Spice & Wolf I (19 page)

“Well, if it’s that important, you’ll remember eventually.”

“Mmm...I suppose. Ugh. It’s no good. I can’t remember,” she said, slumping back down on the table and closing her eyes.

She had probably felt like this all day. The shopkeeper hadn't said it, but it was a good thing they weren’t about to depart. The wagon’s shaking wouldn’t make her feel any better.

“Anyway, all we have to do is leave the rest to the Milone Company. ‘Good things come to those who wait,’ after all. Just rest until you feel better.”

“Ugh...it’s so undignified,” said Holo, sounding even more pathetic than before—she would likely feel ill for some time yet.

“I suppose you’ll be off all day, then.”

“Mm...it’s pathetic, but you’re right,” she answered, still sprawled on the table, opening a single eye to look at Lawrence. “Did you have plans of some kind?”

“Hm? Well, I was thinking of doing some shopping after checking in with the Company.”

“Shopping, is it? You can go on your own. I’ll rest here awhile then return to the inn on my own,” said Holo, raising her head and sipping the apple juice again. “Or what—did you want me to come along?”

Her teasing was by now standard, almost a greeting; so Lawrence simply nodded.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Holo pouted at Lawrence’s tranquility. Sipping perfunctorily at her drink, she must have expected him to become flustered, but even Lawrence could maintain his composure at times.

Lawrence couldn’t help smiling down at Holo again as he chewed on a piece of bread.

“I was thinking of buying you a comb or a hat,” he said. “Perhaps some other time.”

Holo’s ears twitched underneath the cloak.

“...Just what are you planning?” she asked, her eyes half lidded, but watching Lawrence carefully nonetheless.

Lawrence could hear the
swish, swish
of her restlessly twitching tail. Apparently she was worse than he expected at hiding her thoughts.

“What a way to talk.”

“As the saying goes, one has to be even more careful with meat in one’s mouth than with meat that’s about to be taken away.”

Hearing Holo’s bitter words, Lawrence drew close to her face and whispered into her ear.

“If you’re going to act the prudent wisewolf, at least do something about your restless ears and tail.”

Surprised, Holo felt for her ears. “Oh!” she said.

“That should make us even,” said Lawrence with a hint of arrogance. Holo glared at him, thin-lipped and frustrated.

“You’ve got such lovely hair, it seems a shame for you not to have a comb for it,” he continued briskly.

He was happy having finally gotten the best of her, but if he pushed, it was quite possible she’d put him in his place again.

However, upon hearing Lawrence’s words, the bored-looking Holo sniffed and sprawled across the table once more. “Oh, you’re talking about my hair,” she said shortly.

“All you do is bind it back with a hempen string. You don’t even comb it.”

“My hair isn’t important. A comb would be nice, though—for my tail.” A
swish, swish
sound could be heard after she spoke.

“...Well, if you say so.”

Lawrence did think that her flowing, silken hair was beautiful, and hair of any kind that was so long was very rare. It was difficult for anyone other than nobility to be able to wash their hair in hot water daily, so having such long, beautiful hair was a mark of high birth.

So like anyone else, Lawrence had a weakness for a girl with long, beautiful hair. Holo’s hair was so lovely that few among even the nobility could match it, yet she seemed not to understand its value at all.

If she were to hide her ears with a veil rather than a heavy cloak and wear fine robes instead of the rough clothes of a traveling merchant, she’d be the equal of any maiden from a minstrel’s poem—but Lawrence shied away from saying so.

There was no telling how she’d react, after all.

“So, then.”

“Hm?”

“When will you buy this comb?”

Holo looked up at Lawrence from her prone posture on the table, her eyes shining with a certain anticipation.

“I thought you didn’t need one,” said Lawrence without rancor, his head cocked slightly.

“I never said that. I would like a comb. A fine-tooth one, if possible.”

Lawrence didn’t see the point of buying a comb if it wouldn’t be used to comb hair. In his mind, a fine brush of the sort used by weavers would be best for her tail.

“I’ll buy you a brush. Shall I introduce you to a good weaver?”

It was best to leave fur to experts with specialized tools, after all. Lawrence was only half-serious, but when he finished speaking and looked at Holo, his voice caught.

She was angry—so angry she was gnashing her teeth.

“You...you would treat my tail as a simple piece of fur?” she said, her intonation flat—surely not because she was afraid that talk of tails would be overheard by the other patrons.

Lawrence winced at her vehemence, but Holo looked as unwell as she had all day. There was a limit to how much she could counterattack.

“I cannot take this anymore,” she said.

Lawrence suspected that her threats were empty.

He imagined that she might try crying, so he nonchalantly drank some apple juice. “What, are you going to throw a tantrum now?” he asked, a note of accusation in his voice.

Naturally his resolve would waver if she actually burst into tears, but he didn’t say this.

Perhaps chastened by his words, or possibly for some other reason, she opened her eyes slightly to regard Lawrence then looked away.

Her childish demeanor was rather charming. With a small smile, Lawrence mused that it would be nice if she were always like this.

Holo was silent for a moment. Then, in a small voice, she said, “I can’t take it. I have to vomit.”

Lawrence almost tipped the cup of apple juice over as he scrambled to his feet and called out for the shopkeeper to bring a bucket.

Well after the sun had set in the west and the clamor from outside his window had subsided, Lawrence looked up from the desk. Pen in hand, he raised both arms and stretched expansively. His back popped gratifyingly, and he turned his head left and right to work out the kinks in his neck, which also popped.

He looked back down to the desk. On it was a sheet of paper with simple plans for a shop—the town it would be situated in, the goods it would sell, and plans for its expansion. Written separately were construction costs, plans for securing citizenship, and a variety of other anticipated expenditures.

It was a plan for realizing his dream—to own a shop.

Even a week ago, this remained only a fantasy, but since Lawrence had made his deal with the Milone Company, it suddenly felt much more imminent. If he could bring in two thou sand
trenni
, then after selling some ornaments and jewels that amounted to his savings, he would be able to open his shop, Lawrence would be a traveling merchant no longer, but a town merchant.

“Mmph .. . what’s that sound?”

While Lawrence had been absorbed in gazing at the picture of the shop he’d drawn, Holo had at some point awoken. Her eyes were still blurry with sleep, but she appeared mostly recovered. She looked at Lawrence, blinked a few times, and dragged herself out of bed. Her eyes were slightly swollen, but she looked well enough.

“How do you feel?”

“Better. A bit hungry, though.”

“If your appetite’s back, you must be fine,” said Lawrence, smiling and indicating the bread on the table. It was dark rye bread—the worst, cheapest bread you could get, but Lawrence enjoyed its bitter flavor and bought it frequently.

Unsurprisingly, Holo made her displeasure with the bread known after a single bite but ultimately gave up, since there was nothing else to eat.

“Is there anything to drink?”

“The water jug’s right there.”

Holo checked to see that the jug actually contained water and, after taking a drink, moved next to Lawrence as she munched away on the bread.

“. . A drawing of a shop?”

“
My
shop.”

“Oh ho, not bad,” said Holo, looking intently at the paper as she ate.

When traveling in a country whose language he didn’t speak, Lawrence would use drawings to make deals. Sometimes he simply couldn’t remember the name of a particular commodity, and interpreters were not always available. Hence, most traveling merchants were good at drawing. Whenever Lawrence turned a healthy profit, he would draw a picture of his future shop. It made him feel even better than drinking wine.

And while he had confidence in his drawing abilities, it was nice to be praised.

“What’s this writing?”

“Location and expense planning. I don’t expect it to go exactly like this, of course.”

“Hmm. You’ve drawn parts of a city, too, I see. What city is it?”

“None in particular—just an idealized city for my shop.”

“Ho-ho. You’ve been very detailed here—I suppose you’re planning to open it soon, then?”

“If the deal with the Milone Company goes well, I will probably be able to.”

“Hm.” Holo nodded, not looking terribly excited at the idea. She popped a piece of bread into her small mouth, then walked back over to the table.

Lawrence imagined that the ensuing gulping sound was her finishing the water.

“It’s every traveling merchant’s dream to have a shop. I’m no different.”

“Heh. I know. You’ve even gone so far as to sketch out your ideal city, so you must have done this many times before.”

“When I draw it, I feel that it will happen someday.”

“An artist I knew long ago said something like that—that he wanted to paint all the scenes he saw before him.” Holo bit into a second slice of bread and sat on the corner of the bed. “I doubt the artist would have fulfilled his dream even now, but it seems that yours is getting closer.”

“Indeed. When I think about it, I can hardly stay still—I want to run around the Milone Company, swatting the ass of every employee I see.”

It was a bit of an exaggeration, but far from a lie. Perhaps that was why Holo refrained from making fun, simply chuckling and saying, “I hope your dream comes true, then.”

She continued. “Still, is having a shop such a good thing? Can’t you do well as a traveling merchant?”

“If you profit, sure.”

Holo cocked her head slightly. “What else would there be?”

“A traveling merchant might make the rounds between twenty or thirty towns—if you don’t keep moving, you won’t make any money at all. Most of your year is spent on a wagon.” Lawrence sipped a bit of wine from the cup on the table. “The life being what it is, you don’t really make any friends—just business associates.”

Hearing his explanation, Holo seemed to realize something and to regret asking the question.

She really is a good sort, Lawrence thought, and he continued, hoping to assuage her regret. “But if I could open a shop, I’d become a true citizen of a town. I could make friends, and it would be simple to search for a wife. It would be a great solace to me to know where I would be buried when I die. Though finding a bride who’ll stay beside me even in death...that will take some luck.”