Lawrence couldn’t help but feel impressed at the fact that she’d fallen asleep. At the same time, he was a bit relieved that she had.
She had forcibly – so forcibly! – ended the conversation, demanding Lawrence neither say nor ask another thing.
Though she had not answered Lawrence’s question, her actions alone were enough.
After all, they made one thing abundantly clear: Holo did not wish to confront the problem any more than Lawrence did.
If she had changed the subject while the true answer to his question lay within her, Lawrence probably would have been angry. But as neither of them had that answer, he was grateful she had ended the conversation by force.
At the very least, this meant she did not have to come up with an answer right then and there.
Their travels were not over, and they had not arrived in Yoitsu yet.
It was the rare debt that was repaid in full before it came due, after all.
As he thought these things over, Lawrence put down the book he was reading and picked up another volume.
Father Franz had evidently been an intelligent fellow. Within the books, even the lineage of the various gods had been carefully organized, and a glance at the title of each chapter gave one a reasonable idea of its contents. This made the books easy to skim. Lawrence shuddered to think of how difficult this task would have been if Father Franz had simply collected tales at random as he heard them.
However, while flipping through the pages of book after book, Lawrence realized something.
In addition to the normal, common tales of snakes, frogs, and fish, there were many stories of mountain, lake, and tree gods. Likewise, there were tales of gods of thunder and rain, sun and moon and stars.
But stories of bird spirits and beast spirits – there were few of those.
In the pagan town of Kumersun, Diana had told many tales that concerned the bear spirit who destroyed Yoitsu. And near the Church city of Ruvinheigen, Lawrence himself had felt the unmistakable presence of a wolf-god not unlike Holo.
And Diana herself was a bird spirit larger than any human.
Given all this, the books should have been filled with beast legends. Yet Lawrence had found not one.
Did the books that they had brought up from the basement simply not happen to contain any such tales?
At that moment, Lawrence’s eye fell on a sentence written on a piece of parchment that was tucked into the book he had just opened.
“It is not my wish to regard the tale of the bear spirit in this book with any kind of special treatment.”
So far, every book Lawrence had looked through had simply been accounts of the tales Father Franz had heard, written in language as dry as any business contract. Having suddenly come upon this sentence in which he felt he could hear Father Franz’s own voice, he was momentarily stunned.
“Regarding the stories in the other books – there are many which differ in time and place, but which I believe nonetheless refer to the same spirit. However, this particular spirit is the only one whose stories I have organized so thoroughly.”
Lawrence wavered, trying to decide whether to wake Holo.
He was unable to turn his gaze away from the yellowed page. Father Franz’s handwriting was neat, but at the same time, it seemed somehow excited.
“Is the Pope aware of this? If I am correct, then the God we worship triumphed without a fight. If that is proof of His omnipotence, how could I possibly remain calm?”
It seemed as though he could hear Father Franz’s decisive pen strokes.
The passage concluded: “I do not wish to let bias cloud my view of all the tales. Yet I cannot help but wonder if the pagans of the northlands themselves did not realize the importance of the Moon-Hunting Bear. No, perhaps the very fact that I am writing this means that I am already biased. As I assembled these books, I felt strongly the existence of these spirits. If possible, I hope that one would judge not with the narrow mind of a worshiper of our God, but rather with the open heart of those whose love of God is like a zephyr in an open field. That is why I have ventured to leave this book in among all the others.”
As soon as Lawrence flipped the piece of parchment over, the book’s story began, much like any of the other books he had read.
Should he let Holo read it first? Or should he pretend not to have seen it?
The thought flitted through his mind for a moment, but it was too late for that now – and in any case, it would be a kind of betrayal.
He decided to wake Holo.
He closed the book, whereupon he could hear a strange sound.
Flip, plip, plip-plip came the small, dry sound.
“… Rain, eh?”
But as soon as he said it, he realized the raindrops were awfully large. Eventually he realized that the sound was of galloping hooves.
It was said that the sound of a galloping horse at night would draw a throng of demons.
When traveling by horse at night, one could never let it run.
Church follower and pagan alike believed this.
But its true meaning was common sense – a galloping horse at night never brought good tidings.
“Hey, wake up.” Lawrence closed the book and tapped Holo’s shoulder, listening carefully.
Judging by the sound of the hooves, there was a single horse, which entered the village square and came to an abrupt stop.
“Mmph… what is it?”
“I have two things to tell you.”
“Neither good, no doubt.”
“First, I found the book with stories of the Moon-Hunting Bear.”
Holo’s eyes widened in an instant, and she looked at the book near Lawrence’s side.
But she was not the type to have her whole attention stolen by a single thing.
Her wolf ears flicked smartly, and she looked back at the wall behind them. “Did something happen?”
“That seems very likely. There is nothing less welcome than the sound of a horse’s gallop at night.”
Lawrence took the book and handed it to Holo.
She took it, but he did not let go.
“I don’t know what you plan to do upon reading this, but whatever thoughts you have, I’d like you to tell me about them.”
Holo did not look up, but gazed evenly at the book. “Hmph,” she replied. “I suppose you could’ve easily hidden this book. Very well. I promise.”
Lawrence nodded as he stood. “I’ll go look outside,” he said, walking away.
Naturally, the church was dark and quiet, though not so dark that Lawrence’s eyes were useless.
Once he arrived in the living room, there was a bit of moonlight filtering in through the cracks of the window, which improved visibility.
He could see well enough to be able to instantly identify the figure that was creaking its way down the stairs as Elsa.
“I heard the sound of a galloping horse,” she said.
“Any notion of what is afoot?”
He expected she did, otherwise she would not have come immediately downstairs.
“More than I’d like.”
A village like Tereo was too small for the hooves to be from a town lookout coming to warn of a mercenary attack.
It probably had something to do with Enberch.
But had the crisis not already passed?
Elsa trotted over to the window and peeked out through the crack as she had no doubt done many times in the past.
Unsurprisingly, the horse seemed to have stopped in front of the village elder’s house.
“I only know what I have been able to piece together, but judging from the papers on your desk, Enberch should not be able to strike, should they?” said Lawrence.
“A merchant’s eyes are keen indeed. But yes. I believe so myself. However–”
“If you are going to tell me that the situation would be different if I’d betrayed you, I should tie you up immediately.”
Unintimidated, Elsa looked sharply at Lawrence.
/> She soon looked away.
“In any case, I am a traveler. If things go badly, my position becomes very dangerous. There are scores of tales of merchants who became wrapped up in local problems and lost everything.”
“So long as I am here, I will not allow anything like that to happen. But please, go and close up the cellar. If there is trouble with Enberch, the village elder will certainly come here.”
“And what of the reason we are here so late at night?”
Elsa’s cleverness was different than Holo’s. Somehow Lawrence felt an affinity with the girl. “… Bring a blanket to the sanctuary.”
“Agreed. My companion is a nun, after all. No argument, then?”
Though Lawrence had only wanted to confirm their cover story, Elsa did not reply.
For if she had, she would have been telling a lie.
She was a clergywoman through and through.
“Elder Sem has come out,” said Elsa.
“Understood.” Lawrence turned and went to Holo.
In times like these, Holo’s keen ears were quite useful.
She had already returned most of the books to the cellar and put her robes back on.
“Take that one book with you. We’ll hide it behind the altar,” said Lawrence.
Holo nodded, handing the remaining books one by one to Lawrence, who had descended halfway down the stairs to the cellar.
“This should be all of them,” she said.
“Then take the hallway opposite the living room. If you continue around the corner, it should take you to the entrance behind the altar. Head in there, and take the book–”
Holo ran off without waiting to hear the end of the sentence.
Lawrence climbed out of the cellar, replacing the pedestal and putting the statue of the Holy Mother back on top of it.
He was nervous for a moment, unable to find the keyhole in the floor, but he managed to locate it, and after locking up with the brass key Elsa had given him, he gathered up the blanket and went after Holo.
Church construction was very similar the world over.
Just as he had expected, the entrance was there, its doors open.
He trotted down the narrow path that he knew should lead to the altar, protecting the candle flame with his hand. Soon his view expanded.
A few slivers of moonlight slipped past a window on the second floor, enough that Lawrence felt he did not need the candle.
On the other side of the doors that faced the altar he could hear quiet voices.
He motioned with his eyes to Holo – hurry!
It could be problematic to explain the key if it was found on them, so he hid it behind the altar as well.
They sat on the floor’s only indentation, the place where Father Franz had probably said his prayers for so many years.
Lawrence extinguished the candle and wrapped himself and Holo up in the blanket.
It had been some time since he’d acted so very like a thief outside the door.
Once long ago in a harbor town, he had snuck into a trading company’s building with a friend to peek at the company’s order ledger.
At the time, he had not yet learned how to judge which goods were in demand. Thinking on the situation now, Lawrence realized it was a terrifying risk to take, although still much less so than what he was doing at this very moment.
After all, nothing he was doing in Tereo would make his coin purse any heavier.
The door opened, and Sem’s voice filled the room. “Still, as the village elder, I–”
Lawrence took a deep breath and looked up, dazed as though he had just woken from sleep.
“My apologies for disturbing your holy time in the church,” said Sem.
Behind him were Elsa and another villager wielding a wooden stave.
“Did something… happen?” Lawrence asked.
“I hope that as someone who has traveled much, you will understand. We may cause you some inconvenience for a time. Please bear with us.”
The villager wielding the staff took a step forward. Lawrence noted this and stood.
“I am a merchant who belongs to the Rowen Trade Guild. Many people in the guild’s house in Kumersun are aware that I have come to this village.”
The villager looked back at Sem, surprised.
If trouble was to arise with a trade guild, a village the size of Tereo could not hope to escape unscathed.
In terms of financial strength, a merchant guild was like a nation.
“Of course, Elder Sem, so long as you are taking appropriate actions as the representative of the village, then as a traveler I will certainly abide by them.”
“… I understand. But the reason I appear before you and your companion is not out of any malice, I assure you.”
“What has happened?”
The patter of more footsteps was heard; Evan had probably awoken.
Sem glanced in the direction of the footfalls, then looked back. He spoke slowly.
“Someone in Enberch has eaten the wheat of this village and died.”
Chapter Four
The first thing that came to Lawrence’s mind was a poisonous wheat known as Ridelius’ Hellfire.
If eaten, it rotted a victim’s limbs from the inside, and he or she would die screaming in agony. Even a small amount would cause terrible hallucinations and force a pregnant woman to miscarry.
The wheat was believed to come from demons who added fake black wheat to normal ears of wheat, and if it went unnoticed during the harvest and was ground into flour, it would become impossible to find.
No one would know the wheat was poison until someone ate it and developed symptoms.
To a farming village that raised wheat, its appearance was a calamity as bad as drought or flood.
The truly frightening thing about the wheat was not the suffering and death that it caused.
What made it so terrible was that when Ridelius’ Hellfire was discovered in a year’s harvest, none of the harvest could be eaten.
“And no one from our village has been poisoned?” asked Sem.
“I don’t think so, Elder. Grandma Jean is sick in bed, but it’s just a cold,” said a villager.
“The new wheat was used only to bake bread for the harvest festival, right? So at least we know the wheat we ground before that is safe.”
The large, flat rock in the village square seemed to be the place where the villagers met to discuss important matters.
The fire burned red as the sleepy-faced villagers rubbed their eyes and watched their leaders voice various opinions.
“Hakim said that a shoemaker ate bread made from wheat he bought from Riendott, then died. His limbs turned purple, and he suffered greatly. The Enberch Council soon found out that it was made with wheat from our village. Hakim rode back to Tereo right away, so he doesn’t know what happened after that, but we can guess. The feudal lord, Duke Badon, is sure to send a messenger to ensure the return of the wheat. We can expect an official envoy from Enberch at dawn, no doubt.”
“R-return the wheat… That means…”
At the innkeeper’s murmur, all gathered there in the circle fell silent.
It was Iima who finally spoke. She was one of the few women who had joined the gathering at the stone.
“It means we’ll have to return the money. Isn’t that right, Elder Sem?”
“… Yes.”
The villagers went pale at the pronouncement, clutching their heads.
Money used was money gone.
And most of the villagers did not seem likely to have been carefully saving their earnings.
There were a few, though, who did not clutch their heads in dread – Elder Sem, bar mistress Iima, and Elsa, along with the man who had delivered the letter to Sem during Lawrence’s first visit. And Lawrence and Holo, of course.
It was not because these people had savings or were especially brave, but rather because they were all capable of rationally thinking about the problem.
Seen fr
om outside, it was a simple scenario to understand.
This wheat crisis was a play directed by Enberch.
“Elder, whatever shall we do? We’ve used the money to buy pigs and chickens and to repair our scythes and plows!”
“That’s hardly the whole of it. This year’s harvest was abundant, so our tavern laid in fine food and drink. If our money went into such purchases, that means yours did as well,” said Iima.
All who had drunk too much the night before now unavoidably hung their heads in regret.
Iima’s words only deepened their shame. She turned to Sem. “But, Elder – that’s not the only problem, is it?” Iima, the woman who had hauled a brewing pot about on her back, selling her ale as she traveled, was an imposing figure indeed.
“Indeed not. Once poison wheat is mixed in with the real wheat, the whole harvest is lost. This year’s harvest was great – but last year’s was not.”
Once wheat had been sown and harvested, bringing in triple the sown amount was acceptable. Quadrupling the amount was an excellent harvest. Once the next year’s seed grain was removed, the amount set aside in case of a poor harvest was limited.
It was possible that the villagers had already eaten last year’s reserve, having counted on this year’s good harvest.
In any case, the village’s food supply was in dire straits.
And they had no money with which to buy new wheat.
“What shall we do? Poverty is bearable but not starvation!”
“Indeed. However, I–” Sem was going to continue speaking, but he was interrupted when a man next to the innkeeper stood suddenly and pointed at Lawrence and Holo.
“They’re the ones who mixed poison wheat in with the harvest! I asked him, and he admitted to bringing wheat in! He’s here to ruin our harvest and then force us to buy his wheat!”
Lawrence had imagined this would happen.
He also knew that Sem had not brought him and Holo to the square out of malice.
The elder had known there was a good possibility that if Lawrence and Holo were absent, the villagers would take weapons in hand and go searching for them with suspicion and doubt in their hearts.
“Th-that must be it! He went to Evan’s all alone to grind his wheat! No, Evan’s in it with him, and they’re trying to destroy the village!”
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