Wolf & Parchment: New Theory Spice & Wolf, Vol. 4

by Isuna Hasekura

  “Wha—!”

  The tax collectors recoiled when they were confronted with the force of a wolf. However, Myuri looked just like a regular little girl.

  Seeing that the men had quickly recomposed themselves and raised their hands, Col unconsciously brought Myuri into his arms to cover her.

  “Be gentle. She’s just a child.”

  Myuri writhed and raged in his arms as though she was ready to bite off the heads the enemies surrounding them, but they had to avoid making matters worse.

  Besides, since they were association members and not government officials, that meant Col and Myuri had a connection they could call on.

  “Could you contact Lady Sharon of your tax collection association for us, please?”

  When he brought up the name Ilenia mentioned, the tax collectors stopped in their tracks.

  Col knew that if it turned out they had an acquaintance among the collectors’ ranks, they would not treat him and Myuri too roughly, and they would get a chance to resolve any misunderstandings if there were any. Also, since Ilenia was the one who’d brought her up, this Sharon was likely not human, which was another opportunity to convince her to take their side.

  Wanting to probe deeper, the bearded collector asked, “…You know the association vice president?”

  Col was surprised to learn the name they had been given belonged to such an important person, but he responded without getting flustered.

  “We learned of her from a wool broker named Miss Ilenia in Desarev. I believe if you mention her name, she will let us through.”

  There was also the option of relying on Hyland, but they needed to be careful. That was because the great number of tax collection permits being issued within the Kingdom was being done so in opposition to the Church and on the authority of Heir Klevend, second in line for the throne. Given the circumstances, it was best to think of Rausbourne’s tax collection association as a faction aligned with Heir Klevend. In contrast, Hyland was supporting the heir who was first in line for the throne.

  If he brought up her name, things might become even more complicated.

  “…Fine. Either way, you’re coming along with us. The vice president is at the port as well.”

  On the bearded tax collector’s signal, the others withdrew their short spears.

  “Very well,” Col responded and released Myuri so she could follow along, but the other collectors stopped him.

  “You’ll be coming alone.”

  Separating the party was a standard tactic to control people.

  “Why—?”

  Col held back Myuri right as she was about to scream and whispered in her ear.

  “Heir Hyland.”

  And so he had to prepare the next best plan.

  If things started to go south, then they would rely on Hyland’s intervention.

  Myuri understood his intentions right away; she turned around and frowned. He was not sure if that was because they could not go together or simply because she wasn’t fond of Hyland. It might have been both, but when he signaled she should stay with Yosef, she reluctantly complied.

  She looked at Col spitefully—she would probably give him an earful later.

  “Now, this way to our ship.”

  The bearded tax collector gestured the way, and Col obeyed with a nod.

  He climbed down the ladder and stood on deck; only the bearded collector came down, who then gave orders to the rest of his subordinates.

  “Take the ship to port and inspect the cargo.”

  “Sir!”

  And without even pausing to let anyone sit down, the small boat set off. The closer they got to the docks, the shakier it became on board, since that was inevitably where all the waves made by the other ships ended up.

  There were plenty of people out and about around the docks, and more than a handful of people looked on with curiosity.

  “Come up.”

  The boat soon arrived at a pier designated for smaller vessels. Col stumbled as he stepped off. As he climbed the stairs leading to the docks, his stomach panged with nerves. Waiting for them there were about ten people, all wearing the same outfit as those who had boarded Yosef’s ship. Of course, this whole group was also armed. Behind them was a massive wall of people.

  Perhaps Col had gotten caught up in something bigger than he imagined.

  As he gulped, the bearded tax collector walked ahead, slipping past him, and approached one specific person.

  This figure had long, rust-colored hair tied back and a slim physique. They wore a green jacket with a leather belt that suspended a thin short sword. Col could tell right away from the appearance alone that this person was of considerable standing within the city. But on the other hand, the boots were rough and went up to the knee, which suggested they were someone in a position that spent a lot of time walking outside and giving orders.

  And this person’s piercing gaze had a unique quality to it.

  In short, this was very likely the Sharon Ilenia had mentioned.

  “What? Ilenia’s?”

  After the bearded tax collector whispered into her ear, the person who was very likely Sharon raised her voice. When Col imagined the vice president of an association, he had assumed it would be a man, but this was a woman. He was surprised that a woman as young as her held a position so important within the association. That meant she must possess quite the talent.

  “Understood. At any rate, it doesn’t seem like he’s our enemy.”

  Hearing that, the armed tax collectors immediately stood at ease. Col was relieved that things did not seem like they were going to get messy, but it bothered him how cautious they were acting.

  Had he not mentioned Sharon’s name, he would have been treated as a criminal.

  The young woman, probably Sharon, stepped forward to stand before Col.

  “Elise Sharon.”

  She stuck out her hand, so he gripped it back, noticing it had an odd feel to it. It was not as soft as a regular girl’s hand would be, but it was not as rough as those of an artisan. And her eyes.

  They were not simply piercing—there was a strong, peculiar glint to them that only unblinking eyes could produce.

  Then it struck him—she was a bird.

  Sharon was the embodiment of a bird.

  “My name is Tote Col.”

  “I know,” Sharon said, then tugged on his hand to pull him in closer and leaned into his ear. “You’re the Twilight Cardinal.”

  As he hesitated in his response for a few moments, Sharon continued.

  “I got Ilenia’s letter. A friend of mine should have followed the great whale to deliver my own letter as well.”

  He understood now.

  “I have been called that, yes. I believe it is far beyond what I am worthy of, however…”

  “Hmm?”

  Sharon narrowed her eyes at him, but she then stepped back and let him go.

  “Well, enough of that. You should have a friend with you.”

  “Yes. She’s on the ship right now.”

  “I see.” Sharon spoke and for a brief moment looked away, as though thinking about something, before looking back at him. “I heard you were working under Lord Hyland.”

  Her gaze seemed unfriendly not simply because of her piercing eyes.

  Anyone who reached the position of vice president of an association had to be aware of political undercurrents.

  “You are in an odd position.”

  “I am aware.”

  As someone who was hoping for a reformation of the Church, Col was emotionally on the same side as the tax collectors, who were trying to get back all the assets the Church had unjustly hoarded. However, the one in charge of issuing the collection permits was Heir Klevend, second in line to the throne. He stood in direct opposition to the heir who stood first in line to the throne, whom Hyland sided with. On top of everything else, Heir Klevend was apparently not issuing permits simply to penalize the Church. According to Hyland, he was actually amassing
capital in a bid to usurp the line of succession.

  It was hard to separate people into the black-and-white categories of friend and foe, yet their goals oddly overlapped. That was why Sharon did not look at him as a compatriot yet still said the following: “We want to use your reputation.”

  This was not a request for cooperation but the proposal of a merchant who was familiar with dealing in rough trades.

  At that moment, the bearded tax collector approached them.

  “Vice President, I advise you to not stay here for too long.”

  “…You’re right,” Sharon responded, then turned to her fellow tax collectors. “We’re heading back to the association hall. People from the Church will come if we stay here. You come, too. We need to talk.”

  As Sharon was about to walk off with the rest of them, Col spoke to her in a fluster.

  “Are you avoiding people from the Church?”

  In Desarev, various problems had arisen from people of the Church staying holed up in the cathedral.

  Col briefly thought that having a chat with them if they were going to come all this way would be a good idea, but Sharon turned to look at him, her brows knitted scornfully.

  “You came to the city without knowing what’s happening?”

  After a brief display of irritation, she walked off.

  “Just come.”

  Col could not even guess what was going on, but at the very least, it did not seem like Sharon was an enemy. He decided that it would be best to comply for the moment and followed her farther into the port as they pushed their way through a crowd of nosy onlookers.

  In addition to the large number of people already out and about in the harbor on various errands, a crowd that had noticed Sharon and the other tax collectors had gathered around them. Col occasionally heard jeers, likely because tax collectors frustrated trade, as he had seen happen with Yosef, and many saw them as workers of the devil who brought nothing but trouble into their peaceful lives. In turn, the tax collectors leading the way through the crowd were incredibly belligerent.

  On the other hand, there were more than a handful cheering for them to scrutinize the corruption in the Church, to take back from the rich, and the loud hecklers from opposing sides were getting into fights among themselves here and there.

  It did not seem as though the inhabitants of the city were all on the same page.

  As their party pushed their way through the noise and clamor, a large building facing the street finally came into view.

  The flag of the Kingdom, as well as a flag adorned with the city emblem, flew above it, meaning that was probably the tax collector association hall.

  The tax collectors briskly strode toward the building, and right as they were about to cross the street before entering the final stretch—

  “Wait there, waaait!”

  An indignant voice overwhelmed the rest of the harbor’s hustle and bustle. Col visibly saw the tax collectors around him sucking their teeth and frowning. Yet, the response from the noisy crowd was different. Some whistled, some stamped their feet, and some even yelled, “Here he comes!”

  Col had seen this sort of atmosphere in town before. It was just like a fighting match between chickens or dogs that townsfolk would sometimes hold on street corners.

  “Don’t stop. Keep walking.”

  The other tax collectors tried to pick up the pace when Sharon spoke, but the crowd blocked their way, clustering around in even greater density to close off the street.

  Then the crowd to their right parted.

  What appeared was another armed group, but these newcomers possessed equipment of an obviously different quality compared to what the tax collectors wore. They were not dressed as people who safeguarded the peace in the city but as those who risked their lives on the battlefield.

  This was a band of mercenaries.

  “What don’tcha understand about the word wait?!”

  The tax collectors halted at the yell, which seemed loud enough to ruffle the hem of a bystander’s clothes.

  In addition, members of the crowd who were probably hostile to the tax collectors—a group of people who were never popular with townsfolk to begin with—clogged the path to prevent them from reaching their destination.

  “Looks like your tax collector association ain’t satisfied with just taking money from people’s pockets! Now you’ve started dabbling in kidnapping, too!”

  The man who yelled was a short, portly fellow with close-cropped hair and a mustache.

  That said, he was small only in stature; his shoulders and arms and legs looked like they were about to burst with toned muscle.

  The battle-ax in his hand reminded Col of the mountain-dwelling earth spirits he’d heard of in legend.

  It was Sharon—whose physique was the exact opposite of the mercenary’s—who stepped forward to deal with him.

  “We merely came to the conclusion that we must carry out an inquiry.”

  She confronted the round mercenary, looking down at him without flinching.

  “Sounds exactly like something a kidnapper would say.”

  “I see. You do seem like the type who’d be knowledgeable about that sort of trade.”

  “Feh!”

  The mercenary spat on the ground, then whirled around.

  “What a nasty bunch you all are. One of our men watched you waltz onto some guy’s trade ship and walk off with one of our guests.”

  “Guests? Guests, hmm?” Sharon said, disgusted, as though her suspicions were confirmed.

  The round mercenary scrunched up his face in annoyance and rebounded with, “What I mean is all those aboard trading ships are our guests, guests of the traders’ association. Dealing with them falls into our territory. We can’t keep order in this city if you tax collectors just walk off with ’em!”

  This mercenary is a part of the traders’ association?

  It was not as though Col was especially knowledgeable about worldly affairs, but no matter what angle he examined this man from, it was impossible to believe he was a merchant. Larger companies might hire guards to protect themselves against theft and such, but the group confronting them now easily numbered ten or fifteen people. They were more like a small squadron of troops.

  Putting what he saw with the tidbits Sharon had mentioned earlier, Col concluded these people were affiliated with the Church.

  They were a fully armed mercenary troop calling themselves the traders’ association.

  Col had already met a considerable number of players acting on the city stage; it seemed like things were going to get very complicated.

  “What we do is under the king’s orders.”

  “You might be in the Kingdom now, but it’s not like we folks in the traders’ association only recognize the Kingdom’s authority. Or what? You tellin’ me you wanna be responsible for making enemies out of every merchant across the sea?”

  “…”

  This was the first time Sharon faltered.

  At that moment, a commotion erupted on the other side of the street as supporters of the tax collectors leaped out from the nearby association hall with a roar. Since the crowd wasn’t entirely composed of people who sided with the traders, fights broke out all over like wildfire. At this point, the uproar had grown large enough that it was possible the city council might dispatch the city guard.

  The mercenary grimaced, and Sharon saw this as her opportunity to speak.

  “I won’t let you do as you please.”

  The mercenary clenched his teeth so hard, a blue vein bulged from his temple, and just when it seemed the situation would explode—

  “Excuse me, do you mind?”

  An out-of-place voice interrupted them.

  “What! You need a—”

  Just as one of the other mercenaries was about to yell, he swallowed his words.

  Finally, the two group leaders who had been staring each other down in the street looked in the direction of the voice before making sounds of surpri
se.

  “This is a royal charter granting the right of arbitration. In the name of the king, I hereby exercise the right to adjudicate this dispute. On the authority of my master, Lord Hyland, I shall oversee the proceedings.”

  The speaker was a truly tiny old man, but the make of his clothes was a cut above. They were tailored well but instead of being ornate, they were designed to clearly communicate the wearer’s position. His white mustache was also clearly different from what the crude mercenaries sported: firmly and neatly curved, perhaps set in place with egg whites.

  He held up a piece of parchment in his hand, which had the stamp of the royal seal next to a flowing signature.

  It was the seal of the Kingdom; nothing in this country held greater authority.

  Both groups regarded the old man with a frown, but the first ones to reluctantly kneel were Sharon and the tax collectors.

  “As you please.”

  “Indeed.”

  The old man nodded and turned toward the mercenaries.

  “And yourselves?”

  “Ugh.”

  The mercenary groaned and glanced over his shoulder. There was a group of middle-aged men, well-groomed but with alert gazes, perhaps personnel from the traders’ association, who had blended in with the unruly crowd. They faced one another, discussed among themselves for a few moments, then gave their assent with a distasteful nod.

  “Fine. We respect the king.”

  “A wise decision. Of course, I am a neutral observer. I find no fault with either of your parties. However, this man here is a special guest of my master’s.”

  Sharon stayed kneeling and did not lift her gaze, but the questioning looks of the mercenaries quickly focused on Col. As he thought about how he should respond, the old man strode over as he placed the permit carrying Hyland’s name into his pocket, his expression still composed.

  “I have come to collect you on the orders of my master. My name is Hans.”

  “Oh, um…okay.”

  Still bewildered, Col ended up giving an airheaded response.

  “Let us be on our way.”

  Then Hans walked off as if it was no big deal.

  Still worried about Sharon, Col turned back to look at her, but her gaze was still cast downward. That meant their talk would have to come later.