Spring Log III

by Isuna Hasekura

  “It does not seem that there is sugar ground into it, but eating it with such a delicious scent in the air makes it taste better.”

  “Reaching for the oat bread in one’s bag does mean that things have come to the worst.”

  “What a wonderful thing this is, as a message from the bathhouse.”

  As we talked about it, those who had been lying down in illness until then were munching on the oat bread.

  With a piece of bread in my hands, I finally understood what it was.

  There on my bread was a doodle of two men and three women. Beneath it were the words “Bathhouse Spice and Wolf.” There was Lawrence and Col, Holo and Myuri, and one more woman who must have been the one who managed the kitchen.

  Of course the bathhouse thrived as it did.

  Anyone who reached out to eat this bread on the way home from Nyohhira, for whatever reason, would think the same.

  “I hope to investigate Spice and Wolf next time we have the chance to visit.”

  “I hope to do so, too.”

  “And I as well!”

  We began arguing under the canopy.

  No longer did anyone notice the tiresome rain that continued to fall outside.

  Among the clamor in the tent, I gently placed one piece of bread back into the bag, then spoke.

  “Don’t you think I would be most suited for another inspection, since I have already performed it once?”

  The matter became more complicated, as the arguments followed one after the other.

  As we bickered, the rain finally abated, and the sun peeked through.

  Our spat went on even as we folded the tent and gathered our belongings.

  Everyone had regained their energy, and our stomachs were full.

  “Perhaps this is a miracle,” someone said.

  Spice and Wolf.

  I decided I would write about it in my report in a way that would not stand out.

  Because if the crowds rushed there, there would no longer be any place for me.

  CARAMEL DAYS AND WOLF

  In small villages, the residents knew everything about one another. From what other houses ate for dinner the night before to how the dog that slept in front of the fire was doing—everything was leaked. That was not different for the hot spring village of Nyohhira.

  But what was most easily overlooked was how people did not often hear rumors about themselves.

  “Holo.”

  After dinner, Lawrence, the master of the bathhouse Spice and Wolf, called his wife’s name as he trimmed the wick of the candle in the bedroom.

  Her long, flaxen hair, slender shoulders, and beautiful, flawless fingers often reminded him of those of a noble girl. In addition to how she looked to be fourteen or fifteen, many who came to the house for the first time would mistake her for a new bride and offer their congratulations.

  However, her graceful appearance was only temporary. Holo was actually the avatar of a giant, centuries-old wolf.

  And so when Lawrence called out to her, she did not obediently turn around to look at him, nor did she smile back coyly. Her ears responded apathetically with a quick twitch.

  They were pointed, triangular wolf ears, the same color as her hair.

  “Hey, I need to talk to you.”

  Holo finally looked up when she heard Lawrence’s exasperated tone.

  She had been glued to the desk in their room ever since they had finished eating.

  “What is it?”

  She furrowed her brows and glared as she spoke and seemed quite irritated. But Lawrence sighed once and reached out to her cheek.

  “You have ink on you.”

  “Mmph.”

  As Lawrence wiped it away with his finger, Holo closed her eyes, and her wolf ears fluttered.

  Her fluffy tail swished back and forth, so it was apparent that she was not in a bad mood.

  She had looked at him that way because she was tired.

  “I swear…”

  Lawrence rubbed the edges of her eyes with both of his thumbs. Then he gently placed the pad of his thumb onto her closed eyelid, and she rolled her eye about playfully.

  “Should I go soak a cloth in the water?”

  Many of the people in the inn, such as high-ranking clergy, were involved with writing work.

  He had inquired about their methods for treating eye strain, which was to place a warm, damp cloth over the eyes.

  “Mmm…”

  Holo, however, did not give much of a response, and after grabbing Lawrence’s hands, she placed them on her neck. She was asking him for a massage. Having no choice, Lawrence began to move his hands, and Holo lazily put her weight into him, her tail wagging in great satisfaction. Despite how obviously selfish she was acting, Lawrence found himself delighted to see how sincere her happiness was and doted on her.

  Reality suddenly dawned on him, and he reminded himself that he would have to scold her today.

  It was about her writing activities that she had become engrossed in not too long ago, cramming the pages spread out over the desk full with words.

  “I heard a rumor when I went to the village assembly today.”

  “Hmm?”

  Holo took Lawrence’s hands, which had been massaging the back of her neck, and plopped them onto her shoulders.

  She was telling him to massage her there, then talk afterward.

  She was treating him like a servant, but her ears and tail wiggled about in pleasure, so Lawrence himself did not entirely hate it. In that respect, it was not all bad how she had suddenly became engrossed in writing.

  The quill pens and ink, paper for memos, parchment for clean copies, a looking glass to enlarge the letters, and the candles for staying up late had all cost quite a bit of money, but Lawrence felt it was all worthwhile. Because most importantly, what Holo was writing about was very meaningful.

  Holo was the avatar of a wolf, and she would live for hundreds of years. On the other hand, Lawrence was just human, and it would not be long before his life was over and he would leave Holo behind. She was writing about the things that happened during the day so that when the inevitable moment came that she found herself alone, she could relive their happy times now over and over.

  That was all fine and well. It was Lawrence who had given her that idea.

  However, Holo always took things too far.

  “People are talking because you keep wandering around the house with pen and paper in hand.”

  “Hmm.”

  Holo leaned her head to the left, as though telling him to press harder on her right side.

  Lawrence gripped his fingers harder, and she growled deep in her throat, less like a wolf and more like a cat.

  “They’re saying the mistress of Spice and Wolf must have either awakened to poetry, or is writing down her conversations with God.”

  “Hmm…mm, hmm…Oohhh, there, right there.”

  When Lawrence moved his fingers with a touch of anger, as Holo would not honestly listen to him, she just puffed up her tail and concentrated on the feeling.

  After Lawrence had massaged her shoulders in silence for a little while, Holo spoke leisurely.

  “And? What problem does that cause?”

  Wondering if she was finally ready to listen, Lawrence tried to pull his hands away from her shoulders, but Holo resisted.

  He gave up and answered as he continued the massage.

  “Everyone around us is making weird speculations.”

  Holo did not make even a peep, but her ears were facing him, so she must have been willing to listen.

  “To put it briefly, people are gossiping, wondering if you’re going to leave the house and join some nunnery somewhere.”

  At that moment, Holo’s ears stood up straight.

  Then slowly, she turned to look back at Lawrence.

  “What?”

  She seemed dubious, as though she truly did not understand.

  Lawrence hesitated to explain it, but nothing would come of deceivi
ng her.

  “You look young, remember? It means they’re wondering if you’re not satisfied with me; it’s a crude rumor.”

  Holo still looked puzzled.

  “For young wives married off to older men to decide one day to join a nunnery usually means she’s cheating as a result of being unable to control her body or otherwise getting a divorce.”

  The light disappeared from Holo’s eyes as she looked at him. Her lips began to move, but they froze in place.

  Had an outsider seen Lawrence staring at Holo as she was, they might have thought that the wife was deeply hurt by her husband doubting her fidelity.

  However, the first one to let out a breath was Lawrence, and he inhaled deeply once more after leaning forward and burying his nose in Holo’s hair.

  “I know I’m not that old yet…”

  The hands around Holo’s shoulders embraced her whole body.

  She shook as though she were coughing, perhaps because she was laughing.

  “Heh. Even a half-wit like you occasionally speaks like a boy.”

  Holo patted his wrists, then pinched him.

  “But it perhaps ’twould be best for me to ask. You seem rather upset about this, no?”

  Holo’s tone of voice was unusually sympathetic.

  After a moment of silence, Lawrence spoke.

  “We’re in the service industry. Who would want to stay at the inn of a man whose young wife left him? Those types of rumors are more than enough to leave a bad impression on customers.”

  Holo stared wide-eyed at him, then gave a tired smile.

  “’Tis certainly true.”

  “And you can’t be so careless anymore.”

  “Oh?”

  “A good inn is worthy property. There are guys who are after that inheritance, and there are many out there who are willing to start interfering when it comes to that. Before you even theoretically leave, we might be visited by good-natured fallen nobility who live modestly in poor territories, coming to sell their youngest daughters.”

  His explanation caused Holo to prick up her ears so keenly that she would have been able to hear a mouse sneeze on the opposite side of a mountain, and even noble daughters paled in comparison to her sheer envy.

  Lawrence withered under the danger he felt from merely imagining the cute, young girls waltzing gracefully in, aiming for the seat of the bathhouse wife, and how much trouble it would be to appease Holo.

  As such, the rumors floating around the village were a great nuisance.

  “Hmm…”

  Those who try to steal her prey from her must be eliminated.

  That was written all over Holo’s face as she pondered for a few moments before eyeing Lawrence reluctantly.

  “And what is it I must do? Shall I cling to you before others?”

  She spoke while gently stroking Lawrence’s hand, her gaze flirtatious.

  For someone who referred to herself as the wisewolf, she loved putting on these kinds of affectations. Since she would grow even more pleased if Lawrence resisted, he responded calmly.

  “Act normal.”

  “Hmph! You bore me.”

  Holo groaned, puffing out her cheeks, and Lawrence sighed impatiently.

  “And don’t wander around too much with a paper and pen. You’ll stand out.”

  “Mmmph…”

  Her second groan was slightly different than the first.

  “If you’re just writing down what happened that day, then you can do a little before you go to bed at night, right?”

  Holo, however, never let go of her pen or paper from the moment she woke up to the moment she went to sleep.

  “You fool. I may miss something important if I do.”

  “There’s not even all that much that happens every day…Actually, hang on, can I see what you’ve written today so far?”

  “Ngh—th-this—no, this—fool!”

  Like a child, Holo tried to hide her writing, so Lawrence held her back this time and snatched the paper from the desk.

  Holo still tried to take it back, but Lawrence receded from the chair and she did not follow.

  “Did you write anything down that would make me upset if I saw it?”

  “Of course not!”

  “So it’s fine, then…But you’ve really crammed it in here…Are you still planning on copying this to the parchment?”

  Holo kept cheap paper made from rags with her as she wandered about day by day. There she would write down memos and drafts; later she would copy the contents to proper parchment. Sheepskin parchment was incredibly durable and could even survive being caught in a fire, so it was perfect for Holo, who would pore over it for hundreds of years.

  “Let’s see…Your handwriting is as bad as always…”

  “Silence!”

  She took a pinch of sand meant for drying the ink and tossed it at him.

  Despite being quite dexterous, Holo had rather poor handwriting. Her eyesight was not very good, so it was hard for her to differentiate between shapes.

  “Now, then. ‘Morning, woke up. Ate two boiled eggs and soft wheat bread with cheese on top, roasted on the fire. For garnish, two pieces of sausage from last night’s dinner and chicken breast. A cup of ale to wash it down.’”

  It was a particularly luxurious breakfast, so maybe she had been happy and wrote about it. On second thought, did she really need to write about it with so much detail? He looked at Holo, and she turned away in a huff.

  “‘After breakfast, a guest romping in the bath asked me to give him some drink. He was drunk, so gave him wine that was almost expired mixed with honey, and he was overjoyed to receive prime-class drink. He paid seven copper coins of a male’s profile wearing a crown of thorns’…Wait, seven?!”

  Lawrence looked at Holo in surprise, and she sniffed proudly.

  “A crown of thorns…That’s the quisine copper coin. Four would have been enough…”

  “’Tis because I carried it to him myself. Tip was included. I did not exactly mention ’twas not expensive wine.”

  “…”

  It was certainly the guest who had made the mistake, and merchants always thought hard on how to make wine taste better.

  They either made it sweeter by using honey, faked the taste of spirits with the bitterness of ginger, or made it clear like premium alcohol with egg whites and lime.

  Customers, too, were cautious, so if they were happy to pay, then they should be happy to receive as well.

  While he considered that, it did not quite sit well with him.

  “‘Dancers and musicians came before lunch. Cleaned the ash in the stove while the sun was up as I listened to the lively clamor.’”

  “See how earnestly I am working?”

  Holo grinned, her tail wagging as she spoke.

  Though she always pushed cleaning the oven on someone else, saying the ash would get in her tail, Lawrence did think it unusual and read the next part.

  “‘The onion I wrapped in clay in the ash had baked well. Cracked the clay, drizzled chopped green herbs and oil from the south on it, added some salt and ate it. Unfortunate that there was no ale…’”

  “Oh.”

  Holo looked guilty. She must have learned how to eat onion that way from a guest.

  He had thought she was cleaning the oven for once, but she was just shrewdly having a snack.

  Perhaps no longer able to bear Lawrence’s gaze, Holo got out of the chair.

  “Do you not think that is enough now?”

  “You’re not doing other things like this, are you?”

  Holo tried to take the paper back, but he was taller than her.

  Lawrence held it high over his head and kept reading.

  “‘After lunch, cleaned the soot by the oven.’ Wow, cleaning the soot, huh?”

  No matter how well the oven was built, soot would cling to all the nooks and crannies if they tried to circulate the warm air that wafted from it throughout the building. Holo did not like this work, either, si
nce it dirtied her face and hands.

  “‘Along the way, went to check on the bottle I left by the chimney’…Bottle?”

  He gazed down at his chest at Holo as she grumpily stood on tiptoe, trying somehow to take the paper back.

  “What bottle?”

  “…I do not know.”

  She gave up, stepped back, folded her arms, and looked away.

  Lawrence saw how her tail wavered in discontent, then continued reading.

  “‘That Cyrus had taught me something interesting. Next time, I must tell him where to find currants in the wood.’”

  His attention caught on the name Cyrus.

  That was the name of a bathhouse owner close to Lawrence and was well-known within Nyohhira as a master brewer.

  A bottle placed beside the oven likely meant she was fermenting alcohol.

  But he did not know what kind of alcohol it could be. Proper tools and fuel were required for making ale, and creating wine was not possible without grapes. He thought it might be a kind of cider, but real fruit around here could only be gathered in the early summertime, so it would have had to been kept for several weeks. As for mead, they had left management of the honey to their kitchen worker, Hanna, so swiping some would not have been so easy a task.

  Of course, he could not rebuke her for just simple penny scraping. If she were making alcohol on her own out of his sight, then there was no point in making her restrain her evening alcohol intake.

  While Holo insisted she was all right, there was no way drinking too much was good for her.

  “What kind of alcohol is it?”

  Lawrence asked, and Holo pouted.

  She looked exactly like their daughter, Myuri, who similarly pouted when Col scolded her after he discovered one of her tricks.

  Now it was clear who exactly that tomboy took after.

  “You don’t have to tell me, but when I talk about this with Miss Hanna, she’ll cut back your daily drinks.”

  “Wha—!”

  Holo looked murderously at Lawrence.

  When he shook the paper, her head drooped, dejected.

  “’Twas bread alcohol…”

  “Bread? Oh, kvass, huh?”

  Kvass was a light drink made by adding spirit and a bit of honey to dark rye bread soaking in water.