Out in the wilderness, a sword-wielding knight was the most powerful presence; in a town, however, the most powerful presence was one who possessed cash. This was perhaps the reason behind how the Church was able to gain such financial power. Being able to collect cash in the form of alms on a weekly basis, this would only be natural.
"Furthermore, credit is fine, but there's something I'd like you to help me with," said Lawrence.
Mark had stood up from his bench and was just preparing to go and pick up the nails from within the cart. Hearing Lawrence say this, he immediately turned his gaze toward Lawrence, making no attempt to conceal his wary look.
"It's really not such a big deal. I plan on taking care of some business up north. Could you help me ask some Northerners about the roads and regions there? Like the customer just now, he was from the North wasn't he?”
Hearing something unrelated to the gains and losses of business, Mark's expression loosened up visibly. Seeing Mark's obviously intentional expression, Lawrence could only smile a strained smile. Mark must be using this chance to get a bit of payback for having just bought those nails at a price so advantageous to the other party, Lawrence thought to himself.
"Oh, if it's something like that then it's no problem at all. But in that case, it would've been easier for you just to come here in the summer like you did every other year. Seeing as how you've purposely decided to head north in the winter, I'm guessing it must be something really important huh," said Mark.
"Aye, there's something I need to take care of, but it doesn't have to do with making money.”
"Hahaha, looks like even a continuously-moving traveling merchant can't free himself completely from the world's formalities. So, where do you plan to head to?”
"My destination is a place called Yoitsu. Have you heard of it?”
Mark tilted his head and, lifting a shrewd eyebrow, laid a hand on the edge of the cart and spoke: "Haven't heard of it. But, the towns and villages we haven't heard of are probably as numerous as the number of hairs on a cow. All you need is to find someone who's heard about it?”
"Oh, no no, I plan on heading to Nyohhira first, so if you could just try asking around for the location of Yoitsu," Lawrence replied.
"Oh, got it. If it's Nyohhira you're heading to, then you need to go through Doran Plain.” “It's easy communicating with you.”
Mark nodded as he slapped his chest, as if to say, "Just don't worry and leave it to me." If it was Mark, surely he'd be able to collect the information necessary for travel.
It was precisely with this expectation that Lawrence had come to sell nails to the wheat merchant Mark. However, in such a busy period, if he had only come to ask for assistance in collecting information, not only would it have troubled his conscience, Mark probably wouldn't have been very happy about it either.
Taking this under consideration, Lawrence had come to sell nails to Mark. Lawrence knew well that Mark had associated blacksmiths. In other words, Mark could immediately resell the nails he had purchased from Lawrence to earn what would probably be a pretty decent profit.
In addition, Mark could even ask the buying party to pay part of the payment in cash when selling the nails. For a wheat merchant, this time of year was the last chance to make money, and compared to making slight profits, being able to obtain some hard cash was even more to be happy about.
As Lawrence had predicted, Mark readily agreed to help. And so, Lawrence had finished making the necessary preparations for gathering traveling information.
"Ah yes, there's one more thing I wanted to ask you. Don't worry, this'll be over quickly.” “Do I really look that stingy?”
Mark said with a strained smile. Lawrence smiled in response as well before speaking: "Does Kumerson have any chroniclers?”
Hearing this, Mark answered with an astounded expression: "Chroni.cler? You mean those fellows who write town diaries all day long?”
Chroniclers referred to historiographers who received rewards from the Church or nobles for recording town or community histories.
But hearing Mark refer to them negatively as "fellows who wrote town diaries", Lawrence couldn't help laughing.
Besides, Lawrence was greatly amused by Mark's not-entirely-fitting yet not-so-far-off-the-mark description.
"Surely they'd be angered if they heard you say that," said Lawrence.
"All they have to do is sit in a chair and write words all day to earn money. It's an annoying sight.”
"I'm sure they wouldn't be so happy about being criticized by someone who managed to become a town shop owner under such fortuitous circumstances.”
Mark's fortuitous experience was a famous story in the town.
Having perceived that Mark had run out of words with which to argue, Lawrence changed his expression to a smile and spoke: "So, are there any?”
"Hmm…I think so, but it's better not to associate with them.”
Mark reached his hand into Lawrence's cart to pick up the bags of nails as he continued: "I heard they were regarded as infidels by the monastery of some region, and came here seeking refuge. I'm sure you already know there're plenty of people here like that?”
Compared to the conflict between Christians and pagans, the town of Kumerson was more concerned with economic development and thus, the authority of the Church was naturally kept outside its gates.
Consequently, large numbers of natural scholars, thinkers, and infidels sought refuge in Kumerson.
"I just wanted to ask a few things. Chroniclers also collect things like local legends and myths right? I wanted to ask something related to that," said Lawrence.
"Why would you be interested in stuff like that? So that you might have topics for conversation during your trip north?”
"That's about right. So I was thinking, it probably wouldn't be such a good idea to suddenly intrude on them. Do you happen to know anyone who could introduce me?”
Mark tilted his head slightly for a brief moment. Then, holding the bags of nails in one hand, he turned his head around and called out loudly.
A young boy walked out from behind a mountainous pile of wheat sacks within the shop. Since sometime unbeknownst to Lawrence, Mark had already become a merchant qualified to accept apprentices.
"There is a person. It'd be better if it were also someone from Rowen right?
Mark said as he handed a bag of nails to his apprentice. Seeing Mark like this, Lawrence's desire to find Yoitsu as soon as possible and return to his usual business routine became more intense than ever.
However, if such a thought were perceived by Horo, things would become rather troublesome. Besides, he also didn't want to part ways with Horo so soon.
Even Lawrence himself was unable to come to terms with these two conflicting moods. If he and Horo were able to live within the same time frame, even going a year or two without doing business wouldn't matter much to him.
Yet, Lawrence's life was far too brief. "What is it?”
"Huh? Ah, nothing. Aye, someone from the guild would be better. Could you ask him to do an introduction for me?" replied Lawrence.
"Of course, something like this is no problem at all. I'll help you out for free.”
Mark had placed extra emphasis on the words, "for free," upon which Lawrence was unable to suppress a laugh.
"You need it taken care of quickly?" asked Mark.
"If possible, yes.”
"In that case, I'll have the little guy make a trip. There's an old face, a traveling merchant named Guy Bartose who should be at the foreign firm. He's a daring man, always doing business with those people you least want to associate with. I remember he had regular dealings with a pagan cenobite (note: a member of a religious order living in a convent or community) who worked as a chronicler. Every year during the one week before and after the festival, the guy always seems to be on a long break. So if you just go to the firm at about noon, you should find him there, passed out with drunkenness.”
Even within the sam
e guild, there were people like Lawrence who were traveling merchants, as well as those like Amati who did business mostly unrelated to his own. As a result, Lawrence often didn't know the names and faces of other members of the guild.
Lawrence repeated the name, "Guy Bartose" once so as to imprint it within his mind. "I got it, thanks a lot," he said to Mark.
"Haha, how could I accept thanks from you for something so trivial? Let's drop that subject. You'll be staying in town till the festival's over right? Why don't you drop by my place and have a drink before you leave.”
"Aye, I'll find time to go and hear you boast about yourself at your place. Think of it as repayment for my gratitude.”
Mark laughed silently, handed the last bag of nails to his apprentice and said with a sigh: "But, even after becoming a town merchant, there've been countless worries and hardships. I've often thought of going back to being a traveling merchant.”
Lawrence, who as of now was still a traveling merchant and worked tirelessly each day making money to make his dream of owning his own shop come true, could only respond with a vague agreement. Mark himself seemed to notice Lawrence's predicament, and said with an embarrassed smile: "Forget what I just said.”
"Let's just wish each other the best. Merchants will always have endless worries and hardships to deal with, isn't that right?”
"Indeed, let's wish each other the best.”
Lawrence shook hands with Mark and, seeing the arrival of another customer, left the vending stand.
His cart proceeded slowly forth. Before entering into the crowd of people, Lawrence looked back at Mark's stand.
Watching Mark, who had long since forgotten Lawrence's existence and was already doing business with a new customer, Lawrence couldn't help but feel a bit envious.
Yet even after becoming a town merchant, Mark seemed to want to go back to being a traveling merchant. A long time ago, when a certain king was planning to war on a rich and fertile neighboring country in order to improve the impoverished condition of his own country, a court poet had spoken to him thus: "One always sees the worst side of one's own territory, while seeing the best side of the neighboring country's territory.”
Lawrence recalled this saying, and spent some time in introspection.
He had always been so focused on finding Horo's hometown, or the fact that the Rubinhaigen fiasco had placed him farther away from his dream. But thinking about it carefully yielded the realization that he already possessed a very precious traveling companion, Horo.
If he had not met Horo, he would probably still be going back and forth along his unchanging business route, singly enduring the torment of loneliness.
Besides, before encountering Horo, he'd sometimes even wondered half-seriously whether his horse would one day transform into a human and talk to him. Taking that into account, Lawrence felt that perhaps he had already had a dream come true.
It was very likely that he would someday return to doing business alone. When that time came, he would surely look back on all that he had today with a feeling of nostalgia.
Having thought to this point, Lawrence gripped the reins once again.
After using morning time to greet everyone at the foreign firm, he would buy a super tasty lunch to bring back to Horo, Lawrence thought to himself.
In the absence of a church, each day at noon in Kumerson, the tallest roof that marked the aristocratic residence would generously toll the bell suspended within its bell tower. Naturally, the bell was engraved with extravagant patterns, and the bell tower, which easily attracted attention from all over town, was maintained by the best of craftsmen.
It was said that the vanity of the aristocrats had led them to build this bell tower, whose construction amounted to over three hundred Rumione. It was precisely because they did this that they were fit to be called "aristocrats" and so, the people harbored no jealousy toward them.
Perhaps it was exactly because those wealthy merchants who kept huge amounts of gold coins stored in their treasuries did not show such carefree extravagance that they incurred so much jealousy from the people. Even those knights who were well-known for their savageness could become objects of idolization if they knew to be extravagant in their spendings.
Such thoughts occupied Lawrence's mind as he opened the door to his inn room. The pungent smell of liquor that instantly struck him brought a frown to his face.
"So it smelled this bad.”
Lawrence regretted silently over not having taken more time to rinse his mouth before leaving, but then reminded himself that the terrible odor was probably being caused by the wolf that was asleep even now.
Even as Lawrence stepped into the room, Horo showed no intention of getting out of bed. But hearing her usual carefree snore, Lawrence figured that her hangover had probably gotten much better.
The smell of liquor inside the room was too dense to bear, so Lawrence opened up the window first before approaching the bed. He noticed that the water jar next to the bed was already empty, and the pail – thank goodness it was still clean. The face exposed outside the covers had regained its color. It had been the right decision to buy wheat bread, which he rarely ever bought, instead of the sweet honeyed crackers (note: if you ask me, the latter just sounds so much tastier), Lawrence thought to himself.
If Horo woke up, the first thing she would say would undoubtedly be that she was hungry.
Lawrence brought the sack containing the wheat bread close to Horo's nose, and the small nose quivered slightly in response. Contrary to bread made with black wheat or oats, which was hard and bitter, the scent given off by the sweet and soft wheat bread smelled absolutely delicious.
Horo continued to sniff at the smell, her appearance causing one to suspect whether she was really still asleep. Soon after, Horo made a sound, "Hooah" before burying her face under the covers.
Lawrence shifted his gaze toward Horo's feet, and saw that the tail exposed outside the covers was trembling.
Horo was probably giving a great big yawn.
Lawrence waited a few moments, and surely enough, a teary-eyed Horo poked her head out from under the covers.
"Mmm..I think I just smelled something really good.." she said. "Feeling better?”
Horo rubbed her eyes, yawned again, and spoke as if to herself: "….Hungry.”
Lawrence couldn't suppress his laughter.
Nevertheless, Horo sat up with an uninterested look, and yawned once again. Then, Horo puffed a few times with her nose, and looked immodestly at the sack in Lawrence's hand.
"I knew you'd say that, so I went all out and bought some wheat bread.”
The moment Lawrence handed out the entire sack, the noble wolf became a kitten playing with a sachet. "Will you not eat any?”
The way Horo looked as she held onto the sack and fed greedily on the snow-white wheat bread didn't look at all like someone generous enough to share the contents of the sack with someone else.
Besides, in spite of saying what she did, the expression in her eyes was like that of a hound guarding its prey from being stolen.
Horo asking this before finishing all the bread was probably already showing as much consideration as she could squeeze out.
"Mm, no, I already tried some just now," replied Lawrence.
Although most would probably wonder whether he was lying, Horo, who could see through lies, seemed to discern immediately that he was telling the truth.
Horo's expression relaxed visibly, and went back to biting fiercely at the bread. "Don't choke.”
Lawrence remembered the time not long after he had encountered Horo when they had taken shelter at a church, when Horo had choked on a potato. Horo stared at Lawrence with a resentful expression, upon which Lawrence simply smiled lightly before moving aside from the desk and pulling out the chair to sit down.
On the desk lay several wax-sealed envelopes. After Lawrence had greeted the people at the foreign firm, he had received several letters sent to him from various towns.
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Although traveling merchants traveled throughout each year, because they would arrive at the same towns during the same seasons, they had surprisingly many opportunities to receive mail.
Some letters offered to pay high prices if a traveling merchant would help buy a particular item to be used the following year when passing a particular town; some letters told about the high price of a particular item, and inquired about the price of the same product in another region. The contents of the letters were greatly diverse.
"Come to think of it," Lawrence uttered silently and sank into reflection. Since he normally only came to Kumerson during the summer, he wondered how unusual it was to have already received letters here when the town was just preparing to enter the winter season. If there had been some slight accident, these letters would have ended up lying in the cabinet at the foreign firm for at least half a year. The letters even indicated that they should be mailed south immediately should Lawrence fail to pick them up within two weeks of their arrival. Yet, to mail a letter obviously required a sum of money.
Lawrence understood clearly that these were letters of the utmost urgency. The senders of the letters were all town merchants living farther north than Proania.
Lawrence scraped away the sealing wax discreetly with his small knife. At this moment, he suddenly detected someone's gaze on him, and looked up to find Horo peeking at him with a look of interest.
"They're letters," he explained. "Mm,”
Horo replied briefly and, holding bread in one hand, took a seat on top of the desk.
Because these were not letters whose contents could not be shown to others, Lawrence went ahead and opened the envelope, taking out the letter within.
Dear Mr. Lawrence…
The way the letter didn't begin with "Under the name of God" was typical of a Northerner's style. Lawrence skipped over the formalities and let his gaze fall on the main subject of the letter.
Lawrence read the letter, his gaze following the messy handwriting that had been the result of writing in a hurry, and instantly grasped the letter's contents.
Spice and Wolf, Vol. 3 Page 5