Town of Strife II

by Isuna Hasekura

  And then there was Lawrence, left behind untouched. Was that because Kieman had determined he had no information of value? Or because he’d decided that Lawrence was simply being used by Eve? Either way, it seemed that Kieman and the rest really did consider Lawrence to be nothing more than a messenger.

  Lawrence sighed, then felt suddenly nauseated. He hurriedly ducked into the alley into which he had tried to bring Eve before emptying the contents of his stomach.

  It wasn’t the feeling of powerlessness that he couldn’t stand—it was this unbelievable sense of self-loathing.

  Lawrence had been relieved.

  He had been so relieved that Kieman hadn’t taken him away.

  He was so sure he could prove his strength to Holo and defeat Kieman, and then after his exchanges with Eve, he had believed there was still a chance to somehow recover the situation.

  And now this.

  If he’d felt powerless, there would at least have been some chance to recover. Merchants were always chasing what they didn’t have, after all.

  Lawrence continued to heave long after there was nothing left to come up. Finally he spat.

  He’d been able to save Holo and escape many dangerous situations. If that had merely given him a false sense of superiority that would have been one thing, but now that his thin skin was torn away, it revealed his insides to be even more rotten than before.

  His vision was blurry, and it wasn’t only because of the vomiting.

  Eve’s actions hadn’t made sense.

  Reynolds’s letter had led to the collapse of their plan, but she’d come to the south side to warn him, regardless of the danger it posed to her.

  Which meant Eve hadn’t been thinking of him as a mere pawn. Perhaps when she’d asked him to join her in her betrayal, she had been trying to gain something else, something besides the narwhal.

  And in spite of all that, he’d been relieved that Eve was the only one taken away.

  He was no courageous protagonist. What better proof of that could there possibly be?

  “Shit!” Lawrence cursed and slammed his fist into the wall.

  If this had been only a question of profit or loss, he could have accepted it or given up on it. But that no longer held true when a person was involved. It was true that the wagon-borne life of a traveling merchant had been very lonely, but having to worry only about one’s self was worth something, he understood.

  The truth was, even traveling merchants could settle down in a town they visited if they really wanted to. The reason he hadn’t—the reason he couldn’t—was because he knew he was a coward and too kind for his own good.

  The life of a traveling merchant was one of constant meetings and partings. How could they be satisfied with the goods in front of them when the next town might have better goods?

  It was true that he had such thoughts, but it was also true that he’d put quite a sum of money into the high-priced item known as Holo.

  But that didn’t mean that he cared about nothing as long as Holo was safe.

  The traveling merchant’s curse was a kind of excuse. One couldn’t measure the value of human relationships with money. If everything could be decided with money, then he wouldn’t have found himself so torn between Eve and Kieman, because the amount of money involved with the narwhal made his lifetime earnings look piddling by comparison.

  Thus by thinking of his relationships with others as being more valuable than money, he could keep them at arms’ length, like a precious flower of great price.

  But just as his cart could hold only so much, the same was true of his heart. And he knew how much that was.

  Lawrence straightened, his fist still against the stone wall, and he looked up at the purple sky, wiping his tears away.

  Things were so much simpler when Holo was with him.

  New things were always getting in the cart, pushing even precious things aside. That was a perfectly healthy state of affairs for those curious figures called merchants, but without the ironclad will of a monk, normal people could hardly handle it.

  And yet now that his cart was so full and he constantly had to be careful not to leave anything important behind, his travels were far more enjoyable than when he’d been a single, lonely merchant. He no longer plied the roads alone, with only the rear end of his horse to stare at.

  Lawrence spat the last sour remnants of bile out, then wiped the corners of his mouth.

  A traveling merchant always brought his cargo to the next town, though he might have to crawl through the mud to do it.

  He wouldn’t leave any cargo behind.

  “So, then,” Lawrence murmured, forcing his frozen mind into motion.

  He had to admit that he’d been lucky to see Eve taken before his very eyes. If they were resorting to such violence, then they had to be genuinely cornered and hadn’t been able to come up with a subtler, more complicated plot.

  Even being unused to making long-term plans, maneuvering people behind the scenes, and avoiding those dangers he could anticipate, Lawrence was quite good at buying and selling goods right in front of him.

  There was a chance he could win.

  “There has to be,” Lawrence murmured to himself.

  Something he could see, something visible only to him as an outside observer watching the flow of goods in the marketplace.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Lawrence didn’t bother wondering when she had arrived or why she was there. He knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t have been able to just sit in the inn, and when one didn’t know what was happening, the most basic approach was to go someplace with a lot of people and listen very closely—and for that purpose, the port was the best place.

  And his traveling companion had ears of unparalleled sensitivity.

  With her wolf ears capable of hearing a pin drop half a world away, she stood a short distance from him, leaning against the wall, her arms folded in displeasure.

  She had probably seen everything. And even if she hadn’t, it would be easy for her to guess what had happened.

  Lawrence gave a pained smile and shrugged, as though acting like his usual self would be some sort of charm.

  “Should you need wisdom, I’ll lend it,” said Holo, her small chin the only thing visible beneath her hood.

  “That’s fine.”

  “I do wonder just how many times you’ll borrow my wisdom to save another female, though.”

  Lawrence wondered if she was being so straightforward because there wasn’t time for their normal roundabout banter. Or perhaps her patience had simply run out.

  He smiled naturally and replied, “Yet you’re the only one I travel with.”

  Holo did not answer, but with a little hop pushed herself away from the wall, cracking her neck audibly. It was clear that she was tired of these ticklish conversations as well, though if he were to say so she would probably bite his head clean off.

  “I sent Col to follow them.”

  “What did you find out at the port?”

  “I know not. But before you came ashore, I did see a group of people turning angry. I’d set myself up on the third floor of the baker’s shop over there. ’Twas so easy to see, it was to laugh.”

  Which meant that Kieman and Eve weren’t the only group who felt pressed into open action. In a current this strong, Kieman’s smuggling ship could be affected as well.

  Before being taken away, Eve had said she had no intention of selling the narwhal to Reynolds. That suggested that the letter she held had been an approach from him. If there was more to this than a secret agreement between Eve and Kieman, what would happen if a wider perspective were taken?

  Reynolds was on the side of the northern landlords, which meant that there was a limited number of possibilities.

  Was Reynolds both openly and secretly trying to buy the narwhal?

  “I imagine that’s probably because the northerners are trying to find a way to buy the narwhal.”

  “Hmm…”

&
nbsp; “But if that were all, Kieman would have panicked, and Eve wouldn’t have taken the risk of coming to see me. Something totally outside of their expectations must have happened to cause this.”

  Holo took Lawrence’s hand and began to walk. “’Tis a shabby town, this is. It doesn’t seem to have much coin.”

  “That’s right. And Reynolds is supposed to be at the center of this.”

  Reynolds might be able to use box-packing tricks to make a little money, but it wouldn’t get him any great wealth.

  “If he doesn’t have it, he would have to borrow.”

  “Exactly. If Reynolds truly intends to buy the narwhal, it means he’s going to have to collect the capital to do so from somewhere. Ah—so that’s why Kieman and Eve were so upset.”

  From under her hood, Holo finally showed her eyes. Lawrence could see the faint remnants left over from her previously furrowed brow. If she had seen the entire sequence of events, from when he arrived on shore to his meeting with Eve, to their encounter with Kieman and what happened after, she had probably been frowning the entire time.

  Just as Holo did for Col, Lawrence knew that once this was all over, he would have to do something to erase those creases.

  “Money and power are close partners. If the narwhal trade is connected to someone wealthy and powerful, the matter becomes much more complicated. Do you see?”

  Through the ages it was ever thus.

  Holo sneered, as though warning Lawrence not to test her. “…If the food you ordered never arrives, you have but to demand your money returned.”

  Her mind was as quick as ever.

  Lawrence recalled the sight of Eve being dragged away by force. That had happened because things could no longer be settled by record of profit and loss in a ledger.

  “If their meal doesn’t arrive, it’s their practice to demand compensation in money or blood. Which means…if this speculation is correct, there’s only one place Kieman would take Eve.”

  He would fight power with power.

  Reynolds had come to Eve asking to buy the narwhal because he’d suspected the secret agreement she had with Kieman. Which meant there was no telling how much power was poised to strike at Kieman.

  When the time came, having one or two thugs around Kieman wasn’t going to help him.

  Lawrence pulled on Holo’s hand and started walking in the opposite direction. Holo had probably arranged to meet up with Col somewhere, but if Lawrence was right, he knew exactly where that was.

  On they went, through the throngs, and before long they arrived.

  The number of guards had increased since they’d been there the previous day.

  “The church?” Holo murmured, but then her eyes were immediately drawn to something, and there at the end of her gaze was the surprised face of Col.

  “Uh, er, why are you here?” Col asked, having covered himself in a ratty coat to pose as a beggar boy.

  Lawrence was now sure his guess was right.

  “Kieman’s in there, eh? Well, if I’m going to save her I’m going to have to get in and speak to him face-to-face. So how do you think we should attack?” said Lawrence.

  Holo showed her fangs and smiled.

  “What’s your business?”

  As they walked up the stone steps and arrived at the entrance of the church, two guards crossed their spears to bar the way.

  Lawrence had brought Holo and Col (who had changed his clothes) along with him and smiled. “We have business with Lud Kieman of the Rowen Trade Guild.”

  Those were God’s gift, the magic words, but there was no guarantee that the same God still sat on the throne. Unlike the previous day, one of the dour-faced soldiers opened the door and went inside, while the other remained behind, his spear pointed unhesitatingly at Lawrence.

  The plan Holo had proposed was simplicity itself, and the only unusual thing about it was that Col, not Holo, would be at Lawrence’s side.

  “…Inside,” said the soldier, who had gone into the church, once he reemerged.

  Lawrence smiled at the soldiers when they briefly pulled their spears aside and slipped through the only slightly opened door. Once Col followed him, the door was closed, and they were again greeted with spears.

  “…”

  Forward, they meant.

  Lawrence started walking, and motivated by spearpoint, they continued on through the hall that encircled the sanctuary.

  The church’s interior was so quiet it was eerie, and he felt like he could hear even the candles’ flames. The ceiling was high and the carvings on the wall were intricate, each one beautiful. But each one of them was an otherworldly demon designed to convey the fear and terror of the world, which seemed like some sort of omen.

  Midway through the hallway, the soldiers ordered them to stop in front of a door.

  It seemed to be a storeroom of some kind, and one of the soldiers knocked on the plain wooden door, which was then quietly opened.

  There appeared the face of Kieman’s messenger. Looking Lawrence over, he was clearly not pleased.

  “I would speak with Mr. Kieman.” Lawrence flashed his finest smile.

  He was well aware that this would be dismissed as empty merchants’ charm, so his goal was to irritate the man. For Holo’s simple plan, this was the most effective approach.

  “Do you not get that you were deliberately spared?”

  Threats were best employed suddenly, like a snake striking from the brush. Lawrence was prepared, his counterattack ready.

  “We merchants love to snatch chestnuts from the fire, after all.”

  The instant Lawrence answered, the man reddened and reached for Lawrence’s collar. But Lawrence knew he was coming and was thus unsurprised.

  As the man came at him, Lawrence stepped back and took the opportunity to grab his opponent by the collar, hauling him back out of the room. “And do you not understand that I am here deliberately to negotiate?”

  Lawrence’s smile was unmoved. The soldier hastily tried to separate them, but just then another voice echoed out.

  “Is there a problem?”

  At this Lawrence immediately released the man’s collar, and the other man did likewise.

  Kieman’s calm, elegant voice was irritatingly well suited to the majestic atmosphere of the church. And yet his hair was slightly mussed as he stood in the entrance to the room.

  “I’d like to speak with my acquaintance.”

  “That’s very direct of you. Do you think I will allow that?”

  Kieman’s messenger stood next to him, his dark eyes staring at Lawrence.

  Next to Lawrence, Col straightened himself and stood tall. Lawrence didn’t know whether that was in response to the messenger’s posturing or not, but it gave him a bit of courage nonetheless.

  “I don’t expect it will be easy, no.”

  “How about this? I haven’t the luxury of wasting time on you. Fortunately, this church has many other rooms.” He looked at Lawrence with cold eyes. He had the advantage of numbers.

  But that he was resorting to threats proved he was out of room to maneuver.

  “Of course you do. But I’m surprised you would assume I came here unprepared.”

  “Oh?”

  “No, perhaps I should put it this way—I truly thought you spared me because it would be too much trouble to bring me in.”

  Kieman’s handsome face wrinkled in a frown.

  Lawrence continued rapidly. “Miss Eve tried all sorts of things to bring me over to her side. She even helped me ensure my own safety. For example—” He coughed deliberately. “She sold me several parchments with your signature on them.”

  Kieman’s messenger started to move, but Kieman stopped him. His lips curled into an unpleasant half smile. “I notice your companion isn’t that girl.”

  “She’s the quicker one, after all. And even a girl can carry a few papers in her breast pocket.”

  “…”

  If his dealings with Eve were exposed, Kieman would s
uffer. Regardless of what actions he took, given the volatility of the situation, there was no telling whether they would be effective or not.

  He surely didn’t want to risk further danger. And what harm could come of letting Lawrence meet with Eve? Little, he would no doubt conclude.

  “Understood.” At these words, Kieman’s messenger looked up at his master’s face. “Escort them in.”

  The faithful messenger chewed his lip in frustration but did as he was told with admirable loyalty. He shot Lawrence a resentful look, but Lawrence knew that it was the masterless stray that was to be feared, not the trained guard dog.

  “If you’ve anything I need, I’ll pay you a fair price for it.” Kieman was a merchant, after all. Lawrence looked at him over his shoulder and nodded with a smile.

  “This way.” The messenger led them to a staircase that led underground from the hallway into what might have been a vault, or perhaps a dungeon from the days when this had been at the front lines of the wars with the pagans.

  As they descended the dark, damp stairs, they encountered an iron door. The messenger knocked in a strange rhythm, and the door was unlocked from the inside.

  “Don’t even consider trying to escape.”

  “Certainly not,” replied Lawrence politely, which made the man grind his teeth.

  Lawrence pushed the door open himself and entered the room. Col followed him, and by the time the door closed behind them, Lawrence had a sense of the individuals in and the circumstances of the room.

  Lit by flickering candlelight and sitting on a tuft of hay was Eve, like some sort of captured princess. She grinned as though having heard some great joke. After a few moments, she seemed to regain her composure. The huge smile had surely been her own way of hiding her embarrassment.

  “I’ve come to talk with you.”

  “And what…joke would you care to hear?”

  Lawrence turned his dagger over to the guard, who checked to make sure neither he nor Col were carrying any weapons. Meanwhile Lawrence looked openly around the room, which indeed seemed to be a cellar of some kind. There were goods stacked here and there, with the open places in the floor covered by blankets or hay. Both food and water had been left, and Eve’s hands weren’t bound.