Spice & Wolf III

by Isuna Hasekura

  Holo showed no signs of stirring even when Lawrence entered the room, but her artless snoring suggested that she had mostly recovered from her hangover.

  The stink of liquor was too much for Lawrence, so he opened the window before approaching the bed. The water glass next to it was empty as was—fortunately—the bucket. Her face, sticking out of the bedclothes, looked haler than it had before. Lawrence had bought real wheat bread, which he rarely indulged in, instead of honeyed crackers; this had been the right choice, he felt.

  He was quite sure that the first words out of Holo’s mouth upon awaking would be “I’m hungry.”

  Lawrence held the bag of bread up to Holo’s nose, which twitched slightly Unlike the tough, bitter oat and rye bread they often wound up eating, the scent of the soft, tender wheat bread was wholly enticing.

  Holo’s sniffing at the bag was enough to make Lawrence doubt whether she was actually asleep. At length, she made a small, artless mmph sound and then buried her face within the covers.

  Lawrence looked down at the foot of the bed, where he saw Holo’s tail sticking out of the covers, trembling slightly.

  She seemed to be in mid yawn there beneath the bedclothes.

  Lawrence waited a spell, and sure enough, Holo's bleary-eyed face eventually emerged from underneath the covers.

  “Mmph...Something smells amazing..

  “Feeling better?”

  Holo rubbed her eyes, yawned again, and spoke as if to herself. “I’m hungry.”

  Despite his best efforts not to, Lawrence burst out laughing.

  Not seeming particularly interested, Holo slowly hauled herself up and yawned a third time. She then sniffed the air and turned her gluttonous gaze to the bag Lawrence held.

  “I figured you’d say that. I splurged and got some wheat bread.”

  As soon as Lawrence handed over the bag, the proud wisewolf became like a cat presented with a treat.

  “Will you not eat some?”

  Holo sat there on the bed, clutching the bag and devouring the pure white bread, looking anything but willing to share.

  Even as she posed the question to him, her mien was now closer to that of a hunting dog who had no intention of letting its prey escape.

  It was probably at the limits of Holo’s generosity to even venture to ask him before she finished the entire bag.

  “No, I’m fine. I had a taste earlier.”

  Normally she would have regarded him with some suspicion, but Holo—true to her ability to see right through a lie—seemed to accept this as the truth. Visibly relieved, she returned to her assault on the bread.

  “Careful, you’ll choke.”

  Lawrence remembered when shortly after he and Holo first met, she nearly choked on some potatoes at the small church they had passed the night in. She shot him a glare, which he chuckled at. He pulled a chair out from the desk and sat.

  Upon the desk were several wax-sealed envelopes. After making the rounds among the various trading firms, Lawrence had received several letters addressed to him.

  Despite their itinerant lifestyle, traveling merchants had many opportunities to send and receive letters as their seasonal stops were very predictable.

  Some offered to buy a certain good at a high price if they happened to be passing through a given town that was selling it; others told of a goods price in their towns and asked how it was doing elsewhere—the correspondence was diverse.

  Yet it was strange, Lawrence felt. He generally came through Kumersun in the summertime, so it was out of the ordinary for letters to be reaching him here now on the very threshold of winter. In the worst case, the letters would have wound up languishing in the files of the trading companies for more than half a year. If the letters had not found Lawrence in Kumersun within two weeks, they were to be sent south. It went without saying that such arrangements cost a pretty penny.

  It was clear that the letters were urgent.

  The senders were all town merchants situated in northern Ploania.

  Lawrence carefully removed the wax seals with a knife when he sensed Holo peering intently at him.

  “They’re letters.”

  “Mm,” came Holo’s short reply as she sat herself on the desk, bread in hand.

  Lawrence didn’t mind if she saw the envelope’s contents, so after breaking the seal, he took the letter out right there on the spot.

  “Dear Mr. Lawrence…”

  The fact that the letter did not begin with “In the name of our Lord” was very much in keeping with a northerner’s style.

  Lawrence skimmed the pleasantries and moved his gaze down the page.

  Following the messy, hurriedly composed handwriting, he quickly discerned the letter’s import.

  It was indeed critical information for a merchant to have.

  He read the second letter, confirming that its contents were the same as the first, and then sighed, smiling slightly.

  “What do they say?” Holo asked.

  “Care to take a guess?”

  Perhaps irritated at having her question answered with another question, Holo frowned and rolled her eyes. “They hardly seem like love letters.”

  Even a love of a hundred years would find its ardor cooled by such messy handwriting, Lawrence thought.

  He handed the letters to Holo and grinned. “You always get important information after you most need it.”

  “Hmph.”

  “These letters were sent out of sincere concern, so I owe them some gratitude at least. What think you?”

  Holo licked her fingers, either out of contentment or because she had simply eaten all there was to eat, and looked at the letters she held in the other hand.

  She then shoved them back at Lawrence, a sour expression on her face.

  “I cannot read.”

  “Oh...you can’t?”

  Lawrence took the letters, and Holo narrowed her eyes at him.

  “If you’re feigning ignorance, I must say you’re getting better at it.”

  “No, no, sorry. I really had no idea.”

  Holo regarded him for a moment as if to ascertain the truth of his words, and then she turned away with a sigh.

  “First of all,” she said, “there are too many letters to remember and too many baffling combinations. You might say all one needs to do is write as one would speak, but that is clearly a lie.”

  It seemed Holo had once tried to learn to read.

  “You mean the consonant notation and such?”

  “I’ve no idea what you call them, but the rules are too complex by far. If there’s one way in which you humans exceed us wolves, it is your mastery of those inexplicable symbols.”

  Lawrence very nearly asked if other wolves were similarly unable to write, but he swallowed the question at the last second, merely nodding his agreement.

  “Though it’s not as if it’s a simple matter for us to memorize them, either,” he said. “I had no easy time of it, and every time I made a mistake, my teacher would strike me on the head for it. I thought I’d have a permanent lump.”

  Holo regarded him dubiously. If she thought he was merely humoring her, she would undoubtedly become angry.

  “Surely you can tell I’m not lying,” said Lawrence.

  Holo finally turned her doubtful gaze away. “So what is it that’s written there?”

  “Ah, it says that the northern campaigns have been canceled, so be careful of buying up armor,” Lawrence said, tossing the letters aside. He grinned ruefully at Holo’s blank look.

  “So if you had but received that letter sooner, you wouldn’t have gotten in trouble?”

  “Indeed. Such is hindsight. But the fact that these two merchants would spend coin to deliver this message to me is worth knowing. I can trust these two.”

  “Mm. And yet the difference between reading and not reading the letters was the difference between heaven and hell.”

  “It’s no joke. You’ve the right of it, no question. A single letter can determine your
fate. A merchant without information might as well be heading out onto a battlefield with a blindfold.”

  “I don’t know about your eyes, but you surely cover your shame often enough.”

  Lawrence was about to put the letters back into the envelopes when he heard this and froze, muttering an oath.

  “Hmph. Even teasing you does not dispel my drowsiness.” Holo yawned and hopped off the desk, walking over to the bed. Lawrence watched her bitterly. She turned to him.

  “Oh, yes—we can go to the festival now, yes?” she asked as she picked up the robe that had been discarded on the bed, her eyes twinkling so brightly they were nearly audible. Seeing her thus, Lawrence wanted to take her out, but he had other business to attend to first.

  “Sorry, not ye—”

  Lawrence was cut off midsentence. Holo clutched her robe tightly, seemingly on the verge of tears.

  “Even if you’re joking, please—stop that, I beg you,” he said.

  “Ah-hah, so you are weak against this sort of thing. I’ll remember that,” said Holo, abandoning the act. Lawrence found he had nothing to refute her with.

  Having had yet another weakness exposed, he turned back to the desk, defeated.

  “Mm. But—can I not go into the town myself?”

  “You’ll go whether or not I give you permission.”

  “Hm, I suppose that’s true...”

  Lawrence returned the letters to their envelopes and turned to Holo once again; she held onto her robe, looking awkward.

  At first he sighed inwardly—was she really playing this game again so soon?—but then he realized that without any money, she would be able to do little else than stare at the stalls, which to Holo was akin to a living death.

  In other words, she needed marching money, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask for it.

  “I don’t have any small change right now, so...don’t spend it all in one place.”

  He stood and produced a silver irehd from the coin purse at his waist, then walked over to Holo, and handed it to her.

  The coin bore the image of the seventh ruler of Kumersun.

  “It’s not as valuable as a trenni piece, so you shouldn’t get the evil eye if you try to buy some bread with it. They’ll make change without a fuss.”

  “Mm...” replied Holo indistinctly even as she took the coin. Lawrence instantly wondered if what she wanted was more money.

  But if he betrayed this suspicion, she would really have him cornered.

  Lawrence forced himself to maintain a neutral expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Hm? Oh...”

  One had to be careful when she was being so meek.

  Lawrence’s head shifted into negotiation mode.

  “I was...I was just thinking that it would be a bit of a waste to go alone,” Holo said.

  And just like that, his mind spun fruitlessly.

  “What business have you remaining? If you’ll take me along, I’ll return the silver piece,” she said.

  “Oh, uh, I was—I was just meeting with someone.”

  “Well, I’m going to wander about anyway. If you don’t want me near, I’ll keep my distance. Take me along, won’t you?”

  She wasn’t being especially fawning or wheedling—she simply wanted to come along, it seemed.

  If she’d cocked her head and said something like “Oh, do please take me with you!” he would have suspected her of putting on an act.

  But her request was entirely normal.

  If it really was an act, Lawrence felt like he wouldn’t mind falling for it.

  And in case it wasn’t an act, Holo would surely be hurt by his suspicion.

  “I’m really sorry—can you let me go alone today? I’ve got to meet with someone, and then I expect we’ll be going elsewhere, so I can be introduced to someone else. If you came along, you’d have to wait outside nearly the whole time.”

  “Mm...”

  “I should be able to finish up all my business today, and then starting tomorrow, we can take our time and enjoy the festival. So can you manage on your own for one more day?”

  He talked with the same tone he would use on a girl of ten, but Holo—standing there beside the bed—looked roughly that vulnerable.

  Lawrence understood how she felt.

  It was precisely because he was not overfond of going to the winter festival alone that he came to Kumersun only in the summer.

  Once the crowds became so thick that one could not help bumping into people, the loneliness became that much keener.

  Going to a party at one of the trading firms and then returning alone to a lonely inn was similarly desolate.

  Lawrence dearly wanted to bring Holo along with him, but this particular errand made that impossible.

  He was going to be introduced to Gi Batos, thus making contact with the town chronicler that Batos evidently knew. One of the head masters of a trading firm Lawrence had visited also knew of the chronicler. Lawrence had taken the opportunity to find out more while he picked up his letters. As he suspected, the chronicler collected not only information on Ploania, but also wrote down pagan tales from farther north.

  If the tales of Yoitsu were to come up, it could go badly if Holo was there to hear them. Since Lawrence knew one such tale—wherein Yoitsu had been destroyed by a bear spirit—he had trouble imagining that he would hear that Yoitsu was now prospering.

  Hiding the fact forever would be difficult, but Lawrence thought he should at least try to reveal the truth to her at a suitable time. It was a delicate issue.

  A moment of silence passed between him and Holo.

  “Mm. Well, I do not wish to get in your way. I can't have you slapping my hand away again,” she said, seeming even sadder—which was probably an act.

  Nonetheless, the fact that Lawrence had slapped Holo back in Ruvinheigen still gnawed at him. The clever wisewolf in front of him knew this and was taking a bit of revenge for his refusal to give in to her request.

  “I’ll buy you a souvenir. Just abide one more day.”

  “So I’m to be bought off again, am I?” she said accusingly, but her swishing tail showed her anticipation.

  “Shall I sweet-talk you instead?”

  “Hmph. Your words are far from sweet; they’re practically inedible. I shall pass.”

  It was a nasty thing to say, but Holo was smiling; her mood seemed to have improved. Lawrence waved a meek hand to indicate his defeat.

  “I suppose I shall just wander about on my own.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lawrence, whereupon Holo spoke again as if she just remembered something.

  “Oh, that’s right. If when you return there are two people in the room, would you mind staying out for a while?”

  For a moment, Lawrence did not understand what she was gel ting at, but he finally realized she was suggesting she might pick up a man while she was out.

  Given her particular charms, Lawrence thought it could certainly happen.

  But Lawrence had no idea what sort of expression he should assume in response to the statement.

  Should he be angry? Should he laugh? By the time he concluded that ignoring her was the best course, Holo grinned at him with genuine delight.

  “Seeing your adorable face will be quite enough to tide me over for the day,” she said.

  Lawrence found he could only sigh at her teasing.

  Holo could be an infuriating wolf.

  “I’d rather be in your arms than not, still,” she said airily. “Do not worry.”

  Lawrence had no words.

  She could be an incredibly infuriating wolf.

  Lawrence opened the door to the trading company. It was afternoon, and the company indeed much more crowded than it had been earlier.

  The building was filled with both town merchants based in Kumersun and traveling traders who operated in the area. The company was open but doing no real business since nearly everyone was there to enjoy the festival; the room overflowed with drinking and merriment
.

  Batos—the man acting as the intermediary between Lawrence and the chronicler—was evidently not as much of a drunkard as Mark has insinuated and had been out of the building on business when Lawrence came in the morning.

  Lawrence asked after him with the chief of the trading company; Batos had still not returned, it seemed. Since he was meeting someone, Lawrence could not very well drink, and he mused on how to pass the time.

  There were several other merchants in similar circumstances, but they had been seduced by the festive atmosphere and were absorbed in a card game, so Lawrence couldn’t very well try to engage them in conversation.

  There was nothing for it but to strike up some idle chatter with the trading house chief, who drank but likewise could not let himself get drunk. During their conversation, the doors opened and a single figure entered the trading house.

  Lawrence and the chief were situated directly across from the entrance, so Lawrence could immediately see who came into the building. It was Amati, looking more like the young son of a nobleman than any merchant.

  “Mr. Lawrence,” said Amati after briefly greeting the men drinking by the door.

  “Good afternoon. And thank you for your assistance with the inn.”

  “Not at all. I should be thanking you for ordering so much fish for dinner.”

  “My finicky companion praised it to the heavens. Said that you had an excellent eye for fish.”

  Lawrence felt this was a more effective compliment than saying he himself had enjoyed the food. He was correct.

  Amati’s face lit up like an excited boy’s.

  “Ha-ha, I’m delighted to hear it! If she has any other requests, I’ll be buying some truly excellent fish tomorrow.”

  “She seemed to have a special love for the carp.”

  “I see...very well, then. I’ll go find more that she’ll enjoy.”

  Lawrence chuckled internally; at no point had Amati asked what he thought of the fish, but Amati no doubt had not even noticed this.

  “Oh, incidentally, Mr. Lawrence—have you any plans at the moment?”

  “I am killing time before I meet with Mr. Batos.”

  “I see..”