Spice and Wolf - Volume 2 - Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Entering Ruvinheigen required passing through two separate checkpoints. One controlled passage through the city walls, and the other was situated out on the main road, which encircled the sprawl of greater Ruvinheigen.

Owing to the heavy traffic in and out of a city this size, one had to obtain a passage document at the outer checkpoint in order to pass through the station at the city walls. Legitimate travelers would use the legal routes into the city, obtain proper documents, and pass through the walls—any who lacked the passage document would be turned away on the spot.

The checkpoints also provided some degree of control over the inevitable smuggling and counterfeiting that large cities attracted.

The road that Lawrence and his companions took was evidently less traveled as their checkpoint—while not exactly crude—was rather simpler than checkpoints on more common routes, and the guard there seemed to know Norah. Using some strange power, she guided her sheep through the purposefully narrow checkpoint gate, and Lawrence followed after having his wares inspected.

The plain checkpoint stood in sharp contrast to the grand, august walls of Ruvinheigen.

It would be completely impossible to breach Ruvinheigen’s walls without control of the surrounding areas. Walls of earth and timber were spoken of with pride in other areas, but here a barrier of stone surrounded the city with lookout towers positioned at regular intervals. Ruvinheigen was nearer a castle than a city, and Holo let out an involuntary gasp of wonder as they regarded it from a convenient hill just past the first inspection point.

Just outside the walls were cultivated fields, and between the fields, roads stretched radially out from the city.

Here a group of pigs was driven by a farmer; there a long merchant caravan was visible. Farther in the distance, a white carpet moved slowly over the ground—probably a flock of sheep some shepherd had brought to pasture. Shepherds with flocks numbering over one hundred were not rare, but this shepherd was likely biding his time before finally bringing his sheep into Ruvinheigen to support the city’s consumption of meat.

Everything about the place was extraordinary.

Lawrence and his companions descended the hill and took one of the roads that ran between the fields.

The city was so large that from the hill it had seemed close, but traversing the distance took some time. Norah had to be careful that her sheep didn’t eat the crops growing at either side of the road. At length, the group was close enough to make out the designs on the city walls.

At this point, Lawrence carefully produced two silver coins and held them out to Norah.

“Right, then, here’s your forty trie.”

Trie were simple copper coins. However, that many coins would be unwieldy, and Lawrence reckoned that the two silver coins he gave her could be exchanged for forty-five trie.

He had paid Norah extra because he felt indebted to her. He and Holo had been fortunate not to encounter any wolves, but Lawrence was still impressed by the girl’s skill. Even Holo would concede it, and it was easy for Lawrence to see Norah distinguishing herself in the future. The extra money was just an investment to that end.

“Er, but, if I exchange this, won’t it come to more than…?”

“Call it an investment,” said Lawrence.

“An…investment?”

“Now that I know such a skilled shepherd, I might be able to turn a surprising profit on wool,” said Lawrence in a purposefully greedy tone. Norah laughed and grudgingly accepted the two silver coins.

“We’ll be at the Rowan Trade Guild for a while. If you’ve plans to take your flock afield again, come by there first. I might be able to introduce you to a merchant in need of escort.”

“I shall.”

“Oh, one last thing. The area where you can provide escort—is it just the route we took?”

“Er, I can go as far as Kaslata and Poroson. Oh, and also to Lamtra.”

Kaslata was a remote town with little to recommend it, and Lawrence was surprised to hear Norah mention Lamtra. Lamtra was one of the few places in the area not under the influence of Ruvinheigen, which controlled the rest of the region. It was not so very far north from the great city—Lawrence and his party could have gotten there by heading north from the midpoint of the road they had just taken. However, to reach Lamtra required passing through a dark and eerie forest, which even knights blanched at, so it had long resisted invasion from Ruvinheigen and was the only city where significant numbers of pagans still lived.

All the legitimate routes to Lamtra were incredibly roundabout, so Norah must not be suggesting she could provide escort along them. She clearly had confidence in her ability to navigate the forest.

If that was true, there were many merchants who would want to go with her.

“Lamtra, eh? I daresay you’ll have some business,” said Lawrence.

Norah’s face lit up. “Thank you very much!” she said, bowing low as if she was still living in an almshouse.

“My pleasure. Well, then, I’ll be entering from the southeast gate, so here’s where we part ways.”

“Certainly. I hope we meet again,” said Norah.

Lawrence nodded and reined his horse to the left as Norah rang her bell. Ruvinheigen was large enough to have no less than seventeen great gates. Between those were smaller gates used for large groups of sheep and other livestock, which Norah would have to use.

Also, given the city’s labyrinthine interior, it was common sense to enter via the gate nearest one’s destination—the city was just that big.

As they parted, Lawrence looked back over his shoulder at the girl and saw that Norah was still watching him and Holo. When she saw Lawrence turn, Norah waved wistfully to them.

He couldn’t very well not wave back, but he was afraid of being mocked by Holo. Lawrence stole a sideways glance at her, which the wolf girl noticed.

“You think me so ill-natured?”

Lawrence grinned, pained, then faced forward after returning Norah’s wave.

“Hmph. Well, now we’ll see how those honeyed peach preserves taste! I am surely looking forward to that.”

“Hm. So you remembered that, did you?” Lawrence said. As they approached the gate, he considered how much of his load of armor he would lose to the entrance tax.

“Surely you’re not saying you won’t buy any!” Holo was intimidating, despite her sweet smile and modestly tilted head.

Lawrence averted his eyes and muttered almost as if he were praying. “We can’t buy any if they aren’t selling any.”

“Well, naturally,” said Holo, as if entirely confident that the preserves would be for sale.

“Oh, and you probably know this already, but try to act a little more nunlike at the next checkpoint. They’ll be more lenient on a nun.”

“Hmph. I’m not so foolish as to stir up trouble in a city such as this. But do I even resemble a nun?”

“There’s no trouble on that count.”

As soon as he said it, Lawrence regretted it. Holo had endured much suffering at the hands of the Church. Saying she looked like a nun might make her angry.

“Heh, is that so?” Holo said, giggling. She seemed happy—surprisingly so.

“…What, you’re not angry?”

“Hm? Why would I be?”

“Well, I mean…the Church is your enemy, more or less.”

“Not necessarily. ’Tis the same as having someone like you around. Nuns are all fundamentally kind, and even a wolf like me can tell that most of them are quite lovely. Beauty transcends species.”

For his part, Lawrence understood well enough but was mostly glad she wasn’t cross.

And it was true that many nuns were beautiful. This may well have been partially because they were so assiduously meek, pure, and ascetic, but there was also the fact that the illegitimate child of many a noble became a nun.

Many a beautiful woman contrived to use her beauty to become the mistress of a wealthy noble, and many a fetching noble daughter was seduced by a rake, who wielded poetry and art like a weapon.

Often the children resulting from such liaisons were more hale and healthy than their legitimate siblings—most likely because the men and women able to seduce nobility were formidable themselves.

Such children were the cause of a fair share of succession struggles, but most of them would enter an abbey—thus many of the abbey’s brothers and sisters were handsome indeed.

“I don’t think I could suffer the constant fasting, though,” said Holo.

Lawrence laughed openly.

As they progressed down the road that ran alongside the great wall, a lively group of people became visible at its end.

It was the southeast entrance.

The huge gate was flung open, and while some people entered the city, others left, setting out on their travels.

The inspections of people and goods were conducted as one passed through the walls, and despite the volume of travelers, there was little waiting since so many inspectors were on duty.

However, unlike Poroson, not a single person bothered to form a line, so unless one was familiar with the protocol, it was possible to wind up standing outside the gate for hours. Lawrence knew the procedure, though, and he guided his horse forward, trying his best to avoid colliding with anyone; threading his way past less-knowledgeable folk; and finally arriving at the road that passed under the archway, carved out of the stone wall, which led into the city. In times of war, this was an important point to defend, so the walls here were very thick. Lawrence glanced up to see a thickly timbered gate suspended above the crowds, and with a chill, he wondered what would happen if it were to fall—though he’d never heard of such an accident. Just past the gate, there was an opening in the roof through which boiling oil could be poured on invading enemies should they breach the wall. The stone around the opening was discolored, perhaps due to frequency of use.

Just past the walls was the inspection checkpoint, and beyond that, Lawrence could see the streets of Ruvinheigen.

Any large city hemmed in by walls—not just Ruvinheigen—had to expand upward, rather than outward, owing to limited space. Ruvinheigen was particularly challenged in this regard, and the city which greeted Lawrence was reminiscent of a ship’s hold piled high with goods. Several buildings looked ready to overflow at any moment. Still beyond those, he could see the high, high roof of Ruvinheigen’s great cathedral.

“You there, merchant!” a voice called out.

Lawrence shifted his attention to a guard wearing thin leather armor who pointed at him.

“Staring at the city will get you in an accident!” chided the guard.

“My apologies.”

There was a titter at Lawrence’s side.

“Next! Uh, you there! The merchant that just got scolded!”

It was difficult to navigate without a proper line. Lawrence choked down the embarrassing brand and guided his horse toward the inspector, bowing in greeting.

“Passage papers,” demanded the inspector impatiently.

“Right here.”

“Hm. Out of Poroson, eh? Your goods?”

“Twenty sets of armor.”

Commerce was prohibited outside the walls, so it was required that a merchant’s load match the travel document.

The inspector blinked rapidly. He seemed surprised.

“Armor? From Poroson?”

“Ah, yes. I bought them from the Latparron Company in Poroson. Is there a problem?”

Ruvinheigen had been founded when knights’ companies tasked with suppressing the pagans had set up fortifications, and to this day, the city remained an important supply depot for soldiers heading north. Weapons and armor from surrounding areas were imported here and flew off shelves immediately.

Lawrence was thus puzzled by the inspector’s reaction, but the official just shook his head and turned his attention to the wagon bed. The cart contained twenty sets of helms, gauntlets, breastplates, and greaves—all fashioned out of leather and chain mail. The wine had not been merchandise for sale but would still have been taxed. However, it had long since been drunk dry.

There was nothing suspicious, and the inspector seemed satisfied. He climbed atop the wagon to verify that no taxable items like gold or jewels were hidden within the armor; then, appeased, he climbed back down. He gave the bundle of firewood a cursory check, but hiding anything within it would have been impossible.

“This does seem like Poroson armor. Will you be paying in coin or stock?”

The armor was worth one hundred lumione total, so the 10 percent tax would amount to ten lumione.

Ten lumione itself came to more than three hundred pieces of trenni silver, and no merchant would travel carrying so much coin. It would have been inconvenient for the inspector to count out three hundred pieces even if Lawrence had them.

Handing over some of the armor itself as tax solved all these problems.

“Stock,” said Lawrence.

“Good answer,” replied the inspector, which elicited a sigh of relief from Lawrence. “Turn in two sets of armor over there,” he said, recording something with a quill on a piece of paper, which he handed to Lawrence.

Two suits of armor out of twenty satisfied the 10 percent tax.

Lawrence nodded after confirming the accuracy of the receipt.

For Holo’s part, she was every inch a nun and thus went unquestioned. This was a city of the Church, and suspicion of priests or nuns was likely more trouble than it was worth.

In any case, relieved that he’d gotten through the checkpoint smoothly, Lawrence descended from the wagon, then took hold of the reins, and walked on. It would only become more crowded—and thus dangerous—ahead.

The area around the tax collection point was like a war, a din of colliding languages and clothing. Lawrence could hear the same haggling and begging one heard at any site where taxes were remitted.

Naturally, he didn’t engage in anything so foolish as haggling over taxes and obediently handed over the required two suits of armor.

However, the clerk took a look at the receipt Lawrence received from the inspector and knitted his brow.

Lawrence was suddenly nervous—had there been some impropriety? But no, it seemed everything was in order.

Unclear as to what had just happened, Lawrence passed through the checkpoint and into the city, climbing back atop the wagon.

The reaction of the inspector on seeing the cargo of armor was a mystery, but Lawrence had made it through, so there no more cause for concern.

He muttered reassurances to himself, but a certain uneasiness remained.

“Hey, merchant,” said Holo.

Lawrence was suddenly unsettled at the sound of Holo’s voice, as though he was about to hear something unpleasant. “What?”

Holo spoke slowly in response to Lawrence’s question. “Mm. I am hungry.”

“…”

Lawrence looked ahead again, ignoring both Holo’s complaint and his own lingering unease.

The great cathedral of Ruvinheigen is so massive that it is visible from anywhere in the city. The metropolis spreads out around the cathedral—the district closest to it is known as the old city, hemmed in by the old city walls, and surrounding those walls, in turn, is the rest of Ruvinheigen.

In the southern part of the roughly circular municipality was its biggest gate, and passing through the structure—which was large enough to allow siege engines through—there was a plaza so wide as to be the envy of any foreign king, with a fountain created using the latest craftsmanship available in the south and a permanent marketplace.

Around the edges of the plaza sat the great trading firms of the region, the homes of true power and influence in the city, all linked at the eaves. Beyond them were smaller trading companies and the homes and shops of a wide variety of craftsmen.

The great cathedral stood in the middle of another of Ruvinheigen’s plazas, which were arranged as a great pentagon with the southern gate at its peak. Each plaza had its own characteristics, almost like a city within a city.

Lawrence and Holo passed through the southeast entrance, and though the square they entered could hardly be compared to the great southern plaza, it was still sizable.

In the center of the square stood striking statues of knights, who had accomplished some memorable deed in the war against the pagans, and saints, who had made some important contribution to the faith.

Scores of stalls were lined up in the plaza with people on straw mats hawking their wares within the structures.

There were no stalls around the bronze statues, though. Instead, an ensemble traded musical phrases with a minstrel playing a plain wooden flute while a famous troupe of comedic actors plied their trade. Mingling with the entertainers were pilgrim priests, clad in rags and wielding tattered books of scripture as they preached; their rapturously attentive disciples wore even worse clothing.

It seemed like the order of the day in the district was getting a light snack at one of the booths, watching the performers, and taking in a sermon after you had your fun.

After Lawrence and Holo arranged for a room at an inn and stabled the horse, they started for the trading house to begin their business arrangements when they found themselves drawn toward the commotion of happy voices and delicious scents.

They held some fried lamprey eel, which seemed to be a popular snack. The sweetness of the oil masked the earthy smell of the stuff, and no sooner had you finished a piece than you wanted another, which seemed to be human nature. The next thing Lawrence knew, he and Holo had stopped in front of a drink stand, taking in the comedy show over some beer.

“Mmm, that’s tasty,” said Holo after she drained one cup, and with foam still clinging to the corners of her mouth, she ordered another round. The barman was only too happy to serve such a profitable customer.

Having snacked on fried eel and beer all afternoon, Holo no longer looked anything like a nun.

The outfit she used upon entering the city would have been less convincing because of Lawrence’s presence—nothing was fishier than a person of faith traveling with a merchant, after all.

So Holo had switched her robe for a rabbit-skin cape, but she folded the robe up and wrapped it about her waist, using the resulting makeshift skirt to hide her tail. Her perpetually troublesome ears were concealed under a triangular kerchief.

Thus had Holo transformed from nun to town lass. The square was packed with girls who had abandoned work for an afternoon of fun, so she hardly stood out. The way she drank, with no regard for her coin purse, made it easy to think she was parting some guileless merchant from his money.

Actually, as Lawrence paid in advance, the barman seemed to think it was he who had been tripped up by this casually expensive girl.

Lawrence gave the man a pained smile to deflect the issue, but the barman wasn’t necessarily wrong, either.

“The liquor is good and the people lively—’tis a good city, no?”

“The liveliness comes at a price—we have to watch ourselves, especially around any knights or mercenaries. A quarrel with their ilk will be more trouble than we need.”

“You can count on me,” said Holo.

Lawrence sighed instead of voicing his thoughts on the matter. “Right, well, we should be moving on.”

He had finished his second beer while Holo had downed four in the same amount of time, so it seemed an opportune moment to leave.

“Mm? Already? I’ve not yet begun to drink.”

“You can drink more tonight. Let’s go.”

Looking back and forth from Lawrence to her cup, Holo finally seemed to give up and backed away from the stall. The barman called out “come again!” and his voice disappeared into the crowd alongside Lawrence and Holo.

“So, then, where do we go?”

“To the trading house—and at least wipe your mouth, hm?”

Only now aware of the foam at the corners of her mouth, Holo brought her sleeve to her lips as if to wipe them.

However, thinking better of this at the last second, she instead grabbed Lawrence’s sleeve and wiped her mouth on it.

“Why, you—I’ll remember that.”

“And yet you’ve already hit me,” said Holo, holding his head off with one hand and glaring at him, her other hand firmly clamped around Lawrence’s. Her anger at being poked lasted but a moment.

“Still,” she continued.

“Hm?”

“Why must you drag me along to this trading house? I’d just as soon drink my fill in the square.”

“It’s too dangerous to leave you alone,” warned Lawrence.

Holo looked blank for a moment, then giggled bashfully—perhaps she’d misunderstood.

“Mm, ’tis true. I am a bit too lovely to be left alone!”

It was true that Holo, with the fall of her red-brown hair swaying, tended to attract attention, and some of those who looked on must have envied Lawrence, who held her hand.

It wasn’t that he didn’t take a bit of pride in walking around with Holo, but the fact was that there was no telling what trouble she would get into if left on her own.

The square was a fun, lively place, but fun, lively places seemed to attract more than their share of trouble. If by some fluke her true form was exposed there, it would be disastrous.

“No amount of loveliness will put Church guards or temple knights off your tail,” said Lawrence. “What if you get drunk and let your ears or tail show?”

“Why, I’ll just turn on them. I’ll grab you in my jaws, and we’ll dash from the city. I can surely leap over those walls. Isn’t there some old story about a knight and a princess like that?”

“What, the one where the knight rescues the captured princess?”

“That’s the one!” said Holo, amused. For Lawrence, there wasn’t a trace of romance in the idea of Holo assuming her wolf form and escaping with him between her teeth.

Quite the contrary, just the thought of being clamped between those great jaws made Lawrence want to shudder.

“Well, don’t do that,” he said.

“Mm. If you’re the one that’s captured, there’s little gain in rescuing you.”

Lawrence made a pained expression and looked at Holo, who eyed him mischievously.

The two of them passed around the swirl of people and headed north on a narrow lane where storefronts stood under the sparkling, sunlit eaves that lined the block. There were no trading companies here, but rather buildings with merchant unions and trading houses. Some were economic associations created by mixed groups of merchants from different areas; others were buildings for craft unions created by textile merchants who cooperated regardless of their origin.

The world offered no protection for merchants who met with danger or accidents. Just as knights wore helms and breastplates, merchants banded together to assure their own safety. The largest economic alliances were a match for even a merchant’s worst enemy: a nation bent on abusing its power.

One famous story had eighteen regions and twenty-three guilds coming together in the most powerful economic alliance ever created, matching forces with an army fourteen thousand strong and claiming victory almost instantly. The union that was formed to preserve profits transcended borders and was a good example of the solidarity to which such groups could give rise.

For that reason, the buildings these unions and associations made use of were somehow quite orderly, and those that frequented them conducted themselves politely.

Without civility, a long-standing rivalry between (for example) a fishmonger and a butcher might escalate into violence and overflow into the town.

Such manners generally sprung from an aversion to sullying one’s organization’s good name, but they were still very important to merchants. Commerce depended on trust and reputation, after all.

“Right then, I’ve got business to take care of, so just wait here,” instructed Lawrence once they arrived at the trading house with which he was associated. He saw the building painted in the local style and could not help but feel a certain nostalgia. He kept it to himself, though, out of consideration for Holo, whose homeland was still far away.

Holo regarded him as he feigned indifference. “What, are you not going to bring me in and show me off to your old village mates?”

It seemed she had spotted the bit of pride he’d mustered along the way, but that wasn’t enough to bother him anymore.

“That would basically amount to a preamble to marriage. My town’s marriage ceremonies are quite rowdy—are you sure you’re up for that?”

This sort of thing was quite universal. Holo’s knowledge of the human world seemed to give her some idea.

She shook her head in distaste.

“I’ll be done soon. If you wait nicely, I’ll buy you some sweetbread,” said Lawrence.

“I’ll thank you not to treat me like a child.”

“Oh, you don’t want any?”

“I do.”

Lawrence couldn’t help but laugh at Holo’s serious reply, and leaving her there, he ascended the steps to the building and rapped on the door of the trading company. The door had no knocker, which was a sign that only members should knock.

After waiting some time, however, there was still no answer.

Lawrence ventured to open the door on his own. Given the time of day, it was possible that everyone was out in the marketplace—and as he expected, the interior was silent. The first floor was a spacious lobby set up as a drinking hall in which the members could relax, but the chairs were set atop the round tables, and a mop leaned against one wall. Evidently the room was being cleaned.

Nothing had changed in the year Lawrence had been away, save the hairline of the guild master who tended the front counter—which had receded. He imagined the master’s already large belly had grown larger, but unfortunately the man seemed to find it difficult to stand, so Lawrence couldn’t be sure.

The master lifted his gaze from the counter and with a friendly smile began his usual ribbing. “Well, now, what a poor merchant is this! Wandering around a trading house at this hour—cares not a whit for making money. You’d do better changing into a thief’s clothes and getting yourself to an alehouse!”

“The greatest merchants make money without dirtying their shoes with so much as a speck of dust; their only stain is the ink upon their fingers. Running around the marketplace all day is the sign of the third-rate merchant. Am I wrong?”

Every time they met like this, Lawrence used to get angry recalling the master’s inexplicable habit of jesting at him when he was a young apprentice. Somewhere along the line, he had learned to spar right back without getting flustered.

Lawrence easily returned the master’s jape, then straightened and brought his heels together smartly, squaring himself to the counter as he approached it.

The man ensconced behind the counter was squarely built and stout and slapped his forehead at Lawrence’s reply, grinning. “You’ve gotten clever, boy. Welcome home, my son!”

“Stop the ‘my son’ nonsense.”

“What are you saying? All in the Rowen Trade Guild are my sons and daughters.”

The two shook hands over the familiar exchanges.

“And yet I know of all the times you wet your bedroll after we made camp—and is it not the teaching of God that a good father knows well his son? Or should I mention the time you stole the cash box and snuck off with your friends, trembling, to the whorehouse?”

“All right, all right. I’m Kraft Lawrence, then, son of the great Jakob Tarantino.”

“So, Kraft my boy. You’re back in Ruvinheigen after a year gone. How fares our family in other towns?”

Jakob’s manner was as overbearing as always, and it hit Lawrence with all the harsh edge and warmth of liquor. The trading house was truly his homeland in a foreign city.

This was the kind of harsh hospitality he only tasted at home.

“They’re all doing well by the grace of the saints.”

“Good, good. Well, now, if you’ve gone the rounds among family, you must be fairly brimming with profit! If your purse is heavy, your trousers sag. If your trousers sag, the ladies won’t like you. And you, lad, are a vain one. Am I wrong?”

Lawrence had no comeback. Laughing at the master’s heavy-handed way of seeking a contribution, he replied, “I’ve heard that the ability to handle figures gets bad with age, but old Jakob’s eyes are still sharp, I see.”

Lawrence seamlessly withdrew ten silver pieces from the purse fixed at his waist and slapped them down on the counter with a flourish.

If he’d grudgingly handed over two or three copper coins, he would have gotten an earful.

He wanted to show the old man up, and in any case, his profit from the spice had been sizable. The generous donation was a kind of report that he was doing business on this scale now—and Jakob broke into a grin at it.

“Ha-ha-ha, the little bed wetter’s bringing in real silver now! How lovely.”

“Enough about the bed-wetting.”

“You still are one to me, boy.”

Lawrence shrugged, at which point Jakob’s laugh rang out again.

“Well, then, you’ve come all the way out here in the middle of the day, so you must be here on business. You need a certificate?”

“Yes.”

“I surely look forward to the day when you’re a famous enough merchant that people flinch at the mention of your name,” said Jakob.

“You’re telling me,” agreed Lawrence—then remembered he had something else to mention. “Oh, right. Do you know of any traders in the guild that’re headed to Lamtra?”

Jakob placed a pen and ink pot on the desk, then looked up, and raised his eyebrows at Lawrence. “Now that’s a strange question,” he remarked.

“I was just thinking of providing a shortcut to Lamtra in exchange for a consideration…”

Jakob’s gaze swung around for a moment before settling again on Lawrence. He wore a meaningful smile.

“Oh ho. Have you met a certain young shepherdess?”

Lawrence was taken so off guard that his breath momentarily caught in his throat, but when he stopped to consider it, he found it was far from surprising that merchants in Ruvinheigen would know of Norah the shepherd girl.

Which meant that Lawrence’s radical idea had already occurred to others.

“You’re far from the first to have that idea, boy. Especially after the road that went through the area she wanders was finished. But nobody makes a business of that now, and nobody asks that girl for escort. Do you know why?” Jakob spoke smoothly as he wrote out the certificate.

Lawrence answered with a sigh, “Because there’s no business in it?”

Jakob nodded and looked up. “That girl’s the only one who wanders that area unscathed. Sure, Norah the Nymph’s pretty popular with her charm and skill, but I don’t have to tell you what the Church thinks about that. Nobody wants to get tangled up with those sons of bitches.”

He dipped the tip of his quill in the ink pot and continued, a malicious leer on his face. “I know Norah the Nymph is the type of girl you like, but here’s some free advice: Give it up.”

It was just everyday morning conversation, but it cut a little too close to the quick, and Lawrence could only offer a pained sort of smile in reply.

“So, who do I make the certificate out to? Or should I leave it blank?”

“No, make it out to the Remelio Company, please.”

Jakob paused again for a moment.

He looked back at Lawrence with the appraising eyes of a merchant.

“Remelio, eh? If you already know who you’re selling to…, you must be selling on margin, then, hmm?”

“Yes. Out of Poroson. Is there something I should know?” asked Lawrence, only to be hit by a sudden, severe look that surfaced like a fish from the depths of a pond.

“Mm. Well, you’ll see when you get there. Here, your certificate.”

When a merchant first sold goods to a trading house, the worst problem he might encounter was if a competing merchant forced their prices down. Such things didn’t happen too often in smaller towns like Pazzio and Poroson, but Ruvinheigen was large, and because of the connections between the many trading firms and associations, it happened often. Ruvinheigen was an obvious place for large transactions, and the smaller transactions of individual merchants were like grains of sand.

Thus, Lawrence would state which trading guild he was associated with and make it clear that he could not be trifled with. With the name of a guild behind him, he wouldn’t be treated badly.

“The Rowen Trade Guild is under the protection of Saint Lambardos. I’ll pray for your good fortune,” said Jakob.

“My thanks…”

Lawrence took the certificate that proved his affiliation with the Rowen Trade Guild, vaguely thanking Jakob, who clearly knew more than he was saying.

Lawrence knew from experience that if he asked for more information, he would not get it.

However, in such situations, it was likely that he would come to the answer after either further thought or investigation.

What could it possibly be? he wondered.

“Yes, yes, you’ll see when you go. It’s you we’re talking about here, so I’m sure you’ll turn it to your advantage.” Jakob’s words only served to further confuse Lawrence, but if going to the trading house would lead to understanding, he had no choice but to advance. In all likelihood, some commodity’s price had destabilized, and the Remelio Company was in some kind of chaos.

Lawrence put the thought out of his mind, gave Jakob his thanks, and turned to leave. He had come here to sell his goods, and getting distracted before he did that accomplished nothing.

The moment he put his hand to the door, he was stopped short by Jakob’s voice.

Lawrence looked back and saw Jakob smiling pleasantly.

“Oh, and just you wait before getting involved with any girls, you hear? Even a mild one like Norah’s too much for you to handle—a city girl would take up all your profits just like that!”

There were windows in the guild house’s walls, but they were not made of glass like the great trading companies’—instead oil-soaked sheets of linen cloth served as the panes. This let a bit of light in, but one could hardly see through them.

Yet it seemed Jakob had spotted Holo just beyond the door.

It was proof the man possessed the cunning to run a trade guild in a foreign land; his was far beyond that of a normal person.

“You can’t invest without capital.”

“Ha-ha! Well met, you bed wetter!”

Lawrence grinned sheepishly and opened the door; Jakob was still laughing when he closed it behind him.

He remembered his days as an apprentice. When faced with people like Jakob, he had been in such a hurry to grow up, to surpass them. It was nostalgic, but bitter and biting at the same time.

Lawrence reflected on how young he still was as he looked toward the base of the stone steps. Just at that moment, Holo glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Oh, there he is. That’s my companion,” said Holo.

She was sitting at the base of the steps as she pointed rudely at him. In front of her were two boys, probably apprentices to some tradesman. They looked to be around fifteen or sixteen, about the same age Holo appeared. They were carrying packages, perhaps out on an errand for their parents.

The boys, just barely old enough to shave, regarded Lawrence with animosity after hearing Holo’s words. Dealing with them could have been a hassle, but they flinched slightly when Lawrence sighed.

There was a world of difference in the social position of a craftsman’s apprentice and a guild merchant. The boys had probably approached the obviously bored Holo, but now, confronted with Lawrence, they realized there was nothing they could do, so looking to each other, the two apprentices scampered off.

Holo giggled. “They were precious. Called me a beautiful rose, they did,” she said, laughing as she watched the boys dash off, but Lawrence’s face showed his distress.

“Don’t mess around with them. Apprentice boys are like wild dogs. You could get taken.”

“And in that case, you could come rescue me again. Am I wrong?”

Faced with her unexpectedly guileless response, Lawrence couldn’t help but feel a bit happy, but his face remained stern. “Sure, I’d rescue you.”

Holo grinned and stood. “Of course, in the end, I was the one who rescued you.”

She had him there.

Lawrence covered his eyes out of irritation and descended the steps. She took his right arm, snickering.

“I don’t know what kind of return you’re expecting, but I’ll take that investment,” she said.

“…You heard all that?”

“My precious little ears can tell when you so much as twitch an eyebrow. So you have a thing for fair hair, do you?”

Lawrence only managed a confused “Huh?” at Holo’s utterly inexplicable reasoning before she continued.

“And so scrawny, too. Or do you like the careworn look? Or do you just have a thing for shepherdesses?”

Her rapid-fire interrogation made Lawrence think of a suspension bridge with its ropes being cut one after another. He stared at Holo, alarmed, but she just smiled back.

Her smile was the most frightening thing yet.

“Now wait just a minute—that’s just Master Jakob’s way of saying hello. If he’s got an opportunity, it’s like a game for him to say stuff like that. I’m not—”

“Not what?” Lawrence saw in Holo’s eyes that she wouldn’t tolerate a lie.

He had no choice but to tell the truth.

“W-well, sure, I thought Norah was nice. I can’t say our conversation wasn’t nice. But…that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you, or…well, it doesn’t mean that.”

He got flustered halfway through, and it was suddenly very hard to face Holo. He’d never had to say anything like this in his entire life.

Having gotten it out, he took a deep breath. After composing himself a bit, he glanced over at his companion, who regarded him with a measure of surprise on her face.

“I was just teasing…”

The embarrassment and anger Lawrence felt at these words was sliced clean through by the smile Holo gave him.

“I didn’t think you’d take me at my word, there…it’s nice.”

She looked down and squeezed his arm just slightly.

For Lawrence, it hadn’t been the dissembling or prevarication of a business negotiation, but a way of seeing how close they could become.

Mostly unconscious of and unconcerned with how it might look, Lawrence moved to put his left arm around Holo but embraced only air.

She had soundlessly slipped from his grasp.

“Still, males are ever thus. They’ll say anything.”

Looking at her sad, serious manner, even Lawrence could easily imagine that sometime in Holo’s past, someone had said something careless and hurtful, something that she still felt resentment over.

But Lawrence was a merchant. He was always careful with his words.

“So—you’ll need to show me something. Do knights not entrust their swords and shields as proof of their good faith? You’re a merchant, so what will you show me?

Lawrence had also heard the tales of knights who would hand over their swords and shields—said to be their very souls—when swearing oaths of loyalty.

So what, then, of a merchant? The answer was obvious: money.

Lawrence could just imagine Holo’s unamused expression if he handed her a purse full of coins.

He needed to buy something for her, something that would both make her happy and stand for the money—his merchant’s soul—that he would unhesitatingly use for her sake.

The item that sprang immediately to mind was the ultimate luxury: honeyed peach preserves.

“Fine,” said Lawrence. “I’ll show you I don’t say such things lightly.”

Her eyes filled with a mixture of suspicion and anticipation. If he could somehow answer the question in those red-brown pupils of hers, well—than honeyed peach preserves would be a bargain.

“I’ll buy you some honeyed peach…”

That was as far as Lawrence got before a strange feeling came over him, specifically regarding the triangular kerchief on Holo’s head.

Holo cocked her head curiously at the frozen Lawrence.

Then, with a quick “Oh,” she hastily put her hands to her head.

“Don’t tell me you—,” Lawrence started.

“Wh-what? What’s wrong? You were about to say you would buy me something?”

He had to give her credit for staying shameless, but Lawrence wasn’t going to simply laugh this off.

Looking at the kerchief on her head made it obvious. Beneath it, her ears had been twitching strangely, vigorously. That was the proof.

This was all part of her plan.

“You know, there are some things you just can’t do!” he said.

Holo seemed to realize that her plan had failed, and now suddenly sullen, she stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “You said I should ask more charmingly!”

For a moment Lawrence didn’t follow her, but then he remembered their conversation on the outskirts of Poroson. Exasperated, he looked up to the heavens.

“No, I said you should ask nicely. I never said anything about feminine wiles!”

“But I was charming, was I not?”

Lawrence hated himself for not having a ready reply, and hated himself still more for not becoming angrier with her.

“Though I must say,” continued Holo, “you were twice as charming. That was far more exciting than if my plan had gone as I meant it to.”

Finally, at a loss for words, Lawrence simply walked down the road.

Holo laughed and followed him.

“Come now, don’t be angry!”

When he gave her a look that said “whose fault is that?” she just laughed at him harder.

“I was happy, though, truly. Are you still angry?”

Lawrence found his expression softened by the way Holo’s swaying, chestnut-brown hair complemented her smile.

He suddenly very much wanted to share a drink with his reliably silent horse—who was male.

“Fine, I’m not mad. I’m not mad—okay?”

Holo let slip a private smile as if enjoying her victory, exhaling before she spoke again.

“It won’t do to get separated. May I take your hand?”

To return to their lodgings, they would have to reenter the crowded streets, but even separated from Lawrence, Holo would have no trouble finding her way.

So it was an obvious pretense.

She was a canny old wolf, indeed. Lawrence relented. “Yes, we mustn’t get separated,” he agreed.

Holo smiled, and her hand slipped into his.

All Lawrence could do was tighten his grip ever so slightly on that hand.

“So, what about my honeyed peach preserves?”

The cathedral bells rang out to signal noontime—and the beginning of a new battle.

The Remelio Company was a wholesaler that operated a shop in the Church city of Ruvinheigen.

Lawrence, betting that he would be able to turn a profit, had half threatened the Latparron Company into letting him buy up more armor than he had assets to secure. In order to pay them back, he planned to sell to the Remelio Company, which Latparron often dealt with—and there would be no need to return all the way to Poroson to repay his debt. He’d just have them record it in their ledgers and that would be that.

He entered a street one block removed from a crowded main road and arrived at the Remelio Company.

It was the rear entrance, where a large area was reserved for loading and unloading goods.

In a city the size of Ruvinheigen, unloading goods through a shop’s front entrance was considered uncivilized. If you tried it on a street with heavy traffic, you’d be laughed at, at best, and at worst, you would not be able to sell your goods at all. In fact, in many places, merchants weren’t even supposed to take their wagons on streets with heavy traffic.

This was why, on the side streets running parallel to the main street, horses pulling wagons often outnumbered pedestrians. Lawrence knit his brows.

The area around the Remelio Company seemed oddly quiet.

“Is this company managed by monks?” Holo asked.

“With monks, I’d at least expect to hear prayers. But I don’t hear a thing.”

Holo, munching on a bread roll, lightly took off her kerchief and started to prick up her ears, but Lawrence had no time for such roundabout methods. He got off the driver’s seat, crossed the slope for wagons to pass through, and entered the loading dock.

Buildings were densely packed, and maintaining a loading dock in Ruvinheigen—a city where people constantly joked that buildings were so close together that “poor people can sleep between them standing up”—was not easy. Yet the Remelio Company’s dock could accommodate at least three wagons with space for easily a hundred sacks of wheat. There was a table for conducting negotiations and an exchange stand in the corner, and the walls were decorated with parchment on which blessings for good commerce had been written.

It was a magnificent dock.

But livestock feed was scattered everywhere, along with pieces of horse dung and the remains of this and that cargo. Clearly, no one was tending to its upkeep, and there was not a dockmaster in sight.

Business comes and goes, so it would not be outlandish to have times when there are simply no customers. But it was still common sense to keep your shop neat and tidy.

It was as if the company had been destroyed. Lawrence withdrew and got back in the wagon’s seat. Holo appeared to have finished her bread and now rummaged around for her meat pie, which, if Lawrence remembered correctly, was supposed to be his.

“If you eat that much, the sound of your chewing is going to wreck that hearing you’re so proud of.”

“Nicely put—but for the sake of my reputation, I should tell you I can hear the sound of someone in the building.”

Holo then bit down enthusiastically on the meat pie. She was clearly not going to have just a bit.

“There’s someone there?”

“Mm…mmph…mrgh. Seems dangerous, though. At the very least, it’s nothing pleasant.”

Hearing this, the five wooden stories of the Remelio Company, given the state of its loading dock, started to seem downright sinister. Nothing was so cursed as a trading company that had gone bankrupt. When that happened, the local church usually found itself very busy conducting funerals for the newly deceased.

“Well, there’s no point wandering around here. We can’t make money if we can’t sell the goods.”

“A meat pie’s no good until you eat it,” agreed Holo.

“I was saving that!”

Lawrence shot Holo a glare before moving the wagon and got an equally sour look for his trouble.

But perhaps eating the whole thing would have been a bit too much guilt—Holo split the pie and offered one half to Lawrence. It was about a quarter of what he had originally planned to eat, but as complaining might have cost him what little was left, he snatched the piece up.

Normally meat pies were made with ground beef that was approaching the expiration date set by the butchers guild, but here in Ruvinheigen, the meat pies were as noble as the city itself. The meat was entirely tasty, and Lawrence ate his pie in two bites as he drove the wagon up to the deserted loading dock.

The horse’s hooves clopped against the ground, and it seemed as though their familiar sound reached the ears of the people within. Lawrence drove the wagon up, climbing down from the driver’s seat just as the dockmaster finally emerged.

“I daresay there are a few hours left before the sabbath—so what is the matter?” said Lawrence.

“Er, well, that is…did sir come to the city today…?” The middle-aged dockmaster slurred his words initially, but his faculties seemed to return to him as he appraised Lawrence.

Those eyes were like a thief eyeing his mark’s coin purse, and Lawrence’s merchant instinct sensed danger. The dockmaster seemed ragged now that Lawrence got a look at him. This was a place of physical labor, so he would hardly be standing ramrod straight, but even so, Lawrence could tell if someone was filled with vigor.

This was not good. This was clearly not good.

“No, I came a few days ago. You know how it goes. Well, you seem busy, so I’ll come by later. I’m in no special hurry.”

Lawrence avoided making eye contact, and without waiting for the dockmaster’s reply, he turned back to the wagon.

Holo seemed to sense something off as well. She looked to Lawrence questioningly but soon nodded. Despite her appearance as a normal town girl, her wits were extraordinary. She didn’t boast of being a wisewolf for nothing.

But the dockmaster did not give up so easily.

“Well, now, do wait just a moment, sir. I can tell sir is a trader of some repute. It would be rude of me to let sir leave empty-handed.”

If Lawrence just refused the man, there was no telling how his reputation might spread around the city.

But the merchant blood fairly frothed in his veins.

Run, it said. This is dangerous.

“Not at all,” replied Lawrence. “I’m a merchant with little besides complaints to sell.”

It was only a third-rate merchant who was so clumsily self-effacing when selling. Humility was a virtue for men of the cloth, but for traders, it was like sticking one’s head in a noose.

But Lawrence had judged that escape was the best plan. Holo’s frozen posture reinforced this decision.

“Sir shouldn’t sell himself so cheaply! Even a blind beggar could tell sir is a man of stature!”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” said Lawrence, sitting in the wagon seat and grabbing the reins. The dockmaster seemed to be able to tell that it was time to relent. He had been leaning forward so earnestly that he almost stumbled, but now he righted himself.

It seemed like Lawrence was off the hook, so he spoke briefly to the dockmaster. “Well, then, I’ll take my leave…”

“Yes…most unfortunate. I await sir’s return,” said the dockmaster with an ingratiating smile. Lawrence took that as his cue to exit, so he started to move the wagon.

The dockmaster, however, took advantage of this small gap in Lawrence’s defense. “I believe I forgot to ask sir’s name,” he said.

“Lawrence. From the Rowen Trade Guild.”

Lawrence gave his name without thinking, then suddenly, he wondered if giving his name to someone he didn’t know, in a situation he didn’t understand, was a mistake—but he could think of no reason why it would matter.

Most likely, the dockmaster simply hadn’t known what Lawrence had come to this place to do.

However—

“Lawrence, you say. Indeed. From the Latparron Company.”

The dockmaster grinned unpleasantly.

The jolt that ran through Lawrence’s spine was impossible to describe.

There was no reason he could think of for the dockmaster to know his name.

“You were bringing some armor to our company, yes?”

Lawrence was suddenly nauseated as he sensed he had fallen into some kind of trap. His instinct screamed it at him.

He looked slowly over to the dockmaster.

It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be.

“Actually, last night a messenger on a fast horse came to us. The Latparron Company has had their obligations assigned to our company. So, you see, you have a debt to us, Mr. Lawrence.”

With those words, everything changed.

Normally, obligation transfers did not take place over messenger horse. But the abnormality made the transfer all the more believable—for example, if two companies were engaging in fraud.

If Lawrence hadn’t been sitting in the wagon, he would have collapsed.

Even sitting, he lurched over from the force of the words.

Holo, surprised, caught Lawrence as he toppled.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

He didn’t want to consider it.

The dockmaster answered for him.

“The merchant beside you has failed at business—just like us.” His happiness was clearly no more than schadenfreude.

“What?” asked Holo.

Lawrence wished desperately for this all to be a dream.

“The price of armor must have plunged some time ago. The old fox at Latparron shifted his dead stock onto us.”

The future was dark.

“We’ve been had…”

Lawrence’s hoarse voice was all that tied him to reality.