Spring Log III

by Isuna Hasekura

  “Thank you. But…”

  Luward glanced briefly at Lawrence, then at Holo. He seemed to notice a sort of odd atmosphere arising between the two.

  “I must stay in the bathhouse. Help is the work of a newcomer. Is that not right?”

  Of course, Luward could not deny this.

  “That is true, but…”

  “Then ’tis settled.”

  Holo spoke and reached out for more meat.

  Just as she opened her mouth wide to take a bite, she stared at the two dumbfounded men.

  “I am Holo the Wisewolf. Do you find something unsatisfactory with my judgment?”

  Luward shook his head in denial, and while Lawrence still had some questions, he merely sighed.

  Selim accepted the job without a hint of resistance, despite being given such an odd duty.

  Her return would be delayed had she traveled with Luward, so they told her the name of their destination as well as providing a map, allowing her to leave the evening of the same day Luward came to the bathhouse. It would take her two days to go there and back, so she would be gone for about four days total.

  Luward and the others, who had taken five days just to travel to the bathhouse, were clearly envious of her good legs.

  Luward and the others left the day after, and while it was not a very exciting reunion, Lawrence was glad to see them since one never knew where and when something might happen in the mercenary line of work.

  On the other hand, he and Hanna were the only workers left in the bathhouse, so he had no choice but to explain the situation to the guests. Selim had to leave on short notice, and Holo was feeling under the weather so she was resting. He explained how regretful he was that there may be things they could not totally fulfill to the guests’ satisfaction.

  Luckily, most of their guests were regulars, and they insisted they would be fine alone with just some drink and food. It seemed things would somehow turn out okay.

  Fatigued, Lawrence saw Luward off and returned to the room for a moment, and Holo, waving Luward off from the window, turned to Lawrence with an accusing look.

  “Did I not tell you so?”

  For a moment, he was not sure what she was talking about, but there on the desk, along with the bunch of brushes, was the charm that Myuri had made.

  “Is this what you meant by disaster?”

  The answer to his question of why they could not use the hairs from her tail every year as wolf or bear repellant had become quite apparent.

  Holo rested her chin in her hand on the windowsill and looked up at him, annoyed.

  “I am Holo the Wisewolf. There is nothing in this land that can compare to my wit and charm. Those who carry amulets stuffed with bits of my fur would leave this place and stupefy male wolves in every land.”

  Lawrence took it as an exaggeration at first, but that is exactly what happened with the charm that Myuri had made.

  “The males with blood rushing to their head may perhaps follow the scent and end up at this bathhouse.”

  Though stories of knights who surround a princess and all kneel before her were made up, this was not at all fiction.

  “Then at the bathhouse, those good-for-nothings, like unsatisfied sheep, would push the weak wisewolf around. What do you think these males would do? In the laws of the forest, the strong are the just.”

  He wanted to ask who exactly would be pushing around whom, but he could imagine the situation.

  Regardless of the details, it would be fatal if there were wolves lurking around the bathhouse.

  “That would be…a disaster.”

  Lawrence spoke, and Holo sniffed in irritation.

  “But…,” Lawrence said, continuing. “You should have gone, not Miss Selim.”

  Myuri was the cause of their problems this time, and more importantly, Selim, who could hide her ears and tail, was working for the bathhouse, unlike Holo.

  It was this moment that Holo looked sincerely dejected and heaved a great sigh.

  “Fool.”

  Then, just as she looked at the disappointed Lawrence, she stood up lazily and walked toward him.

  Lawrence unconsciously tensed, but Holo embraced him, almost falling into him, and pushed him back onto the bed.

  “H-hey!”

  As Lawrence found himself flustered, thinking it odd she was so moody, Holo gripped him tighter with the arms she had wrapped around him and spoke.

  “They are all so easily infatuated in this season. I cannot allow you to stay under the same roof alone with that girl.”

  “What?”

  Just as he was about to tell her that such a thing would never happen, she dug her nails into his back.

  “The fool who wanted to present her with brushes without a second thought has no right to speak.”

  Lawrence finally realized why Holo had criticized him when he wanted to give Selim a brush. He wanted to say how he had no ulterior motives, nor would Selim have taken it the wrong way, but in the end, he decided not to. This was not about how he felt but how Holo felt.

  There was unexpected strife in life at the bathhouse after Myuri left, which he thought would be completely uneventful.

  Holo, too, must have been insecure…but she was not.

  As she was, she no longer had a reason to brush up on her motherly poise, so she must have been wanting to make selfish demands, pout, and act on her whims.

  Holo was originally much more princess-like than Myuri.

  “Well, I’ll apologize about the brushes. I wasn’t being very considerate.”

  “As always,” Holo said with a muffled voice, her face still pressed against Lawrence’s chest.

  “But about making those charms, it isn’t that bad, is it?”

  Holo’s ears perked up.

  She raised her head and looked up at him, and he smiled back.

  “Don’t you want to see how awesome I’d look as I fight back all the male wolves all lined up, drawn in by your scent?”

  Holo’s eyes widened, bearing her fangs in a grin.

  “You used to shiver at a single distant howl when we lived on the road.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’d muster up all my strength against the scariest opponents if it were for you.”

  Holo shut her eyes, as if a sudden gust of wind blasted over her face, and her ears twitched.

  Then she glued her cheek directly onto Lawrence’s chest.

  “’Tis only your words that are so talented.”

  “Then can I show you that it’s not only my words?”

  Holo’s ears perked, and she twisted her body about. Either she was lonely alone in the room, or perhaps everyone was exceptionally susceptible to infatuation this time of year, as she had mentioned earlier. She was doting on him more than usual.

  But Holo, who never said anything foolish, looked up at him with expectant eyes.

  When their gazes met, Lawrence smiled, and when he saw an opening, he quickly pushed her off him.

  As Holo rolled to the side like a little child, Lawrence quickly stood up.

  She stared blankly at him in surprise.

  “The scariest for me is the bathhouse going in the red. I have to face it, okay?”

  When Holo realized she had been tricked, she flushed unusually scarlet, grabbed a pillow stuffed with wheat husks, and threw it at him.

  Lawrence caught it easily and placed it gently on the bed.

  “Well, I’m back to work, but you stay put here.”

  Holo was curled up on the bed, perhaps vexed, and her tail puffed up as she spoke.

  “You fool!”

  It was just another day at the bathhouse, one where nothing happened.

  THE WHITE HOUND AND WOLF

  God’s trial must have begun when my companions slipped on the mountain road. It luckily had not been a serious ordeal, but the constant rain then was causing landslides everywhere, and we were brought to a standstill deep in the mountains.
/>   The horseman we had hired from a nearby village was energetic, for a while at first, but began acting strange upon hearing the cries of wolves at night. One day at lunch, he went out to gather mushrooms for his meal, and he never came back.

  We had been abandoned deep in the mountains, among the frequent cries of the wolf.

  Luckily, we had not strayed from the trail, so we would find ourselves somewhere if we kept going forward. We trusted in God’s guidance as we chanted his name and continued forward in the mud.

  But as our supplies began to wane, we could not see any light beyond the dense trees. The rain continued to fall, and many times we set up our tents beneath giant trees or at the foot of a cliff only to gaze sleeplessly at the water dripping onto the moss.

  We thought we were finally reaching the end on the third straight day of rain.

  Many of us were coughing, likely from what practically amounted to a mushroom nursery beneath our tents. Even the most well-oiled tanned leather coats grew soft from absorbing water and were covered in a grand display of mold. Like the coats, we thought we would be returning to dust in this forest.

  Of course, since we worked under the name of God, we did not fear death. We were confident that we would complete the task given to us.

  And it was not terrible that our final place of inspection was that famous hot spring village, Nyohhira.

  It was a land that had not once seen the fires of war, even in the old age when the torrential winds of battle blew, and so lively that it lived up to its reputation for endless laughter and music. Add alcohol into the mix, and certainly—coupled with the steam of the baths—one may not recognize the enemy before them.

  But because of that, it could be said it was the perfect place for the lawless to escape to.

  In addition, high-ranking clergymen came every year from the south to the land of Nyohhira to heal. It was not impossible that a number of people with wicked plans targeted these great servants of God and were seeping heretical ideals into the water.

  Under the orders of the papal office, we had come to Nyohhira for the first time in over ten years.

  It was as bustling as always—a garden of debauchery and pleasure.

  It was not unusual for prestigious archbishops to ogle the dancing girls and chase after them. There were those who drank in the morning, daytime, and evening and finally slept when dawn came the following morning. While we were displeased with their misconduct, our mission was to expose heresy, not observe corruption. Yes—we were the inquisition.

  It was late autumn when we came to this land, and we stayed throughout the winter. My companions scattered throughout the baths in the village, and in those baths, in those dining halls, they would keep a watchful eye to see if there were any scheming blasphemers.

  The bathhouse I had been assigned was one that had not existed when we came over ten years ago.

  Places deep in the mountains and isolated villages hated change. Nyohhira was no exception. Officially, it is said that anyone who finds a spring may start a bathhouse, but all valuable locations had been dug up a long time ago. For all intents and purposes, that law was a barrier meant to protect their vested interests.

  Since there should not have been any new bathhouses for quite a long time, I was shocked to hear one had appeared in the village. And on top of that, it was apparently flourishing.

  In our preliminary investigation, we identified rumors that they had dug up the spring using magic and were tricking their customers. While we should not earnestly believe the rumors that cling to successful newcomers, it was, after all, Nyohhira.

  It was my unworthy self who had been chosen to stay in this bathhouse. I was eager to reveal the truth in God’s name. However, what I saw and heard there tormented my heart greatly.

  That was because while the aforementioned bathhouse seemed respectable at first, it was a mystery as to why it thrived as it did if it truly were respectable.

  Additionally, it was very deep within the mountains, almost on the outskirts of the village. It was in a spot that better-paying customers preferred and, at the same time, in a rugged place where it would be difficult to dig for water.

  Perhaps the rumor that they had used magic to dig was not entirely fabricated.

  Moreover, their customers were odd.

  When I asked in the baths where they had heard of this inn, they mentioned various names of authority and power. They said they were all acquaintances of the master of the bathhouse when he once worked as a traveling merchant.

  As I continued my investigation, I found that this bathhouse had deep connections to the Debau Company, the corporation that came to control the entire northlands with rapid force.

  Was that possible for just a mere merchant?

  Was he not a wizard deceiving the public? If not, then perhaps a spy sent by a great power? Regardless, if he were one who spoke ill of God’s house, then I would have to report to the papal office.

  Keeping that in mind, I kept a close watch on the bathhouse, but I did not understand.

  What was so special about this bathhouse that people gathered here?

  Nonetheless, while it was easy to report it to the papal office as one that needed surveillance, we could not send honest lambs of God to burn at the stake. And so, on the long road back to the papal office, I could not decide in the end what to do.

  I had plenty of time anyhow.

  As I watched the rain gently and tirelessly dampening the moss, I decided to reflect back on the bathhouse.

  They said its name was Spice and Wolf.

  Whether by river or on the road, the first thing one notices is the smell.

  The peculiar smell of sulfur was so rich it was almost visible.

  Then, once we grew used to it, we could see the steam from the baths beyond the trees.

  At this point, depending on the direction of the wind, we could faintly hear the lively melodies of the musicians’ music.

  The first thing we saw farther up the road was a stable for hire. Tied there were horses with thick legs and long fur, and they stared unintimidated at the passersby. There were also more familiar-looking horses there, perhaps brought in by the staying guests.

  Beyond the stable were buildings that looked like workshops with rather large frontage, but they were entranceways to bathhouses. The entrances were so wide perhaps due to the necessity of bringing patrons who brought lots of luggage inside during the winter. It also seemed that some musicians and acrobats who had come to Nyohhira for work were here to give their services, and some tall women were gathered around, playing with their hair, and a nimble-looking man stood on his hands, feeding a little bear as it did tricks. May God watch over them.

  Every inn cluster beyond that was similar, along with a scattering of shops selling traveling necessities, and we finally reached the town square. It was located by the port on the river that ran along the village and looked to be quite lively.

  Those alighting at the port were, of course, not just guests. The more people who came to the baths, the more goods needed to care for such a number of people. It was as lively as the eve of a battle, and there was a mountain of cargo at the loading area.

  Then beside it was a fire in a metal cage, with many metal poles stuck into it.

  As I gazed, wondering what it was, those who looked like workers from the village retrieved the poles as they finished inspecting the cargo and pressed it onto the goods.

  It seemed they were branding them to ensure they would not end up in the wrong place.

  While it looked to be the servants from every bathhouse that came to retrieve the cargo, there were both adults and children, with various colors of hair and eyes, all with different facial features. It was work that had great disparity between busy and idle seasons, so many of them must have traveled here for that purpose.

  There were likely many who would mistake the names of the bathhouses, and it was questionable if they spoke one another’s languages at all.

  I f
elt it was quite logical to brand them.

  Yet, however, it seemed as though there was an argument, and there were people yelling loudly at one another.

  They were not dressed in traveling clothes, so they must have been locals. They were tearing at their hair before the stacked crates.

  While I could not hear what they were arguing about, it did not seem related to my work, so I paid little attention to it.

  Though we left the square, the clamor, for the most part, did not die down.

  There were dining halls and cheap lodgings here and there, and many people were drinking and eating while the sun was still high in the sky.

  Had this been a walled town the atmosphere would easily grow wild, but it did not feel that way. Perhaps all the loud ones here were those who came along to their masters’ bath treatment. Retainers such as them could not stay in the bathhouses, so they bathed in the public baths that anyone could use and slept together in huddles in cheap lodgings.

  And due to the number of people, the dining halls set up tables all over the street, and those who were bathing in waters without any walls or roofs were crossing the street naked to buy a drink.

  Those standing frozen on the side of the road were likely new priests who had come to Nyohhira for the first time in service of their archbishops or abbots.

  The styles of their robes were all different so perhaps they were not acquainted with one another, but perhaps they thought they had found someone who would understand them among all the confusion and froze. They were just like baby lambs.

  Beautiful, half-naked dancers called out to them just as we passed, and their eyes widened in bewilderment. I prayed that they may win against temptation and continued forward.

  The crowds thinned out farther into the village, and there were more and more large buildings. Places with large, crested flags fluttering by the entrance likely meant a nobleman had rented out the entire building for himself.

  Even farther into the village, where I began to feel the slope of the mountain, bathhouses were shrouded from one another by the veil of the trees. The bustle of the port faded into an occasional birdsong.