Immediately after saying so, he was the one who ended up surprised.
Holo grinned and brought her wine cup to her mouth, but then twitched in surprise.
If she had been acting, then Lawrence would have lost their little game—but Holo was genuinely shocked.
Her eyes moved away, realizing that she could not hide that she had been taken by surprise. She bit her lip and glared at Lawrence.
“I’m even more surprised than you are,” said Lawrence by way of excuse.
At this, Holo’s brow furrowed, and she took a deep breath. After a good interval, she heaved a wine-scented sigh.
“And this is why such fools as you are…,” she muttered, gulping down what wine remained.
Lawrence should have had the advantage, but for some reason, he waited for Holo to speak again, like a child expecting to be scolded.
“I don’t care what sort of face you make, I’m not saying. I do not wish to,” she said, and she looked away sullenly.
Her angry yet childish demeanor had to be on purpose.
She might have been trying to lead him into a trap or simply trying to buy time in order to regroup.
As Lawrence pondered which it was, Holo’s ears and tail became vital indicators.
Just as hunters and trappers communicated with smoke signals, Lawrence translated the subtle movements of Holo’s appendages.
She was trying to hide her embarrassment—or something like that. “Ah,” he couldn’t help but say the moment he realized it.
“If you say another word, I truly will be angry,” Holo said, still looking away, her eyes shut.
Lawrence agonized over whether to laugh or not, finally bringing his wine cup to his lips as a diversion—that was as much of a conclusion as he could come to.
Holo knew about the narwhal.
If so, she must also be aware of the legends and rumors surrounding it—that its flesh conferred long life and medicine made from its horn cured any illness.
Then it was all Lawrence could do to think back on the events of his travels with Holo thus far.
What was it that her long life had led her to fear above all else?
And yet even Holo could not have known everything at the time of her birth. She must have been a stubborn child at some point herself—must have run around like a fool at least once or twice in her life.
Even now, if she could make a wish, surely it would be this: to somehow bridge the great difference in their ages.
“…I thought you’d realized and were merely pretending not to know for my sake—more the fool me, I suppose.”
She seemed to have concluded from Lawrence’s expression that he had finally caught up. She spoke as though at a loss for anything else and again brought her wine to her lips.
Lawrence was relieved to see that she seemed neither sad nor on the verge of tears, because it showed that even stricken by a mistake made in the distant past, her face could still smile.
“No…to be completely honest, I thought you were completely ignorant about such things. I never guessed you’d know about the legend.”
The stories of immortality or omnipotent cures were surely only of interest to humans, after all. He had never guessed they would be of any concern to Holo and the rest of her kind.
“Fool…” Holo roughly wiped away a bit of wine that clung to the corner of her mouth with her sleeve and then fell forward on the table as if exhausted.
Given how tightly her hand held her cup, though, it might simply have been intoxication.
“So you once pursued a narwhal?” Lawrence asked, and Holo nodded.
It had to have been centuries ago.
“Though ’tis true that at the time I was an ignorant pup, I believed I could change everything about the world I found distasteful. When I hated being rescued or relied upon, I would journey, and when I had no friends, I would make them. I believed such pleasant times would last forever,” she reflected, sounding vaguely amused, still lying on the table as she fingered some of the beans that had spilled off the plate.
Even now, Holo held back from being truly honest. If this was how she ended up after weathering such ages of wind and rain, then she must truly have been even sharper in her younger days.
“Still, I cried a lot as well, for all my bluster. You’d probably have liked it.”
Holo grinned and moved her eyes to focus on Lawrence.
She flicked beans at him, which he could only respond to by making a face and retreating into his wine.
“Heh…but, aye. The more painful the memories one recollects, the better the laughter.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Lawrence had laughed to himself while driving his cart many times, lost in reflection over his past failures.
But that was not something he wanted to do too often, and the reason was clear—he had lacked someone with whom to share those memories. And yet he immediately realized such thoughts had no place in his mind.
Across the table, the keen-eyed wolf regarded him and smiled.
“But now I have you,” she said without a trace of embarrassment, and he could only respond by flicking a bean back at her.
“You have Col, too.”
“I cannot talk like this with Col. The lad—he’s the weight stone that reminds me I am a wisewolf.”
What did she mean by that? Lawrence’s finger froze preflick as he thought it over.
Col was from a village in the mountains of the north. He viewed Holo as the protagonist of an ongoing legend.
Which meant there could be only one reason why she would regard him as a weight.
Her finger suddenly flicked at where Lawrence’s finger lay.
“Col worships me as a wisewolf. He was foolish enough to want to touch my tail the moment he saw it. It’s been centuries since such a thing has happened to me. It reminded me of long ago and made me happy…He’s a good lad, and he reminds me that I am a wisewolf.”
Holo’s index finger curled around Lawrence’s where the two touched.
“It’s true, you have been easier to get along with recently.”
“Heh. I’ve no excuse.”
If Holo was to be taken at her word, Col’s worship of her as a wisewolf had reminded her that she was a wisewolf. And as for why that would be, the answer was obvious.
It was Holo the Wisewolf who was worthy of the forest of Yoitsu, not some idle girl whiling away her time with a traveling merchant.
“Still,” Lawrence said after a certain amount of wordless finger play between the two of them. “For you to keep that from me, after haranguing me so much over consulting you before deciding what to do…”
How many troubles had arisen from each of them keeping their hearts secret from the other?
It pained him to have to say this, of course, but Holo answered without rancor. “If I discuss matters of business openly, my own gain will be less, will it not?” If she had not said it with such a mischievous smile, it would have been hard to accept with even the most rueful of grins.
Holo sat up and stretched, her ears flicking.
Both of them knew how important it was that they not grow too close. And yet that very awareness meant the opposite was happening—Lawrence had kicked the rule aside himself before.
Even Holo must have kicked at the stones along the path of her long, long life once or twice.
And yet none of that changed reality.
Holo had called Col a weight that anchored her belief in herself as a wisewolf, and she surely was not exaggerating. While it might be amusing for her to use the boy to tease Lawrence, she also did this out of self-defense—to make sure she never crossed the line. To hide the awful reality she understood but could do nothing about. As an excuse.
“Aye, we’re all greedy, always running about in service of our own gain.”
“On that count, I’m forced to agree. Of course…,” said Lawrence with a trace of irony. “…Of course, if I weren’t so greedy, I’d be able to buy you tastier food.”
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Holo laughed, tickled at the joke, then stood from the chair.
Her face was red, so she was probably too warm. As he had guessed, she opened the window slightly and narrowed her eyes in pleasure at the cool breeze.
“Mm. But is seeing my pleasure not in your interests as well?” Holo closed her eyes as the cool air caressed her cheek, looking like a purring cat. She then opened a single eye and regarded Lawrence with it.
Her movements were so perfectly performed it was as if she was watching herself in a mirror.
“If you were truly so easily bribed by food, then that might be so.”
Holo closed her eye again at the counterattack.
Her ability to repeat a gesture she had made just seconds earlier, this time seeming to sulk, was amazing.
A few moments later, Holo was every bit the arrogant noblewoman. “And what other methods could you use?”
Lawrence remembered when a village with which he had once traded asked him to sell the wine barrels they produced to a nearby abbey that possessed a large vineyard.
The abbot there was a proud and stingy man, making all sorts of demands of Lawrence, who had to work very hard indeed to complete the sale.
Being a member of a wealthy abbey, the abbot surely felt himself closer to God than Lawrence and thus privileged to look down upon him.
Yet the wisewolf before Lawrence’s very eyes hated being treated as the god she was—so why would she affect such haughtiness?
The abbot cared little for the losses of those who sold to him and was concerned only with his own profits.
So given that the starting conditions here were the opposite of that, then the conclusion was likewise the opposite.
Lawrence said what she wanted him to say.
“If food is out, then with words or manners.”
“Neither of which is so very reliable in your case.”
He had become so used to her malicious, fanged grin that it had even more charm than a normal smile. And if neither his words nor his manner could be trusted, there was only one option that remained.
In order to fully display its truth, Lawrence had to stand up from his chair.
Or perhaps remaining seated in order to avoid fleeing from Holo was the better option.
Both had their charms, Lawrence knew. He took a drink of his wine and replied.
“Or you could imagine you’ve been deceived and decide to trust both. They might well turn out to be genuine.”
“…”
The words of Eve, wolf of the Roam River, worked to marvelous effect.
Holo glared at Lawrence out of the corner of her eye, her tail twitching in irritation. She had no means to counterattack.
It felt good to have, for once, the upper hand in their banter—better even than when he had teased the shop boy at the tailor’s shop. Defeat turned the mightiest eagle into a pathetic chicken, and likewise, victory made the most timid mouse into a bold wolf.
Yet trueborn wolves were ever cunning.
“That is not what I meant to say,” she said angrily, her expression lonely.
Where playful banter was meant to be a battle of logic and intimation, Holo’s weapons were unfair.
If their exchange thus far was akin to a business negotiation, then what Holo had just employed had the power to transcend that.
So what was it that surpassed proper negotiation?
There in front of that window, Lawrence had said something unnecessary. “We have to be ready to run.”
Holo’s gaze was directed out the window, but her ears were pointed at him.
She did not bother giving voice to her frustration.
It was absurd to even think of winning against her.
“How about treating the loser kindly once in a while?” Lawrence stood and walked over to her. Having delivered his statement beside her, he then sat on the windowsill.
Holo chuckled soundlessly, then sat on his lap.
“The victor can say nothing to the loser.”
“Saying as much while always having your way, you must really fear nothing.”
Her ears brushed his cheeks, making him ticklish, as she leaned into him. This wisewolf certainly was full of excuses.
“Still, I suppose I can trust you at least a bit.”
“Oh? Merchants may well seem sincere as they bow down, but inside they’re sticking their tongues out.”
Lawrence had to admit the words felt rather artificial, but in any case Holo gave him no quarter.
“’Tis true, men and beasts alike stick their tongues out when defeated.”
“Guh…” Frustrating though it was, he had nothing with which to reply, so he slumped back against the windowsill.
Holo chuckled and spoke slowly. “But ’tis also true that neither you nor I are alone when defeated.”
Given the events of the day, her words were heavy with meaning. Lawrence drew Holo into an embrace and replied, “I’ll remember that.”
Holo’s tail swished, and she nodded slightly.
In that quiet moment, the loudest sound was that of Col’s intoxicated snoring.
Remembering that Holo was every bit a wisewolf was effective when it came to avoiding shortsightedness, but whether or not that was a good or bad thing, Lawrence did not know.
At the very least, it certainly acted as an effective counterweight, protecting the delicate balance of the scales.
Holo smiled, her eyes closed; perhaps she was thinking the same thing.
Lawrence put his arms around her to more closely embrace her small body, and in that moment—
“Mmph,” she muttered, sounding irritated as she looked up suddenly.
“Wh…what’s wrong?”
Lawrence tried to keep his calm, but sweat broke out on his brow nonetheless.
Holo certainly noticed as much and grinned, her tail wagging. She then slowly rose, her ears busily rotating this way and that.
The reason for her suddenly darkened expression was soon clear.
“My. I suppose one’s premonitions are not so easily discounted.”
Lawrence quickly understood to what her words referred.
Holo directed her gaze out the window, and Lawrence did likewise.
“See, there’s the master of that poor shop. What was his name again…?”
“Reynolds, eh?”
Lawrence spotted the hurrying form of a portly man in a too-small coat, trying to keep his distance from the drunkards as he made his way down the street. The way he hewed to the edge of the street while looking closely at everyone around him was obviously unnatural.
“’Tis a good opportunity for you to prove the courage of your convictions.”
Spending no time wondering why Reynolds had come to the inn, Lawrence spoke into Holo’s ear before she stood. “Make sure you pretend you’re asleep.”
Holo was acting like a child, but her nasty smile made it clear she was deeply pleased. “While sticking my tongue out, eh?”
Putting many meanings into a single word was her specialty.
Lawrence knew that no matter how he answered, he would be trapped, so he brushed her tail roughly aside as his only reply.
While the fewer people who knew about it made a secret more secure, it was another story entirely when one of the privy parties showed up himself for a secret late-night meeting.
It was the antithesis of Eve and Kieman’s approach of sending others to contact Lawrence.
“Apologies for the late hour.” Despite the cold, Reynolds’s paunch made his breath run ragged and forehead sweaty, although some of that could be ascribed to nervousness.
His voice was low, but not out of consideration for Holo and Col, who were curled up together on the bed, sleeping.
“Shall we speak outside?” Lawrence asked, but Reynolds glanced over his shoulder at this, then looked back and shook this head. It was very like a town merchant not to want to speak of secrets out in the open.
By contrast, a traveling merchant preferred to
have sensitive conversations out in a wide field or on a lonely road where a simple look was all it took to confirm that no one was listening. Indoors, there was no way to know who had his ear pressed to the wall in the next room over.
“Some wine?” Lawrence asked, gesturing to a chair.
Reynolds shook his head briefly but then reconsidered. “Perhaps just a bit. When I see that you’re not drunk, Mr. Lawrence, it makes me think that coming here wasn’t a waste of my time.”
A traveler’s room at an inn was not lavish enough to properly entertain a guest. Lawrence poured some wine into the cup Col had used and offered it to Reynolds, who smiled ingratiatingly.
“You’re here about the narwhal…correct?”
For Reynolds to come all the way out to the inn at this hour, he must have concluded that Lawrence knew about it.
Lawrence had come to Reynolds’s shop bearing Eve’s introduction letter and asking about wolf bones—and anyone formidable enough to get such a letter from Eve would have had to know about the source of the commotion in Kerube.
At the same time, there was little point in asking how Reynolds had discovered where they were staying. Even Kieman, all the way across the river, had been able to uncover that much.
To a town merchant, the streets of their homes were like the strands of a spiderweb.
Lawrence mulled the situation over as he sat, and Reynolds nodded.
But now Reynolds was in the weaker position. “I haven’t the faintest notion of what’s happening. I was hoping that you, Mr. Lawrence, might know something.”
Lawrence had once heard a drunken merchant long ago say that a woman could look so different in candlelight than in the midday sun, one could hardly believe it was the same person—and it was true for merchants, too.
Reynolds was acting every bit the panicked owner of a sad little shop, but no matter how panicked he might have been, there was still no reason for him to come to the inn room of Lawrence, a mere traveling merchant. And certainly not at this hour.
Much was being omitted from Reynolds’s words.
“Unfortunately, I don’t know any details myself…”
“You’ve been to the Lydon Inn, haven’t you?”