Spice and Wolf - Volume 20 - Chapter 2

THE WHITE HOUND AND WOLF

God’s trial must have begun when my companions slipped on the mountain road. It luckily had not been a serious ordeal, but the constant rain then was causing landslides everywhere, and we were brought to a standstill deep in the mountains.

The horseman we had hired from a nearby village was energetic, for a while at first, but began acting strange upon hearing the cries of wolves at night. One day at lunch, he went out to gather mushrooms for his meal, and he never came back.

We had been abandoned deep in the mountains, among the frequent cries of the wolf.

Luckily, we had not strayed from the trail, so we would find ourselves somewhere if we kept going forward. We trusted in God’s guidance as we chanted his name and continued forward in the mud.

But as our supplies began to wane, we could not see any light beyond the dense trees. The rain continued to fall, and many times we set up our tents beneath giant trees or at the foot of a cliff only to gaze sleeplessly at the water dripping onto the moss.

We thought we were finally reaching the end on the third straight day of rain.

Many of us were coughing, likely from what practically amounted to a mushroom nursery beneath our tents. Even the most well-oiled tanned leather coats grew soft from absorbing water and were covered in a grand display of mold. Like the coats, we thought we would be returning to dust in this forest.

Of course, since we worked under the name of God, we did not fear death. We were confident that we would complete the task given to us.

And it was not terrible that our final place of inspection was that famous hot spring village, Nyohhira.

It was a land that had not once seen the fires of war, even in the old age when the torrential winds of battle blew, and so lively that it lived up to its reputation for endless laughter and music. Add alcohol into the mix, and certainly—coupled with the steam of the baths—one may not recognize the enemy before them.

But because of that, it could be said it was the perfect place for the lawless to escape to.

In addition, high-ranking clergymen came every year from the south to the land of Nyohhira to heal. It was not impossible that a number of people with wicked plans targeted these great servants of God and were seeping heretical ideals into the water.

Under the orders of the papal office, we had come to Nyohhira for the first time in over ten years.

It was as bustling as always—a garden of debauchery and pleasure.

It was not unusual for prestigious archbishops to ogle the dancing girls and chase after them. There were those who drank in the morning, daytime, and evening and finally slept when dawn came the following morning. While we were displeased with their misconduct, our mission was to expose heresy, not observe corruption. Yes—we were the inquisition.

It was late autumn when we came to this land, and we stayed throughout the winter. My companions scattered throughout the baths in the village, and in those baths, in those dining halls, they would keep a watchful eye to see if there were any scheming blasphemers.

The bathhouse I had been assigned was one that had not existed when we came over ten years ago.

Places deep in the mountains and isolated villages hated change. Nyohhira was no exception. Officially, it is said that anyone who finds a spring may start a bathhouse, but all valuable locations had been dug up a long time ago. For all intents and purposes, that law was a barrier meant to protect their vested interests.

Since there should not have been any new bathhouses for quite a long time, I was shocked to hear one had appeared in the village. And on top of that, it was apparently flourishing.

In our preliminary investigation, we identified rumors that they had dug up the spring using magic and were tricking their customers. While we should not earnestly believe the rumors that cling to successful newcomers, it was, after all, Nyohhira.

It was my unworthy self who had been chosen to stay in this bathhouse. I was eager to reveal the truth in God’s name. However, what I saw and heard there tormented my heart greatly.

That was because while the aforementioned bathhouse seemed respectable at first, it was a mystery as to why it thrived as it did if it truly were respectable.

Additionally, it was very deep within the mountains, almost on the outskirts of the village. It was in a spot that better-paying customers preferred and, at the same time, in a rugged place where it would be difficult to dig for water.

Perhaps the rumor that they had used magic to dig was not entirely fabricated.

Moreover, their customers were odd.

When I asked in the baths where they had heard of this inn, they mentioned various names of authority and power. They said they were all acquaintances of the master of the bathhouse when he once worked as a traveling merchant.

As I continued my investigation, I found that this bathhouse had deep connections to the Debau Company, the corporation that came to control the entire northlands with rapid force.

Was that possible for just a mere merchant?

Was he not a wizard deceiving the public? If not, then perhaps a spy sent by a great power? Regardless, if he were one who spoke ill of God’s house, then I would have to report to the papal office.

Keeping that in mind, I kept a close watch on the bathhouse, but I did not understand.

What was so special about this bathhouse that people gathered here?

Nonetheless, while it was easy to report it to the papal office as one that needed surveillance, we could not send honest lambs of God to burn at the stake. And so, on the long road back to the papal office, I could not decide in the end what to do.

I had plenty of time anyhow.

As I watched the rain gently and tirelessly dampening the moss, I decided to reflect back on the bathhouse.

They said its name was Spice and Wolf.

Whether by river or on the road, the first thing one notices is the smell.

The peculiar smell of sulfur was so rich it was almost visible.

Then, once we grew used to it, we could see the steam from the baths beyond the trees.

At this point, depending on the direction of the wind, we could faintly hear the lively melodies of the musicians’ music.

The first thing we saw farther up the road was a stable for hire. Tied there were horses with thick legs and long fur, and they stared unintimidated at the passersby. There were also more familiar-looking horses there, perhaps brought in by the staying guests.

Beyond the stable were buildings that looked like workshops with rather large frontage, but they were entranceways to bathhouses. The entrances were so wide perhaps due to the necessity of bringing patrons who brought lots of luggage inside during the winter. It also seemed that some musicians and acrobats who had come to Nyohhira for work were here to give their services, and some tall women were gathered around, playing with their hair, and a nimble-looking man stood on his hands, feeding a little bear as it did tricks. May God watch over them.

Every inn cluster beyond that was similar, along with a scattering of shops selling traveling necessities, and we finally reached the town square. It was located by the port on the river that ran along the village and looked to be quite lively.

Those alighting at the port were, of course, not just guests. The more people who came to the baths, the more goods needed to care for such a number of people. It was as lively as the eve of a battle, and there was a mountain of cargo at the loading area.

Then beside it was a fire in a metal cage, with many metal poles stuck into it.

As I gazed, wondering what it was, those who looked like workers from the village retrieved the poles as they finished inspecting the cargo and pressed it onto the goods.

It seemed they were branding them to ensure they would not end up in the wrong place.

While it looked to be the servants from every bathhouse that came to retrieve the cargo, there were both adults and children, with various colors of hair and eyes, all with different facial features. It was work that had great disparity between busy and idle seasons, so many of them must have traveled here for that purpose.

There were likely many who would mistake the names of the bathhouses, and it was questionable if they spoke one another’s languages at all.

I felt it was quite logical to brand them.

Yet, however, it seemed as though there was an argument, and there were people yelling loudly at one another.

They were not dressed in traveling clothes, so they must have been locals. They were tearing at their hair before the stacked crates.

While I could not hear what they were arguing about, it did not seem related to my work, so I paid little attention to it.

Though we left the square, the clamor, for the most part, did not die down.

There were dining halls and cheap lodgings here and there, and many people were drinking and eating while the sun was still high in the sky.

Had this been a walled town the atmosphere would easily grow wild, but it did not feel that way. Perhaps all the loud ones here were those who came along to their masters’ bath treatment. Retainers such as them could not stay in the bathhouses, so they bathed in the public baths that anyone could use and slept together in huddles in cheap lodgings.

And due to the number of people, the dining halls set up tables all over the street, and those who were bathing in waters without any walls or roofs were crossing the street naked to buy a drink.

Those standing frozen on the side of the road were likely new priests who had come to Nyohhira for the first time in service of their archbishops or abbots.

The styles of their robes were all different so perhaps they were not acquainted with one another, but perhaps they thought they had found someone who would understand them among all the confusion and froze. They were just like baby lambs.

Beautiful, half-naked dancers called out to them just as we passed, and their eyes widened in bewilderment. I prayed that they may win against temptation and continued forward.

The crowds thinned out farther into the village, and there were more and more large buildings. Places with large, crested flags fluttering by the entrance likely meant a nobleman had rented out the entire building for himself.

Even farther into the village, where I began to feel the slope of the mountain, bathhouses were shrouded from one another by the veil of the trees. The bustle of the port faded into an occasional birdsong.

It is said that the farther away one goes from the bustle, the more potent the water becomes and the higher the quality of bathhouse.

That was because digging for water was hard enough as it was, and erecting a building afterward was also quite the hassle, so without enough funds, one could not even manage opening a business.

Therefore, it was without a doubt that this place, which could only be reached by entering the woods and at the top of a steep hill, was being supported by quite a lot of money.

The building itself felt simple, but I could tell it was bustling on the inside.

Like a re-creation of the scene at the port, there was cargo piled here and there.

I spotted the wheat, fish, and cured meat right away. Sausages stuffed to the point of bursting were literally overflowing from their crates. There was a row of earthenware jugs common in the south that must have contained olive oil. It had most likely been a special request by one of the terribly selfish southern priests or nobility, but when I thought about how much time and money it would take to bring it here, I could not help but shake my head. Though I could not see inside the other crates, their containers were well-made, so they were likely various high-quality, luxury goods.

And there was branding on this cargo as well.

The design was easily recognizable from a distance and even hung from the bathhouse eaves: the image of a howling wolf.

It was the sign for the bathhouse Spice and Wolf.

“Oh no! Why doesn’t it add up?!”

Suddenly, as I wondered if that was a loud voice I heard coming from behind the cargo, a small head popped up. There was a child with a strangely colored hair that resembled flecks of silver mixed in with ash.

“Hey, Brother! Something’s definitely wrong!”

Rather than a servant, this was the child of the bathhouse master. Her hair was rather long, indicating that she was his daughter. Waving about the slate she held in her hand, she turned to face the bathhouse entrance and hollered. Just as I furrowed my brow, thinking it unbecoming of a young lady to speak in such a loud voice, I saw her grab something from a cloth bag nearby and stuff it into her mouth. What a tomboy she seemed to be.

“I counted it over and over, but there’s not enough wheat! And I think there’s some rye mixed in here, too! I told you they can’t be trusted!”

Though she was still small, I was impressed by how good her judgment was.

Once ground up, it was hard to tell flours apart. Even more so once they had been mixed.

Even once kneaded with water, no one besides a baking artisan would notice until it was too late.

As I considered this, there came another voice.

“What is this ruckus? How noisy you are.”

Appearing from inside was another girl, a perfect match for the first one.

A cloth was wrapped loosely around her head, flaxen-colored hair peeking out from under it, and she was slightly taller.

I wondered if she might be her twin sister, but this girl had a peculiar presence about her.

“This isn’t all the flour we need, and I think some of it’s mixed up. Also, where’s Brother?”

“Little Col was invited to the baths by those geezers. But mixed together, hmm?”

The silver-haired girl modestly stepped out of the way of the flaxen-haired girl, giving her space.

The latter brought her nose closer to the sack of flour.

“Hmm. Regardless, ’tis likely we do not have enough due to how chaotic the port is. Not much we can do in this season.”

“Should I go check?”

The silver-haired girl asked, but the other quickly smacked her on the head.

“Fool. Are you going to play?”

“N-no…”

“There are plenty of idlers in the house. Have someone bring this in and have them go check while they can.”

“Awww…Can I go with them?”

When the silver-haired girl spoke, the flaxen-haired one fixed upon her an icy gaze, and she recoiled, like an ermine discovered by a fox.

“And who is this?”

From beyond the large number of crates, the flaxen-haired girl motioned to me.

It seems they had finally noticed me.

“Huh, I wonder. I dunno.”

“You little fool…”

The silver-haired girl seemed dissatisfied at the exasperated tone directed toward her, but she shrank back when glared at.

It was rather clear who was superior in this situation, so though they seemed quite alike, they were perhaps sisters separated in age. The one I presumed to be the older sister spoke in a rather old-fashioned manner, so perhaps she had been sent here from a faraway land to wed or had learned to speak from an older person.

That was what I imagined, but it was not consistent with my guess that she was the other girl’s sister. It was unusual for a groom to bring both sisters into his home.

In terms of my work, things that did not logically add up strangely caught my attention.

As I thought about it, the older girl called over the cargo to me.

“And who are you? Perfect timing if you are here for mendicancy. There are plenty of that sort in the baths.”

The way she said “mendicancy” was muddled, and it was oddly endearing. What a strange girl she was.

For the moment, I straightened myself and began to speak.

“My name is Gran Salgado. I came here on the introduction of Abbot Bauha, who is staying here now. Perhaps you have heard already that I will be staying with you this winter?”

Despite my announcement, the girl’s reaction was not very pleasant. She did not even bother to hide her suspicious gaze.

It was perhaps due to how I was dressed. I wore layers of long robes, the hems completely frayed away, and hanging around my neck was a string of bunched garlic for use as both preserved food and bug repellant for sleeping outdoors. My walking stick was about my height, one I found on the road, and it had been a great help keeping away stray dogs and measuring the depth of mud and even drying my linens. My beard had not been shaved for a while in order to keep me warm.

Due to my state, I was painted black with dirt, from my fingernails to the crevices of my wrinkles.

Of course, I might be seen as a beggar.

She had mentioned mendicancy likely because it was impossible to live as a beggar deep in these cold mountains.

“Hmm…Well, I suppose there are many sorts of guests.”

“If you do not have a room, I do not mind sleeping in the shed.”

“No need. Perhaps I should say…I worry about something else.”

“Something else?” I asked in return, and it came to me. “Pardon me. If you are worried about fleas and lice, then I shall go cleanse myself in the river.”

This bathhouse was a gathering spot for those of a certain degree of wealth. It was not cheap roadside lodging.

“That as well, but actually…”

She sniffed lightly, then grinned.

“I am surprised to see you might be a genuine article. Despite your dress, you smell of nothing. Perhaps you are the type to prefer beans and water over meat and alcohol? This is not a hermitage in the wilderness.”

“Ah, I see.”

I gave a slight chuckle for the first time in months.

“Asceticism is meant for us to regulate ourselves, not an excuse to force beans and water on others. And God allows the occasional break.”

“I should hope so. Myuri.” The flaxen-haired girl spoke, and the girl with silver hair stood up straight. “Bring this man to the baths and prepare the grooming razor and soaps and such. I shall put the cargo away.”

“Aww, no fair! Mother, are you going to snack in secret from Father?”

The girl named Myuri called the other one Mother.

I had not even imagined it, but once she mentioned it, they no longer felt to me like sisters but mother and daughter.

What surprised me the most was how young the mother was.

“You fool. I shall be doing no such thing.”

“You definitely will! There’s a pot of sugar here! That’s not fair! I want a taste, too!”

As they interacted, they still did really seem like sisters.

At any rate, watching them brought a smile to my face.

Either would be spectacular if they served as the face for the bathhouse.

“Now then, what is it I should do?”

I posed the question with a bit of a strained smile, to which the mother smacked her daughter’s head, and the daughter glumly showed me inside.

The choir sang and the dancers swayed in time to the musicians’ performance. There were those entranced by their performance, those engrossed in conversation with wine in one hand, and—oh God, those concentrating on games of cards and dice.

Perhaps they had either come here after a long journey, or they were used to it back in their homelands from working in relief for the poor or taking in wandering monks. But not a single person paid me any mind when I entered the bath in my tattered state.

I shaved my beard, cut my hair, and washed my body with the items provided by the bathhouse. Abbot Bauha noticed me as I was doing so, and I quickly grew familiar with a few others by his introduction.

It seemed the abbot and the others would be staying here until sunset, but I had things I needed to take a look at. I left the spring, wore the clothes borrowed from the bathhouse, and returned to the main building. It was a comfortable outfit made of linen, accompanied by a coat stuffed with plenty of wool to keep me warm.

It was so warm it almost made me dizzy, so I wandered about searching for my own usual clothes, and there I spotted that girl with the flaxen hair…though I was unsure if I should even call her a girl.

Beside her was an older man in his prime, and they sat rather intimately together.

I felt bad for interrupting such an affectionate atmosphere and hesitated if I should call out to them, but the girl soon noticed me.

“My, how handsome,” she said delightfully and cackled.

“Thanks to you, I feel refreshed.”

I gave my thanks, and after a brief smile, she winked at the man beside her.

“’Tis the guest who arrived earlier. How dirty he was, so I had him bathe first.”

She spoke without hesitation, yet it suited the air around her quite well.

But the man beside her smiled in embarrassment and admonished the girl.

“Pardon my wife. I’m the master, Kraft Lawrence.”

He gave his name, approached me, and offered his hands. Considering how he called her his wife, then that silver-haired girl must, in fact, be the flaxen-haired girl’s daughter.

There were perpetually young women among those who lived in the silence of contemplation and prayer, but this was unusual even among them.

I recalled the rumor of a business that thrived using magic.

The image of a witch who never aged crossed my mind.

“My name is Gran Salgado. I have come on the introduction of Abbot Bauha. I have heard that this land is the closest to the seat of God in all the world.”

“I pray every day that he is close, and not because he is here to scold us,” Lawrence, the master, said, smiling quietly.

As I was scrubbing the dirt from myself earlier, I listened in on the conversations of the bathing guests and managed to grasp that Lawrence was once a traveling merchant. I had the feeling that even if he had a tail, he would not be someone so easily caught.

“By the way, where might my luggage and clothes be? This set I have borrowed is a bit too warm for me.”

“I have taken your luggage to your room. Your clothes are being washed. Had I left them in your room they would have become bugs’ nests.”

“Hey now, Holo.”

It sounded like the name of the wife was Holo. It was an unusual name, but I felt like I had heard it somewhere before.

As I pondered, wondering if it had anything to do with heretical festivals, I felt the master’s gaze on me and I returned to my senses.

“Please excuse her. She is just so foulmouthed.”

“Oh no, I apologize for arriving in such a state. Abbot Bauha scolds me for it occasionally. I am not a hermit, simply indolent, which embarrasses me greatly.”

There were times I had, in fact, been mistaken for a heretic while scouting for heresy.

The virtues expressed in the scripture were obedience, chastity, and asceticism—it did not say it was okay to be dirty.

“But I see…If you are washing my clothes, then…”

“Why don’t you rest a while in your room? You must be tired from your long journey.”

“I appreciate the consideration. But despite my age, I have been excited ever since arriving. As I’m wearing such warm clothes, I thought perhaps I should take a walk around the village. If possible, I will also make my way toward the port. I heard earlier that there was some sort of problem with the cargo.”

The master, Lawrence, looked slightly surprised and turned to Holo beside him.

“Myuri was making quite a fuss that not all crates were there, that there was not enough wheat.”

“Is that so? Hmm…that was the new miller who came to the village to sell…I guess because it was so cheap…Oh, but we couldn’t allow a guest to do such a thing.”

“I am a naturally restless person, and I would enjoy wandering around a lively place rather than sit still before the fire.”

Lawrence looked at me apologetically, then smiled, as though changing his mind.

“Very well, then I would be truly grateful if you did. Actually, we had our hands full putting away the cargo that was delivered to us. Various foods would go bad if they got snowed on.”

“Leave it to me.”

The baths were full of guests, and a little ways down the hallway, I could hear pleasant chatter.

There must have been a fireplace there, with guests lazing around it. It cost quite a bit of money to stay in a bathhouse for a whole winter, which meant that there had to be plenty of guests who could pay that much.

I might learn the secret as to why this bathhouse flourished as it did as I asked around at the port for their cargo.

If they were using magic, then there might be rumors of them ordering suspicious goods.

And I also wondered about the youth of the bathhouse master’s wife, Holo.

“Well then, I will be off now,” I said in God’s name, beaming.

I understood how heading into the center of the village from a secluded bathhouse felt like ascending into the mortal world. The nobility paid large sums of money to stay in secluded locations for this feeling.

As I gazed at the hustle and bustle, keeping an eye out for any wanted enemies of God lurking about, I headed toward the port, and there was a commotion even greater than the one before.

“There isn’t enough!”

“This isn’t what we ordered!”

“What the hell is going on?!”

“Hey, someone send a boat and a messenger to Atiph!”

Several well-dressed men were making a ruckus.

All the cargo stacked there had been opened, their contents inspected.

From afar, it all looked to be flour.

“This is terrible! Or were they being clumsy when they stacked the crates?!”

One man turned his gaze to another dressed as a sailor. Many sailors were superstitious and gutsy, so of course this one could not sit still before such an enraged crowd.

“N-nonsense! You know how long I’ve been doing this work!”

“Urgh…Well, you’re right, you’re right…Sorry for doubting you.”

It seemed the men gathered here were all bathhouse masters.

I got an idea of what they were arguing about.

“Pardon me.”

I called out to them, and they all glared back.

“What? We’re busy now. Leave it for later.”

Perhaps due to the way I was dressed I looked like an outsider, a staying guest, so they swatted me away like a fly.

However, I had a good reason to be here.

“I was asked to run an errand by the master of bathhouse Spice and Wolf, Mr. Lawrence. They received less flour than they had ordered, so I thought I might see if some of it was left here by chance.”

When I announced this, the men all looked up at the sky in exasperation.

“Damn, that makes all of us!”

It seemed all the village’s bathhouses ordered the same thing and had been swindled by a rotten miller.

“Argh, nothing’s gonna get done at this rate! We’ll get some horses and go off to buy the flour ourselves, assembly regulations be damned!”

A plump middle-aged man took off his hat and scrunched it up as he shouted.

The others reacted in shock.

“Come on, Mr. Morris, that’s no good. It’s a village rule.”

“That’s right! And my head hurts, too!”

Nyohhira was a village deep in the mountains, and the coming winter would bring deep snow. All their wheat must be imported. If they allowed one bathhouse to forestall the others, I easily imagined how quickly things would escalate into an all-out buying war. Especially since, if outside merchants caught a whiff of internal conflict, I could see them selling to the village at a high price.

It seemed Morris was already aware of this. He was especially well-dressed, so he must have had the funds of a higher-class bathhouse, even within Nyohhira.

As I pondered, Morris kept rattling on.

“I’m not upset because there’s just a little missing! After adding water and kneading it, I saw what I thought was wheat was actually all oats! I’d be ruined if I served that to my guests!”

Morris waved about the arm that was gripping the hat as he yelled.

There were several grades of bread: wheat, the highest; then wheat mixed with rye; followed by wheat mixed with chestnut or bean flour; then rye, bitter and dark; then rye mixed with chestnut or bean flour; and so on and so forth. Oat bread was the lowest of the low in this classification. Rather, since it did not rise very well, it was not something one could even call bread. It was typically eaten as a porridge, which was often distributed to the poor.

It was nothing more than horse feed in a flourishing land.

“But rules are rules…”

“No, if you’re going to send out a servant to buy some, Mr. Morris, then we will, too!”

“Hey!”

“The harvest this year is already over. The more time passes, the more expensive the good flour is. It will certainly mean more losses for us if we don’t rush to buy some quickly.”

“But if we do this without an assembly, the other bathhouses…”

“Then we should hold an assembly. This is the village’s problem!”

“But then again, it was us who were tricked by the sly words of that miller from Atiph…If we try to bend the village’s rules, they’ll say, I told you so!”

Though it was said this hot spring village was the closest to heaven, the ones who sponsored these waters were troubled over something rather grounded in reality.

While I thought it was quite comical, I also felt it was quite healthy.

As I was thinking, the hot-blooded man named Morris spoke.

“Then are you all planning to knead snow instead of wheat and put that in the oven?!”

It said in the scripture that man shall not live by bread alone.

Yet, guests used to wheat bread would never eat oat bread or porridge.

The bathhouse masters all exchanged glances, then sighed in defeat.

“Needs must when the devil drives…I suppose we should put up with this shame and call an emergency assembly.”

Everyone nodded gloomily and left the port.

When I returned to the bathhouse and reported the situation, Lawrence, too, looked as if he had a headache.

I was not a member of the village, so I do not know in detail what happened with the miller afterward.

But I was precisely aware of where the constant stacks of delicious wheat bread on Spice and Wolf’s tables were coming from.

According to the bathers, they all agreed that the bathhouse was using its connection to the Debau Company, the corporation controlling the entirety of the northlands. They all laughed, saying that no matter how bad the harvest was that year, it was just this bathhouse where they could eat soft, sweet wheat bread.

I wondered if Lawrence was involved with the Debau Company, but it sounded like he had assisted them in a time of crisis back when he was a traveling merchant.

If that was so, then I found answers not just for the bread, but for my other questions. Essentially, if I considered he was borrowing help from the Debau Company, famous for their control over mines, they could indeed manage to find new springs in this land and fund the opening of their business.

However, there were still yet some oddities about this bathhouse. I came to realize this as I stayed and kept an eye on the entire village, but they were thriving so well that I would understand if the surrounding bathhouses were merely spreading malicious rumors.

Spice and Wolf was in a good location, the baths were spacious, and they were even equipped with a grotto bath that was the object of envy among nobles; otherwise, there was nothing particularly novel about it.

There were bathhouses that served more exquisite meals, and there were bathhouses that were particular about their alcohol. Their beds were made of bundles of straw—absolutely no match for the bathhouses with silk and wool beds.

The entertainment in the baths, too, was rather standard, and there were none who were making bears do tricks or breathing fire. Nor were they making the dancing girls do the unspeakable.

Upon asking the other guests what was so attractive about this, the only answer I received was “Just a feeling.”

The atmosphere in the house was certainly nice, but something did not quite add up. It made much more sense thinking they had applied some sort of magic. Dubious spells to pull in customers were not unusual.

I searched here and there around the grounds but found nothing in particular.

Meanwhile, many of the guests mentioned how charming the bathhouse master Lawrence’s wife Holo and her daughter, Myuri, were. They talked about the kind of appeal they had, one that even the traveling artists could never hope to reach.

In fact, the silver-haired Myuri was energetic and endearing, and while her mother, Holo, seemed to be just as young as she was, she exuded a strange air of maturity and had a mysterious charm about her.

That being said, it was much too simple to believe that was the only reason the guests gathered here.

There had to be a reason for it, but time idly went by as I still could not find what that was.

It was two weeks into my stay at the bathhouse that there was a small change.

As I left the bustle of the baths behind and wandered about an empty road that continued through the heart of the village, I noticed someone walking, head down.

While I cannot speak for others, a person walking around alone, gloomily, in this village stood out terribly to me.

I looked closely, wondering if it was a suspicious character, and found it was the ordinary bathhouse master, Lawrence.

“Is something the matter?”

I asked the question from the position of a holy man. Of course, it was also my job to investigate heresy.

“Hmm? Oh no…That’s, um, that’s just my face.”

Lawrence looked up, and he had not noticed me on the road uphill from him. He rubbed his cheek, and his wry smile was rather strained.

“I hope you do not mind me asking. I assure you I am not trying to kill time.”

I spoke in a joking manner, and Lawrence laughed, then sighed.

“Are you headed to the village, Sir Salgado?”

“No, just out for a walk. I receive greater joy from jumping in the baths after I have cooled my body.”

“Just one of the many secrets to enjoying life. In that case, please listen to this poor bathhouse master’s trifle as we head back to the house.”

According to the other guests, while he seemed unreliable at first, Lawrence had a rare talent for trade with ties to many of those with influence.

What was he troubled over?

I could understand if someone had come to arrange a marriage for his precious only daughter, Myuri.

“To tell the truth, that flour incident from the other day is still affecting us.”

“The flour incident? Ah, you mean the faithless miller.”

“We ended up buying cheap and wasting our money.”

“But you always have a great supply of delicious wheat bread on the tables in the bathhouse. Is there yet another problem?”

Lawrence heaved another sigh and scratched his head.

“There were many people in the village who opposed ordering flour from that miller. Then, after many of the greedy bathhouse masters—myself included—spoke with one another, we ended up purchasing it.”

Lawrence shrugged as he exhaled.

“Everyone started looking for someone to blame. Well, I suppose it is a rite of passage for a newcomer…”

“So they pushed the blame on to you?”

“There are some bathhouses that hate us. Although, I don’t think I should be talking about this,” he said with a wry smile. “At least, not when I have such a splitting headache.”

“I do not know the details, but I often hear similar stories in my travels. Keep your head up. God will always side with the righteous.”

“Thank you.”

Lawrence seemed somewhat inspired, yet he still did not look entirely happy.

“If you have been given unreasonable demands, shall I mediate? I can do at least that much as a servant of God.”

“Oh no, nothing like that. And, well, I guess you could say the resolution itself is possible.”

It was like he was saying a riddle. I studied Lawrence, and this young-looking bathhouse master smiled tiredly and continued.

“They forced on me all the oats that no one wanted to eat. I can’t bring myself to throw food away, and since there is so much of it, it cost quite a bit. I want to use it somehow, but…”

I could easily imagine what came next in his evasive phrase. The guests with their exquisite tastes would not even look at bread made from oat flour. That meant it would be Lawrence and the others in the bathhouse who would have to eat it, but since they had so much, it would take them a long time.

Since it was the snowy season in a cold region, they were lucky in that bugs would not soon appear, but no one would be happy eating oat bread every day.

“I will help as much as I can. I do not dislike unleavened bread.”

Lawrence was about to shake his head, but as though reconsidering it, he forced a grin.

“I want to say how I can’t make a guest do such a thing, but…I won’t ask you to, either. At worst, it might end up just being Col and I eating it all.”

Col was a young man who worked in the bathhouse. As someone aspiring to become a man of the cloth, his knowledge, faith, and character made for a wonderful human being.

And after two weeks in the bathhouse, I came to roughly understand their relationships.

Studying the relationships between the master Lawrence and his wife, Holo, as well as between their daughter, Myuri, and Col, I could see how the two men, in their kindness, would end up eating the oat bread in place of the girls.

Holo and Myuri, like mother like daughter, were extremely fond of fine cuisine.

It also sounded like both mother and daughter had been sticking their fingers into the sugar pot, which Myuri had been making a fuss about. Then, by the time they realized it, the entire pot had been emptied, and that was when I saw the master, Lawrence, holding his head. It seemed as if the arrangement of Holo and Myuri pushing Lawrence and Col about was the main attraction of this bathhouse.

As I considered this, Lawrence suddenly appeared very merchantlike.

“May I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

Lawrence looked away and brought his hand to his mouth, perhaps in a show of contemplation.

“How much oat flour would God forgive if it were mixed in with wheat flour?”

As a cutthroat former merchant, he could have kept this quiet, but that just was not in his disposition. I could not help myself smiling before I answered.

“It is written in the scripture that the earth needs salt. It would be best for one’s health to occasionally eat a bit of hardened bread and not always sup on soft bread,” I replied, thinking he would not do anything too greedy.

“Well…I’m not entirely sure if I’ll do it.”

“Yes, of course. Only God and I may know of the sins you confessed.”

Lawrence smiled, relieved, and bowed his head.

After that, while I do not know how much oat flour was mixed into the bread served on the tables, it seemed I was not mistaken in my judgment of Lawrence as an honest man. Many times afterward, I caught glimpses of him with his head in his hands, standing before the bags stuffed with oats outside of the shed.

Oat bread was not something anyone could eat every day: Not only did it not rise when baked, it was also rock-hard yet still had the strange habit of sticking to one’s teeth. Furthermore, since it had been ground into flour, probably done by the miller to trick his customers, it could not be made into porridge.

It would not be a great expense if a little was mixed into the wheat flour.

As I saw him worry about what to do with the unnecessary items his village seniors had pushed upon him, I thought that perhaps peeling back a layer showed how the bathhouse’s liveliness was barely being kept together.

In the end, I could not even find anything glaringly suspicious through my investigation.

Even after holding a meeting with my companions who were infiltrating other bathhouses, it sounded like all the other places were the same. Apparently rumors about other bathhouses harboring heretics was mostly the usual bad-mouthing, stemming from tiffs that regularly occurred in such a small village.

We came to the conclusion that staying any longer would not bring any significant results after having stayed at the Spice and Wolf bathhouse for two months.

“Oh, you’re leaving?”

Lawrence was surprised when I informed him. It was still the middle of winter, and the region was deep with snow. It must have been unusual for a guest to leave at this time. Of course, I had an excuse ready.

“Spring festivals in the south begin early. I must be returning soon.”

Lawrence seemed disappointed for a moment, because he knew he could not force me to stay any longer, so he gripped my hand with both of his and said, “Please do come again.”

I came to the Spice and Wolf bathhouse on the papal office’s orders, but I wanted to come again on my own will, if possible.

Then, after a short bow, I raised a question.

“Do you think you could bake me some oat bread for my journey? It keeps very well due to how hard it is.”

“I appreciate the consideration. I swear, our girls sneak tastes of the sweet, white sugar but won’t even give oats the time of day.”

If the business at the bathhouse folded, it would likely be because the whole framework had been melted down by their stomachs.

In the days following, they baked the hard oat bread for me. I was impressed to see Holo and Myuri unusually working the bread oven, perhaps in atonement for their sin of emptying the sugar pot. Lawrence had given a defeated smile, saying that was what made them crafty.

I placed the bread they provided at the bottom of my sack. As long as it stayed dry, I could probably even eat it this time next year.

Once my preparations were done, I left the bathhouse.

Though I never learned the secret to their success, which had spawned the rumors that they were using magic, I did not find any clear evidence that they were involved with the unnatural.

Of course, I could easily report that it was suspicious, but on the other hand, such a report would only be followed up with a warning, then stowed away somewhere in the papal office library.

Though I personally know nothing of how pressing the campaign against heresy had once been, the way one should conduct themselves in the present society was, at the end of the day, dictated only by whether or not they were satisfied with their own work.

Additionally, I also felt it pitiful to question if the bathhouse was a result of magic. Though there were no particular points worthy of mention, it could perhaps simply be a case of a flourishing business.

I also felt that their honesty was apparent in the oat bread and how Holo and Myuri, the beautiful mother and daughter, were the very embodiment of innocence.

While it is hard to say they are entirely in the clear, there was nothing to be concerned about.

I decided that was what I would write in my report.

Then, over the small, sulking fire burning beneath the moldy tent, I held up the oat bread Lawrence had given me.

My companions, whose food had gone bad long ago, seemed to gain a bit of life back for the first time in a long time the moment they saw it.

Wheat bread would not keep like this.

As the oat bread roasted, a somewhat pleasant aroma wafted about that would appeal even to those who insisted it tasted bad. Even my companions, who sung praises of asceticism and were not troubled at all by a life of subsisting on beans and water, had growling stomachs.

“They often say an empty stomach is the greatest spice,” someone said.

There was a small ripple of laughter, but his smile soon tensed in an odd expression.

“But it smells too good.”

Though he seemed happy, he sounded unsure.

“Hmm. Was oat bread truly this good-looking…?”

Filling the tent was a delightful scent that made my head spin.

“Perhaps it’s because that beautiful mother and daughter repented as they ground the flour and baked the bread?”

I said it as a joke, but once I finished speaking, the bread smelled so good that it was the only possibility I could think of.

“Impossible, a miracle from God?”

“Sacramental bread, you mean?”

Excitement suddenly stirred beneath the tent.

As I thought, No, impossible, it can’t be, my hand holding the bread began to shake at the delicious aroma. What fortune it would be to encounter a miracle from God in such a place!

“We must report this to the cardinal and investigate once again. Sir Salgado, what was the name of the inn you stayed at?”

I noticed something was appearing on the other side of the oat bread I was roasting before the excited bunch.

“B-be quiet. There appears to be a stigmata on this sacramental bread!”

There was a clamor, and those who gripped the crest of the Church, those who retrieved their scriptures from their bags, and those who folded their hands in prayer all gazed at the loaf.

While it felt as though it would fall from my hands in nervousness, I slowly turned the bread over.

It was unleavened bread, the kind that was flat and would not rise.

Then, the moment the other side of the bread became visible, everyone held their breath.

“…Th-this is…”

It appeared on one side of the plate-sized bread.

There was no doubting what we saw.

There was the figure of a howling wolf and a short sentence.

“…Please…come again to…Spice and Wolf?”

“Oh! I remember this smell!”

One cried out, grabbed the oat bread from me, pinched off a piece of the image that appeared from the roast, and tasted it.

“It’s sweet! Yes, this is the smell of burned sugar!”

Everyone stared at the one who yelled, then they all vied for a piece.

I took a bite, too, and it was certainly sweet. Since I had not been eating properly, the spot beneath my temples clenched in aching comfort.

“Honestly, scaring us like that! Perhaps there is melted sugar on top.”

Someone spoke, and everyone laughed.

“Is the same trick on the other pieces of bread?”

When I heard that, I immediately tried roasting other pieces of bread. As we suspected, there were various things written on it, such as “The Best Bathhouse in Nyohhira” and even “Grouchy Brother” underneath a caricature of that young one, Col. I knew right away that Myuri had made that one.

“It does not seem that there is sugar ground into it, but eating it with such a delicious scent in the air makes it taste better.”

“Reaching for the oat bread in one’s bag does mean that things have come to the worst.”

“What a wonderful thing this is, as a message from the bathhouse.”

As we talked about it, those who had been lying down in illness until then were munching on the oat bread.

With a piece of bread in my hands, I finally understood what it was.

There on my bread was a doodle of two men and three women. Beneath it were the words “Bathhouse Spice and Wolf.” There was Lawrence and Col, Holo and Myuri, and one more woman who must have been the one who managed the kitchen.

Of course the bathhouse thrived as it did.

Anyone who reached out to eat this bread on the way home from Nyohhira, for whatever reason, would think the same.

“I hope to investigate Spice and Wolf next time we have the chance to visit.”

“I hope to do so, too.”

“And I as well!”

We began arguing under the canopy.

No longer did anyone notice the tiresome rain that continued to fall outside.

Among the clamor in the tent, I gently placed one piece of bread back into the bag, then spoke.

“Don’t you think I would be most suited for another inspection, since I have already performed it once?”

The matter became more complicated, as the arguments followed one after the other.

As we bickered, the rain finally abated, and the sun peeked through.

Our spat went on even as we folded the tent and gathered our belongings.

Everyone had regained their energy, and our stomachs were full.

“Perhaps this is a miracle,” someone said.

Spice and Wolf.

I decided I would write about it in my report in a way that would not stand out.

Because if the crowds rushed there, there would no longer be any place for me.