Spice & Wolf I (12 page)

“Well, I’ll try to say something to bring your profit up, if I can.

Whatever the difference I make, I keep,” she said, licking her little finger clean as if it were nothing.

Lawrence mulled it over. Holo seemed confident that she could sell the marten pelts higher than he could. Wisewolf or no, he had seven years of experience as a traveling merchant. He wasn’t such a weak dealer that a few words tossed in from the side would bring up his prices, and there was no guarantee the buyer would accept such prices.

Yet his curiosity at exactly how she would attempt this farce overpowered his doubt that it would actually happen, so in the end he said, “Agreed.”

“It’s done, then!” replied Holo, burping.

“But this isn’t just limited to our pelts. You’re a merchant, too—there may be no chance for me to talk up our price.”

“How modest of you.”

“Wisdom is knowing thyself first.”

The statement would’ve sounded better had she not said it while casting her gaze longingly back toward the remaining pile of apples.

The pelts’ destination was the Milone Company, a brokerage house that acted as an intermediary for a variety of goods. The Milone Company was the third-largest house in the city; the two above it were local businesses that had their headquarters in Pazzio. The Milone Company was headquartered in a mercantile nation far to the south and run by a powerful trader of noble lineage; the Pazzio location was a branch.

Lawrence had chosen the Milone Company over the local brokerages because it would pay higher commodity prices in order to best its competitors and also because, having so many branches in different places, it could provide valuable information.

His aim was to dig up information akin to the story he’d heard from the young merchant Zheren. Who better to ask about currency exchange than traders who routinely crossed borders to do business?

After securing lodgings for the two of them, Lawrence trimmed his beard and set out.

The Milone Company was the fifth building from the docks and the second-largest shop in the area. It had a huge gate that faced the docks to accommodate wagon traffic, which made the shop seem even bigger at a glance. Commodities of all kinds were piled around the gates, as if to show off the company’s prosperity. It might have been their peculiar way of competing with the local businesses, which could trade on their longstanding local connections and didn’t need flashy displays to prove they were turning a profit.

Lawrence stopped his wagon at the loading area, and presently an employee came out to meet them.

“Welcome to the Milone Trading Company!”

The smart-looking man tasked with unloading had a neatly trimmed beard and hair. Normally a trading company’s unloading dock was a chaotic swirl of bandit-like men shouting this way and that—Milone was an exception.

“I’ve sold wheat here before, but today I have furs to sell. Will you take a look?”

“Yes, yes, but of course! The man inside and to the left will be happy to see you.”

Lawrence nodded and with a flick of the reins drove the wagon inside. Around the area were stacked all sorts of goods—wheat, straw, stones, timber, fruit, and more. The staff was quick and efficient, which is how the Milone Company was successful even in foreign countries, a fact that would impress any traveling merchant.

Even Holo seemed impressed.

“Ho there, sir, where are you headed?”

The two were watching the busy loading and unloading in the shop but stopped at the sound of the voice. They looked in its direction and saw a large man with steam rising from his suntanned body. He didn’t seem like the man Lawrence had been directed to find, but he was certainly huge.

“Is he a knight?” Holo said under her breath.

“We’re here to sell furs. I was told to come to the left side of the shop.” Lawrence met the man’s eyes and smiled.

“Right, then, I’ll just take your horse. This way, if you please.”

Lawrence did as he was told and angled his horse toward the man. The horse snorted. Apparently he sensed the man’s vitality.

“Ho-ho, a good horse, sir! He looks stout of heart.”

“He works without complaint; I’ll say that much,” said Lawrence.

“A horse that complains—now that would be something to see!”

“You’re not kidding.”

The two men laughed, and the worker led Lawrence’s horse inside the unloading area, and after hitching him to a sturdy wooden fence, called out.

The person that answered was a man who looked more fit to be carrying a quill and ink than hay bales. He seemed to be the buyer.

“Kraft Lawrence, I presume? We thank you for your patronage.”

Lawrence was used to being greeted politely, but he was impressed that the man knew his name before Lawrence had given it. He’d last visited the company during a winter three years ago, selling wheat. Perhaps the man that now greeted Lawrence in the entryway still remembered him.

“I’m told you’ve come to sell furs today.” The buyer skipped over the usual pleasantries about the weather and jumped straight to the heart of the matter. Lawrence coughed slightly and shifted into his trader persona.

“Indeed I have. These are the very ones, here in the back of the wagon, seventy total.” He hopped down from the wagon and invited the buyer to view the furs. He was followed by Holo, who jumped down from the wagon a moment later.

“Ho, these are good marten furs indeed. The year has been a good one for crops, so marten fur is scarce.”

About half the marten fur that reached the marketplace came from farmers who hunted in their free time. When the harvest was plentiful, they were too busy to hunt, and marten fur was scarcer. Lawrence decided to push his position.

“You only see furs this fine once every several years. They were drenched with rain on the way here, but look—they’ve lost none of their luster.”

“’Tis a fine luster, to be sure, and with good lie. What of their size?”

Lawrence pulled a largish pelt from the bed and offered it to the buyer, since it was generally prohibited for people other than the owner of the goods to touch them.

“Oh, ho. They’re not lacking in size. You said you had seventy?”

He didn’t ask to see all the pelts; he was not so unrefined. Here was the challenge of trade—there was no buyer that would not want to see each pelt, but likewise was there no seller that would want to show each.

This was the intersection of vanity, propriety, and desire.

“Well, then...Sir Lorentz...ah, my apologies, Sir Lawrence, you’ve come to trade with us because you sold wheat here in the past?”

The same name was pronounced differently in different nations. It was a mistake Lawrence himself made often enough, so he forgave it with a smile and produced a wooden abacus from his pocket, which the man looked at. Different regions and nations had different ways of writing numbers, and because nothing was harder than trying to puzzle through these differences, merchants hardly ever wrote figures down while negotiating. Moving the wooden beads of the abacus would make the numbers completely clear, although one still had to be mindful of exactly what currency was being counted.

“I can offer...say, one hundred thirty-two silver
trenni
.” Lawrence pretended to think on the matter for a moment. “You don’t see furs like these often. I brought them to you because I’ve done business with you in the past, but...”

“We certainly appreciate your business.”

“For my part I’d like to continue our association.”

“As would we, I assure you. In light of friendly relations, then, what say you to one hundred forty?”

It was a somewhat transparent exchange, but within the mutual deception was truth—which made the dealings more interesting.

One hundred forty
trenni
was a good price. It wouldn’t be wise to push past that.

But just when Lawrence was about to say “It’s done, then,” Holo—who’d been silent up until that point—tugged slightly on his sleeve.

“Excuse me a moment,” said Lawrence to the buyer, then leaned down, putting his ear level with Holo’s hood.

“I don’t quite know—is that a good price?”

“Quite good, yes,” said Lawrence simply, smiling to the company representative.

“Well then, do we have an agreement?” It seemed the buyer was ready to conclude the deal. Lawrence smiled and was about to reply.

“Wait just a moment.”

“Wha—” said Lawrence, without thinking.

Before he could say anything further, she kept speaking—just like a canny merchant would.

“One hundred forty
trenni
, you said, yes?”

“Uh, er, yes. One hundred forty in silver
trenni
pieces,” answered the representative, a bit taken aback by the sudden question from t he up-to-now silent Holo. Women were rare in places of trade—not unheard of, but rare.

For her part, Holo either didn’t know or didn’t care; she spoke as freely as she pleased. “Ah, perhaps you didn’t notice?”

The buyer, quite taken aback, looked at Holo. He seemed not to understand what she was getting at; Lawrence didn’t know, either.

“My apologies, but have I overlooked something?” The buyer, a merchant from a neighboring country, looked to be roughly the same age as Lawrence. He was a veteran of countless negotiations, who’d dealt with innumerable parties in his career.

It was to his credit that despite his experience, he appeared to be sincerely apologizing to Holo.

Of course it was far from surprising that he was taken aback. Holo had effectively asked him if he knew what he was looking at.

“Mm. I can see you’re a fine merchant, so surely you pretended not to notice? I can see I won’t need to hold back with you.” Holo grinned underneath her cloak. Lawrence nervously hoped she wasn’t showing her fangs, but more than anything he wanted to know what she was doing.

The buyer had been accurate and honest. If Holo was telling the truth, then Lawrence himself had also missed an important detail.

Which was impossible.

“My intention is anything but, I assure you. If you’ll kindly point out what you’re speaking of, we will be happy to adjust the price appropriately...”

Lawrence had never seen a buyer act so meekly. To be sure, he’d seen them pretend meekness, but this was no act.

Holo’s words had a strange weight, and her delivery was perfect.

“Master,” she said to Lawrence. “It’s not polite to make sport of people.”

It was hard to tell whether she called him “master” to mock him or because it was appropriate to the situation, but in either case, if he bungled his response here, he knew he’d hear about it later. He frantically groped for a response.

“Th-that was certainly not my aim. But perhaps you should be the one to tell him.”

Holo grinned a lopsided grin at Lawrence, flashing a fang. “Master, pass me a fur, if you please.”

“Here.”

It struck Lawrence as silly that he had to exert himself to maintain his dignity in the face of being called “master.” Holo was the only master here.

“Thank you, master. Now, if you please, sir...” said Holo, turning to the buyer and showing him the fur. At a glance its lay, size, and luster did not seem to merit an increased price. Even if she were to talk up the lay as being especially fine, the buyer would unavoidably ask to examine the fur more closely, and would inevitably find flaws. The price was unlikely to drop, but the relationship between buyer and seller would suffer.