Spice & Wolf I (13 page)

“These are fine furs, as you can see,” Holo said.

“I quite agree,” replied the buyer.

“You won’t see their like in many years. Or perhaps I should put it this way—you won’t
smell
their like in many years.”

Holo’s words froze the air in an instant. Lawrence had no idea what she was talking about.

“’Tis a scent, but to miss it you’d need to be blind!” Holo laughed. She was the only one. Lawrence and the buyer were too stunned to be amused.

“Well, a smell is worth a thousand words. Would you care to sample the scent?” Holo handed the pelt to the buyer, who took it and looked uncertainly toward Lawrence.

Lawrence nodded slowly, hiding his confusion.

What was the point in smelling the pelts? He had never heard of such a thing in all his dealings.

Neither had the buyer, surely, but he had no choice but to placate his vendors. He slowly brought the fur up to his nose and sniffed.

At first, his face showed a mixture of confusion and surprise. He sniffed again, and only the surprise remained.

“Oh? Smell something, do you?” Holo said.

“Ah, er, yes. It smells like fruit, I’d say.”

Lawrence looked at the fur in surprise. Fruit?

“Fruit indeed. Just as fur is scarce this year because of the harvest, so did the forest overflow with fruit. This marten was scampering about in that same forest until just a few days ago, and it ate so much of that plentiful fruit that the scent suffused its body.”

The buyer sniffed the fur again. He nodded, as if to say “true enough.”

“The truth is that while the fur’s luster might be better or worse, it generally changes little. Does the problem not come, then, when the fur is made into clothing, when it is actually used? Good fur is durable; bad fur soon wears thin.”

“True, as you say,” said the buyer.

Lawrence was astonished. How much did this wolf know?

“As you can tell, this particular fur has the sweet scent of a marten that has eaten very well indeed. It took two strong men to pull the hide clear of the body, it was so tough.”

The buyer tugged on the fur experimentally.

He couldn’t pull too hard on goods he hadn’t yet purchased, though—something Holo knew full well.

She was a perfect merchant.

“The fur is as strong as the beast itself was, and will keep the wearer as warm as a spring day, shedding rain from dawn ’til dusk. And don’t forget the scent! Imagine coming across a perfumed piece of clothing like this among coats made from nose-wrinkling marten fur. Why, ’twould sell so dear your eyes would pop out.”

The buyer was indeed imagining the scenario, gazing off into the distance. When Lawrence thought about it, he could see that the goods would sell high—or perhaps, he could smell as much.

“So, what do you think would be a fair price, then?”

The buyer snapped out of his reverie and straightened himself, then played with some figures on his abacus. The beads flew back and forth with a pleasant
tak-tak-tak
sound, finally displaying a figure.

“What say you to two hundred
trenni
?”

Lawrence’s breath caught in his throat. One hundred forty pieces was already a respectably high price. Two hundred was unimaginable.

“Mmm,” Holo murmured to herself. He wanted to beg her to stop—this was going too far, but she was implacable.

“How about three pieces for each fur—two hundred ten in total?”

“Er, well...”

“Master,” she said to Lawrence. “Perhaps we should try elsewhere—”

“Uh, no! Two hundred ten pieces, then!” said the buyer.

Hearing this, Holo nodded, satisfied, and turned to her “master.” “You heard the man, master.”

She was definitely teasing him.

The tavern called Yorend was on a slightly removed alleyway, but it looked well-kept enough. Local craftsmen appeared to make up the bulk of its clientele.

Lawrence found himself suddenly tired when they arrived at the Yorend tavern.

Holo, on the other hand, was quite energetic, probably because she’d managed to outwit two merchants at once. The hour was yet early, so the tavern was mostly empty, and their wine was out very quickly—Holo drained hers in one huge draught, while Lawrence was content to nurse his.

“Ah, wine!” said Holo, belching a fine belch. She lifted her wood cup and ordered another round, which the tavern girl acknowledged with a smile.

“What troubles you? Aren’t you going to drink?” said Holo, munching away on some fried beans.

She didn’t seem to be particularly dizzy with success, though, so Lawrence decided to broach the subject directly.

“Have you ever worked as a merchant?”

Holo, still munching the snack and holding her refilled glass, smiled ruefully. “Oh, I’m sorry, have I injured your pride?” Naturally, she had.

“I don’t know how many deals you’ve done in your life, but I watched countless transactions when I was in the village. Long ago, I once saw a man use that technique—I didn’t invent it myself. When was that, anyway...?”

Lawrence didn’t speak, but his eyes held the question: Is that true? Holo looked slightly troubled as she nodded, and Lawrence sighed even as he felt somewhat relieved.

“I really hadn’t noticed, though. Last night when I slept in the furs, I didn’t smell any fruit.”

“Oh, that. That was from the apples we bought.”

Lawrence was speechless. When had she pulled that trick?

And suddenly, he felt a chill of worry.

It was fraud!

“It’s his own fault for being tricked,” said Holo. “He’ll be impressed once he figures it out.”

“…You may have a point.”

“There’s no point in being angry when you’ve been tricked. A real merchant knows to be impressed.”

“That’s quite a sermon. You sound like a wizened old trader.”

“Heh. And you’re just a babe in arms, yourself.”

Lawrence had to laugh. He shrugged as he drank his wine. It had a keen taste to it.

“All this aside, did you do as you were supposed to?” Holo was talking about the Zheren matter.

“I asked around the Milone Company to see if anybody knew about nations that would be issuing new silver currency, but they didn’t seem to be hiding anything. As long the information isn’t something that needs to be monopolized, they’ll normally share it. Makes for good business relations.”

“Hm.”

“But chances for this kind of deal aren’t common. That’s why were involved.”

It wasn’t vanity. It was reality. In currency speculation, prices either rose, fell, or held steady. Even if the details became complex, all one had to do was turn it over in one’s head until one hit upon the solution.

Once the proposed deal was reduced to the party that would gain and the one that would lose, there were few decisions to make.

However...

“Still, whatever the trick, as long as we can avoid getting fleeced and come out ahead, we’ll be fine.”

Lawrence drank some wine and popped some beans into his mouth—Holo was paying, so he decided he might as well take advantage of it.

“I don’t see the owner anywhere. I wonder if he’s out,” he said. “Zheren did say we could contact him through the bar. He must be on good terms with the establishment.”

“Well, traveling merchants usually base their operations out of either a tavern or a trading house. In fact, I’ve got to get to a trading house later on. And the owner really isn’t around, is he?” said Lawrence, scanning the tavern yet again. It was a fairly spacious establishment, with fifteen round tables; only two other people—craftsmen from the look of them—were in the tavern.

He couldn’t very well just go talk to them, so he asked the girl when she brought them another round of wine along with some roasted herring and smoked mutton.

“The owner?” said the girl as she set the wine and food on the table. Her arms were very slender; Lawrence wondered where she got the strength to handle the heavy food. “He’s gone to buy ingredients at the marketplace,” she continued. “Do you have some business with him?”

“Could you possibly tell him we’re trying to get in touch with a man named Zheren?”

If they didn’t know Zheren here, that was fine, too. Many merchants used taverns as convenient points of contact, so a misunderstanding was entirely possible.

But it turned out to be unnecessary concern on Lawrence’s part.

The girl’s eyes brightened immediately at the mention of Zheren. “Oh, Mr. Zheren? I know of him.”

“Do you?”

“He normally comes soon after sundown. Feel free to stay here until then.”

She was a shrewd girl indeed, but she had a point. It was an hour or two until dusk, which would be just enough time to enjoy a nice leisurely drink.

“We’ll take you up on that, then,” said Lawrence.

“Do enjoy yourselves!” said the girl with a bow, then turned to attend to the tavern’s other two patrons.

Lawrence drank from his cup of wine. Its tart scent wafted across his nose, fading to sweetness on his tongue. Some liquors, like rum, traded on their intensity, but Lawrence preferred the sweetness of wine or mead. Sometimes he’d have cider just for a change.

Beer was good, too, but its flavor depended on the skill of the craftsman and the tastes of the person drinking it. Unlike wine, whose quality depended entirely on price, a beer’s deliciousness was unrelated to its cost, so merchants tended to avoid it. There was no way to know if the particular brew would suit your taste unless you were from the region or town—so when he wanted to appear local, Lawrence would order beer.

Lawrence thought on this when he noticed that Holo, sitting opposite him, had stopped eating. She appeared to be deep in thought. Lawrence spoke up to get her attention, but she was slow in answering.

“...That girl, she’s lying,” she finally said, once the girl had disappeared into the kitchen.

“Lying how?”

“Zheren doesn’t necessarily come in here every day.”

“Hm.” Lawrence nodded, looking into his wine cup.

“Well, I hope we’ll see Zheren soon, as she says.”

The girl’s lie meant that she was already in touch with Zheren. If not, things would be complicated now for both Lawrence and the mysterious young merchant.

“As do I,” said Holo.

The reason for the lie was unclear, though. It could be that she was able to call Zheren anytime she wanted and simply wanted to keep Lawrence and Holo at the table and ordering wine for a little while longer. Merchants and traders told lies large and small all the time. Worrying over every single one would soon drive one to distraction.

So Lawrence wasn’t particularly worried, and he imagined Holo was the same.

And other than Holo’s delight at the honeycomb-shaped honeyed stew, the sun set without incident, and soon customers began filtering into the tavern.