Spring Log

by Isuna Hasekura

  She closed her eyes, searching for something in her memory, and greedily bit into the bread with her tiny mouth. Some might consider the way she gobbled it down bad manners, but there was an innocence about it that Lawrence loved.

  “And hmm. For whatever reason, he has wheat on him.”

  Holo was a spirit who lived in wheat. Long ago, when she had snuck into Lawrence’s wagon, she was only able to do so by using wheat.

  “It’s probably rations. Something you would want to have when you travel to a cold place. Even if you had a snow shed, you probably wouldn’t put food in there. It can keep for years if it’s not ground into powder.”

  “Hmm? Well, you are more knowledgeable of the human world than I am. Also, the way he’s dressed. You can tell what a man’s trade is by the way he dresses in the human world, aye?”

  An innkeeper was an innkeeper, a money changer was a money changer, a merchant was a merchant. A smith would proudly wear an apron of thick, burn-resistant hide; a baker would wear a special hat.

  Like Holo said, regular people would wear special outfits that showed their profession rather than stating it outright.

  “I’ve never seen such a big hat before.”

  It seemed as deep as a pot, and when the old man wore it, it almost covered his entire face. It was so unique that if he knew what job required such a thing, then he would be satisfied.

  “There is metal inside that fur. If he wears that by design to roam out in the mountains, then it must be because he’s always next to the mountain slopes so he needs to protect his head from falling rocks.”

  “…Metal? Now that I think of it, another owner told me that he might be a speculator looking for a mine.”

  However, mining would wreck the environment, and if the old man wanted to work here then he would need a special permit. Many of Nyohhira’s guests had power and money, and the inhabitants had many connections they could call on to protect the land. If it was not something that would bring at least as much gold as the waters here did, then there was no way anyone would be able to get a permit. A speculator of that age would certainly know this.

  “The word from those in the mountains is that somebody has been venturing into their territory but they don’t know what to do. If he were a hunter, then they’d fight him fair and square, but he doesn’t have anything resembling a weapon, and he does not chase any prey, so they, too, are confused.”

  Since Holo’s true form was a wolf, it seemed as though she could communicate with normal animals.

  This bathhouse was in a village in the mountains, and even further in than the others since the Spice and Wolf establishment was situated on the outskirts of the village. Regular bathhouses would normally be attacked all the time by mountain creatures, making it nearly impossible to conduct business, but Holo had given them strict orders, and they had been able to avoid any incidents.

  In exchange, sometimes a bear would come to the baths, barely escaping with its life from a hunter. It was a peaceable coexistence.

  “If you say that, then I can’t imagine he’s doing anything else but searching for something in the mountains.”

  “Hmm.”

  Holo finished her bread and licked her slim and delicate fingers. Ever since their daughter’s birth, she had not acted like this, so for Lawrence to see it for the first time in a while made him feel as though time had turned backward.

  Moreover, Myuri acted the same way.

  “But we do not know if searching is all he’s doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lawrence didn’t understand and Holo gave him an irritated look.

  She sighed a bit, reached out for the jug, then poured wine only for herself.

  “He moves from inn to inn, aye? And he seems to hold no interest in the baths, the rooms, singing, or dancing. So…?”

  “…Oh, that’s right!”

  The maids at the communal oven even spoke about how he was staying at the houses in order of oldest to newest. If he was searching for something in the village bathhouses, then that made sense.

  “I feel like I’ve heard a story like that before…a rich merchant falls ill in a town during his travels. Then he secretly writes about where his hidden fortune is cloistered somewhere in the house.”

  Lawrence told it like a funny story, but his expression suddenly became serious.

  “What if…that was real?”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s how much he’s paying—all that money. I haven’t seen a gold lumione in a long time. If he were searching for something, you could understand how that would be payment for searching. Lots of our customers here have status, fame, or money, anyway.”

  “Hmm. Were that true, then you think he goes from house to house, searching for the hidden message, and then takes his lunch out to look for the fortune buried in the mountain?”

  “It’s possible it could be a light treasure, like a will or a charter.”

  Lawrence began to think seriously, but Holo suddenly sighed and snatched his piece of bacon.

  “H-hey, that’s mine!”

  “’Tis too much for a fool in the morning,” Holo said and inhaled the morsel.

  She licked the grease off her fingers and then looked at Lawrence, irritated.

  “Have you forgotten that he has no interest in the water or the rooms?”

  “…Oh.”

  “Were there a clue in the walls or the ceiling, he’d be searching until his eyes ran with blood. And there could be something hidden under the rocks in the bath. If he was doing something like that, we’d know right away. He’s been moving around the village all winter, aye?”

  “That’s right…Hmm…But searching for something as he goes around to each inn really makes sense.”

  “He may be searching for something we can’t see.”

  “Huh?” Lawrence asked and, at the same time, was shocked.

  Holo was looking at him, a sad and lonely smile on her face.

  “Like memories.”

  “…”

  Holo was embarrassed and suddenly stood from her chair.

  Then, she wrapped her arm around an unmoving Lawrence’s neck in an embrace. The reason she let go so quickly was likely just a show.

  “Well then, I shall go tidy the mending,” Holo said in a deliberately bright manner and hurried up the stairs. Lawrence followed her with his gaze, watching until he could no longer see the fur on her tail.

  Bound by her memories, Holo had stayed in the same wheat field in the same village for hundreds of years. As she did so, she had forgotten the road home and many things disappeared in the flow of time. Even after she left the village, the places she visited on her journey were so different from how she remembered that there were times she shed tears. In the end, she was able to realize she had visited this or that place before by the smell of their traditional food.

  The old guest, who wore the strange fur hat on his head, seemed much older than Lawrence. It was possible that in search of memories from days long past and long forgotten, money was no object for this man.

  If he visited the bathhouse where he had stayed on a previous visit to Nyohhira so long ago that he had forgotten the establishment’s name, maybe he could recall what it was that he had left behind in these mountains.

  Perhaps that is why he seemed to be thinking so hard.

  Lawrence brought more beans, which had already gone cold, to his mouth and chewed. Though they were cool, the flavors had blended together and it was delicious. One or two stories would embed themselves like this into a bathhouse after a long time.

  Lawrence quickly finished his meal and rose from his chair.

  It was not uncommon for travelers to perish during their journeys while staying at roadside inns. Though there existed hospitals on pilgrimage roads, with monasteries as the parent building, the operating costs for these facilities mainly came from the wills of those that died there. It was often said that one could profit handsomely from a well-placed hospit
al on a famous route.

  Though there were occasionally guests that passed away while staying in Nyohhira, they often wrote their wills before coming, and there were no rumors of anyone inheriting large sums. Since many of their guests were of old age, and Nyohhira itself was located quite far to the north, customers came prepared.

  Besides, it would be distasteful to leave one’s fortune at a relaxing place such as a hot spring village.

  But customer death itself was not unheard of, so everyone had to be ready for that possibility.

  “By the time he moved to Ramaninov’s place, most of the other owners should have questioned it already.”

  Cyrus, the owner of the bathhouse that the mysterious guest stayed in before moving on to Lawrence’s, spoke with a grim look.

  It was not that he disliked Lawrence, nor was he looking down on Lawrence’s shallow thinking. Cyrus was a hard man to read, with his beard covering more than half of his square face, and his eyebrows were as thick as two fingers. Moreover, he was not very expressive, and when combined with a mild demeanor, Cyrus was often misunderstood.

  Lawrence quickly found out that he was a good person, though, once he talked to him.

  “But, Mr. Lawrence, the competition between bathhouses here is fierce. What do you do with the room once a guest has gone home?”

  “Of course, clean every nook and cranny. They leave piles of trash, you know.”

  “That’s right. Even under the roof and in the basement. Skimp on the cleaning, and suddenly there are mice and owl nests everywhere. If someone squirreled away their will somewhere, we’d have found it by now.”

  “We wouldn’t know right away—it could have been left as a symbol,” Lawrence retorted, and Cyrus suddenly coughed, pouring alcohol into the cup that sat on a record book. It was bittersweet liquor made from the lingonberries gathered in the summer.

  Upon closer inspection, Lawrence could see that the face across from him was smiling.

  “I don’t hate notions like this. I’d enjoy some occasional drama and adventure around these parts, too.”

  Lawrence was not sure if it was a compliment, but he accepted the liquor. The alcohol Cyrus kept at his place was always good. The bathhouse masters often combined their hobbies with practicality and brewed their own, but Cyrus was particularly absorbed in it. The man simply treasured truly delicious drink, and he was thankful that he could blame it on the alcohol anytime he uttered something foolish.

  “But…I don’t think that guy’s looking around the insides of the houses. I think every owner would say the same, since they know at all times where even all the mice families roam.”

  If that was true, then it was not as though the elderly guest would secretly be searching inside the ceiling in the middle of the night.

  “Do you know where he goes during the day?” Lawrence asked, and Cyrus, unyielding, shrugged his rugged shoulders.

  “It’s only recently that most guests have left and gone home for any bathhouse. No one has time to keep track of his activities during the busy daytime hours.”

  Cyrus lapped his liquor and tilted his head as he closed his eyes.

  “It’s a bit too sweet,” he murmured, much more aware of these things than Lawrence was.

  “According to hunters and loggers, it seems he’s taking the trails that branch from the village. Sometimes, he apparently goes off them. One of the hunters complained that the hunting grounds were unbearably wrecked.”

  This matched the stories that Holo heard from the animals in the mountains.

  “But why now?”

  Cyrus posed his question suddenly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hmm…I don’t want you to think bad of me, but he’s staying at your place, Lawrence; that means he’s probably going home soon.”

  Lawrence immediately understood what Cyrus was getting at.

  “Right. I also thought that nothing would really come of looking into it now.”

  The more senior bathhouse owners had all racked their brains over this mystery already, so it seemed incredibly pointless for Lawrence to do anything. If he was still going to try, he would need a special reason to do so.

  “It’s mostly pure curiosity. I used to be a merchant, you know.”

  “Curiosity…?”

  To those who spent all their time in an unchanging village where the same things happened over and over, it must have sounded foreign. The bear-like Cyrus repeated Lawrence’s words, quite interested.

  “And the rest?”

  “Pride, actually.”

  Whatever he said was the alcohol’s fault. Lawrence took another drink, as if trying to convince himself.

  “This is Nyohhira. Any and all troubles melt away in our spring water, and everyone can spend their days happily. Don’t you want them to go home happy?”

  He recalled the old man’s gloomy face.

  “I think it’s perfect for a newcomer like me to simply maintain that practice.”

  He added that the customer in question was an excellent patron who paid in gold coins.

  Cyrus’s eyes twinkled, and he scratched his head.

  “That’s true, though only a newcomer could say a naive line like that.”

  “Everyone else already smells like sulfur, anyway.”

  Cyrus agreed, shaking his shoulders in laughter, and stretched out his back. He faced the entrance of the house, almost as though he expected to see that old man walking in right at that moment.

  “I didn’t think he was a bad guest.” Cyrus spoke again, quietly. “He paid well, and he didn’t complain much.”

  “What about the early-morning lunch boxes?”

  “The kitchen maid complained to me, of course.”

  Lawrence laughed, but Cyrus continued.

  “And another thing. What I liked was that he was quite the drinker. He drank carefully, like he savored and tasted it. That’s unusual for guests here.”

  “Everyone else drinks like a fish.”

  Cyrus narrowed his eyes, still gazing at the entrance, and emitted a small sigh.

  “He moved on with a glum face, but I was the one left smiling. I think the steam from the baths clouded my eyes and soul as a bathhouse master.”

  He dropped his eyes to his hands and took a drink of his specialty liquor.

  “It’s the same with the strange festival you came up with before, Mr. Lawrence. We’re worn down in our everyday lives, little by little. A stone in the river becomes nice and smooth, but the current can carry it away. It can’t stop or endure the pull anymore. But then we’re used to it, and even if we look for excitement, we end up missing everything. I was ignoring the guests who seemed grouchy, who couldn’t say what they needed to say to the ones closest to them, even though they were right here in Nyohhira.”

  Cyrus spoke at length, then suddenly closed his mouth. He hung his head, his expression a bit sad, then murmured as though speaking to his reflection in the liquor.

  “This is unlike me. I talked too much.”

  It seemed as though he was blushing behind his beard.

  Lawrence took a drink and then spoke.

  “I actually like how sweet this is.”

  Cyrus lifted his head and laughed in relief.

  “That’s probably because your own bathhouse is so sweet.”

  “My own bathhouse?”

  “It’s a thing among the guests. They say watching the couple that owns Spice and Wolf interact is much more interesting than the musicians and dancers there. It’s a reflection of the bathhouses in Nyohhira.”

  “…”

  Lawrence tried to show his personal opinion with a feigned expression, but it did not seem to fool the other man.

  Cyrus seemed to be pleased from the bottom of his heart and took another sip.

  “I can see how young Myuri was raised to be such an open, innocent girl.”

  All the guests at Cyrus’s bathhouse had already gone home, and all was quiet.

  His gentle speech
softly echoed throughout the building.

  Lawrence’s face was hot due to the alcohol and nothing else. As he told himself this, Cyrus laughed.

  “I’ll do what I can to help you with that guest,” Cyrus said as they parted, and he waved his hand. Lawrence ended up staying quite a while at his place. Cyrus treated him to all sorts of fruit liquor that had matured during the winter, and Lawrence departed for home a bit drunk. He had also offered some lunch before he left, but Lawrence could not bring himself to accept that on top of everything else.

  They had talked about the mystery guest, and once Lawrence thanked him for the alcohol, he left.

  He started feeling it as he walked back, and mastering his shaky legs, he finally reached home. There, Holo and Hanna were doing the mending together in the dining hall. The second they looked at his face, they furrowed their brows.

  “You seem in good spirits, aye?”

  He could not argue, since he had left the needlework to the women as he came home drunk.

  Meekly, he dropped his head partly out of regret, as though she would bite off his head, but that just made him feel dizzier.

  “The liquor at Cyrus’s place…hic…is really…good…”

  “Honestly, you fool.”

  Holo placed the hemp sheet on the long table and stood, pressing close to Lawrence.

  When he thought she would give him a good punch, she lent him her shoulder.

  “I cannot stand the smell of alcohol in the bedroom. Hanna, fetch water and a blanket.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As though she already expected it, Hanna had also risen from her chair. As Lawrence watched her, Holo pulled him into the next room.

  It was a carpeted room, where a hearth was carved into the floor. Hanging from the beams on the ceiling were meats and fish that they caught near the village, which were often smoked or roasted as a snack to accompany drinks for those who stayed awake at night. Occasionally, this was a place to rest for those who got drunk too early in the day and could not navigate the stairs.

  She left him to lie there, and he stared absently up at the sooty ceiling.

  This ceiling, which had been around for a little over ten years, looked as though it had been used for a long time, but a closer examination showed that it was still quite new.