Spice and Wolf, Vol. 10, Page 3

  And once that happened, it would be like an avalanche.

  Lawrence looked aside to Holo. They seemed to encounter interesting situations no matter where they went.

  “Still, the abbey has been surprisingly stubborn, so the negotiations have run aground. Apparently within the alliance, the various trading companies are each frantically trying to be the first to complete a deal. So, well…”

  Deutchmann dropped his gaze again to the letter of introduction, stroking his mustache and cocking his head slightly.

  “If you feel it’s worthwhile to risk the danger of venturing into such a lair, Mr. Lawrence, I suppose I can introduce you to one of the hydra’s heads, but…” Then the choleric, opportunistic merchant of the kingdom of Winfiel smiled faintly. “On one condition: You never spoke with our company.”

  Lawrence could not immediately reply, but not because he was worried he would change his mind given further time to consider things.

  It was because the more interesting the situation, the harder it was to believe that the surrounding merchants would remain uninvolved third parties. When such a fascinating spectacle was to be had, one wanted to see it close up.

  Brondel Abbey had set aside a dedicated site for trading with merchants who had come for the wool the abbey raised. And at the moment, it was no doubt in chaos. If he went to check on it and found it too hot to the touch, Lawrence could simply find another way.

  He considered this, and without even looking to Holo, he answered, “If you please, then.”

  Deutchmann smiled.

  Thump went the sack of wool as it hit the ground, no doubt soon to be taken to a ship and then sent to some far-off land—or so Lawrence would have easily believed had someone said so.

  Within the flat, hemp-stitched burlap sack was a large bundle of woolen quilts, each one far warmer than ten rough, chilly traveling blankets. Sleeping under just a single one of them would make one sweat.

  Three such quilts had been brought back to the room.

  “This…mmph. Are you quite sure this is all right?” asked Holo, despite having insisted on the finest room in the inn and tossing piece after piece of firewood into the fireplace in order to dry her hair after having washed it clean of salt-sea smell.

  Evidently even Holo, who constantly hounded Lawrence to avoid stinginess and stay at fine inns, had some sort of financial sense.

  They had never stayed at an inn such as this one, and it was enough to inspire even Holo to express concern.

  “There hasn’t been a guest in this inn for ten days, and it’s been four weeks since any occupied this room, and during this season, guests are even fewer. A single ryut was enough to get us the room and firewood with change left over. Of course…” Lawrence pointed at the tarnished coins lined up on the table. “…It’s rather doubtful whether we can buy anything with coins such as those.”

  “Hmph. So you took advantage of their weakness, did you?”

  “That’s not a very nice way to put it. When demand for something is low, its price will drop.”

  “Well, so long as you didn’t let this room for the sake of your own vanity, ’tis well. Come, Col—take that there.”

  Holo busily began making up the bed, teasing Col as he timidly took hold of the fluffy wool quilt.

  As he watched all this with a wry smile, Lawrence’s thoughts were elsewhere.

  He was thinking about what Deutchmann had told him about the crisis facing this nation and the Ruvik Alliance’s attempt to take advantage of it.

  It was said that it was ever the fate of the weak to be eaten by the strong. But what Lawrence found surprising was that even the storied Brondel Abbey could fall victim to that same fate. Even given that the Church’s influence was beginning to wane, Lawrence still had the feeling that it had reserves of power that had yet to decline. Particularly just after he had met Holo, it was none other than the Church that had been responsible for her being taken hostage and the mad events that followed.

  Of course, Lawrence was not inclined to either cheer or blame one party or the other. Humans, too, ate sheep and were in turn attacked by wolves.

  As he mused on such things, Holo shot him a glance.

  “That face of yours—I see you’re planning something no good again.”

  Thanks to the fireplace and the sturdily constructed windows, the room had gotten quite warm. Though Holo had taken off her robe, she was still a bit sweaty, probably more from playing with Col than from the room’s temperature. Col sat on the bed drinking water from a jug, hunched over in a posture of exhaustion.

  Perhaps the scent of wool had gotten her excited.

  “It’s no good, that much is certain. I just found myself hoping the Church would endure forever.”

  Holo looked skeptical and sat on a chair, putting to her lips the water jug that was on the table.

  Water jug though it might have been, it was filled with wine and was not made of ceramic, iron, or copper. It was instead carved from the shell of a coconut, a fruit from an island nation in the south whose trade must have been prosperous indeed.

  “Ah, you mean the conversation from earlier.”

  “If it bothers you, I suppose I can transform back into a merchant happy to watch the ignominious fall of a once-strong enemy.”

  “…Fool.” After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped on Lawrence’s foot.

  The reason for her hesitation was no doubt her recall of the narwhal crisis in Kerube. Holo was actually quite loyal. And yet she could not just extend her hand to a foe who had caused her such trouble in the past.

  In Kerube they had come to the aid of Eve, a beautiful merchant known as the wolf of the Roam River. But Lawrence knew that if he ever used that to tease Holo, he would do so at his own peril.

  Ever since Eve had taken him by surprise, Lawrence had been on pins and needles. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

  “It’s simple sentimentality. Despite my mixed feelings, the Church has come to my rescue many times.”

  “Mm. I suppose I can understand that. Still, that fellow with the trading company spoke of the situation with no small pleasure.”

  “He’s surely quite pleased. Deutchmann said he was responsible for wool buying, didn’t he? Dealing with the abbey must be quite a bother. No wonder he’s happy to see them put at a disadvantage.”

  “Choleric and opportunistic, eh?”

  “Exactly. But don’t you think you’ve been a bit too pleased ever since the quilts were brought up?”

  Holo frowned at this, her ears pricking and her cheeks puffing out. She then seemed to feel self-conscious and exhaled the contents of her cheeks in a sigh.

  “’Twill be hard for me to sleep in such quilts. The scent of sheep will keep me awake.”

  “And the scent of money will keep them awake. And we’ll probably have no cause to be involved with the abbey’s crisis. Even with your wits, Col’s wisdom, and my nerve, this is one opponent we can’t face.”

  “What kind of notion is that?” Holo looked at Lawrence in amused exasperation, her elbow on the table, propping up her chin.

  “What should we do, then?” It was Col who took the opportunity to get a word in as he checked the fireplace and placed another log into it. He was quite good at placing the firewood—a true northerner, Lawrence mused.

  “I don’t imagine that the Ruvik Alliance is after the wolf bones. Had that been the case, Eve or Kieman would’ve heard something about it.”

  “So we’ve just happened to run into them while chasing different prey.”

  “I don’t know if ‘run into them’ is quite the right phrase, but…in any case, the Ruvik Alliance is a nation-sized opponent. We’re no match for them. However, this could be a good opportunity, depending on how we think about it.”

  “Oh?”

  As he listened to the conversation, Col shook his coat out in front of the fireplace, probably trying to use its heat to drive any insects out of it.

  “The abbey’s been seiz
ed by jaws as persistent as any snake. The whole of their estate is in full view, which saves us the trouble of estimating it. Also, according to what Deutchmann said, the alliance is after the abbey’s landholdings. Even if the abbey’s holdings include the wolf bones, its unlikely they’re viewed as important.”

  Even the Ruvik Alliance couldn’t ignore assets worth thousands of gold pieces. But no matter how valuable the wolf bones, they were in the end simply an item that could be purchased with money.

  What was truly valuable was that which could not be had for any amount of money.

  “I don’t think there would be any real danger in simply stopping by the abbey to see. If there were a danger, I suppose it would be…”

  “What?” Holo tilted her head curiously.

  “It’s said that the great Brondel Abbey has flocks of sheep totaling a hundred thousand head. Can you manage that?”

  He had first thought about it as a joke, but given Holo’s reaction to the wool-stuffed quilt, he was not sure exactly what her reaction might be.

  This was the season when merchants came to buy up wool for the coming spring, and simply for purposes of comparison, the number of sheep on display would be huge. And even if that was not the case, sheep-related goods would be everywhere anyway, along with scores of the shepherds whom Holo so detested.

  On top of that, there was no telling how excited Holo might become at the sight of the snowy plains, given how she had acted on the ship—Lawrence’s worry was outstripped only by his uncertainty.

  “All will be well surely,” said Holo casually.

  Lawrence regarded the unconcerned wolf, wondering where that easy confidence came from.

  The cunning wisewolf grinned and continued. “I need only eat so much mutton that the very scent of it drives me off. One may tire of even their favorite food, after all—or am I wrong?”

  “…”

  “So, it’s decided then. Let’s prepare! Eating so much it turns distasteful requires some preparation. And look, don’t you think young Col wishes to eat mutton, as well? ’Tis written all over his face.”

  She was only using Col as a pretense, but he seemed none too displeased by it, which made Holo’s words that much harder to ignore.

  But he had to say something.

  “I’ve started to find constantly treating you to such feasts itself distasteful. What do you make of that, eh?”

  Holo put on her robe, seemingly unconcerned that it was stiff with accumulated sea salt, pulling the hood over her head. “I don’t mind being resented once in a while. If you truly tired of me, though, that would be truly painful,” she said flirtatiously, placing both hands on her chest.

  He would look utterly foolish if he played along with her. “Indeed it would,” he answered.

  Holo cackled and took Col’s hand, walking toward the door. She then twirled around and looked back at him, speaking innocently, like a child. “Come, hurry!”

  There was nothing to be done, Lawrence murmured to himself. He took his overcoat in hand and stood.

  A strong currency is the most powerful weapon.

  A great merchant who had crossed seas and conquered nation after nation with naught but coin had once said those words, and Lawrence did not consider himself particularly lucky to have been a merchant himself for long enough to realize their truth.

  Deutchmann had extended them an invitation to stay at his trading company, but Lawrence had refused. From what he could discern given what Deutchmann had said, the offer had only been put forward because foreign visitors were viewed as easy marks.

  And that guess was confirmed the moment they arrived at the inn.

  Naturally, Lawrence took heed of Deutchmann’s warning not to change any of his coin for Winfiel currency.

  Just as a test, Lawrence pulled out a silver ryut coin worth slightly less than a trenni, and the tavern master’s face split in a huge grin.

  A heaping pile of mutton, perfectly cooked and covered in a layer of yellow fat, was placed on a plate.

  In this season, when grass was thin on the ground, it cost money to feed the sheep. Evidently, shepherds slaughtered more than the usual number of sheep in order to stay afloat, which drove up the cost of the salt and vinegar used to preserve the meat.

  But here the cold climate could be used to preserve the meat, so quite naturally it was less expensive. Being able to feast on meat so fine that a thin layer of oil was left in the wine cups, which they drank from to wash it down, was not something that happened every day.

  However, the bread was of fairly poor quality.

  It was said that a nation’s health could be measured by its bread. This was because, unlike meat, grains like wheat and rye were easy to preserve and store, so in times of hardship, the better grain would be reserved for future use.

  “To think that my first customers in such a long time would have such great appetites! Surely this is the will of God!”

  The tavern master’s words were an obvious exaggeration, but the tavern was indeed only half full, and most of those were only drinking.

  They all appeared to be locals, roughly half craftsmen and half small-scale merchants and peddlers.

  There did not appear to be anybody from companies whose headquarters were abroad, probably because showing off their prosperity would only earn them the ire of the people in town.

  Of course, for a traveler, the opposite was true. Once Lawrence generously treated the other patrons to meat and wine, the fat and liquor became perfect social lubricants.

  “Just look at this lifeless tavern! Hey, you lot! This is how you eat and drink, by God!”

  “Ah, shut up, old man! You’re the one who always skips the wine and drinks the watery ale they brew right over a dirt floor!”

  “Aye! I hear you put so many beans on your bread it drives your wife to tears!”

  The tavern master and his regulars traded jabs and then immediately burst into laughter.

  When times were hard, it was easy for town dwellers to feel as though the world itself were ending. But when a well-to-do traveler appeared, it could bring them hope that all was not yet lost—or so Lawrence had heard from town merchants in the past.

  “By the by, where’d you come from, traveler?” asked the tavern master as he brought the pickled cabbage-and-mutton stew Lawrence had ordered to break the monotony of the endless roast meat.

  The master did not bother asking Holo, not because she appeared to be a young girl, but rather because she was devouring mutton at such a rate that the other patrons were standing around her, cheering her on.

  “From Kerube across the sea. Before that we were still farther south.”

  “Kerube, eh? I hear there was quite the hubbub there. What was it again…? Hey, Hans! What happened in Kerube, again?”

  “The narwhal, wasn’t it? Hey, aren’t tavern keepers supposed to be good with gossip? Anyway, I hear they caught a big devil in their nets, turned into a real problem. Last time I was at the docks, the boys from the Lyon Company were talking about it.”

  It was truly amazing how quickly information could cross the sea. It had only been a few days since the events in question had happened.

  “That’s right, the narwhal. Was that really true?”

  The tavern master’s face was full of interest. He would never have imagined the one responsible for the situation’s sudden reversal was standing right in front of him.

  Lawrence glanced at Holo to share a private smile with her, but found himself totally ignored. Had he looked to Col, he was sure the boy would have returned the smile of co-conspirators who shared a secret.

  If asked which of his traveling companions he was more inclined to show kindness to, well—it hardly bore asking.

  “Yes, it was true. It was such a crisis that the town was split in two over it, north and south. In the end, a single company brought several crates of gold coins to the church and loudly demanded the narwhal be sold to them. Thanks to all the commotion, it was impossible to en
joy any time in the town.”

  “Oh ho, crates full of gold coin, eh?” The surrounding patrons reacted most strongly to that part of the story. It revealed all too clearly where their current interests lay. “And you say you came all the way up here from south of Kerube? For trade?”

  “No, we’re on pilgrimage to Brondel Abbey.”

  Given how keen their reaction to any news of coin was, Lawrence avoided the topic of money. From what he could tell, he guessed most of the patrons were merchants or craftsmen. If talk turned to business, not only would the conversation cease to progress, but they would surely start trying to sell him their goods.

  “Ah, Brondel Abbey…”

  “Difficult though it may be to believe, my two traveling companions are indeed children of God. I’ve been moved to repent and try to atone for my past sins.”

  “I see. Still, to think a merchant would be making a pilgrimage to Brondel Abbey…such irony,” said the tavern master to the other patrons, having at some point gotten a cup of wine for his own hand. He grinned sardonically, as did his customers.

  Lawrence did his very best to play the ignorant traveler.

  “Why is that ironic?”

  “Well, only because Brondel Abbey is cleverer with business than you might think and hasn’t treated pilgrims properly in many years. Most foreign travelers to the abbey come through this town, and we’ve seen many of them returning with disappointed faces.”

  “They’re supposed to pay for the upkeep of inns and roads for pilgrims, but the amount they contribute is piddling compared with the money they bring in from the wool trade. Even a child can see which way the scales tilt. May God’s protection be upon us!”

  The patron seemed to be a merchant, and at his words, the tavern master nodded firmly.

  Be it trading company or abbey, when it came time to turn a profit, the methods they used were much the same. It was crucial to conduct the most profitable business with the most profitable partners.

  But in doing so, much was lost.

  “It’s thanks to their actions that we’re suffering God’s punishment! These last few years, wool sales in Winfiel have somehow dropped, and it’s Brondel Abbey that’s suffered the most. Even merchants more meek than any sheep have stopped coming to them, and even if they start begging for tithes now, all those pilgrims they drove away aren’t coming back.”