“Shouldn’t they be holding a prayer service at the sanctuary now?” Col asked as they put the inn behind them.
“I doubt the abbey is able to refuse. Their position seems weaker than I’d have guessed.”
Illuminated by snow and sky, the church gleamed like a beautiful, polished gem. But the ones offering their prayers and praises to God were not within the sanctuary but outside it, which proved just how much the Church’s own authority was being trampled.
Outside the tightly shut doors was a group of devout merchants standing in prayer.
Just as Lawrence was wondering what to do, the sanctuary doors opened. There emerged a procession led by the high-ranking merchants and their attendants, followed by experienced-looking traders bearing parchments and sheaves of paper.
Piasky was at the head of that second group. He noticed Lawrence standing at the side of the road and stepped out of the procession to greet him.
“Good morning, Mr. Lawrence. Are you recovered from last night?”
“My companion’s something of a drinker, so I got quite an earful.”
“Ha-ha. Well, bring her along next time, eh?”
As they exchanged casual greetings, Lawrence briefly sized up Piasky’s position. He did not seem to be in a particularly low position.
“Mr. Piasky, do you have a moment?”
At Lawrence’s invitation, Piasky waved to his fellows and answered, “A bit, yes.”
What surprised Lawrence was not the fact that Piasky was willing to spare him some time—rather it seemed from Piasky’s words and bearing that he felt he was doing Lawrence a small favor.
If so, he would expect it to be returned.
Lawrence flashed his best merchant’s smile. “My thanks. Where shall we go?”
“I’ve work to do, so perhaps the library?”
“The library?”
“Ah, apologies. It’s that building there. There’s a theology scholar who acts as a sort of clerk on the first floor. Just give him my name.” Piasky indicated a stone building nestled behind another building by the street.
Its windows had wooden shutters rather than glass, and it did not give the impression that it was heavily used.
“I have to make a report, so if you’ll give me a bit of time…”
“Understood. I’ll see you at the library.”
After the two men made their excuses, Piasky headed off for the inn.
It wasn’t very long before a familiar figure slowly came walking up to Lawrence and Col—it was Holo.
“I daresay I’ll come along, as well,” came her soft voice from beneath her hood.
The marks of sleep were still clear on her face, so Lawrence had to wonder if she had been debating whether or not to accompany him in her dreams.
Of course, neither Lawrence nor Col pointed that fact out. They simply nodded.
Half an hour later, they made for the building Piasky had indicated, where they were indeed met by a bearded, stern-faced man who seemed to be a Church scholar, and once he had heard Piasky’s name, he led them into the library.
As one would expect from the term, it was filled with all sorts of things.
But strangely, most of the documents seemed as though they would have been of little use to merchants. There were maps, rough outlines of towns, lists of craft guilds, and even family trees of noble houses.
Piasky seemed to have been given an office here, to which Lawrence and his companions were led, passing through a deserted document room.
When the door to his office was opened, it looked much the same as the rest of the library.
“My apologies for interrupting you while you’re so busy.”
“Not at all. My comrades were so rude last night, after all—not that this is an apology.”
Perhaps this explained why Piasky had seemed as though he was doing Lawrence a favor.
“Not at all. I learned all sorts of useful things, so I should be thanking you. Of course—” Lawrence continued jokingly, “that does make it harder for me to ask another favor of you.”
Ledgers would always be adjusted so the balance came to zero.
However, it was also true that a small loss could become a huge gain.
“Ha-ha-ha. Well, if it’s a difficult favor, I may have to ask for some compensation. What could it be, I wonder? If it’s something I can easily arrange, just name it.”
“Honestly, it’s what you were speaking of last night. I was hoping you could arrange for me to have a look at the list of holy relics within Brondel Abbey.”
“Oh, that? I was sure it would be something else. Well, I wasn’t lying, here—look,” said Piasky, picking up a stack of parchment from atop the stacks on his desk and handing it to Lawrence.
There upon it was indeed written a list of holy relics.
“I thought you might want to have a look at it, so I made it ready for you.”
Lawrence flipped through a few pages, then looked up with gratitude. “My deepest thanks to you. If someone like me were to knock upon the doors of the abbey myself, I’m quite sure I’d be turned away at once.”
“Not at all. I’m sure you’ve guessed as much, given how easily I handed it over to you, but there’s nothing of use there. Nearly everything written on it is worthless. You’ll smile to see it, I’m sure,” said Piasky, as though he were recommending a particularly tasty wine.
As Lawrence started to scan the parchment, he understood that Piasky was quite right. Even not knowing their exact market value, each entry in the long list of items was a famous relic that would have taken a truly unbelievable sum to purchase.
But famous relics were not necessarily famous for their miraculous properties.
Sometimes they were famous because you could see versions of them all over the countryside.
“I expect most of them were bought as part of bribes. They were bought from noblemen or royalty, despite being obvious fakes, as a way to give money without losing reputation. The noose Saint Emela used to hang herself when she was martyred is a perfect example. If you tied together all the ropes supposed to be her noose, they say it would be too long to stop her feet from touching the ground, even if she’d found the highest tree in the world.”
There was also the supposed right eye of a great sage that was said to be able to see into the future—and Lawrence knew of four churches that purported to house this mighty eye.
It was no more rare than finding a craftsman who claimed to make spears that could pierce anything with a shop next door to an armorer who claimed his armor could turn aside any blade. Such things were common the world over.
“But you may not find what you seek there, Mr. Lawrence. The golden sheep is a thing of legend, and it hasn’t left so much as a single concrete artifact behind. As far as tales go, there’s the story of the soldier who tried to pluck a piece of its golden wool, but…”
“No, chasing what we’re after is like trying to catch a cloud, so it’s nothing like that. But while a cloud might be impossible to grasp, its presence in the sky is still a fact. Essentially—”
“—You’re looking for the evidence.”
“Precisely. If there’s a patron saint revered by shepherds or something connected to them, it might serve as proof that the abbey is aware of the golden sheep. Thus, the golden sheep could be supposed to exist.”
Lawrence knew the reasoning was somewhat forced, but occasionally such pronouncements were necessary for persuading a customer. Piasky, whose job it was to lead settlers to a notional promised land that was little more than simple wilderness, seemed familiar with the concept.
He nodded significantly and then smiled a wry smile.
“Still, as you said, there seems to be little of interest here.” Lawrence looked the list over quickly and then handed it to Col and Holo. Both of them had waited patiently as they were well aware of the roles they were playing.
Piasky glanced at them and then spoke to Lawrence. “I’m sorry it wasn’t any use to you…though
I suppose it’s strange for me to be apologizing.”
Lawrence couldn’t help but laugh at Piasky’s joke.
“We looked over that list countless times,” Piasky continued. “You can find the items on it all over the land. A few of them could be sold off straightaway for a good price, but…to be honest, I have my own reason for showing you the list.”
“You do?” asked Lawrence, which Piasky smiled regretfully at.
“Yes. I was wondering if there’s something there that hides a deeper purpose.”
At Piasky’s words, Lawrence looked again at the parchment his two companions were examining carefully. It seemed to be nothing more than a list of the kinds of trinkets any wealthy abbey or church would contain. He didn’t feel any particular significance to any of them, nor any special connection to the land. It seemed like nothing more than a peek at how wealthy people wasted their money.
He understood what Piasky meant, though.
Piasky wanted to know if any of the items had been bought not simply out of a sense of pride, but rather out of a true sense of purpose or belief.
His motive for doing so was not difficult to understand. The abbey was steadfastly refusing the Ruvik Alliance’s efforts, so Piasky was looking for a chance to break that resistance.
Understanding the opponent’s desire was the key to negotiation.
“Just earlier I was in the sanctuary, conducting standard negotiation. The abbey’s solidarity was admirable as always—even as their finances are tight, and they beg the royal merchants for funds to conduct the spring thanksgiving festival.”
“Their finances are that poor?”
In answer to Lawrence’s question, Piasky nodded and sighed. “Daily living expenses, building upkeep, candles for prayer, parchments for manuscript copying, paper, book purchases, shepherds’ pay, livestock feed over the winter…and those are just the basics. On top of that, since they’re an important abbey, there’s the exorbitant cost of the bishops’ meetings they must host every few years, the costs of welcoming important guests, the maintenance of their sister abbey, and the huge tribute they owe the pope in the south. What’s more, the king views them as a convenient source of coin in exchange for overlooking their possession of such power and influence. Given all this, their fall cannot be far off.”
Even an abbey could not completely sever itself from the outside world, and those connections meant it was impossible to avoid accommodating the world’s ways.
And their predicament was worse than Lawrence had guessed.
“They’ve amassed a huge fortune thanks to their wool sales, so they’ve plenty of men able to figure profit and loss. And I’m sure there are some among them who would like to reach a realistic compromise. But still, the council remains united in its rejection of the alliance’s requests.”
“And you believe that solidarity is because of some peculiar conviction?”
Without support of some kind, they wouldn’t have been able to continue resisting—particularly if their group contained more than one opinion. If they had united in defense of God’s glory, Lawrence doubted Piasky would have expressed such doubts.
While it contained men who loved money, the abbey also had those whose prayers were genuine. And yet obtaining a decision was proving impossible, much to the frustration of the alliance.
“Heavy investment in a holy relic would fit the circumstances. The devout among them would accept it, and if it could be turned to profit, it would be the perfect support during this difficult time. So if we can simply find what they’re clinging to and take it from them, I believe they will crumble.”
It was a very direct strategy.
But when Lawrence looked at Holo and Col, he saw a glimmer of an idea deep in the pair’s eyes, despite their appearing to find nothing of interest on the parchment.
The story of the wolf bones—if it were more than a simple tale spoken of during drunken tavern conversations, it would fit Piasky’s theory perfectly.
“I believe it’s a good idea…and the idea that with so many fakes in the world no one would possibly put their faith in a relic would serve as good cover.”
“Indeed…you’re quite right.”
Lawrence said nothing about the wolf bones because, given the circumstances, doing so would only weaken his position. His opponent was the Ruvik Alliance, to whose power the port town of Kerube could hardly compare.
If he slipped up and got involved with them, it was unlikely he would escape unscathed.
Col and Holo, too, seemed to understand this.
He looked down at the parchment again.
“To tell the truth, after your visit last night, Mr. Lawrence, I was so excited I could hardly sleep.” Sitting in his chair, Piasky smiled a self-deprecating smile. It was as though he was finally showing the exhaustion he’d been hiding all along.
Piasky’s words a moment earlier—“We looked over that list countless times”—came to Lawrence’s mind, albeit with a slightly different meaning this time. He imagined Piasky up late at night, poring over the paragraphs by candlelight.
“Any clues that would break this deadlock would be more precious than any gospel to us. I can’t describe to you the sense of futility I felt after checking over that parchment again and again. And yet I thought perhaps…perhaps you or your companions might be able to help. Hence my ulterior motive in showing it to you.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be of any use.”
Piasky and Lawrence both laughed at these words.
A baker might sell bread at his shop’s counter from birth till death, but merchants spent their lives swinging between extremes of hope and disappointment—yet undaunted always tended toward hope.
But something bothered Lawrence, so he asked about it. “This is a rather boorish question, but…”
“Yes?”
“If the alliance is really able to buy the abbey’s land, will it be so profitable?”
The Ruvik Alliance had not been formed to pursue the meager profits of a small-town trading company.
They commanded trading vessels and warships, and if a town was imposing tariffs to protect their own merchants, the alliance could use sheer force of arms to open that town’s gates.
Lawrence had heard of many transactions the alliance had conducted, each one so large as to make one wonder if there could really be so much money in the world.
For so many merchants to be coming here attached to such an alliance meant that the potential profit had to be vast. And yet it was impossible for a traveling merchant like Lawrence to concretely imagine such profit.
Just how would it be realized?
Piasky smiled a bit bashfully and scratched his nose with a finger. “I myself can’t imagine the exact number of coins. But one thing I can say, it would profit many, many people.”
Unable to imagine it, Lawrence repeated Piasky’s words. “Many people?”
It was true that the alliance contained many people, so that was true as far as it went, but it still seemed like a strange choice of words.
“Indeed. I assume you are aware of the general idea of what we’re trying to do here, yes?”
“You’re trying to purchase the stricken abbey’s landholdings, then use that to bring around the nobility, allowing you to participate in kingdom politics.”
“Exactly so. However, if we simply handed the purchased land over to the nobility, they’d just squander it—on daily extravagances or on lavish donations to churches or abbeys, either for appearances or out of a sense of piety. Or in the long run, it would simply be divided into smaller and smaller pieces over the generations until they fell into ruin. Neither they nor we profit that way. So to avoid that, people like me have been summoned.”
Piasky spoke in an even, patient tone. It was not because he was used to talking about this, nor because he was used to explaining things, nor even owing to his natural inclinations.
It was simple confidence—the singular calm that comes when one has pride in one�
��s work.
Holo noticed this and looked up.
Lawrence finally understood why he had been fixated on Piasky. Piasky had the firm footing of the peerless master craftsman, and Lawrence could not help but feel nervous around him.
“We plan to take ownership of the abbey, buying up its unused lands and allowing people to immigrate there. We’re going to make villages and towns.”
Lawrence considered the piles of documents in Piasky’s office and the room adjacent to it. This place was essentially an atelier for people like him.
“Since the abbey’s left the land fallow, most of the landed gentry haven’t been able to bring in adequate earnings or even provide farmers with enough land to live on. On the mainland, war, famine, or floods have driven countless people from their homes. With no work or money, they have no choice but to either beg or steal. The more such people there are, the greater the threat to stability.”
“So your alliance is going to lead such people to a new land, giving them a place to live and work, while at the same time putting in your debt the landlords whose holdings are plagued with vagrants.”
“Yes. It will improve the situation for both sides. And it’s not simply about money. It may sound arrogant of me to say so, but when you’ve experienced giving a new home to someone who’s lost theirs…”
Insincerity and charity were a hair’s breadth apart. The smile of one who understood that truth was a pleasantly wry one.
“…You can’t stop. It’s enough to make you pore over a parchment, looking for the tiniest hint or clue.”
Holo’s hand had stilled, and she listened intently to Piasky. Lawrence could hardly blame her.
Holo had claimed not to care about Piasky’s work, but if she were really so myopic, then all her laments over the course of their travels had been lies.
Beneath the parchment, Col grasped Holo’s hand steadfastly.
“Some immigrants were scattered from their homes when pirates razed their village. Stolen from their families, they thought they would never see their loved ones again—but upon hearing of the immigration, they journey to the new village and are reunited. That’s why I cannot stop. Such things do happen.”
Spice and Wolf, Vol. 10 Page 11