Spice and Wolf - Volume 8 - Chapter Pr

PROLOGUE

The moon hid behind clouds, and darkness covered the area.

An occasional cold wind blew, gently ruffling her hair.

Contained in a lamp made from bent wire, a tallow flame flickered uncertainly.

It was cold, bitterly cold.

The sound of ice crushing under weight accompanied the progress of the fully loaded wagon.

No one opened their mouths. The entire party remained silent as they advanced.

Beside the wagon bed, the unsteady lamplight flickered, illuminating the horse’s thick neck and the back of the horseman who walked ahead, holding the reins.

It was like a procession of corpses.

There are many such stories.

But the difference here was that in the line there was one who stood stock-still.

The figure held no lamp, but rather a staff, perhaps to beat either the horse—or its master.

That single person stopped and looked.

And in the deathly, expressionless procession, only one face conveyed surprise.

“Good evening.”

The abrupt words echoed loudly, perhaps because of the frigid air.

Had one crouched down and scooped up a handful of the gravel underfoot, it would have been indistinguishable from the ice itself.

The individual to whom the greeting was directed was a grizzled veteran of a merchant, one who would meet even the most unexpected circumstance with calm.

And yet it took even her some time to grasp the situation.

“A swift horse, eh?” she asked, in such a way that made it clear he knew it was not the case.

Since no merchant ever shows his entire hand, he did not deign to answer the question.

She shook her head there in the shadows.

The wind blew.

In the darkness, the caravan of wagons quietly proceeded beneath the light cast by the torches affixed to the city wall’s entrance, as if heading for the gallows.

In truth, she would’ve liked to use her advantage to its maximum effect.

But reality is smaller and sadder than a play. It often happens that one has no strength remaining when one needs it most.

It was not as if she had reached this place by some magic after all.

“Let us talk in a warm inn, shall we?” She spoke in place of the others, who were too exhausted to open their mouths.

“Miss Eve.”

Her counterpart was a grizzled merchant.

To her practical proposal, he gave an equally practical reply.