Spice and Wolf, Vol. 14

  Copyright

  SPICE AND WOLF, Volume 14

  ISUNA HASEKURA

  Cover art by Jyuu Ayakura

  Translation by Paul Starr

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  OOKAMI TO KOSHINRYO Vol. 14

  © ISUNA HASEKURA 2010

  First published in Japan in 2010 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2015 by Yen Press, LLC

  Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First Yen On eBook Edition: April 2017

  Originally published in paperback in April 2015 by Yen On.

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  ISBN: 978-0-316-55915-7

  E3-20170310-JV-PC

  PROLOGUE

  “We need to talk.”

  So she had said, and immediately upon entering the room, he was entranced by the sight that greeted him.

  So lovely, he thought.

  She was sitting on the bed, gazing out the window. That was all.

  However, beautiful as it was, that was not to say it was simple. It was true that she had handsome features, and her brown skin gave her an exotic, foreign charm. But more than that, her profile had a clarity to it, like a crystal that had been polished round, until it was free of any edges.

  If humans were prone to locking horns, both giving and receiving injury as they pursued their passions, then the profile he saw seemed somehow far removed from all those tragedies.

  He spied a chair, and eased himself down onto it.

  She did not look at him, but waited until he was seated to speak. “In Lenos, there’s a dealer of goods named Philon.”

  Her words came suddenly, but he did not ask after her meaning. Something about that profile made such questions seem tactless.

  “At least, he appears to be a goods dealer. But behind the facade, he’s a supplier of mercenaries.” She finally looked at him. “If you and your companion give him my name, I am certain he will tell you something that will be of use to you.”

  “Should you—” he began slowly, as though not to destroy the delicate mood. “Should you really be telling me such things?”

  The mercenary world had its own rules. It was governed not by the merchant’s calculations of profit and loss, nor by the knight’s bonds of honor, but by principles that were elusive to all who did not live in that world. How would things go for a merchant who intruded upon it?

  At the very least, it might well cause problems for the one who was sitting on the bed.

  “He owes me that much,” she said with a smile, still sitting on said bed. She looked out the window again.

  He found himself thinking back to the nun who had lent them that battered old blanket when they had first set out, saying she no longer needed it.

  “Philon procures goods, as well as the merchant marine reckless enough to carry them, for mercenaries. If fighting has awoken in the northlands, he should at least know where the money is flowing and from whom.”

  Those who undertook bringing mercenaries necessary supplies were as important to them as their own hearts, and any fighter would surely try to hide them from outsiders as much as possible.

  Given that, the girl who had given him this crucial piece of information had clearly decided to make a break from her past. Her profile at rest still somehow looked to be smiling, and it was certain that she was facing forward.

  Perhaps that was why Lawrence chose his words carefully, if mischievously. “I thank you for this unexpected compensation.”

  The girl made an expression of surprise and turned to face him. A charmingly wry smile appeared on her face in turn. “I said nothing about this being compensation. I fully intend to fulfill my original promise, whatever your doubts.”

  Her words were compounded by a deliberate sigh of relief, then a laugh.

  It was an exchange that Lawrence could have scarcely imagined mere days earlier. She had been utterly single-minded in her search for that place, her ultimate goal. Now that she had found it, her ability to smile the way she did made Lawrence feel as though he were witnessing the very essence of salvation.

  “Still, given my state at the moment…,” she said, raising her right hand and looking very weak indeed.

  Through the hole of her sleeve Lawrence could see the bandages that were wrapped around her torso, and although it was difficult to notice, her cheeks were actually rather sunken.

  “So you’re saying it will take time?” Lawrence said.

  “No,” said the girl with a soft smile. “I’ve asked him to draw you the map in my place. I’m having the necessary materials collected. He’s a good artist, so he ought to be able to draw a map from dictation.”

  “You mean—”

  “Yes. He, too, traveled the land with his brushes.”

  Lawrence had no response, realizing that he had underestimated the man.

  This was the home of an art seller, and the topic of their conversation was its master. Lawrence had assumed that the man lacked the courage to take up the brush himself and had settled for collecting the works of others.

  But everyone has a past.

  “When I said I wanted him to draw the map in my stead, he was terribly enthusiastic about it. Of course”—she said, smiling a mischievous smile—“he may have been enthusiastic only about my request to be allowed to stay here whilst I earn traveling funds.”

  The girl was a crafter of silver goods whose quality put them in high demand among the worldly, wealthy, and powerful. Even Lawrence could not guess at how much her works might be worth.

  “I’m sure you’re in a hurry, so I’ll have the map sent to you as soon as it’s finished. If I used a messenger on a fast horse, it may well be delivered to you as soon as you arrive in Lenos.”

  It would take four or five days to reach Lenos by horse-drawn wagon. Not having to wait for the map to be completed would save a significant amount of time.

  “Thank you, so much.”

  She smiled pleasantly upon hearing the depth of his gratitude.

  In other circumstances, he would have moved on to pleasant idle chatter, but she was still recovering from her wounds, and though she looked well enough at the moment, he could tell she might push herself too far.

  He quietly indicated his intention to leave.

  She smiled a tired smile, sighing as she sank back down into the pillow behind her back. So she had been pushing herself. It seemed her reputation as the former chaplain of a mercenary band was not just talk.

  Lawrence opened the door behind him, stepped
through with a respectful bow, and softly closed it.

  “You heard her,” he said, facing forward as he strode down the hall.

  Beside him walked his traveling companion, who’d come up beside him with footfalls as silent as some forest creature.

  Her face was terribly sulky, as though she were deeply unamused with something. “Did I, then?”

  She hid neither her tone nor her displeasure, but even after he had thought about it for a bit, Lawrence hit upon no obvious reason for it. Was she merely jealous that he had spent time alone with someone else?

  As he was considering the absurd possibility, his traveling companion stopped in her tracks, and without waiting for him to turn around, she spoke. “I still can’t manage such a face.”

  Lawrence was not exactly surprised, but her words still struck him with some force. He backtracked the steps he had walked past her, then stroked her downturned head through her hood.

  “Worried your appeal is lessened by the demands you make?”

  The snap sound that followed was the sound of his hand narrowly avoiding being bitten. Her red-tinged amber eyes glared at him, sharp.

  “I am a merchant, and a merchant’s customers are never satisfied. If they were, they wouldn’t need anything from the merchant. It’d be the end of the business,” he countered.

  For that reason, Holo had a powerful desire to see Yoitsu. Merchants craved customers with powerful desires, and as such, she was a perfect match for him.

  Lawrence withdrew his hand, and she resumed walking sourly along. “Honest?” she said, clinging to his side.

  “You’d know whether or not it was a lie, wouldn’t you?” he asked tiredly, and her hood rustled unnaturally. Among her strands of hair, out from under the hood peeked tufts of dark fur—her pointed wolf’s ears.

  “I’ll believe you, just this once,” she said, haughty.

  “Is that so.”

  “Aye.”

  Neither could hide their laughter at the silly exchange.

  But just as laughing revealed the lines in one’s face, there was a shadow behind the conversation.

  Lawrence’s companion could not imitate Fran’s face—her serene expression of having truly left behind all the things that haunted her. But that lack was also how Lawrence could continue traveling with Holo.

  Yet was that only a momentary state of being? Or would it continue on, far into the future?

  When Holo’s desire was satisfied, Lawrence would have no further cause to stay with her, but nonetheless, he had no wish to see her eternally unfulfilled. If it were in his power to do so, he wished to make her smile.

  He knew his was a selfish hope, and he found his own all-too-clear wishes rather sickening.

  In any case, it was not the merchant way to give in to hardship. Problems were simply opportunities for a solution.

  They descended the stairs and walked down a hallway. “If we were to spice up our traveling rations a bit, what would you like?” Lawrence asked as he put his hand on the door to their room.

  He caught a glimpse of the smile he loved so dearly. He felt a little proud of himself for being able to bring it out.

  Without guilt or hesitation, his companion made clear her desire for the finest wheat bread and the clearest wine, and he could hardly fault her for it. She had not cut herself free from her past, nor did she likely intend to.

  The map he had been discussing only moments before would lead them right to that past. That same map would soon be in their hands, and they might well count on its accuracy. So it was that his companion’s tail was puffed pitiably up, in a mix of anticipation and dread.

  There was nothing he could do about her tail, so painfully bristled because of his words. Instead, he would try to fill her belly, and perhaps her tail would smooth itself in turn.

  Hoping as much, he continued the preparations for their travels, dodging his companion’s constant demands as he worked.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Their old blankets resembled nothing so much as tree bark, so they were replaced with fluffy new ones—likewise overcoats, mufflers, hats, and gloves. Next came the food: Wheat bread topped the list, with salted meat and fish, various vegetables, along with medicinal herbs. And of course wine: the finest grape wine that could be had.

  As Hugues busied himself with loading their wagon, he weathered Lawrence’s constant thanks with a bulwark of tired laughter.

  Five days had passed since the events surrounding Fran, the traveling artist and silversmith. Fran had been badly wounded in all the commotion, and it had been only the previous day that a life-threatening fever brought on by her wounds had finally broken.

  The promised map had yet to be drawn, but as soon as Fran regained consciousness and opened her eyes, she had summoned Lawrence to her room to discuss the matter. Hurrying her any further would have been a betrayal of trust.

  But that did not mean they could afford to tarry, and at Fran’s suggestion, Lawrence and Holo would set out again, rather than waiting for the map to be completed.

  With their eyes on Yoitsu, they would return temporarily to Lenos. It would be a convenient place to leave the wagon Lawrence had done so much business with, and more important, it was situated at a convenient entry point into the true northlands.

  They ought to have arrived by boat, but unfortunately no such option existed for their return. So it was that Lawrence found himself borrowing a wagon from Hugues. He had thought to carry something to Lenos on Hugues’s behalf to offset this favor, but Lawrence seemed to be the only one concerned with such trivialities.

  Merchants were largely a duty-bound group, and some of them took this far beyond profit and loss calculations. Hugues seemed to be the epitome of such folk and, despite Lawrence’s refusals, loaded one expensive piece of travel supply after another into the wagon. Lawrence did not feel free to suggest that he would pay for the use of the wagon, even as a joke. Holo was overjoyed, but from Lawrence’s perspective, the generosity was something of a burden.

  All debts had to be repaid, after all.

  It was fine while one was borrowing, but thinking about what would come after made him depressed, frankly.

  “Whew…well, this ought to do it,” said Hugues as he finished loading a sack of unrefined flour into the wagon.

  If Lawrence were to simply turn around and sell the gifts off, he could make a lot of money, although to Hugues it was probably no great sum. And in any case, Hugues seemed even happier than the delighted Holo in the wagon bed, so Lawrence made no move to stop him. It was rather amusing to see a sheep spirit like Hugues so busily aiding a wolf like Holo, but it was not as though this was none of Lawrence’s business.

  Holo immediately found some jerky and leaned back against a rolled-up blanket.

  Lawrence said another thank-you, and Hugues shook his head as though it were nothing. Then he drew close to Lawrence’s ear and whispered something Lawrence would not forget: “Given the coin value of how much I’ve made, I feel honestly bad that I’m only giving you this much.”

  There were no better words he could have spoken to make Lawrence feel better about the mountain of gifts. Hugues was obviously telling the truth, so all Lawrence had to do was happily accept his largesse.

  “I thank you,” said Lawrence one last time, taking Hugues’s hand.

  “Regarding the letter Miss Fran requested, when it’s finished, I’ll have it sent to you on a fast horse.” Then it would be delivered to the Beast and Fish Tail, a famous tavern with devotees as far away as Kerube. “Oh, and one more thing,” said Hugues, glancing at Holo in the wagon bed.

  Holo was idly gnawing away at her jerky as she gazed up at the clear sky and seemed not to be listening to them.

  “I’ll send it, as well.”

  That was Hugues’s long experience as an art seller coming into play. He was deliberately overdoing the gossipy whisper to increase the air of mystery.

  Even Col—who busied himself with picking up fallen vegetable leaves and w
ood chips and covering the wagon bed’s contents with a tarp—would find the sentiment rather baffling, to say nothing of Holo. But given her wisewolf’s pride, she would hardly venture to ask what they were talking about.

  Part of this was that such questions would stir up extra trouble for her, and at the moment, she was also pretending more demure modesty than usual. At the same time, this could be used against her when he actually did want to hide something from her.

  Hugues had only too readily taken advantage of that.

  “We’ll be off, then,” said Lawrence, after putting Col in the wagon bed and settling himself in the driver’s seat.

  He urged the horse on, and the familiar clatter of clopping hooves and rattling cartwheels filled the air.

  It was the merchant’s way to forego lengthy good-byes and drawn-out words of thanks. “Time is money,” went the saying, and anyway, it was best to make painful partings as short as possible. It was best to pull the arrow out of the wound quickly, after all.

  Hugues’s form would soon disappear into the crowds, and no doubt Fran’s barely visible hand in the inn’s window would likewise vanish. Lawrence heard the sound of the wistful, backward-facing Col sit down rather abruptly.

  Once they passed through its walls and emerged from within the town, it, too, would sink into the scenery.

  And before them was only the road.

  Lawrence slapped the reins across the horses’ hindquarters.

  They were chilled by the occasional gusts of wind from over the river’s surface.

  The sky was a leaden gray, and its color, reflected in the river, made both look frozen, only adding to the chill. On top of that, the air was exceedingly dry, and one could practically feel the moisture draining from one’s face.

  Long ago, Lawrence had thought his master’s habit of applying medicinal grease to his face in this season quite strange, but lately when he neglected his own health, flakes of skin soon appeared on his face.

  He had been working alone as a merchant for seven years—ever since setting out at the age of eighteen—and perhaps the fatigue was finally catching up with him.

  If so, so be it.

  The problem was, his companion, who neglected her own health far more than he did, seemed to consider such worries utterly irrelevant to her own lot.