Spice and Wolf - Volume 5 - Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

The next day Holo and Lawrence left the inn shortly past noon, telling Arold that they were going to Rigolo’s house but would return.

It seemed unlikely that during the short time they would be out, the council’s decision would be made public, but there was always a chance. Arold nodded silently, never taking his eyes off the charcoal fire.

They ventured out into the town, again walking down its cramped, narrow streets.

Unlike the previous time, puddles were in short supply—as was conversation.

Holo asked him over and over again about details of the deal she had long since understood, just to show she was being thoughtful.

“Seems all is going well, then,” she finally said.

One of the spots where Lawrence had so gallantly lent Holo his hand to help her cross was gone. In its place was a hole, perhaps dug by some mischievous youngster, and although the water level was lower, it was still a puddle.

Thus, it was the only opportunity Lawrence had to once again extend his hand, which Holo accepted before crossing the hole.

“Yes, all’s well. A little too well,” he said.

“You’ve been burned many times in the past,” said Holo, eliciting a smile from Lawrence.

His fear was mostly because of the size of the profit that awaited him on the other side of the deal.

He didn’t think Eve was laying a trap for him, and in any case, luring someone into a clever setup was not such a simple thing to do.

They were borrowing money, buying up goods, and selling them at a profit—that was all.

As long as their trading succeeded, there was naught to worry about.

If she were trying to strong-arm him into some kind of trap, like forcibly stealing the goods from him midway, she wouldn’t have suggested a ship for transport.

The river was a more important trade route than the road, and many vessels plied it.

It would be nearly impossible for a robbery to be carried out along it without someone noticing.

There really seemed to be no problems.

“How many thousands did my body fetch, I wonder?”

“Mm, about two thousand.”

More properly, this was the amount fetched by Eve’s house name, not Holo’s body.

“Oh ho. How much wine would that buy?”

“An unbelievable amount of the finest quality.”

“And you’re going to take that money and profit with it, yes?”

Holo was demanding her cut, and Lawrence had every intention of giving it to her.

“If all goes well, I’ll treat you to as much drink as you like.”

Holo giggled. “Then I’ll have…,” she began but then hastily closed her mouth.

After a moment of confusion, Lawrence realized what she was going to say.

Then I’ll have enough to stay drunk my whole life.

But that was an impossible dream.

“Then I’ll have…enough so that I start vomiting even before I’m drunk,” said Holo the Wisewolf.

Lawrence the traveling merchant could hardly fail to retort, “What? You lost the drinking game?”

“Yes…Still, that’s quite natural. Think about it, will you? My opponent was not as beautiful as I, but she still had looks enough—and poured such wine into her guts as made her face turn red and her cheeks puff out. Once I, a proud wisewolf, saw what a disgrace I would have to become, I couldn’t stop my gorge from rising.”

No doubt they had both been “a disgrace,” but Holo’s vain excuse was undeniably Holo-like. Lawrence had to laugh.

Holo folded her arms and made a sour face. There was a tomboyish innocence about her.

How fun the conversation would have been if it had not all been an act.

“In any case, you seem to enjoy liquor well enough, despite your loss,” said Lawrence.

To which Holo answered, “You are only and ever a fool.”

When they reached Rigolo’s house, he was not there.

Melta received them in her nun’s habit as always.

“You were very fast to read them all. It takes me near a month to read even one short tale,” she said.

She seemed to speak not out of humility but rather bashfulness, her smile carrying with it an aura of kindness.

Lawrence couldn’t help noticing this, but as Melta retrieved the key from Rigolo’s desk and led them in, Holo didn’t kick him even once.

“Mr. Rigolo said to tell you that if there is anything else you need, please feel free to borrow it,” said Melta, using the key to open the door to the archives, then lighting a beeswax candle.

“Anything you want to read?” Lawrence asked Holo, who nodded vaguely.

“Please do look around, then. No matter how valuable these books, it seems a bit sad to let them go unread,” said Melta.

“Thank you very much,” said Lawrence, smiling and ducking his head by way of a bow.

Melta’s personality seemed entirely genuine, instead of simply being a product of her occupation.

“I should say that the books you borrowed were written by Mr. Rigolo’s grandfather, and as such use modern language. Some of the older books, however, use archaic writing styles and may be difficult to read.”

Holo nodded at Melta’s statement, then took the wax candle from her and proceeded slowly into the archives. Lawrence doubted there were actually any books she wanted to read and assumed Holo just wanted to kill time.

Her dancing with him in the inn, too, must have been something she anticipated in a way.

Even having understood everything, this was fun, and she had anticipated being able to end their journey with smiles.

But he knew that was impossible.

“Er—”

“Yes?” Melta had been watching the candle Holo held, but she now turned to Lawrence.

“I hate to be presumptuous, but would you mind terribly showing me Mr. Rigolo’s garden?”

The gloom of the archives was fostering dark thoughts in Lawrence’s mind, and he was starting to scare himself.

But Melta showed not so much as a dewdrop of concern. “I’m sure the flowers in the garden will be pleased to see you,” she said with a smile that glowed like the wax candle.

“Holo,” Lawrence called out, and her head appeared from behind one of the bookshelves. “Be careful with the books.”

“I know, I know.”

Melta laughed pleasantly. “It’s quite all right. Mr. Rigolo’s way of handling them is much worse, I assure you.”

Lawrence more or less had the sense that this was true, and having warned Holo, he let Melta lead him out of the archives and back up to the ground floor.

He looked forward to gazing upon that bright garden and thinking about nothing in particular.

“Would you care for something to drink?”

“Ah, er, no—don’t trouble yourself.” Lawrence waved off Melta’s kind offer, and she gave a short bow before quietly leaving the room.

If he had come on business, then his presence would have profited his host as well, so he wouldn’t have worried about accepting their kindness. But as it was, Lawrence was presuming upon their good graces and didn’t want to accept any more than he had to.

One of the Church’s core principles was “give all you are able to.”

“Ah, well,” he ventured to say, putting an end to the thought. He didn’t want to think about anything.

Lawrence turned his eyes to Rigolo’s garden.

He had heard that making transparent glass was quite difficult. The price aside, constructing these huge windows must have involved many problems.

On the other side of the wall, through countless pieces of glass all joined together, there was a garden that looked as if it had taken even more work.

It was eerie, seeing the green plants, the white blossoms.

Rigolo had bragged that with some effort, he could preserve such scenery within this room year-round.

If that was true, then Rigolo must have sat at this desk, never bored with the scene that greeted him every time he looked at the garden.

Surely Melta, who seemed to look after Rigolo, must have gazed in fond exasperation at his back.

It made Lawrence frankly jealous. He grinned regretfully at his own folly, then looked back into the study.

It overflowed with papers and parchment and looked quite messy at a glance, though on closer inspection, the room was revealed to be tidy indeed. Rather than calling it a home or workplace, the term nest seemed most appropriate, given its scattered state.

Lawrence wondered if it was Eve’s closeness to Rigolo that led him to have one of her statues in the room.

Or perhaps he’d had one of the leftovers foisted off on him.

It was packed with cotton in a wooden box, along with a rolled-up piece of parchment that was probably the certificate of consecration from the Church.

The statue was about the size of both of his hands with their fingers outstretched.

Lawrence looked at it closely, wondering how much it went for when he noticed something strange.

The statue’s surface was slightly faded.

“What’s this?”

In order to improve their appearance, statues were sometimes rubbed with lime and sometimes ink. This statue of the Holy Mother was white, so surely lime had been used on it.

But in a place where that finish seemed to have come off, Lawrence saw something strange.

He rubbed the statue lightly, trying to wipe it clean.

“…This, it can’t be—”

“Is something the matter?” The sudden voice brought him back to himself.

He turned around. It was Melta. “Oh, goodness…this is rather embarrassing. I just thought this statue of the Holy Mother was so well made, I could do with having her hear my troubles.”

“Goodness.” Melta’s eyes widened slightly, and she smiled. “I am a lamb in the Church’s flock, so I would be happy to hear your worries.”

Evidently Melta was not a hardheaded nun.

“I shall restrain myself,” said Lawrence.

Melta carried a beautifully carved wooden tray with a compact wooden cup and a metal pitcher on it. “This is a drink made from bread, though I don’t know if it will suit you.”

The tray and cup had such soft, lovely lines that Lawrence wondered if Melta had made them herself. “Kvass, is it?”

“Goodness, sir merchant, you’re quite knowledgeable,” answered Melta, pouring a pale brown liquid from the pitcher into the cup.

“It hasn’t been popular recently, so you don’t see it much these days.”

“I myself prefer it to the Blood of God…ah, er—please forget I said that!”

By the “Blood of God,” she surely meant grape wine.

For the quiet Melta to make a joke, it was charming indeed.

Lawrence nodded and put his index finger to his lips.

If this were Ruvinheigen or Kumersun or Tereo, he would have treated Melta a bit differently, fearing Holo’s revenge.

And yet if asked if he was truly enjoying this conversation, Lawrence would have answered in the negative.

His mind was racing with the knowledge he’d gained from the statue of the Holy Mother.

“Here you go,” said Melta, offering him the drink.

Feeling as though Melta’s gentle demeanor was a balm on his frayed heart, Lawrence took the cup.

“I take it Mr. Rigolo is at the meeting?”

“Yes. This morning there was an urgent message, and…oh, heavens, I’m sorry, I was told not to say anything about it.”

Lawrence flashed his best merchant’s smile at the apologetic Melta, shaking his head. “Not at all, and in any case I wouldn’t ask about the subject of the meeting. It was a poor choice of topic. I had wanted to ask about the glass here, so it is unfortunate I could not see him again.”

“Oh, is that so…? Well, this glass was gathered piece by piece, and it took over three years to collect it all.”

“I see. Mr. Rigolo’s passion for his garden is clear indeed,” said Lawrence with deliberate surprise in his voice. Melta smiled brilliantly, as though she herself had been praised.

Eve had said she didn’t understand Rigolo’s lack of ambition and his passion for his garden, but with someone as understanding as Melta at his side, he could lose himself in his avocation. Rigolo’s days were pleasant ones, Lawrence mused.

“With so much passion, I can understand why he would make such bold declarations as saying he wants to quit his post as the council’s secretary.”

Melta’s smile was troubled as she nodded. “Though it is his job, he stays gazing at the garden until the last possible moment.”

“I would say he might as well, but the secretary is an important post.”

“God says that labor is valuable. But sometimes I feel that such a modest desire as being able to spend time in one’s garden could also come true,” said Melta, smiling.

It was a decadent dream that no pious nun should be able to embrace, but perhaps it was the fact that Melta was in love that made her think of it as pleasant.

No matter how Lawrence thought about it, she seemed to be saying that Rigolo’s happiness was her happiness.

Perhaps it was Melta’s dream to stand by Rigolo’s side all day long as he watched his garden, bravely attending to him.

“Ah, but modest desires are the hardest to fulfill.”

She laughed. “You may be right.” Melta placed her hand to her cheek as she looked out on the bright garden. “And the most joyous times are the ones that you wish would last forever.”

Stricken, Lawrence looked long and hard at Melta.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“I’m simply moved by your words.”

“You flatter me.”

He had been entirely serious, but Melta had taken his sincerity for a joke.

Lawrence wanted Holo to stay. He wanted her to stay forever, but maybe he should simply treasure the time for as long as he felt that way. The thought pierced his chest.

If they were truly always together, if they could always see each other again, perhaps that joy would unavoidably be destroyed.

It was not such a difficult truth.

Because it was so simple, Holo’s dream of overturning this was too difficult.

“However, I do believe it’s a fortunate thing to be able to pursue a simple dream,” managed Lawrence, unable to forget his own reality.

Soon Holo came up from the archives, holding the wax candle.

She said the flame had gone out, but that was surely a lie.

Just as Lawrence had fled, Holo had found the dark corners of the archives distasteful and had escaped.

Lawrence knew this because as soon as Holo entered the room facing the brightly lit garden, she shot him a bitter glance.

Saying nothing, she stood next to him.

Lawrence looked straight at her, and spoke. “Did you find any good books?”

Holo shook her head. Her eyes asked, “Did you?”

Holo was Holo.

She could easily detect the slightest change in his demeanor.

“I had a very useful conversation,” said Lawrence.

The next instant, there was the sound of banging on the door.

Following this came the sound of the door opening.

Heavy, graceless footfalls echoed through the house, and then someone appeared.

Melta was shocked, but she did not become angry or flustered at the surprising intrusion, because it was someone she knew well.

It was Eve.

“Come with me,” said Eve. “Things are bad.”

She was breathing heavily.

“It’s an armed uprising.”

“Lock your doors, and don’t open them for anyone you don’t know,” said Eve, and Melta nodded, gulping as though she had swallowed a stone.

“Y-yes!”

“I don’t care how displeased they are with the council’s decision, I doubt they’ll come to the secretary’s house, so you should be fine,” said Eve, giving Melta a light embrace. “And of course, Rigolo will be safe.”

Melta nodded pathetically.

She was far more concerned for his safety than for her own.

“Right, let’s go.”

Eve directed these words to Lawrence and Holo, and Lawrence gave a short nod.

Holo stood a bit away looking disinterested, but Lawrence could tell that her ears were twitching to and fro beneath her hood. She probably had a good idea of what was going on in the surrounding area.

“We’re off, then.” Eve stepped out of the door, and Melta clasped her hands as if to pray for their safety.

Eve, Lawrence, and Holo walked down a deserted street at a fast stride that was almost a slow trot. “You said an ‘uprising,’ but who is it actually?” Lawrence asked.

“The fur craftsmen and the people who supply them their tools and wares.”

The first thing Eve had said upon getting to Rigolo’s house was, “This is bad.”

The trigger had been the council making their decision public earlier than predicted.

Just as the council was trying to set up the wooden plaques that displayed the decision in the town square, the craftsmen and suppliers rushed in wielding their tools in place of weapons, demanding that the council rescind its ruling.

Though to Lawrence the decision seemed like an astute one, he could imagine that those who would find their businesses completely gone the next day could hardly swallow it.

And Eve said the council’s decision was based on a naive forecast.

It was hardly surprising that the uncertainty and worry would take the form of a violent uprising. Even if the town’s fur industry did survive, the townspeople themselves would be ruined, so it would be meaningless.

News of the uprising had reached the center of town quickly, and it was now apparently in complete disorder.

Lawrence could hear the distant cries and shouts.

He looked to Holo, who nodded.

“The council’s decision can’t be revoked, can it?” he asked.

Eve shook her head.

The Council of Fifty was an assembly of powerful people from all parts of town, and the decisions they made showed the town’s resolve. Such decisions were given preference above all others, and all who lived in Lenos had to abide by them.

If a group whose interests lay in opposition to those of the council denied those decisions, there was the danger that it could severely damage the council’s authority and make it difficult for the council to conduct its normal management of the town.

The fur craftsmen were no doubt well aware of that when they decided to revolt.

“The council has to protect its credibility, so the decision will be upheld. The foreign merchants are already coming into the town. The craftsmen are desperate to prevent them from doing so, but it’s probably impossible.”

Eve walked through the complicated maze of streets without any trouble.

Occasionally they passed others with goals similar to their own. Several times they saw merchants running through the alleys as fast as they could.

Lawrence was worried about whether Holo would be able to keep up, but she seemed fine for the moment. She held on to Lawrence’s hand, careful to stay close.

“And our fur deal?” asked Lawrence.

“The council’s decision was exactly what my information said it would be. Assuming it’s upheld, then the deal is still on.”

If so, every second counted.

“What shall we do? Shall we accept the money afterwards and do the fur buying in the meantime?”

“No,” was Eve’s answer. “I don’t want any complications. We should go with the money in hand. You head to the Delink Company and pick up the coin.”

Eve strode down the street, unconcerned with puddles, and continued speaking before Lawrence could say anything. “I’ll make ready a boat,” she said, stopping suddenly.

The trio came out of the narrow, winding street to find the docks directly in front of them.

Throngs of people walked to and fro, all of them with dark expressions.

Lawrence could tell that the crowds of hurrying merchants were all running to procure furs, and a chill ran down his spine.

It must be even worse in the town square, Lawrence thought, where the fur craftsmen were confronting those tasked with defending the signs that announced the council’s decision.

“We’re ahead of everyone here. We can’t act in haste.” Eve turned around. “Let us meet at the inn. We’ll finish the deal once everything is in order.” Her blue eyes were full of unwavering resolve.

It was in front of these docks while drinking wine with Lawrence that Eve had said that she was saving money for the sake of her childish revenge.

Whether that was a good motivation or not was not for him to decide.

But he did know one thing. Eve was a motivated, capable merchant.

“Understood.”

He lightly grasped the hand that was offered to him. Eve smiled thinly, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Eve would surely arrange a fine ship and secure a route for the fur.

“Well then, shall we go?” asked Holo.

She sounded neither worried nor rushed.

“Yes, let’s,” replied Lawrence shortly. He started to walk but stopped short.

One could say that he had been sewn into place by Holo’s piercing gaze.

“You saw something—no, you saw it and thought something—so why did you not tell me what it was?” Holo asked.

Lawrence smiled; Holo already knew everything.

“You’ve realized something dangerous about this deal. Am I wrong?”

He answered immediately; there was no point in hiding it. “You are not.”

“So why do you keep silent?”

“Do you want to know?”

Holo reached her hand out to Lawrence’s chest, but not simply because he had answered her question with another question.

Lawrence took hold of her finger, lowered it, then let go.

“As far as the danger inherent in this deal goes, let’s say I told you of it. It extends to me and to you. But having considered the possibilities, I’ve decided we should pursue the profit without worrying about the risk. The amount we stand to gain is worth risking my life for, and even should the danger extend to you, you can always avoid it with your own abilities. Of course—”

Holo listened, her expression blank.

“—if it comes to that, it will be hard for us to reunite,” Lawrence said.

Holo was silent.

Lawrence continued. “And if we were to have that conversation, this is what you would say—”

“…Do not throw away all that profit just to cling to a single thread of hope,” finished Holo.

Lawrence shrugged, smiling.

He’d kept silent about his realization precisely because he hadn’t wanted to make Holo say that.

If this deal succeeded, Lawrence’s dream would essentially come true. He would return to the town a rich man, and Holo would come out to greet him and then part ways with him forever with smiles and words of blessing.

Or he would fail, and Holo would have to escape before she was sold off or worse, whereupon she would set off for her homeland alone, determination renewed. If he could be permitted a presumptuous thought, she might come to check on him and make sure he was well, but then she would leave him, and there would be nothing he could say to stop her.

In other words—

“The only chance I have to keep traveling with you is to abandon the deal entirely.”

Lawrence held back the other words he felt—that even if it cost him his dream, he couldn’t expose Holo to danger.

“Do you think that will make me happy?” Holo asked.

“I do,” answered Lawrence without any embarrassment.

His cheek was slapped the next instant. “I won’t say I’m happy. I’ll never, ever say I’m sorry.”

Holo had slapped him with all the strength in her small hand, and it probably hurt her hand more than his face.

The thought occurred to Lawrence as he looked at her trembling expression.

With this, all chances for either of them to tell the other that they wanted to continue the journey were destroyed.

It was what Holo had wished for and what Lawrence had not.

He had given her what she wanted at the expense of his own desires.

This was surely near the very pinnacle of what could be called kindness, and as such, Holo feared it.

It amounted to a quiet revenge for her sudden pronouncement of the journey’s end.

“I’ll remember you as a cold, calculating merchant,” she said.

At those words, Lawrence was finally able to smile. “It would be bad for my reputation if you thought me a foolish one. Come, let us go retrieve our war funds.”

Lawrence started walking with Holo following a short distance behind him.

The sniffling sound he heard was surely not from the cold air.

Perhaps she thought it unfair, but Lawrence was not so magnanimous as to let Holo leave him without exacting some small vengeance.

But vengeance was a hollow thing.

When they arrived at the Delink Company, Holo was her usual self.

Vengeance begat vengeance.

This was for the best.

“There is no God in this world,” murmured Holo flatly. “If your omniscient, omnipotent God truly existed, how could he just watch as such suffering goes on?”

Lawrence stopped short of knocking at the door. “How, indeed,” he replied with a nod and only then knocked.

The Delink Company was as simply decorated as ever, and within the building it was quiet, as though completely separate from the clamor outside.

Of course, the merchants were aware of what was happening in the town, and upon seeing Lawrence’s face, they happily arranged for the money.

Their unpleasant smiles disguised whatever they were thinking, but he could trust their proud assertion that they would guarantee the safety of his companion.

No matter how coldhearted the merchant, you could rely on that coldheartedness when it came to the careful treatment of their goods.

However, when it came time to hand over the money, they put it not in Lawrence’s hands, but in Holo’s.

It was the wisdom of the moneylender.

In receiving the money from the hands of Holo, the collateral, its import would be more effectively branded into his mind. It was also meant to stop him from defaulting, and in any case, this took his desire to turn a profit with the money to a new level.

Holo looked closely at the coin purse, which fit easily even into her small hands. She then looked at Lawrence.

“When you make a profit, I want the finest wine,” Holo said with a sour look.

Enough to be drunk forever.

Enough that this last memory of him would remain in her heart forever.

“Of course,” answered Lawrence, taking the coins.

“We, too, shall pray for your good fortune,” said the Delink merchant.

He had probably interrupted in order to bring the conversation to a close. Experience would have taught him that such good-byes could drag on.

But Holo and Lawrence had long since said their good-byes.

“When we next meet, I’ll be a town merchant,” said Lawrence grandly.

Holo smiled. “I can’t have a worthless merchant for my companion.”

Lawrence didn’t know what expression to assume in response to such a statement.

He didn’t know, but when he left the shop and looked back, Holo was in the doorway, eyes downcast.

Lawrence ran into town, the bag of sixty gold pieces in hand.

He was in no mood to walk.

He didn’t know if this was the right choice.

He just didn’t know.

Even though there was no other choice, he still didn’t know if this was the right one.

Nothing felt strange about this. Ahead of him lay profit so large he’d never dreamt of it.

Yet his heart was uneasy.

Lawrence held the gold under his arm and ran.

When he arrived at the inn, there were people in the doorway discussing something.

Without even bothering to listen in, he expected they—who were perhaps inn guests and their friends, Lawrence thought—were talking about the uprising in the town.

Lawrence headed for the stables, entering through the storehouse.

There were already two horses and one wagon there. Naturally, one of the horses and the wagon were Lawrence’s. It was an excellent wagon with a driver’s seat just a bit too big for one person alone.

What made him knit his brows was not the weight of the gold he carried. It was the weight that settled into his chest; it was too heavy. Lawrence shook it off and entered the storehouse.

As always, a variety of goods were piled as high as his head with paths finally cleared between piles of boxes. No single person knew all the things that were stored there. It was the perfect place to hide something small.

The thought occurred to Lawrence as he made his way through the room when he bumped into someone doing just that.

“H-ho there. I got tired of waiting,” Eve said, squatting down as she fished through a pile of goods.

“I brought the money.” Lawrence produced the small burlap bag, and Eve closed her eyes as if taking a drink for the first time in three days.

“I’ve arranged for a ship. I found a captain whose profit vanished in the uprising. When I named him a good price, he said he’d set sail even if the navy should send ships to blockade him.”

She had a good eye, that was certain.

Now all that remained was to safely move the fur through this uprising.

Then they would take it down the river and triple their money.

This made him dizzy just thinking about it.

Eve took the small pouch she had fished out of the pile of goods and quickly secured it in her breast pocket, then stood. “The lot at the trading company won’t shake their heads once they catch sight of our gold coins. Their eyes will be nailed to the money, and they’ll nod in spite of themselves.”

It was easy to imagine, and Lawrence smiled, though he was not certain how convincing his smile was.

“In that case, let us go! This deal is a jest!”

Eve’s talkativeness was a result of her nerves.

The deal was huge. In trenni silver, the amount came to two thousand pieces, and even converted to the legendary lumione gold coins for convenience’s sake, it amounted to sixty of that coin.

The amount of profit that could be extracted from such money made a human life seem unavoidably indistinct.

No, it was indistinct.

Eve seemed to be making for the stable’s exit behind Lawrence, but he didn’t move. He blocked the way, so she had to stop.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking up, her face uncertain.

“When we buy fur with this money, the profit will come to four thousand silver pieces in the end, correct?”

Eve was about a head shorter than Lawrence. She retreated one step, then two, her cowl hiding her expression completely. “That’s right,” she said.

“And you’ve arranged for a ship, so now all we need to do is buy the fur.”

“That’s right.”

“And you have a good sense for where to sell that fur.”

“That’s right.”

In exchange for borrowing the money from Lawrence, Eve was lending him her experience and wits.

She had it all thought out, drawing a map of exactly how she would thread her way through the complicated relationships of the town, cinching up a deal and turning a profit.

Eve appeared before him, utterly confident that no matter what sudden wind might blow, she would not so much as flinch.

A traveling merchant who crossed the wilderness—that was the image of Eve he’d first embraced, her voice made hoarse by the dry wind.

Though from time to time Lawrence caught glimpses of her weaker self beneath the thick cowl she wore, she had the nerve to be able to keep him fooled.

She was a sly enough merchant for that.

If he just stayed quiet, pretending not to notice anything, playing the fool while leaving the deal in her hands, there would be no trouble.

If Eve was going to deceive him, it would not be to steal his share away.

The flat, hard truth was that she was wise enough to make this deal go smoothly.

She was no fool. He knew she wasn’t so reckless as to throw in for a deal with no chance of success.

So he should just stay quiet.

If the deal succeeded, Lawrence would become a town merchant at the very least.

If only he could stay quiet.

“Do you doubt me?” Eve demanded.

“No.”

“Then what? Have you lost your nerve?”

Lawrence looked within himself.

Was he weak? Timid?

No.

There was only one reason he couldn’t stay foolish and silent. He couldn’t get Holo out of his head.

“If we don’t hurry, the merchants beyond the walls are going to get their money situations sorted. They’ve been making arrangements. We don’t know where they might raise it from. Do you just want to bite down on your knuckle and look on as others turn an absurd profit? Are you listen—”

“Are you not frightened?” Lawrence asked, cutting her off.

Eve looked stunned. “Me? Hah. Don’t be absurd,” she spat, her lip twisting. “Of course I am.”

Her voice was low, but it still echoed through the storehouse.

“It’s thousands of silver pieces we’re talking about here. How could I not be frightened? A human life is a fragile thing in the face of that much money. I don’t have the nerve to stay calm in that sort of scenario.”

“There’s no guarantee I won’t change my mind and attack you,” said Lawrence.

“Hah. Indeed. The reverse is also true. No, our suspicion of each other may only grow…but in either case”—Eve took a deep breath as if to calm herself—“we can’t continue taking these risks.”

Eve did indeed understand the danger of this deal.

No, it was precisely because she understood that she was deceiving Lawrence.

So what was it that she saw on the other side of this profit for which she was willing to go to such lengths?

Eve laughed in a dry voice. “I can tell by your face you want to ask me something stupid. You want to know why I’ll go to such lengths to earn money, no?” she said, seeming to wipe the palm of her right hand on her hip.

That was how natural the motion was.

“Sorry, but I can’t have you back out of the deal now.”

Suddenly a thick-bladed cleaver was in her hand. It would have been rude to call it a knife.

“To be honest, I didn’t want to use this. But consider the amount. I’ll be in trouble if you pull out now. You understand, don’t you?”

Once they have a weapon in their hands, most people become excited as the blood rushes to their heads, but Eve’s voice was calm and dry to the end.

“So long as the deal goes well, your profit’s guaranteed. So hand it over.”

“A human life isn’t worth much in the face of sixty gold pieces.”

“That’s right…and you don’t want to find that out in person, do you?”

Lawrence flashed his merchant’s grin and produced the burlap pouch that Holo had given him, offering it to Eve.

“God’s blessings be upon those with wit and wisdom,” murmured Eve, and she made as if to take the pouch. But then—

“…”

“—!”

Each of them moved with wordless energy.

Lawrence retreated, and Eve’s blade swung down.

An instant later, there was a jingling sound as the bag of gold coins hit the floor.

The instant passed.

Eve’s eyes blazed with blue flame, and Lawrence looked back at her evenly, unsurprised.

A few seconds later, their mutual failures occurred to each of them.

“We’ve both of us fallen short. Am I wrong?”

As she didn’t pull back her arm and retreat, Lawrence caught a clear glimpse of the blade.

Eve was clever to the end.

The blade had been reversed, striking with the dull side of the single-edged weapon. He could tell that Eve didn’t have any intention of cutting him.

In contrast, Lawrence’s dodge had been in earnest, and yet the fact that he hadn’t been surprised meant that he was convinced that her blade would fall.

Had he truly trusted Eve, Lawrence would have believed the opposite, standing still or betraying surprise when forced to dodge.

He didn’t trust her, and he hadn’t been surprised because he knew she was hiding something.

“My failure was in being sniffed out by you. That’s what you meant by asking if I was scared, is it not?” asked Eve.

Eve didn’t as much as glance at the bag of coins on the floor.

This was proof that she was used to violence.

If he thought about the fact that his opponent was a woman, he would be dead in an instant.

“The statue in Rigolo’s house is one piece of evidence, isn’t it?” asked Lawrence.

Eve’s lip twisted, and she switched the knife from its reversed position to a proper grip.

“You pretended to be dealing in stone statues, but what you were really doing was smuggling processed rock salt molded into statues.”

“Could be…,” she said, and Lawrence could see Eve lowering her stance.

Whether or not he ran, this was looking like a bad bet.

“I had reason to suspect you of smuggling salt, but it never occurred to me that it would be carved rock salt, since the Church would surely notice you carrying out smuggling on that scale.”

But there was still a way around the problem.

It went without saying that it meant cutting the Church in on the deal.

Lenos’s parish had been desperate for money.

The Church wouldn’t hesitate to dabble in salt smuggling, which surely brought in more money than stone statues.

Lawrence had not realized this sooner due to the fact that Eve brought her statues in from a port town.

If the material was being hauled in from a seaside town, from the standpoint of weight and volume, any salt would obviously have been grain salt.

Hauling bulkier, more labor-intensive rock salt in from the coast flew against any merchant’s common sense.

And it was that common sense that Eve had manipulated in order to get through the town gates.

“I’m sure you and the Church had a lovely honeymoon for a while. I’ve heard that it was throwing so much money around that nobody could figure out where it was coming from. But then it all ended, I’m guessing because of the northern campaign. The Church started to solidify its base of power and pulled out of the salt-smuggling racket rather than risk an uprising or two. And just then, this fur trouble came up. And being clever, this is what you proposed to the bishop—”

Eve raised the tip of her blade high.

Lawrence backed up another step.

“If the merchants waiting outside the town were going to buy up all the fur, why not just do it ourselves?”

Eve had said that she had heard the results of the Council of Fifty’s meeting from her contacts inside the Church.

Still, her skill had been far out of the ordinary.

Rather than imagining Eve had come up with all of this on the spot, it made more sense for Lawrence to believe that she had plotted it all along, and only just then took action.

And it went without saying who stood to profit the most from a rule that restricted fur sales to cash.

It would be extremely lucrative for the Church, in whose coffers sat a nearly unimaginable amount of money from the tithes it collected.

The bigger a trading firm became, the more of its business took place on paper, in entries on ledgers, with all of the money going into and out of the firm assiduously recorded, making raising money behind closed doors difficult.

And with the careful body searches being conducted at the town gates, and in the case of merchants coming to buy fur, the questioning of the origin of their money, a significant number of merchants could be contained.

But Eve still maintained confidence that she could buy up fur.

It was true that the foreign merchants had made long preparations, but now that the craftsmen and suppliers had rioted, none of them would risk giving foreigners any money at all.

And yet Eve was nervous.

That could mean only one thing.

She knew where the foreign merchants were going to get their money, and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop it.

That was the true motive of the Church in deciding to cut ties with the fallen noble merchant who, in addition to smuggling salt, had approached the archbishop of the region by the sea.

Eve said that the Church had claimed it was more advantageous to deal with a trade company than with an individual merchant.

And that was exactly so.

If the Church was going to partner with a trading company in an effort to buy up fur, then the action implied they had gained a powerful patron, thus allowing them to abandon her.

Eve must have thought that none of the outside merchants could possibly be carrying a large amount of money, but what if the Church carefully moved its tithe money outside the town?

The revolting craftsmen and merchants would discover that contrary to their belief, the foreign merchants had a large amount of money, probably because some entity within the town had betrayed them.

There hadn’t been a single lie in the story that Eve had presented Lawrence.

There had not been a lie…but it wasn’t the truth, either.

“The statue in Rigolo’s house is certainly rock salt. And you’re right that I was the one who brought the furs to the attention of that lousy bishop and right about him cutting me loose and finding another patron, as well. I’ll leave it up to you as to whether to believe me or not,” said Eve with a laugh, tossing the knife to the floor.

“Trust me,” she seemed to be saying.

Lawrence didn’t even wonder whether or not there was a need for her to lie this far in.

He would simply decide whether she was lying or not and act accordingly.

That was all.

“And the reason you think I brought the deal to you…that’s probably right, too.”

“I’m a shield to protect you.”

Eve shrugged. “I’m a salt smuggler who knows all the Church’s worst secrets. Of course, before we parted ways, they guaranteed my life. It was a verbal contract, so you never know. If a good opportunity were to arise, though, I’m sure they’ll use me again. So it must be true. And I did make a profit myself. I didn’t have any intention of starting an uprising, and I’m sure they know that.”

“But you couldn’t let the deal that you proposed to them get away.”

“Exactly. Even if it means I’ll be interfering with their expectations, I can’t let this profit go.”

“So you thought to yourself, ‘They can kill one person, but it’s hard to kill two.’”

What would the Church think of Lawrence, a man who used his own companion as collateral in a deal that went against the interests of the town?

From the outside, he surely looked like a conspirator who knew all the ins and outs of Eve’s plan.

One person can be easily silenced, but as soon as there are two, things become difficult—all the more so when the second person is an outsider on whom they have no background information. Without knowing where Lawrence came from, there was no telling what trade firm or guild might come storming into the city if he was killed.

Lawrence had unknowingly played that role.

And because he hadn’t known anything about it, his performance had been magnificent.

He must have either seemed simply reckless or looked like he believed the Church unworthy of fear.

If he hadn’t known anything, if he had pretended not to know anything, the deal would surely have gone off well.

“So what’s it going to be?” Eve asked.

“It’s going to be this,” said Lawrence, and in that instant, he lunged for both the bag of gold and the blade.

“…”

“…”

The two glared wordlessly at each other.

A cold sweat broke out on Lawrence’s forehead.

The moment he reached out for the blade, a small knife had appeared in Eve’s hand, and she plunged it down at him.

And this time she was not striking with the flat of the blade.

That much Lawrence could predict, but getting out of the way would be a gamble.

“Do you crave money so much?” he asked.

By some miracle, he was able to twist Eve’s left hand away by the wrist.

While she was far from powerless, she was still a woman. The knife fell from her hand.

“D-don’t you…?”

“I do—no…” Lawrence paused before continuing. “I did.”

“That’s a funny—”

“Joke,” perhaps she would have said, but Lawrence twisted her arm around and shoved her against a stack of wooden crates, grabbing her collar with his free hand and yanking it back, cutting off her voice.

“If you kill me and hide my corpse, it probably won’t be found until long after the deal’s done. The Church would never guess that our partnership had fractured. I have to say, I’m impressed. Or were you simply planning to take the gold and run?”

Eve stood on tiptoes, her face contorted.

The oily sweat on her brow was proof that this was no act.

“No, you wouldn’t do that. The reason you tried to kill me is the bag you were looking for when I first entered the storeroom. You’re just dying to use it.”

That instant, Eve paled.

She realized that if he continued to choke her, her life could genuinely be in danger, and this showed on her face.

Money was more important to her than her life.

Lawrence laughed.

“So, it’s the money you made smuggling salt? What you managed to pile up over time must be at least equal to what I brought—maybe more. And you were going to buy fur with all that, with me none the wiser.”

Eve did not answer.

The tortured expression on her face seemed to come more from her fear that the money in her breast pocket would be taken than the fact that her plan had been revealed.

“The reason you couldn’t do the fur deal yourself is because you have too much money on hand. If you tried that alone, the Church would think nothing of killing you. So you brought me in. It’s easy to kill one person, but killing two—that’s hard. And you’ll continue to pull together money to invest until the Church gets serious about eliminating us. It’s one thing not to care about a stranger’s life, but you don’t even care about your own. All you care about is profit!”

If it hadn’t been for that fact, Lawrence probably would have stayed quiet.

He probably would have pretended to be ignorant of the salt smuggling and simply focused on the deal.

But he couldn’t watch someone take such massive risks and simply let that go.

No matter how great the profit, there had to be a limit to the amount of risk one allowed.

What Eve was doing was tantamount to suicide.

Having come this far, he wanted—needed—to ask her why.

“What is it…?”

“…?”

“What is it at the end of all of this that makes taking such absurd risks worthwhile?”

Even as Lawrence hoisted her off the ground, even as her face turned dark red, even then, Eve smiled.

“I’m a merchant, too. Making money brings me happiness. But I don’t know what lies at the end of it all. First you make one silver piece, then two. Then after two, three. But have you never stopped to consider what awaits at the end of this drive to quench that constant thirst?”

Of course, Lawrence hadn’t considered this, either.

He didn’t have the luxury.

That was because since meeting Holo, he suddenly felt freer. His constant quest for profit had somehow diminished.

Its place had been supplanted by conversations with Holo.

Eve was probably his exact opposite.

She put profit above her own life.

“Wh-what…what do…,” she began, her voice hoarser than usual.

Lawrence slackened his grip somewhat, and Eve wheezed as though asthmatic, coughing. Her smile never wavered as she continued.

“What do I…think is waiting?”

Her blue eyes started straight into his. “Are you so childish as to think something is waiting?” she sneered.

He didn’t tighten his grip again. She had hit her mark perfectly.

“Every time I looked at the rich bastard that bought me, I wondered to myself—what could he possibly be doing with so much money? No matter how much you make, there’s no end to it, but the next day comes, and you can’t keep yourself from earning more. How awful to be rich, I thought.”

Eve coughed, took a deep breath, and continued. “And I must look like a pathetic creature to you. After all, I chose the same path he did.”

The next moment, Lawrence felt like he saw Eve’s hand move.

And then without really understanding what had happened, by the time he realized he’d been punched, he collapsed to the floor.

“I watched his vain efforts, even watched him die, and yet still I chose this path. Do you know why?”

It wasn’t the small knife that was now perched beneath Lawrence’s throat.

It was the large cleaver clutched in her hand, waiting vigilantly for a chance to do its job.

“ , that’s why,” said Eve, striking Lawrence’s face a terrible blow with the blade’s handle. His vision exploded in red light, then half his face blossomed into hot pain.

He realized his body felt much lighter, but he couldn’t get up.

Neither could he close his mouth, and with what felt more like unbearable disorienting pressure all over his body, he couldn’t even raise his voice. Yet somehow, using his elbow, Lawrence managed to roll over and get into a crawling position. He couldn’t move any more than that, and he looked at the drops of blood that pattered to the floor through his tear-blurred eyes.

His ears could still sort out the sounds around him, so he knew that Eve had left the storehouse.

She had probably taken the money.

That thought filtered like pleasantly cool water through his swimming head.

He didn’t know how long he was in there before some random guest of the inn entered and rushed to his side, helping him sit up.

He was a large, round man with clothes fringed in fur from all over. It had to be the old fur trader from the north Arold had mentioned.

“Are—are you all right?”

Lawrence laughed at the clichéd phrase in spite of himself, then managed a “sorry,” and nodded.

“Was it a robber?”

Finding a person collapsed in a storehouse naturally suggested as much.

But Lawrence shook his head in the negative.

“A broken deal, then?”

There were only so many types of misfortune that could befall a merchant.

“Oh, what’s this…,” said the man, and when Lawrence saw what he had picked up, he forgot all about his painful face and laughed.

“What’s wrong?”

Evidently the fat man couldn’t read because he only cocked his head curiously at the paper, and when Lawrence reached for it, he handed it over, puzzlement written all over his face.

Lawrence looked down at the paper once again.

He really wasn’t misunderstanding.

Apparently Eve couldn’t quite bring herself to toss Lawrence entirely aside.

“Obsession maybe?” Lawrence murmured to himself, swallowing blood.

But that didn’t seem quite right.

Immediately after she had struck Lawrence with the haft of her cleaver, he’d caught the merest glimpse of Eve’s face.

It was neither obsessed nor avaricious.

“Hey, are you all right?” The man hastily tried to help Lawrence up when he started to stand, but Lawrence merely nodded and declined.

Eve had left him Arold’s deed to the inn.

As a fellow merchant, he could hardly fail to understand what she meant by this.

Having gotten to his feet, Lawrence began to walk, albeit unsteadily.

He tottered out of the storehouse and into the stable.

“She needs to see, does she?”

Eve had taken all his money.

There was only one place for Lawrence to go.

“She needs to see.”

He laughed again, then spat blood.