So while it might have seemed as though consequences were the only thing that mattered, lately Lawrence had began to suspect otherwise.
Which was why even as he admitted his reliance on her power, Lawrence faced those ears that could detect any lie and spoke.
“You are indeed the Wisewolf of Yoitsu, but that’s not why I chose you as my traveling companion.”
Holo ducked her head and giggled.
Col pretended not to be seriously attentive, but in front of him, Lawrence could say no more. It was doubtful if he would have been able to say more even if he had been alone with Holo.
“So you’ll show me such cleverness as to impress even a wisewolf, then?”
“Of course,” responded Lawrence shortly. “Of course.”
Had he been alone, he would have fled – or let himself be used.
But there was a reason why a smile crept into a corner of Lawrence’s mouth.
Truly? Was it truly wise to stand and face this mad situation?
He could not help but inwardly put the question to himself.
The inn at which the three were staying was one to which Eve had originally introduced them, and Kieman now knew its whereabouts as well. Thus, having decided not to flee the city, the only thing Lawrence could do was wait to be contacted.
If he were noticed attempting to collect information on his own, either by Kieman or Eve, it would not leave a very favorable impression.
Given that Lawrence’s opponents held the advantage in both information and power, the only strategy available to him was to watch their movements and try to outwit them after the fact.
Intellectually, he was well aware of this, so he also knew that Holo’s tactic of dozing on the bed with her tail flicking lazily to and fro was much better than his own, which involved sitting on a chair as his leg bounced restlessly.
Nevertheless, he sat on that chair by the window and gazed outside, unable to calm himself.
In this season, the cloudy skies darkened even the brightest of moods – all the more so when one was already gloomy.
Lawrence knew full well how small he was in the face of the schemes and greed of Eve and of Kieman. All he could do was sigh.
Holo had compelled him to stay in town rather than run, but having made the decision, he felt no better about it.
This was no one-on-one negotiation between merchants; this was a battle of many against many.
Never get involved with a business you don’t understand, his master had taught him, and yet here Lawrence was, breaking that very rule. He sighed again and surveyed their room in the inn.
There on the bed, Holo lay sleeping, having lost her battle with the demon slumber.
Col sat on the floor beside the bed, attending to his belt after having removed it from his waist. A short while earlier, he had borrowed a needle from the innkeeper, and Lawrence had assumed he intended to repair his belt, but it seemed the opposite was true.
Col pulled threads from his belt and tied them together to form a single long thread. He then threaded the needle with the result. Finally, he removed his shabby, beat-up coat, whereupon Lawrence finally understood his aim.
Lawrence stood and walked over to him. “If you’re going to resort to that, soon you won’t have any belt left at all.”
Col had begun stitching away with the improvised thread, the needle moving adroitly through the fabric. The boy was practiced at this.
At Lawrence’s words, Col looked up with an abashed smile but without ceasing his repairs.
The thread was quite short, so the mending was quickly finished.
From the perspective of a merchant who made his living by judging the quality of goods, such mending amounted to little more than a prayer to God.
“I’ll buy you some thread, at the very least.”
“Huh? No… I’m quite all right. See?” Col bit off the end of the thread and then held the coat up proudly.
Had Holo been watching, she probably would have smacked his head lightly and wagged her tail.
But Lawrence was not Holo, and so he simply put his hand on the boy’s head. “I have yet to pay you back for explaining the mystery of the copper coins to me. Church scholars are paid for their lectures, are they not?”
Col seemed to want to reply, but appearing to weigh Lawrence’s goodwill against his own modesty, he must have concluded that accepting the goodwill was the better choice.
He smiled sheepishly. “Would it really be all right?”
“Naturally. Shall we find a tailor and buy some thread? Wouldn’t it be better to be able to do your mending sooner rather than later?”
Lawrence imagined that the money the thread would cost could probably purchase a better coat than the one currently in Col’s possession, but he didn’t say so.
The boy had summoned the courage to leave his village. Was the coat he had been given to mark the occasion truly worth so little?
It would hardly feel good to be told that the item that held so many memories was worth less than the thread it took to repair it.
“Well, then, thank you!” said Col happily, hurrying to shrug the coat back over his shoulders.
Lawrence thought to invite Holo along as well, but with her having just fallen asleep, even pinching her nose closed would not wake her, so he and Col left as a pair. Besides, if Kieman or Eve came calling, it would be better if there was someone in the room.
“So, which thread would you like?”
Having asked the innkeeper where to find a tailor, the two found the place with no trouble.
It seemed that only certain parts of the town had been thrown into chaos by the narwhal.
Power was power because it could not be shared; most people were not concerned about large-scale land ownership or townwide reputation – such matters were as far above their heads as the moon.
Before meeting Holo, Lawrence himself had been one such moon gazer. Despite all the adventures he had been through with Holo, this quiet life was where he felt most at home.
The tailor shop at which they arrived had shutters open to a makeshift table upon which were arranged clothes, as well as thread and scrap cloth for patching.
The bored-looking boy minding the shop held his chin in hands that were dyed a dark color, probably owing to the fabric dyes he worked with.
He straightened and smiled as soon as he noticed Lawrence and Col, and seeing this, Lawrence returned the smile.
This world felt very familiar.
“So, the price varies with the color, but what do you think you’d like?” asked Lawrence.
“Hmm… since this is my coat’s color, I suppose…”
The shopkeeper spoke up as Col looked down at his coat. “A nice pale yellow shouldn’t stand out.”
Yellow-dyed goods were a luxury item, and the side of the shop boy’s smile made it clear just how true that was.
The boy seemed to be a year or two younger than Col but was probably a far tougher negotiator. Craftsmen’s apprentices were often beaten and kicked. They were toughened up in a way Col had not been.
“Er, but can’t yellow be quite…” Col seemed to understand that dye color affected price and hastily met Lawrence’s gaze, but of course, the shop boy would hardly admit that openly.
“Ah, you must be the master of a great shop somewhere!” he said, brushing aside Col’s words and leaning over the table. No doubt his own pay was based on the value of the goods he sold.
“It’s a shame we didn’t wear our finest out today,” said Lawrence in response to the boy’s merchant spirit.
The boy straightened his collar and puffed out his chest, leaving Col still silent. “Yes, yes, I quite take your meaning! Please do have a look at this here,” said the boy, producing a sample of thread.
The thread in the boy’s hand was no longer than his palm, but if it happened to blow away in the breeze, he would probably lose three days’ rations to make up for it.
The yellow dye came from across the seven seas, fr
om a flower called saffron whose blossoms flowed down the river that led to an earthly paradise. Its rich golden hue called to mind gold itself.
Dye of any kind was an expense, and the sole purpose of fine clothing was to flatter the wearer’s pride. Since the wealthy bought such products without a thought, the price rose and rose.
In any case, Col seemed to have deduced where the conversation was heading and grabbed Lawrence’s sleeve hastily.
“M-Mr. Lawrence–”
“Hmm?” Lawrence smiled and turned back as the young apprentice raised his voice in an effort to hold on to his customer.
“Good sir! Good sir, look, take a good look at this fine golden color! So pure a gold that even gold itself looks shabby beside it! This is my master’s finest product. What say you, hmm?”
Lawrence nodded dutifully at the young salesman’s urging.
Behind the boy, farther inside the shop, a man who was presumably the shop’s master paused in his work to watch.
He seemed to be evaluating the boy’s technique more than he was watching to see whether the thread sold or not.
Lawrence looked at the master, who seemed to notice him, and the two men shared a glance. The man gave a voiceless smile and raised his hand in greeting.
Lawrence replied with a nod and then turned his attention back to the boy. “It is indeed a fine gold. Bright as any metal.”
“Is it not? So, if you please–”
“Still, wouldn’t such fine thread be wasted on such a coat? If it’s so bright as to cause even true gold to fade by comparison, won’t it cause the seams to stand out?
In that instant, the boy’s desperate business smile froze.
Behind the boy, Lawrence heard the master sigh helplessly.
“To make sure the seams aren’t too visible, we’ll take your cheapest gray thread.”
Perhaps visions of the commission he had hoped to make from selling the golden thread had been dancing in his head, for the boy was at a loss for a reply. Behind him, the master stood and approached. “What length will you be needing?”
The man knocked the boy on the head with a rough hand worthy of a craftsman.
If he could not stand up to a clever merchant, he would never be able to sell his wares for a good price, no matter how skillfully they were made. The master seemed to be trying to teach his apprentice this lesson.
“How much could I get for three silver lute?”
“Indeed… in that frayed state, maybe enough to do five seams like it? And while you’re at it, how about taking some of this blue thread off my hands? The dye’s been coming off the boats like mad these days, so there’s quite a lot.”
“You should buy it while it’s cheap, then, and sell it when the price rises.”
The man smiled as though knowing it had been futile from the beginning. “Three lute worth, then,” he said, taking down a spool of the gray thread.
Their shopping concluded, Lawrence and Col returned to the inn. They walked alongside the river and gazed at the town, Col following two steps behind Lawrence, holding the little sack that contained the thread and looking rather tired.
“What’s wrong?” Lawrence asked, which made Col look away like a scolded puppy.
He was smart enough to know he had been made sport of, perhaps. But it seemed to have affected him more than Lawrence would have anticipated.
“Are you so very surprised?”
“… N-no, it’s just…”
Col’s eyes glanced this way and that.
Lawrence wondered if he had become too accustomed to traveling with a certain maliciously witty wolf.
“Holo’s teasing is far worse than mine,” said Lawrence, feeling a bit defensive.
This seemed to call something to Col’s mind, and he nodded, embarrassed. “True,” he admitted.
“And I seem to recall her telling you to be more shameless. I’m no god, just a merchant, so I don’t show mercy unless begged.”
Lawrence had not paid Col back for the salve, to say nothing for his solution to the coin puzzle. He wanted to reward the lad, but most merchants would have said nothing. Hardly any would remind a seller he had forgotten to demand payment. Lawrence agonized over which kind he was but finally decided in favor of honesty.
“Of course, if you were actually the sort of person who acted shamelessly when told to, I suppose I wouldn’t be traveling with you.”
Instead of being embarrassed, Col smiled.
Lawrence could see why Holo liked him so much.
“Still, I may not be a god, but I don’t mind being prayed to once in a while.”
“Huh?”
“If I truly hated being asked for this or that, I wouldn’t be traveling with certain fanged somebody.”
At these words, Col grinned and tightened his grip on the burlap bag.
“But you’re a future clergyman, so if you’re not going to pray to me, at least let me give my confession.”
“Eh… you mean…?”
“I confess that my behavior during the prior exchange was not exactly commendable,” said Lawrence, looking away from Col.
Col was silent for only a moment, then soon caught on and straightened up, his expression turning serious, as one would expect from a priest. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean exactly that. I was taking my frustration out on you.”
“Taking your frustration out?”
Col had a bad habit of becoming distracted by his own thoughts. As soon as he replied to Lawrence, he looked up, stumbled, and fell.
“You saw how troubled I was back at the inn, didn’t you?” Lawrence couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the boy during his own confession, so he merely held out a hand. When one stumbled, royalty blamed, nobility coughed, and commoners pretended to have done it on purpose.
But Col did none of those things.
He was going to become a fine clergy member.
“I did.”
But at this answer, Lawrence could not help uttering a pained chuckle. Col hastily tried to take it back, but Lawrence waved him off. “No, no, it’s fine. You may be my apprentice, but I can’t very well strike your face just to save mine.”
Looking a bit confused, Col smiled and then rubbed his own cheek.
“But after acting so pathetically, I wanted to get some of my pride back, you see.”
“… So was that why you shared that look with the master in the shop, then?”
The boy had keen eyes indeed.
“That’s right. I went over your head just to tease you. I just wanted to make you worry that I was going to buy you the most expensive thread… and feel a bit superior myself. Rather childish of me, I guess.”
Lawrence scratched his neck as he looked out over the river.
Some merchants stood near a boat as it was being unloaded. He could hear their voices on the wind. They were trying to talk themselves on board so they could cross to the southern side.
But the town regulated river crossings during times of crisis. Crossing the river was an important connection indeed for the town’s landowners. Lawrence doubted the boatman would risk taking the merchants across for a piddling bribe, which the merchants themselves surely knew. Yet they were still trying to cross, which went to show how significant the events currently playing out were.
Given all that, Kieman had still somehow managed to have his letter delivered to Lawrence, which yet again proved just how powerful he was.
“Your confession has been heard. God has surely forgiven you.” Not only had Col heard him out, but also he had added the priest’s standard phrase after doing so.
“Thank you,” said Lawrence, trying to sound as grateful as he could.
“Still, Mr. Lawrence–”
“Hmm?”
“You had another reason for doing that, didn’t you?”
Col looked straight at Lawrence. His gaze held not a trace of malice, which made Lawrence feel all the more impaled by it.
“You were trying to meet
Miss Holo’s expectations, weren’t you?”
The boy’s eyes shone as if he were a child listening to a heroic tale, so brightly that they were almost painful to regard.
Lawrence could not help but turn away from him out of shame. “I can’t say that… wasn’t part of it, too,” he finally managed to answer.
Confirming his own negotiation ability was the source of his unease.
“I know I can’t do very much to help you, Mr. Lawrence, but please keep at it!”
“R-right.”
It seemed like Col was putting every ounce of his slim frame’s strength into supporting Lawrence. Lawrence was sure that if he had been in the boy’s position and seen someone older than him act in such a shameful manner, his esteem for his elder would have fallen.
The only reason he thought to buy the thread for Col and toyed with the shop boy was in service of his own sense of superiority.
Not only did Col not mind, he was actually cheering Lawrence on. Part of that could be ascribed to Col’s personality, but mysteries yet remained.
And a merchant’s curiosity ran deeper than any cat’s.
“And despite my looking so pathetic – a sad little merchant taking his frustrations out on those beneath him – you still hold me in some esteem? You’re a strange lad, that’s certain,” said Lawrence, and unsurprisingly, Col was taken aback.
He had not intended to flatter Lawrence; he had simply been speaking his mind. “Huh…? But… I mean… you’re traveling with Miss Holo, aren’t you? She told me you were looking for her homelands.”
“True, but…?”
“So doesn’t that mean that the problem we’re facing now is large enough to justify your concern?”
Lawrence did not understand what Col was getting at. It was true that the obstacle before them was beyond what a traveling merchant could handle, and even with Holo’s support he felt far from confident.
But he got the feeling that Col’s words referred to something else.
Did he mean that simply being able to travel with Holo implied that Lawrence was formidable in his own right, and therefore any problem that worried him this much had to be a serious matter?
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