Side Colors II

by Isuna Hasekura

  Copyright

  SPICE AND WOLF, Volume 11: Side Colors II

  ISUNA HASEKURA

  Cover art by Jyuu Ayakura

  Translation: Paul Starr

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  OOKAMI TO KOSHINRYO Vol. 11

  © ISUNA HASEKURA 2009

  Edited by ASCII MEDIA WORKS

  First published in Japan in 2009 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2014 by Yen Press, LLC

  Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First Yen On eBook Edition: April 2017

  Originally published in paperback in April 2014 by Yen On.

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  ISBN: 978-0-316-55911-9

  E3-20170314-JV-PC

  THE WOLF AND THE GOLDEN PROMISE

  Plop a soft lump of bread dough down on the table.

  Carve a winding groove through it with your finger, and then let water flow through the groove. Let a few trees grow here and there.

  Doing all that would result in the scene that lay before him, he was sure.

  Such thoughts ran through Lawrence’s mind as he sat in the driver’s seat of the wagon, musing on the taste of baked bread—a taste he had not enjoyed in several days. He could not help but swallow hungrily.

  They’d left town some three days earlier, so it was too soon to be thinking so fondly of hot food. In the past, he had crossed entire mountains on nothing but a moldy crust of oat bread and a bit of salt. When he thought of that, these travels with bread, wine, and even a side dish of some kind seemed disturbingly luxurious.

  And while he often told himself as much, his purse strings had been rather loose on this journey, with his mood similarly so.

  In his seven years’ travel since starting out at the age of eighteen, this was easily the most luxurious trip he had taken.

  “Poultry legs.” Perhaps having heard his gulp, Lawrence’s traveling companion spoke up as she sat next to him in the driver’s seat.

  Her face was buried in her fox fur muffler, and she busied herself by combing more fur in her lap—but this was not the pelt of a dog nor a fox, but the unmistakable fur of a wolf.

  Normally a wolf’s fur would be a bit shorter, scruffier, and generally shabbier. But the fur that his companion now tended to was without exaggeration of the finest quality, its warmth at night nearly miraculous. It was neatly combed, thanks to her periodic nibbling of its roots.

  Lawrence wondered how much it would cost to buy it were the fur for sale—but soon thought better of the notion. Far more relevant than how much it would take to buy was the question of how much it could be sold for.

  Because after all, the fur in question was no pelt, but rather was still attached to the flesh-and-blood tail of its wolf owner.

  “I assume that’s something you’d like to eat?” said Lawrence, to which his traveling companion Holo flicked her ears—her proudly pointed ears, their fur the same color as that of her tail. They sat regally atop the flowing chestnut brown of her hair and were unquestionably not human.

  The seemingly teenaged girl sitting next to him in the driver’s seat of the wagon was not simply a human with wolf ears and a tail, but in fact, a great wolf who dwelled within wheat and ensured good harvests.

  “And a hen would be best rather than a cock,” she said.

  “A hen gives eggs, too.”

  Lawrence thought of eggs beaten until fluffy and perfectly fried. Conversations with this particular wolf always turned to food. Though she proclaimed herself the Wisewolf of Yoitsu, her interest in worldly pleasures was greater than that of any human.

  “Poultry…I tell you, the peculiar spring of raw chicken meat is truly irresistible. Though the feathers can be a bit of a bother…”

  If she had been joking she would have had a strained smile, but unfortunately Holo was quite serious. Her lips concealed very sharp fangs.

  “I’ve never eaten one raw, but they’re worth the trouble of cooking, that’s for sure.”

  “Oh?”

  “Pluck the feathers, remove the organs, debone the meat, then steam it with seasoning, boil the meat with vegetables, fill the bird with stuffing, then crisp the skin with hot oil, then roast it one more time with fragrant spices…Hey, you’re drooling.”

  “Muh…mmph.”

  Lawrence had heard of this particular luxury dish, though he had never actually eaten it. But for Holo’s active imagination, a secondhand description was more than enough. These were the only times she forgot her wisewolf’s pride and stared up at him, her eyes imploring.

  He had managed to become accustomed to this, having traveled with her long enough. And no amount of her begging on the road truly frightened him—because one could not buy what was not being sold.

  Given his overwhelming advantage, Lawrence cleared his throat and answered, “Wait a moment. Cooking is all well and good, but there are other places where a special effort results in a more delicious meat.”

  “…Other places?” Holo looked up at him with her red-tinged amber eyes.

  “There are fowl that are neither cock nor hen, you know.”

  “Oh?” Despite her centuries of life, it seemed there were subjects not covered by the wisewolf’s memory. But rather than finding this frustrating, she merely urged him on out of pure, simple curiosity. “Go on, go on!”

  Lawrence cleared his throat again, this time for a rather different reason than before, and continued. “They take the males and castrate them.”

  “Ho. And that…”

  “It yields an even tastier meat than a hen’s. It’s not tough like a cock’s, but their energy doesn’t go into making eggs like a hen’s does.”

  “Mm…” Holo’s gaze moved purposefully, and she grinned a bare-fanged grin. “That does indeed sound tasty.”

  Her true form was as a huge wolf that could swallow Lawrence in a single bite. But more importantly, he got the feeling that she was making sport of his most important parts—as a man, that is.

  He cleared his throat, and then again more loudly, and lightly flicked the cart horse’s reins.

  Holo chuckled, amused, and didn’t press her attack any further. Her tail swished to and fro.

  “Do not worry. I’m well aware you’re a capable male when there’s need of it.” She smiled, flashing white fangs, and if he didn’t laugh her jest off, he’d have been no man at all. She had him dancing in the palm of her hand and he knew it, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Still…”

  “Ouch—!”

 
She grabbed his ear and pulled, and he leaned in response, tugging on the reins, which in turn prompted a neigh from the horse.

  “…You’re hardly fit to be called a male, exaggerating your tales because you’re unconcerned whether I’ll beg you for poultry!”

  She seemed to have seen right through him.

  Holo let go of his ear as though tossing it aside, then folded her arms across her chest, looking displeased.

  “Hmph. Consider my teasing your punishment for that. Speaking of such delicious things, when on our journey all we have to eat are these plain rations—why, I could just die.”

  Even if that did leave them even, this last part was too much for Lawrence to let pass unanswered. “Look here, our food may be plain, but the bread’s a mix of wheat and rye, and the wine is fine and clear, and we’d get along perfectly well without it. And then we have cheese and jerky, and we also have fruits and raisins, which is quite luxurious enough. In the past I used to travel on nothing but raw garlic and onions. Compared with that, what we have is unbelievable luxury.”

  Though Holo sometimes acted strangely childish or animalistic, her fundamental intelligence was enough to cause even Lawrence to quail. She was not someone who couldn’t understand reason.

  And yet she still had no trouble saying things like, “I shall die, surely.”

  She turned away with a sniff.

  Could such purposeful acting truly exist?

  Lawrence made a face as he bit his tongue and glared at Holo.

  If he took the bait, he would lose. But if he ignored her, it would obviously become a test of wills, and he knew for a certainty that he would be the one to finally surrender. This was what it meant to be perfectly seen through.

  To put it politely, all Lawrence wanted was to have pleasant journeys with Holo. And Holo was perfectly willing to take that desire hostage.

  “Fine, fine.”

  “…What is fine?” she replied coldly, her back still turned.

  “I’m sorry. If we can find some poultry, I’ll buy it for you. But that offer is only good while we’re on the road.”

  That was as far as Lawrence was willing to compromise. When it came to buying her such things in a town, even if his mouth opened to make the offer, as long as his coin purse was unable to open to back up that offer, he would never actually make it.

  Holo still did not deign to turn around; her ears merely twitched.

  No doubt that clever mind of hers was thinking things through—deciding whether or not he had really been pushed as far as he could be pushed.

  “I seem to recall that I told you earlier—I can tell a man’s lies from truth.”

  “Certainly. I remember quite well.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  “Mm…”

  Holo again fell silent for a time.

  Meanwhile Lawrence felt like a criminal awaiting his sentencing as he waited for her next words, though when he thought carefully about it, he knew perfectly well he had committed no crime.

  Yet there was no escaping this unreasonable situation.

  Finally Holo appeared to realize that Lawrence’s proposal was as far as he could go and still conclude the discussion as jokingly as it had started, so she turned back to him and smiled pleasantly.

  Unfair! he shouted inwardly. Holo’s ever-changing smiles would be able to deceive any man, not just one weary from years of lonely traveling.

  “Hmph. Still, you—”

  “Hmm?”

  The horse walked lazily on for a little while before Holo spoke.

  “What you said earlier—it was no lie, was it?”

  “What I said earlier? Oh, about the castrated fowl…?”

  “Fool. No, about buying one for me should we encounter one.”

  Why was she going to such lengths to confirm this? Lawrence had an ill premonition for a moment, but then Holo tugged at his sleeve, and he realized it was no mere premonition.

  In an instant, his heart and mind were those of a merchant’s.

  “Did I say that…?”

  “You did, did you not?” Holo leaned in close and growled a low growl.

  Now, finally, Lawrence saw what she meant. Far up along the sloping road, there was a person. And though Lawrence’s eyes could not make it out, he knew that Holo could see a chicken there, too.

  “Surely you don’t intend to quibble over whether or not you were speaking to me, do you?”

  Nothing was as terrifying as Holo’s unfriendly smile. But it seemed likely that he was going to have to kneel down and explain to her just how much a single chicken would cost.

  But that would work only if she was willing to listen. And at the moment, that seemed very unlikely. Lawrence looked at Holo next to him and sighed. If he failed to tread lightly, his life could be in danger.

  “Fine. I’m sorry. I’ll keep my promise. However—”

  “However?” she shot back, her retort nearly overlapping with his words and her gaze very serious.

  Lawrence had to choose his words very carefully. “Just one.”

  Holo looked him steadily in the eye and did not move. After a suffocating silence, she faced forward with a huge smile.

  Lawrence was sure he knew how a bird too terrified by a wild dog’s gaze to fly away must have felt. He thought about it as he looked ahead, whereupon the figure up the road noticed their approach and stood.

  The figure waved, and as they drew near enough that Lawrence could tell he was smiling, he saw the chicken tied up at the figure’s feet.

  “Just one,” he repeated, just to be clear.

  “How about something to liven up your travels, sir?”

  Travelers were few in this expanse of wilderness, and the strange peddler who had waited for a sole customer out under the midwinter sky was a lanky man of about Lawrence’s age. He had the particular wiry build of a farmer. When they were close enough to shake hands, Lawrence was surprised at how thick the young man’s skin was.

  “Besides the chicken, I’ve got some excellent ale. How about it?”

  His body was far sturdier than any traveling merchant’s. He was clothed in plain, simple clothing, and despite the mist puffing whitely from his mouth, he didn’t appear cold at all. Far from it, he wore a merry smile, and beside the chicken pecking at the roadside grass sat a waist-high barrel.

  The young man seemed in fine condition, but the iron bands holding the barrel staves together were rusted and seemed likely to give way at any moment. Nevertheless, the chicken seemed fat and happy—it was a strange combination.

  Lawrence stroked his beard thoughtfully.

  Holo wasn’t urging him to quickly finish the purchase, either—she was probably just as preoccupied as Lawrence was with wondering just how this man came to be on this desolate road in the first place.

  “Might we taste the ale?” Lawrence finally asked since silence wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

  The man nodded grandly. “But of course!” he said, chest thrust out, and then produced a largish measuring cup. He removed the barrel’s lid and drew a cupful of ale. “It’s just been brewed. Look, it’s even still bubbling!”

  When Lawrence put it to his lips, he found that it was surprisingly tasty—either the water was good or the wheat had been good.

  Holo wanted some, too, so he gave her a sip, and her eyes immediately turned imploring.

  “So, how about it?”

  At the man’s repeated question, Lawrence nodded, and his eyes returned to the chicken.

  He could tell that beneath Holo’s robe, she was trying very hard to keep her tail from swishing to and fro.

  Roast chicken and ale. No wonder she was so happy.

  “I suppose we’ll take some ale with the chicken.”

  The only reason the man didn’t notice the flicker of movement underneath Holo’s hood was because he himself nearly jumped for joy.

  But Lawrence was not just Holo’s traveling companion. He was something of a traveling m
erchant, and so these were the next words out of his mouth: “But I think I’d like several chickens. Not just the one.”

  “Huh?” the man replied, and Holo, too, looked at Lawrence in surprise.

  She had recently started to understand how the market worked and thus had a faint notion of just how costly even a single chicken could be—hence her surprise at Lawrence’s saying he wanted more than one.

  “There’s a village nearby, is there not? We’re not in a terrible hurry, so perhaps you’d take us there to buy more.”

  It was obvious that the man wasn’t a merchant hauling his goods down the road, which meant he must have come from a village in order to make some coin or trade for goods he had a pressing need of.

  Just as Lawrence suspected, the man nodded at first dazedly, then again with greater strength. “Truly? Of course, of course!” His face full of happiness, he immediately secured the barrel with rope and hoisted it to his back. His smaller items were quickly put in a burlap sack and fixed to the lid of the barrel, and then he took hold of the rope the chicken was tied to. “Well, then, follow me!”

  And then he strode energetically right off the road.

  The direction he was heading in was wild land, but Lawrence decided it was not so rough that the wagon could not traverse it. He pulled on the reins to turn the horse in the proper direction.

  It was none other than Holo who chose that moment to tug at his sleeve. “Come now, if you’re angry, you might say as much,” she said, a worried expression on her face.

  She must have thought Lawrence saying he wanted to buy more than one chicken was meant as a kind of snide remark on her behavior.

  Lawrence laughed in spite of himself, at which point it was Holo who seemed angry, and she glared at him.

  “Sorry, sorry. No, I just had an idea, you see.”

  “…An idea?” Holo’s head tilted quizzically as she faced him.

  “Call it a merchant’s intuition.”

  Holo regarded him with extreme skepticism, but Lawrence was not worried. She might confound him with her acting and her snares, but that was because she had confidence in his merchant’s eye.

  “If this goes well, I really will buy you more than one.”

  Holo’s expression did not change. “We’ll see, but I shan’t expect much.”