Spice and Wolf, Vol. 6

  “Still, you should take into consideration that I feel this way because it was my dream for so long. If I were to get a shop, it wouldn’t be an unhappy thing.”

  Holo nodded slowly, but her face was confused as she replied, “Aye, I suppose…there was some misfortune.”

  “Yes…wait, what? Misfortune?” asked Lawrence at the word he failed to understand, whereupon Holo made a face as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Yes, was there not? You had a dream but cast it aside and came for me instead. It’s enough to make even the person who first said the words ‘he who chases two rabbits will catch neither’ throw their hands up in dismay.”

  Even as Lawrence realized his mouth was hanging open, he couldn’t manage to close it as he rotated his head toward her.

  No matter how many times he reconsidered it, Holo’s words pointed to but one fact.

  He had abandoned one rabbit in order to chase another but had failed to catch it.

  An unpleasant emotion boiled up in Lawrence’s mind, as though he’d dropped his coin purse.

  If this is a joke, I wish she would stop, he thought to himself, turning away. He then looked back at Holo and saw on her face an expression of sad concern, as though she was worried for Lawrence’s health.

  “Are you quite all right? Come now, take heart. After all, you haven’t gained a thing, have you?”

  Was it anger or sadness or something else entirely?

  The same instant Lawrence wondered if Holo was speaking another language, she curled the corners of her mouth up maliciously, her tongue peeking out between her lips.

  “Heh. In truth, have you even reached out to me? What a strange notion, to gain something without first reaching for it.”

  Lawrence had never wanted to dunk Holo underwater as much as he did that moment, mostly because she was looking at the face he least wanted others to see.

  Holo chuckled. “Though I suppose ’tis not as though such territory is marked with visible ropes. How you consider that is up to you,” she said, drawing nearer to Lawrence, nestling close to him as one wolf does to another.

  Her white breath puffed against the nape of his neck.

  He knew if he looked at her, he would be defeated.

  And by the time he realized that, he was defeated.

  “In the end, ’tis my wish that you not abandon your dream. And if you find owning a shop satisfying, you might next take an apprentice, might you not? ’Tis a rather profound thing, and you’ll never have a day of rest,” said Holo, snickering and pulling her face away.

  Lawrence wondered if this was how a fish felt after being stripped to the bone.

  No matter how he struggled, his situation could hardly improve.

  So as not to expose anything more unseemly than he already had, he took a deep breath, then exhaled.

  Holo laughed quietly as though enjoying the lingering moment.

  “Wait, have you ever taken an apprentice?” Lawrence’s voice was still slightly tense, but Holo overlooked it.

  “Hmm? Oh yes. I am Holo the Wisewolf, after all. Many wished to learn from me.”

  “Huh.”

  Forgetting about the conversation thus far, Lawrence found himself genuinely impressed.

  Whereupon Holo, possibly not expecting that, turned suddenly bashful.

  She may well have been exaggerating in a deliberate attempt to make up for her too-keen teasing. “Well, I do not know if you could quite properly call them ‘apprentices,’ though I’m sure they styled themselves as such. In any case, I was the greatest. If you wanted to receive my teachings, hmm. You’d have had to wait behind a hundred certainly.”

  Holo now spoke proudly in a complete about-face—but Lawrence found himself unable to laugh at her the way he usually would.

  When he thought about it, Holo was certainly worthy of such respect.

  But what made him feel such unease at the dignity she surely possessed were the many memories of her that came rising to his mind.

  He couldn’t reconcile this supposedly majestic being with the Holo he knew—who laughed, cried, and sulked.

  Holo’s expression shifted to a soft smile, and she took Lawrence’s hand. “Of course, you do not just seek my teachings; you would try to take my reins—a rare fool, indeed. You can’t hope to succeed, but there’s no mistaking that you wish to look into my eyes as an equal. I’ve been alone on the mountaintop for a long time. I’ve had quite enough of looking down on others.”

  It was a lonely thing being worshipped as a god.

  He remembered when they first met, and Holo had said that she had gone traveling to find a friend.

  Holo’s smile remained, though it was a bit lonely now. “Come now, you did come after me, did you not?”

  The words themselves were teasing, but paired with her lonely smile, he could hardly imagine they were meant that way.

  Lawrence couldn’t help the bitter smile that rose to his lips, which Holo made a sullen face at.

  When he put his arm around her shoulder and drew her near, he felt her sigh.

  He wondered if the note of satisfaction he detected in that sigh was just his imagination.

  “But now, I…,” she began, again turning her body so that her eyes looked directly up into his. “I truly, truly enjoy looking up at you thus.”

  There beside him, she looked for all the world like a fetching maiden with gaze upturned.

  Though he might become accustomed to their exchanges, this was one thing he could never get used to.

  “No doubt because the face you’re looking up to is a fool’s face indeed,” answered Lawrence with a wince, and the wolf girl clung to him in delight.

  Holo’s tail wagged, sending fleas jumping free, as though they couldn’t be expected to stay on such an appendage. It stands to reason, Lawrence thought to himself, a warmth rising in his chest. Holo smiled, her face pressed against him.

  Lawrence returned the smile. It was true—their exchanges were so foolish that if they were seen this way, even the most faithful apprentice would have a hard time calling him master.

  Lawrence murmured an excuse to himself—that if it was what Holo wanted, there was nothing else to be done.

  Suddenly there were signs of someone moving on the other side of the pile of cargo, and sure enough, there was Ragusa, strange lines pressed into his face, as though he’d used his arm as a pillow, and stretching hugely.

  He first looked at Lawrence, then cast his gaze at Holo, who leaned against Lawrence, sleeping. Ragusa grinned and yawned.

  When Lawrence looked ahead of the boat to where Ragusa pointed, he saw docks built up on both sides of the river. It was a tariff station, just like the ones that were unavoidable when crossing mountains and plains by wagon.

  There was still some distance to go before they reached it, but apparently Ragusa could doze off and still know from experience when to wake. It was said that sailors could orient themselves at sea not by using landmarks, but simply from the smell of the ocean. Perhaps Ragusa was like this as well. Ragusa thrust a pole into the river and cried out, causing the pleasantly sleeping Holo to twitch awake.

  “This is a checkpoint of the Diejin dukedom, which recently had a change of leadership. We’ll include the head count tax in your fare—apparently he’s mad about deer hunting, so taxes are high, my friend!”

  Lawrence replied that he didn’t see the connection between deer hunting and high taxes, and Ragusa laughed and answered, “The duke’s never seen the field of battle, yet he proclaims himself the finest shot in the world with a bow. In other words, he thinks he can’t but loose an arrow without hitting a deer.”

  While the hardships of retainers who had to hunt with the duke would be hidden, it would mean good work for the hunters in the region who hunted and killed the duke’s prey ahead of time.

  Lawrence couldn’t help but chuckle at what sprang to mind—a round-faced, ringlet-haired lord oblivious to the ways of the world and the laughingstock of
the town.

  “Ah,” said Lawrence. “It must be quite a burden on his household.”

  “On top of that, he’s dead set on capturing the heart of his chosen princess. Of course, there’s the rumor that he’s started realizing the truth about his own abilities.”

  For some reason, the most beloved lords were often the ones most ill spoken of—an ignorant, haughty ruler might be hated, but as soon as he said some absurd thing, his charm would increase. The lording business was a difficult one since lending a careful ear to one’s subjects and being serious and severe—these things did not guarantee success.

  Ragusa, too, made fun of the duke, but when it came time to pay the toll, he had it ready and was by no means reluctant to hand it over.

  Should war come to the land, it would be much easier for the laughingstock Duke Diejin to rally support than it would be for other lords. It was better by far to have the people feel it was their duty to join, rather than to be ordered to do so from on high.

  Lawrence suddenly realized that the notion had relevance to his own situation and looked at Holo, who was right beside him.

  “Have you something you wish to say?” she asked.

  “No, nothing.”

  Ragusa gradually slowed the craft, drawing close to another boat that was nearing the checkpoint’s dock.

  It didn’t take an experienced river hand like Ragusa to be able to tell that something was awry upon the docks.

  Someone was there, arguing with a soldier who was armed with a pike.

  It wasn’t clear what was being said, but it was obvious enough that both parties were shouting.

  The handler of the boat that was ahead of Ragusa’s also watched the situation, craning his neck to see.

  “Strange to see such quarreling,” said Ragusa mildly, shading his eyes with his hand.

  “Do you think there’s a complaint about the high toll?”

  “Doubtful. It’s only the ones coming from the sea that complain about the taxes. They have to pay for horses to pull their craft upstream, then pay cargo taxes on top of that.”

  Holo yawned, showing her fangs as she gazed at the scene, then Lawrence realized something strange.

  “But isn’t that true for both seagoing and river-going ships?” he asked, patting Holo’s head as she wiped the corners of her eyes on Lawrence’s clothes.

  Ragusa pulled the pole up and smiled broadly. “For those like us, who live by the river, the river is home. It’s only natural to pay rent for one’s home. But for the sailors of the ocean, it’s merely a road. It’s no wonder they’re angry—anyone would be angry if they had to pay simply to walk down the road.”

  Lawrence nodded his understanding, impressed at the different ways of thinking.

  And then, as they continued to move, the full scene came into view.

  It seemed that the people quarreling at the dock were a soldier carrying a long pike and a young boy.

  It was the boy who was shouting.

  He was breathing hard, and the breath came out of his mouth in great white puffs. “But the seal of the duke is right here!”

  His boyish voice might or might not have deepened yet.

  For that to even be in question, he was young, indeed.

  He looked to be perhaps twelve or thirteen. His unkempt grayish hair topped a face grimy with something—mud, perhaps—but filthy in any case. He was skinny enough that if he were to bump into the delicate Holo, it would be hard to know who’d fall over, and the tattered clothes he wore looked likely to fall apart the next time he sneezed.

  His ankles were thin, and he was shod in chilly sandals whose extreme wear was obvious at a glance. If it had been a bearded old man looking like this, the boy would have looked like the sort of hermit that collected the admiring gazes of pious types.

  The boy held a sheet of old paper in his right hand, glaring at the guard as he gasped for breath.

  “What is the matter?” asked Holo, annoyed that her midday nap had been disturbed.

  “I don’t know. Wait—shouldn’t you have been able to hear what they were shouting about?”

  Holo yawned. “Not even I can hear such things while napping.”

  “True enough. You can’t even hear your own snoring.”

  Holo immediately stomped mercilessly on Lawrence’s foot.

  His objection was cut off by the soldier, who had been quiet until now, shouting back at the boy. “It’s a fake, I tell you! If you don’t get yourself hence, we’ve got other ideas!”

  The soldier shifted the pike he held.

  Ragusa’s boat slowed still further, coming to a stop alongside the vessel that had been ahead of them, which had itself stopped just short of the dock.

  Said boat’s master appeared to know Ragusa, and after exchanging friendly greetings, they seemed to bow their heads a bit and have a discreet conversation.

  “Who’s that? The Lennon master’s apprentice?”

  Ragusa gestured with his chin to the master of a vessel that was already moored. The boatman’s hair was graying, and he seemed older than Ragusa and his friend.

  “If he were, he wouldn’t be aboard ship with such a worried face.”

  “Mm, true. Oh, could it be…?”

  As the two boatmen made light conversation, the boy on the dock trembled out of rage or cold and looked at the piece of paper he held.

  He then looked back up, as if unwilling to give up, but bit his lip at the spear tip that was pointed at him.

  He took a step back, then another, finally coming up to the edge of the dock.

  “Mind yourself, lad,” said the guard. “Now then, moving on to the toll…”

  At the guard’s words, the boatmen that had been watching the scene now each tended to their business.

  To a man, they were unimpressed, as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

  When Lawrence saw the red seal that had been impressed upon the paper the boy held, he understood what had happened.

  The boy had been cheated by a dishonest merchant.

  “He’s been swindled.”

  “Hmm?”

  The gray-haired boatman took his craft out, and another boat entered in its place, with Ragusa moving his own craft neatly alongside it.

  Lawrence matched the swaying of the boat as he spoke into Holo’s ear. “It happens sometimes. Forged tax exemption documents or fake demands of payment from a local lord. On a larger scale, tax collection authorization documents for this river have probably been caught.”

  “Hmm.”

  In most cases, such documents were probably sold at an amount far removed for how much they purported to bring in, but nonetheless, many buyers seemed to think they were real.

  “I feel a bit sorry for him,” said Holo.

  On the river, a line of boats was forming, all heading for the checkpoint.

  The guards at the checkpoint were busily scrambling to catch up with their duties after having been interrupted; behind them, the boy was now entirely forgotten.

  Just as Holo said, his figure invited sympathy, but while Lawrence could understand the boy’s position when he stopped to think about it, this was what happened when one let one’s self be cheated.

  “He’ll learn something from this,” said Lawrence.

  Holo’s gaze moved from the boy to Lawrence accusingly.

  “You think me unfeeling, do you?” he asked.

  “As I recall, when your own avarice caused you to stumble, you walked all over the city, desperate for aid.”

  Lawrence couldn’t help but be vexed by the comment, yet his merchant ethics were completely opposed to giving the boy so much as a single copper piece. “Perhaps, but I was still the one doing the walking.”

  “Honestly.”

  “I’m not so cold as to turn away someone asking for help. But trying to save someone who isn’t trying to save himself, well—it’s no way to be a merchant. If you’re going to do that, you may as well change into priests’ robes and head for the nearest
church.”

  Holo seemed to be thinking something over, as in spite of Lawrence’s words, she seemed to think the boy was still quite pitiful.

  Having worked thanklessly for centuries to ensure a village’s good harvest, Holo possessed a strong sense of duty in spite of herself.

  It was probably in her nature to want to help those who needed aid.

  But it was also a reality that once one started doing so much, there would be no end to it. The world was overflowing with people and their sorrows, but gods were too few.

  Lawrence adjusted the blanket around them. “So if he’ll stand up on his own, or else…”

  Holo may have been kindhearted, but she was not ignorant of the ways of the world.

  Feeling a reluctant sympathy for the boy, Lawrence looked in his direction, and in that moment found himself disbelieving not his eyes, but his ears.

  “Master!” echoed a high voice.

  The people in the area were all well used to hearing the loud conversations of the marketplace, and as a result, they could easily tell at whom the voice was directed.

  The boy got to his feet and dashed straight across the dock, heedless of the guard’s orders.

  He was heading, of course, in the same direction that his voice was directed.

  To Lawrence.

  “Master! It’s me! It’s me!” came the words from the boy’s mouth.

  “Wh…wha—?”

  “Oh, I’m so glad to see you! I had nothing to eat and was in a real jam! I must thank the gods for this good fortune!”

  There was not a speck of happiness in the boy’s face; his features were desperate.

  Lawrence looked back at him, stunned, frantically searching his supposedly keen merchant’s memory for the boy’s face.

  But all he could conclude was that he’d never known a boy that called him master, unless he was one of the children he had taught to earn their bread while on his travels.

  That’s when the realization hit him.

  This was a desperate gamble by the boy to save his own life.

  Lawrence had figured it out, but the guard figured it out a moment sooner and sent the boy tumbling down with the butt of his pike, forcing him to the ground as though planning to sew him to it. “You runt!”