Spice & Wolf I (9 page)

It is said that a cat’s tongue cannot stand hot food, but wolves did not appear to have this problem. Holo held half of the potato in her hand and popped the entire piece into her mouth at once after blowing on it two or three times. Lawrence felt that she’d bitten off more than she could chew, and indeed she soon appeared to choke. Lawrence tossed her a water-skin, and with it Holo managed to get the potato down.

“Whew. Rather surprising, that. Human throats are so narrow. It’s rather inconvenient.”

“Wolves swallow things whole, right?”

“Mm. Well, we lack this, so we cannot chew at our leisure.” Holo pulled at the edge of her lips; presumably she was talking about her cheeks.

“But I’ve choked on potatoes in the past, it’s true.”

“Oh ho.”

“I suppose potatoes and I are ill-fated.”

Lawrence resisted telling her that it was her gluttony that boded ill, not potatoes.

“Earlier,” he began instead, “you said something about being able to tell when someone is lying?”

Upon hearing the question, Holo turned to face him mid-bite, but suddenly looked aside and moved her hand.

Before Lawrence could ask what was wrong, her hand stopped, frozen in midair as if she’d grabbed something.

“There are still fleas.”

“It’s that nice fur of yours. I bet it’s a lovely bed for them.” Transporting fur or woven goods often involved smoking the fleas out of them, depending on the season. Lawrence spoke from experience, but Holo seemed quite shocked, and thrust out her chest as she spoke proudly.

“Well, it’s a credit to your eye for quality that you can tell as much, then!” she said haughtily. Lawrence decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

“So is it true that you can tell truth from lies?”

“Hm? Oh, more or less.” Wiping off the hand that had grabbed the flea, Holo turned her attention back to the potato.

“So, how good at it are you?”

“Well, I know that what you said about my tail just now was not meant as praise.”

Lawrence, stunned, said nothing. Holo giggled happily.

“It’s not perfect, though. You may believe me or not...as you wish,” said Holo impishly, licking cheese from her fingers.

She’d gotten the better of him again, but if he were to react, that would only give her another opportunity. Lawrence composed himself and tried again.

“So let me ask you this—was the lad’s story true?”

“The lad?”

“The one who spoke to us by the furnace.”

“Oh. Heh, lad,’ you say.”

“Is something funny?”

“From where I stand you’re both but lads.”

If he tried a comeback she’d only toy with him more, so Lawrence stifled the reply that rose within him.

“Heh. I daresay you’re a bit more grown than he, though. As for your lad, it seems to me he is lying.”

Lawrence calmed himself; this confirmed his suspicions. During their conversation in the hall, the young merchant Zheren had spoken to Lawrence about an opportunity for profit.

There was a certain silver coin in circulation that was due to be replaced by a coin with a higher concentration of silver. If the story was true, the old silver coins were of poorer quality than their replacements, but their face value would be the same. However, when being exchanged for other currencies, the new silver coins would be worth more than the old. If one knew in advance which coin was due to be replaced, one could buy them up in bulk, then exchange them for the new coins, thus realizing what amounted to pure profit. Zheren claimed that he knew which coin among all those circulating in the world would be replaced, and would share the information in exchange for a piece of the profit. Since Zheren would certainly have made the same offer to other merchants, Lawrence could not simply swallow the story whole.

Holo stared into space as if thinking back on the conversation, then popped the piece of potato into her mouth and swallowed it.

“I don’t know which part is a lie, though, nor do I understand the finer points of the conversation.”

Lawrence nodded and considered. He had not actually expected that much from Holo.

Assuming that the transaction itself wasn’t a lie, Zheren must be lying about the coins, somehow.

“Well, currency speculation isn’t rare in and of itself. Still...”

“You don’t understand why he’s lying .. . no?”

Holo plucked a bud from the surface of her potato and ate the rest. Lawrence sighed.

He had to admit that she’d long since gotten control of him. “When someone’s lying, what’s important is not the content of the lie, but the reasoning behind it,” she said.

“How many years do you think it took me to understand that?”

“Oh? You may have called that Zheren person a lad, but you’re both the same to me,” said Holo proudly.

In times like these, Lawrence wished Holo did not look so frustratingly human. To think that the youthful Holo had long understood the principles that he had suffered so much to grasp was too much for him to take.

“If I were not here, what would you do?” asked Holo.

“First I’d work out whether it was true or not, then I’d pretend to believe his story.”

“And why is that?”

“If it’s true, I can turn a profit just by going along with it. If it’s a lie, then someone somewhere is up to something—but I can still come out ahead if I keep my eyes and ears open.”

“Mm. And given that I am here, and I’ve told you he’s lying, then…”

“Hm?”

Lawrence finally realized what had been eluding him.

“Ah.”

“Heh. See, there was nothing over which to agonize so. Either way you’ll be pretending to accept his proposal,” said Holo, grinning. Lawrence had no retort.

“I’ll be taking that last potato,” said Holo, snatching the potato from the table.

For his part, Lawrence was too abashed to even split the potato he held in his hand.

“I am Holo the Wisewolf! How many times longer do you think I have lived than you?”

Lawrence’s mood only worsened with her concern for his feelings. He took a vindictive bite out of his potato.

He felt like an apprentice traveling with his teacher all over again.

The next day was beautiful with clear autumn skies. The church awoke still earlier than the merchants, so by the time Lawrence rose, the morning routine was already finished. Lawrence anticipated this and was unsurprised, but when he went out to the well to wash his face, he was shocked to see Holo walking out of the worship hall with the members of the Church. She had her head bowed and was wearing her cloak, but even so she stopped frequently to chat pleasantly with the churchgoers.

The sight of the devout chatting with the god of the harvest whose existence they refused to acknowledge was amusing, though Lawrence lacked the nerve to find it so.

Holo took her leave from the congregation and quietly approached a dumbfounded Lawrence. She clasped her small hands together in front of her chest and spoke.

“Lord, grant my husband courage.”

The well water was chilly due to the approaching winter; Lawrence poured it over his head anyway and pretended not to hear Holo’s laughter.

“It’s gotten a bit more important, the Church has,” said Holo.

Lawrence shook his head to clear it of water, just as Holo had done with her tail the previous day. “The Church has always been important.”

“Hardly. It was not so when I came through here from the north. They’d always be going on about how the one god and his twelve angels created the world and how humanity was but borrowing it. Nature is not something created, though. Even then, I thought to myself, ‘When did these people learn to tell such jokes?’ ”

This centuries-old harvest god was talking like a natural philosopher criticizing the Church, which made it all the more amusing. Lawrence dried off and dressed. He wouldn’t forget to leave a coin in the tithe-box that was prepared there. One was expected to leave money in the box if one used the well, and the people of the church would be checking. Anyone who failed to leave a donation would have unlucky things said about him. The constantly traveling Lawrence needed all the luck he could get.

Nonetheless, what he tossed in the box was a worn, blackened copper coin that could barely be counted as money.

“I suppose this is a sign of the times, then...much has changed.”

Presumably she referred to her homeland, given the desolate expression on her face.

“Have you yourself changed?” asked Lawrence.

“...” Holo shook her head wordlessly. It was somehow a very childish gesture.

“Then I’m sure your homeland hasn’t changed, either.”

Despite his youth, Lawrence had endured much. He’d been to many nations, met many people, and gained a wide variety of experiences, so he felt qualified to say as much.

All traveling merchants—even those who had run away from their homes—couldn’t help holding their homeland dear, since when in a foreign land, one could only trust one’s countrymen.

Holo nodded, her face emerging slightly from underneath the cloak.

“ ’Twould be a disgrace to the name Wisewolf to be comforted by you, though,” she said with a smile, turning and heading back toward their room.

She gave him a sidelong glance that could’ve been interpreted as gratitude.

As long as her attitude was that of a very sly, very old person, Lawrence could cope.

It was her childish side that he found difficult.

Lawrence was twenty-five. If he lived in a town he’d be married and taking his wife and children to church. His life was half over, and Holo’s childish demeanor penetrated his lonely heart.

“Hey, what keeps you? Hurry!” shouted Holo, looking over her shoulder at him.

It had been a mere two days since Lawrence met Holo, but it felt like much longer.

Lawrence decided to accept Zheren’s offer.

However, Zheren could not simply rely on Lawrence’s word and hand over the information; neither could Lawrence afford to pay up front. He would have to sell his furs first. Thus the two men decided to meet in the riverside city of Pazzio and sign a formal contract before a public witness.

“Well then, I’ll be on my way When you arrive in Pazzio, find a tavern called Yorend; you’ll be able to contact me there.”

“Yorend, is it? Very well.”

Zheren smiled his charming smile again as he took his leave, hefting his burlap sack of dried fruit over his shoulder as he walked on.

Besides actual trading, the most important task that faced a young merchant was exploring the many regions, becoming familiar with the locals and their goods, and making sure his face was remembered. To accomplish this, it was best to carry something well-preserved that could be sold at churches or inns and used as an excuse for conversation, like dried fruit or meat.

Lawrence watched Zheren, feeling a certain nostalgia for the time before he’d acquired his wagon.