Spice & Wolf Omnibus

by Isuna Hasekura

  Lawrence probably could not sweep those worries away, but Kieman might know something useful, so Lawrence replied even as he held no particular expectations. “I hope to meet with a silversmith named Fran Vonely.”

  Huskins had given him the name, and when Kieman heard it, his face was the very image of surprise.

  “Do you know her?” Lawrence asked.

  Kieman rubbed his face to erase the shock, then smiled faintly. “She’s famous. Or perhaps I should say notorious.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Lawrence quickly looked around, wordlessly pressing Kieman to continue.

  “It’s her clientele.”

  Kieman’s eyes in that moment seemed to evidence more worry for Lawrence than they did concern about speaking ill of Fran Vonely.

  “She’s celebrated for having such high patrons for such a young silversmith, but those patrons are all newly wealthy, and most of them have dark shadows in their pasts. And she won’t hear questions about where she apprenticed or who her master was. She’s very mysterious.”

  Kieman’s information sources were like a spiderweb over the land, so his words were undoubtedly true.

  What sort of person was she?

  As Lawrence mused, Kieman said one last thing. “I think you’d be better off avoiding her.”

  Within their organization, the difference between Kieman and Lawrence was like that between heaven and earth. If Kieman made a suggestion, it was meant as an order. And yet as Kieman’s pen danced over his ledger book, he murmured one last thing.

  “Ah, seems I’ve been thinking aloud again.” A deliberate smile flickered across his features; it seemed he really did intend the warning as well-meaning advice.

  Lawrence bowed to Kieman and then hurried to leave the trading house, where Holo and Col awaited him.

  As he went, Kieman offered one final statement without looking up from his ledger. “Let me know when you’ve profit to divide.”

  It seemed presumptive to think of Kieman as a friend, but they did share a friendly sort of tie, Lawrence felt. “But of course,” he said with a smile before putting the trading house behind him.

  “Did things go well?” asked a worried Col. And no wonder – normally it would be distasteful to even meet the eye of someone whose greed had caused the trouble for them that Kieman’s had.

  But in all the world, none were so ready to put grudges behind them and drink with onetime enemies as merchants were.

  Lawrence patted Col on the head. “Seems they got a letter. ‘We profited,’ it said.”

  Col’s face lit up; he had always liked and worried about Eve. And Eve, too, seemed to be fond of Col.

  The only displeased one was Holo.

  “I only pray this doesn’t mean that more misfortune awaits us.”

  She was no doubt referring both to Eve – who had once actually tried to kill Lawrence – as well as Fran Vonely and the warning from Kieman.

  As far as they had heard, she would be a troublesome person to deal with.

  Lawrence gave Holo a look that said, “You’re hardly one to talk.”

  Holo sniffed in irritation. “So where are these art sellers to be found?” The obviousness of her ill temper made clear she was not really unhappy at all. When Lawrence started walking, she immediately followed.

  Once she saw the signboard that hung from the eaves of the Hugues Company, she fought back a wry smile. “I’m not sure whether they’re gutless or bold.”

  “Probably for the same reason you see so many eagles on the nobility’s family crests,” said Lawrence, opening the shop’s door, which was simply made but finely carved and had likely cost a good sum. Immediately his nose was hit by the smell of paint.

  The shop was on the small side for one on such a busy street, but Lawrence was immediately struck by how profitable it probably was. There was no small number of paintings hanging on every wall, and they all had one thing in common.

  They were large.

  In general, it was neither the subject nor the artist of a painting that determined its price. Most of a painting’s price was in the paint itself, and so it was the size and color quality of a piece that decided its value.

  Every painting in this little shop was large and had been rendered in many vivid colors. They were undoubtedly worth a significant amount.

  “Ho…”

  Some of the paintings depicted God or the Holy Mother, while others showed saints in reclusion, in mountains and forests, in caves and by ponds. In each case, the backgrounds seemed more prominent than the subjects, as though the artists had cared more about them than God or the Holy Mother.

  “Perhaps no one’s home.”

  Holo seemed impressed, and her breath quickened. Col was silent. Lawrence ignored them and went farther into the shop – but not before turning around and giving Holo a stern warning. “Don’t touch the paintings.”

  Holo’s cheeks immediately puffed out in irritation at being scolded like a child, but she did indeed have a finger raised and pointed at the face of one of the paintings. If she touched it and left a mark, they would all have to beat a hasty retreat.

  “Excuse me! Is anyone here?” Lawrence called out into the shop, which elicited the slam of a closing door. There seemed to be someone in the storeroom.

  Lawrence heard a muffled reply and gazed at one of the paintings on the wall as he waited for the shopkeeper to emerge. It was a painting of a group of pilgrims on their journey. They were walking alongside a river, on the opposite side of which was a lush forest and grand mountain range.

  The man who finally emerged from the back of the shop looked more like a pig than a sheep. “Yes, yes, how may I help you?”

  A glance at the flat cap on his head called to mind a clergyman, but he was dressed in fine merchant’s clothes.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Hafner Hugues.”

  “Oh? Well, I’m Hafner. So… how might I be of assistance?”

  Lawrence was obviously a traveling merchant, and his companions were equally obvious as a nun and a rescued street urchin. None of them were the usual clientele for an art seller who catered to the wealthy.

  “Actually, I was sent by Mr. Huskins from Brondel Abbey…”

  That was as far as Lawrence got.

  Hugues’s piglike nose twitched, and his eyes were fixed in a corner of the room.

  Holo noticed his gaze and looked up from a picture of the Holy Mother holding an apple.

  Holo was small, but she was still a wolf.

  “Ah… ah… ah…”

  “Her name is Holo,” said Lawrence, smiling brilliantly at the terrified Hugues.

  But Hugues did not have the wherewithal to listen. He seemed ready to flee but unable to make his legs move, and he gazed at Holo as though poleaxed.

  It was Holo who moved.

  Without so much as a sigh, she walked right up to him. “I don’t suppose you have any apples like the one in that painting?”

  When surrounded by a pack of wild dogs in the forest, about the only thing one can do is pull out a piece of jerky and throw it as far as possible.

  The effect was immediate. Hugues nodded so quickly his fleshy cheeks jiggled before he immediately disappeared into the rear of the shop.

  “He’s more pig than sheep, I’d say,” mused Holo as she watched him go.

  Holo reached without hesitation for an apple from the wooden bowl full of them that was produced. Despite being the master of this shop, Hugues seemed stuck as he stood in the corner.

  “Mr. Hugues.”

  His large body tried to shrink into itself at the sound of Lawrence’s voice. Lawrence tried to offer him a chair, no longer certain just who was the master and who was the customer here.

  “We heard of this place from Mr. Huskins, you see.”

  Hugues’s hand was busy wiping the sweat from his brow as he stared at the apples, but hearing this he froze. He looked up at Lawrence desperately, as though begging for mercy.

  Munching away on her apple,
Holo chose that moment to interject. “Now he… was a tough fellow.” She looked at Hugues with one teasing eye. It was not that he was a sheep that annoyed her so, but his simple cowardice.

  And yet she probably would have been annoyed in a different way if he had not shown fear. Wolves are complicated creatures.

  “Tough. Sinewy, you know.”

  “He was a sturdy fellow, indeed,” added Lawrence to Holo’s unnecessary words.

  “Wh-what did you do… no, what did you want with him?” Had he possessed a bit more courage, perhaps he would have asked, “What did you do to him?”

  But he surely saw the fangs in Holo’s mouth as she chewed her apple. Wolves and sheep are in inherent conflict. Since time immemorial, one has been the eater and the other the eaten, and so would it continue.

  “We listened to his tale of what his kind had done at the abbey. It was a grand tale, too. And then we gave him some assistance.”

  “… Why did he – why did he send you to me?”

  “We are looking for someone who knows the northlands.”

  Strength seemed to be returning gradually to Hugues’s eyes. As an art seller, he had unquestionably been successful, so he was certainly superior to Lawrence, a human and a traveling merchant.

  “Ah… yes. In that case…” Hugues said, but stumbled over the however he wanted to say next and looked at Holo meaningfully.

  Holo had devoured five or six apples and licked her fingers as though her hunger had been temporarily sated. She spoke only after she had finished licking her index and ring fingers all the way down to their base. “That one, Huskins, he had some backbone. He knew the way of things.”

  “…”

  Hugues said nothing, not even taking a breath as he looked at Holo.

  “What I mean is, he made sure to properly repay his debt to us. But as to whether it’ll truly be paid…” She glanced at him. “… That’ll depend on your cooperation.”

  “That’s…” Hugues swallowed as though trying to choke something down and then continued, “Of course… if that’s what he wants, then…”

  “Mm.” Holo gave Lawrence’s arm a light poke, as though to say, “It’s up to you now.”

  “So then, Mr. Hugues. We were hoping you would make an introduction for us.”

  “Ah… yes, indeed, this company deals in art, and many artists travel widely. So…”

  “Yes, we heard the name of a certain silversmith from Mr. Huskins.”

  In that moment, Hugues’s face finally belonged to a proper art seller. And in the same moment, Holo transformed from a girl blithely eating apples into a wolf.

  “Mr. Huskins gave us the name Fran Vonely.”

  Wrinkles appeared on Hugues’s soft forehead. He had the peculiar facial expression common to all merchants when their most profitable secret is discovered. But Hugues had been a merchant for a long time, and as such, he knew all too well of treating any visitors who were sent by someone as important as Huskins.

  “I am… aware of her.”

  “I hear she is a remarkable silversmith.”

  Hugues gave a pained nod in response to Lawrence’s statement. “She makes her living with painting, but her true trade is as a silversmith. I don’t know how she’s managed it, but she’s close to many important figures, and to a one they’re infatuated with her skill… especially those who’ve made their fortunes by the spear and shield, if you…”

  For an art dealer like Hugues, she would be like the golden goose. He could’ve gone on at length.

  Lawrence cleared his throat. “Could you introduce us to her?”

  No one wanted to let a competitor get close to their golden goose. Lawrence certainly understood the feeling – particularly when it was an unknown traveling merchant, a poverty-stricken urchin boy, and a wolf spirit. He could hardly be blamed for imagining himself being devoured headfirst.

  It was obvious that Hugues was weighing Huskins’s debt, his own profit, and his personal safety against each other.

  Holo then put a finger on that scale. “Yoitsu.”

  “Huh?” Hugues looked at her.

  “Yoitsu. ’Tis an old name. Few still remember it. And those who remember where it is are still fewer.”

  Perhaps Hugues’s mouth was dry, as he was now constantly trying to swallow.

  “I seek my homelands. Yoitsu. So, what say you? Have you heard of it?”

  Holo was behaving poorly, it was true. But it was clear that she had become tired of keeping up appearances for their own sake.

  “If you know, I want you to tell me. Just look at me.”

  Holo seemed small, and her head was bowed. If her tail had been bared, it surely would have been drooping between her legs.

  “Ah… er, well…”

  It was enough to surprise even Lawrence, and Hugues was well past surprise and on into shock. He finally stood from his chair and flapped his mouth as though trying to say something to Lawrence and Col.

  It was true that engaging in a real negotiation would have been bothersome, but there seemed to be a basic change in Holo’s attitude.

  In Winfiel, she had learned just how naive she truly was, and this from a sheep, an animal she had taken every opportunity to deride. And here she was not making high-handed demands, but simply asking for information.

  And while Hugues might not have been a courageous man, he was a generous one.

  “P-please look up. If the old one’s sent you… no, rather, if you’ll go to such humbling lengths for me, then, come – I, too, was born as a sheep. And I will aid you. So please…”

  Raise your head.

  At these last words, Holo slowly looked up and smiled. And perhaps it was strange to think it of someone who had lived as many centuries as Holo had, but it still seemed to Lawrence that her smile was just a bit more grown-up.

  Chapter Two

  Hugues offered warmed wine instead of apples. “It’ll warm you. Please, help yourself.”

  Lawrence gave his thanks and brought it to his lips, and Holo did likewise. He doubted she would like it and stole a glance at her. Col was the only one who had been given warm goat’s milk, and seeing Holo eye him enviously was rather entertaining.

  “Now then, you want to know about Fran Vonely, the silversmith, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  Lawrence got the feeling that Hugues still had something left to say, and soon he came to a conclusion and replied, “She’s in town right now as a matter of fact.”

  Holo smiled an obviously unfriendly smile, which Lawrence had to admit he understood. Still, it was no surprise that Hugues was trying to protect his asset.

  Lawrence lightly patted Holo’s knee before turning his attention back to Hugues. “Doing painting or smithing, I suppose?”

  “No. She often travels here or there saying she’s making preparations for just that, but just when I was thinking I hadn’t heard from her in some time, she comes wandering in, saying she’s heard tell of a certain legend.”

  “A legend?” said Lawrence, as though to make sure he had heard correctly, which made Hugues nod.

  “Something about a village known as Taussig. It’s up next to a long, wide mountain range in the north. The mountains are tall, the forests deep, and she’s come in pursuit of a legend regarding a lake in the area, she said.”

  Hearing the words mountain, forest, and lake, Lawrence looked at his companion.

  But Holo did not look back, and instead his eyes met Col’s, who was sitting on the other side of her.

  “Mr. Hugues, do you know anything about this legend?”

  “Certainly, I’ve heard tell of it. As I’m sure you’re aware, we have our own information sources, and to a certain degree we can tell whether such things are real or not…”

  “So you’re saying there’s a good chance it’s a fake?”

  Hugues nodded. “But she’s a stubborn person. Once she’s decided on a shape for a silver piece, she won’t budge – although many people find such vehemence to ha
ve a certain charm to it…”

  “So she won’t have time to draw us a map?”

  “Perhaps not. Though…”

  “Though…?” Lawrence prompted, which made Hugues reply with regret in his voice.

  “It’s true that she often journeys into the north in search of subjects for her silversmithing, and I imagine that she’s become more familiar with the old names of places there than old Huskins or myself are, since she’s the only one actually going there.”

  Lawrence nodded and urged Hugues to continue. What he had said so far did not answer Lawrence’s question.

  “So, yes. But I don’t know if she’ll simply draw you a map if asked to. I had to work very hard in order to establish a relationship with her, so…” Hugues wiped the sweat from his face. Assuming it was not an act on his part, Fran Vonely was indeed a difficult person to get along with.

  “What? ’Twill be simply done,” Holo said, casually baring her fangs at the rattled Hugues. All they had to do was threaten her – was that the joke?

  Hugues smiled, but not out of amusement at the jest. Crafters were a famously stubborn lot. There were stories of legendary blacksmiths who had been unwilling, been driven to the verge of poverty, licking rust from their anvil to stave off starvation, rather than forge a sword they did not want to forge.

  It would be foolhardy of Lawrence to just show up one day and ask her to draw them a map of the northlands.

  “I understand entirely,” said Lawrence. “But would you be able to put in a good word for us?”

  Hugues nearly fell forward at Lawrence’s question. Perhaps it made Lawrence’s firm resolve all too clear.

  “She – she’s a very difficult individual, you see…”

  It would be difficult to convince her to meet someone she did not already know. Lawrence contemplated the problem.

  Hugues was torn between maintaining his relationship with a particular silversmith or doing right by Huskins, who kept the haven for sheep spirits like Hugues. In weighing one against the other, he was leaning toward the silversmith.