Since Kieman’s replies had been so much quicker than Eve’s, this was the first time Lawrence had felt impatient at having to wait for one. And really, it didn’t seem as though he had to wait so very long – yet he couldn’t help thinking, Finally! to himself upon the return of the messenger.
The messenger brought the same thing he had brought before – just a letter.
“Please deliver this.”
“–”
Lawrence was stunned into silence, and for a moment he didn’t know what to say. “Did you not tell him?” he said, grabbing the man by his shoulders.
The man looked aside, his mouth closed.
He hadn’t told him.
But rather than become angry, Lawrence felt only urgency. “I’m not saying this for no reason. And I know why your orders are so strict. But they’re not all-knowing gods, and no human can draw a picture of a town they’ve never been to. They say seeing is believing, and that’s the truth. There’s still time. You have to tell them–”
“Enough!” said the small man, who was so perfectly suited to his job. His voice was low and thick.
Lawrence released his shoulders in spite of himself. This wasn’t the voice of someone who walked the straight and narrow path.
His pronunciation had a whiff of blood and dirt to it.
It was hardly surprising that Kieman would employ a former criminal.
“We just have to do as we’re told, you and me.”
For the first time, Lawrence understood the meaning of the word loyalty – a word that had no place in the world of the traveling merchant.
It was a foolish concept, and there were countless stories where it caused the death of many a knight and mercenary. Merchants were among the few people who were supposed to be able to avoid such problems using logic and reasoning.
Unafraid, Lawrence replied, “Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes there are things you have to be there to see. It’s the duty of the people on the bottom to fix those mistakes, isn’t it?”
The messenger frowned at Lawrence’s words and looked down. Surely even this loyal man would regret that loyalty if it caused his master’s death.
Lawrence had to convince him. He had to.
The moment he found the nerve to continue, the man looked up and pretended to spit. “You forget yourself, merchant. We’re just tools. We don’t think. Arms and legs don’t have their own heads. Do you get that?”
The man’s quiet voice was nonetheless rough, the harsh tone of someone well used to threatening others from the shadows. But that wasn’t what stole Lawrence’s breath.
It was the man’s words that stopped Lawrence dead.
“If you understand, then take this letter. I have orders from the boss. And so do you,” said the man, slapping Lawrence’s shoulder, then running off as though trying to regain wasted time.
Not a single person nearby betrayed any evidence of having noticed their exchange – the conversation had seemed brief and unimportant, and indeed it was unimportant.
Lawrence was Kieman’s tool. That much was certain, and as such, thinking about the situation or coming to conclusions was not his duty.
He knew that, and he knew he had to tolerate this until the right chance came. But as a lonely, independent traveling merchant, he had his pride, so such tolerance was terrible to endure.
Though he knew he was insignificant, he couldn’t admit to himself he was a mere cog.
Though small, he had his own name, he had his own thoughts, and he was a merchant who could take his own actions. The more he thought about it, the more agonizing it became to deny himself this way.
He knew he was just a small part of a complicated machine. But the reality of that felt like a physical blow to his head. But then, the moment after the flames of rage welled up within his chest and he felt nearly compelled to cry out from it, he suddenly understood – he understood the reason why Eve insisted on acting so childishly selfish, why despite the situation that presented itself to her, she still wanted to keep all the profit.
Eve wasn’t trying to buy time, nor was she planning anything.
Lawrence was certain of that.
If this was a trap, he might as well raise his hand and surrender on the spot.
There was no logic to Lawrence’s conviction; it was entirely emotional.
When he arrived at Eve’s room again, for some reason he was allowed inside and found himself staring her right in the face.
It was possible to know a person’s plans from the actions they took and from the expressions they wore.
Eve had an elbow on her desk and a pleasant, innocent smile on her face.
“You seem pleased,” said Lawrence.
But the wolves that lived along the Roam River did not smile with their faces.
Lawrence produced the letter from his breast pocket and spoke. “You truly are planning to keep all the profit from the narwhal, aren’t you?”
Eve’s smile vanished, and the corners of her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It seemed like a sort of frown.
But for a wolf who could laugh the whole world off, it was the perfect smile.
Her family had been sold for money, her fate tossed to the winds, and she had to use everything she had just to swim through a sea of sulfur and acid. And all the while she had no doubt been used in other ways, too.
When she was recognized by others, was it because she was the head of the Bolan family, or was it simply because she was a beautiful woman? There was certainly no one who would say her name with any sort of affection or familiarity.
Perhaps that was the real reason why she no longer used the name “Fleur Bolan.” If those around her could see her only as a tool to be used, then she would create a mask to protect her true self.
Even if it was a sentimental notion, Lawrence guessed it wasn’t far from the truth.
Eve looked over the paper Lawrence gave her and slowly closed her eyes. She then smiled slightly and spoke.
“You’re really not cut out to be a merchant.”
“And I doubt you’re cut out to be a wolf.”
The abbreviated conversation seemed like something between a priest and his God.
Eve turned her gaze to the fireplace and narrowed her eyes before continuing. “I had planned to survive, no matter who I had to use to do so, but it seems I won’t be able to ignore reality for much longer.” She put her finger to the left corner of her mouth, as though she were about to make a joke. “When the trouble in this city first started, the furs I’d put most of my worth into were confiscated. Arold, who’d fled Lenos with me, was arrested. Under circumstances like these, I haven’t the courage to be a wolf any longer.”
It was clear that the northerners were having a difficult negotiation. When cornered, people would try to shift the threat to those weaker than them. It seemed all too likely, Lawrence thought to himself.
Eve had probably been thus used all along. But this time they were making a mistake, for her forbearance was reaching its limit.
“My name has always been a convenient tool. Only my grandfather and a few eccentrics have ever called me by it. Of them, probably the only one still alive is Arold.”
Lawrence couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to live one’s entire life as a tool, valuable only so long as one was useful. It made him feel as though people were both more complicated than he had guessed, yet also simpler.
With but a few signs, a person who had lived a life he could scarcely imagine would be able to know exactly which hill she had reached.
Lawrence slowly spoke. “So you’re saying that you wish to be called by your name?”
The hill was a lonely one and surrounded by enemies.
“… When you put it so plainly, it’s embarrassing. No, please don’t be angry. I’m happy. I’m pleased we’re friendly enough now we don’t have to fight with knives and hatchets. I’m surprised myself, truly. I had thought it wouldn’t be so very difficult to manipulate you. You’re an a
wfully soft touch, after all. And yet…”
There were many details in Eve’s rapid banter that Lawrence didn’t want to forgive, but to merchants the tongue could bring both riches and calamity.
If she was being so casually insulting, it had to mean she wasn’t speaking as a merchant.
“But I couldn’t stand you not knowing. Of course, I won’t mind if you don’t believe me.”
Lawrence didn’t know how to answer. It seemed like no matter how he replied, Eve would wind up being hurt.
“When this is all over, I’m leaving this rotten place. So in the end…” she said, smiling an amazing smile.
Lawrence wanted to keep the memory of how beautiful he found this in his heart forever.
“In the end, you’re going to make sure they say your name. Is that it?”
Eve’s lips curled. Just like a wolf’s. Her fangs bared, she smiled a sad smile. “That’s right. In the end, I’m going to betray them magnificently, and I shall make them call my name.”
Lawrence could only reply in the soft tones of someone seeing a knight off to a battlefield where he would surely die. “Even if they cry out ‘Eve Bolan’ in rage?”
“Even so.” In that moment, Eve’s face was back to the woman he knew. “Now then, let me ask this of Kraft Lawrence, who so kindly calls me by name.”
Kings speak to only a few chosen people within their palaces, but not because they have been chosen by God to govern nations with only a few words. It is because they, too, are mere humans and can trust only those close to them.
When she had first met Col, Eve told him that it was a kind of fate to be liked by others. And this was surely what she meant.
“Will you betray them with me?”
Eve had a painful-looking bruise at the corner of her mouth, and in that moment her face was worthy of the wolf.
Chapter Nine
Lawrence waited in the tavern after passing Eve’s message to Kieman’s messenger. The reply was late in coming.
There were fewer merchants in the tavern, and the place was much less lively than it had been. Looking over those who remained, Lawrence reckoned they were all merchants who had been given similar duties to his own, and when he happened to meet their eyes, they would look away uncomfortably.
It was late afternoon, with sunset not far off, but going by the chatter of the already red-faced and drunken merchants, the meeting’s conclusion was nearly solidified, the day’s negotiations having come to an end.
Evidently the outcome was the most straightforward, boring one possible – the northern landlords would give up on recapturing the narwhal, and the southerners would compensate them with an appropriate amount of money.
Given that the southerners could use their immense wealth to buy out the northern fishermen, thereby gaining possession of the narwhal, the northerners would then have no choice but to compromise.
If they wanted to get it back, their only options were to take it by force of arms or to purchase it – either of which would be extremely expensive.
If the town was plunged into war, it wouldn’t simply be a matter of business; the only ones who stood to gain anything were people in other towns. The people of Kerube would all lose. And they simply didn’t have the money to purchase the narwhal outright.
It was easy to feel sympathetic for the northerners, who would be unarmed if the unreasonable happened and fighting actually broke out. But unreasonable situations were like pebbles scattered across the road. If you stumbled and fell on one, hardly anyone would help you back to your feet.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
The messenger finally arrived with the reply as the pungent smells of wine and meat were beginning to seep into Lawrence’s body. Lawrence hadn’t looked at Eve’s last message to Kieman, but he could tell this missive was a significant one.
The reply he’d just been handed was sealed with red wax.
“This is the last one, but you must bring her response.”
It would have been easy to assume the small-framed messenger was faint of heart, but in truth he was the kind of man who might well be carrying a poisoned dagger in his breast pocket. Lawrence was well aware that his saying “must” wasn’t simply for emphasis.
The seal to the letter was to ensure that Eve need not doubt its contents. Whatever it was, it contained Kieman’s final conclusion.
“Understood. I will.”
A tool was a tool. There was no need for thought.
The man gave a satisfied nod at Lawrence’s reply. Lawrence started walking, and the man watched him go. With this meeting concluded, his job must have been finished.
Or maybe, Lawrence wondered to himself as he headed out again into the ever-crowded streets, looking up at the sky, the only clear thing he could see.
Maybe they doubted him.
For some reason the idea made Lawrence smile.
“Early tomorrow morning, we’ll make a show of formally bringing the narwhal out. On the river we’ll exchange the narwhal and the ship it’s on for the deed of land. After that, get lost. Signed, Lud Kieman.”
Lawrence was sure that last sentence was a joke. Once Eve had finished reading the letter aloud, she didn’t hesitate to hand it over. It showed just what she had read, with Kieman’s signature at the bottom.
If Eve was to take this to a trading house, Kieman’s position would quickly become a bad one. That he had seen fit to give her such a document meant that he had decided it was safe to do so.
There was no telling what that meant.
He couldn’t possibly have decided to unconditionally trust Eve, so he had to have some sort of contingency ready if she decided to publicly expose him.
“It’s a simple, naive exchange. What do you think?”
“If things go poorly, we can always capsize the boat to obscure the truth, so it doesn’t seem like such a very bad idea.”
The plan didn’t differ much from what Holo had proposed to Lawrence, and Eve raised an eyebrow at it. “I see,” she murmured, amused. “So perhaps I should write something like this, eh?”
As she spoke, she playfully wrote with her pen upon a sheet of parchment. It was hardly the sort of paper a mere merchant would scribble upon for fun. It was more suited to having the wisdom of God recorded upon it by a grim-faced monk in a stone monastery somewhere, but Eve’s handwriting was as beautiful as any monk’s.
“Understood. I, Eve Bolan, shall ride upon the boat for the exchange. Aboard your boat shall be the creature of legend, as well as–”
She looked at Lawrence.
“–Kraft Lawrence.”
Lawrence didn’t respond to this, but Eve did not seem to care.
She smoothly signed the letter and casually tossed it over to the old man who was still stirring the wax. Once sealed and tied with a strand of horsehair, it was ready.
And now Lawrence would have to be on the boat for the exchange.
“I haven’t given you my response.”
From behind him, on the other side of the door, Lawrence heard the faint sound of the two guards laughing.
He’d heard that they had been spared their death sentences by Eve. Amazingly, she had gained their trust by telling them her plans and convincing them to cooperate. All to get Lawrence to stand here as he was.
Rough looking though they might be, they were no fools.
“Response? You say the strangest things sometimes. Of what value are words to liar merchants like us?” said Eve, amused.
Lawrence could not hide his wry smile. Of course, facial expressions held no great meaning for merchants. He held his smile, making no other movements.
“Trading is a dangerous business. Only God can see the mind of another, but God has no desires. Only humans stained by their greed, trade, and nothing is more dangerous than trusting the greedy. I’ve written my reply to Kieman, and you’ll take it to him. As far as the outcome goes, we might pray or threaten, but all we can do is wait. I’ve played my whole hand. So all I can do
is give you this letter.”
Taking the letter from the old man, she immediately thrust it at Lawrence. How easily she turned it over – it was not an overstatement to say the letter would decide her very fate. It seemed less out of courage than a sheer lack of value for her own life.
If things went poorly, her worth would vanish, and anything so worthless was likewise useless.
Lawrence took the letter and remembered the words of a famous, reckless hero.
“Kieman will do as this letter instructs. If he defied it and put an additional person on the boat, then we’d have to add another person to ours, and with each side suspicious of the other, there’s no telling how far the arms race would go. So–”
She paused, placed the hand with which she’d given Lawrence the letter on her desk, looked down, and took a deep breath. She had to be nervous.
She continued, stressing her words.
“So when next we meet, it will be upon that lonely river amid the morning mists.”
As the wolf of the Roam River, Eve did indeed share some qualities with Holo.
Lawrence took in the sight of her hand on the desk. It was as though she wanted to be held, but couldn’t let that show – as though she wanted to trust in others, but couldn’t bring herself to.
“May I ask one thing?” Lawrence asked, which made Eve’s hand twitch slightly.
“What?”
“I have my companions.”
If Lawrence betrayed his guild during the exchange on the river, then he and Eve would have to move the narwhal to another boat, and from there head out to the open ocean. But that would leave Holo and Col on land, which complicated things.
That had to be one of the reasons Kieman had chosen this simple plan. Holo and Col functioned as hostages.
Her expression unchanging, Eve removed her hand from the desk. “Yes, and I have Arold.”
The name pierced Lawrence’s heart.
“I’ve given you my reply. Go,” Eve finished, looking irritated and waving Lawrence off dismissively.
Lawrence got the feeling that if he contradicted her, she would start yelling.
And I have Arold.
Eve’s words were heavy with implication. If they could be trusted, Arold was one of the few things she held dearer than money.
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