Spice and Wolf - Volume 9 - Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Lawrence waited in the tavern after passing Eve’s message to Kieman’s messenger. The reply was late in coming.

There were fewer merchants in the tavern, and the place was much less lively than it had been. Looking over those who remained, Lawrence reckoned they were all merchants who had been given similar duties to his own, and when he happened to meet their eyes, they would look away uncomfortably.

It was late afternoon, with sunset not far off, but going by the chatter of the already red-faced and drunken merchants, the meeting’s conclusion was nearly solidified, the day’s negotiations having come to an end.

Evidently the outcome was the most straightforward, boring one possible—the northern landlords would give up on recapturing the narwhal, and the southerners would compensate them with an appropriate amount of money.

Given that the southerners could use their immense wealth to buy out the northern fishermen, thereby gaining possession of the narwhal, the northerners would then have no choice but to compromise.

If they wanted to get it back, their only options were to take it by force of arms or to purchase it—either of which would be extremely expensive.

If the town was plunged into war, it wouldn’t simply be a matter of business; the only ones who stood to gain anything were people in other towns. The people of Kerube would all lose. And they simply didn’t have the money to purchase the narwhal outright.

It was easy to feel sympathetic for the northerners, who would be unarmed if the unreasonable happened and fighting actually broke out. But unreasonable situations were like pebbles scattered across the road. If you stumbled and fell on one, hardly anyone would help you back to your feet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

The messenger finally arrived with the reply as the pungent smells of wine and meat were beginning to seep into Lawrence’s body. Lawrence hadn’t looked at Eve’s last message to Kieman, but he could tell this missive was a significant one.

The reply he’d just been handed was sealed with red wax.

“This is the last one, but you must bring her response.”

It would have been easy to assume the small-framed messenger was faint of heart, but in truth he was the kind of man who might well be carrying a poisoned dagger in his breast pocket. Lawrence was well aware that his saying “must” wasn’t simply for emphasis.

The seal to the letter was to ensure that Eve need not doubt its contents. Whatever it was, it contained Kieman’s final conclusion.

“Understood. I will.”

A tool was a tool. There was no need for thought.

The man gave a satisfied nod at Lawrence’s reply. Lawrence started walking, and the man watched him go. With this meeting concluded, his job must have been finished.

Or maybe, Lawrence wondered to himself as he headed out again into the ever-crowded streets, looking up at the sky, the only clear thing he could see.

Maybe they doubted him.

For some reason the idea made Lawrence smile.

“Early tomorrow morning, we’ll make a show of formally bringing the narwhal out. On the river we’ll exchange the narwhal and the ship it’s on for the deed of land. After that, get lost. Signed, Lud Kieman.”

Lawrence was sure that last sentence was a joke. Once Eve had finished reading the letter aloud, she didn’t hesitate to hand it over. It showed just what she had read, with Kieman’s signature at the bottom.

If Eve was to take this to a trading house, Kieman’s position would quickly become a bad one. That he had seen fit to give her such a document meant that he had decided it was safe to do so.

There was no telling what that meant.

He couldn’t possibly have decided to unconditionally trust Eve, so he had to have some sort of contingency ready if she decided to publicly expose him.

“It’s a simple, naive exchange. What do you think?”

“If things go poorly, we can always capsize the boat to obscure the truth, so it doesn’t seem like such a very bad idea.”

The plan didn’t differ much from what Holo had proposed to Lawrence, and Eve raised an eyebrow at it. “I see,” she murmured, amused. “So perhaps I should write something like this, eh?”

As she spoke, she playfully wrote with her pen upon a sheet of parchment. It was hardly the sort of paper a mere merchant would scribble upon for fun. It was more suited to having the wisdom of God recorded upon it by a grim-faced monk in a stone monastery somewhere, but Eve’s handwriting was as beautiful as any monk’s.

“Understood. I, Eve Bolan, shall ride upon the boat for the exchange. Aboard your boat shall be the creature of legend, as well as—”

She looked at Lawrence.

“—Kraft Lawrence.”

Lawrence didn’t respond to this, but Eve did not seem to care.

She smoothly signed the letter and casually tossed it over to the old man who was still stirring the wax. Once sealed and tied with a strand of horsehair, it was ready.

And now Lawrence would have to be on the boat for the exchange.

“I haven’t given you my response.”

From behind him, on the other side of the door, Lawrence heard the faint sound of the two guards laughing.

He’d heard that they had been spared their death sentences by Eve. Amazingly, she had gained their trust by telling them her plans and convincing them to cooperate. All to get Lawrence to stand here as he was.

Rough looking though they might be, they were no fools.

“Response? You say the strangest things sometimes. Of what value are words to liar merchants like us?” said Eve, amused.

Lawrence could not hide his wry smile. Of course, facial expressions held no great meaning for merchants. He held his smile, making no other movements.

“Trading is a dangerous business. Only God can see the mind of another, but God has no desires. Only humans stained by their greed, trade, and nothing is more dangerous than trusting the greedy. I’ve written my reply to Kieman, and you’ll take it to him. As far as the outcome goes, we might pray or threaten, but all we can do is wait. I’ve played my whole hand. So all I can do is give you this letter.”

Taking the letter from the old man, she immediately thrust it at Lawrence. How easily she turned it over—it was not an overstatement to say the letter would decide her very fate. It seemed less out of courage than a sheer lack of value for her own life.

If things went poorly, her worth would vanish, and anything so worthless was likewise useless.

Lawrence took the letter and remembered the words of a famous, reckless hero.

“Kieman will do as this letter instructs. If he defied it and put an additional person on the boat, then we’d have to add another person to ours, and with each side suspicious of the other, there’s no telling how far the arms race would go. So—”

She paused, placed the hand with which she’d given Lawrence the letter on her desk, looked down, and took a deep breath. She had to be nervous.

She continued, stressing her words.

“So when next we meet, it will be upon that lonely river amid the morning mists.”

As the wolf of the Roam River, Eve did indeed share some qualities with Holo.

Lawrence took in the sight of her hand on the desk. It was as though she wanted to be held, but couldn’t let that show—as though she wanted to trust in others, but couldn’t bring herself to.

“May I ask one thing?” Lawrence asked, which made Eve’s hand twitch slightly.

“What?”

“I have my companions.”

If Lawrence betrayed his guild during the exchange on the river, then he and Eve would have to move the narwhal to another boat, and from there head out to the open ocean. But that would leave Holo and Col on land, which complicated things.

That had to be one of the reasons Kieman had chosen this simple plan. Holo and Col functioned as hostages.

Her expression unchanging, Eve removed her hand from the desk. “Yes, and I have Arold.”

The name pierced Lawrence’s heart.

“I’ve given you my reply. Go,” Eve finished, looking irritated and waving Lawrence off dismissively.

Lawrence got the feeling that if he contradicted her, she would start yelling.

And I have Arold.

Eve’s words were heavy with implication. If they could be trusted, Arold was one of the few things she held dearer than money.

Of course, Lawrence was aware of the power of Holo’s true form, so there was nothing to fear. She could certainly keep them safe and save Arold, too

The problem was Eve’s readiness to invite danger. She knew nothing of Holo’s power.

She trusted Arold enough to bring him along with the fur from Lenos and even pay his travel expenses, but now she was prepared to leave him behind.

Lawrence wanted to imagine that this was because she now trusted him even more than Arold, but he knew how foolish such a notion was.

It made far more sense to assume that Eve was simply prepared to abandon everything for her own profit, as though she had sworn to turn everything she touched into gold.

Unfortunately, as in the old legend, the fool who wished to turn everything into gold was unable to eat, and thus starved to death.

That was what Lawrence found so shocking about her words. He asked himself whether he could so easily toss her aside were she to choose a path from which he could see no salvation.

If she could discard Arold, then she could just as easily kill Lawrence on the boat or betray him again later.

And if he could imagine that she’d be laughing afterward, that would have been one thing. But he didn’t think she would laugh.

Do I feel sympathy for her? Lawrence asked himself and could not answer.

Was this just empty speculation? The likelihood was very high.

But there was little in the world that didn’t amount to speculation. There were even those who doubted the existence of God.

So what should he do?

How could he grasp his own profit in one hand while holding on to Eve’s hand with the other? Lawrence agonized over the question as he gave the letter to the messenger in the tavern.

“…Thanks for all your hard work. The boss’ll tell you the rest once you’re back at the inn,” said the messenger, giving Lawrence a pat on the shoulder before leaving. There hadn’t even been time to wonder what sort of misunderstanding might have taken place.

The meeting seemed to have ended without much evidence of trouble, and when Lawrence wandered around the spring of gold, he saw many groups of people conversing excitedly. A bonfire had been lit in anticipation of nightfall, and soldiers stood proudly around the meeting table, trying to look as though they were guarding a holy throne.

Suffice it to say it was a feast of money, power, and honor.

And yet the participants were a small-minded, miserable lot. Perhaps there was a reason why God was said not to care for merchants.

The sky was beginning to redden, and the outlines of crows—or possibly gulls—could be seen in the distance.

Lawrence had thought trading and the earning of money to be a more elegant, noble pursuit.

He watched the lamplights of the town flicker to life one by one as he swayed in the ferry from the delta to the south side of the river.

Eve certainly wouldn’t back down now, nor would Kieman have proposed a careless plan. What his side would fear most would be losing the narwhal in exchange for a fake deed. That would be an even more disastrous outcome than his plan being revealed.

And if Lawrence pulled out, the situation would not be improved. The plan was like kneaded bread that had risen and been put in the oven. All they could do was wait for it to bake.

Lawrence’s options were either to pray or to run. There was nothing else. If persuading either Eve or Kieman was impossible, then what could he do to ensure a good outcome?

The ferry reached the docks, and Lawrence blended into the crowd and came ashore. Most of the people were merchants watching the meeting on the delta, and they chattered freely and happily.

Lawrence found it intensely irritating, but he knew the crowd wasn’t the real problem.

And yet he felt a nauseous desire to scream and rail, like he had been chasing a cloud he couldn’t possibly grasp.

A drunken merchant stumbled into him. Lawrence clenched his fists and was about to fly at the man when something else caught his eye.

“Hey…don’cha go bumpin’ inta me…,” slurred the drunken man with suspicious eyes, but he was literally out of Lawrence’s sight.

Because past him—

Amid the throng of people disembarking from the steady stream of boats that arrived at the docks was a figure he knew well. She faced him, and from under the scarf that was wrapped around her head, she looked at him with eyes he’d never seen before.

“Hey, are you listenin’ ta—”

“Excuse me.” His gaze never wavering from the figure, Lawrence pressed a tarnished silver coin into the drunken man’s hand, then started walking.

What he didn’t understand was why she would be here on the south side of town now that the meeting was over.

And something about the way she was just standing there made her seem cornered.

What had happened? Lawrence wasn’t even sure whether to ask, but she settled the question for him.

“Things have gone bad.” From beneath the scarf, her husky voice was downright hoarse. “It’s too late for me…but I wanted to at least…”

“—”

Eve staggered as though her last strength had given out. Lawrence held her up but then immediately pulled back. This was no joke.

She was eerily light, and her body was hot.

Beneath her scarf, her breathing was shallow and an oily sweat had broken out on her forehead. In her right hand she held tight to a single piece of parchment.

“What happened?”

Eve was mostly supported by Lawrence now, and she bit her lip and looked at him desperately.

Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.

He looked at her right hand and the parchment it held. It had to be regarding something important.

“We stick out too much here. We should find an alley somewhere—” Lawrence said to Eve and started to pull her along.

Just then, the church bell rang high and loud, and the people coming and going around the docks all stopped, and each of them looked at the church bell tower, before joining their hands and offering prayers.

Ding-dong. The bell continued to toll as Lawrence helped Eve through the crowds. It must have been God’s will.

Coming out of the crowd, it didn’t take long for them to find an alley to duck into. The precise moment they stopped, the bell’s ringing ended, with naught but its echoes lingering on—as though God’s protection over them had ended right then.

“Where are you going?”

It wasn’t impossible. This was a crowded port.

The meeting had just ended, and people were leaving the delta.

But it couldn’t be a coincidence, given that right next to Kieman was that little messenger. If he had eyes sharp enough to deliver his master’s messages no matter how wild the crowds, he could certainly spot Eve.

Before Lawrence’s mind could begin to turn, his vision spun.

It wouldn’t be possible to escape with Eve.

“Given the state my friend’s in, I was taking her to the inn.”

“Is that so?” Kieman smiled, as though they really were just making idle chitchat. But the messenger—along with another man who seemed to be a subordinate—took a quiet step forward. “How truly fortunate for us to encounter you here.”

Lawrence moved to protect Eve, and the two approaching men shifted.

Being attacked by bandits was hardly uncommon. And both humans and beasts would change their stances just before attacking.

So what should I do? Lawrence asked himself.

It wasn’t in his best interest to let Kieman know he’d allied himself with Eve, and in any case Kieman might not have realized that himself yet. In which case, he could bet on that chance and hand her over.

That was certainly possible, but could he really do it? Now that she was sweating and weak and seemed desperate to tell him something? Could he abandon her, even as she flinched at Kieman’s words?”

“No, I—”

“…You do indeed seem to be carrying a letter. May I assume the sender is Ted Reynolds?”

Eve shook her head weakly.

Kieman’s tone had changed from that of a merchant to something like a coy nobleman’s. But Lawrence’s mind was on other matters.

A letter from Reynolds?

“Well, we’ll hear all about it. Although we don’t have terribly much time.” As he spoke, Kieman gave a light wave of his hand, and the two men pulled Eve away from Lawrence with ease.

Lawrence reached out to her without thinking, almost reflexively, but froze when the small messenger pointed a dagger at his side.

“The wolf tried to set us up. Quite thoroughly, I should add.” Sometimes a smile revealed anger. When a long-distance merchant like Kieman smiled like that, what would the fate be of those hauled off by his henchmen?

Kieman looked at Eve as she was taken away and spoke as though addressing a worthy adversary. “The possibility had occurred to me, of course, but the method—my goodness.”

“You’re wrong…I had no intention of selling the narwhal to Reynolds—”

Kidnappers had strange ways of restraining people. Eve was plainly trying to free herself from their grasp, but a passerby would see only a drunkard who needed help to stand. Her mouth was covered, but her eyes flicked to and fro wildly.

Eve was dragged off by the two men, and just before they vanished into the crowds, Kieman spoke to Lawrence. “Mr. Lawrence, if you speak of this to anyone else, you’ll regret it.”

It was a first-rate joke on Kieman’s part, but his next words were terrifyingly cold.

“I’m quite desperate myself, you see.”

Then, as though following after Eve, who had melted into the crowds and been washed away, Kieman disappeared into the throng.

Lawrence realized the messenger was no longer holding a knife to his ribs. He had been left alone.

For a while he was unable to move, the afterimage of what he had just witnessed burned into his mind.

From within the horrible writhing organism that was the crowd, a hand had reached out, compelled by a single desperate hope.

And Lawrence had been unable to reach it.

A hundred coins could sink beneath the waves in a single moment.

So in this whirlpool of goods like the narwhal, whose value truly defied imagination, where would one misstep land him? Surely a priest would go pale at the thought of the place.

And Eve had already made a misstep.

After crossing so many dangerous bridges, she had finally lost her footing.

Kieman’s words echoed in his ears. “…If you speak of this to anyone else, you’ll regret it. I’m quite desperate myself, you see.”

Their plan had utterly failed somewhere. Ted Reynolds’s name had come up, and Eve said she had no intention of selling him the narwhal.

And then there was Lawrence, left behind untouched. Was that because Kieman had determined he had no information of value? Or because he’d decided that Lawrence was simply being used by Eve? Either way, it seemed that Kieman and the rest really did consider Lawrence to be nothing more than a messenger.

Lawrence sighed, then felt suddenly nauseated. He hurriedly ducked into the alley into which he had tried to bring Eve before emptying the contents of his stomach.

It wasn’t the feeling of powerlessness that he couldn’t stand—it was this unbelievable sense of self-loathing.

Lawrence had been relieved.

He had been so relieved that Kieman hadn’t taken him away.

He was so sure he could prove his strength to Holo and defeat Kieman, and then after his exchanges with Eve, he had believed there was still a chance to somehow recover the situation.

And now this.

If he’d felt powerless, there would at least have been some chance to recover. Merchants were always chasing what they didn’t have, after all.

Lawrence continued to heave long after there was nothing left to come up. Finally he spat.

He’d been able to save Holo and escape many dangerous situations. If that had merely given him a false sense of superiority that would have been one thing, but now that his thin skin was torn away, it revealed his insides to be even more rotten than before.

His vision was blurry, and it wasn’t only because of the vomiting.

Eve’s actions hadn’t made sense.

Reynolds’s letter had led to the collapse of their plan, but she’d come to the south side to warn him, regardless of the danger it posed to her.

Which meant Eve hadn’t been thinking of him as a mere pawn. Perhaps when she’d asked him to join her in her betrayal, she had been trying to gain something else, something besides the narwhal.

And in spite of all that, he’d been relieved that Eve was the only one taken away.

He was no courageous protagonist. What better proof of that could there possibly be?

“Shit!” Lawrence cursed and slammed his fist into the wall.

If this had been only a question of profit or loss, he could have accepted it or given up on it. But that no longer held true when a person was involved. It was true that the wagon-borne life of a traveling merchant had been very lonely, but having to worry only about one’s self was worth something, he understood.

The truth was, even traveling merchants could settle down in a town they visited if they really wanted to. The reason he hadn’t—the reason he couldn’t—was because he knew he was a coward and too kind for his own good.

The life of a traveling merchant was one of constant meetings and partings. How could they be satisfied with the goods in front of them when the next town might have better goods?

It was true that he had such thoughts, but it was also true that he’d put quite a sum of money into the high-priced item known as Holo.

But that didn’t mean that he cared about nothing as long as Holo was safe.

The traveling merchant’s curse was a kind of excuse. One couldn’t measure the value of human relationships with money. If everything could be decided with money, then he wouldn’t have found himself so torn between Eve and Kieman, because the amount of money involved with the narwhal made his lifetime earnings look piddling by comparison.

Thus by thinking of his relationships with others as being more valuable than money, he could keep them at arms’ length, like a precious flower of great price.

But just as his cart could hold only so much, the same was true of his heart. And he knew how much that was.

Lawrence straightened, his fist still against the stone wall, and he looked up at the purple sky, wiping his tears away.

Things were so much simpler when Holo was with him.

New things were always getting in the cart, pushing even precious things aside. That was a perfectly healthy state of affairs for those curious figures called merchants, but without the ironclad will of a monk, normal people could hardly handle it.

And yet now that his cart was so full and he constantly had to be careful not to leave anything important behind, his travels were far more enjoyable than when he’d been a single, lonely merchant. He no longer plied the roads alone, with only the rear end of his horse to stare at.

Lawrence spat the last sour remnants of bile out, then wiped the corners of his mouth.

A traveling merchant always brought his cargo to the next town, though he might have to crawl through the mud to do it.

He wouldn’t leave any cargo behind.

“So, then,” Lawrence murmured, forcing his frozen mind into motion.

He had to admit that he’d been lucky to see Eve taken before his very eyes. If they were resorting to such violence, then they had to be genuinely cornered and hadn’t been able to come up with a subtler, more complicated plot.

Even being unused to making long-term plans, maneuvering people behind the scenes, and avoiding those dangers he could anticipate, Lawrence was quite good at buying and selling goods right in front of him.

There was a chance he could win.

“There has to be,” Lawrence murmured to himself.

Something he could see, something visible only to him as an outside observer watching the flow of goods in the marketplace.

And he wasn’t alone.

Lawrence didn’t bother wondering when she had arrived or why she was there. He knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t have been able to just sit in the inn, and when one didn’t know what was happening, the most basic approach was to go someplace with a lot of people and listen very closely—and for that purpose, the port was the best place.

And his traveling companion had ears of unparalleled sensitivity.

With her wolf ears capable of hearing a pin drop half a world away, she stood a short distance from him, leaning against the wall, her arms folded in displeasure.

She had probably seen everything. And even if she hadn’t, it would be easy for her to guess what had happened.

Lawrence gave a pained smile and shrugged, as though acting like his usual self would be some sort of charm.

“Should you need wisdom, I’ll lend it,” said Holo, her small chin the only thing visible beneath her hood.

“That’s fine.”

“I do wonder just how many times you’ll borrow my wisdom to save another female, though.”

Lawrence wondered if she was being so straightforward because there wasn’t time for their normal roundabout banter. Or perhaps her patience had simply run out.

He smiled naturally and replied, “Yet you’re the only one I travel with.”

Holo did not answer, but with a little hop pushed herself away from the wall, cracking her neck audibly. It was clear that she was tired of these ticklish conversations as well, though if he were to say so she would probably bite his head clean off.

“I sent Col to follow them.”

“What did you find out at the port?”

“I know not. But before you came ashore, I did see a group of people turning angry. I’d set myself up on the third floor of the baker’s shop over there. ’Twas so easy to see, it was to laugh.”

Which meant that Kieman and Eve weren’t the only group who felt pressed into open action. In a current this strong, Kieman’s smuggling ship could be affected as well.

Before being taken away, Eve had said she had no intention of selling the narwhal to Reynolds. That suggested that the letter she held had been an approach from him. If there was more to this than a secret agreement between Eve and Kieman, what would happen if a wider perspective were taken?

Reynolds was on the side of the northern landlords, which meant that there was a limited number of possibilities.

Was Reynolds both openly and secretly trying to buy the narwhal?

“I imagine that’s probably because the northerners are trying to find a way to buy the narwhal.”

“Hmm…”

“But if that were all, Kieman would have panicked, and Eve wouldn’t have taken the risk of coming to see me. Something totally outside of their expectations must have happened to cause this.”

Holo took Lawrence’s hand and began to walk. “’Tis a shabby town, this is. It doesn’t seem to have much coin.”

“That’s right. And Reynolds is supposed to be at the center of this.”

Reynolds might be able to use box-packing tricks to make a little money, but it wouldn’t get him any great wealth.

“If he doesn’t have it, he would have to borrow.”

“Exactly. If Reynolds truly intends to buy the narwhal, it means he’s going to have to collect the capital to do so from somewhere. Ah—so that’s why Kieman and Eve were so upset.”

From under her hood, Holo finally showed her eyes. Lawrence could see the faint remnants left over from her previously furrowed brow. If she had seen the entire sequence of events, from when he arrived on shore to his meeting with Eve, to their encounter with Kieman and what happened after, she had probably been frowning the entire time.

Just as Holo did for Col, Lawrence knew that once this was all over, he would have to do something to erase those creases.

“Money and power are close partners. If the narwhal trade is connected to someone wealthy and powerful, the matter becomes much more complicated. Do you see?”

Through the ages it was ever thus.

Holo sneered, as though warning Lawrence not to test her. “…If the food you ordered never arrives, you have but to demand your money returned.”

Her mind was as quick as ever.

Lawrence recalled the sight of Eve being dragged away by force. That had happened because things could no longer be settled by record of profit and loss in a ledger.

“If their meal doesn’t arrive, it’s their practice to demand compensation in money or blood. Which means…if this speculation is correct, there’s only one place Kieman would take Eve.”

He would fight power with power.

Reynolds had come to Eve asking to buy the narwhal because he’d suspected the secret agreement she had with Kieman. Which meant there was no telling how much power was poised to strike at Kieman.

When the time came, having one or two thugs around Kieman wasn’t going to help him.

Lawrence pulled on Holo’s hand and started walking in the opposite direction. Holo had probably arranged to meet up with Col somewhere, but if Lawrence was right, he knew exactly where that was.

On they went, through the throngs, and before long they arrived.

The number of guards had increased since they’d been there the previous day.

“The church?” Holo murmured, but then her eyes were immediately drawn to something, and there at the end of her gaze was the surprised face of Col.

“Uh, er, why are you here?” Col asked, having covered himself in a ratty coat to pose as a beggar boy.

Lawrence was now sure his guess was right.

“Kieman’s in there, eh? Well, if I’m going to save her I’m going to have to get in and speak to him face-to-face. So how do you think we should attack?” said Lawrence.

Holo showed her fangs and smiled.

“What’s your business?”

As they walked up the stone steps and arrived at the entrance of the church, two guards crossed their spears to bar the way.

Lawrence had brought Holo and Col (who had changed his clothes) along with him and smiled. “We have business with Lud Kieman of the Rowen Trade Guild.”

Those were God’s gift, the magic words, but there was no guarantee that the same God still sat on the throne. Unlike the previous day, one of the dour-faced soldiers opened the door and went inside, while the other remained behind, his spear pointed unhesitatingly at Lawrence.

The plan Holo had proposed was simplicity itself, and the only unusual thing about it was that Col, not Holo, would be at Lawrence’s side.

“…Inside,” said the soldier, who had gone into the church, once he reemerged.

Lawrence smiled at the soldiers when they briefly pulled their spears aside and slipped through the only slightly opened door. Once Col followed him, the door was closed, and they were again greeted with spears.

“…”

Forward, they meant.

Lawrence started walking, and motivated by spearpoint, they continued on through the hall that encircled the sanctuary.

The church’s interior was so quiet it was eerie, and he felt like he could hear even the candles’ flames. The ceiling was high and the carvings on the wall were intricate, each one beautiful. But each one of them was an otherworldly demon designed to convey the fear and terror of the world, which seemed like some sort of omen.

Midway through the hallway, the soldiers ordered them to stop in front of a door.

It seemed to be a storeroom of some kind, and one of the soldiers knocked on the plain wooden door, which was then quietly opened.

There appeared the face of Kieman’s messenger. Looking Lawrence over, he was clearly not pleased.

“I would speak with Mr. Kieman.” Lawrence flashed his finest smile.

He was well aware that this would be dismissed as empty merchants’ charm, so his goal was to irritate the man. For Holo’s simple plan, this was the most effective approach.

“Do you not get that you were deliberately spared?”

Threats were best employed suddenly, like a snake striking from the brush. Lawrence was prepared, his counterattack ready.

“We merchants love to snatch chestnuts from the fire, after all.”

The instant Lawrence answered, the man reddened and reached for Lawrence’s collar. But Lawrence knew he was coming and was thus unsurprised.

As the man came at him, Lawrence stepped back and took the opportunity to grab his opponent by the collar, hauling him back out of the room. “And do you not understand that I am here deliberately to negotiate?”

Lawrence’s smile was unmoved. The soldier hastily tried to separate them, but just then another voice echoed out.

“Is there a problem?”

At this Lawrence immediately released the man’s collar, and the other man did likewise.

Kieman’s calm, elegant voice was irritatingly well suited to the majestic atmosphere of the church. And yet his hair was slightly mussed as he stood in the entrance to the room.

“I’d like to speak with my acquaintance.”

“That’s very direct of you. Do you think I will allow that?”

Kieman’s messenger stood next to him, his dark eyes staring at Lawrence.

Next to Lawrence, Col straightened himself and stood tall. Lawrence didn’t know whether that was in response to the messenger’s posturing or not, but it gave him a bit of courage nonetheless.

“I don’t expect it will be easy, no.”

“How about this? I haven’t the luxury of wasting time on you. Fortunately, this church has many other rooms.” He looked at Lawrence with cold eyes. He had the advantage of numbers.

But that he was resorting to threats proved he was out of room to maneuver.

“Of course you do. But I’m surprised you would assume I came here unprepared.”

“Oh?”

“No, perhaps I should put it this way—I truly thought you spared me because it would be too much trouble to bring me in.”

Kieman’s handsome face wrinkled in a frown.

Lawrence continued rapidly. “Miss Eve tried all sorts of things to bring me over to her side. She even helped me ensure my own safety. For example—” He coughed deliberately. “She sold me several parchments with your signature on them.”

Kieman’s messenger started to move, but Kieman stopped him. His lips curled into an unpleasant half smile. “I notice your companion isn’t that girl.”

“She’s the quicker one, after all. And even a girl can carry a few papers in her breast pocket.”

“…”

If his dealings with Eve were exposed, Kieman would suffer. Regardless of what actions he took, given the volatility of the situation, there was no telling whether they would be effective or not.

He surely didn’t want to risk further danger. And what harm could come of letting Lawrence meet with Eve? Little, he would no doubt conclude.

“Understood.” At these words, Kieman’s messenger looked up at his master’s face. “Escort them in.”

The faithful messenger chewed his lip in frustration but did as he was told with admirable loyalty. He shot Lawrence a resentful look, but Lawrence knew that it was the masterless stray that was to be feared, not the trained guard dog.

“If you’ve anything I need, I’ll pay you a fair price for it.” Kieman was a merchant, after all. Lawrence looked at him over his shoulder and nodded with a smile.

“This way.” The messenger led them to a staircase that led underground from the hallway into what might have been a vault, or perhaps a dungeon from the days when this had been at the front lines of the wars with the pagans.

As they descended the dark, damp stairs, they encountered an iron door. The messenger knocked in a strange rhythm, and the door was unlocked from the inside.

“Don’t even consider trying to escape.”

“Certainly not,” replied Lawrence politely, which made the man grind his teeth.

Lawrence pushed the door open himself and entered the room. Col followed him, and by the time the door closed behind them, Lawrence had a sense of the individuals in and the circumstances of the room.

Lit by flickering candlelight and sitting on a tuft of hay was Eve, like some sort of captured princess. She grinned as though having heard some great joke. After a few moments, she seemed to regain her composure. The huge smile had surely been her own way of hiding her embarrassment.

“I’ve come to talk with you.”

“And what…joke would you care to hear?”

Lawrence turned his dagger over to the guard, who checked to make sure neither he nor Col were carrying any weapons. Meanwhile Lawrence looked openly around the room, which indeed seemed to be a cellar of some kind. There were goods stacked here and there, with the open places in the floor covered by blankets or hay. Both food and water had been left, and Eve’s hands weren’t bound.

He had prepared himself for worse circumstances, so on that count he was genuinely relieved.

Eve was in fine shape. But whips and clubs weren’t the only ways of making someone talk.

“The first thing a merchant does in a new town is gather information.”

“Indeed. I’m surprised he let you in…Ah, the boy’s with you. I see.” Eve had gained enough practical wisdom to guess how Lawrence had gotten in. “Flowers won’t be enough of a gift to give that girl now that you’ve made her wait alone for your return.”

“…I got a fist in the face the last time.”

“Ha-ha. She’s a stout one, it’s true.”

Such conversation would have made for a lovely idle day had it been taking place under sun-dappled eaves. Unfortunately, there was a guard watching them with a sword at his belt. Outside the door was the messenger, and it was even possible that Kieman himself was listening in.

“Well, I’m just relieved you haven’t been reduced to tearing your bread into small pieces to eat it.”

“Hmph. Kieman doesn’t have the nerve to hurt me. Reynolds is dirt-poor, so he must’ve found some rich northern backer. And around here, there are only a few rich men. And they’ve no idea how I’m connected to this. About all they can do is yell at me.”

There was no doubt her ire was directed at the sword-armed guard.

But given Eve’s style, if he were truly beneath her contempt, she wouldn’t even bother insulting him, so she was probably being considerate of him for having brought her food and water.

“I’ve told all this to Kieman, but Reynolds’s letter might as well have pulled the ladder out from under me. If he’s trying to use my agreement with Kieman to control me…it’s because I’m useful.”

Her tone of voice hadn’t changed, but the mood had. Lawrence could swear he heard Col gulp.

“So it’s true that he has a wealthy, powerful backer?”

“Kieman suspects as much, but look at Reynolds’s situation—he’s the most successful trader on the north side, and that’s all he can manage. It’s hard to think of a familiar figure who has such money. Of course, it’s possible that Reynolds is using someone’s knowledge to make a purchase order without actually having the money.”

“What’s his goal?”

Eve grinned a toothy grin. “To take money from people like us, who are caught up in a secret narwhal deal.”

Lawrence found himself smiling; Eve was the one who’d taught him that there were people in the world who could think of anything.

“By saying, ‘If you don’t want us interfering in your carefully arranged, once-in-a-lifetime gamble, pay up.’”

“The northerners are fighting a losing battle. It’s hardly surprising some of them are starting to suggest they grab what profit can be had. There are probably others who are mad enough to try to convince the people around them of that, and if they push it, it’ll work. They’ll panic and pay. Of course, we’re probably the only ones bold enough to just sell off the narwhal itself.”

Since Kieman had access to the church and was at the point where he would even imprison Eve, Lawrence had a sense of just how carefully this too-bold plan had been constructed. The amount of money spent had to be considerable.

If it was all going to go up in smoke, Kieman might as well pay off Reynolds and try to back out of the purchase, rather than lose everything.

“Of course, given that Kieman’s holding me here, that means the odds that Reynolds placed a buy order despite not having any money are low. Kieman fears me being taken in by the northerners more than anything else, so him keeping me here means he’s decided Reynolds does have a powerful backer. And as for me…that’s why I came to see you, since there were too many clues along those lines.”

Eve was former nobility from the kingdom of Winfiel, a half-day’s journey across the channel. To make a chart of all the powerful figures she had once been connected to, it would turn the parchment black with ink.

Such figures couldn’t act without good cause, but once they had such cause, they could accomplish nearly anything. A secret deal for the narwhal would be an easy target.

Moreover, if they made Eve out as the villain, they could boost their profits and kill two birds with one stone. It would no longer be a question of whether she would survive the tumult—she might not even be recognizable as a human by then.

Taking the narwhal and escaping to the south was probably Eve’s greatest wish.

“I didn’t think it would come to this,” said Eve helplessly, resting her elbow on a rolled-up blanket and leaning back. “If you’ve figured out this much, you should be able to learn the rest by watching the town for a few days. But whether Reynolds has the money or not or has managed to somehow raise it, this will probably be the last time we meet.”

Her sudden talkativeness must have been a reaction to the broken tension. But now she was either tired or simply satisfied with her words, as she covered her eyes and yawned.

She still gave off a somehow unflappable, regal aura. The only reason it didn’t seem genuinely divine to Lawrence was because of the short statement she uttered next.

“They’re all quite skilled here. I’ll be happy if I can die without much pain.”

Col cried out a bit, and Eve looked up at him with a little smile.

“D-do you mean they’ll destroy the evidence?”

“I’ve got a mouth, after all.”

How many people in the world could shrug so casually as they said such things?

Lawrence began to say something, but Eve smiled like a young maiden and continued. “And in the end, you went along with my childish selfishness. Such fun…”

She turned aside, her eyes fixed on some far-off point. Her profile was truly lovely.

“No matter how terrible the feast, if the last dish is tasty, then it wasn’t for naught,” she said.

Lawrence felt a pang in his heart, but not out of pity for Eve.

That reasoning was precisely why he had decided to continue traveling with Holo. As long as he could keep laughing with her, that was all that mattered.

But if he could ignore everything else, then he wouldn’t be standing in this very situation.

“What can I do to save you?” Lawrence asked. The guard standing next to him was shocked, but not as much as Eve herself.

“Is he serious?” said Eve, looking not at Lawrence but at the guard.

“…I’ve no idea. Unfortunately, I’m no merchant.”

If things went poorly, she would lose her head and he would be the one chopping it off, but there they were, talking like old friends.

“But I can say one thing…”

“You don’t have to. He already knows,” said Eve, interrupting the guard.

The man looked at Eve for a few moments, then did as he was told and kept silent.

Lawrence did indeed know what he was going to say.

Complete despair brought with it a certain calm. But if a single ray of hope pierced that calm, it could bring with it unbearable suffering.

“If there’s a chance for my salvation, it can be only this,” said Eve, her expression calm, but not because she had a heart of iron. “That Reynolds has raised the money on his own,” she said, closing her eyes. “I’m tired of talking. I haven’t slept in two days.”

It was said that good news waited while one slept, but when Eve awoke from her deep sleep, she might well be facing the longest sleep of all.

And yet she lay down, as though she truly intended to sleep. She didn’t seem to want to talk anymore, and Lawrence had heard enough.

Whether the guard was one of Kieman’s men or had been newly hired, he seemed to have a strong sense of professionalism, and with a quick nod, he patted Lawrence down.

As Lawrence was receiving his dagger from the man, Col stared hard at Lawrence, either unable or unwilling to understand the exchange they had just had.

Lawrence put his hand on the boy’s head and said nothing.

Then, as they left the room, he turned and left Eve with one final statement.

“Sleep well.”

Eve raised her hand casually in response, but the gesture was strangely memorable.

When they emerged from underground, Lawrence and Col met with the messenger’s glare. He had probably heard their entire conversation and would report everything to Kieman, but Lawrence doubted any of it would be of any use to him.

Both Eve and Lawrence were merchants, and nothing was less trustworthy than the words of merchants.

Merchants did not need words to convey their true intentions.

“Did you have a worthwhile conversation?” Kieman asked upon their return to his room, where he did not look up from the parchment over which he leaned. His cheek had traces of ink on it.

“Oh, indeed. Miss Eve is quite a conversationalist.”

Kieman signed the paper with swiftness that was audible, then passed it off to his underling and turned to the next one. The missives surely ranged from information collection to negotiations, to threats and pleas.

The larger the scale of something, the vaster its power. But that was nothing to the havoc that could be wreaked when it changed direction.

“Will the trade I mediated be canceled?”

Kieman was at the utter limits of his ability as he read letters and prepared their replies, but his activity ceased at Lawrence’s question. The question seemed to require him to use his head a bit.

“Suppose you lock a baker away in your own shop, but then you go to his to buy bread. Would you consider that a problem of theology?”

“So long as there are money and goods, you don’t need another person there to conduct business.”

“That’s true, but we must discover whether there is actually bread waiting to bought. We can always let the baker return to his bakery, but by that point there’s no way to be sure he doesn’t hold a grudge. We heard he’d bought poison from another shop, you see, so in a panic we locked him away, and…”

“And you’ll know whether the poison was bought to kill mice or mixed in with the bread only when you actually eat it.”

Kieman’s hand scratched over the parchment again, and he finally looked up at Lawrence. “Or when the mice die.”

He had locked up a dangerous individual in order to keep a difficult situation from getting worse. That was the sort of idea that only Kieman, who controlled so many people, could come up with.

He couldn’t try to torture the truth out of Eve, because depending on the circumstances, injuring her could mean danger for him. But in complicated situations, even Holo would agree that eliminating the source of the problem was the right choice.

“In any case, the wolf seems to like you, so do please mind your own safety. You seem to have taken certain precautions at least.” He seemed to be wryly making reference to the threats Lawrence had made in order to see Eve.

He wondered what sort of face Kieman would make if he learned that Holo did not actually have possession of any inconvenient documents. The notion made him smile. “Thank you for your consideration,” he answered.

“Now then, if you’ll show our guests out,” said Kieman to his messenger, ending the conversation and setting his pen into motion once more.

The man bowed politely and took Lawrence and Col back to the front entrance. All entering guests had to visibly leave. If the numbers didn’t match up, it meant without question that something strange was happening.

“Remember this, merchant,” spat the messenger through the open space in the door once Lawrence had passed through it. Before Lawrence could reply, the door closed with a loud slam.

The two guards each looked furtively at Lawrence out of the corners of their eyes.

Lawrence made a show of straightening his collar. “Thank you for your fine work.”

After putting the church behind them, Lawrence and Col did not return to the inn, instead making for a corner on a street in the smithing district, where blacksmiths made daggers and horseshoes. The shop there produced forty or fifty daggers per week, and even in towns some distance away, it was common to see blades with its name upon them.

Lawrence and Col entered the shop without a word. Lawrence was deep in thought, and Col seemed not to want to speak.

For travelers without money, death was unfortunately a common occurrence—from sickness, hunger, age, or even accidental injury. Whatever the reason, it was not rare for them to embark on the final, eternal journey.

And yet Col’s hardened face told of his inability to accept that such a journey awaited Eve.

“Does it anger you?” Lawrence asked, which made Col hesitate, then shake his head—but after a few moments, he nodded.

“It’s only because of Holo’s and my selfishness that you’re in this situation. No one will blame you if you leave.” Lawrence explained the danger they were inviting.

But this time Col shook his head decisively. “If closing my eyes would make unfair things disappear, I would do that.”

He represented a third point of view, different from either Lawrence’s or Holo’s.

Lawrence nodded and faced forward, and Col did likewise. And yet the boy still seemed to have trouble confronting reality.

“Miss Eve, she…she can still be saved, can’t she?”

Many merchants loved to count their chickens before they hatched, but found it still difficult to make hasty promises. “At the very least, that’s what I’m hoping and working for.”

Lawrence wouldn’t be surprised if his words sounded like a dodge, but they contained many shades of meaning.

Eve had said there was only one way for her to survive, and that was for Reynolds to gather sufficient funds to buy the narwhal outright, either for himself or for the northerners.

In that situation alone the deal would collapse into a simple exchange of goods, and like a burglar frightened into sudden silence by a sound, Kieman would gradually begin the work of cleaning up afterward.

But that path was not lit by as much as a single lamp, and the way through was cloaked in darkness.

The state of Reynolds’s shop was the proof of that, and one didn’t have to be from Kerube to guess at the condition of his coin purse.

The odds were one in a thousand. Maybe one in ten thousand.

“So his scheme with the copper coin boxes…it won’t be enough?

Col had been the one to discover Reynolds’s manipulation of the crates carrying the copper coins shipped down the Roam River. The number he received was different from the number he shipped—he sent out more than he received.

“About all we can imagine there is that he’s avoiding paying taxes on the number of boxes he imports. It won’t be enough to buy the narwhal.”

“…”

Col looked down, as though stewing in a sea of thought.

Lawrence knew that fixating on one thing to the exclusion of all others was a bad habit of his, so when he saw such a perfect example of that very same trait right in front of him, it made it harder to correct.

“It’s important to think hard about these things, but…”

“Huh?”

“First we have to protect ourselves. That’s the predicament we’re in now.”

Lawrence nudged Col forward, urging him on, and once Col understood, he started running.

The boy was too honest. If Lawrence had explained everything to him, his trepidation at coming to this place would have been all too obvious.

For a craft district, the streets in the blacksmiths’ quarter were quite wide, and being frequently used to transport heavy materials, their paving was of good quality. In the twisting, crowded streets elsewhere, locals could navigate much more quickly. But on fine pavement and easily traveled streets, it was travelers themselves who were swifter.

Pulling up the hem of his robe, Col ran with admirable quickness.

“Wait! You bastards!”

It was common enough to see a merchant chasing after a thief—but quite rare to see a thug chasing after a merchant.

The smiths making knives, spoons, files and nails, spoons, and bowls looked up from their polishing and hammering in curiosity.

A kidnapping could hardly take place while others watched.

By the time Lawrence and Col dashed out of the smithing district, exhaling white puffs of breath, their pursuers were suddenly nowhere to be seen.

But that didn’t mean they had given up. They were surely using their knowledge of the town to circle around and head Lawrence off.

Col looked up at Lawrence like a loyal sheepdog waiting for a command, but of course, he also anticipated what was coming.

“Soon, I’d think.”

And just as Lawrence spoke, a short, thin beggar appeared from an alley ahead of them.

“Ah—”

No sooner did Col utter the sound than he and Lawrence ran after the beggar. Saying nothing, the beggar disappeared back into the alley.

Unlike the streets they had just been on, these were complicated and twisty and fairly difficult to navigate for those unfamiliar with them. The beggar made good, easy speed, and Lawrence and Col were pressed just keeping up.

They seemed to follow forever, and just as Lawrence began to break a sweat, the beggar stopped and looked back at them.

“’Tis far enough, aye?” Holo’s breath was short, but under the ragged coat she’d borrowed from Col, her face was happy. No doubt such chases got her wolf’s blood rushing. “So I take it you were able to see the vixen?”

“She seemed better than I’d guessed.”

“My, my. Still—” said Holo, peering at Col, who had taken back his coat and promptly covered his head with it. “When you say she was well, was she like this one here?”

A tangled knot that was impossible to untie could cause problems, and there was no telling what its threads might be connected to. It made sense to simply dispose of it.

Holo pinched Col’s right cheek, and he smiled.

“She was tenacious yet somehow upstanding, I’ll bet.”

“…You don’t seem to hate Eve as much as you claim to.”

At these words, Holo grinned meaningfully, and she gestured to the north with her chin. “’Twas a riot at the port, as though a bonfire had been kindled.”

“Did someone make a move?” It was Col who asked the question, his cheek still midpinch.

Lawrence felt bad for thinking it, but having someone around who was more nervous than he was made him feel calmer. The situation was fluid, and no matter how wary they were, if they simply waited around, their chance to bring about the best outcome would vanish.

But if they saw their chance, they would have to take it. Lawrence nodded, prompting Holo to continue.

“Reynolds seemed so humble the other night, but he’s quite the actor. Now he’s full of boasting. The oppressed can be strong—they wish to pay back in full those who’ve made them suffer, after all.”

“He was negotiating? With the southerners?”

“He kept railing that he was a customer, demanded to be shown what he was buying. I’ve no particular hatred for the people of this side, but I had to laugh at their nervousness.”

Lawrence and Col shared a look. If Reynolds wanted to see the goods, it was clear where he would go next.

“Ah, I suppose your ears cannot hear them. They’re three blocks away from us.”

“But does that mean he’s actually raised the money to buy it?” asked Lawrence.

Holo tilted her head, and despite what she was doing to him, Col’s gaze was far away. Just as his face wrinkled in thought, something occurred to Lawrence.

“D-does he have the money?” Col was the first to speak up.

In the dark alley, Holo’s ears swiveled as she answered. “’Twas a war of words. He demanded to see the goods, while they demanded to see the money. They were out of their seats in anger, and this Reynolds fellow matched them every time.”

“Mr. Lawrence—”

“Yes, but…why? What could this mean?”

Holo’s shoulders shook with laughter. She’d abandoned thinking about it anymore, seemingly saying that it was a man’s duty to save a captured woman.

“It would be strange for him to have the coin. No matter how quickly he’s been able to rally support, it still takes time to turn that into cash. So has he had it hidden away all this time?”

If so, there was no reason to wait until things had gotten so out of hand. As it was there was enough risk of someone like Kieman taking some kind of irreparable independent action.

And then there was an issue Lawrence had long considered ever since they had started chasing the wolf bones—moving a large amount of cash was like moving a giant. Someone was always sure to notice.

So how could he have collected enough money to buy the narwhal without anyone realizing it?

Lawrence was well aware of how clever town merchants could be. They watched over the ports, always careful to note who was dealing in how much goods. Goods were physical things, and physical things could be observed. Which meant that if Kieman determined that Reynolds didn’t have the money that had to be the truth.

“I know not how. But ’twill be simple enough to discover the truth.” Holo stretched and took a deep breath.

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked off into the distance as though she were reminiscing, although Lawrence was sure Reynolds was in that same direction.

“We know their move. They will go to the church.”

“Why? How does he have the money? Whose is it?”

Kieman was at the church; so was Eve.

What sort of farce would happen when Reynolds’s party arrived in force, dragging crates of money with them?

Money was money, no matter what—so the saying went—but that simply wasn’t true. What kind of money it was, whose it was, its provenance—these things were all of deep importance.

Kieman and the others had to be terrified.

Already busy with destroying evidence, now their subordinates were probably fleeing with important documents like rats from a sinking ship. And when it came out that Eve was being held in the church cellar, who would be in the worst position?

Naturally that would be Kieman and Kieman’s superior, Chief Jeeta.

It was impossible for Reynolds not to have realized the secret deal between Eve and Kieman. And as the backbone of the northern landlords’ support, he would have learned of Eve’s sudden disappearance. A bit of thought would make her location clear, at which point all he had to decide was what sort of hole to drop them all in.

Being completely on the defensive, Kieman and the rest could do nothing but run. Lawrence wondered if he had already dragged Eve out of the cellar and begun running her through the alleyways.

But Kieman wasn’t the only one with spies and lookouts all over the town. And how many of those were foolish enough to overlook important figures like Kieman and Eve if they were exposed? If they were discovered escaping, excuses would be less and less effective.

This was what it meant to have one’s back against the wall.

“Mr. Lawrence, at this rate, Miss Eve will—” Col cried, grabbing Lawrence’s shoulder.

Kieman and his comrades were out of time. They had no way to discover whose money it was that Reynolds held. So what action could he take in order to protect himself?

The answer was simple. He’d surround himself with only those who would agree on a story with him.

There was no chance Eve would be among that group.

“I see three paths.”

The transformed wolf who dwelled within wheat yet refused to be called a god narrowed her eyes at the pinprick of torchlight that lit the end of the alleyway.

“One, you can give up. Two, ask me for help. Three—”

“—Go see for ourselves.”

Holo smiled an unfriendly smile. “Go…and do what?”

“Things will work out one way or another. When you’re cornered, nothing’s more powerful than a little misdirection. With no way to be sure of the truth one way or another, whoever makes the most irrefutable argument wins.”

“If you can convince Kieman, the vixen may yet be saved.”

Col’s eyes flicked unblinkingly back and forth between Holo and Lawrence, as though he were being forced to watch a drama he didn’t want to see.

“So are you sure?”

Lawrence couldn’t look Col in the eyes. Growing up meant learning how to deceive one’s own self above all others.

“Even if not, we have to move,” said Lawrence.

“But that’s—”

“Not every problem has a satisfactory solution.”

At Holo’s words, Col’s eyes filled up with tears. “But, but then, Miss Holo, you could—”

“If you were to break into someplace with so many people, could you make sure that they were all unharmed?” Lawrence asked Holo, carefully lowering his voice.

At his question, she scratched her cheek and cocked her head. “If the building does not collapse once I smash through the stained glass, aye. Else…”

Lawrence recalled the church’s great bell tower. Anything so tall, be they toy blocks or brick, sacrificed stability for height. If the building fell, even Holo might not escape safely, and many people would surely be trapped in the rubble.

That said, attacking the front entrance of the church would put them in front of countless spears.

Holo was not a god.

She was not.

“We can still run now, if we wish. There are good and bad in your pack, and not all of them are your enemies, aye?”

Betting on that possibility certainly was an option.

When Kieman’s plans became public, he would certainly be considered the ringleader. Lawrence was merely a poor traveling merchant he’d used. Lawrence surely had comrades who would support him as such.

“…”

Wilting with despair, Col wasn’t even bothering to dry his tears.

The boy had journeyed south in an attempt to save his own village. To do that would have taken not just firm resolve and strength, but also greater kindness as well.

Eve had looked at Col as though he shone, and it was that light that caused her to treat him so kindly.

“There are many options we can choose, but only one outcome can result.”

“Should we not then decide the outcome we want and make our choices thereby?”

Travelers sometimes had to leave behind belongings and opportunities and even friends or injured people they encountered by the roadside. Sometimes they pulled at one’s hair or clung to one’s clothes.

So what of Eve?

Lawrence thought back to her strange honesty—she had said she was tired and slept, lying down right there on the spot.

He could guess at what would happen.

There were always infinite choices, but there could only ever be a single result. Dramatic turnarounds were uncommon, because the natural progression of events was a difficult force to resist.

“If Reynolds were handling shipments of gold coins…”

“Hmm?”

“…Using the method Col discovered, he could’ve put aside quite a lot of capital.”

Lawrence had once been attacked by a pack of wolves on a snowy mountain. He and his party had had to leave a friend with a broken leg behind and escape into a woodcutter’s cabin. Unable to stay quiet, they had chattered the night away, faces flushed as though they’d been drinking, yet there was no wine.

“Taxes are no more than twenty or thirty percent of the value of the goods. Still, twenty percent of a crate of gold coins is a huge amount of money. Of course, the coin counts are much stricter for gold, so he couldn’t have used the same method, I don’t think.”

Lawrence held Col’s shoulders, and with his eyes gestured for Holo to start walking. If they were going to flee, they would need to take advantage of the chaos.

“Hmm. The scheme Col noticed—’twould work better the other way, I should think.”

“The other way?” Lawrence asked.

Holo stepped over a stick that was leaning against a wall. “Aye,” she answered. “He brings in sixty crates, then sends along fifty-eight. If he keeps two full crates of copper coins, that’s quite a bit of profit, is it not?”

“Yes, true. Or he could receive sixty and send sixty along.”

“But that would just amount to breaking even, would it not?”

“Oh? The crates he’d send along would simply contain fewer coins than the ones he receives down the river, and he’d pocket the difference. At that rate I’ll bet he could put aside a bit more than two crates’ worth every time. Of course, in doing so the Debau Company would take a loss.”

So how would that work? Lawrence wondered to himself.

“Huh?” Col said hastily, looking up at them.

The only reason Lawrence was not surprised by this was because he was too preoccupied with the hole he had just discovered in his reasoning.

“I just said something odd, didn’t I?”

Holo looked back and forth between Col and Lawrence quizzically.

Lawrence thought back to his own words. Frantically.

Reynolds’s copper coin–importing scheme would yield only a small profit. To make a large profit, he would have to hit either the Debau Company or the Winfiel kingdom with a significant loss.

“The absolute number of copper coins won’t change. What changes is the number of crates, the tax, and…and?” The last word stuck in Lawrence’s throat out of sheer frustration as he knew he was missing something obvious.

Col was almost gagging, as though he had a fish bone caught in his throat. By the time Lawrence realized it was Col’s sheer nervousness that was stopping him from speaking, the answer exploded into his head with a flash.

“The payment! If he can’t reverse the money he’s trading, he just does it with the payment itself! The Debau Company wouldn’t be troubled at all! Because—”

“—If the accounts all balance in the end, there’s no problem. No problem at all! I wonder what instructions have come downriver to Reynolds? That would explain why he could have a huge amount of cash somewhere yet hesitate to use it! That’s it!”

Everything he had seen and heard in Kerube finally connected as though by a single thread. It explained how Reynolds had been able to prepare enough money to buy the narwhal as well as all the incongruities Lawrence had felt.

The money was Reynolds’s.

Even if he did have someone backing him, they were far, far away. They wouldn’t have a single notion of what was happening in Kerube. By the time word reached them, everything would be over, which was exactly why Reynolds was placing his pawns in the church.

If he could gain just cause, all would be forgiven.

It wasn’t amusing, but Lawrence couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face. He wasn’t going to let Reynolds snatch all the profit away before his very eyes.

Everything was within his reach. And the time to grasp it was now!

“Let’s go,” said Lawrence and started running. “Come, what are you—” He looked over his shoulder and called out.

“I am not going,” said Holo, standing and smiling.

“Now of all times? It’s fine! I’m not jumping to conclusions—the reasoning is true.”

Holo shook her head. “’Tis not what I mean,” she said.

“So—” What? Lawrence didn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ve no wish to see you parading about in front of other females,” said Holo like a bashful maiden, sticking her tongue out as she smiled.

Where had she learned to act like that?

Lawrence could only smile, as she wanted him to.

“I suppose I can’t say I’m shocked.”

“Mm. You can leave me behind and run off, can’t you?”

Lawrence closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Eve’s words had been heavy with meaning.

Mere flowers would not be enough of a present for Holo.

“Col.”

“Yes! Leave it to me!” Col’s tear-streaked smile was genuine. If he had to leave Holo in someone else’s care and feel security rather than jealousy, Col was the only person he had.

“Heh. I suppose ’tis not such a poor arrangement.” Holo smiled and exhaled a short sigh. “Now then, you should go. They may be strutting around as though ’tis a festival day, but they’ll arrive soon.”

Understanding her meaning, Lawrence turned on his heel and ran, though he knew it was dangerous to turn his back on someone in an alley. He looked over his shoulder.

There were Holo and Col, waving at him.

A moment’s glance was enough. Lawrence ran. He ran to the church.

Emerging from an alleyway in front of the church, Lawrence found it to be oddly busy.

Once the curtain of night fell, ordinary citizens would be in their homes, smacking their lips over dinner. The only ones who knew about what was transpiring here were merchants, compelled by their curiosity to watch, but swirling about at a safe distance away, out of fear of the possible consequences.

Which meant the space in front of the church was clear, as the crowd waited for the arrival of Reynolds and his cohorts.

It was indeed the calm before the storm.

And in that calm, Lawrence walked straight up the open path and made directly for the church.

“…”

At first neither the guards nor the onlookers understood what was happening. They seemed to think he was some sort of formal messenger.

All eyes were on Lawrence, but no one moved, and it was only as he went to enter the church that a single guard finally shouted at him from behind.

But Lawrence did not, of course, stop.

The door was already wide-open in anticipation of Reynolds’s arrival, and once within it, he turned immediately right, heading down the hallway.

Farther in he saw what he thought were letters dropped in midcarry, illuminated by the candles in the walls.

The door to Kieman’s room was half-open. Lawrence pushed unhesitatingly past it and went inside, but no one was there.

Suddenly attacked by a wave of vertigo, Lawrence realized how quickly events were moving. Please let me be in time, he cried out in his mind, running to the stairs that led into the cellar.

He saw a faint light from farther down.

Someone had to be there, but the silence worried him. He started descending the stairs, hoping against hope.

Then, perhaps having heard his footsteps, a man emerged and started coming up. His clothes had blood on them, the sight of which made the hairs on Lawrence’s body stand up.

“Y-you—”

The man was shorter than Lawrence and the stairs were steep, and Lawrence used both of these to their full advantage. He dug his nails into the man’s face, then with a dull thud slammed his head against the wall. The man then slid to the floor.

In his hand was a silver dagger, which Lawrence hadn’t noticed before.

Lawrence kept running, pushing the iron cellar door open and bounding in.

At the sight that greeted him, he shouted with all his might. “Please, stop!”

All but one flinched in surprise.

Kieman was the first to turn around, then the man who had guarded the room. Eve’s head was held fast by the man’s thick arms, a blank expression on her face.

Her arms were bound behind her, her legs tied; perhaps they wanted to avoid a struggle. Perhaps they had chosen not to slit her throat because of the bloody mess that would result.

“Please, wait! There’s no need for this!”

The guard’s eyes went to Kieman, and Lawrence could tell his grip loosened slightly.

Eve wasn’t dead yet.

Just as Lawrence came to this realization, Kieman came at him, his face blank and his hair wild. “Who put you to this?! Who paid you off?! Tell me, merchant!”

Kieman’s composure was gone, and when he grabbed Lawrence’s collar, Lawrence saw that his thumbnail was chewed ragged. But Kieman was not his enemy, not now.

Lawrence lowered his stance and let Kieman’s energy take him over, grabbing his waist and flipping him end to end.

Kieman saw the floor and ceiling trade places in an instant. “Guh—” he croaked like a frog, struggling under Lawrence’s weight.

“You’ve got to release Eve! Immediately!” Lawrence said, straddling Kieman and holding a dagger to his throat.

The guard had no grudge with Eve but was probably not unfamiliar with the grisly business at hand. Now Lawrence just had to wait for him to decide what he would do. Lawrence never took his eyes off Kieman for a moment, and eventually the guard decided that a turnaround was impossible.

In the corner of his vision, Lawrence saw the man release Eve, raising both hands lightly.

“Is she breathing?” Lawrence asked.

“She should just be unconscious,” came the answer.

It wasn’t hard for someone experienced with strangulation to first render an opponent unconscious before taking his or her life. How long the flame of one’s life stayed lit was up to the individual.

“Mer…chant…you—” Whether he was finally coming back to reality or the difficulty he was having breathing due to the weight on his back was calming him down, Kieman’s voice was strained, and he glared at Lawrence out of the corner of one eye.

“If Eve’s alive, I have some welcome news for you.”

“What do you mean?” The guard slapped Eve’s face, and she immediately uttered a short groan.

She wasn’t dead. Lawrence was genuinely surprised at how relieved he felt to know that someone who had once tried to kill him was still alive.

Kieman seemed to still be suffering, probably because he could hear the sound of a large number of people entering the church. It was only a matter of time before they were found and Eve was brought to Reynolds.

“Mr. Reynolds managed to raise the money on his own.”

“That can’t be!” Kieman nearly tried to jump to his feet, despite the knife at his throat—that’s how shocking the news was.

And yet it was true. It was the only possibility.

“I’m a mere traveling merchant, so I’ve got my hands full trying to turn my own profit. My interests are opposed to Reynolds’s, so I can’t let him take everything.”

Kieman wore a dubious expression, which wasn’t surprising—he didn’t understand.

Lawrence turned his gaze away from Kieman and directed it at Eve.

“…What…have you found…?”

It was Eve’s hoarse voice that spoke up, as she righted herself with the guard’s help. Despite having just been on the verge of death, that was her first question.

“I came here in pursuit of the wolf bones, you see.”

And Lawrence told them everything he knew. Both Kieman and Eve were even more capable than Lawrence was at telling lies from truth. And then—

“Please get off me, Mr. Lawrence,” said Kieman quietly, looking up at the ceiling.

Eve smiled faintly.

Lawrence did as he was requested, since both of them were merchants of higher status than him.

“Can it be done?” Lawrence sheathed his dagger as Kieman coughed and sat up, tidying his hair and straightening his collar.

“It must be. Of course—” Kieman’s gaze fixed upon the person whose life he had very nearly taken, and he continued smoothly. “That is assuming she doesn’t betray us.”

“Well, there’s a chance to make some money.”

Eve opened and closed her hand, making a show of rubbing her neck.

“God’s face looked sort of like the old man’s. I’ll have to make sure next time I see him.”

“We’ll just have to make enough to pay for the trip to heaven.”

Once they started moving, they would work quickly. Lawrence knew he could depend on their abilities, since he still remembered how terrified he was when those same abilities were directed at him.

Eve spoke in a reverent voice, befitting someone who had come back to life in a church. “Ah, it’s true, we merchants are a mad and sinful lot.”

The group that entered the church was a strange one. Reynolds was at its head, followed by a series of retainers that deferentially carried small boxes, which were probably packed with gold coins.

It looked almost like a bride accompanied by her dowry, but what he’d brought into the holy sanctuary were gold coins whose shine defied the glory of God.

From their size, the boxes looked to contain perhaps one hundred coins. And there were fifteen boxes. They had been stacked ostentatiously in front of the narwhal, which in turn was in front of the altar, and before it all stood a proud, boastful Reynolds. He had placed himself where normally only a priest or bishop would stand, and in the pews for the faithful congregation the powerful southerners were assembled.

For merchants as successful as Reynolds, deals valuing thousands of gold coins were not rare. But when they were conducted by movement of physical coins, that was another matter entirely.

Merchants conducted business with verbal and written contracts because hard coin was as rare and valuable as any treasure. And when a large amount of coin was collected in one place, word would always get out. And when those coins were gold, it would always wind up recorded in the money changers’ ledgers. So it was hardly surprising to see so many praying figures in the pews, faintly illuminated by the dim candlelight.

Reynolds’s attack had been perfectly executed.

“Come! In answer to your request, I have brought my gold to this holy place! You must fulfill your part of the contract!”

His belly was large, his cheeks jowly. Back in his shabby little trading house, those features had made him seem equally shabby, but now they were signifiers of dignity and power. His voice carried loud and high, like a stage performer giving the performance of his life.

“As the second master of the Jean Company, I have come to record a trade that will go down in our history!”

With a splash the narwhal stirred, perhaps reacting to his voice or the tense air in the sanctuary. And then the room fell quiet, as though water had indeed been spilled upon it.

Lawrence moved away from where he had been watching the proceedings through a cracked door in the hallway and returned to the candlelit room.

Immediately after Reynolds had led his procession to the church, a man claiming to be one of Chief Jeeta’s subordinates came for Kieman, but Kieman had sent him off without a moment’s hesitation. Whether or not the plan succeeded, he would be held responsible, and if it did succeed, Chief Jeeta would have to stay silent.

Of course, Lawrence wasn’t a bit worried. Kieman and Eve had prepared a sharp-edged weapon with which to impale Reynolds.

Lawrence wondered if there was a merchant in the world who could face their combined anger and emerge unhurt.

He thought of Reynolds, proudly strutting around the altar, and couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for him.

“That’s everything I can think of, I believe.”

“With taxes, shipping fees, and hush money, I suppose that will about suffice. I’ve seen the Debau Company, and they should be able to hide something of this scale.”

Between Kieman’s pen dancing over parchment and tallying figures and Eve’s top-to-bottom knowledge of trade routes, it was easy for them to work out the dealings of a single trading company. For a traveling merchant who went about with his cart and horse buying and selling goods as he went, it was a terrifying sight.

“Mr. Lawrence, how’s the sanctuary?”

“As we expected. Reynolds is being relentless, but naturally the southerners can’t respond immediately. That should give us some time.”

Lawrence wasn’t participating in the pair’s operational planning, instead just reporting his observations. Yet mysteriously, this didn’t bother him at all.

“Well, shall we move?” Kieman asked, at which Eve nodded, as did Lawrence.

The plan to monopolize the narwhal was no longer viable, but that didn’t mean there still wasn’t profit to be had.

Simply put, Reynolds now figured into Eve and Kieman’s discussion over how to divide the proceeds from the narwhal. Of course, whether that was voluntary or compulsory was not a matter of debate.

“Here. Your last job.” Eve couldn’t wait for the ink to dry, so she scattered sand on the parchment before rolling it up and thrusting it at Lawrence. Her joking tone elicited an apologetic smile from Kieman.

Lawrence thought he understood why Eve herself wasn’t smiling. As he took the parchment from Eve, he didn’t expect her to say it out loud.

“I’d hoped to meet you on the river,” she said.

“Better for me to see you off on your travels under the sun. After all, I’m the merchant you cheated.”

Eve’s eyes narrowed, but she said no more.

For his part, Kieman seemed to have roughly guessed from that exchange how his original plan would have played out. He grinned tiredly and shook his head.

“Now then, if you’ll be so kind as to wait here.” Lawrence left the pair with those words, and as he exited the room and passed through into the hallway, he got the same old glare from Kieman’s messenger, who was posted there.

Evidently the blood on his clothing was from having been kicked in the nose when trying to restrain Eve. Lawrence flashed the man a merchant’s smile in spite of himself, probably because he just didn’t like the man very much. Satisfied with that, he headed down the corridor.

Here and there were groups of people gathered around the dim candlelight, whispering to one another. Were they even now trying to come up with some sort of scheme, or were they simply conferring on what might happen next?

Either way, Lawrence held in his hand the letter that would overturn the ceremony that was currently taking place in the church’s majestic sanctuary. He naturally walked a little taller.

Now he was the protagonist. Armed with that knowledge, he approached the guards posted at the sanctuary door and spoke with them, then strode inside with his head held high and a serious expression on his face.

A strange murmur ran through the sanctuary, and Reynolds was the only one still wearing a brave, arrogant smile.

“Mr. Reynolds,” murmured Lawrence, having made his way through the crowd and now standing in front of the altar.

He was not unknown to the man.

Reynolds faced him and greeted him with exaggerated pleasure, as though meeting an old friend. “Well, well! What have we here?”

It was a fine act. Reynolds was indeed not a merchant to be trifled with.

“Yes, actually, a certain woman asked me to deliver this.”

It did not take very much time for Reynolds to understand that this referred to Eve. “Oh ho.” For just an instant, a look of revolting avarice flashed across his face; it was well suited to the flickering candlelight. He was surely thinking that joining his capital to hers for the sake of expedience could save him some effort.

“It seems to be a request for trade.” Lawrence produced the letter from his breast pocket, which made Reynolds’s grin only widen. Given the circumstances, he was obviously thinking he would be able to use her as he liked.

He excitedly opened the letter, like a young lad opening a love note.

Lawrence congratulated himself on not laughing at the face he made next.

“Given that you trade in a large volume of goods, Mr. Reynolds, she requests an inspection of your ledgers. Said inspection will be conducted by a keen-eyed representative of my trade guild.”

“…Ah…er…”

“We have evidence regarding your trade in copper coins, showing that you received fifty-eight crates from the Debau Company but sent sixty to the Winfiel kingdom—though at first we assumed you were merely evading tariffs.”

Sweat dripped off Reynolds’s face as Lawrence murmured into his ear. It was as though Lawrence’s breath was too hot, and Reynolds was a wax figurine.

“But you weren’t manipulating tariffs to make a bit of coin on the side. You were cooperating with the Debau Company to shift large amounts of capital downstream.”

Depending on the packing method, the number of coins in a crate could differ. Using that little trick, they could transfer the money covertly.

“You received payment for sixty crates from Winfiel, then paid Debau for fifty-eight. So long as you look at each transaction separately, they seem to add up in the ledger. But as to whether the number of coins in the crates matches the amount paid—that’s not clear from the books.”

Reynolds’s face had gone pale, and his eyes flicked back and forth crazily.

“But if we compare imports and exports, it’s clear that each time the two-crate difference remains at the Jean Company, doesn’t it? And you can use that method for all sorts of things.”

That was what Lawrence had said when he’d heard Col’s answer to the riddle. The reason he had begun to wonder whether the trick might be seeing more use was because there were so many types of goods where it would apply.

Just as there were too many people in the world for one to believe that one was the protagonist.

“Copper ore, lead, tin, brass, and goods made from them. So long as they have a standard shape and are round, you can do this. The Roef mines are rich with metals, are they not?”

“N-no…but—”

“Are you suggesting that this is simply a secret shift of capital? I’m afraid that simply isn’t so. Shall we send my people to visit the Debau Company? When I first noticed your dishonesty, the first thing I assumed was that you were trying to avoid tariffs. But taxes are important. What would happen if the Debau Company was unwilling to pay theirs?”

Reynolds’s face began to twitch and jiggle like a shaking child’s.

Two birds, one stone.

That’s what nearly anyone would say had they hit upon this plan.

“Your method lets the Debau Company evade taxation, too. Each time they trade copper coin with the Jean Company, they lose two crates of coins from their books. And if there’s no profit, they don’t have to pay taxes. Now, then—”

Lawrence paused to clear his throat, and Reynolds took the opportunity.

“What do you want? How much? What’s your goal? Tell me!” Even caught off guard, Reynolds managed to control himself well enough not to raise his voice.

Lawrence put a hand on his shoulder as though to calm him, smiled, and continued.

“I am a mere messenger. Such negotiations…” He glanced over his shoulder past the crowd in the hallway. “…Will need to be discussed with my associates there.”

What was left of Reynolds’s pride prevented him from collapsing to his knees on the spot. It would have been one thing if they had been the sort of merchants who could be cajoled or bribed. But the people waiting past the hallway at the entrance for Reynolds were misers who would happily commit murder.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m a mere traveling merchant trying to find some wolf bones, after all,” Lawrence said, turning and walking away.

As he passed Kieman and Eve, he briefly shook their hands. The two of them were quite capable of cooking Reynolds’s goose—of that he had no doubt.

He walked along the corridor, passing the grim-faced merchants there.

He wasn’t the hero.

He wasn’t a great merchant.

He wasn’t meant for a grand stage, nor did he have strings he could pull at will.

As he emerged from the church’s front door, the sun was completely down, and the torches behind him cast long shadows out into the night.

When he looked back, the grand structure was given a strangely ominous majesty, being lit from below as it was by the torchlight.

He descended the stone steps, passed through the crowd gathered to watch the commotion at the church, and continued on.

It wasn’t that he was particularly confident. There was simply a place he had to go. A familiar scene in a familiar building.

He entered through the door he himself had left open, climbing the creaking stairs to the third floor. His eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness, so the hall was a bit dark, but he could tell where the door was.

He stood in front of it and knocked twice, slowly.

A presence on the other side of the door moved, and the door was soon opened.

From the open door leaked candlelight and the smell of food. It had been a dizzying few days. Nonetheless, Lawrence smiled and spoke.

“I’m back.”

Holo and Col replied, “Welcome back.”

The door gently closed behind him.