But there were many who did not know.
And aristocrats who’d never left their lands were a perfect example.
For a living narwhal, there were some who’d come running, bringing all their gold with them.
“But…surely that doesn’t mean—”
“Yes. If they have the narwhal, the north-side faction believes they can turn everything around.”
For a moment, Lawrence thought the leg of his chair had broken, so stricken was he at the enormity of the prospect.
This town had enough conflict even in the best of times, and now an article had been found that could flip the balance entirely.
There would be war.
Lawrence realized it instantly.
“The south-side faction wants to control this side at any cost. They can’t have equality. It would be bad enough if the north gets the narwhal and sells it to raise the money to pay their debts, and the possibility that they might just involve a landed lord and go straight to war can’t be ruled out, either. So the south can’t let them have it, no matter the cost. They’ll steal it, sell it—two birds, one stone. It will raise an enormous amount.”
And if they stormed the church grounds, that would constitute an act of war against the Church.
“So what say you? If you can slip through this passage, don’t you think something incredible awaits you on the other side?”
She was right.
Eve was surely trying to use Lawrence’s membership in the Rowen Trade Guild to its maximum advantage.
Relations between north and south in this town were at their worst.
Yet in the midst of that, Lawrence had managed to connect with Eve while going unnoticed in the town, which gave him a rare ability.
For a spy, there could be no better position.
But there was something Lawrence had not mentioned.
And that was that he’d already told Kieman about his acquaintance with Eve.
“Will you do it? No…” Eve shook her head deliberately, then looked straight at Lawrence. “What will it take to convince you to do it?”
This would unquestionably involve betraying the guild.
Eve was well aware of that, and the people in the south certainly knew what a trade guild was.
And so Lawrence spoke.
No matter what the reward, Lawrence was confident that as long as it was something he could hold in his hands, it would be granted him.
There was simply that much profit at stake here.
“If I say I’ll consider it?”
Eve silently shook her head.
If he refused the offer to become an agent for her, it would not be strange of her to immediately consider him an enemy.
Or at the very least, treat him as such.
Which meant there could be hesitation.
That would be nothing less than hesitation over which side he would ally with, and no one was less trustworthy than a spy.
And yet Lawrence hesitated.
There was no telling what Kieman might be planning, but this could be used.
What would Kieman say if Lawrence told him about this?
With absurd profit piled on both sides of the scale, it didn’t easily move either way.
Merchants were always weighing profit and loss.
No, indeed, what else could there be to consider?
“About the wolf remains, was it?” asked Eve flatly, either seeing through Lawrence or having planned to incorporate that into her negotiation all along. “You’ve good instincts, so I’m sure you noticed that Reynolds is quite serious about them. And that he wants my help.”
Eve smiled thinly.
Evidently Lawrence had done just as she expected he would with Reynolds and the story of the wolf remains.
She probably even had some idea of whom Reynolds wanted to get in contact with.
“…You knew, and you still wrote me that letter.”
“Are you angry?”
“Not at all. I’m glad my guess was right.”
Eve smiled cynically, standing up from her chair and tossing two more logs onto the fire.
“There aren’t many in the north who can afford wood for their fireplaces. Most burn peat.”
“And yet I hear there’s more charity on this side.”
“Heh. That lad will be popular no matter where he goes.”
It was enough to make Lawrence want to know just how sweaty Eve’s palms were.
Her expression changed readily, but he could tell well enough that she was hiding her true thoughts.
“So how about it? It’s quite an opportunity, I reckon.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is.”
But demons were always offering great power—in exchange for life.
If Lawrence accepted this, there was no question he would damage the trade guild’s profits.
Not only that, but if they were to find out, he would either be cast out or punished.
He claimed not to be worried about Holo, but then he remembered Kieman’s sudden change, his cold countenance.
And as a merchant, it was no exaggeration to say that his life would be over.
“Did you see Kieman?” Eve asked.
It wasn’t out of any particularly iron-clad self-control that Lawrence didn’t show surprise on his face.
Eve’s words were just so accurate that his shock stunned him into blankness.
“I reckon my name would be sure to come up if you went to the guild house looking for information. I can see his face now,” said Eve with what seemed to be simple amusement, as though she were talking about an old friend.
Or else—were even men like Kieman part of Eve’s plots?
No, that couldn’t be, Lawrence told himself.
“Yes, quite…he’s a great merchant, as I recall.”
“He certainly is. There’s a gifted trader in every guild, and he’s the one,” said an animated Eve.
“So, why do you mention this Mr. Kieman?”
“He’s no one to be trifled with, and he’s been chasing me obsessively. Can’t blame me for feeling threatened, eh?”
Eve’s narrowed eyes looked distinctly wolflike, perfectly suited to a silvery frozen forest.
“…Quite.”
“Anyway, he’s a formidable man, no question. He’s burned me several times over.”
Eve looked down at the table, a thin smile playing over her lips.
Memories let one smile even at unhappy things.
But Eve did not have time to waste on introspection.
“Hey.”
“Yes?”
“If it comes down to that, what would you say to dropping the guild?”
The notion struck Lawrence as more absurd than surprising. “Where would a merchant who’d left his guild go?” he asked.
Membership brought an expanded business network, various rights and privileges, name recognition, all the various profits that came along with those things.
It also provided the peace of mind of knowing you had comrades all across the land.
Leaving those protections was hardly different from choosing bankruptcy.
“You should come work for me,” said Eve, fingering the corner of the parchment.
“For you?”
“Yes. Come work for me.”
Lawrence remembered the words Reynolds had used: “Bolan Company.”
Did such a thing truly exist? Lawrence wondered, as Eve’s gaze became distant, and she pointed to her own mouth and spoke.
“I’m locked up in here on the orders of the guy who gave me this wound,” she said, indicating the corner of her mouth with a finger—a finger that was feminine, but somehow differently than Holo’s.
It was slender and long, but somehow sturdy as well.
Like a sailor preparing to resist the song of the mermaids, Lawrence readied himself to pour lead into his ears.
“He’s the grandson of one of the landowners that originally signed the delta marketplace contracts. He’s two years y
ounger than me, but his wits and drive for wealth are about the same as mine. And he holds them about as dearly as I do.”
Another cynical smile.
Lawrence wondered if the loneliness he saw in her face was just an illusion.
“He dreams of getting out of this town. Talks with a straight face of getting the narwhal and using the money to head south and found a great trading company. ‘With you I could outwit the old men,’ he raged, and struck me with his left hand, then grabbed me by the shoulder.”
Then Eve paused, almost laughing softly, but Lawrence saw her cover it up with a deep breath.
But the smile she swallowed became her flesh and blood, and then it showed purposefully on her face.
“There’s no way not to betray this, don’t you think?”
From Eve’s mouth came terrifying words.
She was wooing Lawrence to convince him to betray the trade guild and collect information about the narwhal.
And that in turn was to help the landowners regain their power in Kerube.
But that was only on the surface. The son of one of the landowners was attempting to have the creature for himself, so he could abandon Kerube and go south.
And Eve was saying she would betray that son.
She faced Lawrence.
She spoke. She, whom he had already betrayed.
“Kieman is trying to use me.”
Lawrence’s head couldn’t keep up with Eve’s words.
One by one they piled up too high, and he couldn’t make sense of them.
“He knows that wayward son is madly in love with me, you see. So he’ll contrive to deceive the son through me.”
It was like being blindfolded and led onto a battlefield.
Eve was painting a picture with the things Lawrence didn’t know, with the things he couldn’t know, and with the things whose truth he couldn’t possibly discern.
And even if the picture were explained to him, he wouldn’t understand it.
It was impossible to understand.
“His goal is to choke the life out of the landowners. Most likely, he’ll try to get them to sign a contract that gives him the rights to the land in exchange for handing over the narwhal. The titles will go to Kieman, and the narwhal will be stolen by the son. You would think it absurd, no? Well, just watch me give the plan to that wayward son. When’s the actual answer, you ask?”
To avoid suffocating her audience, Eve posed a question even her audience could answer.
“You’ve gotten past the love affair.”
She nodded, satisfied, perhaps because Lawrence had not gotten out of his seat.
“Kieman, of course, understands why I’m thinking about all of this. The old men hate change. We’d be best rid of these circumstances, but for long years there’s been no way to change them. That’s true for both the north and south sides. And it’s also true that the younger generation is frustrated. I’ll bet Kieman’s been going mad trying to figure something out, some way to overturn the strange balance of Kerube and reform the town, along the way outwitting the other companies and trade guilds and making a real name for himself. Cleverly, rationally, and for his own reasons.”
“Or at least that’s the picture the trap you’ve surely readied is using.”
It was all Lawrence could say.
Eve showed Lawrence both palms in a gesture of surrender.
He knew perfectly well he was being made fun of.
“I have no way of verifying the truth of these things you’ve said. So on what do you suppose I should found my decision?”
The wolf of the Roam River territory smiled and answered, “Your past experiences.”
“I’ve been deceived before.”
“Indeed, you have. But a wise merchant said something, once.” It was somehow odd that her curled lip was not baring a sharp fang. “Suspect deception, but be deceived,” said Eve, and chuckled.
It was enough to make Lawrence wonder if she were drunk.
No, she surely was, for this strange exchange of illusions within illusions.
Lawrence prepared himself and stood up from his chair.
It would only be dangerous to remain here.
“I assume your answer is ‘nay’?”
Despite a conversation for which she should have been so drunk she would’ve been unsteady on her feet, Eve’s voice was as cold and clear as a winter stream.
Hence the cold shiver down his back, Lawrence was sure.
“Kieman will most likely ask for your cooperation, since you’re in such an exceedingly convenient position. And by the way…,” said Eve, smiling happily. “Ted Reynolds of the Jean Company wants to use my connections. If I wish him to, I’m sure I can have him whisper the name of the person he wishes to do business with to me. You were following the stories of the wolf bones, weren’t you?”
Eve Bolan, the merchant and onetime noblewoman.
Lawrence’s hand unconsciously went for the knife at his belt.
“If you think I’m unarmed, you’re quite mistaken.” The smile disappeared from Eve’s face.
She’d claimed he wasn’t listening, but there was a guard with a sword standing watch outside the door. And he doubted he was some mere neighborhood ruffian.
And anyway, merchants best avoided sword fights.
Lawrence slowly pulled his hand away from the knife, gave a short bow, turned his back, and began to walk away.
Eve’s words came just as he was putting his hand to the door.
“You’ll regret it.”
The same words Kieman had said.
Lawrence clenched his teeth and opened the door.
There in the hallway, the guard leaned against the wall, eyes closed, just as before.
He looked as he passed by and saw the sword, clasp undone, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.
“Tell no one,” the guard said.
Lawrence didn’t nod, didn’t even reply, and not because the order somehow went without saying.
He couldn’t tell anyone.
He’d considered himself a full-fledged traveling merchant for many years now—long enough to know perfectly well just how small he was.
And yet he’d just glimpsed a piece of a terrifying structure.
A gamble with a truly unbelievable amount of money.
He couldn’t rid himself of the thought of it.
When he opened the front door of the building, a carriage was waiting, and it had been readied for Lawrence.
“Sir, please.”
On the opposite side of the driver were the three workers still cutting the hide.
And then Lawrence realized.
They were lookouts.
He accepted the proffered cloak and draped it low over his head as he climbed into the carriage.
He asked himself if he should seek Kieman’s protection. Given how much of her own hand Eve had shown, Lawrence couldn’t imagine that Kieman would leave him be.
Any deal in a market where the prices were unknown was best abandoned.
Lawrence was lost in contemplation, and before he knew it, he arrived at his inn’s rear entrance.
Forcing the strained muscles in his face to move, he thanked the driver, entering the inn and heaving a deep sigh.
The innkeeper’s face peeked in—he probably heard the door open and close—and Lawrence wordlessly returned the cloak. He must have looked terrible indeed, for the innkeeper offered him a drink, but Lawrence refused it and made straight for the room.
The best course of action would be to escape before they were sniffed out here and before Kieman turned serious.
But now that he knew for certain that the Jean Company was pursuing the tale, there was a possibility that he could use them in some other city to begin collecting information again.
Lawrence put his hand to the door and opened it.
What he needed to do now was protect his tiny boat from the approaching storm.
No picture could possibly have captured the look on h
is face in that moment.
“Something came for you,” said Holo.
She held up a sheet of parchment, and Lawrence knew at a glance what it was.
It had the seal of the Rowen Trade Guild.
The red wax impression of the seal seemed, without any exaggeration, like the signature of some demon.
Though his mouth went dry, he tried desperately to swallow.
The guild had long since discovered where he was staying.
Kieman was serious.
And everything Eve said was true.
Talk was continuing over Lawrence’s head.
The huge gears made a terrible grinding sound as they turned.
AFTERWORD
It has been a while. This is Isuna Hasekura.
Just as the title suggests, this is the first volume of a story.
As to the question of why that is, answering it would take a book in and of itself, so I can’t say too much, but the major reason is that it’s impossible to tell how many pages a basic plot will require.
I planned to write only what was absolutely necessary, but it kept growing and growing.
With great effort, I managed to trim away pages and complete a first draft, but because there was so much of it and it was still a little messy, it wound up split into two volumes, and I did more editing on the second volume.
Which all means that my beautiful bimonthly publication schedule did not quite happen and a bit of a gap opened up, so hopefully you all will do me the favor of waiting a bit longer.
Lawrence should be really cool in the second volume.
At least, that’s what the plot says!
Incidentally, recently I ate something truly strange and now will report about it.
It was sashimi made from—I swear—the back fat of an Asiatic black bear.
The restaurant owner was an amazing hunter and had taken wild boars in Okinawa and deer in Nara, and prepared the game he took as dishes in his restaurant. Well, apparently, he was lying about the deer, but the boar was true.
So, the Asiatic black bear back fat.
According to what I’d heard in advance, it was said to be not unlike uma no tategami, or sashimi made from the tender neck meat of a horse, but when I actually tried it, it was like unsalted butter. It melted in my mouth immediately, and there was no odor at all, only a slight fatty sweetness, and lacking any actual meat, it really was just like eating butter.
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