Spice and Wolf, Vol. 14

  If a human was the child of something other than a human, it had to be God. Thus was the teaching that the Church spread, and even though Elsa was right there, Philon was speaking of such things as if they were common knowledge.

  Elsa made no indication of any concern.

  A man who made it his business to trade with mercenaries would have a keen grasp of what different sorts of people held dear.

  “Are you…?” began Philon, but then suddenly stopped. If she was born in the north, but had come from the south, with her birthplace unknown, then the chance that the secret of her birth was a happy one was exceedingly low. He must have realized that.

  “In any case, you’re headed to Kieschen, yes? Or will some of you remain here or maybe make for Tolkien?”

  “We plan to go to Kieschen. Would you tell us the way to Tolkien from there? Unless you think we’d be better served by asking once we arrive in Kieschen.”

  Philon waved his hand to suggest that would not be necessary. He then closed his eyes, scratched his chin with his quill pen, and spoke. “Between Kieschen and the Tolkien region there’s a path called the fur road. It’s a common enough name, but it’s the most important and profitable path for the fur trade in the area. It ought to be passable so long as it’s not snowed in. On the way, you’ll probably run into the territory of the Bruner mercenary band. I’ll write you an introduction letter. If anything happens, you’ll never find a more reliable band.”

  There was no way to tell whether Philon suddenly had sympathy for Holo’s birth circumstances or was trying to butter Lawrence up in order to get a look at Fran’s map. It was probably both, but there was no reason to refuse such a letter.

  “My thanks,” said Lawrence, since Holo seemed at a loss for words.

  What had been merely old memories and tales had accumulated and finally become a map. Now that it had a form, the rest was so simple.

  The path to Yoitsu was becoming clearer and clearer.

  Lawrence patted Holo’s back the way he would if she had had a bite of food stuck in her throat.

  “And the two there? One was from Pinu, as I recall.” Philon pointed at Elsa and Col with his quill pen.

  Col was completely incoherent, but Elsa was not the least concerned. “No, I have business with Le Roi,” she said in a cold and unwavering tone, straightening her posture.

  Philon blinked in surprise, then made a great show of clearing his throat before speaking again. “I’m quite confident that anything he can do, I can do as well.”

  “Is that so? In that case, I’d like to send a letter.”

  Philon seemed rather taken aback by Elsa’s lack of either surprise or levity. But he managed a feeble “Ah, certainly,” at which Elsa finally smiled, a bit at a loss herself.

  It seemed she had mastered an entirely different way of controlling men than Holo had. It was hard to say which was better.

  “I’ve pen and paper. If you can’t write, I’m happy to take your dictation.”

  “That won’t be necessary. But I’m sorry to say I have no money.”

  Philon again thrust his chest out in the face of her straightforward admission. Yet he could not back out now. “I’ll send the bill for the paper to Le Roi. That’s no problem at all.”

  Elsa looked evenly at Philon for a few moments. Then she gave a slow smile and said, “If you please.”

  Philon feigned ignorance at Le Roi, who was running around making preparations for the journey. In fact, on the other side of the ceiling sat a mountain of goods, but he had not the slightest intention of parting with any of them.

  While Elsa wrote her letter, Philon began tending to his own work, so Lawrence and the rest left the shop to bask in the sun.

  There were still many people walking by, and it was certainly never boring.

  “Once you find something, everything else becomes so clear,” said Lawrence.

  Perhaps Col was being considerate of the two, since he crossed the street to peer into a cobbler’s workshop. He was about the age to be handling minor tasks in a workshop or trading company, after all.

  Just a moment earlier the master of the shop had returned and smacked him on the head, evidently mistaking him for a lazy apprentice before Col had hastily pointed to Lawrence and Holo.

  “Aye, now that we know our destination…all that’s left is to point ourselves there and put one foot in front of the other.”

  They watched Col sit on the stone steps and relax, propping his elbows on his knees. He seemed sleepy, probably because the rays of the sun were warm.

  “Simple and clear,” said Lawrence.

  Holo closed her eyes and chuckled through her nose. “Mm. Nothing to hesitate over.”

  Her clear profile was as smoothed as the just-shelled white of a boiled egg. All the problems and troubles that had tangled up with one another in her mind seemed to have been swept away, leaving it clean.

  It seemed Lawrence really was the only one worried about the business of whether or not they would go to Yoitsu together.

  He sighed a tired sigh to hide his frustration, then straightened and stretched. “Still, relaxing in town like this makes one reluctant to start traveling again,” he said, looking up and squinting. Holo, too, looked up, opening one eye just slightly and glancing aside at Lawrence.

  “With that reasoning, I’d have to give it serious thought.”

  It was too much trouble to quarrel, so Lawrence shrugged and ignored her baiting.

  A goodly amount of time had passed when Elsa finished writing her letter. As logical as she was when speaking, when it came time to collect her thoughts on paper, she evidently found it much more difficult. She had ink on her face and hands, and she seemed somewhat hollowed out by the task.

  “…Where did they go?”

  “I gave them a few coppers and they went off to the docks. Would you like to go as well, Miss Elsa?”

  Elsa shook her head wordlessly.

  When Lawrence thought about it, he realized that having lived in such a small village, she had probably never had much cause to put her thoughts into written words. Just figuring out how to address Evan had probably taken a good amount of time.

  Lawrence considered this as his gaze swept the room.

  “Where did Mr. Philon go?” Elsa asked.

  “No idea. I seem to remember him standing up from the table, but…”

  Lawrence looked and saw that the door to the courtyard was partially open, and some of the light from outside was doing its best to enter the gloomy workshop. Even if Elsa was a clergy-woman, it was careless of Philon to leave the shop open with a stranger inside.

  Or perhaps there was simply nothing to steal. The ultimate merchant could run a shop on nothing but credit. And with nothing but credit, there would be nothing to steal.

  “Seems like we ought not to leave, then,” said Lawrence.

  “…Yes, that’s true. But, er…”

  “Yes?” Lawrence asked, at which Elsa’s face suddenly looked utterly exhausted. Her tone turned apologetic.

  “Might I go outside to take some fresh air?”

  Lawrence smiled and watched her go. The door closed with a thunk, and Lawrence was alone in the dim shop. He sat in a chair and once more looked slowly about the place.

  It was not small, but neither was it spacious. There was little in the way of decoration, but no space was wasted. The table, chairs, and shelves were purely functional, and there were exactly as many of each as was necessary. It was well cleaned, but not ostentatiously polished. Nowhere was there too much of anything, nor too little. It was a very relaxed space.

  Lawrence took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.

  The shop was quiet. Ideal for relaxing in.

  Although if such a shop were his, he would need to add a window, Lawrence mused. There would need to be a sunlit place for Holo to groom her tail, after all. As he thought more on it, Lawrence waved his hand to clear his mind of the daydream. They were becoming more
frequent as the days passed, and more specific, too.

  There was not anything wrong with that, per se, but it was something he had to hide so long as he traveled with Holo.

  Even if she had not been a wisewolf, he had to shut away the words deep in his heart: Let’s open a shop together.

  “Kieschen, eh?” he murmured with a smile. If Holo was not going to keep the promise, then Lawrence had no right to object. The resolve was hers; everyone else was merely cooperation. He would do everything he could to help her.

  Lawrence had never traveled to Kieschen, but he had heard of the place. It was a well-to-do town situated atop a hill among the rolling plains. He had heard the town was filled with greenery. There were even some who spoke of it as though it were a town swallowed by forest. It would surely be a good place to show Holo and Col.

  As far as Elsa went, she had been born in a village with an excellent view, so she might find Kieschen rather confining.

  In any case, it seemed like a nice place, which was a relief. And being relatively close to the capital city of Endima, the wine and food ought to be good.

  It would be a good place for good-byes.

  Lawrence rested his cheek in his hand and spoke the words aloud. “A good place for good-byes.”

  He was normally stubborn, but he wondered if that wasn’t part of his charm.

  Why had Holo so easily given up on their promise? Or was the idea of ending their wonderful travels in sight of Yoitsu just too ridiculously sentimental, just as she said? Or was Lawrence the only one who thought so much of what the other was thinking?

  In his memories, Holo smiled. The smile was directed at someone he did not know. It was an unfair, reactionary thought. And then—

  “Oh, has the holy sister finished her writing?” Philon entered the shop, pushing the half-open door from the courtyard all the way open.

  “She seemed to be having quite a bit of trouble with it.”

  “Hah. That’s not such a bad thing.” He spoke so plainly that Lawrence found himself staring at Philon, finding him quite a mystery. This man who dealt with mercenaries wore a boyishly mischievous expression.

  “I can’t imagine there are many happy people who are well accustomed to writing letters to their loved ones. Wouldn’t you say?”

  These were the words of a man who was living his life with his eyes open. Lawrence smiled to hide his vexation, then sighed. “True enough. You want to be close to the people you love.”

  Philon nodded, satisfied, and sat himself down in a chair. On the table was the letter that Elsa had written; Philon picked it up and looked it over. He was not reading it, it seemed, but rather checking to see if the ink had dried.

  “So, I couldn’t help but be a little interested,” began Philon, as he folded the letter up. He spoke as though he had been having a conversation with Lawrence about something in particular, right up until that moment.

  Lawrence was briefly confused. He flipped back through his memory, trying to guess at what Philon was talking about, but Philon himself cut Lawrence’s musing short.

  “So I went and talked to the Delink Company myself.”

  Philon had claimed to Le Roi that he could not be seen getting involved with the Delink Company. Had that been merely an excuse to turn him down? Lawrence considered that, then revised his thinking. What if it was not that, but rather that there was now some larger reason that justified the risk of contact?

  “Anyhow, it turns out I got a hit.”

  “…A hit?”

  It was a strange word to use—it implied a sort of good fortune, but depending on the context, the meaning could change quite dramatically.

  A glance at Philon’s face revealed that whatever it was, it was no good.

  “My company supplies mercenary troops, and I act as a sort of agent for them at times as well. The Delink Company is the opposite. There was nothing in my ledger about any mercenaries heading for Tolkien, so I thought there might be in theirs.”

  He fingered the letter pointlessly.

  “Even if a troop winds up taking prisoners of war, depending on where it happens, they’ll be turned away at the gates. So when there’s a rumor of war, they’ll talk to companies ahead of time.”

  “Meaning?” Lawrence replied, worried.

  It might have been that Philon had been testing whether Lawrence would turn worried or not. His eyes were full of sympathy. “Meaning that in all likelihood, there’s going to be a battle for control of the Tolkien region.”

  Philon had come right out and said it in this moment because he was worried there would not be another chance, no doubt. If he was a considerate man, he would not have desired to deliver such news in front of a girl like Holo. Lawrence was the same way, so there was nothing to smile about.

  But now that he knew, that meant he would have to be the one to tell Holo.

  Unfairly, he wanted to quarrel with Philon on those grounds alone.

  “But I have no idea what the goal is. It’s just thick forests and endless mountain steppe. There are barely any villages worth naming. Or maybe they’re thinking that’s the perfect place to source slaves. Or else…” Philon’s gaze was far away. “They’ve struck a lode of ore.”

  He had told Holo that the mountains and forests of Tolkien were bountiful. Given that, and given the prospect itself that Le Roi had convinced Lawrence to aid him with, anyone could have guessed what they were most concerned with.

  A bitter taste filled Lawrence’s mouth, but still—it was only one possibility.

  Philon seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  “Of course, I might be overthinking things. All the Delink Company said was that they’d received word from a mercenary troop that they might be bringing prisoners down from Tolkien.”

  If a rich lode had really been discovered, the scale of operations would expand considerably. There would certainly be at least one mercenary troop willing to venture forth to a remote location to fight for nothing but money. That was the simple fact of it.

  Somebody would be unlucky, of course, but Lawrence was honestly relieved.

  He did not think about whether or not that went against the teachings of God.

  Holo would be going to Yoitsu alone.

  He wanted her to encounter as little difficulty as possible.

  A masochistic smile rose to his face at his own selfishness. Then:

  “Come to think of it, I think the mercenary troop in question has a wolf on its standard.”

  “A wolf?”

  Philon nodded and tapped at his temple with his finger. “It had a rather strange name. It’s not a big troop, but it’s been around for a long time. What was it…?” He took a moment to dust off the memories before the right one fell from his lips. “The Myuri mercenary band.”

  Holo had had friends in her homeland. Lawrence had not forgotten their names: Yue, Inti, Paro—strange names, like ciphers for something. And then there was the last name that Holo had murmured: “Myuri.”

  “They’re a small band, but I’ve heard they’re well disciplined. Their leader’s especially clever, it’s said. I’ve never supplied them, though, so I only know the name.”

  Lawrence breathed in slowly as Philon explained, and when it was finished, he exhaled a long breath.

  It was said that over the countless months and years, the fanged ones had dedicated themselves to battle, but finally lost, and become part of the earth. Many died during the battle with the Moon-Hunting Bear, and the rest died fighting humans in the aftermath. This was the story that Hugues had told them in Kerube.

  Holo had made herself accept that there was no trace of the wolves that had once lived in Yoitsu, nor of their battles.

  But now, as though fate were not such a cruel god after all, it seemed the wolves of Yoitsu had not been so weak.

  A mercenary band flying the standard of the wolf, calling themselves Myuri and making camp near Yoitsu—this could not be mere coincidence. The simplest explanation was that Holo’s friend M
yuri was still alive and, having heard of the Debau Company’s schemes, gone to occupy the homeland.

  Lawrence could not imagine better news.

  “Anyway, I thought this might worry your companion. Shall I try to find more information?”

  Lawrence shook his head.

  The Myuri mercenaries were encamped in the region of Yoitsu. Just informing Holo of that simple fact would be more than enough. He could so easily imagine her face, at a loss for words out of sheer happiness.

  Being the bearer of good tidings was always a popular job. Lawrence wanted to tell her as soon as he possibly could. And yet, he realized that just as much, he did not want to tell her at all.

  Because upon hearing of Myuri, Holo would surely be overjoyed. She would suppress her desire to go and see for a time, and go with him to Kieschen. But after she left Lawrence and company, she would cast her human form aside and immediately make for Yoitsu.

  Lawrence would have to watch her go. He would have to imagine her reunion with them from afar, alone in the driver’s seat of his wagon. There was no way he would be present for the moment.

  Once she had reunited with Myuri and had that moment of joy, would she talk about all the things she had done, the time she had been saved by a human? If Myuri did not hate humans, would Myuri be glad to hear the tale?

  Lawrence did not want to imagine what would happen next:

  Mercenary bands never named themselves after women.

  Even if Holo and Myuri had not been lovers, he was still a wolf from her homeland, one whom she had thought long dead.

  Before the two giant wolves there would be his insignificant, copper-pinching self, and it was obvious to Lawrence how ridiculous he would feel. That was no place for him. He was not optimistic enough to think so.

  He wanted to raise his arms and shout, Huzzah! At least the journey had been fun.

  He could only smile at that.

  So Lawrence did smile, and spoke.

  “The world does not always go as one would wish.”

  Philon fixed Lawrence in his gaze. “You’re right about that,” he murmured with a sigh.