A dead friend was dead forever. But a living one existed only in the here and now.
“Fool,” she whispered, though it was by no means clear to whom. Perhaps both to herself and to Lawrence alike.
“Quite right,” said Lawrence. “So, the next thing to do is…?”
Holo’s voice caught in her throat.
She had not left Col alone in the storeroom simply because they had found only landscapes he recognized and none that she knew. Given Col’s disposition, if they were unable to find any paintings of Holo’s homeland, he would just keep looking.
And the more he looked, the heavier the weight of not finding anything became. Holo had not exactly taken her frustration out on him, but back in the storeroom, just how bad was Col feeling?
“I’ll go apologize,” said Holo.
“You do that,” said Lawrence paternally, and Holo broke free from his embrace and grinned a toothy grin.
Time could not be turned back and the correct choice was never obvious, so one had to try to enjoy the present, at least.
That was all Lawrence could say. The rest was up to Holo, he thought as he reopened the book.
“Miss Fran Vonely has returned.”
Before standing, Lawrence lightly tapped Holo’s knee. He looked back—she was wearing a bright smile, which was more than a little suspicious.
From behind Hugues, who was no doubt unused to having such a smile directed at him by a wolf so nearby, appeared a young girl.
She was not much taller than Col, which put her at about Holo’s height.
It was her appearance that made Lawrence’s face pale despite himself. She did not have Holo’s ears, nor horns like Huskins had. She was just a normal girl—if you ignored the color of her skin and her eyes.
“Is this the merchant who called after me?” Her voice was beautiful and clear and spoke of a good upbringing.
There are many forms of beauty in the world, but Lawrence had never before seen the sort that Fran possessed. Her hair and eyes were jet-black, and she had the dark brown skin common in the desert lands of the south. Hers was a bewitching beauty; she had a mysterious charm to her, the power of all who survived in the hellish deserts. It felt as though she would not quail, even if Holo took her wolf form then and there.
Lawrence swallowed and then finally managed to speak. “I am Kraft Lawrence.”
Fran Vonely smiled and gave a slow nod. She introduced herself. “I am Fran Vonely.”
“Shall we sit?” said the considerate Hugues, and Lawrence and company all took a seat.
Col clung to Holo’s clothing before finally managing to sit, seemingly dazed by Fran’s mysterious quality.
“So, what is it that you wished to ask me about?”
The people of the desert spoke a very different language, but Fran’s words were well practiced. Her pronunciation was careful and precise, and her education must have been a costly one.
They were said to be a difficult people, but perhaps such worries were unfounded, Lawrence thought behind his merchant’s smile. He told her his business. “Yes. We’re journeying in search of a certain place in the northlands. All we know is the ancient name of the place. We’ve heard that you’re very well-versed in the old tales, which is what brought us to visit this company.”
Fran’s face was serious as she listened to Lawrence. “And what is the name of the place?”
“Yoitsu.”
Fran narrowed her eyes at Lawrence’s answer. “That’s the old name of a rather remote area.”
“So you’re familiar with it?” Lawrence asked with emotion that was half-act, half-genuine. Fran was unmoved, like some stoic seer.
“I am aware of it, but few are able to draw maps of the north, making them extremely precious.”
“We would compensate you properly.” The moment Lawrence said it, Holo’s foot came down upon his, but it was too late.
Perhaps Holo had seen through to Fran’s true nature.
“Properly?” said Fran, surprised. Standing behind the chair in which Fran sat, Hugues covered his eyes. “In that case, fifty lumione ought to suffice.”
Hers was the attitude of an artisan inexperienced in the ways of negotiation. Lawrence asked himself if he had let his guard down so badly, but even if he had, there was no going back now. There was no way he was going to pay fifty lumione for a single map.
It was such a basic technique that it bordered on child’s play. Lawrence found himself at a loss for words, both because of his own foolishness and because of Fran’s unexpected boldness. But Holo was standing right there, so he had to say something. He was just about to when Fran’s clear voice rang out again.
“However, given the circumstances, I suppose I wouldn’t mind doing it for free.”
“Huh?” Lawrence could not help but let his mask slip completely, and he could feel Holo slump in annoyance.
It was hard to fix a cog once it had gone askew.
But it was not the foolish Lawrence to whom Fran directed her words. It was Holo. “I notice you’re dressed as a nun.”
“…My name is Holo.” Even Holo seemed surprised to be addressed, and she replied only after a short pause.
“Miss Holo, is it? Pleased to meet you. I am Fran Vonely.”
Holo, who called herself the wisewolf, was a calm huntress and never let excitement get the better of her during a hunt. “Have you something for me?”
“Yes. If you’re a nun, then I would ask a favor of you.”
It was Hugues who seemed flustered at these words, probably because he had realized Fran’s aim. He took a breath and seemed about to protest, but Fran raised her hand and silenced him. She was a prickly artist, indeed. The very image of one.
“So long as it’s in my power.”
Fran cocked her head rather than smiling. “It’s not so very difficult a thing. Miss Holo, Mr. Lawrence, and…”
“Ah, er—Col! My name’s Col.”
She nodded at Col. “Mr. Col, then.” Just what would she have them do? “With the three of you, it should be fine.”
Hugues looked at Lawrence with a desperate look that said, “Stop!”
Fran spoke. “I’d like your help in Taussig.”
“…Is that…?”
“Yes. I suppose you’ve heard from Mr. Hugues? It’s the reason I’m in this town. I would ask your assistance in learning more about the village’s legend.”
Lawrence was underwhelmed. It seemed so simple a thing. But from Hugues’s nervousness, it was not as simple as it sounded.
Despite his failure moments earlier, Lawrence prepared himself for the irritation he would earn from Fran when he begged more time to consider. But it was Holo who skipped past that entirely.
“And you’ll draw us a map if we assist you?” she asked.
“Yes. So long as you’ll gather information and verify its truth.”
Lawrence was not unaware of the reason for Holo’s smile. Fran was a clever girl—more than clever enough to inflame Holo’s love of competition.
Normally she would have laughed off such a vague request as “gather information and verify its truth,” demanding a clearer request. Depending on the circumstances, she was not above arm-twisting.
And yet without asking even one more question, Holo simply nodded. “It’s a promise, then.”
“My thanks.” Fran bowed her head, standing after she looked back up. She faced Hugues, who had tried so hard to get a word in and hold her up. “And the preparations for departure?”
“Ah, th-they’re all finished.”
“Very well. We’ll leave tomorrow. Mr. Lawrence, you can handle a wagon?”
Lawrence nodded, and though Fran seemed ready to continue speaking, he headed her off in a final effort to save some small amount of face. “Tomorrow should be fine.”
At this, Fran smiled faintly. Perhaps she found Lawrence’s attempt to puff himself up amusing. Her smile was that of an innocent maiden. Lawrence again regretted his misstep. It was surprisin
gly easy to manipulate an innocently and honestly stubborn person. What was truly difficult was someone who knew how to use her smile, which was why Lawrence was constantly burning his hands when dealing with Holo.
Had he known he would be facing someone who could deploy a smile like that at will, Lawrence would have prepared better. He had been too hasty in embracing the impression of her that Kieman and Hugues had given him.
“Mr. Hugues,” said Fran, causing Hugues’s round body to stiffen straight. “I’ll take my dinner in my room. I have preparations to attend to.”
“V-very well. Ah, er, but…”
“But?” She used the same smile Holo so often favored.
Hugues fell silent and swallowed. He nodded obediently.
“Please explain the details to Miss Holo and her company, if you will,” said Fran, and then she took her leave.
The tail next to Lawrence was puffed up, but the smile was a pleasant one, which was all the more alarming.
Lawrence attempted to at least avoid the mistake of trying to make an excuse. “I’m sorry.”
“Fool,” said Holo, not so much as looking at him.
Col cringed away as though trying to let sleeping gods lie, and Holo, still smiling, made no move to speak further.
Perhaps feeling the awkwardness, it was Hugues who finally raised his voice. “I’ve suffered my share at her boldness and unyielding smile, too. She is a stubborn, obstinate silversmith. I chased her in town, across fields, and into the mountains, finally saving her from an accident before she would finally speak to me. So…you are fortunate she was even willing to deal with you, even on the vaguest of terms.”
These last words were directed at Holo.
Holo nodded decisively, finally wiping the eerie smile from her face.
“Er, so…Is there something important in Taussig?” Lawrence asked after recovering his composure.
Hugues merely shook his head. “It’s just a village like any other.”
“So why, then?”
Hugues looked down briefly, then back up, as though peering over spectacles. “Their legend of the forest and lake isn’t so special a thing. It’s said that once an angel walked alongside the river that flows from the lake, then leapt up a waterfall to a golden door that opened along with the sound of a heavenly beast’s cry.”
It did indeed sound like the sort of legend one could hear anywhere. But Hugues continued.
“In addition to that, there’s another story like that.”
“Another one?” Lawrence asked, at which Hugues nodded and began to explain, a certain tone of exhaustion in his voice.
“I suppose you could call it a witch legend. I don’t know the details myself, but I hear it’s rather famous upriver around Lenos. Evidently there’s a legend that a nun also said to be a witch came to Taussig and settled there, or perhaps it’s closer to a rumor. The lord of Taussig is loyal to the Church, so of course they all strongly deny that there’s a witch there, but…”
“Ah, I see. And because of that, the villagers there are extremely suspicious of outsiders, right?”
Hugues nodded. “The reason Fran asked you along, Mr. Lawrence, is because she knows full well that no one there will so much as speak to her if she goes alone. If nothing else, her ethnicity is very uncommon in this area.”
Hugues had lived longer than any human, so Lawrence certainly understood why he would say so. Lawrence, too, had only rarely seen people with brown skin like Fran’s.
“Is she from the desert?”
“That is the story. But she’s had no parents as long as she can remember and claims to have been raised by a wealthy money changer in the duchy of Laondirre. I have little sense of how she then came to be a silversmith. She’s joked about being a slave, but given her attitudes, I wonder how much of that is a joke…”
Lawrence understood Hugues’s uneasy smile. Given Fran’s diction, anyone would come to a certain conclusion about her background. Of course, slaves could be treated very differently depending on their master, and she might have been bought into a kind and wealthy household—or just as easily adopted into the family but treated cruelly.
There were places where this matched what he had been told by Kieman, and even if not everything lined up, there was at least a certain amount of truth to it.
“She’s certainly got pluck.”
“Yes. Sometimes I think she must be from a line of warriors somewhere, but…in any case, she has many secrets. Oh, and please keep this—”
“—A secret, of course.”
Hugues nodded, and Lawrence returned to the topic at hand.
“Mr. Hugues, you seemed a bit apprehensive—do you think the village will be dangerous?”
Villages were often less welcoming than one might think for a variety of reasons. If they were situated in a place where few traveled, that alone was enough to make outsiders seem suspicious. If it was the sort of place where rumors of a witch would circulate, they might well start to wonder if every visitor had some secret agenda.
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. They’re not a place of business. The villagers rarely visit the town, and townspeople go there even less often than that. Frankly, they’re like a jar of food where you’ve forgotten what you put in it and when.”
It was an apt metaphor. One would hesitate to open such a jar for fear of what might come out.
“Oh, do you suppose there’s anything there that would be dangerous even with me along?” It was Holo whose quip cut through the atmosphere of heavy tension between Lawrence and Hugues.
Lawrence met Hugues’s eyes. The two were surely thinking the same thing.
“If you say so, it matters little what we might say, but…,” said Lawrence.
“Then I care not. In exchange for fifty gold pieces, she gets to use us as she pleases. Such nerve!” It would have been better if Holo were angry, but she spoke with a smile, so Lawrence’s hands were tied. “And that fool’s even knowledgeable about the northlands that have you all so intimidated. Is it not just as old man Huskins said?”
It was indeed.
“’Tis true that he who chases two hares catches neither, but no matter how many interesting things are stored in that head of hers, it’s still just one head. So if we do not bite it here, when will we?”
It was a lively speech. And yet Holo was not one to say such things lightly. She only did so because she had faith in her comrades to be trustworthy enough to correct her, to challenge her. That was the feeling Lawrence got, looking at Holo’s invincible smile.
Which meant he had no reason to disagree.
“So, that’s the way of it. Ah, and Hugues, was it?”
“Y-yes?” He straightened at Holo’s address.
Holo grinned at the stiff Hugues. “If we should end up angering that fool such that she never trades here again…” It was unlikely, but not impossible, and would be a crushing blow to Hugues’s business.
What was Holo going to say? All eyes were on her as she continued in a casual tone, “…Aye, should that happen…I’ll apologize.”
Hugues was a well-traveled art seller. His forced smile shifted to a genuine one, and he slapped his large belly. “Ah, just like a wolf!”
“Mm.” Holo’s deliberate little performance.
And yet something about the unlikely friendship between sheep and wolf struck Lawrence as miraculous.
The next day, Lawrence and company found themselves swaying in the Hugues Company’s wagon, heading north along the road to the village of Taussig. In the wagon bed was a mountain of provisions: bread and meat, garlic and onions, wine, salt, firewood, and blankets.
Lawrence sat in the driver’s seat of the wagon, holding the reins, with Holo and Col snuggled in what space remained in the bed. Fran, who knew the way to the village, rode on a horse of her own.
It had not been particularly long since the last time he had driven a wagon, but somehow driving someone else’s wagon made Lawrence uneasy.
“Just
who…does that little fool…think she is?” Holo finally said, only getting the words out with some difficulty since her mouth was otherwise occupied.
“That delicious, is it?” asked Lawrence with a resigned sigh as he looked over his shoulder, which made Col flinch in alarm as he sat next to Holo. Normally he only ate what he was given, but he had finally been bold enough to reach into the sack for a second piece.
“Not you, Col. That’s only your second piece, right? The one next to you is on her sixth.” Lawrence pointed deliberately at Holo, and Col looked dubiously back and forth between Lawrence and the sack, finally nodding.
They were delicious enough to make a captive even of Col, who was the very image of honorable poverty. The leavened rolls had been made with plenty of rich butter.
Holo noisily tore a chunk off a roll, wolfing it down before popping the remainder in her mouth. As her mouth opened and closed in the process, her breath escaped into the cold air in white puffs.
Not even Col could resist the temptation of fresh-baked bread in a chilly wagon bed.
Lawrence got a piece himself but had eaten no more for fear that he might get used to such food and never return to the traveler’s life.
“If it gets us so much of this sort of bread, you ought to become an artist yourself!” declared Holo.
“I can sketch simple pictures of goods…and drawings of my future shop, I suppose. I showed you, didn’t I?” He was referring to the days when he’d driven his wagon alone, passing his days by scavenging every copper coin that had been dropped in the darkness. Every time he earned a healthy profit, he would spread out some paper and draw the facade of the shop he hoped to one day own.
“Mm…I suppose.”
Lawrence’s dream had been postponed while he journeyed with Holo.
Holo drew her chin in and moved closer to the driver’s seat. She shoved a roll in Lawrence’s mouth. She seemed neither apologetic nor pained.
Lawrence bit into the bread with a smile. The conversation was only possible because they understood each other so well.