"I heard that many ladies have been rumored to be witches because of their good looks.”
"You're still the same as usual, Mr. Bartose. Surely you possess a good number of gold houses in the region of Hairam?”
Even though Lawrence had no idea as to what was going on, he did not persist in trying to grasp the situation, but focused his mind on calming himself down.
Lawrence took one-and-a-half deep breaths.
He then set his spine straight and regained his merchant Lawrence expression.
"Big sis, the person who has something to see you about today isn't me, but Mr. Lawrence here." Bartose had probably noticed that Lawrence had already regained his composure. Under his timely introduction, Lawrence took a step forward, revealed his business smile in greeting and said: "Please pardon my loss of composure. I am traveling merchant Craft Lawrence. I have come today to pay Mr. Dean Rubens a visit. Is he at home?”
Lawrence spoke in a most formal manner, which he rarely used.
Yet, when the woman who was supporting the wooden door with one hand heard this, she first revealed an astounded expression before immediately speaking with a cheerful demeanor: "What, Bartose didn't tell you?” “Ah!”
Bartose slapped his chin lightly, looking as if he was blaming himself for not having noticed, and spoke to Lawrence with a deeply apologetic expression: "Mr. Lawrence, this is Miss Dean Rubens (note: pronounced "Dee-an" or "Dee-ahn").” “I am Dean Rubens. A very masculine name, isn't it? Please call me Deanna,” the woman said smilingly with a change from her previous manner to an elegant one. The way she carried herself gave the impression that she had once resided in a convent of some grandeur.
"Well, let's not hang about in the doorway, and talk inside. I won't eat you,”
Deanna said mischievously as she opened the front door all the way and gestured inside.
The inside of Deanna's home was not much different from the building's exterior appearance. It was quite old and shabby. Perhaps one could even describe it as similar to a ship captain's den following an encounter with a storm.
In the corners of the room were piled wooden chests that reminded one of pirate treasure chests. The tops of the chests were reinforced with strips of metal, and the chest covers were flipped open in a casual manner. There were also a number of sturdy, rather expensive-looking chairs that had become mere mats for clothing and books.
In addition, scattered throughout the room were a great many feather pens of color as white as snow, whose origin was hard to imagine. It was as if an enormous bird had groomed its feathers to its heart's content within the room.
Within this room, which could properly be described as chaotically disorganized, the only places that showed some signs of organization were the bookshelf and the area surrounding the large desk at which Deanna worked.
"So, what did you come to see me about?”
Deanna said as she pulled out a chair from under the desk and sat down. The sunlight was shining, almost miraculously, upon the desk. Deanna neither invited the two men to sit down, nor brought them cups of hot tea.
Putting aside the thought of hot tea, just as Lawrence was wondering what to do without even being able to find a chair, Bartose, as if he had long become used to this, cleared out a chair for Lawrence by casually removing the items piled upon it.
Even a proud and arrogant noble would know to invite guests to sit down, Lawrence thought.
Yet, he did not find Deanna's abnormal way of doing things in the least bit unpleasant. In fact, it could even be considered a charming quality in her.
"Please allow me to first express my apologies over making such a presumptuous visit," said Lawrence. Even upon hearing such reasonable formalities, Deanna simply smiled and nodded her head lightly. Lawrence cleared his throat lightly and continued: "It is like this, I heard that Miss Rubens-” “Deanna,”
Deanna corrected on the spot, with a serious look in her eyes.
After Lawrence managed with some difficulty to hide the wavering in his heart and uttered a "Sorry," a warm smile surfaced on Deanna's face once again.
"Erm – it is like this, I heard that you, Miss Deanna, are well-versed in legends of the North. Therefore, I was wondering, if it is not too much trouble, whether I may ask you to enlighten me on certain matters.” “Of the North?”
"Yes.”
Deanna seemed to be contemplating this, and directed her gaze at Bartose to say: "I thought he'd come here to talk business.”
"You're joking. If it was to do business, surely you'd kick him out?”
Although Deanna responded to Bartose's utterance with a laugh, Lawrence felt that she would really do it. "But, I'm not sure I'd know the story you're looking for," Deanna said to Lawrence.
"That means I may have heard a tale that was simply made-up.”
"My my, if that's the case, we can treat it as a new story, and I'll listen to you instead.”
Seeing Deanna's gently-smiling face, Lawrence involuntarily shifted his gaze away and coughed lightly. Good thing Horo wasn't around, Lawrence thought to himself.
"Then, I would like to ask you about the ancient legends concerning the town of Yoitsu," Lawrence continued.
"Oh? you mean the town that was destroyed by the Moon-Hunting Bear?" Deanna seemed to have instantly opened her drawer of memories.
The topic of Yoitsu's destruction being brought up so suddenly, not bringing Horo along was indeed the right choice, Lawrence thought to himself. It was probably true that Yoitsu was really destroyed. Just thinking about how to tell Horo about this gave Lawrence a headache.
Just as Lawrence was pondering these things, Deanna stood up slowly, headed toward the room's unusually well-kept bookshelf and, removing a book from among the large, carefully-organized volumes said: "I remember it was right around here.found it, found it. The Moon-Hunting Bear, its pronunciation should be 'Irawa Werr Muheidehunde.' The town of Yoitsu that was destroyed by the Moon-Hunting Bear. If it's about this Moon-Hunting Bear, there are quite a few legends. Although, they're all very old." Deanna spoke continuously as she scanned the pages. The calluses on her index finger that had resulted from extensive writing appeared red and swollen, causing one to feel sympathy for her.
Perhaps all the books that lined the shelf were composed by her.
Just how many pagan tales and superstitions were contained among them?
Having thought about this point, Lawrence suddenly realized something. When Bartose had mentioned that he had intended to make business out of ancient legends and myths, he had probably meant selling Deanna's books to the Church.
If it possessed the books found here, the Church would instantly be able to find the areas in which missionary work had failed as well as discern the kinds of mistakes made there. Thus, members affiliated with the Church would no doubt greatly desire possession of these books.
"What I wish to know about is not the bear, but the tales about the town of Yoitsu," said Lawrence. "Town?”
"Yes. For a certain reason, I am searching for Yoitsu's location. Would it be possible to locate it using information provided in its legends and myths?”
Most people would probably find it puzzling to be asked about the location of an ancient legend rather than the place of production of a certain product.
Deanna was of course no exception. Her expression at first was that of surprise. She then placed the book on the desk and sank into contemplation.
"Location huh…location, location…” “Is it possible?”
Lawrence inquired once more. Hearing this, Deanna placed a hand on her forehead as if struck with a wave of headache, and signaled with her other hand for Lawrence to wait.
Though when she maintained silence, no one would doubt it even if Deanna was said to be the head of a grand convent, watching her appearance now, Lawrence couldn't help but think that she possessed a humorous nature.
After quite some time of groaning with her eyes tightly closed, Deanna finally raised her head, with a ch
eerful smile on her face like that of a maiden who had succeeded in threading a needle for the first time.
"I remember now. Farther north of Proania is a river called the Romu, and at the source of this river is a town called Renose. In that area, there is such an ancient legend.”
Hearing Deanna suddenly speak to him in a tone like that which she used to speak with Bartose, Lawrence couldn't help feeling a bit stunned.
It seemed like Deanna would completely lose herself as soon as one mentioned the subject of ancient legends, Lawrence thought to himself.
The Deanna who possessed such a nature cleared her throat, closed her eyes, and began reciting the archaic words: "In times distant, a giant wolf appeared at the village. The wolf referred to itself as Horuo of Yoitsu, and its size was such that required gazing up to take in completely. Aghast, the villagers saw this as divine retribution. Horuo spake, saying it had come from the deep and serene forest to the east, wishing to head south. Horuo was addicted to drink, and would at times take maiden form to dance amongst the women of the village. Its appearance was beautiful, young, but possessing an inhuman tail. Following a long period of revelry, it ensured the village harvest, then continued south. The village has seen many years of great harvest ever since. The people refer to the wolf as Horuo of the wheaten tail.”
Lawrence was amazed, not only by the fluidity with which Deanna had recited the ancient text, but also by the sudden appearance of Horo's name.
Even if the pronunciation was somewhat different, it was indeed Horo that was being referred to. The description of guaranteeing good harvests proved that it was Horo's doing, and the transformation into a girl with a tail accorded with Horo's appearance.
Yet, his surprised emotion was nothing compared to the content of Deanna's recitation.
The town of Renose, situated at the source of the Romu River, was a town that still exited today. As long as it was known that Horo had come from a forest east of Renose, a line could be drawn going southwest from Nyohhira, and one going east from Renose, and the point at which the two lines intersected would be the town of Yoitsu.
"Is this legend helpful at all?" Deanna inquired.
"Yes, because the forest located east of Renose forms a limited search area, this becomes a sufficient piece of evidence.”
"That's wonderful.”
"I will most certainly repay my gratitude in the near fut-" Deanna stopped Lawrence with a gesture of her hand.
"You should understand well after seeing me, even with the Church after my life, I still ardently love the ancient legends of pagan regions. Moreover, I only enjoy hearing ancient legends in their most original form, rather than tales whose contents have been altered over consideration of the Church's existence. From the looks of it, you are a traveling merchant, Mr. Lawrence, so surely you've heard some interesting tales? As long as you can share a story with me, that would be repayment enough.”
Those within the Church who were responsible for writing history did so to preserve the Church's prestige, and those who were employed by aristocrats did so to praise their employers. In other words, they composed history 'for' the aristocrats. It wouldn't seem inappropriate to say that this was only reasonable.
The Church city of Rubinhaigen was named after St. Rubinhaigen, and the legends concerning this saint that were circulated within the town also showed much discrepancy with Horo's descriptions. Most likely, these legends were intentional alterations of history made to preserve the Church's prestige and reinforce its authority.
Surely Deanna, who lived within this slum-like section of the religiously and economically tolerant town of Kumerson, could not forgive such acts because of her profound love for these ancient legends. Having heard that Deanna was regarded as an infidel and under pursuit by a certain convent (note: I use "convent" now instead of "monastery" to reflect the fact that the chronicler's gender has now been identified, but the reality is that Chinese does not have separate terms for the male and female institutions, so either is possible, and I have no means of knowing which one was originally intended), Lawrence had expected her to be someone harboring extremely dangerous ideas, only to find out that she was simply a fanatic who would willingly give her life for her passion.
After uttering an "I understand," Lawrence continued to tell a rare tale.
It was a tale depicting a certain region that was a great producer of wheat. A tale about a wolf that controlled the wheat harvest.
After that, because they had more or less had a bit to drink, the three, Lawrence, Deanna, and Bartose had an ardent discussion about a wide range of legends and myths circulating within various regions.
As the sun began its descent in the west, Lawrence at last returned to his senses. He politely declined Deanna's invitation to stay longer, and bid farewell along with Bartose.
Walking through the narrow alleys, Lawrence and Bartose couldn't suppress their laughter each time they recalled the topics brought up during their warm discussion at Deanna's home earlier.
At Lawrence's age, hearing tales about dragons or cities of gold would always generate feelings of skepticism and disbelief. It had been a long time since he had had so much fun in the discussion of such tales.
Even after Lawrence had become an apprentice under a traveling merchant, he had continued to dream for quite some time about becoming a knight-errant who traveled across various countries with long sword held high. The tales he had heard about fire-breathing dragons, giant birds whose spread-out wings could blot out the sky, and sorcerers who could move tall mountains effortlessly also moved Lawrence deep down inside.
Yet, since some time unbeknownst even to himself, Lawrence had come to understand that these tales were all made-up.
The reason he was able to find such tales entertaining this particular day was most likely due to having met Horo, Lawrence thought.
Indeed, there still existed a large number of legends and myths that were not made-up tales at all, and traveling merchants, who traveled through the vast regions of the world, like knights-errant, also possessed opportunities for great adventure.
Just realizing this fact was enough to cause the happy, long-forgotten feeling to spread through Lawrence's heart.
However, as Lawrence recalled the incident that had occurred while smuggling gold back into Rubinhaigen, such ecstatic feelings were transformed into a strained smile as well.
Although Lawrence had not seen its true face, he had no doubts that within those dark and eerie woods near Rubinhaigen that had been the source of continuous rumors dwelled a wolf much like Horo. Even so, back then Lawrence had not played the role of the protagonist of a heroic drama that everyone loved watching, but that of a supporting character helplessly conveyed by the tides of the story.
A merchant was more suited to a merchant-like life after all.
Just as Lawrence was going over these things in his mind, they had arrived at the street leading to the inn, so Lawrence bid Bartose farewell at the junction.
Lawrence thanked Bartose for introducing him to Deanna, at which he received such a response: "Going to big sis's place alone would arouse criticism from all around, so your coming along happened to give me a good excuse.”
Indeed, Deanna was so easygoing, beautiful, plus there was the fact that she lived within the gathering place of the alchemists. Going to visit her alone would incur God knew how many curious glances from all around.
After all, such topics were the favorite for discussion among people at the foreign firm. "Please do invite me to go with you again.”
Bartose's utterance did not feel like a formality, but something that had come from the depths of his heart. Of course, Lawrence had also been through a most joyful time, and thus nodded sincerely in response.
The sun was just beginning to vanish behind the roofs of the houses. Upon the town's broad street could be seen craftsmen finishing up the day's work, merchants wrapping up the day's business, as well as farmers getting ready to go home after having sold all
the crops and livestock brought from their village shuttling back and forth among the others.
Having arrived at a section of town close to the noisy areas after following the street southward, the sight of drunkards and children was added to the tide of people.
Women, who normally appeared in much fewer numbers with the arrival of dusk, were also everywhere to be seen. The street seemed already filled with the atmosphere of the eve of a festival. At several points along the street were circles of people, and at the center of each circle was a fortune teller who had gathered the people and was doing business openly.
Lawrence cut through the walls of people and did not enter the inn situated along the street, but continued along toward the Kumerson marketplace.
Because what Deanna had told Lawrence had allowed him to grasp the location of Yoitsu to a certain degree, he had decided not to set Nyohhira as his destination, but Renose instead.
Besides being closer in distance, another reason Lawrence had chosen Renose was the fact that the path leading there was better formulated. Moreover, he also anticipated the possibility of finding more detailed legends concerning Horo upon reaching Renose.
Because of the change in destination, in order to gather the information necessary for travel, Lawrence came to Mark's vending stand once again.
"Yo, handsome boy.”
Yet, as Lawrence arrived at the stand, he found Mark holding a mug in one hand with a carefree and happy appearance. As for the boy who went all over to run errands and contact people, he was sound asleep within the stand with his face flushed and his head thrown back.
The one who replaced these two drunken males was Mark's wife – Adele, who was preparing to close up shop among the tall piles of merchandise with a dew-repellant cloth covering her head.
As soon as Adele had noticed Lawrence's arrival, she nodded a greeting to him and pointed a finger at Mark with a strained smile.
"What is it? Aie (note: this is a sigh, pronounced like "I"), have a drink first," said Mark.
"Aye, the information I asked you to gather this morning…Whoah! You're pouring too much.”
Spice and Wolf, Vol. 3 Page 8