Spice & Wolf I (8 page)

“The beard, though, is quite nice.”

The medium-length beard that grew from Lawrence’s chin had always been well-received. Lawrence accepted the compliment gracefully, turning back to face her, somewhat proudly.

“I daresay I’d prefer it a big longer, though.”

Long beards were not popular among merchants. The thought automatically occurred to Lawrence, but Holo drew a line from her nose across her cheeks with her index finger, continuing her jape.

“…Like so, like a wolf.”

Lawrence was now finally aware that he had been made sport of. He ignored her and walked toward the room’s door, even as he felt childish for doing so. Holo giggled and followed. Truthfully, he was not actually angry with her.

“There will be many people around the furnace. Best not to let anything slip.”

“I am Holo the Wisewolf! Long ago I traveled clear to Pasloe in human form. Worry not!”

The churches and inns far from the cities were important sources of information to a merchant. Churches in particular attracted all kinds of people.

An inn might house poor travelers and grizzled merchants, but churches were different. One might find anyone from master brewers to wealthy nobles in a church.

The church Lawrence and Holo had stopped in housed twelve guests. A few looked to be merchants; the others were of various professions.

“Aha, so you’re here from Yorenz, then?”

“Yes. I delivered salt from there to my customer and got marten furs in trade.”

Most of the guests sat on the floor in the main hall, taking their meals or picking fleas from their clothing. One couple monopolized the bench in front of the furnace. Despite being a “great hall,” it was not particularly spacious, so no matter where one was in the crowded room, the generously stoked fireplace would dry one’s clothes. The couple’s clothes did not appear wet, so Lawrence imagined they were probably wealthy, and having made generous donations to the church could be here as they pleased.

Lawrence was not wrong; he pricked up his ears to listen for a point in the couple’s conversation where he could enter and waited for his chance.

The wife had gone silent, possibly because of the exhausting journey, and her middle-aged husband welcomed conversation.

“Still, going all the way back to Yorenz, isn’t that rather arduous?”

“That depends on how canny the merchant.”

“Oh ho, interesting!”

“When I bought the salt in Yorenz, I paid no money. Rather, I’d already sold a measure of wheat to a different branch of the same company in another city—but when I sold the wheat, I took no payment; neither did I pay for the salt. So I completed two separate deals with no money exchanged.”

This system of barter had been invented by a mercantile nation in the south about a century earlier. When Lawrence’s master had explained it to him, he’d agonized over the concept for two weeks before finally understanding. The man in front of him had apparently never heard of it himself and appeared similarly unable to grasp it, hearing the explanation but once.

“I see...what a strange contrivance,” he said, nodding. “I live in the city of Perenzzo, and my vineyard has never employed such a method when selling our grapes. Will we be all right?”

“This barter system was invented by merchants who needed a convenient way to deal with people from many different lands. As the owner of a vineyard, you’d need to be careful not to let vintners claim your grapes to be poor and buy them cheaply.”

“Yes. We have such arguments every year,” said the man with a smile—but to the accountants he employed, the red-faced arguments they had with sly vintners were no laughing matter. Most vineyard owners were noble, but almost none of them took a personal hand in the farming or sale of their product. Count Ehrendott, who managed the region surrounding Pasloe, was highly eccentric in this regard.

“Lawrence, was it? Next time you’re in Perenzzo, do come by for a visit.”

“I shall, thank you.”

As was common among the nobility, the man did not give his own name, assuming his name would already be known. It was seen as plebeian to give one’s own name.

Undoubtedly if Lawrence were to visit Perenzzo and ask after the master of the vineyard, it would be this man. Had this been Perenzzo, though, a man of Lawrence’s stature would find it practically impossible to simply arrange an audience with him. Churches were therefore the best place to establish such connections.

“Well then, as my wife appears tired, I’ll take my leave of you.”

“May God allow us to meet again,” said Lawrence.

It was a standard phrase within the Church. The man rose from his chair and, along with his wife, gave a polite nod before leaving the hall.

Lawrence, too, vacated the chair the man had requested that he bring over from the corner of the room. He then returned the chairs the couple had occupied to the corner.

The only people who sat on chairs in the great hall were nobility, knights, and the wealthy. Most people disliked all three.

“Heh-heh, you’re not a man to be trifled with, master!”

Once Lawrence had cleared the chairs and returned to Holo’s side in the middle of the hall, a man approached them. Given his dress and affect, he, too, was a merchant. His bearded face looked young. He had probably not been working on his own very long.

“I’m merely a traveling merchant like any other,” said Lawrence shortly. Beside him, Holo straightened. The hood over her head shifted slightly; only Lawrence would know that it was her ears pricking.

“Far from it, master. I’d been wanting to speak with him for some time but couldn’t find the opportunity. Yet you slipped right in. Thinking that it’s traders like you that I’ll be going up against in the future, why, it’s hard not to despair.”

The man grinned as he spoke, revealing a smile that lacked one front tooth, giving it a certain charm. Perhaps he’d pulled the tooth on purpose to lend his foolish smile persuasion. As a merchant, he’d know how to use his appearance to best effect.

Lawrence realized he’d better not be careless.

Nonetheless, he himself had struck up conversations just like this one when he was starting out, so he held a spark of empathy for the man.

“That’s nothing—when I was starting out, all the established merchants seemed like monsters to me. Half of them still do. But I’m still eating. You just have to keep at it.”

“Heh-heh, it’s a relief to hear you say so, sir. Oh, by the way, I’m Zheren—and you’ve probably figured it out, but I’m just starting out as a merchant. Begging your indulgence, sir!”

“I’m Lawrence.”

Lawrence remembered that when he himself had just started out, he’d also tried to strike up conversations like this one and gotten frustrated by the cold responses. Now on the receiving end of a solicitous young merchant’s conversation, he understood those cold responses.

A young merchant just starting out had nothing to share and could only receive.

“So, then...is this your companion?”

It was unclear whether Zheren broached the subject because he truly had nothing to share or if he’d committed the common beginner’s mistake of trying to gain without offering anything in return. If this had been a conversation between veterans, they would already have traded information on two or three locations by this point.

“My wife, Holo.” For a moment Lawrence hesitated, wondering if he should use a false name, but ultimately decided there was no need.

Holo bowed slightly in greeting as her name was mentioned.

“My, a wife and a merchant both?”

“She is an eccentric and prefers the wagon to the village home.”

“Still, covering your wife in a cloak this way, she must be very precious to you.”

Lawrence had some grudging respect for the man’s charisma; perhaps he’d been the town rogue. For his part, Lawrence had been taught by his relatives that it was best not to say such things.

“Heh-heh, but it is a man’s instinct to want to see hidden things.

God has led us together here. Surely you can let me have a look at her.”

What shamelessness!
thought Lawrence in spite of the knowledge that Holo was not actually his wife.

But before Lawrence could take the man to task, Holo spoke.

“The traveler is happiest before the journey; the dogs bark fiercer than the dog itself, and a woman most beautiful from behind. To show my face in public would dash many dreams, and thus ’tis something I cannot do,” she said, smiling softly underneath the veil.

Zheren could only grin, chastened. Even Lawrence was impressed with her lilting eloquence.

“Heh-heh...your wife is something else, master.”

“It’s all I can do to avoid being quite henpecked.”

Lawrence was more than half-serious.

“Yes, well...it’s certainly providential that I’ve met the both of you. Can you spare a moment to hear my tale?” said Zheren. Silence descended as he flashed his grin that was one tooth short and moved closer to the pair.

Unlike typical inns, churches only provided lodging—not food. However, the hearth could be used for cooking, provided one gave the proper donation. Lawrence did so and placed five potatoes into a pot to boil. Naturally the firewood for cooking had to be purchased as well.

It would take time for the water to boil, so Lawrence threshed the wheat that housed Holo and found an unused leather pouch to keep it in.

Remembering that she’d said she wanted to keep it around her neck, Lawrence took a leather strap and attended to the hearth. Altogether the potatoes, firewood, pouch, and strap came to a significant cost, so he mused over how much to charge her as he brought the potatoes back to the room.

Because his hands were full, Lawrence couldn’t knock on the door—but Holo’s sensitive wolf ears could identify his footfalls. When he entered the room, however, her back was turned to him as she sat on the bed, combing her tail fur.

“Hm? Something smells good,” she said, raising her head. Evidently her nose was as sensitive as her ears.

The potatoes were topped with goat cheese. Lawrence would never have indulged in such luxury had he been alone, but now that he was in a party of two, he decided to be generous. Holo’s happy reaction made it entirely worthwhile.

Lawrence set the potatoes on the table beside the bed, and Holo immediately reached out to help herself. Just before she could grab a potato, Lawrence tossed the pouch full of wheat to her.

“Wha .. . oh. The wheat.”

“And here’s a strap, so you can work out a way to hang it around your neck.”

“Mm. My thanks. But this takes precedence,” she said, tossing the wheat aside with surprising nonchalance, then licking her lips and reaching for a potato. Apparently eating was a priority for Holo.

Once she had a potato in hand, she immediately broke it in half. Her face fairly glowed with delight at the steam that rose from the food. With her tail wagging back and forth she looked undeniably canine, but Lawrence was sure that if he pointed it out she’d be irritated, so he said nothing.

“So wolves find potatoes delicious, do they?”

“Aye. It is not as though we wolves eat meat year-round. We eat tender buds from trees. We eat fish. And the crops that humans raise are better still than tree buds. Also, I rather like the human habit of putting meat and vegetables to a fire.”