Spice and Wolf - Volume 3 - Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Lawrence sneezed grandly.

Of course, it didn’t make a difference when he traveled alone, but lately he’d had a certain cheeky, irritable companion, so Lawrence always minded himself. Now, though, it seemed he was slipping—hence the sneeze.

He frantically checked to see if the other occupant of the blanket was still asleep—only to realize that side was rather cold.

And then he remembered that he was alone, sleeping on the wheat sacks next to Mark’s stall.

“…”

He’d tried to prepare himself for it and had after all chosen to sleep alone, but upon awakening, he still felt a huge sense of loss.

Lawrence was used to someone being beside him when he awoke.

He had become so quickly accustomed to it that only now did he realize its value.

Lawrence overcame his reluctance to part from his warm blanket and stood up suddenly.

Frigid air immediately attacked him.

The morning sky was still dim, but already Mark’s apprentice was sweeping the area in front of the stall.

“Oh, good morning, sir.”

“Good morning,” said Lawrence.

It didn’t seem like this was a show put on for the benefit of his master’s acquaintance; undoubtedly it was the boy’s habit to wake this early in order to prepare the stall for opening. He casually greeted a few other boys that passed by.

He was an admirable apprentice.

More than whatever training Mark had given him, the boy simply seemed like an excellent individual.

“Ah, that reminds me—”

The boy turned around smartly as soon as Lawrence spoke.

“Did you hear from Mark what’s happening today?”

“Er, no…are we not forcing the dastardly villain into a trap?” asked the apprentice.

The boy lowered his voice and spoke in such an exaggeratedly serious fashion that Lawrence was stunned for a moment. With a true merchant’s discipline, he managed to keep a straight face and nodded. “I can’t tell you all the details, but that’s it, more or less. I may have to ask a serious favor of you in the process.”

The boy held his broom at his side like a sword and gulped.

Seeing the boy made Lawrence sure of one thing.

He might well have been the promising young apprentice of a wheat seller, but in his heart he still longed for the life of a knight.

After all, one only sees “dastardly villains” in fairy tales.

Lawrence got a ticklish feeling, as though he was looking back on his younger self.

“What’s your name, lad?”

“Ah, er, it’s—”

When a merchant asked another person for their name, it was an acknowledgment of that person’s status.

The boy had probably never been asked his name before in his life.

Despite his visible fluster, he really was an admirable lad, Lawrence felt.

The boy straightened up and answered. “Landt. My name is Eu Landt.”

“Born in the northlands, were you?”

“Yes, from a village frozen in snow and frost.”

Lawrence saw that Landt’s description was not just an easy way to convey a sense of his hometown, but a literal description of how it must have seemed when he looked back on it for the last time.

That was how things were in the north.

“I see. Well, I’m counting on you today, Landt.” Lawrence extended his right hand, and Landt hurried to wipe his own hand off on his tunic before shaking Lawrence’s proffered hand.

The boy’s palm was rough and callused, and who knew what sort of future it might grasp?

Lawrence knew he had to win.

He let the boy’s hand go.

“Well then, first let’s fill our bellies, eh? Is there anyplace nearby that’s selling food yet?”

“There’s a stand that sells dry bread to travelers. Shall I go and buy some?”

“Indeed,” said Lawrence and produced two tarnished irehd pieces that were so dark they looked almost coppery.

“Er, one piece should be plenty,” said Landt.

“The other’s an advance on your help today. Of course, I’ll pay you a proper consideration when it’s all done.”

The boy was stunned.

Smiling, Lawrence added, “If you dawdle, Mark’s liable to arrive. No doubt he’ll claim breakfast is a luxury, don’t you think?”

Landt nodded hastily and then dashed off.

Lawrence watched his form recede for a while, and then he turned his gaze to the spaces between the many stalls across the street.

“Don’t you spoil my apprentice now.”

“You could’ve stopped me.”

Mark’s form appeared in the space between crates. His expression seemed irritable, and he sighed. “It’s gotten cold lately. If he takes ill because I haven’t let him eat enough, that’s more trouble for me.”

It was clear enough that Mark had a good deal of affection for Landt.

But having Landt get some breakfast was no simple act of kindness; it was an important part of Lawrence’s plan.

Merchants were not saints, after all. Whatever their actions, they always have ulterior motives.

“Should be good weather today,” said Mark. “Good for selling,” he finished with a nod.

Lawrence took a deep breath.

The bracing morning air felt good.

When he exhaled, all the unnecessary thoughts in his mind seemed to leave with his breath.

All he had to think about now was making his plan succeed.

Once success was his, he could second-guess and doubt all he wanted.

“Right then, time to fill my stomach,” said Lawrence heartily as he caught sight of a winded Landt returning.

The atmosphere itself was different.

That was the first thing that struck Lawrence as he arrived at the marketplace.

What at first look seemed to be as quiet as a glassy lake’s surface was a roiling boil as soon as one touched it.

Ever since sunrise, a single corner of the marketplace was the focus of an unusually dense crowd, and every person’s gaze was turned to a single stall.

It was the sole stone seller in the town of Kumersun, and the only detail the crowd cared about was a makeshift board with prices written on it.

On the price board were written descriptions of the weight and shape of pieces of pyrite, and beside each description line was a wooden placard with the price and the number of people in line to buy it.

There was another column on the board that listed sellers, but it seemed unlikely that there would be a chance for these placards to stay there for long.

The board made obvious the supply and demand for pyrite, and the demand was high.

“Looks like the average price is…eight hundred irehd.”

That was eighty times the old price.

It could only be described as absurd. Like a runaway horse with no rider to check it, the price kept rising and rising.

Presented with an opportunity for easy money, human reason was like reins of mud—completely incapable of stopping this runaway horse.

Though the market bell would not ring for some time, there seemed to be a tacit approval for doing early deals. Once Lawrence reached that stand, he caught sight of merchants approaching the master occasionally to whisper a few words. Once a number of deals had been reached, the master would quietly replace the relevant wooden placards.

The master didn’t update the prices and line numbers immediately, probably to keep others from knowing exactly who had purchased pyrite and at what price.

But in any case, the number of people waiting to buy kept rising.

Just as Lawrence was estimating the total amount being spent, a figure appeared at the edge of his vision.

He looked. It was Amati.

Lawrence had seen Amati before Amati had spotted him the previous night, but the young merchant was sharp-eyed enough not to let chances for profit escape. His gaze was every bit as keen as Lawrence’s, and he soon caught sight of his rival.

A friendly greeting would hardly have been appropriate.

But since Lawrence had arranged to collect the cash he was owed upon the sounding of the bell that opened the marketplace, he could hardly ignore Amati, either.

Just as he considered this, Amati revealed a smile and nodded slightly.

Lawrence was taken aback for a moment but soon understood the reason.

Beside Amati was Holo.

For whatever reason, she was not dressed as a town girl, but instead wore her nun’s robes. Three pure white feathers, vivid enough to be visible at a distance, were affixed to her hood.

She looked steadily at the stone seller’s stall, not once meeting Lawrence’s eye.

Heat rose in his belly at Amati’s smile.

Holo whispered something in Amati’s ear before the the young merchant made his way through the gathered merchants toward Lawrence, and Lawrence feigned total serenity, as if the anger he felt did not exist.

He had confidence that as long as he did not have to fool Holo, his charade would go unchallenged.

“Good morning, Mr. Lawrence.”

“And to you.”

It took some effort for Lawrence to maintain his facade in the face of Amati’s pleasant greeting.

“Things are going to become quite hectic once the bell rings, so I thought it would be best to turn this over to you ahead of time,” said Amati, producing a small bag from near his breast.

In size it was more of a coin purse than anything else. “What’s this?” Lawrence asked, having expected Amati to give him the agreed-upon silver coins.

The bag was far too small to carry three hundred pieces of silver.

“This is the promised amount,” said Amati.

Having no other choice, Lawrence suspiciously accepted the bag.

When he opened the bag’s mouth and looked inside, his eyes widened.

“It might have been a bit presumptuous of me,” said Amati, “but three hundred silver pieces would be quite cumbersome, so I took the liberty of remitting in gold limar coins.”

Though it was hard to imagine how he’d managed to obtain them, the bag was indeed filled with gold coins.

The gold limar was not as valuable as the lumione, but it was a widely circulated coin within Ploania, the country in which Kumersun was situated. It was worth about twenty trenni.

But managing to obtain this amount during a currency shortage—the service charge must have been incredibly steep.

The only reason to do it was for Amati to prove how much coin he had on hand—it was a psychological attack.

Amati had Holo in tow, too, probably as another way to divert Lawrence’s attention.

Lawrence had inadvertently widened his eyes in surprise, so there could be no concealing his perturbation.

“I’ve used today’s exchange rate to prepare the amount. Fourteen gold limar.”

“…Understood. I accept.”

“Do you not wish to count the coins?”

Normally saying “There’s no need,” as Lawrence did, should’ve shown confidence, but now it just seemed as though he was merely pretending at strength.

“In that case, I’d like the contract for three hundred silver.”

Lawrence only did so after being asked.

Amati was still one step ahead of him.

Once the cash and the partially fulfilled contract had been exchanged, Amati was even the first to say, “Very well.”

As he watched Amati’s receding form, one ill realization after another flashed through Lawrence’s mind.

When they had signed the contract the previous day, Amati may have claimed to have insufficient cash as an excuse to provide the horses in lieu of coin.

Always keeping a certain amount of cash on hand was a trait shared by all merchants.

What was worse, Amati had surely searched out and bought pyrite just as Lawrence had.

If Amati had gathered enough, all he would require was a very small increase in price.

Thinking back on the way Amati had just bowed so gracefully and turned around after accepting the contract, Lawrence could not believe that it had been a bluff.

Just how much pyrite had the boy managed to buy?

Lawrence feigned rubbing his nose and instead bit his thumbnail.

His original plan had been to observe carefully and then begin selling off quantities of pyrite starting at noon to check the rising price.

Suddenly Lawrence wondered if he should move more quickly.

But Diana’s messenger had not arrived yet.

Until he knew whether or not he would be able to obtain the necessary amounts, Lawrence couldn’t act.

He could purchase more pyrite using the gold Amati had paid him but if Diana’s negotiations on his behalf succeeded and he received another four hundred silver pieces’ worth, that would also be a problem.

He’d set aside money to pay Diana with so that was not an issue, but he would have too much of the mineral.

Of course, he’d been purchasing pyrite in order to be able to force a drop in its price, and he’d been careful to buy just enough to be able to control that drop, in order to avoid his own bankruptcy.

Admittedly, if Lawrence was willing to ruin himself in order to stop Amati for Holo’s sake, she might finally accept his sincerity.

Of course, the story would not end so easily—he still needed to live on something after that.

The weight of reality bore down on him heavier than the gold coins in his hand.

The stone shop’s price board was updated again.

It seemed someone had just bought a large amount of pyrite; both the prices and the line numbers jumped dramatically.

How much would Amati’s pyrite be worth after this jump?

Lawrence felt unable to simply stand by and do nothing.

But losing his cool could lead to defeat.

He closed his eyes, lowered the hand with the fingernails he’d been biting from his mouth, and took a deep breath.

Everything he had been thinking was all due to Amati’s bluffing.

After all, behind Amati was Holo. If Lawrence could just discern everyone’s ulterior motives, he would be fine.

Just then, the clear tone of a ringing bell swept overhead.

It was the signal for the market to open.

The battle had begun.

The charged atmosphere seemed to induce everyone to stay scrupulously honest and calm.

They had been waiting for some time in front of the stone seller’s stand but only began to move once the bell rang.

An examination of the crown revealed travelers and farmers furtively selling small quantities of pyrite—but the small-scale selling only served to further heat the marketplace.

In a situation where none were willing to sell, the only people with an advantage were those who already had a large stock of pyrite—it was thanks to the small-scale selling along with new buyers that kept people excited and close to the stall’s front.

Since each person there thought they had a chance to profit, none left.

Given such an environment, it would take a serious amount of pyrite in order to force the price down—nothing less would do.

The price board, which occasionally disappeared behind the heads of the people in the crowd, was a thermometer for the marketplace, and it was constantly rising.

Diana’s messenger still had not arrived.

If her negotiations failed, he would have to take action quickly.

The thoughts pained him as he stared at the price board, and suddenly Amati appeared in his field of vision in front of the stall.

Panic washed over Lawrence, and he wanted to dash forward, clutching the bag of what pyrite he had to his breast.

But if that was Amati’s plan to shake him up, such a move could be disastrous. If Lawrence sold off only a middling amount, it would just increase demand as buyers assumed they would be able to purchase pyrite so long as they waited long enough, and as the line grew longer, the price would continue to rise.

Lawrence controlled his urge to sell, praying that this was a ploy on Amati’s part.

Then he realized something.

Holo was gone.

Lawrence glanced around and saw that at some point Holo had moved outside of the strange crowd of people and was looking at him.

When their eyes met, she narrowed hers in displeasure, then turned, and began to walk away.

As he saw this, sweat sprung upon Lawrence’s back.

This had to be a trap that Holo was hinting at.

If she had heard of the circumstances surrounding pyrite from Amati, it was entirely possible she’d contrived a way to trap Lawrence. Someone as clever as Holo would surely notice things that Amati would miss, even if he was the one explaining the situation to her.

And Holo excelled at discerning what was in people’s hearts. She was unparalleled at such times.

As soon as he thought of this, Lawrence was assaulted by a vision of the quagmire that surrounded him.

No matter where he stepped, he would sink into the mud; no matter whose movements he watched, they would be illusions.

Lawrence suspected darkly that this was all part of Holo’s plan.

The terror of having a sly wolf circling him thus sunk into his body.

Yet Lawrence couldn’t abandon hope that Holo was merely doing this out of some perverse obstinacy.

The poisons of assumption and doubt penetrated his mind.

He stared blankly at the price board, though this was not his intention. It was simply all he could do at the moment.

The price of pyrite continued to inch upward.

Fortunately, since the price was already so preposterously inflated, the rate of the increase was quite slow.

Still, if the price continued to increase at this rate, it would certainly reach by noon the 20 percent needed by Amati.

To Lawrence’s knowledge, Amati’s current stock of pyrite was worth eight hundred silver pieces. If the price rose twenty percent, he would need only forty more silver pieces to reach the required thousand.

And if all he needed was forty coins, Amati would surely be able to produce them.

He could sell whatever of his fortune he needed to and complete the contract on the spot. If that happened, the margin sale poison that Lawrence counted on would undoubtedly have little effect.

Where was Diana’s messenger?

Lawrence muttered to himself, a consuming panic sinking into his gut.

Even if he was to start scrambling to buy pyrite now, how much would he be able to collect?

It was not like the previous night, where the market had already closed and no one knew whether the price would rise or fall next—no, now it was utterly obvious that the price was rising.

Anybody who had pyrite knew it was like free money—nobody would sell to him under such circumstances.

The realization hit him—his plan could only succeed if he got the pyrite from Diana, and at this rate, he might wind up taking a huge blow from Amati because of the margin-selling contract, as well.

Lawrence rubbed his eye and thought hard. He had planned to pursue his goal coolly and logically, but he was starting to feel as though he’d been forced into a complete dead end.

No, he told himself.

He knew what the problem was.

It was not because of the fluctuating price of pyrite.

Behind that was the fact that he now regarded Holo with despair rather than trust.

She had arrived with Amati at the marketplace—it was possible that rather than meeting up in the morning, they’d spent the night together.

Holo might have invited Amati back to the inn after Lawrence had arranged the margin-selling contract with him.

Depending on the circumstances, she might even have shown him her ears and tail and told him the truth of her existence.

Lawrence wanted to believe such a thing was impossible, but he remembered that Holo had revealed her true nature to him the same day they’d met. It was the height of folly to believe that she had somehow marked him and only him as particularly open-minded.

Amati was clearly and madly in love with Holo; no doubt she could evaluate anyone as quickly as she had Lawrence.

And what if Amati had accepted her?

He remembered the young merchant’s smile only moments ago.

Holo feared being alone.

And Lawrence was not sure that she wanted to be with him and only him.

The realization that he should not be thinking this way hit him, and his legs nearly collapsed under him at the shock of it.

It was out of sheer luck that he didn’t fall.

Suddenly a murmur ran through the crowd, bringing Lawrence back to himself.

He turned to look at the oohs! that arose, only to see that the price of the most expensive pyrite had jumped significantly.

Someone had put in a large bid.

Its acceptance meant that others would soon follow suit.

It might already be impossible to stop Amati from fulfilling the contract.

The fact that there was still no word from Diana suggested that the other party might be being stubborn; if the price of pyrite continued to rise, that would only make them more reluctant to sell.

It was looking more and more as if Lawrence should abandon that hope and take action now.

The weapons he had on hand were four hundred silver pieces’ worth of pyrite, along with the rumor that Landt had been given to spread.

It was such a pathetic arsenal that Lawrence wanted to laugh. He now seriously doubted the idea he’d had such faith in the previous day, that a mere rumor could do any damage. Only yesterday it had been his secret weapon, the product of his years of experience.

It was becoming more and more clear to him just how drunk he must have been.

He realized he was already trying to think of a contingency plan.

If he did nothing, he would still receive one thousand silver pieces from Amati, which would leave him a tidy profit even after subtracting the losses from the margin selling.

Lawrence was disgusted by how much lighter this made him feel.

…If you could receive a thousand silver coins for me, it would not be so regrettable to let me go—Holo’s accusation hit him.

Lawrence remembered the letter from Diana that was tucked near his breast.

It was the information that would help him find Holo’s home of Yoitsu. Perhaps he no longer had any right to hold this letter.

I’m just a lowly merchant. Lawrence thought to himself as he looked around for Holo.

The events that happened in the port town of Pazzio and the Church city of Ruvinheigen had been but a dream.

As soon as the thought struck him, he realized that it seemed to be exactly so.

Lawrence smiled weakly as he looked into the hotly swirling crowd, but Holo was nowhere to be found, so he moved elsewhere.

Some time had passed since the opening of the market, but the day’s festival had not yet started, so more and more people seemed to be making their way in.

Holo remained elusive.

Cursing his inability to find her now—now of all times!—he realized something.

After he’d met her gaze in the crowd, Holo had walked away.

Had she simply left right then and there?

If so, where had she gone? Had she decided his failure was a foregone conclusion, Lawrence wondered, and returned to the inn?

It would stand to reason.

The idea was so humiliating that Lawrence felt broken just thinking it—and yet he believed it himself.

He wanted some wine.

Immediately after the thought occurred to him, he uttered a small, questioning sound. “Huh?”

He’d been scanning a fairly small area, so his eyes were bound to notice the detail eventually.

Amati had entered his field of vision, which caused Lawrence to make a noise of confusion and surprise.

Amati’s right hand was pressed up against his chest, probably holding a bag of coin and pyrite.

The problem was not in what he was doing, but rather the expression of concern on his face and the way that he looked here and there, searching for something—just like Lawrence.

Lawrence suspected Amati of putting on some kind of act.

But then by some miracle, the crowd between them thinned, and Amati noticed Lawrence. He was clearly surprised to see his rival.

And then Lawrence glimpsed a look of relief on Amati’s face. Though the crowd quickly closed in around them and blocked Lawrence’s view again, there was no mistaking what he had seen.

A single thought jumped out at Lawrence.

Amati—like him—was looking for Holo. Not only that, Amati had been relieved to see that Holo wasn’t with Lawrence.

Lawrence felt a thump, as though someone’s shoulder had bumped into him from behind.

He turned to see one mercantile-looking fellow talking excitedly with another.

That’s odd, he said to himself, whereupon he felt the same thump reverberate from his back to his chest.

Then he realized.

It was the pounding of his heart.

Amati had been frantically looking for Holo and was obviously very worried that she would be with Lawrence.

The young merchant did not trust her fully.

Which in turn suggested that there was a reason for his doubt.

But what was it?

“It couldn’t be—,” said Lawrence.

If Amati was looking for her, that meant she had not told him where she was going.

And if that alone was enough to cause Amati stress, it was very unlikely she had revealed her ears and tail to him.

It was enough to make Lawrence want to abandon the dark, dismal conclusions he’d come to only a moment ago and turn to brighter assumptions.

He had no confidence in his ability to tell whether or not this was wishful thinking, however.

It was vexing enough to make him nauseous.

Suddenly there was another cry from the crowd.

Lawrence looked hastily toward the stone seller’s stall and saw that somewhere along the line, the placard for the highest-value pyrite had been removed.

Which meant that it had sold at that price.

And that wasn’t even the reason for the shouts.

The placards marking the highest values for various types of pyrite had all been taken down, and there was a drop in the number of plates for buyers in line.

Someone had sold off a considerable amount.

Lawrence fought back the nausea that rose and looked about frantically, trying to spot Amati.

He was not in front of the stall.

He wasn’t even near it.

When Lawrence finally spotted him, Amati was in the crowd.

He was watching the stall with a shocked expression.

So it hadn’t been Amati who had made the large sale.

Lawrence felt but a fleeting moment of relief before more placards for waiting buyers went up, along with a new round of cries from the crowd.

Nearly everyone here had at least a small amount of pyrite; they were waiting for just the right moment to buy or sell. The market was starting to fluctuate, which would become another factor for them to consider.

Essentially, now was the right time to sell.

Lawrence was on the verge of giving up—but pushing him in the opposite direction was the thought that he could still accomplish something with his plan of carefully selling off a large amount.

But he soon thought better of it, like some kind of cowardly hare.

Lawrence had no idea what Holo was thinking or where she had gone. People’s hearts were not so easily understood. To think otherwise was to invite ruin.

And yet—Lawrence could not help thinking.

Expectation, suspicion, supposition, and reality were four hooks that tore at Lawrence’s thoughts.

What would Holo the Wisewolf say at a time like this?

Pathetically, Lawrence couldn’t help but wonder.

He felt that he could make a decision based off even her most casual observation.

He trusted her.

Just then—

“Um, excuse me—”

Lawrence felt a tug on his sleeve as the words reached his ears.

He whirled as if struck, expecting to see a certain cheeky girl behind him.

But it was a boy—Landt, to be precise.

“Um, Mr. Lawrence, may I have a moment?”

Lawrence turned with such speed that Landt was taken aback for a moment, but the boy’s expression made it clear that there was urgent business.

Anxiety swept over Lawrence as he looked around; then he knelt down to bring his face closer to the much shorter Landt and nodded.

“A customer has come to our shop wishing to pay for wheat in pyrite.”

Lawrence understood immediately. Mark was willing to take the offer and then sell Lawrence that pyrite, assuming Lawrence could pay cash.

“How much?”

If Mark had sent the boy all the way over here, it had to be a sizable amount.

Lawrence swallowed and waited for the reply.

“Two hundred fifty silver,” said Landt.

Lawrence clenched his teeth to avoid shouting out at the unexpected development.

The wolf-god of the harvest might have abandoned him, but the goddess of fortune was still on his side.

Lawrence immediately pushed the small bag he’d gotten from Amati into Landt’s hands. “Go, as fast as you can.”

Landt nodded, and then tore off like an envoy carrying a vital message.

Meanwhile, the market continued to fluctuate.

Perhaps indicating that the price had topped out, the number of buyers on the line placards had changed shockingly fast.

It was clear that the buyers and sellers were beginning to turn completely against one another.

With the price this high, some would start to sell while those who needed the price to go still higher would buy.

Occasionally Lawrence would catch sight of Amati at the other side of the crowd; he had no doubt that Amati was watching him, as well.

The fact that Amati kept such a close eye on both the stone seller’s stall and Lawrence suggested that he hadn’t yet raised the thousand coins he needed.

No, that’s not it—Lawrence corrected himself.

He might already have raised the money but was worried that if he sold off the pyrite he had on hand, trading might go awry and cause the price to crash before he could sell his entire stock.

And because Amati was party to Lawrence’s margin-selling contract, a crash in price would hit him with a huge loss.

There was one other important fact, as well.

The five hundred silver pieces’ worth of pyrite that Amati held still only existed in the form of a paper contract.

It could be bought or sold, yes, but the physical pyrite the contract represented could not be collected until that evening.

The market had started to fluctuate instead of simply rise, and the possibility of a drop was now much more real. If Amati was to sell the certificate, what would happen?

Margin transactions involved an interval of time between the exchange of money and goods.

In an environment where a drop in price was anticipated, a margin sale certificate—which promised future goods for immediate cash—was a joker, a worthless card with a grinning witch on it.

Once the market value of a product actually dropped, whoever held this joker would be ruined.

The slow-acting poison of Lawrence’s margin sale was beginning to take effect.

Amati was still glancing this way and that, desperate.

He was obviously looking for Holo.

Holo had probably guessed what Lawrence was up to and told Amati of the trap.

The winds seemed about to change; offense and defense were reversing themselves.

If Lawrence did not strike, he would be letting a once-in-a-millennium chance go by.

People nearly attacked the stone seller’s stall, and the price placards were swapped out one after another.

Lawrence held tightly to the pyrite in his breast pocket, desperately hoping Landt would return soon.

It did not take too much time to run to Mark’s stall and back.

Just then—

A voice echoed across the crowd. “A purchase is in!”

Someone had been unable to contain their excitement.

In that moment, as if the market were a wave-tossed ship that had suddenly regained its stability, the mood shifted again.

Someone had purchased a large amount of pyrite. This suggested that the price would continue to rise.

Buoyed by the expectation, the crowd seemed to settle down.

Landt had yet to return.

The more time passed, the more the market seemed to steady itself.

But the number of possible buyers was dropping—Lawrence could take this opportunity to sell off a quantity of pyrite and sweep away this stability.

If he did that, he might be able to clear out the buying line even if it was just for a brief amount of time.

Doing so at this precise moment would surely have a profound effect.

Lawrence made his move.

He slipped between the crowds, pulling the bag of pyrite from his breast pocket as he arrived before the stone seller’s booth.

“I’m here to sell!”

As everybody watched, Lawrence threw the bag of pyrite down in front of the stone seller.

The stone seller and his apprentices were stunned for a moment, but they quickly came to their senses and resumed business.

Lawrence had tossed a stone into a quiet lake; now came the rippling effect.

The measuring was done quickly, whereupon the apprentices that held line placards took the pyrite pieces off to the various buyers who had ordered them.

Lawrence immediately received his payment.

Without bothering to count, he grabbed the bag of coins tightly and looked back out into the crowd.

He caught a glimpse of Amati’s stricken face.

Lawrence felt neither vindication nor pity.

His sole concern was his own goal.

He had sold all of the pyrite he had on hand. Any further attacks would have to wait until he had more.

Where was Landt? Where was Diana’s messenger?

If he had the four hundred silver pieces’ worth of pyrite he was expecting from Diana, there was no question he would be able to turn the marketplace around.

He was at the crossroads of destiny.

And then he heard a voice.

“Mr. Lawrence.”

It was Landt, his forehead shiny with sweat as he ran up to Lawrence and offered him another bag.

It was 250 silver pieces’ worth of pyrite.

Lawrence was torn between returning immediately to the stone seller’s stall to sell the pyrite he now had on hand or waiting for Diana’s messenger to come so he could be sure.

He cursed himself.

Had he not even now given up on Diana?

The negotiations had dragged on for so long. There was a limit to how optimistic Lawrence could afford to be.

He had to take his chances.

Lawrence turned and prepared to venture forth again.

There was a loud cheer that froze him in his tracks.

“Ooooh!”

The crowd blocked his view; he couldn’t see what was happening.

But the instant the cheer rose, Lawrence’s intuition almost compelled him to cry out and run—it told him the worst had happened.

He pushed his way back through the crowd to a place where he could see the price board.

It was admirable indeed that he didn’t fall to his knees on the spot.

The top price on the board had been renewed.

Demand had pushed it back up.

It seemed some of the market buyers had decided that the disturbance a moment ago was a temporary fluctuation, and they had put in a wave of purchase orders.

Purchase line placards were put back on the board.

Lawrence suppressed the urge to vomit. The decision of whether or not to sell the pyrite he had again pressed in on him.

There was still some small chance of success if he took quick action.

No—the wise decision would be to wait for Diana’s messenger.

The amount of pyrite he was negotiating for with her was worth four hundred pieces of silver then—it might well be as high as five hundred by now.

If Lawrence could add that to what he already had, it would be enough for another big sell-off.

As Lawrence was placing all his hopes in that small chance, he saw Amati, now looking much more at ease, walk away from the stall.

The young merchant was planning to sell.

It was unclear whether or not he was going to sell all he had, though.

Lawrence didn’t have to know the boy’s plan to realize that he would only exchange some fraction of his pyrite for coin. Amati had probably realized the nature of Lawrence’s slow-acting poison, so he would want to unload the certificate first.

Why had Diana’s messenger not come? Lawrence wondered if he had finally been abandoned by the gods.

In his mind, he screamed.

“Excuse me, are you Mr. Lawrence?”

In his despair, Lawrence thought he’d heard wrong.

“Mr. Lawrence, I presume?”

A small figure stood beside Lawrence, his face—or possibly her face as it was impossible to tell the sex of the person—hidden behind a shroud that covered all but the eyes.

It clearly was not Landt.

Which meant it was the person Lawrence had been waiting for.

“I have a message from Miss Diana.”

The messenger’s pale green eyes had a tranquillity completely unlike the swirling commotion that surrounded them.

There was a mysterious aura about the messenger; Lawrence couldn’t help but feel this person was truly a messenger from the gods.

And if so—perhaps a miracle was about to happen.

“She wishes to tell you that the negotiations have failed.”

A moment passed.

“What?”

“The other party is unwilling to sell. Miss Diana apologizes for being unable to live up to your expectations,” said the messenger in a clear voice, as if announcing a death.

Was this—was this how it would be, then? Lawrence wondered.

True despair did not come from hopelessness.

No, when his last tiny speck of hope was crushed at the last moment—that was despair.

Lawrence could not reply.

The messenger seemed to understand this and turned around silently.

Somehow the messenger’s form receding into the crowd became conflated in Lawrence’s mind with the memory of Holo, as she’d walked away from him in the tunnels under Pazzio.

Lawrence felt like an ancient knight in rusted armor as he looked up at the price board again.

The purchase line had returned to normal, and the price continued to climb.

One could ride the changes of the market, but only the gods could control them.

Lawrence remembered the words of a famous merchant.

With just a bit more luck—just a bit more—a merchant can be a god.

Having exchanged some amount of his pyrite for coin, Amati strolled away from the stall and returned to the outer ring.

Lawrence expected the young merchant to flash him a cocky, triumphant grin, but Amati did not so much as glance at Lawrence.

There must be someone else commanding his attention.

Holo had returned to Amati’s side.

“Mr. Lawrence…?”

It was Landt that now spoke to Lawrence; Holo was speaking to Amati and looked nowhere else.

“Oh, er, sorry…You’ve…you’ve done a lot of running around for me. Thanks.”

“Oh no, not at all.”

“Could you give Mark a message for me? Tell him my plan has failed,” said Lawrence, surprised at how easy it was to say.

Yet despite the “failure,” from the standpoint of a merchant it was a very nice outcome.

Lawrence still had some pyrite on hand. All he needed to do was buy a bit more to have what he needed to hand over to Amati in the evening and then subtract the cost of that from the money he’d made selling the previous lot of pyrite—the amount left over would probably be positive.

On top of that, he would be receiving one thousand silver coins from Amati, which could not be called anything less than a huge windfall.

Such profit would have been enough to make any merchant happy, but Lawrence felt only a vast emptiness.

Landt was momentarily at a loss as he looked about, but just as Lawrence was about to hand over his compensation, the boy’s eyes filled with a steely resolve.

“Mr. Lawrence.”

Landt’s expression was enough to stop Lawrence’s hand, which held a few silver coins.

“Are—are you giving up?”

Lawrence remembered his days as an apprentice—any time he wanted to make a comment, he had to be ready for a beating.

Landt was likewise prepared to be struck. His left eye twitched as if he expected a fist to come at him at any moment.

“My master always tells me that merchants never give up.”

Lawrence pulled his hand away, and Landt’s shoulder twitched in response.

But the boy did not look away.

He was entirely serious.

“My master always says that it’s not—it’s not those who pray that the god of wealth watches over. It’s the stubborn ones who never give in that he blesses.”

Lawrence did not disagree.

But what he was after was not wealth.

“Mr. Lawrence.” Landt’s gaze pierced him.

Lawrence glanced over at Holo for a moment before looking back to Landt.

“I…” began Landt. “I liked H-Holo from the first time I saw her. But my master told me—,” said the faithful apprentice. He wordlessly completed every task given to him, yet now Landt was every inch a young boy. “He said that if I said that in front of you, I’d get a sound beating.”

Landt was on the verge of tears as Lawrence raised his hand up high.

“—!” Landt gasped and flinched.

But with his fist, Lawrence only tapped the boy lightly on his cheek, smiling. “Yes, I suppose I should give you a beating. A sound one, too,” he said with a chuckle—though he wanted to cry.

Landt seemed roughly ten years younger than Lawrence.

Yet with things the way they were, he felt no different than the boy.

Damn, he cursed himself.

It seemed that before Holo, any man would turn into a runny-nosed lad.

Lawrence shook his head.

The stubborn ones who never give in, eh?

It was a laughable phrase, and he sighed at its seductive charm, looking up at the sky.

The words of a boy ten years his junior had wiped from his mind the maelstrom of supposition and doubt.

Landt was right.

He’d gotten this far, and the profit that remained in his hands was only proof of his true loss—he could lose it without regret.

There was no reason not to think everything through one last time before taking action.

Things of value did not always come with hard effort.

Mark had only a short while ago made him realize that.

Lawrence opened the spigot on his considerable memory, pulling out the materials he needed to construct a new approach.

The pillar of his new plan was something he’d forgotten until just a moment ago.

“The ones who just can’t give up—they’re the same ones who just can’t stop themselves from being so optimistic you wouldn’t believe it,” said Lawrence.

Landt’s happy expression was even more appealing than the boy’s normal, overachieving nature usually tended to be.

There was little doubt that Mark treasured the lad as he would his own child.

“A merchant makes plans, predicts the outcome, and always holds the results up to the light of reality. Understand?”

Landt nodded politely at what appeared to be an unconnected statement.

“If selling one item causes something to change thus, another item will cause it to change so. Such hypotheses are also important, you see.”

Landt nodded again. Lawrence knelt down so he was close to the boy’s face and spoke.

“But if I’m honest, these hypotheses can be anything you might like them to be. If you make too many, you’ll become lost, seeing danger and risk in every deal you do. To avoid that, you need some kind of guidepost—something to believe. It’s the one thing every merchant needs.”

The young Landt looked something like a real merchant as he nodded. “I see,” he said.

“If you can believe in that guidepost, then no matter how absurd the idea it leads you to…”

Lawrence looked up, closing his eyes.

“…You can trust it.”

Even so, a voice in Lawrence’s head told him it was impossible.

And yet when he looked at Holo, he was almost convinced.

There was a chance—a small chance—that Holo’s choice of dress said something.

Despite the idea’s outlandishness, if he was to put it to the test, it might well prove to be true.

But this idea required that one condition had to be met.

It was what Lawrence had forgotten earlier—namely, the possibility that Holo had in fact not abandoned him.

Considering this now was just the kind of thing a stubbornly optimistic merchant, who never gave up, would do.

At this stage of the game, it seemed far better to think as much than to continue trying to stop Amati—it was enough to make Lawrence think he was in some kind of fantastic dream.

He had no idea what Landt had heard from Mark that made the boy so willing to help him.

In any case, it was clear that Landt told the truth when he said he liked Holo.

It was impressive that he’d been able to admit that in front of Lawrence. Were their places reversed, Lawrence was not at all sure he would have been able to do the same.

Before a display of such courage, it was the least Lawrence could do to live up to this idea of the fearlessly optimistic merchant.

Lawrence patted Landt on the shoulder, took a deep breath, and spoke. “Once I sell my stones at the stall, start spreading the rumor I asked you to.”

Landt’s face lit up. He nodded his head, once again the consummate apprentice.

“Good lad.”

Lawrence was about to turn around, but he stopped short.

Landt’s eyes were full of questions, but Lawrence was the one who asked, “Do you believe in the gods?”

The boy was unsurprisingly dumbstruck.

Lawrence chuckled and repeated himself. “There’s a good lad,” he said before walking away.

He had 250 silver pieces’ worth of pyrite on hand. Tallying up the purchase line markers on the board showed that there was already four hundred silver pieces’ worth of orders waiting—even if Lawrence sold all the pyrite he had on hand, it would have no real effect.

But no—it would have an effect. If his new assumption was correct, it had to. He glanced back at Holo for just a moment; she was still standing by Amati.

Just one second would be enough—if Holo would just look in his direction for a moment, that would be enough.

And then—

Lawrence stood in front of the stone seller’s stall. The influx of orders had slowed; the shopkeeper, having finally regained a measure of calm, looked at Lawrence with a face that said, “Yes?” He then smiled, an expression that seemed to add, “You’re making out pretty well today.”

Despite no words being exchanged, Lawrence nodded. He was about to make a lot more.

He thrust the bag of pyrite he’d received from Landt toward the stone seller and spoke. “I’m selling.”

The shopkeeper received a cut from each transaction, so he smiled heartily and nodded, but then he looked strangely stunned.

Lawrence closed his eyes and smiled.

He had been right.

“Master, I too shall sell.”

The voice actually made Lawrence nostalgic.

With a loud thud, a bag of pyrite at least twice the size of Lawrence’s was slammed down on the counter.

Lawrence glanced sideways, and there was Holo, looking ready to bite his head off.

“You fool,” she said.

Lawrence’s only response to her accusation was a smile and a heartfelt “Sorry.”

The shopkeeper stood there, amazed for a while, and then he quickly ordered his apprentices to remove all the purchase line placards from the price board.

The two bags together came to at least 650 silver pieces’ worth of pyrite.

The amount Holo had was appraised before the day’s bump in price, so it was probably worth even more than that. The mysterious party that had bought pyrite from Diana was, of course, Holo.

Put simply, nearly a thousand silver pieces’ worth of pyrite had been sold all at once.

There was no room for demand to push the price up in the face of that.

Lawrence plucked at one of the white feathers affixed to Holo’s robe. “She’s quite the grown-up beauty, unlike a certain someone I could name,” he said.

Holo jabbed Lawrence’s side with her fist.

But then her hand remained there.

That was enough, Lawrence thought.

Though behind them a crazed mob pushed and shoved, Lawrence would not take his hand from hers.

He did want to show off to Amati, though.

Lawrence smirked at himself for being so childish.