Spice and Wolf - Volume 9 - Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Returning to the inn with Col, they found Holo fast asleep, curled up in her blanket and snoring away quietly.

Lawrence exchanged a wordless smile with Col, and in that moment, Holo’s snoring abruptly stopped.

Either she was simply that sensitive to any sort of discussion about her, or the delicate hairs in her ears picked up the faint movements in the air upon their entry.

Holo opened her eyes slowly, then buried her head beneath the blankets, her whole body quivering as she yawned.

“So, truly—what shall we do?” she asked.

Holo could tell that Col had gone out with Lawrence, and she called him straight over, sniffing him audibly.

No doubt she had an ulterior motive—that of demanding a share of any food they might have bought.

Col looked faintly abashed, shrinking at the attention.

“A traveling merchant cannot hope to survive without a guild. So at the very least, I cannot oppose them.”

“‘A big tree makes fine shelter,’ eh? I suppose it gives a bit of freedom to the small-fry beneath it—’tis probably the right choice.”

Holo’s tone was much like Eve’s when she had tried to convince Lawrence to betray his guild, and it was all he could do to grin ruefully and hear her out.

Holo was pointing out that since he was hardly an important figure in the town, he had the luxury of being able to move fairly freely despite the ongoing incident.

Calling him “small-fry” seemed harsh, but Lawrence had to admit it was accurate.

“Still, the greatest short-term profit would be had by taking the narwhal to Eve.”

“And then make our escape, hand in hand? That might be rather amusing.”

Without Holo, would such a dangerous, adventurous option have been available? Lawrence thought about it for a moment and concluded that if not for Holo, he would have long since removed himself from this dangerous situation entirely.

He slumped at the absurdity of it all, which made Holo grin maliciously, her tail wagging easily.

If you’re so afraid of that possibility, just say so—but she did not say it, and neither did Lawrence.

It would have been a shame to pull the curtain up on their little drama so soon. They had to be considerate of their audience—Col.

“So, then. Given that both Eve and the guild know where we’re staying, there’s no telling when we’ll get drawn up into danger. I’d like to make sure I have a full grasp of the situation so I don’t react badly when that happens,” said Lawrence. Holo gazed at him wordlessly for a while before smiling faintly.

“What is it?” he asked, but she only shook her head without answering.

Nevertheless, Lawrence had some idea why she was smiling.

She looked at him as if he were a small child who had fallen and was trying not to cry.

“Mm.” Holo nodded and tapped Col’s head—he was sitting beside her.

Col was one of them now.

“Please, go on!” Col replied to Lawrence, who began his explanation.

The inn was also a tavern, and it was late enough into the night that their orders of wine were fulfilled by a yawning innkeeper.

Lawrence had expected that either Kieman or Eve would come calling, but there was no news from either of them. He sipped wine out of sheer nervous energy, but his worry was so much effort in vain.

By contrast, Holo got Col quite drunk, as usual.

Once she was able to confirm that the intoxicated boy was asleep, she would move back to her own bed. Holo insisted that if she did not get him drunk, he would sleep on the floor.

Lawrence was not sure if she was doing him any favors or not. Her methods were extreme; that much was certain.

“Now then, this will finish off our day nicely.”

Given that he had made a fool of himself twice that day, Lawrence had gone to fetch more wine from downstairs, though he knew it did not constitute an apology.

Holo seemed to expect as much, but Lawrence could tell that she was a bit disappointed at his meek obedience. She even seemed annoyed at his ordering of the last bottle, as she felt it excessive.

Usually she would make a dissatisfied face upon encountering the end of the evening’s drinking, but now, if anything, she seemed relieved.

Her ability to be so thoroughly dishonest about her own desires was a cunning, wolfish thing indeed.

And yet Holo was still Holo.

“Ah, well, for my part I only wish you’d bring your whimpering to an end.” She tried to pull her tail out from under Col’s head at the corner of the bed and took the bottle from Lawrence’s hand, a nasty smile on her face.

She was being so childish that it seemed likely she would enjoy his silence even more than a clumsy retort.

But if she got too happy, her wagging tale would surely wake the sleeping Col, so Lawrence formed a careful reply.

“Yet ask any mercenary, and they’ll tell you the strong die first. I’d say some pathetic whimpering is just right.”

“Fool,” declared an unamused Holo, looking back down at Col. She grabbed his ears and pulled his head slightly up, evidently still trying to pull her tail free. It seemed a little extreme to Lawrence, until he noticed the drool that threatened to fall from the boy’s mouth onto her tail. “I can’t let my guard down,” said Holo, sighing in relief as she stroked her now-freed tail.

Lawrence watched her and popped a chilled roasted bean into his mouth before going and opening the window slightly. A group of men were passing by, and from the unsteadiness of their gaits, it seemed likely they were returning home after a night’s drinking. If things were so bad that men were wandering around drunkenly despite there being no festival, then the city was in a bad way indeed.

Assuming the northern landowners were in charge, it seemed best to assume they were losing their ability to hold things together.

The narwhal could change everything.

More and more, Lawrence was coming to understand just how important it was.

“I am right here, and yet you gaze out the window?”

Holo had moved to a chair and helped herself to a handful of roast beans.

There was a boldness to her crunching away that made him somehow happy.

Lawrence shrugged and closed the windows. “We still need to be ready to escape at a moment’s notice.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Holo. She chuckled, picked up a bean that had fallen, and ate it. “I suppose ’tis true enough. Will you not drink with me a bit? ’Tis a sad thing to drink on one’s own.”

Holo poked at his cup of wine with her finger, causing ripples on the surface of the wine he had just poured into it.

Looking down at it, Lawrence realized he had not even finished half of his first cup. “Why not? It seems unlikely we’ll get a message at this hour.”

“Of that we cannot be certain.”

“Huh?” inquired Lawrence, regarding Holo from across the table.

“Vixens have excellent night vision.”

Lawrence thought it over for a moment, then shrugged and replied, “All the more important to drink now, then.”

“Huh?”

“If I collapse unconscious from too much drink, there’s no need to worry about how I might be tricked.”

Holo grinned, revealing a fang. “Fool. If you fall asleep and expose your belly, our tale will come to an early end.”

“I can’t imagine the wolf would let the fox steal her prey so easily,” replied Lawrence, which made Holo’s grin widen, showing her other fang.

“That’s a bit hard to know. After all, my prey is always showing me its belly. ’Tis all too easy to become careless and believe there’s no need for haste. Such thinking is dangerous.”

Having come to this point, Lawrence could not resist making some kind of comeback. “But your tail’s just as exposed. If you would take me by surprise, you’d best be careful I don’t grab your tail.”

“And I suppose you want me to insist that you’d never dare such a thing, hmm?” Holo’s elbows were on the table, her ears flicking rapidly; Lawrence felt a bit irritated.

He knew he was being teased, but he took a drink and responded, “And yet you’re hiding something about the narwhal from me.”

Immediately after saying so, he was the one who ended up surprised.

Holo grinned and brought her wine cup to her mouth, but then twitched in surprise.

If she had been acting, then Lawrence would have lost their little game—but Holo was genuinely shocked.

Her eyes moved away, realizing that she could not hide that she had been taken by surprise. She bit her lip and glared at Lawrence.

“I’m even more surprised than you are,” said Lawrence by way of excuse.

At this, Holo’s brow furrowed, and she took a deep breath. After a good interval, she heaved a wine-scented sigh.

“And this is why such fools as you are…,” she muttered, gulping down what wine remained.

Lawrence should have had the advantage, but for some reason, he waited for Holo to speak again, like a child expecting to be scolded.

“I don’t care what sort of face you make, I’m not saying. I do not wish to,” she said, and she looked away sullenly.

Her angry yet childish demeanor had to be on purpose.

She might have been trying to lead him into a trap or simply trying to buy time in order to regroup.

As Lawrence pondered which it was, Holo’s ears and tail became vital indicators.

Just as hunters and trappers communicated with smoke signals, Lawrence translated the subtle movements of Holo’s appendages.

She was trying to hide her embarrassment—or something like that. “Ah,” he couldn’t help but say the moment he realized it.

“If you say another word, I truly will be angry,” Holo said, still looking away, her eyes shut.

Lawrence agonized over whether to laugh or not, finally bringing his wine cup to his lips as a diversion—that was as much of a conclusion as he could come to.

Holo knew about the narwhal.

If so, she must also be aware of the legends and rumors surrounding it—that its flesh conferred long life and medicine made from its horn cured any illness.

Then it was all Lawrence could do to think back on the events of his travels with Holo thus far.

What was it that her long life had led her to fear above all else?

And yet even Holo could not have known everything at the time of her birth. She must have been a stubborn child at some point herself—must have run around like a fool at least once or twice in her life.

Even now, if she could make a wish, surely it would be this: to somehow bridge the great difference in their ages.

“…I thought you’d realized and were merely pretending not to know for my sake—more the fool me, I suppose.”

She seemed to have concluded from Lawrence’s expression that he had finally caught up. She spoke as though at a loss for anything else and again brought her wine to her lips.

Lawrence was relieved to see that she seemed neither sad nor on the verge of tears, because it showed that even stricken by a mistake made in the distant past, her face could still smile.

“No…to be completely honest, I thought you were completely ignorant about such things. I never guessed you’d know about the legend.”

The stories of immortality or omnipotent cures were surely only of interest to humans, after all. He had never guessed they would be of any concern to Holo and the rest of her kind.

“Fool…” Holo roughly wiped away a bit of wine that clung to the corner of her mouth with her sleeve and then fell forward on the table as if exhausted.

Given how tightly her hand held her cup, though, it might simply have been intoxication.

“So you once pursued a narwhal?” Lawrence asked, and Holo nodded.

It had to have been centuries ago.

“Though ’tis true that at the time I was an ignorant pup, I believed I could change everything about the world I found distasteful. When I hated being rescued or relied upon, I would journey, and when I had no friends, I would make them. I believed such pleasant times would last forever,” she reflected, sounding vaguely amused, still lying on the table as she fingered some of the beans that had spilled off the plate.

Even now, Holo held back from being truly honest. If this was how she ended up after weathering such ages of wind and rain, then she must truly have been even sharper in her younger days.

“Still, I cried a lot as well, for all my bluster. You’d probably have liked it.”

Holo grinned and moved her eyes to focus on Lawrence.

She flicked beans at him, which he could only respond to by making a face and retreating into his wine.

“Heh…but, aye. The more painful the memories one recollects, the better the laughter.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Lawrence had laughed to himself while driving his cart many times, lost in reflection over his past failures.

But that was not something he wanted to do too often, and the reason was clear—he had lacked someone with whom to share those memories. And yet he immediately realized such thoughts had no place in his mind.

Across the table, the keen-eyed wolf regarded him and smiled.

“But now I have you,” she said without a trace of embarrassment, and he could only respond by flicking a bean back at her.

“You have Col, too.”

“I cannot talk like this with Col. The lad—he’s the weight stone that reminds me I am a wisewolf.”

What did she mean by that? Lawrence’s finger froze preflick as he thought it over.

Col was from a village in the mountains of the north. He viewed Holo as the protagonist of an ongoing legend.

Which meant there could be only one reason why she would regard him as a weight.

Her finger suddenly flicked at where Lawrence’s finger lay.

“Col worships me as a wisewolf. He was foolish enough to want to touch my tail the moment he saw it. It’s been centuries since such a thing has happened to me. It reminded me of long ago and made me happy…He’s a good lad, and he reminds me that I am a wisewolf.”

Holo’s index finger curled around Lawrence’s where the two touched.

“It’s true, you have been easier to get along with recently.”

“Heh. I’ve no excuse.”

If Holo was to be taken at her word, Col’s worship of her as a wisewolf had reminded her that she was a wisewolf. And as for why that would be, the answer was obvious.

It was Holo the Wisewolf who was worthy of the forest of Yoitsu, not some idle girl whiling away her time with a traveling merchant.

“Still,” Lawrence said after a certain amount of wordless finger play between the two of them. “For you to keep that from me, after haranguing me so much over consulting you before deciding what to do…”

How many troubles had arisen from each of them keeping their hearts secret from the other?

It pained him to have to say this, of course, but Holo answered without rancor. “If I discuss matters of business openly, my own gain will be less, will it not?” If she had not said it with such a mischievous smile, it would have been hard to accept with even the most rueful of grins.

Holo sat up and stretched, her ears flicking.

Both of them knew how important it was that they not grow too close. And yet that very awareness meant the opposite was happening—Lawrence had kicked the rule aside himself before.

Even Holo must have kicked at the stones along the path of her long, long life once or twice.

And yet none of that changed reality.

Holo had called Col a weight that anchored her belief in herself as a wisewolf, and she surely was not exaggerating. While it might be amusing for her to use the boy to tease Lawrence, she also did this out of self-defense—to make sure she never crossed the line. To hide the awful reality she understood but could do nothing about. As an excuse.

“Aye, we’re all greedy, always running about in service of our own gain.”

“On that count, I’m forced to agree. Of course…,” said Lawrence with a trace of irony. “…Of course, if I weren’t so greedy, I’d be able to buy you tastier food.”

Holo laughed, tickled at the joke, then stood from the chair.

Her face was red, so she was probably too warm. As he had guessed, she opened the window slightly and narrowed her eyes in pleasure at the cool breeze.

“Mm. But is seeing my pleasure not in your interests as well?” Holo closed her eyes as the cool air caressed her cheek, looking like a purring cat. She then opened a single eye and regarded Lawrence with it.

Her movements were so perfectly performed it was as if she was watching herself in a mirror.

“If you were truly so easily bribed by food, then that might be so.”

Holo closed her eye again at the counterattack.

Her ability to repeat a gesture she had made just seconds earlier, this time seeming to sulk, was amazing.

A few moments later, Holo was every bit the arrogant noblewoman. “And what other methods could you use?”

Lawrence remembered when a village with which he had once traded asked him to sell the wine barrels they produced to a nearby abbey that possessed a large vineyard.

The abbot there was a proud and stingy man, making all sorts of demands of Lawrence, who had to work very hard indeed to complete the sale.

Being a member of a wealthy abbey, the abbot surely felt himself closer to God than Lawrence and thus privileged to look down upon him.

Yet the wisewolf before Lawrence’s very eyes hated being treated as the god she was—so why would she affect such haughtiness?

The abbot cared little for the losses of those who sold to him and was concerned only with his own profits.

So given that the starting conditions here were the opposite of that, then the conclusion was likewise the opposite.

Lawrence said what she wanted him to say.

“If food is out, then with words or manners.”

“Neither of which is so very reliable in your case.”

He had become so used to her malicious, fanged grin that it had even more charm than a normal smile. And if neither his words nor his manner could be trusted, there was only one option that remained.

In order to fully display its truth, Lawrence had to stand up from his chair.

Or perhaps remaining seated in order to avoid fleeing from Holo was the better option.

Both had their charms, Lawrence knew. He took a drink of his wine and replied.

“Or you could imagine you’ve been deceived and decide to trust both. They might well turn out to be genuine.”

“…”

The words of Eve, wolf of the Roam River, worked to marvelous effect.

Holo glared at Lawrence out of the corner of her eye, her tail twitching in irritation. She had no means to counterattack.

It felt good to have, for once, the upper hand in their banter—better even than when he had teased the shop boy at the tailor’s shop. Defeat turned the mightiest eagle into a pathetic chicken, and likewise, victory made the most timid mouse into a bold wolf.

Yet trueborn wolves were ever cunning.

“That is not what I meant to say,” she said angrily, her expression lonely.

Where playful banter was meant to be a battle of logic and intimation, Holo’s weapons were unfair.

If their exchange thus far was akin to a business negotiation, then what Holo had just employed had the power to transcend that.

So what was it that surpassed proper negotiation?

There in front of that window, Lawrence had said something unnecessary. “We have to be ready to run.”

Holo’s gaze was directed out the window, but her ears were pointed at him.

She did not bother giving voice to her frustration.

It was absurd to even think of winning against her.

“How about treating the loser kindly once in a while?” Lawrence stood and walked over to her. Having delivered his statement beside her, he then sat on the windowsill.

Holo chuckled soundlessly, then sat on his lap.

“The victor can say nothing to the loser.”

“Saying as much while always having your way, you must really fear nothing.”

Her ears brushed his cheeks, making him ticklish, as she leaned into him. This wisewolf certainly was full of excuses.

“Still, I suppose I can trust you at least a bit.”

“Oh? Merchants may well seem sincere as they bow down, but inside they’re sticking their tongues out.”

Lawrence had to admit the words felt rather artificial, but in any case Holo gave him no quarter.

“’Tis true, men and beasts alike stick their tongues out when defeated.”

“Guh…” Frustrating though it was, he had nothing with which to reply, so he slumped back against the windowsill.

Holo chuckled and spoke slowly. “But ’tis also true that neither you nor I are alone when defeated.”

Given the events of the day, her words were heavy with meaning. Lawrence drew Holo into an embrace and replied, “I’ll remember that.”

Holo’s tail swished, and she nodded slightly.

In that quiet moment, the loudest sound was that of Col’s intoxicated snoring.

Remembering that Holo was every bit a wisewolf was effective when it came to avoiding shortsightedness, but whether or not that was a good or bad thing, Lawrence did not know.

At the very least, it certainly acted as an effective counterweight, protecting the delicate balance of the scales.

Holo smiled, her eyes closed; perhaps she was thinking the same thing.

Lawrence put his arms around her to more closely embrace her small body, and in that moment—

“Mmph,” she muttered, sounding irritated as she looked up suddenly.

“Wh…what’s wrong?”

Lawrence tried to keep his calm, but sweat broke out on his brow nonetheless.

Holo certainly noticed as much and grinned, her tail wagging. She then slowly rose, her ears busily rotating this way and that.

The reason for her suddenly darkened expression was soon clear.

“My. I suppose one’s premonitions are not so easily discounted.”

Lawrence quickly understood to what her words referred.

Holo directed her gaze out the window, and Lawrence did likewise.

“See, there’s the master of that poor shop. What was his name again…?”

“Reynolds, eh?”

Lawrence spotted the hurrying form of a portly man in a too-small coat, trying to keep his distance from the drunkards as he made his way down the street. The way he hewed to the edge of the street while looking closely at everyone around him was obviously unnatural.

“’Tis a good opportunity for you to prove the courage of your convictions.”

Spending no time wondering why Reynolds had come to the inn, Lawrence spoke into Holo’s ear before she stood. “Make sure you pretend you’re asleep.”

Holo was acting like a child, but her nasty smile made it clear she was deeply pleased. “While sticking my tongue out, eh?”

Putting many meanings into a single word was her specialty.

Lawrence knew that no matter how he answered, he would be trapped, so he brushed her tail roughly aside as his only reply.

While the fewer people who knew about it made a secret more secure, it was another story entirely when one of the privy parties showed up himself for a secret late-night meeting.

It was the antithesis of Eve and Kieman’s approach of sending others to contact Lawrence.

“Apologies for the late hour.” Despite the cold, Reynolds’s paunch made his breath run ragged and forehead sweaty, although some of that could be ascribed to nervousness.

His voice was low, but not out of consideration for Holo and Col, who were curled up together on the bed, sleeping.

“Shall we speak outside?” Lawrence asked, but Reynolds glanced over his shoulder at this, then looked back and shook this head. It was very like a town merchant not to want to speak of secrets out in the open.

By contrast, a traveling merchant preferred to have sensitive conversations out in a wide field or on a lonely road where a simple look was all it took to confirm that no one was listening. Indoors, there was no way to know who had his ear pressed to the wall in the next room over.

“Some wine?” Lawrence asked, gesturing to a chair.

Reynolds shook his head briefly but then reconsidered. “Perhaps just a bit. When I see that you’re not drunk, Mr. Lawrence, it makes me think that coming here wasn’t a waste of my time.”

A traveler’s room at an inn was not lavish enough to properly entertain a guest. Lawrence poured some wine into the cup Col had used and offered it to Reynolds, who smiled ingratiatingly.

“You’re here about the narwhal…correct?”

For Reynolds to come all the way out to the inn at this hour, he must have concluded that Lawrence knew about it.

Lawrence had come to Reynolds’s shop bearing Eve’s introduction letter and asking about wolf bones—and anyone formidable enough to get such a letter from Eve would have had to know about the source of the commotion in Kerube.

At the same time, there was little point in asking how Reynolds had discovered where they were staying. Even Kieman, all the way across the river, had been able to uncover that much.

To a town merchant, the streets of their homes were like the strands of a spiderweb.

Lawrence mulled the situation over as he sat, and Reynolds nodded.

But now Reynolds was in the weaker position. “I haven’t the faintest notion of what’s happening. I was hoping that you, Mr. Lawrence, might know something.”

Lawrence had once heard a drunken merchant long ago say that a woman could look so different in candlelight than in the midday sun, one could hardly believe it was the same person—and it was true for merchants, too.

Reynolds was acting every bit the panicked owner of a sad little shop, but no matter how panicked he might have been, there was still no reason for him to come to the inn room of Lawrence, a mere traveling merchant. And certainly not at this hour.

Much was being omitted from Reynolds’s words.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know any details myself…”

“You’ve been to the Lydon Inn, haven’t you?”

If he was getting to the point so quickly, he must have been running out of time—or perhaps this was just how Reynolds did business.

Lawrence slowly turned his gaze elsewhere, then just as slowly, moved it back to Reynolds. “The Lydon Inn?”

He was better at deception now, probably a result of having spent so much time with Holo, who was first-rate at it.

Reynolds’s expression froze, probably out of surprise that Lawrence was proving harder to take off guard than he had anticipated. “Lies benefit neither of us. I already know you’ve been there.”

Reynolds set his cup down and opened his palms to Lawrence. It was a gesture inviting mutual openness but held no special meaning between merchants.

Lawrence thought.

The fact that he had been summoned to the Lydon Inn by Eve was exposed, but it was still in his best interests to keep the nature and contents of that visit a secret.

“I suppose if I were to say I went there for some friendly chatter, you wouldn’t believe me, would you, Mr. Reynolds?” queried Lawrence with a small, tired sigh.

Even Holo, who could see through any lie, would have trouble determining the truth of those words. There were any number of ways to phrase things that made them mysterious, both truth and falsehood at once.

Lawrence continued. “I learned of the situation in the town from Eve. What I told her then was that she had quite a lot of nerve to summon me in such an easily misunderstood manner to such an easily misunderstood place amid such unrest.”

The sound of rustling cloth came from the direction of the bed. It was Holo turning over—probably to hide the grin on her face.

Lawrence continued.

“Eve seems to be in a unique position in this town, and despite the placid expression on her face, her mind must be swirling with notions. But she did not see fit to tell me about them.”

“Truly?” replied Reynolds immediately, his eyes widening with surprise.

“Truly.” The more obvious the statement, the more persuasive it would be.

Reynolds peered at Lawrence, almost glaring at him, before finally relaxing and heaving a sigh. “…My apologies.”

“Not at all. For you to be so worried, I assume you have some direct connection to all this?”

Changing the tone of the conversation was a common trick; Lawrence could not drop his guard just because Reynolds seemed to have relaxed.

“Quite the opposite. I’m worried precisely because I’ve been left entirely out.” He sighed and shifted heavily in his chair.

Lawrence recalled that the Jean Company was having its profits sucked away by the landlords of the town.

In business, when things are going well, sometimes still more lucrative opportunities arise—but the opposite also holds true.

In such times, it is all too common to have friends abandon you. Such moments are frequent in the travels of merchants, whose lives often hang in the balance.

And Reynolds had conducted a successful business on the otherwise poorer north side of town, which had surely made him few friends—and now he lacked even the funds to gain support.

It was clear that when things came to a head, he would be left on his own.

“Still, I’m sure you’ve heard, haven’t you? I’ve a good connection with the powerful men of this town,” said Reynolds.

It would have been better for him if he had intended that remark simply to make himself sound more important. But the statement was heavy with implication. Reynolds had concluded that Lawrence had learned quite a bit about the town’s situation from Eve.

Given that, if he had gone so far as to sneak all the way out here in the middle of the night to talk about the narwhal, then Lawrence could make a guess as to what he was thinking—essentially, either Eve would be an important figure in the tumult surrounding the narwhal or was at least in a position to gather information about it.

And many of the things Eve had revealed in her one-sided grumbling to Lawrence earlier in the day now gained the tint of truth.

“Given that you’re in the copper trade, as far as that goes.”

“Heh.” Reynolds could not help but chuckle at Lawrence’s roundabout statement, scratching his nose.

Lawrence had nothing to add and so sipped his wine. At length, Reynolds looked up and continued.

“Just as when you all came by to ask after the wolf bones, I thought maybe I could turn the tables,” he said, rubbing his face.

Nothing is less reliable than a merchant’s friendly smile, but Reynolds’s smile seemed to lay his heart bare.

The Jean Company was still in dire straits, and Reynolds certainly wanted to free himself of the north side’s yoke.

“I came with the slightest hope of connecting with the wolf of the Roam, but…heh, seems I’ve only caused a fuss,” said Reynolds with a pathetic smile, his cheeks slackening.

Lawrence had nothing to say and could only smile in sympathy.

Silence then fell, which was broken at length by Holo’s quiet sleep mumbling.

“Ah…I suppose it’s late. Again, I’m sorry,” Reynolds apologized and then stood.

Lawrence didn’t want to admit it, but for Reynolds to have come all the way to the inn at this hour, he must have exhausted all other options and come to the end of his rope.

The furtiveness of his visit was not because he needed to keep their meeting a secret, but rather that he did not want anyone to see him reduced to asking an outsider for help.

When this occurred to Lawrence, Reynolds’s sagging cheeks seemed somehow very sad indeed.

“Not at all. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any help.”

“And I’m sorry, too, that I couldn’t give you any good answers to your questions.”

They each smiled as though trying to be considerate of the other as they exchanged words across the table.

Their smiles turned sheepish at the sudden silence that descended. They shook hands.

“Should you meet the wolf again, tell her that Reynolds has a bone to pick with her.”

“Yes…quite. I’ll do that,” Lawrence answered, forcing the smile from his face.

“Again, I’m truly sorry for the late hour,” Reynolds said, making one last apology as he headed for the room’s door, his footsteps much heavier than they had been when he arrived. “Good night to you.”

In the dark hallway, Lawrence watched him put his coat back on. “Good night,” he replied.

Reynolds descended the stairs and disappeared into the darkness.

Despite his shop in the town and his monopoly over the copper trade, which would provide a lifetime of security, there was something about watching Reynolds recede that made the man seem like a defeated man, an abandoned dog. It was just too sad.

Lawrence returned to the room, sighing softly and sitting back down in his chair. His elbow on the table, he sipped some wine and reviewed the conversation in his mind. The weight of the situation bore down on him yet again.

Even Reynolds, a merchant with a fair amount of power, was that desperate in his pursuit of the narwhal.

Or no—perhaps there was a better way to put it.

He was this desperate for it.

“Well…time for bed, I suppose,” Lawrence murmured to himself, blowing out the candle and making for his bed.

He passed first by the bed in which Col and Holo slept and then put his hand on his own bed. He wrapped himself in a blanket and curled up, sighing helplessly.

His eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark, but he could see Holo’s open eyes in the bed next to his.

“So he’s gone, has he?” she said, seeming to disappear for a moment, probably because she had turned in the opposite direction.

Lawrence closed his eyes briefly. “Sorry to put you through all that,” he said.

“Still, I was relieved you did not speak up to me immediately after,” said an amused Holo, sitting on the bed.

As Lawrence had guessed, Reynolds had probably crept quietly back up the stairs and pressed his ear to the door, in case Lawrence were to tell the truth of the situation to Holo or Col.

“I suppose I’m not surprised,” said Lawrence, smiling. “I suppose I did well, then.”

“Heh-heh. He was acting so truly sad that I nearly fell for it myself. I wouldn’t have thought him capable of such guile!”

“Merchants carry items both hot and cold in their purses. While his feelings may have been true, he won’t be giving up just yet.”

“Merchants are rather stubborn creatures, are they not?”

“They surely are.” Lawrence grinned. “But”—he added—“what do you think Reynolds’s true goal was?” He ventured to put the question to Holo, since he had already figured it out for himself.

Holo’s answer was immediate. “He wishes to contact the vixen. He’ll do anything to do it.”

“So that’s really it…”

“What are you thinking?” Holo grinned maliciously as she pushed off the bed with her hands. Despite her question, her face made it clear she already knew the answer.

“Nothing. I only thought it was an interesting conversation.”

Holo continued to smile as she flicked her ears, obviously able to tell the half-truth from the half-lie.

Merchants put both hot things and cold things in their purses.

At a loss for anything else, Lawrence put his hands behind his head.

Hopefully the posture would convey that despite his trepidation, his curiosity had overcome his fear and he was now interested in getting involved.

No matter how easily Holo might see through him, he still had his pride as a man—but Holo could no doubt already tell that was exactly what he was thinking.

She sat beside him on the bed, smiling a full, bright smile.

If he went along with her on this, no doubt the wisewolf would be very pleased indeed. But that was only as long as his curiosity was greater than his fear.

Holo had but to playfully tug at the facade and it would come tumbling down. It was too miserable to imagine.

If it came to that, this carefully balanced feeling of play would be destroyed.

“I’m going to sleep,” said Lawrence, turning his back to Holo and lying down.

If the mood turned sour, he would be able to sense it.

But Holo only swished her tail once and said a quiet “Good night.”

The sound of her rustling beneath the covers was strangely loud.

Holo would not break her favorite toy.

Which meant Lawrence’s course of action was clear.

He loved seeing her happy, so he would be the toughest toy he possibly could.

The next morning.

Lawrence was no Holo, but he did have premonitions of his own sometimes.

One came as Holo put an extra-large piece of cheese atop the rye bread left over from the provisions they had laid in for their river journey; she excused this by saying she was finishing up leftovers.

Even Col had to laugh at her wolfing the bread down, until Holo’s face went pale and her smile disappeared.

Lawrence wondered if she had bit her tongue, but fortunately before he could say so, he understood the true cause.

The innkeeper, who should have been busy seeing off departing patrons or tending to breakfast service, had come to visit their room.

Had that been all, Holo would have been content to cover herself with her robe.

But Lawrence caught a sudden, meaningful glance from her, and when Col opened the door, the innkeeper was indeed there—accompanied by one other.

“Good morning, Mr. Lawrence” came a steady, clear voice matching its owner’s confidence.

Dressed impeccably, it was none other than Lud Kieman.

“…Good morning to you,” replied Lawrence, by which time the innkeeper had already accepted a few silver coins from Kieman.

They were nothing to Kieman, who offered them by way of a vague apology for bothering the innkeeper during his busy morning. And although he made it seem quite natural, he was purposely allowing Lawrence to witness this display.

“I see you’re taking breakfast. My apologies for the interruption.”

Lawrence got the distinct sense that Kieman was thinking, You’re a mere merchant, and yet you take breakfast like a nobleman? but decided he was being paranoid. From the perspective of people who lived in a town that had no tradition of breakfast, he knew they found the idea of eating just after rising to be bizarre.

“Not at all—we’re nearly done. What can I do for you?”

There were a limited number of reasons why Kieman would go to the trouble of visiting after sending that letter.

Given that Lawrence had not fled, it was reasonable to conclude he was going to cooperate. But from Kieman’s point of view, their current location was a den of treacherous temptations, and so Lawrence was quite sure they would be taken to the south side.

Kieman stared openly across the room, and with a voice like a child pleased at being able to deliver a clever answer, replied, “Might we conduct this outside? I feel as though a mouse might appear in here at any moment.”

Lawrence did not have to wonder what he meant by that.

While mice might make pleasant companions for a traveler taking a lonely meal out on the road, for those who stored goods in town, they were practically demons.

Kieman was either worried about eavesdroppers or he sincerely hated mice.

“If possible, I’d like to leave the inn. As for your things…ah, they seem to be ready.”

Lawrence knew perfectly well that the “if possible” was simply for politeness’s sake. He had accepted that. He was, however, a bit concerned that his bags were packed a bit too neatly there in the corner.

Whoever saw them might well catch the whiff of imminent escape about them.

“I shall await you downstairs, then.” Whether or not Kieman had noticed what the bags’ readiness implied, he turned on his heel and left the room.

A nobleman’s arrival was pompous, and his departure was quick—and Lawrence felt as if he had just witnessed a perfect example of this.

“Hmph. He seems like something you’d loathe,” said Holo.

“Doesn’t he?”

Holo flicked her ears as she popped the last bite of bread into her mouth—perhaps Kieman had rubbed her the wrong way as well.

“Huh…? I thought he was sort of handsome…,” said Col.

Lawrence and Holo looked at each other and then advanced upon the boy together, speaking in unison: “You mustn’t grow up to be like him.”

Col blinked rapidly before giving an uncertain nod.

Descending to the first floor, they found Kieman, who seemed to have been discussing something with the innkeeper.

“Now then, shall we leave through the back door and board the carriage?”

He seemed to know that Lawrence had entered the inn through the back door after receiving the letter from Eve.

Given that Lawrence had spoken of his acquaintance with Eve, Kieman must have considered the possibility that he was spying for her. Nevertheless, he seemed to regard Lawrence as useful.

“I was unable to prepare a covered carriage—my apologies. Ah, please, do get in.”

The carriage that waited alongside the inn could seat six people and was very fine indeed.

The driver was an old, bearded man with one eye, and he gave Lawrence a brief look before silently turning his gaze forward again.

It was not uncommon for sailors who had dabbled in piracy to find work in port towns after injuries or old age brought an end to their sailing careers.

The driver’s left hand was missing a pinkie and ring finger, and the back of his hand was covered in scars.

He seemed usefully silent.

The carriage had seats facing both forward and backward, so Lawrence and company faced the direction of their travel while Kieman sat opposite them.

“Now, to the port,” said Kieman, and the driver gave a quiet nod. The carriage began moving. “So, as to my reason for coming here this morning.”

“The best trades are made in enemy territory, I assumed.”

Kieman’s face froze in a smile at Lawrence’s interruption, and he then nodded, impressed.

He clearly did not take Lawrence seriously and was just as clearly surprised by such a reply—Lawrence was supposed to be thoroughly cowed by now.

And naturally, had Holo not been there, Lawrence would indeed have been withering.

“Ah, yes, just so. When there’s trouble in the town, people like us are prohibited from crossing the river in order to prevent the trouble from escalating. Further communication is usually done via notes attached to arrows, but this time both sides require haste. It’s been decided to resolve the dispute on the delta. We young ones are just the heralds, you see. Right about now, the others are consulting with the landlords to decide upon a schedule for the proceedings.”

Most likely Kieman’s ilk, who so enjoyed the attention, would be gathering on the north side of town, each of them trying to take advantage of the situation in order to improve the standing of his own name or the name of his company.

The only reason Kieman himself was not there was his confidence that he was above them all and that only he possessed the means to meet with Eve.

“May I presume that the source of all this commotion is the narwhal?” Lawrence asked, at which Kieman seemed unsurprised.

Quite the contrary, he looked pleased not to have to explain the situation. “Yes, exactly. They say a narwhal’s horn is even better for gout than the heart blood of a fowl. You can imagine just how much the nobility would want something like that.”

“Indeed, given that gout is the punishment for gluttony, one of the Church’s seven deadly sins.” Lawrence was relaxed enough to even aim a few words at Holo.

He was still wary, knowing that Kieman’s words could not be trusted, but the unreasoning fear he had felt earlier was gone.

“The house merchants of the nobility who live in the city will surely have sent word to their masters on fast horses. Of course, we can already list those who most want the narwhal.”

“So you’re prepared for battle, then?”

Kieman’s eyes narrowed as he smiled. “Quite.”

The carriage emerged from a narrow street onto a wide avenue that ran alongside the river.

Not so much time had passed, but large numbers of people inconvenienced by the prohibition on river crossing had begun to appear. Lawrence wondered if the prohibition had been lifted since from the fine view of the river the avenue afforded, he could see ferries filled with people making their way across.

“Incidentally,” said Kieman as the salt-scented breeze ruffled his fine blond hair, “how much did you discuss with Miss Eve?”

Lawrence got the sense that this was the threshold. He feigned an open smile. “Er, Miss Eve…?”

He could hardly fail to miss the twitch at Kieman’s temple.

“Ah, I’m sorry. My mistake,” said Kieman, falling silent and turning his attention to the river.

Given the region of town where Lawrence had been staying, it was obvious with whom he’d met. Kieman was trying to draw the truth out and thereby slip a leash around Lawrence’s neck.

Kieman’s sudden silence was because he had underestimated Lawrence.

Or perhaps he was considering a different use for Lawrence, who was cleverer than Kieman had imagined.

Lawrence spoke next, but not because he thought he could suddenly overwhelm Kieman. “Speaking of Miss Eve, I did chat with her a bit at the spring of gold.”

“…Did you?” Kieman looked over at Lawrence casually. His eyes were the cold, profit-calculating eyes of a merchant who could look at another human and see only what he hoped to gain.

“She said there was nothing so troublesome as being sold something that can’t be bought with money.”

For the first time, Kieman looked surprised. “I’ll bet,” he said with a smile.

Lawrence had no intention of opposing Kieman.

The reason he insinuated Eve’s being pursued by the landlord’s son was to hide the true subject of their conversation, given that he could not hope to disguise that the conversation had occurred.

Now everything depended on what Kieman did. Lawrence was confident he had gotten that across.

Kieman was silent after that, which in itself was response enough.

If he had underestimated Lawrence’s significance, he would have to change his plans.

They all boarded a ferry and crossed to the south side of the river.

As they waited for Kieman to pay the boatman, Holo stepped on Lawrence’s foot playfully, as though reminding him not to get too full of himself.

He knew she was confident in him but did not want him to be overconfident.

He had taken the best course of action he could think of, but his palms were still sweaty.

While on the south side the buildings were uniformly built and aligned and the paving stones clean and straight, the scenery here was very different, and for the first time Lawrence realized he was no longer on friendly ground.

“Well, shall we go?”

Led on by Kieman, Lawrence and his companions moved deeper into enemy territory.