Spice and Wolf - Volume 3 - Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Lawrence headed out into the town only to find there was no place for him there.

The festival that had started when the sun set was the precise opposite of its daytime counterpart, and it lacked the latter’s sense of fun entirely.

Every straw or wooden puppet was now armed with a weapon, to say nothing of every costumed reveler. The larger puppets that had no weapons were themselves used as weapons as the fighting spread.

The straw puppets collided amid angry cries, the crowds yelling each time debris went flying. Around them instruments blared their raucous tunes so as not to be drowned out by the clamor of fighting. The black-robed figures sang an ominous war hymn.

Lawrence avoided the crowds and headed north. The awful din churned over and over in his head unbearably.

No matter how long he walked down the long avenue, the festival noise seemed endless. It ate into his nerves like some witch’s spell, causing his exchange with Holo to echo through his mind. He could see her before him. He wanted to cry out at his own worthlessness but managed to restrain himself.

If he had enough energy to scream, Lawrence reasoned, he should put that toward improving the situation.

Yet evaluating the situation rationally, he could find no such possibilities.

Given the state Holo was in, Lawrence saw it was entirely possible that she would accept Amati’s proposal.

Amati was probably the first merchant to have taken advantage of the pyrite boom, so it was best to assume that he had already made a fair amount of money.

In the worst case, Amati might not even have to wait until sunset to bring the money and declare the contract fulfilled.

Lawrence knew he was not just being pessimistic.

“…”

The anxiety seized his gut, and a whimper escaped his lips.

He looked up into the dark sky and covered his eyes.

If he couldn’t stop Amati’s profit machine, he could at least go back to the inn and try to make up with Holo.

But Lawrence could see plain as day that reconciling with Holo would be even more difficult than stopping Amati.

What am I to you? Holo’s question had thrown him into contemplation.

Even now, having had a bit of time to consider the question, he could not answer it.

He wanted her to keep traveling with him—that much he knew—and he couldn’t bear even thinking about her going to be Amati’s bride.

Yet after ruminating on the memory of the scene, his face only contorted at the terrible acidity of it.

He knew that Holo was precious to him, but precious in what way? If asked, it was not something he could articulate clearly.

His jaw was clenched, and Lawrence rubbed his face to try and relax it.

How could this have happened?

The fun they’d had at the festival now seemed like a fleeting dream. Even an omniscient god could never have anticipated that in a few short hours, things would turn out this way.

Ahead of him, Lawrence saw a procession of sword dancers moving down the street. The savage, sinister atmosphere was completely changed from the daytime revels. It echoed the shift in Lawrence’s relationship with Holo, and he quickened his step, averting his eyes.

He regretted leaving the letter on the desk. It felt to him like none of this would have happened if he had only taken it with him. If he had only found the right time to talk to her, surely the clever Holo would not have become distraught.

Beyond that, Holo’s words had laid bare his own selfishness and lack of resolve. He couldn’t imagine being able to speak to her properly now.

Eventually Lawrence realized he’d made it all the way to Kumersun’s lonely northern district without having come up with any good ideas.

He’d been walking slowly, and it had taken some time, but he hadn’t even noticed.

Despite the sense that the town was crowded everywhere one might go, here in the northern section there were few pedestrians. The festivities did not extend this far.

There in the silence, he was finally able to calm down and take some deep breaths.

He turned on his heel and began to walk back, rethinking the situation.

First—

Sincerity alone would not be enough to convince Holo to hear him out. He didn’t even have enough confidence to look her in the eye anyway.

So setting aside whether or not he would be able to salvage his relationship with her, he could at least avoid giving her a good reason to leave him and be with Amati.

As long as Amati was unable to raise a thousand silver pieces, Holo’s debt to Lawrence would still stand. There was no telling if that would be enough to get her to stay with him, but he could at least try to make that assertion.

So the problem lay in preventing Amati from fulfilling the contract.

It was due to the strange mood of the festival that the price of pyrite had risen so high, and to hear Mark tell it, the price was going to rise still higher. Lawrence did not know how much pyrite Amati had on hand or how much profit he had turned. Since the pyrite was selling for many times—even many tens of times—its cost price, depending on how much money Amati had been able to invest, he might already have raised the thousand silver.

However, there was a factor that worked in Lawrence’s favor—pyrite did tend to exist in large quantities.

Even if it could be sold for ten times the purchase price, one had to have the pyrite in quantity before making truly large amounts of money.

Of course, Amati wasn’t necessarily relying solely on pyrite to raise the money, but the thought that he might have trouble obtaining sufficient quantity to do so was some consolation to Lawrence.

Lawrence had to prevent Amati from making this kind of deal. More accurately, he had to force him to take a loss, because if Amati was pressed and didn’t care about the future of his business, he might liquidate all of his assets just to raise the money.

But if Lawrence found it difficult to stop him from turning a huge profit, forcing him to suffer a loss was nearly impossible.

A frontal assault was out of the question. The rising demand for pyrite meant there was no need to push any deals through by force; the profit would naturally come.

If there was no urgency, there was no way to swindle.

So what to do…?

He turned the problem over and over in his mind, always running into the same walls. Eventually without thinking, Lawrence said, “Say, Ho—”

He managed not to say “lo,” but a passing craftsman did look at him strangely.

Again, he realized how largely Holo’s small figure and invincible smile loomed in his mind.

It seemed impossible that he’d gotten along on his own for so long before her.

Holo would certainly be able to come up with some good ideas or at least set him on the right path.

Somewhere along the line, Lawrence realized, he’d become quite dependent on her.

What am I to you?

He simply could not answer the question with any kind of confidence.

“If I were Holo, what would I do?”

Lawrence didn’t imagine that he could imitate the endlessly mysterious Holo’s thought process perfectly.

But he was a merchant.

When a merchant came upon a new idea, it was his job to make that idea his own and get ahead of his competitors.

Holo always considered every facet of a situation.

Given the situation before him, Lawrence knew she would look at the whole problem from every possible angle.

It seemed easy but wasn’t. Sometimes the most brilliant idea would seem obvious in retrospect.

Amati was making a profit on the rising demand for pyrite. Lawrence needed to make him suffer a loss.

What was the simplest, most obvious way for that to happen?

Lawrence mused.

Unconstrained by the bonds of common sense, he thought.

One answer occurred to him.

“The demand for pyrite needs to fall.”

Lawrence said it out loud, then laughed foolishly.

So this is what happened when he tried to imitate Holo?

If the value of pyrite was to drop, that truly would be cause for celebration.

But demand was climbing and showed no signs of stopping. The price was already past increases of tenfold, twentyfold. It would climb and then—

“…And then?”

Lawrence stopped dead in his tracks as the realization hit him.

“Ten times? Twenty times? And then what…thirty? And after that?”

He felt as if he could see Holo snickering at him.

The price would not rise forever. The craze would end as it always did.

Lawrence almost felt like he might sob again. He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle it.

There were two questions he had to answer:

The first was when the crash would come, and the second was would it be possible to make Amati fall with it?

Lawrence started walking again, his hand still over his mouth.

Even if the price of pyrite were to crash, would Amati really be pulled down with it? Lawrence doubted it. It would be underestimating the boy to assume so.

So the problem would be contriving to make that situation happen. If he could articulate the problem concretely, Lawrence didn’t think his mind was so very far behind Holo’s.

The ideal situation appeared in his mind, settling heavy and cold into his stomach. He’d experienced this sensation before. It wasn’t logic, but the intuition that an important contest was upon him.

He took a deep breath and thought about a critical point: When would the crash occur?

It was obvious that the price could not continue to rise forever, but when would it crash—and more to the point, would it crash sometime before the end of the next day, when the contract between Lawrence and Amati was up?

Even a fortune-teller would find it impossible to predict such a thing, as would anyone short of the gods themselves.

Lawrence pictured in his mind the farmers in a wheat-producing region, using their own ingenuity to carry out the harvests that had once been the sole purview of the gods.

Rather than waiting terrified for the gods to make the price drop, why not become those gods?

A moment after the outrageous arrogance of the idea occurred to him, a great cry arose, and he turned to look.

Lawrence realized that he’d walked all the way back into town and arrived again at the center of the great intersection.

The straw puppets still collided with one another amid angry shouts, each collision bringing a shower of twigs and cries. It was like an actual war.

Lawrence set aside his scheming for a moment to appreciate the intensity of the scene, and he saw something that immediately brought him back to his senses.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Amati.

Amati was right there.

At first he thought it was some cruel joke of the gods, but then he wondered—even this coincidence might be somehow significant.

Lawrence stood in the heart of Kumersun at the intersection of the main streets running north to south and east to west.

Amati’s back was toward the inn where Holo presumably still was.

Amati stopped and slowly looked behind him.

For a moment, Lawrence was afraid that Amati saw him, but no, Amati didn’t notice him at all.

Lawrence followed the boy’s gaze.

Its direction was obvious.

But what was there? Lawrence had to know.

And there, at a window on the second floor of the inn, facing the broad avenue, fox skin muffler wrapped about her neck, was Holo.

A terrible anxiety roiled in Lawrence’s stomach that was bitter with anger and a kind of impatience.

Holo nuzzled the muffler and then nodded.

Lawrence saw Amati put his hand over his chest in response, as though swearing an oath before God.

Whether Holo had invited him in or Amati had forced his way in, Lawrence did not know.

However, based on what he was seeing, Lawrence thought there was little reason to be optimistic.

Amati turned his back on the inn and walked away. He leaned forward and seemed hurried, as though he was escaping, which only exacerbated Lawrence’s suspicions.

In a moment, Amati had disappeared into the crowd, and Lawrence looked back to the inn window.

He held his breath.

Holo was clearly looking directly at him.

If Lawrence was able to spot Amati in the crowd, there was no reason the sharp-eyed Holo would have difficulty spotting Lawrence.

Although Holo did not look away immediately, neither did she smile. She simply looked at him steadily.

They stayed that way for some time. Lawrence was about to finally exhale when Holo suddenly withdrew from the windowsill.

If she had closed the window, he might have stayed frozen there.

But she didn’t. The window was left open.

It seemed to exert a pull on him, drawing him toward the inn.

Lawrence was of course not so naive as to think that Holo and Amati had simply spoken through the window.

Holo was no simple town girl, and Amati’s feelings for her were far from coolheaded. There was no reason to think that they hadn’t had a conversation in the room.

Holo had looked quietly unflustered and unconcerned, probably because she hadn’t been seen doing anything she would need to be concerned about.

Which meant she was provoking him.

Lawrence thought back to the conversation they had once had in Ruvinheigen. He believed that if he spoke to her honestly, she would understand.

He steeled himself and then headed for the inn.

Immediately upon entering the inn, Lawrence was greeted by a lively feast.

The tables were piled with all manner of food, and the guests were drinking, talking, and even singing.

It occurred to Lawrence that he and Holo should have been at one of those tables enjoying themselves, and despite his merchant’s aversion to regret, he felt a pang nonetheless.

But there was still a chance. If Holo had wanted to utterly reject him, she would’ve closed the window.

Lawrence held onto that tenuous idea, which gave him confidence, and ascended the stairs next to the counter, leading to the second floor.

Immediately, someone called out to him.

“Mr. Lawrence—”

Not particularly serene to begin with, Lawrence started and turned around; the innkeeper was also surprised, blinking as he looked at Lawrence while leaning over the counter.

“…I’m sorry, is there something…?”

“Ah, yes, I was told to give you a letter.”

The mention of a letter sent a surge of uneasiness through Lawrence’s chest. He stifled it with a cough.

Descending the stairs, he walked over to the counter and took the proffered letter.

“Who is this from?”

“Your companion left it just a moment ago.”

Impressively, Lawrence managed to hide his surprise.

It went without saying that the innkeeper had knowledge of all the comings and goings of his inn’s residents.

Lawrence had left the inn, and Holo had remained. While Lawrence was out, Amati paid Holo a visit, and Holo now chose to communicate with Lawrence not directly but via letter.

No innkeeper could observe these events and not suppose something was afoot.

Yet the innkeeper betrayed no such suspicions as he looked at Lawrence.

Connections between merchants in a town like this ran deeply.

If Lawrence was to behave in an unseemly fashion here, the rumors would be all over town almost instantly.

“Might I borrow a light?” Lawrence said with careful control. The innkeeper nodded and brought out a silver candlestick from the back.

The bright candle was not tallow, and Lawrence felt that his inner turmoil might be laid bare underneath its strong light.

In his mind, he smiled derisively at himself for entertaining such thoughts, and then he cut open the envelope with the dagger at his waist.

The innkeeper moved away, as if realizing it would be rude of him to read the contents of the letter, but Lawrence could tell the man still glanced at him from time to time.

He coughed lightly and removed the letter from its envelope.

One sheet was parchment; the other was normal paper.

His heart pounded. Hesitating here meant that he did not completely trust Holo.

It was well within the realm of possibility that within the letter, Holo would attempt reconciliation.

He opened the letter—which was folded in half—slowly, and a bit of sand fell from the surface of the paper.

It had probably been used in order to persuade the ink to dry more quickly, which meant the letter had only just been written.

Would it be a letter that repaired their relationship or destroyed it?

The words on the paper leapt out at Lawrence’s eyes.

Cash on hand, two hundred silver pieces. Pyrite on hand, three hundred silver pieces’ worth. Salable assets—

He looked up, taken aback at the list of assets that began without so much as a preamble.

Cash? Pyrite?

He had expected a letter that would echo in his mind with her voice, but what he held here was a sheet of paper with a list of figures and nothing more.

Lawrence looked back to the paper and, gritting his teeth, continued reading.

…on hand, three hundred silver pieces’ worth. Salable assets roughly two hundred silver pieces’ worth.

This was obviously a list of Amati’s assets.

Lawrence felt his shoulders slacken, as if they were stale bread loaves sprinkled with water.

Holo had allowed Amati into the room so she could get this information from him.

She had to have done so for Lawrence.

It was her roundabout way of reconciling.

Lawrence smiled widely. He didn’t even bother trying to hide it.

At the end of the note was written “These contents transcribed by another.”

There were many people who could read but not write. Holo had gotten this information, slipped from the room under the pretense of visiting the restroom perhaps, and gotten a merchant or someone to write out the list for her. Lawrence remembered Amati’s handwriting from the contract. This was not his writing.

Lawrence carefully folded up the note, which was now suddenly beyond value to him, and tucked it near his breast, and then he pulled the parchment free.

Perhaps she’d used her wiles to fool Amati into signing some sort of ridiculous contract.

Lawrence flashed to the memory of Amati’s self-satisfied face after his meeting with Holo.

Holo still wants to travel with me, Lawrence thought to himself.

Flooded with a sense of incredible relief, he unfolded the parchment without hesitation.

In the name of God…

It was unmistakably Amati’s bold, gallant handwriting.

Lawrence quashed the rush of emotion that came and kept reading.

He read the first line, the second line, the third line—

And then—

By these terms shall the two be bound in marriage.

As he got to the end of the document, it felt like the world was spinning around him.

“…Wha…?”

He heard himself murmur in a voice that sounded very faraway indeed.

He closed his eyes, but the contents of the parchment, the words that he’d just read, remained there in his vision.

It was a marriage certificate.

There on the parchment, sworn in the name of God, were written the names of a young fishmonger named Fermi Amati and Holo.

The line for the signature of Holo’s guardian was blank.

But once it had been signed and sealed by her guardian and delivered to a church, Amati and Holo would be husband and wife.

Holo’s name had been written in an uncertain hand.

Hers were the letters of someone who could read but who could only write by imitation.

An image flashed through Lawrence’s mind—Holo watching Amati write the contract and then clumsily signing her own name.

Lawrence pulled the first sheet of paper out of his breast pocket—that desperately valuable paper—and reread it.

It had to be a list of Amati’s property. The amounts were entirely plausible.

She must have composed the list not to help Lawrence, but rather to show him just how dire the situation was.

Why would she do that? It was silly even to ask.

Taken along with the marriage certificate, Lawrence thought the answer was obvious.

Amati was on the verge of fulfilling his contract with Lawrence, whom Holo was planning to leave.

Their meeting, Holo’s and Lawrence’s, had been pure chance.

Despite Amati being young, rash, and honest to a fault, Holo had perhaps found the overachieving, self-important boy to be a more suitable partner.

There was no reason not to think so.

Even if Lawrence was to dash up the stairs and beg her not to marry, clutching the marriage certificate in his hand, Holo would simply turn him out. She excelled at that.

He had no choice but to steel himself.

Holo had revealed Amati’s assets to Lawrence; she had to be telling him that if he could successfully defeat the young fishmonger, she would hear him out. On the other hand, if Lawrence failed—that would be the end of it.

There was a way to defeat Amati. There was hope.

Lawrence quickly put the note and contract away, and then he turned to the innkeeper.

“Fetch me all the coin I’ve left with you, if you please.”

Traveling with Holo was worth all the gold he’d ever have.

Lawrence knew it was possible to legally bankrupt Amati.

The problem lay in getting Amati to accept a deal that held such a possibility.

Lawrence suspected Amati was unfamiliar with the sort of deal he would propose. This wasn’t because he looked down on the boy; it was simply because Amati’s business did not involve transactions like the one that Lawrence had in mind.

Nobody wants to get involved in deals they don’t fully understand, after all.

Lawrence had the additional disadvantage of being Amati’s enemy.

Given all that, he expected the odds of Amati accepting his deal at one in nine on the outside. Lawrence didn’t care if he had to provoke the boy—he had to get Amati to take the bait.

Unfortunately, no matter how normal the deal appeared on the surface, Amati was bound to notice how antagonistic it really was.

The provocation Lawrence considered was thus entirely justified.

This was not business because Lawrence had no intention of turning a profit.

Any time a merchant’s thoughts strayed from gains and losses, losses were inevitable. But Lawrence had long since abandoned his merchant’s common sense.

He asked the innkeeper which taverns Amati frequented and began searching them one by one. Despite the festivities that continued in the streets, he found Amati quietly drinking alone.

The boy appeared fatigued; perhaps it was the aftermath from the tension of negotiating his hoped-for marriage with Holo, or perhaps he had not yet raised the thousand silver pieces.

In any case, Amati’s emotional state was completely irrelevant.

Lawrence knew he couldn’t always count on completely favorable negotiation conditions. When it came to that, a merchant had only his own abilities to fall back on.

If he waited until tomorrow, the negotiations could become even more difficult.

The deal he was going to propose to Amati could not wait.

He took a deep breath and moved into Amati’s field of vision before the latter noticed him.

“Ah—”

“Good evening.”

Amati was apparently not so naive as to betray his irritation at Lawrence’s arrival.

He was surprised enough to be speechless for a moment, but the young fishmonger soon recovered his professional demeanor.

“No need for suspicion. I’m here for business.” Lawrence surprised himself by managing an easy smile.

“If you’re here on business, it’s all the more reason not to let down my guard,” said Amati, unamused.

“Ha-ha, fair enough. Can you spare a moment?”

Amati nodded, and Lawrence sat down at the table with him. “Wine,” Lawrence simply said to the annoyed-looking tavern keeper.

Lawrence reminded himself not to underestimate the slender, effeminate boy who sat across the table from him. Amati had left his home and and was on his way to success with his fish-selling business.

At the same time, he could not let Amati keep his own guard up.

Lawrence cleared his throat casually, glancing around before speaking. “This is a nice, quiet place.”

“You can’t drink peacefully at most taverns. This place is special.”

Lawrence wondered if Amati was implying that his peace had been disturbed by a certain unpleasant character, that is, himself, but decided that was overthinking.

He was of one mind with Amati in that he wanted to finish the conversation as quickly as possible.

“So I know you must be surprised to see me but no more surprised than I was earlier today, so I think I can beg your indulgence.”

Lawrence didn’t know what Amati had said to get Holo to sign the contract. No matter how clever and impulsive she was, he could not imagine what would make her actually sign.

Which meant that Amati had somehow persuaded her, and she had agreed.

However, Lawrence knew he had no right to blame her.

The one who had let Amati into the room was Holo, but the one who had caused the situation in the first place was Lawrence.

He did not know then what Holo had heard from Amati. Amati opened his mouth to explain just that presumably, but Lawrence raised his hand and cut the boy off.

“No, that is not the matter I am here to discuss. It does however inform my decision to come and talk business with you certainly, but that is all. Holo is entirely free to act as she will.”

Amati looked at Lawrence angrily for a moment and then nodded.

He was clearly still suspicious of Lawrence, but for his part, Lawrence would expend no more effort to allay those suspicions.

After all, what he was going to say next would only heighten them.

“However, given the reason for my proposing this deal to you, I can’t very well call it normal.”

“Just what is it you’re scheming?” Amati asked.

Unfazed, Lawrence continued, “I’ll get right to the point, then. It is my wish to sell you pyrite.”

Amati’s blue eyes seemed to look through Lawrence into some far-off place for a moment. “What?”

“I wish to sell you pyrite. By current market value, it is roughly five hundred silver pieces’ worth.”

Amati, mouth half-open and eyes unfocused, regained his composure. He laughed and then sighed. “Surely you jest.”

“I am quite serious.”

Amati’s smile disappeared, his keen eyes now almost angry. “You must be aware that I have done quite well reselling pyrite. What are you playing at, trying to sell it then to me? The more I have, the more money I can make. I cannot believe you would help me in this. Unless”—Amati paused, his gaze now definitely angry—“it’s true that as long as you collect the debt, you care not what becomes of Miss Holo.”

“Far from it. Holo is very important to me.”

“In that case, why—”

“Of course, I do not mean to simply sell it to you outright.”

Amati might have been the better man when it came to the frenetic business of auctions, but when negotiating one-on-one, Lawrence had confidence in his own abilities.

Keeping his tone even, he continued on with his proposal.

“I wish to sell it to you on margin.”

“On…margin?” Amati repeated the unfamiliar phrase.

“Quite.”

“And what does that—”

“It means I will sell you five hundred trenni of pyrite tomorrow evening at its current market value.”

Holo sometimes bragged of being able to hear the sound of someone frowning in consternation—Lawrence now felt he heard that very sound, so complete was Amati’s look of noncomprehension.

“In that case, simply come to me tomorrow evening—”

“No, I’d like to receive the payment now.”

Amati’s dubious expression grew still more dubious.

Unless he was as good at acting as Holo, Amati obviously knew nothing of margin selling.

A merchant that lacked knowledge might as well be entering a battlefield while blindfolded.

Lawrence pulled his bowstring tight, preparing to fire his arrow.

“In other words, I’ll accept five hundred silver pieces from you now, and tomorrow I’ll give you five hundred silver pieces’ worth of pyrite at today’s market value.”

Amati thought hard. On the surface, it was not a difficult arrangement to understand.

After a time, he seemed to work out the implications.

“So what this means is that come tomorrow evening, even if the market value of pyrite has risen, I’ll still receive what I would have gotten at today’s price.”

“Correct. For example, if I sold you a single piece of pyrite worth twelve hundred irehd on margin tonight, even if tomorrow’s price is two thousand irehd, I still have to give you the pyrite.”

“…Contrariwise, if the value has dropped to two hundred irehd by tomorrow, I still receive only the one piece, despite having paid twelve hundred the night before.”

“Also correct.”

The boy was clever.

However, Lawrence still worried whether Amati would understand the true meaning of margin transactions.

In a sense, they were no different from when a merchant sold a commodity on the spot.

If the price of a good was to rise after it had been sold, a merchant would regret not waiting to sell it. Likewise, if it fell, he would be relieved at having gotten a better deal.

But the time interval between the cash transaction and the commodity transaction was an important one.

Lawrence wanted Amati to understand this.

If Amati failed to see the significance of it, he would in all likelihood turn down the proposal.

Amati spoke.

“How is this different from an ordinary transaction?”

He did not understand.

Lawrence stifled the urge to click his tongue in irritation and prepared to deliver a lecture on margin purchasing.

Just then, Amati cut him off before he could begin.

“No, wait. It is different.” Amati smiled in understanding, his boyish face now every inch a merchant’s, calculating gain and loss. “You, Mr. Lawrence, are trying to salvage some profit despite having arrived late to the game. Am I right?”

It seemed a lecture would be unnecessary.

A merchant would not propose a meaningless deal. It only appeared meaningless when viewed in ignorance.

Amati continued, “If buying on margin allows you to gain a commodity without having the cash on hand, then selling on margin allows you to gain cash without having the commodity on hand. Buying on margin yields profit when the good rises in price, but selling on margin allows you to profit when the good’s market value drops.”

When selling on margin, one did not even need to have the goods on hand until they were due to be delivered, since the deal was made by promising to deliver goods at a later point in time.

“This is quite a business, indeed. It seems my focus on fish has left me ignorant of much of the world. You chose me for this deal because…No, it goes without saying. If I buy five hundred silver pieces’ worth of pyrite from you, I stand to gain if the market value of pyrite rises, but if it falls, my losses increase. When you profit—that is when I lose.”

Amati thrust out his chest, his face fairly brimming with confidence.

Lawrence was acutely aware of his own even expression.

His hand trembled upon the bowstring.

Amati continued, “So in other words, this is—”

Lawrence cut him off and let fly the arrow.

“Mr. Amati, I am challenging you to a battle.”

The fishmonger’s lips curled into a smile.

It was every bit a merchant’s smile.

“Surely this cannot be called a ‘battle.’ A battle presupposes that both sides are equal, and this is not equal at all. I’m sure that you’re not suggesting that this transaction would be meaningful only between you and me?”

“By which you mean…?”

“Surely you don’t plan to conduct the deal without a certificate, and I assume this certificate could be sold to someone else, correct?”

Outside of remote areas, it was quite common for debt obligations to be bought and sold.

Certificates for margin selling were no exception.

“I would hardly expect you to accept my proposal otherwise,” replied Lawrence. “It would be far too much risk; you would never accept it.”

“Quite so. Even supposing the value of pyrite drops by tomorrow evening as you’re predicting it will, as long as it reaches the value I need sometime during the day, I’ll want to sell the certificate. If I weren’t allowed to do that, I doubt I would accept the deal. But if I keep that ability, the deal remains unfair.”

Lawrence listened silently as Amati continued.

“It’s unfair to you, Mr. Lawrence, since all I need is a slight increase in the price of pyrite to reach my goal. And yet I cannot accept a deal that leans in your favor.”

So either way, Amati was unwilling.

But no merchant worth his salt would give up after a single refusal.

Lawrence calmed himself and replied.

“That may be true if you look at this transaction by itself, but if you’ll look at the bigger picture, you’ll see this amount of unfairness is actually quite fair.”

“…By which you mean…?”

“By which I mean it is quite possible that Holo will simply tear up that marriage certificate. I assume you have a copy as well?”

Amati paled.

“Even if you pay me the thousand silver to lift Holo’s debt, there’s no way for you to avoid the risk of her simply shaking her head no. Compared to that risk, the marginal unfairness I face is nothing.”

“Hah. Don’t you think that worry is unfounded? I understand you had quite a row with her,” Amati shot back with a snort and a chuckle.

Lawrence felt his body grow hot as though he was empaled from behind on a red-hot iron bar, but he summoned every ounce of his merchant’s self-control and revealed nothing. “In our travels together, Holo has cried in my arms three times.”

It was now Amati whose face betrayed his emotion.

He’d had a smirk, but his face now froze, and he took a long, slow breath.

“She was quite charming all three times, Holo was,” continued Lawrence. “So it’s a shame she’s usually so stubborn. She often says and does things that are contrary to her true feelings. In other words—”

Amati cut Lawrence off forcefully, like a knight challenged to a duel. “I accept! I accept your proposal, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“I say again: I accept. I was…if you’ll pardon me, I was worried that it would be too cruel to take absolutely everything from you, Mr. Lawrence. But if this is the way you want it, I accept. I will take from you your fortune and everything you have!”

Amati’s face was red with anger.

Lawrence had to smile.

As he extended his right hand to Amati, his was the smile of the hunter that reaches into a trap to retrieve his prey. “So you’ll accept these terms?”

“I shall!”

The two hands that then clasped tightly together each planned to take everything from the other.

“In that case, let us sign the contract and be done with it.”

Lawrence remained coolheaded and came to a conclusion.

The two of them, Lawrence and Amati, were on equal footing when it came to the deal at this time. Amati might even be shouldering a slightly greater risk.

But it was far from clear whether Amati realized this. No, it was precisely because he had not realized it that he was willing to agree.

But even if he were to realize now, it would be too late.

They borrowed pen and paper from the tavern keeper and signed the contract on the spot.

Amati couldn’t produce five hundred pieces of silver right there, so Lawrence let him substitute his three horses for the remaining two hundred. The coin would be handed over in the morning at the toll of the market bell. The horses would follow in the evening.

If Holo was to be believed, Amati had two hundred silver coins, pyrite worth three hundred pieces of silver, and another two hundred pieces of silver of salable assets.

Evidently, though, he had a hundred more silver pieces than that, and the two hundred silver pieces of salable assets were clearly the three horses.

All this meant that Amati had the equivalent of eight hundred silver pieces’ worth of pyrite. If the value of pyrite was to rise by even 25 percent, he’d have more than the thousand silver he needed. If Amati had more assets than what Holo reported, the price wouldn’t even need to go up that much.

“We’ll settle this tomorrow evening, then,” said Amati, visibly excited as the final seal was stamped on the paper. Lawrence nodded calmly.

All he’d had to do was mention Holo crying in his arms.

Merchants truly were useless once matters strayed from business.

“I’ll take my leave, then. Enjoy your wine,” said Lawrence once the contract was signed and complete.

The arrow was well and truly buried in Amati’s chest. Amati himself must have felt it, but there was something Lawrence had failed to mention.

The arrow had been tipped with a slow-acting poison known only to those familiar with margin selling.

The merchant’s hunt lay between truth and deception.

There was no obligation to tell the whole truth.

Merchants were all of them treacherous.

As soon as he completed the margin-selling contract with Amati, Lawrence headed straight to the marketplace.

Though business hours were long since over, the marketplace was as lively as it had been during the day. The merchants drank wine and made merry by the light of the moon, and the festivities soon spread to include the night watchmen.

So it was that Mark was still at his stall and not at home as he might have been at such a late hour.

That he was drinking alone, with only the noise of the festivities to accompany the wine, proved he had once been a traveling merchant himself.

“What’s this? Does the princess not require an escort?” were the first words from Mark’s mouth.

Lawrence shrugged, smiling unhappily.

Mark laughed. “Well, no matter—have a drink,” he said, pouring ale from an earthen bottle into an empty cup.

“I’m not disturbing you?”

“You will be if you stay sober!”

Lawrence sat in the sawed-log chair and set down the sack containing the gold and silver coins. He put the proffered ale to his lips. Its foamy fragrance filled his head as the bitter stuff washed down his throat.

The hops had been good in this batch.

Lawrence supposed it was unsurprising that a wheat merchant would know good ale.

“It’s fine ale.”

“It’s been a good harvest this year for all wheat. When there’s a bad harvest, the barley that normally goes to ale is put toward bread instead. I’ll have to thank the god of the harvest.”

“Hah, quite so,” said Lawrence, setting the ale cup down on the tabletop. “Listen, this may not be the best discussion to match good ale, but…”

Mark gulped and burped. “Is there profit in it?”

“That’s hard to say. There might be gain in it, though that’s not my aim.”

Mark popped a piece of salted fish into his mouth, speaking as he crunched away on it. “You’re too honest, friend. You should’ve said there’s money in it. I’d have gladly helped you.”

“I’ll pay you for your trouble, and there may yet be profit in it.”

“Do tell.”

Lawrence wiped a bit of ale foam from the corner of his mouth. “After the festival ends is when the wheat buying begins in earnest, yes?”

“Oh, aye.”

“I’d like you to spread a rumor for me.”

Mark’s expression turned shrewd, as though he was appraising wheat. “I won’t do anything risky.”

“It might be risky for you to spread it, but your apprentice can do so with no trouble at all.”

It was a trifling rumor.

But rumors can wield a terrible power.

There was a tale of a kingdom long ago that met its destruction because of a simple rumor that the king was ill, which was started by a young town boy. The rumor eventually circulated beyond the kingdom’s borders, leading to the dissolution of alliances and finally invasion.

It turns out that people do not have that much to talk about in their daily lives.

It seemed that their ears existed only to pick up on small rumors, so they could then shout them to the world.

Mark gestured with his chin, as if to say, “Go on.”

“At my signal, I want someone to begin saying that it seems about time for the price of wheat to rise.”

Mark froze, his eyes staring through Lawrence and off into the distance. He was considering the implications of what Lawrence had said.

“You’re trying to lower the price of that mineral.”

“Exactly so.”

Lawrence imagined that most of the people who were trying their hand at the pyrite business had come to town to sell something, and they would be buying something before they left.

And as they left, the product they would buy the most of was undoubtedly wheat.

If people heard that wheat was going to rise in price, they would surely sell off their pyrite in order to buy whatever it was they had originally come to town to buy.

And as a result, demand for pyrite would fall off.

As the price fell with less demand, it would reach a certain point and then plunge uncontrollably downward.

The wheat merchant drank deeply from his ale cup before speaking. “I wouldn’t have figured you to come up with such a simpleminded idea.”

“What if I told you that I was planning to sell off a considerable amount of pyrite at the same time?”

Mark blinked, and after a moment of thought, he asked, “How much?”

“One thousand trenni worth.”

“Wha—! One thousand? Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much you might lose in the process?”

Mark scowled and scratched his beard, muttering as he looked about. Judging by his reaction, he had no idea what Lawrence was thinking.

“So long as I’ve five hundred silver pieces’ worth of pyrite when this is all over, it matters nothing to me whether the price rises or falls.”

It was Amati who had greater risk in the deal Lawrence had brought to him.

And this was the reason.

“Damn. Selling on margin, are you?”

Obviously no one complained when a commodity they had on hand went up in price, but there weren’t many situations where someone didn’t mind if their goods dropped in value.

If the goods sold on margin depreciated, all one had to do was repurchase the product at the new lower price to ensure a profit. If the product rose in value, as long as it were paired up with a conventional transaction, Lawrence could create a situation where he would come out the same whether or not the price rose or fell.

His most decisive advantage was that the price of pyrite would definitely fall once it was sold in large quantities, but Amati absolutely needed the price to rise in order to turn a profit.

Lawrence’s plan was, in essence, to use the five hundred silver pieces he’d received from Amati plus his own assets to buy up as much pyrite as possible; then he would sell it off all at once in order to drive the price sharply down.

It was only possible to do this upon abandoning any notion of profit.

Mark, once a traveling merchant himself, soon worked all this out—including who the victim was.

“I must say I feel bad for that poor, ignorant fishmonger.”

Lawrence shrugged in reply.

Although the plan looked flawless, there was a reason why Lawrence was not completely comfortable with it.

There was no such thing as a perfect plan.

“You’d think he would understand how dangerous it is to take part in a deal he’s not used to,” said Mark.

“No—he knows the risks, and he accepted. I explained that much.”

Mark gave a throaty chuckle and polished off his beer. “So, was that all you needed?”

“No, there’s one more thing.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I want you to help me buy up pyrite.”

Mark stared blankly at Lawrence. “You didn’t secure a source before making the margin contract?”

“There wasn’t time. Will you help me?”

This was the flaw in his plan.

No matter how ideal the plan, without all the components in place it would come to nothing.

And what Lawrence needed to do was far from easy.

He could wait until dawn to purchase pyrite in the marketplace like any other merchant. But if he bought several hundred trenni worth of pyrite all at once, a sudden spike in price was inevitable.

He had to work behind the scenes and buy up pyrite in such a way that his purchasing would not disturb the market value.

To do this, the best way would be to make many small purchases via various town merchants.

“Payments will be in cash. I’ll even pay over market value. If the quantity is enough, I can even pay in lumione.”

If trenni silver was a sword, then lumione gold was a phalanx of spears. When buying high-value commodities, a more powerful weapon did not exist.

Lawrence had coin but lacked connections, and outside of Mark, he had no one he could turn to for aid.

If Mark refused, Lawrence would have no choice but to gather pyrite on his own.

He couldn’t even consider how difficult it would be to buy up the mineral in an aboveboard fashion in this town, where he only did business a few days of the year.

Mark was unmoving, staring off in some unclear direction.

“I’ll make it worth your trouble,” Lawrence added. It was clear he was offering more than a simple service fee.

Mark glanced over upon hearing those words.

He was, after all, a merchant. He wouldn’t work for free.

Mark’s answer was short. “I can’t.”

“I see, so…Wait, what?”

“I can’t,” he said again, looking Lawrence in the eye.

“Wha—”

“I cannot help you with this,” he said flatly.

Lawrence leaned forward. “I’ll pay you a consideration and not a paltry service fee, either. You’ve nothing to lose. It’s a good trade, is it not?”

“I’ve nothing to lose?” He frowned, his square-cut beard making his face look even stonier.

“But you don’t, do you? I’m asking you to help me find and purchase pyrite, not shoulder a risky investment. What have you to lose?”

“Lawrence.” The sound of his name cut Lawrence off.

Yet Lawrence did not understand what Mark was thinking. It made no sense for a merchant to refuse a deal that promised a sizable reward with no risk.

Why then the refusal?

He wondered if Mark was trying to take advantage of him, and something like anger roiled in his gut.

Mark continued, “You’d be able to pay me, say, ten lumione at the outside, am I right?”

“Well, given that you’re simply making some purchases for me, that’s more than generous, I should think. It is not as though I’m asking you to cross a mountain range alone and bring back an entire caravan’s worth of ore.”

“But you are asking me to go about the marketplace and buy up pyrite, are you not? It amounts to the same thing.”

“How is that—?” Lawrence stood suddenly, knocking back the log chair with a clatter. He was a moment from bodily grabbing the wheat merchant when he regained his composure.

Mark was unmoved.

His even, businesslike expression did not change.

“Er—I mean, how is that the same thing? I’m hardly asking you to run around all night or to traverse some treacherous mountain pass. I’m simply asking you to help me buy pyrite with your connections.”

“It’s the same thing, Lawrence,” said Mark almost patiently. “You’re a traveling merchant who crosses the plains; I do battle in the marketplace. The dangers you see, they’re the dangers of the traveling merchant.”

“So…” Lawrence swallowed his protest. Mark’s face was also strained, as if he’d swallowed something bitter.

Mark continued, “To a town merchant, leaping at every chance to make a quick profit is no virtue. It’s making a steady living through an honest, reliable business that makes my reputation, not making big profits on fleeting side jobs. I may be the owner of this stall, but its reputation is not just mine. It extends to my wife, my relatives, and anyone connected with it. If it’s making a bit of coin on the side, that’s surely not a bad thing…”

Mark paused here, taking another quaff of ale. His knit brow was surely not owing to the ale’s bitter taste. “…But helping you find and buy five hundred trenni of pyrite is quite another matter. How do you think the townspeople would view me and mine? Would they not think of me as a villain, who cares nothing for his real business and has eyes only on easy riches? Can you pay me enough to take that risk? I was once a traveling merchant myself, and I’d venture to say the trifling sums a traveling merchant handles cannot compare to the amounts town merchants deal with.”

Lawrence could say nothing.

Mark made his final statement. “This shop may seem small, but the value of its name is surprisingly high. If the name were to be tarnished, ten or twenty gold pieces would be far from enough to cover it.”

It was a compelling statement.

Lawrence had nothing to say in return and stared at the table.

“That’s how it is.”

Mark was neither taking advantage of Lawrence nor mocking him.

It was simply the truth.

Lawrence saw that though both he and Mark were merchants, they lived in different worlds.

“I am sorry,” said Mark.

Lawrence still had no good reply.

It was hardly worth counting the number of allies that remained to him.

“N-no, I should apologize for asking the impossible.”

Lawrence tried to think of who else he might turn to; only Batos came to mind.

Since Mark would not help him, Batos was the only option.

But Lawrence remembered that when Batos tipped him off about Amati’s plan, he’d said the boy’s plan was not exactly praiseworthy.

Batos hauled ore through dangerous mountain passes—he would no doubt consider the quick buying and selling of pyrite to be rather odious.

He doubted that Batos would help him, but Lawrence had no choice but to put aside his misgivings and ask nonetheless.

Lawrence steeled himself and looked up.

It was just then that Mark spoke again. “So even the ever-composed Lawrence gets like this sometimes, eh?”

Mark’s face was neither upset nor amused; he simply seemed surprised.

“Ah, apologies,” Mark continued. “Don’t be angry. It just seems unusual,” he said, hurriedly explaining. Lawrence was also surprised at his own behavior and far from angry.

“I can’t say I’m surprised with your companion being who she is and all. But you needn’t go to all this effort to stop Amati, do you? Surely she won’t leave you so easily. I thought as much the first time I saw her at your side. Have more confidence, man!”

Mark finally smiled, but Lawrence was expressionless as he replied, “She gave me a signed marriage certificate. The other party is Amati naturally.”

Mark’s eyes widened, and he realized that he’d said the wrong thing. He scratched his beard awkwardly.

Lawrence saw this and slackened his shoulders. “If nothing had happened, sure, I’d have more confidence. But something did happen.”

“So it happened after you came by here? We never know what lies even a step ahead in life, do we? But you still have hope, so you’re still running—I see.”

Lawrence nodded, and Mark stuck out his lower lip and sighed.

“Still,” said Mark, “I knew she was a person to be reckoned with, but I can’t believe she’d be so bold…Anyway, do you have any other leads?”

“I expect I’ll go talk to Mr. Batos next.”

“Batos, eh? Ah, so you’re going to have him talk to the woman for you,” murmured Mark.

“…The woman?” asked Lawrence in reply.

“Huh? Oh, so you’re not going to have him talk to her for you? The chronicler, I mean. You met her, right?”

“If you mean Miss Diana, I’ve met her, but I don’t see what she has to do with this.”

“So long as you’re not worried about the consequences, you might try dealing with her.”

“Look, what are you talking about?” asked Lawrence.

Mark looked over his shoulder conspiratorially, then lowering his voice, he spoke. “She practically coordinates the northern regions. Especially the alchemists—you might as well call her their storefront. It’s because of her that the alchemists that have managed to escape persecution gather here, from our perspective. Of course, only the local nobility and elders of the town council know the details. Oh, and—”

Mark took a sip of ale and continued, “Everybody knows that the alchemists have pyrite, but nobody wants to make waves, so they don’t do business with alchemists. In old Batos’s case, he deals mostly with the alchemists and rarely with anybody else. No—it’s more accurate to say he can’t deal with anyone else because he deals with alchemists. So if you can risk the trouble it might bring, getting Batos to talk to the woman for you is an option.”

It wasn’t clear to Lawrence whether this sudden revelation was the truth, but Mark had nothing to gain from lying.

“Depending on the circumstances, it might be worth trying. The flames are getting quite close, after all, are they not?”

It was pathetic, but Lawrence had to admit that with Mark’s refusal to help, the situation was quite desperate.

“I’m actually quite pleased that you’d turn to me for help, but this is all I can do for you,” said Mark.

“No, I appreciate it. I nearly overlooked a huge opportunity.”

Even Lawrence felt that Mark’s reason for refusing him was completely justified.

Mark was a town merchant, and Lawrence was a traveling merchant. The abilities and limitations of each were naturally very different.

“I know I refused you…but I’ll be praying for your success nonetheless.”

Now it was Lawrence’s turn to smile. “You’ve taught me something valuable. That alone was worth my time,” he said with complete sincerity. In the future, when he dealt with town merchants, Lawrence would have today’s experience to draw upon. It was indeed something valuable.

Whether or not it was in response to Lawrence’s words, Mark stroked his beard noisily.

He frowned and looked off to the side as he spoke. “I may not be able to help you directly, but I might be able to whisper the condition of someone’s wallet in your ear.”

Lawrence was visibly surprised, at which Mark closed his eyes.

“Come by the shop later. I can at least tell you who to buy from.”

“…Thank you, truly,” said Lawrence with complete honesty.

Mark shook his head as if at a loss, sighing. “When you make that face, I guess I see why that girl would be so bold.”

“…What do you mean?”

“Ah, nothing. Just that merchants should stick to business.”

Lawrence wanted the laughing Mark to explain himself, but he was already focusing on Batos and Diana.

“Good luck to you,” said Mark.

“Thanks.”

Lawrence’s chest was still tight with anxiety, and if he was to go negotiate, the sooner he did so the better.

He thanked Mark again and put Mark’s stall behind him.

It was often said that the traveling merchant has no friends. As he walked the streets, Lawrence decided this was not true.

Lawrence first headed directly to the trade guild.

He had two goals: first, to discover whether Batos had a stock of pyrite on hand or any connections to buy some, and second, to have Batos take him to Diana.

He remembered Batos’s dismissal of Amati’s plan to raise money—not entirely praiseworthy, Batos had said.

The man hauled ore and precious stones from the mines over dangerous mountain paths. He might well find this pyrite-speculation business downright shameful.

Even though he knew he might be asking the impossible, Lawrence still had to go.

He made his way through the back alleys to the guild house, turning a blind eye to the festival, which was even at this late hour continuing with an atmosphere that was near riotous.

He finally arrived at his destination—a street lined with trade companies. Each company had lit lanterns, and there were circles of people dancing about here and there. Now and then, Lawrence caught sight of employees continuing the festivities by holding clumsy mock sword battles.

Pushing his way through the congested street, Lawrence approached the Rowen Trade Guild building. He silently slipped through the open doors and passed the guild members that were drinking and carrying on there.

The delineation between those who wanted to quietly drink inside and those who wished to join in the clamor outside seemed quite clear. Beneath the glow of the distinctive-smelling fish oil lamps, the guild hall was filled with quiet conversation and pleasant laughter.

A few seemed to notice Lawrence’s arrival and looked at him curiously, but the greater part were wholly concerned with enjoying themselves.

Lawrence spied the man he was looking for among those gathered and walked straight toward him.

The man sat at a table with several other older merchants. Beneath the dim lamplight, he looked somehow hermitlike.

It was Gi Batos.

“I apologize for interrupting in the middle of your celebration,” said Lawrence quietly. The older merchants with their decades of experience immediately understood that he was here for business.

They sipped their wine wordlessly, glancing at Batos.

Batos smiled briefly. “Ho there, Mr. Lawrence. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry this is so sudden, but I need to speak with you.”

“Business, is it?”

After a short hesitation, Lawrence nodded.

“We’ll talk over there. We can’t let these old codgers steal all our profit, after all.”

The other merchants at the table laughed, raising their cups as if to say, “We’ll keep on without you.”

Lawrence gave a quick bow and then followed Batos, who was heading farther into the guild house.

Standing in sharp contrast to the lively lobby, the halls of the guild house were like back alleys; the lamplight soon failed to reach them, and the clamor from those gathered faded like a fire burning on a river’s distant shore.

Batos then stopped and turned. “So what is it you want to speak about?”

There was no point in beating around the bush. Lawrence spoke simply and to the point. “I’m trying to lay in pyrite. I’m looking for someone with a stockpile, and I thought you might have some idea of where to start.”

“Pyrite?”

“Yes.”

Batos’s eyes were a dark blue that bordered on black. They looked gray in the faint yellow light of the lamp.

Those eyes looked evenly at Lawrence.

“Have you any leads?” Lawrence asked again.

Batos sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Mr. Lawrence, you—”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember what I said when I told you about what the young Amati was planning?”

Lawrence nodded immediately. Of course, he remembered. “Not only that, I remember that Miss Diana hates business discussions.”

Batos took his hand from his eyes and then stopped, his gaze now for the first time what one would expect from a merchant.

It was the look of a man whose life was devoted to the safe transport of goods through incredible hardship, unconcerned about how much profit would be made.

Those eyes seemed somehow wolflike.

“So you’re eyeing the alchemists’ stock, are you?”

“That will make this conversation easy—yes. However, I’ve heard that without Miss Diana’s permission, no business can be had. That is why I’ve come to you.”

Lawrence suddenly remembered when he was just starting out as a merchant—with no connections, he would visit without notice and say whatever it took to increase his business.

Batos’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before he forced them back to their usual expression. “Is pyrite so lucrative that knowing all this, you still wish to deal with them?”

“No, that is not it.”

“Then…you want to know your fortune or ward away illness as pyrite is rumored to do?” Batos smiled indulgently, as though he were playing with a grandchild. It was his way of poking fun.

Lawrence was neither angry nor impatient.

If it was for his own gain, a merchant could stare at a swinging scale all night, if that’s what it took. “I am acting in my own interest. That I will not deny.”

Batos stared wide-eyed, unmoving.

If he was turned away here, his best chance of finding a stockpile of pyrite would be gone.

Lawrence did not have the luxury of allowing that to happen.

“But I’m not after it because I’m trying to gain from the pyrite bubble. My aim is more…more basic.”

Batos did not interrupt him, and Lawrence took this as his cue to continue.

“Mr. Batos, you’re a traveling merchant, so surely you’ve had times when the goods you’re hauling fall into a crevasse.”

Still silence.

“When our wagon sinks in a mire, we weigh the difficulty of saving it against abandoning it to the mud. The value of the goods, the gain, the amount of cash on hand, the cost of getting assistance—the danger of being attacked by brigands even—we weigh it all and decide to abandon the cargo or not to.”

Batos spoke slowly. “And you’ve found yourself thus, have you?”

“I have.”

Batos’s keen eyes seemed as though they could see to the end of a dark road.

He’d traveled the same road for a lifetime and came to Diana to hear tales of the roads he hadn’t taken.

Those eyes would surely see through any lie.

But Lawrence did not waver.

For he was telling no lies.

“I am determined not to abandon my load. So long as I can get it back on my cart, I am willing to risk a bit of trouble.”

Batos had to realize what the “cargo” was and why Lawrence was so desperate.

But the old merchant just closed his eyes, saying nothing.

Was there something more to say? Lawrence wondered. Should he push further?

The laughter that echoed from the lobby sounded derisive and mocking.

Precious time was slipping away.

Lawrence readied himself to speak.

And at the last possible moment, he stopped himself.

He remembered his master telling him that waiting was the most powerful weapon when asking another’s favor.

“That’s what I wanted to see,” said Batos at that moment with a little smile. “It’s a good merchant that can wait, even if time is short, when that’s the only option left to him.”

Lawrence realized he had been tested; cold sweat ran down his back, making him shiver.

“Of course, I was even pushier back in the old days.”

“Er…”

“Ah, yes. I’ve no supply of pyrite, sad to say. But surely the alchemists do.”

“So, then—”

Batos nodded slightly. “All you need say is ‘I’ve come to buy a box of white feathers.’ That should get you in the door. The rest is up to you. You’ll have to be quite clever with dear Diana. I doubt anyone has gone to buy pyrite there yet.”

“Thank you very much. By way of thanks—”

“As long as you’ll tell me a good tale, I’ll call it even. What do you think? Do I sound as dignified as Diana?”

Batos grinned childishly; Lawrence couldn’t help but laugh.

Batos continued, “You never know when she’s sleeping, Diana, so you should be able to go over there right now. And if you’re going, you should go soon. Time is money and all.” He pointed to the back of the trade guild. “If you take the back way, you can leave without answering any questions.”

Lawrence thanked Batos and headed down the hall. He looked back to see the old merchant still smiling.

There with his back to the lamplight from the lobby, Batos looked a bit like his old master, Lawrence thought.

Leaving the guild house and heading north, Lawrence soon ran right into the stone wall.

He hadn’t been lucky enough to arrive at the entrance, so he ran along the wall for a while until he found it, levering the rickety door open and slipping inside.

There were, of course, no lights, but as Lawrence ran, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and as a traveling merchant who camped on the road quite a bit, he was used to a bit of darkness.

However, the slivers of light that sliced out from between the cracks in the district’s wooden doors, the meowing of cats in the distance, and the sudden occasional beating of birds’ wings were all much more unsettling than they had been during the day.

Without the keen sense of direction common among traveling merchants, Lawrence might have become lost and wound up sprinting away in fear.

When he finally found Diana’s house, his relief was genuine.

It was like he’d arrived at a friendly woodcutter’s cabin after a long walk through an ominous forest.

But on the other side of the door, which Lawrence stood in front of, there was perhaps not a friend who’d welcome him with open arms.

Even though he’d gotten the password from Batos, when Lawrence thought back on his exchange with Diana, he felt she truly did hate business.

He wondered if he would really be able to buy any pyrite.

The uncertainty grew in his chest, but he took a deep breath and pushed it back down.

He had to obtain the mineral.

“Excuse me, is anyone home?” Lawrence asked hesitantly, knocking lightly on the door.

The silence of someone home but asleep is subtly different from the silence of no one being present.

When it is the former, it was somehow hard to raise one’s voice.

There was no reaction from behind the door.

A bit of light shone through the cracks, though, so even if Diana might have been asleep, she seemed to be there.

The town leveled harsh punishments at those who left their lamps burning as they slept, but it was hard to imagine the evening patrols venturing into this district.

Just as Lawrence was about to knock on the door again, he heard someone move behind it.

“Who is it?” The voice sounded sleepy, weary.

“I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour. I am Lawrence; I visited you yesterday with Mr. Batos.”

A short pause followed, after which he heard the rustling of fabric. Next, the door slowly opened.

Light poured out of the house, along with the air from within the room.

Diana’s eyes were annoyed and sleepy.

She wore the same style of robe she’d had on when he visited her before. Being a former nun, she probably wore that style year-round, morning and night, making it impossible for Lawrence to tell from her dress whether he’d woken her.

In any case, it was extremely rude to visit a woman living alone in the middle of the night; Lawrence knew this but spoke without hesitation.

“I know it’s very rude, but I had to come.” He continued, “I wish to buy a box of white feathers.”

Diana’s eyes narrowed for a moment upon hearing the password that Batos had told Lawrence. She moved aside and wordlessly gestured for him to come inside.

The inside of her house—which was free from the stench of sulfur—seemed to be even more cluttered than it had been the previous day.

Even the room’s sole trace of organization—the bookshelves—were a mess, with most of the books now off the shelves, left open with their pages staring up at the ceiling.

And there were even more white quill pens scattered about than before.

“My goodness, so many guests all on the same day. The festival really does bring people out,” said Diana, mostly to herself. She sat—and as before, she did not offer Lawrence a chair.

Lawrence was about to sit anyway in one of the chairs not piled high with things, but then he realized something.

So many guests.

So people had come before Lawrence.

“I expect it was Mr. Batos that told you to ask for a box of white feathers?”

Lawrence was still worried about who had come calling here, but he shook his head to clear it. “Ah, yes. I’m sorry to say I forced the issue and made him tell me how to meet with you…”

“Goodness, really? I have a hard time imagining anyone forcing Batos to do anything,” said Diana with an amused smile.

Lawrence had nothing to say to that.

Her personality was different, but something about Diana reminded Lawrence distinctly of Holo.

“So what business is it that’s so pressing you managed to convince that stubborn old coot?”

There were any number of people who would desire the skills and products alchemists possessed for a variety of reasons.

Diana was a dam that held those desires in check.

Lawrence did not know why, but Diana—sitting in her chair and looking evenly at him—seemed somehow like a great bird, guarding her eggs with iron wings.

“I need to purchase pyrite,” said Lawrence, despite being half-overwhelmed by Diana’s mien.

Diana put one white hand to her cheek. “I hear the price has gotten quite high.”

“That’s not—”

“Of course, dear Mr. Batos would never have helped you over something as simple as mere profit. So there must be some other reason, no?”

He felt like Diana was always one step ahead of him. She was quicker than Lawrence and seemed fully willing to demonstrate that.

Mustn’t get angry, Lawrence told himself. He was being tested.

He nodded. “It’s not business. I need pyrite for a battle.”

Diana’s eyes narrowed as she smiled. “A battle with whom?”

“It’s…”

He hesitated to mention Amati’s name. It wasn’t because he thought it would be inappropriate.

It was because he wondered whether Amati was his true opponent in this battle.

He shook his head. “No, it’s—” Lawrence looked back to Diana. “It’s against my cargo.”

“Cargo?”

“A traveling merchant’s enemy is always his cargo. Estimating its value, planning for its transport, deciding upon its destination. If he errs in even one of these, he will lose. At this very moment, I am trying to recover a piece that has fallen from my wagon. Having reevaluated the value, the transport, and the destination, I have realized that this is a piece of cargo I cannot afford to lose.”

Diana’s bangs fluttered in what seemed like the breeze—but no, it was her own breath as she exhaled.

She smiled softly and retrieved a quill pen that was at her feet.

“‘Buying a box of white feathers’ is nothing more than a glorified password. All it means is that I don’t mind so long as I’m able to have a bit of fun. Does a bird not drop feathers when it beats its wings excitedly? Those people that I give my password to help me choose my visitors carefully, so all I need to do is glance at them to tell. I don’t mind a bit as far as pyrite goes. Buy it up as you please.”

Lawrence jumped to his feet. “Thank—”

“However,” said Diana, cutting him off. Lawrence suddenly had a very bad feeling.

Several visitors in a single day. A chair with nothing piled on it.

It can’t be—the black words floated up in Lawrence’s mind.

Diana’s face was now apologetic. “Someone has already come to buy.”

It was just as he’d feared.

He immediately asked the questions any merchant would ask.

“How much did they buy? What did it sell at?”

“Do calm yourself. The customer in question bought on credit and did not leave with the pyrite. You could say they simply made an order. For my part, I wouldn’t mind letting you have the material instead. Let us try to negotiate with the first party, shall we? As for the amount, I seem to recall it being sixteen thousand irehd worth at current market value.”

That was four hundred trenni. If he could acquire that much, it would be a giant boon to his plans. “I understand. Might you tell me who the buyer was…?”

If Diana were to say it was Amati, Lawrence’s hopes would be obliterated.

But she only shook her head slightly. “I will handle the negotiation. For safety’s sake, we do not allow others to know the identity of those who have dealt with us alchemists.”

“B-but—”

“You have an objection?” She smiled coldly.

Lawrence was the one asking the favor; he could only remain silent.

“You’ve said this is a battle, so I presume the circumstances are not ordinary. I will help all I can and let you know the results as soon as possible. Where will I be able to find you tomorrow?”

“Ah, er…the marketplace in front of the stone seller’s booth. I’ll be there the entire time the market is open. Otherwise, if you contact Mark the wheat seller, his stand is…”

“I know the place. I’ll send a messenger as soon as I’m able.”

“Thank you.” Lawrence couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Yet the fact was that depending on the results of Diana’s negotiation, it was still possible that he would be unable to buy any pyrite. The consequences would be near fatal.

There was only so much he could say.

“I won’t hesitate to pay a considerable sum. I can’t pay double market value or anything like that, but please inform them I will be quite generous.”

Diana smiled and nodded, standing up from her chair.

Lawrence realized it was time for him to take his leave. The fact that he hadn’t been turned away after showing up uninvited at this ridiculous hour was enough of a miracle already.

“I do apologize for calling so suddenly at this hour.”

“Not at all. Night and day are meaningless to me.”

Somehow he knew she wasn’t joking, and yet he laughed anyway.

“And so long as you’ve brought interesting stories, you could stay all night and I wouldn’t mind a bit.”

Her words could have been interpreted as seduction, but Lawrence knew she was just being sincere.

Unfortunately, he’d already told her the one interesting story he knew.

In its place, a question appeared unbidden in his mind.

“Is something wrong?” asked Diana.

Lawrence was stopped in his tracks by the thought that struck him.

Flustered, he claimed it was nothing before heading for the door.

The question was preposterous. He couldn’t possibly ask it.

“Being so mysterious when you leave a woman’s home—honestly, you’ll be lucky if the gods don’t punish you,” said Diana girlishly. Her playful smile made him think that she really would answer whatever question he cared to ask.

And she was probably the only one who could.

He turned to speak even as he reached for the door.

“I…have a question.”

“Ask whatever you like,” she said without hesitating.

Lawrence cleared his throat. “Are there any stories of gods…and humans, that is…falling in love, becoming a pair?”

He knew he wouldn’t be able to answer if Diana asked why he wanted to know this.

Yet despite the risks, Lawrence had to ask.

Holo had wept, saying if she had a child, she would no longer be alone.

If this was at all possible, he wanted to tell her and perhaps give her some small hope.

Diana was stunned for a moment by this question, but she soon regained her composure and answered in a slow and measured voice.

“There are many.”

“Really?” said Lawrence in spite of himself.

“Yes, for example—ah, but I’m sorry. You were in a hurry.”

“Ah, er, yes. But perhaps later…if you wouldn’t mind, I would very much like to hear the details.”

“Certainly.”

Fortunately, she did not ask his reasons for wanting to know.

Lawrence thanked her profusely and made ready to leave Diana’s house.

Just as he was closing the door, he thought he heard her say something very softly: “Good luck to you.”

When he turned to ask, the door was already closed.

Did she know of the battle between him and Amati?

Something was strange about the conversation, but Lawrence had no time to dwell on it.

Next, he needed to return to Mark’s stall and then search out others who might possess pyrite in quantity.

He was short on time—and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he had essentially no pyrite on hand.

Were this to continue, it would be no contest at all. His only recourse would be to pray for divine intervention.

Even if it meant leaning on his friend, Lawrence had to get Mark to give him some names, and even if he had to pay more than it was worth, he had to get pyrite.

Lawrence wondered to himself if his frantic nocturnal dealings would bring him any closer to Holo, and his only answer was uncertainty.

When he arrived back at Mark’s stall, Lawrence found Mark sitting at the same table, still drinking ale, though now his apprentice was beside him, devouring a piece of bread.

Just as Lawrence thought it an odd time for the boy to be taking dinner, Mark noticed his presence.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“Just what you see,” said Lawrence, waving his hands lightly as he looked Mark in the eye. “I spoke with Diana, but someone’s beaten me to it. No telling how this’ll turn out.”

“Someone got there first?”

“I’ve no choice but to place my hopes in what you told me.”

Given Diana’s willingness to cooperate, Lawrence guessed the odds were maybe 70–30 of that working out.

But he expected that acting like there was no hope would make Mark a bit more sympathetic.

In his previous exchange with Mark, Lawrence had learned that his request for aid was an unreasonable one from the perspective of a town merchant.

Which left an appeal to emotion as the only other option.

However, Mark’s reply was slow in coming.

“Ah…yes, about that.”

Lawrence listened to the noncommittal statement as the blood drained from his face.

Mark thwacked his apprentice on the head, gesturing with his chin. “So? Let’s hear the results.”

The boy gulped down a bite of bread and quickly stood up out of the log chair. “If we pay in trenni silver, then…three hundred seventy pieces’ worth of py—”

“Don’t just say it in front of everyone!” Mark looked around hastily as he clamped a thick hand over the boy’s mouth. If the conversation were overheard, it would be trouble. “So that’s how it is.”

Lawrence was confused.

Paying in trenni silver? Three hundred seventy pieces’ worth?

“Ha-ha, I can’t help but enjoy it when you make that face. See, after you left, I thought it over.”

Mark took his hand from the boy’s mouth and reached for his ale cup, his tone amused.

“I refused your request because I have a reputation to uphold. Any other town merchant would do the same. But even I have bought some you-know-what to make some money on the side—and many others have done likewise. The reason I can only buy a limited amount is that I have very little cash on hand. By all rights, the price of wheat should be dropping since the people laying in goods for their return trips haven’t been buying wheat. And yet the people who’ve come to sell wheat are selling it right off—which is where all my cash has gone. So…”

Mark gulped down some ale, belching comfortably before continuing.

“So what of the people who do have cash? I can’t believe they’d be able to resist. They’ve probably been buying up you-know-what in large quantities behind the scenes. And here’s where you need some backstory. You see, these merchants aren’t lone wolves like you. Each one has their business, their position, their reputation. And they’ve bought this stuff, but the price has risen so high that it’s getting hard to sell. All they need do is sell a little bit to bring in a surprising profit, but this makes some of them even more nervous. So what happens next? I’m sure a clever fellow like you can figure it out.”

Lawrence nodded his head after a moment.

Mark must have had his apprentice running all over town, spreading a rumor—a rumor that had to go something like this: There’s a mad traveling merchant in town who wants to buy pyrite with cash. Why not take the chance to unload some of that pyrite that’s not selling?

It would be a perfect opportunity for those merchants.

And to be sure, there was no question that Mark had signed a contract promising him a service fee for brokering the hidden transaction.

It was brilliant—conducting a pyrite deal under the pretense of doing someone a favor.

But to have been able to pull together 370 trenni worth—there was clearly pressure to sell in the marketplace.

“So that’s how it is. If you’re on board, I’ll send the boy out immediately.”

There was no reason to refuse.

Lawrence undid the tie of the burlap sack he had on his back.

But then he stopped. “Still—”

Mark regarded him dubiously.

Lawrence returned to himself and quickly retrieved a bag of silver coins from the sack and placed it on the table. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Mark seemed momentarily at a loss for Lawrence’s strange behavior. “This is when you thank me, right?”

“Ah, er, yes, sor…no, I mean—” Lawrence suddenly felt like he was speaking to Holo. “I mean, thanks.”

“Bwa-ha-ha-ha! If I’d known you were such an amusing guy, I’d have…Actually, I suppose not.”

Mark took the bag of silver from Lawrence and quickly looked at it; then he undid the string and handed the bag to his apprentice, who quickly emptied its contents and began counting the silver pieces.

“You’ve changed,” said Mark.

“…Is that so?”

“Quite. You used to be not an excellent merchant, but a merchant wholly from head to toe. That’s all there was of you. You never even truly thought of me as a friend, did you?”

Mark had the right of it. Lawrence had no response.

The wheat seller just smiled, though. “But what of now? Am I merely a convenient merchant to do a deal with?”

Lawrence was momentarily stunned. He couldn’t possibly nod at this statement.

Feeling as though he were trapped in the center of some strange illusion, he shook his head no.

“That’s why I could never content myself with the life of a traveling merchant. But there’s something even more interesting.”

Was this because Mark had been drinking? Or was there some other reason?

Mark continued, sounding truly amused. His face was chestnut round now despite the square cut of his beard.

“Let me ask you one thing. If it were me whose separation you were faced with, would you be running around town as frantically as you are now?”

The boy, who lived every day with Mark as his master, looked up at the two men.

Lawrence found this all very mysterious.

Though he certainly thought of Mark as a friend, he could not honestly bring himself to nod and say “yes” to that question.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha. Well, I look forward to the future. Still”—he paused, then continued quietly—“it’s for your companion that you’re so desperate.”

Lawrence felt as though he’d swallowed something hot and felt it pass down into his stomach.

Mark looked at his apprentice. “This is what a man looks like when he’s obsessed with a woman. But it’s the unbending branch that breaks in a strong wind.”

A single year weathered alone was worth less than half a year with company.

So how much older than Lawrence might Mark be?

“You’re no different from me. You’ve got the traveling merchant’s curse,” said Mark.

“C-curse?”

“But it’s almost broken, which is what’s made you so amusing. Do you not see? Did you not begin traveling with your current companion out of nothing more than good fortune?”

Holo had happened to hide herself in his wheat-filled wagon as Lawrence had passed through the village.

That he’d become close to her was nothing more or less than good fortune’s gift.

“Bwa-ha-ha! I feel like I’m looking at myself when I first met Adele! You’ve got the curse, all right.”

Lawrence felt like he finally understood.

Though Holo was very important to him, there was a part of him that always preserved a certain cool distance between them.

He hadn’t realized how blind he’d become to his surroundings because of Holo.

It was an unbalancing situation.

“The curse…You mean that famous ‘traveling merchant’s complaint’?”

Mark guffawed, then smacked his apprentice—who’d stopped working—upside the head. “The poets will tell you that money can’t buy love, and the priest will tell you that there are things more precious than money. But if that’s so, why is it we labor so hard to earn money, then gain something even more precious?”

Lawrence had thought so little about what exactly Holo was to him because she was always right there beside him.

If her presence had been something he had gained only after laboring long and hard, he would not have been so ambivalent.

He’d always believed that anything truly precious required much effort to gain.

If she was to ask him “What am I to you?” now, Lawrence was sure he could answer.

“Ah, such a fine tale I’ve not told in a long time. Combined with the information on conditions in the north, why, ten lumione seems a bargain!”

“If you’d made all this up, it’d be extortion,” said Lawrence indignantly. Mark only grinned, which in turn teased a smile out of Lawrence.

“I hope all goes well for you.”

Lawrence nodded, his mood clear like a cloudless evening sky.

“Though I suppose how it turns out is up to you…”

“Hm?”

“Ah, nothing,” said Mark with a shake of his head. He gestured to the boy, who had finished counting up the silver coins. The apprentice was a model of competence as he made his preparations and was ready to depart a moment later.

“Right, off with you, then.” Mark sent the apprentice on his way and then turned back to Lawrence. “So where will you be sleeping tonight?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, then—”

“Wait, I’ve decided. May I sleep here?”

Mark gave Lawrence a blank look. “Here?”

“Quite—you’ve wheat sacks aplenty. Lend me a few of those.”

“I can certainly lend you some, but come to my house. I won’t even charge you.”

“Ah, but this will bring luck.” The practice was something many a traveling merchant believed.

Mark gave up on pressing his invitation further. “I’ll see you here, dawn tomorrow.”

Lawrence nodded, and Mark raised his cup.

“A toast then to your dreams.”

Lawrence found he had no reason to refuse.