Spice & Wolf Omnibus

by Isuna Hasekura

  The only real difference between a town and a village was the presence of a wall. There were plenty of “towns” with walls barely more than a rickety wooden fence, so for a supposed village, Tereo was rather grand.

  Like other villages, its buildings were not packed closely together (instead they had been erected in a more scattered fashion), but there was some stone-walled architecture in what seemed to be the heart of Tereo. The streets, while not cobbled, were clean and free from holes. The church was large enough to be visible a fair distance away, and it had a proper tower and bell.

  Truly, in order to be called a town, all Tereo lacked was a wall.

  Heeding Evan’s warning, Holo covered her head with Lawrence’s coat, cinching it up with a cord about her neck as though she expected rain. She eschewed her typical town-girl clothing. It seemed a bit too stylish and might attract attention.

  Holo stood out enough as it was.

  Once she had finished changing, Lawrence steered the cart toward the buildings of the village.

  Having no walls meant there was no gatehouse, which in turn ensured that travelers passing through the village could not be taxed.

  There was no one to stop the cart as it rolled into town. A man busy bundling sheaves of wheat stared openly at Lawrence and Holo; Lawrence nodded in greeting.

  The village was dusty, its smaller streets bumpy and pitted. Buildings of both stone and wood were on the large side with low roofs. Many of the houses had gardens – a rare sight in larger towns.

  Here and there along the roadside were piles of straw, the sign of the recently concluded harvest. Bundles of firewood were interspersed among them.

  Pedestrians were few; it seemed as if they were outnumbered by the pigs and chickens that wandered here and there.

  The one way that the village was like other places of its kind was the staring – upon noticing the travelers, every villager stared at Lawrence and Holo.

  In this sense, Tereo was every bit a small village.

  Lawrence felt his outsider status keenly in a way he hadn’t felt in many years.

  He had grown up in a poor village himself. He was well aware that such places offered little in the way of amusement and that a traveler was the perfect diversion.

  Lawrence thought on this as he drove. They eventually arrived at a wide square with a great block of stone placed in the center.

  It seemed to be the center of the village, surrounded as it was by various buildings.

  Based on the wrought iron signs that hung from the buildings’ eaves, there appeared to be a tavern, an inn, and a baker’s shop, along with what seemed to be a wool weaver’s workshop. A building with a larger entrance faced the street, and it was surely a common area where the harvested wheat could be threshed and sifted.

  Other buildings seemed to be the homes of the village’s older, more influential families – and of course, there was also the church.

  There were unsurprisingly a good number of people – children playing in the square and adults standing and talking. Lawrence and Holo found themselves yet again the subject of curious stares.

  “That’s quite a stone there. What’s it used for?” asked Holo casually, unconcerned by the villagers’ scrutiny.

  “Probably for ceremonial use in some festival or for dancing or maybe for holding meetings, I suppose.”

  The stone in question had a smooth, flat surface and came up to about Lawrence’s waist. A wooden ladder leaned against it, which suggested the stone hadn’t been placed here as a mere landmark.

  The only way to know for sure would be to ask a villager, but Holo merely nodded vaguely and leaned back against the wagon seat.

  Lawrence guided the wagon around the stone and toward the church.

  Despite the constant bombardment of curious gazes, it was clear that this was no isolated mountain hamlet.

  The wagon stopped in front of the church, at which point the villagers seemed to assume that the pair had come to pray for safe travel, and the level of interest dropped.

  “Seems like they’re almost disappointed,” muttered Lawrence to Holo once he’d stopped the wagon and climbed down. Holo smiled conspiratorially.

  The church was a grand stone building, its great wooden door framed in iron.

  It seemed to have weathered many a year. The corners of the stone blocks that made up the edifice were rounded with age, though the iron knocker affixed to the church door seemed strangely unused.

  It was odd, too, for the door to be closed. It wasn’t a cloister, after all, nor did there seem to be a service in progress. The doors of any normal church would have been open.

  If he had to put it simply, Lawrence would have guessed that the church was unloved by the village.

  But there was no point in conjecture. Lawrence grabbed hold of the knocker and rapped it several times.

  Klang, klang – the dry sound echoed strangely across the square.

  There was no reply for several moments, but just as Lawrence was beginning to wonder if anyone was there, the door creaked loudly, opening just a crack.

  “Who is it?” A girl’s voice, none too friendly, was audible through the crack.

  “I apologize for calling without notice. I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant,” said Lawrence with an ingratiating smile. The girl on the other side of the door narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

  “A… merchant?”

  “That’s right. I’ve come from Kumersun.”

  Churches so cautious in their admittance were rare.

  “… What about her?” The girl’s gaze turned to Holo.

  “Circumstances have led to her traveling with me,” said Lawrence simply.

  The girl looked back and forth between Lawrence and Holo before sighing softly, then slowly opening the door.

  As the great door creaked open, Lawrence was surprised to see that the girl wore a long-sleeved priest’s robe.

  “What is your business here?” she asked.

  Though Lawrence was confident he’d concealed his surprise, the robed girl bore a severe expression that matched her tone. Her dark brown hair was bound up tightly, and her honey eyes glittered with challenge.

  Her attitude aside, this was the first time Lawrence had ever been asked what his business was upon calling at a church.

  “Ah, yes – I’d like to speak to the priest, if that is at all possible.”

  Normally it was impossible for women to serve in the Church’s priesthood. The organization was entirely patriarchal.

  That had been Lawrence’s assumption when he’d asked the question, but the girl’s brows only furrowed more deeply at his words.

  She looked deliberately at her own robe before replying, “Though I am not a full priest, I am responsible for this church. My name is Elsa Schtingheim.”

  A woman in charge of a church – and such a young one at that.

  Lawrence would have been less surprised to discover that the owner of some large, successful company was a woman – and that would’ve been surprise enough.

  Elsa seemed to be used to this reaction. Again she calmly asked her question: “What is your business here?”

  “Ah, er, we wish to ask directions…”

  “Directions?”

  “Yes. We need to find a particular monastery – Diendran Abbey, under the care of Abbot Louis Lana Schtinghilt.”

  As Lawrence said it aloud, the similarity between the abbot’s name and Elsa’s occurred to him. Elsa’s surprise was immediately clear.

  But before Lawrence could so much as ask what was wrong, she wiped the look of surprise from her face. “I know it not,” she said.

  Elsa’s words themselves were polite enough, but her severe mien revealed her true feelings. She began to close the door without waiting for Lawrence’s reply.

  Yet what sort of merchant would he be to let the door be closed in his face?

  Lawrence quickly jammed his foot in the crack before it could close, smiling. “I have heard that there is a priest
here by the name of Franz.”

  Elsa glared bitterly down at Lawrence’s foot before looking him dead in the eye. “Father Franz passed away in the summer.”

  “Wha–?”

  She took advantage of his surprise to continue. “Are you satisfied? I know not of the abbey you seek, and I’m very busy.”

  Lawrence felt that if he was to persist and she was to call out for help, he’d be in trouble.

  He withdrew his foot. Elsa gave one last angry sigh, then closed the door.

  “…”

  “She certainly hated you.”

  “Maybe it’s because I didn’t leave a tithe.” Lawrence shrugged and looked over at Holo. “Is it true that Father Franz is dead?”

  “She did not seem to be lying. However–”

  “She was lying when she said she didn’t know of the abbey.”

  Lawrence could have been blindfolded and still seen through that lie, so obvious was her surprise at hearing the abbey mentioned.

  But was it true that she was in charge of the church? It seemed a dangerous thing to joke about.

  Perhaps Elsa was Father Franz’s daughter, if not by blood, then by adoption.

  “What shall we do?” asked Lawrence.

  Holo’s reply was quick. “In any case, we cannot force our way in. Let us find an inn.”

  Still the object of many a curious gaze, the two reseated themselves in the wagon.

  “Ooh… It has been so very long…” said Holo, flinging herself onto the bed and stretching out.

  “It certainly trumps sleeping in a wagon bed, but mind yourself – there may be bugs.”

  This bed was not wool or cotton stretched over a wooden frame, but rather had a mattress made from tightly bound straw. Most likely there were insects hibernating within the straw, waiting for the summer breeding season.

  He knew that it mattered little whether she heeded his caution or not. Insects would love her fluffy tail.

  “Mind myself? Why, I’m already followed about by the largest bugs of all.”

  Holo grinned mischievously, her chin cupped in her hands. Lawrence sighed. It was true – she would attract that sort of insect, too.

  “This is a very small village. Don’t cause a fuss,” he said.

  “That will depend entirely on your attitude.” After sneering unpleasantly at Lawrence, Holo rolled over, her tail swishing, and yawned hugely. “I’m tired. Might I sleep?”

  “And if I say no?” Lawrence asked with a chuckle.

  Holo looked over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes suggestively. “Why, I would doze off at your side.”

  Humiliatingly, Lawrence considered the possibility and did not find it at all unpleasant. He coughed, avoiding her gaze – which made it all too clear that she saw right through him – and decided to avoid a confrontation. “Well, I suppose you really are tired, yes? If you rest now before you collapse from exhaustion, that would be a boon to your traveling companion.”

  “Hmph. Well, in that case, I shall take my rest.”

  Holo abandoned her offense and closed her eyes.

  Her swishing tail flicked to a halt as well. Lawrence felt like he might hear her snore any moment.

  “But first take off that cap and the robe about your waist as well and my coat that you just tossed aside there. Fold it neatly, and put a blanket on the mattress. Honestly.” Lawrence couldn’t help thinking of the spoiled princesses that showed up in stage plays.

  Holo did not so much as move her head at Lawrence’s nagging.

  “If the clothes aren’t folded by the time I get back, you won’t get a nice dinner.”

  It was as though he were scolding a disobedient child. Holo played the role to a tee as she looked up sharply. “You’re too kind to really do that.”

  “… You’ll meet a bad end someday.”

  “Oh, aye, if you can bring yourself to do something about it. Never mind that – are you going out somewhere?”

  Holo’s eyes were beginning to look bleary even as she spoke. Lawrence couldn’t help walking over and drawing the blanket over her. “I wouldn’t bother if we were just passing through, but as it seems we’ll be staying here for a bit, I’d best see the village elder. The elder might know where the abbey is as well.”

  “… I see.”

  “Quite. So you just sleep here.”

  Holo tugged the blanked up over her mouth and nodded.

  “I doubt I’ll find a souvenir for you, though.”

  “… I care not.” Holo’s eyes opened slightly, and she added in a sweet, soft voice that sounded like she might drift off to sleep at any moment, “So long as you return…”

  He knew it was a trap, yet was still unable to conceal his fluster.

  Holo’s ears pricked up happily.

  She might not be getting a souvenir, but she’d been able to see his foolish face.

  “I’ve already got my souvenir. Good night.”

  Holo snuggled in beneath the blanket. “Sleep well,” Lawrence replied by way of surrender.

  Lawrence unloaded some wheat from his wagon bed into a moderately sized bag, and once he’d asked the innkeeper where the village elder’s house was, he left the inn.

  The local children seemed very concerned with the traveler who had come to their village during the dead of winter. As soon as Lawrence opened the inn door, though, they scattered.

  To hear the innkeeper tell it, the festivals held in the spring and fall – for planting and harvest, respectively – attracted some people from outside the village, but since Tereo was well off the beaten path, visitors were generally rare. At the moment, Lawrence and Holo were the only guests at the inn.

  The Tereo village elder’s home was the grandest building facing the square. Its foundations and ground floor were made of stone while the second and third floors of the stately edifice were constructed from wood.

  The front door had the kind of iron frame Lawrence expected to see on a church door, and it was finely wrought with subtle designs.

  The door knocker was fashioned in the shape of a lizard or a snake and was a bit tasteless.

  It was probably to venerate a local deity of some kind. Snake and frog deities were surprisingly common.

  “Excuse me, is anyone home?” Lawrence said as he rapped the knocker. After a short while, the door opened and a middle-aged woman emerged, her apron and hands covered in a dusting of flour. “Hello – who might you be?”

  “I apologize for the intrusion. My name is Kraft Lawrence; I am a traveling merchant. I’ve–”

  “Oh, goodness. Elder, sir! The one everyone’s been talking about – he’s here!”

  Though Lawrence was taken aback at having been cut off so abruptly, the woman seemed not to take notice as she turned around and called out, “Elder, sir!” again, walking back into the house.

  Having been so roundly ignored, Lawrence cleared his throat in order to center himself.

  At length, the woman returned, escorting a small, elderly man carrying a cane back to the door.

  “See, here he is!”

  “Mrs. Kemp, you’re being rude to our guest.”

  Lawrence heard the entire exchange, though he was not so narrow-minded as to become angry.

  And anyway, a cheerful village wife could be a powerful ally when doing business.

  Lawrence smiled brilliantly at the two.

  “Please forgive our terrible manners. I am Sem, elder of the village of Tereo,” said the old man.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you. I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant.”

  “Well, now, Mrs. Kemp, do go back inside and take up with the others… Goodness, my apologies, sir. A visitor so late in the season sets all the idle goodwives’ tongues wagging.”

  “I surely hope the rumors are good ones.”

  Sem smiled. “Come, come in,” he invited, leading Lawrence into the house.

  A hall led straight in from the entrance. Lawrence could hear laughter issuing from a large room farther inside the hous
e.

  As he walked, flour dust tickled at his nose. No doubt the women were chatting and laughing as they kneaded the newly ground wheat flour into bread dough.

  It was a common sight in the countryside.

  “If you head into the inner room, you’ll end up white with flour! Come, follow me,” said Sem, opening the door to a large room. He gestured for Lawrence to enter first, then followed.

  Lawrence was immediately stunned.

  A giant snake was coiled up atop the shelf against one wall of the room.

  “Ha-ha-ha, be at ease. It is not alive.”

  Lawrence looked again, and true enough, the black gleaming scales were dry, and the body was wrinkled. The skin had been dried, stuffed, and sewn back together.

  He remembered the snake-shaped knocker on the door. Perhaps the village truly did worship a snake deity.

  At Sem’s suggestion, Lawrence took a seat, thinking he would have to ask Holo about this later.

  “So, then, what business is it that brings you to our humble village?”

  “Ah, yes. First, as we’re staying in your village, I should offer my regards. Here is some of the wheat I have stocked,” offered Lawrence, producing the sack of wheat he had filled for the occasion. Sem blinked rapidly.

  “Goodness gracious! Most traveling merchants these days start talking business from the first word out of their mouths.”

  This was a bit unpleasant for Lawrence to hear, given that it described him perfectly – up until recently.

  “And what would your other goal be?” asked Sem.

  “Ah, well. We are looking for an abbey and were hoping you would know its location.”

  “An abbey?”

  “Yes. We inquired at the church earlier, but unfortunately they did not know it.” Lawrence’s expression was troubled, though his keen merchant eyes continued to watch Sem carefully for any reaction.

  He saw Sem’s gaze drift for just a moment.

  “I see… Unfortunately I, too, have heard of no abbey in this region. Where did you come by this information?”

  Lawrence’s gut told him that Sem knew.

  But if he were to lie about his source of information, it could become troublesome later. He decided to be honest.

  “In Kumerson. A chronicler there told me.”