From behind him, he heard the quiet sounds of Holo’s breathing. Although he’d told her he couldn’t make a quick decision, Lawrence had already decided that as long as Holo had not made off with his goods in the morning, he would travel with her.
He doubted that she was that sort of troublemaker—but if she was, he thought, she would surely make off with his entire load.
He looked forward to the next day.
After all, it had been a long time since he’d slept beside another. It was impossible to be unhappy with her slightly sweet scent piercing the strong smelling furs.
The horse heaved a sigh, as if reading Lawrence’s simple thought.
Perhaps horses really could understand humans and simply preferred not to speak.
Lawrence grinned ruefully and closed his eyes.
Lawrence rose early the next morning. He was like most merchants who awoke early in order to extract the most profit from the day. However, when he opened his eyes to the morning mist, Holo was already up, sitting next to him, and rummaging through something. For an instant Lawrence wondered if his estimation of her had been wrong, but if so, she was truly audacious. He raised his head and looked over his shoulder, and it appeared she had gone looking for clothes among his things and was just now tying her shoes.
“Hey, now! Those are mine!”
Even if it wasn’t actual theft, even a god shouldn’t be rummaging around through other people’s things.
Holo turned around at Lawrence’s rebuke, but there was not so much as a trace of guilt on her face.
“Hm? Oh, you are awake. What think you of this? Does it look good?” she asked, completely unconcerned as she spread her arms. Far from chastened, she seemed actually proud. Seeing her like this made the uncertain, overwrought Holo of yesterday seem like something out of a dream. Indeed it seemed that the real Holo, the one he’d have to contend with from here on out, was this impudent, prancing thing.
Incidentally, the clothes she now wore were Lawrence’s best, the one outfit he reserved for negotiations with rich traders and the like. The top was an indigo blue shirt underneath a three -quarters-length vest. The trousers were a rare combination of linen and leather, with a skirt that wrapped fully around her lower body, tied with a fine sheepskin sash. The boots were a rare prize, made of tanned leather and triple-layered, good even in the snowy mountains. Over all this she wore a bearskin greatcoat.
Merchants take pride in their practical, dignified clothing. To buy these Lawrence had saved gradually beginning in his apprenticeship—it had taken him ten years. If he showed up to a negotiation wearing these with a nicely groomed beard, he would have most people at a disadvantage.
And Holo now wore those garments.
He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry with her, though.
All the clothes were clearly too big for her, which made it all the more charming.
“The greatcoat is black—my brown hair looks lovely against it, eh? These trousers, though—they get in the way of my tail. Might I put a hole in them?”
The trousers she spoke of so lightly had been made by a master craftsman only after significant effort on Lawrence’s part. A hole would likely prove impossible to repair. He shook his head resolutely.
“Hrm. Well, fortunately they’re still large. I’ll find a way to make them work.”
Holo seemed not to harbor the faintest concern that she would be asked to take the clothes off. Lawrence didn’t think she was likely to run away while wearing them, but nevertheless he rose and regarded her. If she were to go a city and sell them, they would fetch a tidy amount of gold.
“You’re a merchant through and through, that’s sure enough. I know just what you anticipate with that expression on your face,” said Holo, smiling.
She jumped lightly down from the wagon.
Her movement was so unassuming and natural that he had no reaction. If she’d run just then, he would have been unable to pursue.
Or perhaps he didn’t react because he didn’t believe she would run.
“I’ll not run. If that had been my aim, I’d have gone long since.”
Lawrence glanced at the wheat sheaf in the wagon bed, then looked back at the smiling Holo. She took the bearskin cloak off and tossed it back in the wagon; evidently the cloak, which had been made for Lawrence’s height, was too big for her. She was even smaller than he’d realized yesterday, having seen her only in the dim moonlight. Lawrence was on the tall side, but even so she was fully two heads shorter than him.
Then, as she verified the fit of the rest of the clothes, she spoke offhandedly. “So, I wish to travel with you. May I?”
She smiled but did not seem to flatter. If she’d tried to flatter him, Lawrence felt there might have been reason to refuse her, but she simply smiled happily.
Lawrence sighed.
She didn’t seem to be a thief, at least. He couldn’t let his guard down, but it wouldn’t hurt to let her come along. And sending her away would only make the constant loneliness harder to bear.
“This must be some kind of fate. Very well,” Lawrence said.
Holo did not appear especially overjoyed—she merely smiled.
“You’ll have to earn your keep, though. The life of a merchant isn’t easy. I expect the god of abundant harvests to bring an abundant harvest to my coin purse.”
“I’m not so shameless as to thoughtlessly freeload. I’m Holo the Wisewolf, and I have my pride,” said Holo sullenly. Lawrence was not so blind as to think she wasn’t making a show of childish indignation, though.
Sure enough, Holo chuckled. “Though this proud wolf made a bit of a spectacle of herself yesterday,” she said self-deprecatingly, as if her flustered demeanor reflected her true feelings. “In any case, it is good to meet you…err…”
“Lawrence. Kraft Lawrence. When I’m working I go by Lawrence.”
“Mm. Lawrence. I shall sing your praises for all eternity,” said Holo with chest thrust forward, her wolf ears pricking up proudly. She seemed oddly serious. It was difficult to tell if she was being childish or cunning. She was like the ever-changing mountain weather.
Apparently that ever-changing mood was part of her craftiness. Lawrence hastily revised his opinion and offered his hand from the wagon bed. It was the proof that he’d truly acknowledged her presence as a companion.
Holo smiled and took his hand.
Her hand was small and warm.
“At any rate, it will soon rain. We should make haste.”
“Wha...? You should have said so sooner!” exclaimed Lawrence—loudly enough to startle the horse. The previous night hadn’t brought so much as a hint of rain, but looking up at the sky he could indeed see clouds beginning to gather. Holo chuckled at him as he hurriedly made preparations to depart. She scampered on board the wagon, and it was obvious enough from the ease with which she rearranged the slept-in furs that she would be more handy than some fresh-faced apprentice child.
“The river is in a foul temper. ’Twould be best to cross a short distance from here.”
After Lawrence roused the horse, collected the bucket, and took the reins in hand, Holo joined him in the driver’s seat.
It was too big for one person, but slightly too small for two.
But to ward off the chill, too small was just right.
With the neigh of a horse, the pair’s strange travels had begun.
Chapter 2
The rain was a true downpour. The threatening storm finally caught up with Lawrence and Holo, but fortunately they caught sight of a church through their rain-blurred vision and hurried into it. Unlike the monastery, the church survived on tithes from travelers and pilgrims who would stay the night and pray for a safe journey, so Lawrence and Holo were greeted warmly, without so much as a single fell glance.
Nonetheless, a girl with wolf ears and a tail would hardly be allowed to walk into a church. Holo thus covered her head and face in a hood, and they spun the lie that she was Lawrence’s wife, whose fa
ce was badly burned.
He knew Holo was snickering to herself beneath the veil, but she understood her relationship with the Church, so her performance was good enough. That she had suffered many times at the hands of the Church was surely no lie.
Even if she weren’t a demon, but an animal incarnation, that was little distinction as far as the Church was concerned. To the Church, all spirits besides the god it worshipped were anathema, tools of evil.
But it was through the gates of that church that the two passed easily and rented a room, and when Lawrence returned to the room after attending to his soaked wagonload, he found Holo, naked to the waist and wringing out her hair. Water fell in great, undignified drops from her beautiful brown locks. The floor was already full of holes, so a little bit of water wouldn’t hurt—Lawrence was more concerned with the problem of averting his eyes.
“Ha-ha, the cool water soothes my burns, it does,” said Holo, indifferent to Lawrence.
Pleased by their lie or otherwise, Holo smiled. Brushing aside the hair that stuck to her face, she swept it up and back in a grand motion.
The boldness of the gesture was undeniably wolf like, and it was not hard to see that the wet hair, disarrayed as it was, resembled the stiff fur of a wolf.
“The furs will be all right, surely. They were good marten skins, and martens live in the mountains, mountains where my kind live as well.”
“Will they sell high?”
“I hardly know. I’m no fur merchant, am I?”
Lawrence nodded at the entirely reasonable answer, then began to disrobe and dry his own clothes.
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, remembering. “What shall we do with that wheat sheaf?”
He finished wringing out his shirt and was about to do the same with his trousers when he remembered Holo’s presence; he looked to her and discovered that she was now quite naked and wringing her own clothes free of water. Feeling somehow vexed, he ventured to strip nude and do the same.
“Mm, what do you mean, ‘what?’”
“I mean, shall we thresh it, or shall we leave it as it is? Assuming the talk of you residing in the wheat is true, that is.”
Lawrence was teasing Holo, but she only cracked a slight smile.
“As long as I live, the wheat will neither rot nor wither. But should it be burned, eaten, or ground into the soil, I will likely disappear. If it’s in the way, you could thresh it and keep it safe somewhere; that might be better.”
“I see. I’ll thresh it and put the grains in a pouch, then. You should hold it, right?”
“ ’Twould be a boon. Still better to hang it ’round my neck,” Holo said.
Forgetting himself for a moment, Lawrence glanced at Holo’s neckline, but hastily looked away.
“I’d hoped to sell some of it elsewhere, though. Could we set aside a bit for sale?” Lawrence asked after he’d calmed himself.
He heard a rustling, and turned to see that it was Holo’s tail waving wildly. The tail’s fur was very fine, and shed water readily. Lawrence frowned as his face was dampened by the flying drops, but Holo seemed not the least bit contrite.
“Most of the crops grew well because of the region. They’ll soon wither—that’s the point. No use taking them elsewhere.”
Holo looked thoughtfully at the clothes she’d finished wringing out, but as she had nothing else to change into, she put the wrinkled items back on.
Since they weren’t cheap like what Lawrence wore, they shed water well. Lawrence thought the situation rather unreasonable but said nothing and changed back into his own damp, wrinkled clothes, then nodded to Holo.
“Let’s go dry ourselves in the great room. With this rain, there should be plenty of other people gathering around the furnace.”
“Mm, a good idea, that,” said Holo, covering her head with the thin cloak. Once covered, she giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Heh, I would never have thought to cover up my face because of burns.”
“Oh? What would you have done?
“The burns would become part of me, just like my ears or tail. Proof of my uniqueness.”
Lawrence was somewhat impressed with her statement. Nonetheless he wondered uncharitably if she’d feel the same way if she were actually injured.
Holo interrupted his reverie.
“I know what you are thinking,” she said.
Underneath the cloak, she smiled mischievously. The right corner of her mouth curled up in a smirk, showing a sharp fang.
“Want to injure me and see for yourself?”
Lawrence was not entirely disinclined to respond to her provocation, but he decided that if he actually reacted and drew his dagger, things could really get out of hand.
It was possible that she meant it. More likely, though, it was just her mischief-loving nature.
“I’m a man. I could never injure such a beautiful face.”
Hearing him say so, Holo smiled as if having received a long-anticipated gift and drew playfully near to him. A sweet scent swirled vaguely around him, rousing Lawrence’s body. Completely indifferent to his reaction, she sniffed him, then drew slightly back.
“You may have been caught in the rain, but you still smell foul. A wolf can tell these things.”
“Why, you—”
Lawrence threw a half-serious punch, but Holo moved adroitly aside and he hit only hair. She laughed, cocking her head and continuing.
“Even a wolf knows to keep its coat clean. You’re a good man, aye, but you need to keep neat.”
He didn’t know whether she was joking or not, but hearing it from a girl like Holo made it impossible to deny. For as long as he could remember, Lawrence maintained his appearance only insofar as it would help his professional negotiation, with no thought given to whether it would appeal to a woman.
Had his negotiation partner been a woman, he might have taken the trouble, but unfortunately, he had not once met a female merchant.
He didn’t know how to answer, so he simply turned around and fell silent.
“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 gen
erous 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.”