If the current was fast enough to make Kieman nervous, then the volume of the letters flowing toward Eve must also have been increasing. No matter how great the potential of Kieman’s plan to reverse the situation, Eve was not in an easy enough position that she could just sign on. On the contrary, secret deals had to be carefully hidden in between legitimate ones.
Eve was surely just as desperate as everyone else.
Lawrence reminded himself of that over and over, as he waited in the hallway and pretended to be calm
If it was to their own profit, good merchants would wait two or three days until their scales balanced. But waiting could also mean missed opportunities.
When the old man finally returned with the reply, Lawrence gave a perfunctory thanks and immediately left. He no longer knew whose side he was on. Was he hurrying to help Kieman or to buy just a little bit more time for Eve to think? Or was he simply caught up in the moment? He had no idea.
Kieman’s messenger was beginning to look grim, with sweat breaking out on his brow. In the short time it took the messenger to deliver the note to Kieman, Lawrence overheard from passing merchants on the street and in the tavern that there had been progress in the meeting.
It seemed that there would be a conclusion more quickly than anticipated.
The moment consensus was reached, the grand reversal Kieman was planning would turn to so much foam.
And Lawrence doubted that such an opportunity would come again.
The messenger began to use stronger language to speed Lawrence on, and over and over Lawrence prodded Eve’s guard.
But Eve’s replies continued to take longer to come, and from what he could glimpse of her handwriting, it seemed to be turning messy, almost drunken. Amid the stomach-churning tension of the exchanges, Lawrence visited the inn over and over again, again, and again.
As he was handing yet another letter to the door guard, he felt a strange unease and froze.
“…?”
The guard looked at him warily.
Lawrence looked at the guard, dumbstruck, but hastily tried to smile.
His heart was hammering in his chest.
It couldn’t be.
The words danced madly around in his head.
The guard took the letter into the room with Eve.
“…It can’t be,” Lawrence whispered to himself.
Why were Eve’s replies taking so long? Kieman was participating in the meeting and probably even busier than she was, and yet his decisions and replies came quickly every time.
It certainly wasn’t as simple as a difference in their personalities. Eve was the kind of person who could draw a knife on someone without a single hesitation if she needed to. She wasn’t the sort of person who would find herself assailed by indecision.
It was when he began to wonder if Eve was somehow even busier than Kieman that Lawrence felt a pang of unease.
When he’d been allowed into Eve’s room, there had been letters scattered everywhere. And every time he’d visited since then, there seemed to be more, such that even just reading them all would be quite a chore.
But he had overlooked something important.
Each time he delivered a letter, he had been made to wait outside the room for some period of time.
And during that time, what had he seen?
Had anyone else brought a single letter to the room?
After being made to wait a fair amount of time, Lawrence was finally given his reply. He was able to look around with eyes as clear as the skies after a storm. When the old man opened the door, he caught again a glimpse of the room, scattered with letters as usual.
But then he thought about things.
What need was there to scatter them around like that after reading them? And if there was a reason to do that, what was it?
Lawrence tucked Eve’s reply into his breast pocket and hurried out of the inn.
This exchange had had inscrutable aspects right from the start. The oddest was Eve’s childish insistence that she simply had to monopolize all the profit. And yet the words he had exchanged with her and the general mood of the place made it seem like it was reasonable to say such a ridiculous thing.
It wasn’t as though she had always been a merchant and ready to jump into this world of ready betrayal—Lawrence could imagine the hardships she’d weathered in getting to this place. It would hardly be surprising if she chose to walk the evil path of betrayal if she thought it would lead to her world without suffering.
It wouldn’t be surprising, but where was the need? Choosing the path that allowed her to hurt others simply because she was also in pain was a mere excuse.
But what if it really was all an act?
Lawrence’s mind raced, and the blood rushed from his head. Sometimes waiting led to greater gain, but sometimes quick action brought the largest profit. And this deal most likely fell into the latter category. Once an agreement was reached at the meeting, Kieman’s turnabout plan would no longer be viable.
If Eve wasn’t working for her own profit, but instead for someone else’s, that would explain why her replies were taking so long.
She was trying to buy time.
In more or less any town, there were men like Kieman, who would always attempt to outwit their rivals given half a chance. How could the elders, who had gained all their experience on that very same road, fail to be reminded of their own youthful days?
Were they using Eve as a tool to thwart Kieman’s mad plan?
Letting him waste his time with an idle partner, the elders would skillfully avoid the spearpoint of this unavoidably intergenerational conflict.
It was all starting to make sense.
The letters scattered unnaturally all over the floor.
And the existence of so many letters, despite Lawrence never once seeing anyone carrying them.
And Eve never once giving the impression that she would waver in the face of any difficulty.
Lawrence delivered the letter to the messenger. As the man turned to hurry back and finish the delivery, Lawrence grabbed his shoulder and spoke.
“A message for Mr. Kieman.”
The messenger frowned, but Lawrence didn’t care and continued.
“There is a possibility that the wolf is a decoy.”
That much of a hint would be more than enough for a man like Kieman to understand.
It was even possible that Chief Jeeta had set a trap in order to teach the upstart a lesson. After all, given that Kieman had no qualms playing Lawrence as a pawn, it would hardly be surprising if the powers above him would take a similar opportunity to legally crush a troublesome subordinate.
But if it came to that, Lawrence would suffer, too, and whether or not he could borrow Holo’s power to escape, his place in the guild would be gone.
The messenger only made a pained face at Lawrence’s desperate words and ran off without replying. He had probably been ordered not to accept anything other than letters from Lawrence, in order to prevent Lawrence from making any decisions on his own.
But the situation required immediate action.
If Eve was really trying to trap them, the sooner they retreated the better. As long as this was still the entrance to the trap, they could still escape. But once the door closed, it would be too late.
Lawrence waited anxiously in the tavern.
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 awfully 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 wante
d 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.
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