Spice & Wolf Omnibus

by Isuna Hasekura

  “…”

  “You simply sounded so happy, so desperately happy, to speak with someone without so much as a hint of charm–”

  In that instant, Holo’s face turned angry.

  He had seen her angry face any number of times before, but this one had a particularly savage edge to it.

  She is a wisewolf, Lawrence reminded himself.

  “Would it make sense if I said I enjoyed it as a merchant?” he asked, trying to offer an excuse.

  Holo stopped, then started walking again once Lawrence had closed the gap between them.

  “Do you want me to ask you which is more important – money or me?”

  That line was among the top three things that a lonely traveling merchant would dream of hearing from a woman.

  And it was a problem that would cause any merchant to tear his heart out in frustration.

  Lawrence raised both hands in defeat.

  “To be sure, the reason I would be angry is not one whit different from what you’re thinking. ’Tis an utterly selfish, childish notion. But the two of us have our wits; we can speak of this. Thus, I am not angry.”

  “…”

  Holo was a wisewolf of long experience.

  Lawrence could not hope to cross swords with her.

  For a while, he searched his small vocabulary for some suitable response but found nothing. “What I’m thinking is that it’s not fair of me.”

  “Truly?”

  Lies were hopeless against Holo.

  “Truly.”

  She did not turn around at his answer.

  He was not certain that it had been the right one.

  Holo continued to walk quietly, gracefully, finally coming to a fork in the road. According to the directions they had received from Eve, they needed to bear right.

  Lawrence didn’t feel good about it, but since Holo had stopped, he spoke up.

  “We head right here.”

  “Mm.” Holo turned to face him. “So this is the fork in the road.”

  Lawrence did not ask which road was forking.

  Evidently that had been the first barrier. Holo’s right eyebrow moved slightly.

  “How do you resolve your selfish jealousy toward me?”

  Was she now asking questions that sounded like they had come from some clergyman of the Church?

  Outwardly the right thing to do was to lose this black, selfish feeling, but inwardly Lawrence knew it would not disappear so easily.

  He looked back at Holo, a bitter expression on his face.

  This was Holo the Wisewolf. He could not imagine that she would corner him with questions like this for no good reason.

  In other words, even if the answer was wrong for nearly everyone, there was something that would be correct for Holo.

  But how to reach it?

  Lawrence’s mind raced.

  Holo had said just a moment ago that she was the same as him.

  So the answer, he reasoned, must be within Holo as he saw her.

  The most difficult problem for him might be the easiest thing in the world for someone else to solve.

  Holo was also having trouble dealing with her jealousy.

  And Holo herself wanted to know how to resolve it, did she not?

  So given that, all Lawrence needed to do was consider the problem from the outside, and the answer would come naturally.

  He opened his mouth to speak and saw Holo steady herself in preparation. “My answer is that there is no way to resolve it.”

  It was a single ripple in the smooth surface of a lake.

  He tossed another pebble into that lake, trying to bring expression back to Holo’s face.

  “And it makes you hate yourself.”

  Neither defiance nor selflessness was the correct response, he thought.

  If he imagined that Holo was the jealous one rather than himself, it was the most natural thing in the world, and it was actually quite nice to be the object of that jealousy.

  After all, jealousy was nothing more than wanting to have someone all to yourself, so how could it be anything but flattering as long as it wasn’t excessive?

  Hence Lawrence’s answer, but Holo still remained expressionless.

  Lawrence did not look away. He was certain this was the final barrier.

  “Hmph. So we bear right, do we?” she said with a smile, cocking her head. At this, Lawrence couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. “Still,” she added, giggling.

  “What?”

  “Jealousy and self-hatred, eh? Indeed,” said Holo with a smirk.

  This struck him as rather unnatural, and by the time he started walking down the right-hand path, he had fallen behind Holo.

  “Whatever is the matter?” she asked, grinning over her shoulder.

  If Lawrence had really managed to produce an answer that satisfied her, Holo shouldn’t have been smirking like this. He’d anticipated either a smile of happy relief or an out-and-out scowl.

  So what did this mischievous smile portend?

  Lawrence felt his face flushing. He had turned red so many times that day that he began to worry the color would stick.

  Holo giggled. “Have you figured it out, then?” she inquired over her shoulder. “You agonized over the problem, reversed the positions in your head, and arrived at the answer. ‘Twas plain as day on your face. But if you’d thought about it a bit, you’d see. When someone comes to you for advice, the answer you think is correct is what you want him or her to be. Which means?”

  Indeed.

  Holo had not been waiting for Lawrence’s words to solve her problems.

  She had, in fact, been waiting for him to reveal his own feelings.

  “You become jealous and agonize over it. Is that what you wish from me, so that you can play the role of offering your hand in consolation? Should I now collapse into charming tears of self-recrimination, pathetically clinging to the hand you so generously offer?”

  “Urgh–”

  So this was what it was like to have one’s heart laid bare.

  He felt like a shamed maiden, covering her face with her hands.

  The sharp-fanged wolf glided smoothly to his side.

  And yet there was some solace in seeing that Holo did this not simply for her own enjoyment.

  Even Lawrence could tell that much.

  Holo had been truly jealous about his enjoyable chat with Eve, and this conversation was something of a diversion.

  “Hmph. Come, let’s go,” Holo said, perhaps reading Lawrence’s unguarded expression. “We can leave it at this,” she seemed to be saying.

  Surely her mood had improved with all of this, and she would probably be more generous about him enjoying the odd merchant-to-merchant chat with Eve.

  Lawrence couldn’t help feeling that he had been careless, though.

  He had allowed his deepest wishes to be hauled out for all to see.

  “So then,” said Holo beside him, her tone completely casual. The atmosphere was still poor, but the street had widened enough for the two of them to walk side by side. “In truth, I’m asking you this simply because I want to tease you, but…”

  Even given a warning like this, Lawrence felt like a hare waiting for the slaughter.

  “Do you want to know how many I counted off?”

  Her pure, innocent smile came down upon him like a giant meat cleaver.

  “I’ve been reminded just how small and fragile my own heart is,” was all the battered Lawrence could manage, but this seemed to satisfy Holo.

  Sadistic satisfaction was written large all over her face as she clung to his arm. “Well, I have to get my claws into that fragile heart of yours before it freezes solid.”

  Lawrence looked down at her, unable to manage any sort of response.

  Unbelievably, her smiling face was like that of a winsome girl, pleased at her own mischief.

  But even the worst nightmare eventually comes to an end.

  Once they found the house that Eve had described t
o Lawrence with the green copper signboard cut in the shape of a three-legged chicken, Holo abandoned her harassment.

  “Well then,” said Lawrence to break the silence, his tone strangely light after the frustrating, embarrassing conversation that had preceded it. “I’m told this Rigolo is a difficult character, so let’s be careful.”

  Holo nodded her assent as she walked alongside him, still holding on to his arm. “I suppose this ends our lovely, dreamlike exchange. We’re now back to boring reality.”

  Lawrence had no idea exactly how serious this murmured statement was. “In that case, feel free to go back to the inn and sleep,” he shot back under his breath.

  “Mm… that might be nice. Of course, it wouldn’t be sheep that I count as I fall asleep…”

  Holo still held the upper hand when it came to being nasty.

  But now that the subject had come up, Lawrence felt strangely emboldened. “Oh? So how many men have there been?”

  He didn’t want to know every detail, but it would also be a lie to say he was totally uninterested.

  She had randomly brought the subject up, after all, so the answer might well have been zero.

  To suggest that some part of him didn’t hope that was true would also be a lie.

  But Holo said nothing in response to the question. Her expression was blank, and she didn’t so much as tremble. This made her look like a perfect, untouched doll.

  Once he realized it was an act, Lawrence knew he couldn’t win.

  “Men are fools, and I am their king,” he finally said. Holo came back to life and seemed quite tickled. Lawrence slumped in defeat, smiling.

  The three-legged chicken that hung from the eaves of the Rigolo house was carved in the image of the chicken that had long ago predicted the flooding of the Roam River, which flowed by Lenos.

  The Church claimed it was a messenger from God, but according to the tale, the flood had been predicted by the position of the stars, moon, and sun – in other words, by the astronomical records of the time.

  Ever since, the three-legged chicken had become a symbol of wisdom.

  Perhaps the Rigolo family, who had apparently served as chroniclers for ages, hoped that the monotonous records they kept would one day act as guideposts, pointing the way to the future.

  Lawrence rapped on the door using the silver-plated knocker, clearing his throat.

  Their introduction from Eve should have already arrived, but even Eve, whose negotiation skills were considerable, claimed that Rigolo was a tough nut to crack. Lawrence couldn’t help feeling nervous.

  Behind him, Holo had neglected to continue holding his hand, but her presence was embarrassingly reassuring.

  It was possible that he hadn’t been overwhelmed by Eve earlier precisely because he’d met Holo and it was her companionship that enabled him to think this way. Before meeting Holo, the only person Lawrence had been able to count on was himself. He had been filled with both a burning desire to win and a terrible fear of losing.

  Was it better or worse to have friends to count on? Just as Lawrence considered this question, the door slowly opened.

  That moment – the instant between the opening of the door to the point where he could see the person’s face – was the most nerve-racking of all.

  And as the door swung wide, an aged, bearded old man–

  –did not stand behind it.

  “May I ask who is calling?”

  Lawrence was surprised by the figure that opened the door, but it was not a nervous surprise.

  She couldn’t have been more than twenty, head covered all the way to her alabaster brow in the delicate cloth of a simple black habit. She was a nun.

  “I believe Eve Bolan explained that we were coming.”

  “Ah, we have been expecting you. Do come in.”

  Lawrence purposefully avoided introducing himself, but this nun was either a particularly nice person, or Eve was a particularly trusted person.

  Unable to know which was the truth, Lawrence did as he was bidden, entering the house with Holo behind him.

  “Please feel free to sit and wait here.”

  Upon entering the house, they immediately found themselves in a sitting room with a faded carpet on the floor.

  None of the age-faded furnishings were particularly grand, and they spoke clearly of the house’s master’s long tenure in the area.

  The first chronicler Lawrence had ever met was Diana in the pagan town of Kumersun, so he had expected this place to be as cluttered as Diana’s was – but no, it was surprisingly tidy.

  Instead of books crammed into every shelf, there were stuffed toys and works of embroidery, along with a small statue of the Holy Mother that a girl would be able to carry easily. Beside the statue hung bulbs of garlic and onion. The only things that suggested this house belonged to a chronicler were the quill pens and ink bottles and a small, sand-filled chest used for drying inked pages, along with parchments and bundles of paper tucked away in unobtrusive corners.

  Holo gazed around the room, her expression of mild surprise suggesting that she’d had similar expectations.

  In the first place, one hardly expected to see a nun, who looked ready to head out on a pilgrimage, in a house like this – though the statue of the Holy Mother and the relief of the three-legged chicken suggested a household of both financial security and deep faith.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” said the nun when she returned.

  Having heard tales of Rigolo’s bad disposition from Eve, Lawrence was prepared to be kept waiting because of this or that imagined fault, but it seemed they would be able to meet him with unexpected ease.

  Led by the nun with her soft smile and warm, homey manner, Lawrence and Holo continued from the sitting room down a hallway to a room deeper within the house.

  Holo herself did not look completely unlike a nun, but a true nun’s graceful effect came from a different source. Of course, if Holo knew he was thinking this she would give him an earful, Lawrence thought – and immediately afterward, she stomped on his foot.

  No doubt she had simply been waiting for a good opportunity, but Lawrence couldn’t help feeling as though she’d undone the buttons to his heart and peered about within it.

  “Mr. Rigolo, we’re coming in.”

  The nun knocked on the door as though delicately cracking an egg. There was no telling what color the yolk would be, though.

  Lawrence cleared his head, and once the door opened at a muffled reply that came from within, they entered the room.

  Immediately thereafter, it was Holo who, impressed, uttered a quiet “huh.”

  Lawrence was even more impressed and could find no words at all.

  “My, what a delightful reaction! Melta, look; they are impressed!”

  The nun called Melta smiled her clear, bell-like smile at the young, forceful voice that echoed throughout the room.

  The room on the other side of the door was indeed every bit as cluttered as Diana’s had been.

  However, perhaps this could be called a calculated clutter, for beyond the stacks of books directly in front of them and the wooden bird model that hung from the ceiling was a wall made of floor-to-ceiling glass, through which sunlight flooded, revealing a verdant garden beyond. It was like being inside a cave and looking through the exit at the world beyond.

  “Ha-ha-ha, impressive, is it not? With enough effort, I can keep it green year round,” said a young, chestnut-haired man with a proud laugh as he emerged. He wore a collared, tailored shirt and pants without so much as a single wrinkle, fit for any noble. “Fleur told me of you – said that there were some people with a strange request to make of me.”

  “… Er, yes… uh, Lawrence – I mean, my name is Kraft Lawrence,” said Lawrence, finally coming to his senses and taking the hand that Rigolo offered, though he couldn’t pull his eyes from the magnificent garden.

  It was totally invisible from any of the surrounding streets – a perfect secret garden.


  The hackneyed phrase appeared in his head, and he couldn’t shake it.

  “My name is Rigolo Dedly. Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure.”

  Rigolo’s gaze fell next to Holo. “Ah, this must be the companion…”

  “Name’s Holo.”

  Not only was Holo hardly the bashful type, but also upon a first meeting, she instantly knew how to act in order to make a good impression on whomever she wished.

  Far from being irritated with her high-handed self-introduction, Rigolo clapped his hands in delight, then extended one to her in greeting.

  “Well then! That’s it for introductions, and I’ve already gotten you to compliment my garden, so I’m quite satisfied. Was there something I could do for you by way of thanks, then?”

  Some merchants had terrifying personalities concealed by pleasant facades, and Lawrence was not yet sure Rigolo was not similar.

  Melta simply smiled as she thoughtfully brought small chairs over for Lawrence and Holo to sit in, so it seemed Rigolo was like this all the time – assuming that Melta, who gave a slight nod before leaving the room, was not a liar.

  “You may have heard this from Eve Bolan, but we were hoping that you could show us any old tales of Lenos you might have records of.”

  “Oh ho, so it’s true, then. Fleur – er, no, I suppose she goes by Eve among merchants. She’s a bit too feisty, that one. Once she gets to know someone, she’ll tell them all sorts of things.”

  Lawrence smiled in understanding. “Does that have anything to do with why you’re not a stern-faced, long-bearded, old hermit?”

  Rigolo laughed. “Seems she’s been talking again! Though the hermit part’s not necessarily untrue. Lately I’ve been doing all I can not to see anyone. Bit misanthropic of me.”

  Just when his tone of voice dropped a bit, Lawrence caught a glimpse of something chilly underneath Rigolo’s smile.

  He was the secretary of the Council of Fifty, a group made up of the most famous and recognized people in the city. A little chilli-ness was hardly worth being surprised at.

  “I’m a foreign merchant – is it all right for you to be speaking with me?”

  “Quite. Your timing is excellent, perhaps even the will of God. Take a look at my clothes; they’re like the garments a child leading a funeral procession would wear, are they not? I’ve just come from the council meeting. They reached a decision and were able to adjourn early.”