Side Colors II

by Isuna Hasekura

  Lawrence, however, expected quite a lot.

  There would be business to do once they arrived where the young man was so spiritedly taking them.

  The young man finally led them to a small village, from which could be seen far-off forests and springs. It looked all the poorer for the slapdash construction and placement of the dwellings with fields that seemed haphazardly plowed.

  Towns and villages without good government either overflowed with chaos or fell into poverty. This seemed to be one of the latter.

  “Quite a remote place,” said Holo bluntly, and Lawrence couldn’t claim he didn’t understand.

  It was said that roads existed to connect towns to other towns and to connect villages to landlords’ estates.

  And yet, if this place’s poor condition wasn’t enough, it was no exaggeration to say that it seemed completely isolated from the outside world. The words landlocked island were perfectly appropriate.

  “Well, we’re here! Welcome to Jisahz!”

  Small though it was, a wooden fence stood marking the territory that belonged to the village. Once he’d passed it, their guide turned and shouted his pronouncement.

  It was a village; little else could be said.

  The villagers had been watching Lawrence and Holo for some time, and they now drew nearer to get a better look.

  “W-well, then, this way! You can wash the dust from your feet at my home!” The man did not bother to introduce Lawrence or Holo to the villagers, instead walking proudly ahead of the horse and wagon.

  It was enough to make Lawrence laugh, to say nothing of Holo. The man could not help how proud he was to be leading travelers into his village.

  However, from the words “wash the dust from your feet,” Lawrence guessed this was a village of the Church. And seeing his guess had been correct, he smiled faintly.

  The man pounded loudly on the door of his home, then immediately threw it open and went inside. Next, a verbal exchange could be heard, after which a stout woman emerged from within, looking flustered.

  Lawrence found her resemblance to the man rather amusing. “Goodness, welcome, welcome! Go on, dear. Call the village elder!”

  The smile remained fixed to Lawrence’s face, though not because he found this treatment particularly pleasant. Holo, too, seemed to have realized something, perhaps having noticed Lawrence’s smile.

  “Er, I’m very grateful for the warm welcome, but we’re mere traveling merchants, so…”

  “Yes, yes, and honored merchants are most welcome! Please do come in! I’m sorry we can’t offer much, but…”

  Still sitting in the driver’s seat of the wagon, Lawrence smiled an appreciative smile and then turned to Holo. She was quite perceptive, and once Holo nodded her agreement, he turned back to the woman.

  Not having to explain every detail to Holo was awfully convenient. Lawrence was perfectly able to continue their little act.

  “Well, thank you. We’re sorry to impose on your generosity.”

  “Not at all. Come in! You can leave your wagon right there. Dear! Go fetch some hay and a bucket of water!” cried the woman to a man in the crowd with a hoe over his shoulder. No doubt he was the master of the household. With a look on his face as though wondering what was happening, he nonetheless ran off to do as he was told.

  Lawrence descended from the wagon and Holo followed.

  Just before they were welcomed into the house, Lawrence caught a glimpse of the young man from earlier leading a much older man by the hand.

  The floor of the house had neither wooden planks nor stone tiles and was simply made of hard-packed earth. A hole dug in the earth served as a hearth, around which were arranged a wooden table and chairs. The farming implements that leaned against the walls were likewise entirely wooden.

  Onions and garlic dangled from strings, and on a shelf high against one wall there was a milky white-colored substance—yeast, probably.

  Despite its dinginess, the building was spacious, and Lawrence suspected that several families might live here given the number of chairs, pots, and bowls.

  Lawrence did not particularly dislike town inns, but as he himself was from a tiny village, he felt very comfortable in surroundings like these. It was Holo who seemed less at ease here.

  “Ah, so you’re heading north, are you?”

  “Yes, to a town called Lenos.”

  “I see…Well, you can see what sort of village this is. We’re very grateful to be able to welcome a traveling merchant like yourself.” While it was said that titles make the man, village elders all seemed to look somehow similar. The thin, aged village elder of Jisahz bowed deeply.

  “No doubt it was God’s will that I be led to this town and to be welcomed so warmly. If I can help you in any way, please ask.”

  “We thank you for that.”

  Lawrence’s smile was a genuine one. He truly did believe that this was the result of divine guidance.

  “Let us give thanks to God for this encounter, then.” As the village elder spoke, Lawrence and Holo both raised their wooden cups and drank a toast.

  “…Aah, that is fine ale, indeed.”

  “It is shameful—thanks given to God call for wine, but we cannot raise grapevines here.”

  “God determines the flavor of wine, but it’s the skill of humans that give ale its taste. And you surely possess fine brewing methods to make this ale.”

  The elder shook his head humbly, but he could not hide his pleasure at hearing this. Holo stared down at the table, but Lawrence knew it was not because she found this conversation tiresome, nor because the food was too poor for her taste.

  Just what are you planning? her quick glance to Lawrence said.

  “In truth, our brewing uses a secret technique,” said the elder, only too pleased to have the village’s ale praised.

  To earn the high regard of an elder, the key was to listen closely to everything he or she said. Lawrence was just giving the old man his full attention when he heard a commotion from outside.

  “So, yes…oh?” said the elder, looking over his shoulder.

  “Elder! Drey and the others, they’re at it again!” shouted a man, pointing outside after he burst into the room, his hands black with soil.

  The elder stood, looking pained, then turned back to Lawrence and bowed his head. “My apologies. I must tend to this.”

  “Not at all. You’ve welcomed us quite warmly enough. Your duties to the village are more important.”

  The elder bowed again before being hurried out the door by the other man.

  The village custom seemed to be that only the elder welcomed guests, so once he left, Lawrence and Holo were alone.

  There still seemed to be people outside, so if they called, no doubt someone would come, but Holo seemed to welcome the solitude.

  “So then—”

  “I imagine you’d like an explanation, eh?”

  Holo plucked a bean off the table, popped it into her mouth, and nodded.

  “This is a colony village,” said Lawrence.

  “Colony?” Holo repeated back to him.

  “There are many reasons, but it happens when people move into undeveloped land and found a new town or village there. And sometimes, once in a while, villages get founded in isolated places like this one.”

  Holo’s eyes glanced curiously to and fro as she drank her beer. “Why would they do such a thing?” she asked almost childishly.

  “This is just a guess, but do you recall the rocks and logs we saw piled next to the spring when we entered the village? I’ll bet they plan on building an abbey.”

  “An…abbey?”

  “Yes. It’s a place where a chosen few devout believers can conduct their worship. Undisturbed by worldly temptations, they can live simply, humbly, and purely, which is why they would choose a desolate place like this.”

  It would be a silent fortress, dedicated to rules that Holo would no doubt have trouble following for even a single day.

  But
such a place would not be built by robed, scripture-carrying lambs of God. The people of this village were probably related to criminals or had been connected to pagans.

  Building an abbey in such a remote location was not merely a question of erecting the buildings—to ensure the monks could sustain their lives, fields and drinking water had to be secured. By engaging in this grueling work, the villagers could atone for their sins.

  “Hmm…If it’s as you say, then…,” Holo began and then suddenly seemed to recall just what sort of people made up the Church. Having done that, she arrived at the answer on her own.

  “So then, you’re going to take advantage of their weak position.” Her choice of words was quite intentional.

  “I’m merely going to help some people who are in trouble.”

  “Oh, indeed. You want to be the first to mark this village as your territory and make it into grist for your business.”

  Lawrence’s constant, easy smile was thanks to this village. It was like discovering a lake brimming with fish.

  Farm tools, craft equipment, livestock, and looms for textiles and clothing—the era when a village could be truly self-sustaining was now long past. When a village was created, supply and demand followed soon after.

  Finding a village where the people led plump chickens around on ropes and sold delicious ale from barrels by the roadside was, to a traveling merchant, like discovering a mountain of treasure.

  In exchange for its poultry and ale, Lawrence would provide the village with its necessities. If he could become the sole provider for the village, the profit would be tastier than any ale could ever be.

  Holo made an exasperated face, sipping her drink as she looked at Lawrence out of the corner of her eye.

  He thought he saw her ears flick rapidly beneath her hood, but then she grinned and faced him. “Hmm. Well, do enjoy playing the savior.”

  “…?”

  Before Lawrence could ask what she meant, there was a hasty-sounding knock at the door. Behind it was the man who’d called for the village elder earlier.

  Lawrence could guess at what he wanted.

  “My apologies, honored travelers. If either of you can read, we have need of your assistance, if you would be so kind.”

  Here in this remote village where no merchant ever visited, he was being asked if he could read.

  Lawrence bounded to his feet at his unbelievable luck.

  “Enough! Would you break the agreement we’ve already made? My field is six chiechen in size!”

  “That is a plain lie! It’s mine that was clearly stated to be six chiechens! Yours is five! So why is mine now smaller? And now you’ve the nerve to build this fence—”

  Lawrence did not need to have the situation explained to him. From the angry shouting that was audible some distance away, it was clear enough.

  From the use of the chiechen unit, he could even make a guess as to where the men were from. There was a land of forests and springs known as Rivaria, where a wise king named Chiechen the Second had once ruled.

  In his kingdom’s land surveys, the span between the king’s outstretched arms was used as a unit of measurement: one chiechen.

  Of course, even with the measurement the wise king had decreed, there was no end to land disputes.

  Before the two arguing men stood the village elder, at a complete loss for words. As the village did not have the benefit of a long tradition, there was no authority to settle the fight. Resolving this sort of baseless dispute was very difficult without the authority to transcend reason and decide by fiat.

  “Elder, I’ve brought them.”

  “Aah, yes.” The elder appeared at his wits’ end and he looked at Lawrence imploringly. “It is very difficult to ask you this, but…”

  “A fight over land division, is it?” Anyone doing business with small villages like this would find that such disputes were very common.

  Yet the elder seemed to find Lawrence’s statement evidence of some deep wisdom. “Yes, that is it exactly,” he said, bowing very deeply. “In truth, this village was built on the orders of a certain nobleman, and there are often fights over the size of the lands as they were decided at that time. Normally we resolve them calmly, but those two have nursed a grudge for a very long time, it seems…”

  The shouting had moved from an argument over land size to simple exchanges of contempt. The villagers surrounded them in a large circle, seemingly irritated, with only Holo finding the scene amusing.

  “So then, is there a written deed for the land?” Lawrence asked. That had to be the reason he’d been asked if he could read.

  The village elder nodded and produced a sheet of parchment from his breast pocket. “This is the same, but none of us can read what’s written upon it.”

  A village where the whole of the population was illiterate was like an unlocked treasure chest.

  Merchants converted agreements into written words.

  So how long could one remain honest in a place where none could read those words?

  “If I might have a look at it, then.”

  Such villages were not common, and merchants with the good fortune to be the first to visit them were still fewer in number.

  Lawrence solemnly regarded the parchment, his heart pounding with excitement.

  “…Ah, I see.”

  The moment he looked at the parchment, he realized that such good fortune did not exist after all and quirked a small smile.

  The village elder blinked, and Lawrence’s smile became a wry one.

  It was no surprise none could read the parchment—the land deed had been written in the holy characters of the Church.

  “There are a few among us who can read, but none of them can understand this parchment. We believe it must be in the letters of some foreign land.”

  “No, this is the special writing of the Church. I myself can only read numbers and a few set phrases in it.”

  Lawrence had seen land deeds and certificates of privilege written with the letters of the Church before.

  From beside him Holo peered at the parchment, but she, too, appeared unable to read it. She soon lost interest in it and returned to watching the two men shout.

  “Hmm, yes. I believe I see where the trouble is.” Lawrence read through the parchment again and delivered his pronouncement. “Did those two men happen to be craftsmen before?”

  As the argument turned into a physical brawl, Holo snickered beneath her hood, and the villagers finally moved to separate the men.

  The elder seemed to be debating whether to go in himself, but hearing Lawrence’s question, he looked up in surprise. “Th-that’s right. But how did you know?”

  “The land is divided such that they both should receive six chiechen. There’s no mistake about that. But here…,” said Lawrence, pointing out a single word.

  The elder narrowed his eyes and looked, but since the word was written in letters he could not read, no understanding came to him.

  “‘Sheepfold,’ it says. One of the sheepfolds is six chiechen, the other five.”

  The elder stared at the parchment blankly for a while and then finally seemed to arrive at the conclusion. He squeezed his eyes closed and smacked his own balding head. “I see…,” he murmured. “So they didn’t realize they were meant to be sheepfolds…”

  Land division was very important to villagers. Before they’d set out for the new colony, there was no doubt these illiterate villagers had the particulars of that division explained to them. But how were people who’d never so much as tended a garden meant to understand such specialized terminology?

  The only parts that would linger in their minds would be the numbers.

  And that would lead to fights like this.

  “It seems that Chai Barton donated just a bit more to the abbey, so Barton was given the six-chiechen sheepfold.”

  “Barton’s the one on the left there. Goodness, to think that’s what they’ve been fighting over…”

  “Without any
experience with such matters, it’s hard to understand the importance of a mere sheep pen.”

  Just as the name suggested, a sheepfold was a fenced area for keeping sheep—but the goal was not generally to raise them within such a pen, but rather to bring them there at night so that their droppings could fertilize the area.

  Since it was obvious that more sheep went into a larger pen, just as a smaller one would hold fewer, pens were measured not by their capacity but rather their area. Some farmers would fill their pens to capacity, while others wouldn’t even cover half the area with sheep.

  The elder bowed politely to Lawrence, then trotted off toward the two arguing men. He spread the parchment out in front of the two men, who were forcibly pulled apart by other villagers. As Lawrence looked on with an indulgent smile, the two men finally exchanged a grudging handshake.

  “That was settled rather too quickly,” said Holo, sounding disappointed.

  “Memories are all too often mistaken. Not so with the written word.” Those words had been well drilled into Lawrence by his master. One of the reasons traveling merchants were always losing out to city merchants was that they had to remember each purchase and sale without writing it down in a ledger.

  Whenever there was a dispute, the written word would always triumph.

  “You can’t expand your business if you’re having fights like this every day. It’s why contracts are so important.”

  Holo listened to Lawrence, seemingly uninterested. “Important enough that you were thinking to back out of your promise of chicken.”

  “Quite so,” said Lawrence, just as the village elder turned to face him, then bowed slowly.

  Lawrence gave the man a slight wave. It was nice to be useful to someone else once in a while, he thought.

  That evening, the villagers celebrated the end of the two men’s conflict by slaughtering a chicken and roasting it whole. There was also as much liquor as one could drink—as long as they wanted ale.

  This would satisfy even Holo surely.

  Or so Lawrence thought, but after partaking of only a small amount, Holo retired like the pious nun she appeared to be.

  Evidently an entire building had been set aside for them to stay in, and upon excusing herself, she was led there. Perhaps she was weary from traveling, and the meat and ale were proving heavier than expected.