came across him in the village square, crafting arrows with some other men. They each had a white arrowhead in their hands and were carving and polishing them with stones. They were probably made from bones taken from the deer they had felled the previous day.

“Mr. Vino,” Lawrence called out.

Vino looked up and smiled when he realized who it was. He waved, set down the arrowhead he was working on, and trotted over to Lawrence. “Hey, there. You seem to have made it back safely.”

“Yes, thank you. Making arrows, eh?” asked Lawrence.

Vino glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Aye. It’ll be spring soon, with humans and animals alike starting to stir. We’ll shoulder our arrows and travel around to nearby landlords and towns to sell them. How did you fare?”

Most arrows made in towns were of iron. They were strong but expensive, and because they were made under the control of the craftsmen’s guilds, they could be difficult to obtain with short notice for those without connections or with bad reputations in those towns. Without much else to do during the winter, the villagers seemed to be making ready to fill that demand with their handiwork.

Bone arrowheads were effective enough, especially when smeared with poison, and many archers even preferred them.

“Ah, yes, well, we have a favor to ask.”

“Oh ho. What is it?”

“Actually, we need a map drawn for us.”

Vino tilted his head at Lawrence’s words. “Ah, er, a…map, you say? We don’t much use them. What sort of map?”

“One of the area around the lake, including all the streams and rivers that flow out from it.”

It seemed to take Vino a moment to understand what Lawrence was saying, and he was silent. When he finally did speak, it was in a voice that sounded hesitant and worried about being overheard. “You’re not thinking of building a water mill, are you?” The simple villager’s tone was nervously joking.

“We have no need of a water mill,” said Lawrence without much enthusiasm. “It seems the way the water flows is important to the angel legend, and Sister Fran requires a map in order to properly guide us.”

The explanation smelled fishy even to Lawrence, but Vino nodded, evidently believing it. “Ah, I see. Well, if that’s all, it should be fine. The village has been told to cooperate with you, and it gives me an excuse for a break, so.”

Regardless of how it was in larger towns, in small villages everyone pitched in on the same work. What was important was not who had done what, but whether all the work had been done or not.

Some found this burdensome and left for the towns, but many others found the camaraderie pleasant and reassuring. Different ways of looking at the same thing could give very different impressions.

“If you please, then,” Lawrence replied.

“Well, shall we go see Mr. Mueller? His place is the only one with paper and ink.”

“Yes, let’s.”

Vino nodded, giving his fellow arrow carvers a shout before beginning to walk.

It was not unlike scenes Lawrence had seen at many trading companies, and from time to time, he had thought that it would be nice to have comrades. This pang came to him less now, though—because he had them.

Perhaps Holo was thinking the same thing, because when their eyes met, they shared a secret smile as they followed behind Vino.

“Hey, Mr. Mueller!” called Vino.

Mueller happened to be leaving his house at just that moment. At his side, he had a stack of dried skins, and in one hand he held a large, fine knife. He was probably about to cut them up and make them into boots or the like. Despite Mueller’s large body and hands, Lawrence got the feeling he was very skilled in their use.

“Ah, with our visitors. What is it?”

“I’m glad we caught you. We need to borrow paper and ink.”

“Paper and ink?” Mueller was dubious, both because they were items not often used in the village and also because they were quite precious.

“They say they want a map. Of the lake area.”

“A map?” Mueller looked back and forth between Vino and Lawrence and seemed to think something over. “Fine,” he said eventually, then handed the skins and knife to Vino. “I’ll draw it.”

Holo looked down, the better to hide her smile beneath her hood. The moment he had heard Mueller’s answer, Vino’s face had fallen like a child whose toy has been taken away.

“You managed to sneak your way into getting meat yesterday without helping with the deer, didn’t you?” said Mueller with a smug, older brotherish smile.

He was right, so Vino had no choice but nod in sad agreement.

“Off you go, then. These are for Lanan, Suk, and Sylhet. Ask Jana about the big one.”

“Fine, fine!” grumbled Vino. Mueller grinned as he watched Vino go.

This was a good village, Lawrence thought. It was a shame to have such good cheer spoiled by rumors of a witch.

“I’ll draw it inside. A map of the lake, you said?”

“More precisely, the area surrounding the lake, including all the rivers and streams that flow out of it.”

Inside the house were hunting implements, knives and clasps for cleaning and tanning skins, workbenches, and sewn into the gaps between all these were necessities like a hearth and straw bed. It had a singular aura, totally unlike a town workshop or trading company. It was a sturdy place, fitting for a man who oversaw an entire village.

“Ah. That’s a strange map to need.” Unsurprisingly, his reaction was unlike Vino’s. And his mind was quicker. “I’ll bet Vino asked you if you were planning to build a water mill, eh?”

“He did indeed,” Lawrence confessed, which Mueller grinned at.

“That fool. He came to me last night, pale faced, to tell me you’d asked about our hand grinding of grain. I gave him a smack and told him if you’d planned to build a mill, you wouldn’t have gone out of your way to point out our ways.” Like the landlord, he was skilled at using circumstances to keep the village safe.

Mueller pulled a workbench out and took an old sheaf of paper down from a shelf. “I hope this sort of paper will do.”

The paper Mueller produced was old and discolored with tattered corners. It would not have been worth much in a town.

“For your trouble,” said Lawrence, producing some salt, which Mueller nodded at, satisfied.

“Now then,” said Mueller as he took out a cracked, old inkstone and a battered quill pen. “I don’t think it will take much time, but feel free to sit anywhere.”

Lawrence nodded and sat down on a chest. Holo teased a chicken that had wandered its way into the house.

“So how goes your quest for the legend?” Mueller asked. His gaze was directed at the top of the paper, and though his hand was quickly drawing the map, his attention was entirely on Lawrence.

Lawrence doubted this was merely small talk.

“She seems to have seized upon something. She was very insistent that I come and get this map.”

“Ah, I see,” said Mueller as he drew. He could probably endure any amount of waiting against an animal, but not, apparently, against human opponents. Soon he spoke again. “Was there a witch?”

This was what he was most concerned about. As the one most responsible for protecting the village, he was more worried about shapeless rumors than he was about water mills. When it came right down to it, they could stop the construction of a mill by chaining themselves to the trees. But banishing rumors of a witch was much more difficult.

His hand stopped, and even a child could tell his eyes were not focused on the paper. Lawrence watched Holo harassing the chicken, then smiled and spoke. “No, there wasn’t.”

The quiet scratching of the quill resumed. “I see,” Mueller said and then continued the work in silence. Such a man was well suited to being a hunter. “This map would be different depending on the season.”

As Mueller spoke, Holo and the chicken seemed to have come to an understanding, with the latter tucking its head under its wing and sleeping at her feet.

“She said all she needed was a map for the winter.”

“I see. Well, this should do, then,” said Mueller, standing. His joints popped as though to give evidence of the single-mindedness with which he had drawn the map. When he stretched, there was a final pop loud enough to wake the chicken from its slumber, much to Holo’s delight. She smiled as she listened to the sound.

“You can take it once the ink’s dry. Given the hour, you ought to be able to make it by sunset.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Not at all. I’m sure Vino said the same thing last night.”

It didn’t seem to Lawrence as though Mueller was trying to avoid work, but it was good manners to laugh at the joke anyway.

Mueller accepted the bag of salt. In a village so poor in currency, finding some of the basic necessities could be a constant struggle.

“My thanks,” he said. “Now, I ought to go check in on Vino. You’d be surprised at how clumsy he can be. If he ruins those skins, I’ll have to beat his backside with the tendons.”

It was every bit the sort of thing a master craftsman would say, and Lawrence could not help but laugh. Holo was leaning against the doorway, and she smiled as she watched the village, listening to Lawrence and Mueller’s conversation. If one were to wish for a certain day to continue forever, this would be a good day to pick.

But then, she raised her voice in a curious “Hmm?” as Mueller left the house and had just gotten to the space under the eaves.

“What is it?” Mueller stopped in his tracks and looked off into the distance.

His eyes were fixed on a spot outside the village, roughly where the elder had been sitting when he stopped Lawrence the previous day. It was a place on the road leading into the village that anyone entering would have to pass. Lawrence heard something that sounded like the footsteps of rats and soon realized it was the sound of horses at a great distance. He looked hard and saw what looked to be an old man riding at the head, trailed by many armed men who carried spears.

Mueller watched them disappear behind a house, and his face went instantly pale. “—!” He dropped the bag of tools he was carrying and started running as the riders came out from behind the house and headed for the center of the village. The startled chicken started to run, and Holo stood.

“What’s the matter?”

“I have no idea. But they have spears.”

“Mm.”

If Lawrence’s eyes did not deceive him, there were flags dangling from the spears. Mercenaries would be armed with poleaxes rather than spears. That left few possibilities.

He heard voices calling from the distance.

“We summon Mueller and the village elder!”

Holo turned to Lawrence, but Lawrence had nothing to say—because Mueller had run out of the house across from them and was coming toward them.

“The landlord’s governor. He’s finally come!” Mueller’s forehead was sweaty and his face pale.

He ran into the house, opened a chest, and produced a bundle of parchment from a pot. It was probably the charter that most villages had.

Something that threatened the very existence of the village had happened.

“You two—” said Mueller, looking at the parchment. “There’s a path to the lake from the rear of the village. It’s well maintained, so you shouldn’t have any problems. The governor doesn’t know about you, so if you run you should arrive quickly. Tell the nun, will you please?” he said, rolling the map up on the workbench and thrusting it at Lawrence before bodily urging them toward the house’s rear door. There was a finality to his movement that was more compelling than any physical strength.

Once they got to the rear door, Lawrence peered at Mueller’s face.

“Tell her that the landlord’s come to lay waste to any lands where the legend of the angel remains. And tell her to tell the Church.”

“But—”

“Please! If you don’t hurry, it will be too late!”

Lawrence gave Holo a quick look; she nodded.

Yet there was a hesitation in her eyes—she was surely considering whether or not they should simply run. After all, none of them had come to prove that Katerina was a witch, and the landlord should, if anything, be glad for the existence of Church figures who believed her to be a simple nun.

But then Mueller said a strange thing. “We’ll repay this favor. For the sister’s sake, as well.” He looked back at the door, then again to Lawrence. “The forest and the lake will be destroyed.”

As though pushed away by the force of those words, Lawrence and Holo went out the rear door and left the house. Immediately thereafter, the governor’s soldiers seemed to reach Mueller’s house, calling out for him in loud voices.

Lawrence hesitated but eventually took Holo’s hand and ran.

The forest and the lake would be destroyed?

The question burned inside him as he ran.