Spice and Wolf, Vol. 14

  But Lawrence was not able to deliver any good news. “Just Miss Fran,” he said simply.

  Philon was an experienced man. He knew what that meant.

  “I see,” he murmured under his breath. He closed his eyes, as though offering a brief prayer. “Though it may be providential, it still pains me to hear it. But Lady Fran is well, is she?” His voice became brighter as he asked, and nostalgia tinged his features as he looked up.

  “She sustained terrible injuries living up to her reputation…but she’ll soon recover.”

  At Lawrence’s words, Philon smiled, as though terribly relieved. Even if Fran’s troop had been entirely wiped out, he seemed content that some part of their way of life yet lived on.

  “So the three of you managed to live through a situation that asked some courage of her. My apologies, truly,” said Philon, as he stood and put his hand to his chest. “Let me introduce myself,” he said, as though beginning a prepared recitation. “My name is Philon Zimgrundt. As the thirteenth heir of the Zimgrundt name, I am the master of the Zimgrundt General Store.”

  He offered his hand.

  Lawrence took it and found, much to his surprise, that Philon’s hand was soft.

  “Heh. It’s been many a century since any of the Zimgrundt name went forth into battle. Some of my more considerate customers do me the honor of calling me a former mercenary, but it’s through the grace of my ancestors who fought all across the world before settling to open this shop here that I’m able to operate. It’s their great deeds that let me conduct this strange little business of money.”

  “I see,” replied Lawrence. After a polite cough, he broached the subject of his visit. “The truth is, I’m hoping to learn about conditions in the northlands.”

  “The conditions,” repeated Philon, peering again into his wine cup, as though the truth of the answer he should give were somehow hiding in it. “Lady Fran certainly lent her name to a fellow with a strange question. From your appearance, I wouldn’t make you as a man who doesn’t know the value of things.”

  Lawrence shrugged, and his reply came with a smile. “As you can probably tell from my two companions, my journey is a bit of a strange one.”

  At that, Philon finally turned his gaze to Holo and Col. Lawrence had heard of a mercenaries’ trick—that they would bring a beautiful girl along to ensnare a merchant’s gaze, then use that to pick a quarrel with them and get a better price. Philon, too, seemed well aware of such tactics.

  “Indeed. However, ‘conditions’ could mean many things. Do you want to know about the movements of the people there? Or of goods? Or of coin?”

  “People—and where they’re headed.”

  Philon did not so much as nod or even grunt. He remained still, looking closely into Lawrence’s eyes. Then he finally turned his gaze away, at which Lawrence could not hide his deep breath of relief.

  “Where they’re headed, eh…? Ah, I see. If I’ve misunderstood, I hope you’ll forgive me,” began Philon, then leaned forward over the table before continuing. “You want to know where the attacks are happening, don’t you?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Ah. I see. So that’s why you’d use Lady Fran’s name to ask a question of me.”

  Mercenaries were moved by money. And if one could see the flow of money, they could understand the motivations of whoever was pulling the strings.

  Philon’s face grew hard. Lawrence swallowed and waited. He waited—for he knew how important the information he sought was.

  “Still…,” murmured Philon as he stared down at the table, then up to Lawrence, then back and forth between Col and Holo. His expression was somewhere between exasperation and admiration.

  “Yes…?” prompted Lawrence, unable to hide his nervousness. Thereupon Philon drew his chin in and assumed a serious posture, as though he were about to play his trump card.

  “To have them both as your companions, you certainly can’t be judged by your appearance.”

  “Huh?” asked Lawrence, and it was only Holo who laughed out loud.

  “My, my,” said Philon with a smile, adding, “Was I wrong?”

  “He’s hardly so able a man,” said Holo with a straight face, at which Philon shifted his gaze deliberately from Holo to Lawrence.

  Given that Philon was used to dealing with the dog-pack-like mercenary bands, he was instantly able to apprehend just who was in charge here.

  “Is that so. Still, you’d be surprised how great a general such a man can be.”

  “’Tis only because they’re so busy minding everything around them, is it not?” said Holo with a fang-baring grin, at which Philon appeared genuinely surprised and smacked his own cheek.

  Lawrence had no idea what they were talking about. He and Col met each other’s eyes.

  “Ha-ha-ha! Well, now, I’ve certainly got some peculiar guests today. If I make light of them, they’ll get the best of me.”

  Philon cleared his throat while Holo smiled happily.

  Lawrence still did not understand any of this, but when he finished laughing, Philon’s face was exceedingly pleasant. “Fine, then. I’ll help you.”

  “—! My thanks to you!” said Lawrence, his reflexes in that particular situation being better even than Holo’s.

  Philon grinned and nodded. “I’m afraid I’ll have to add the tiresome condition that you not speak of what I tell you to anyone else. So, where is it that you want to know about? Many mercenaries are hired through landlords. And the ones giving that money to those landowners—”

  “The Debau Company,” said Lawrence, at which the interrupted Philon nodded.

  “Quite. However, the Debau Company is not of such a scale that it can operate on its own. They have the cooperation of the landlords. Most of the mercenaries they’ve hired are getting their provisions through me, and people in my business have good ties. I get information from other towns, from those in the same business. So…to be blunt, I’m more or less aware of which places in the northlands are safe and which aren’t.”

  As Philon spoke, Holo lost the aura of nonchalance she had come in with. Now it was her turn to try to remain calm.

  “The old name of the place we’re looking for is Yoitsu.”

  “Yoitsu?”

  Repeating what had just been said seemed to be one of the ways Philon jogged his own memory. His eyes stared into space for a moment, and immediately thereafter he spoke. “Sorry, I’ve not heard of it. Though if it’s in an old story, I may have heard that.”

  “The Moon-Hunting Bear.”

  “Ah, yes. More than a few mercenary bands use a picture of it on their standards. Perhaps it’s the name of a town or village destroyed by the great beast. I’ve forgotten where I heard this, but…since there are many mercenaries from the northlands, I might have heard it from one of them. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” said Philon, seeming genuinely apologetic.

  “Actually,” said Lawrence immediately, “we’ve asked Fran to draw us a map of the northlands, including Yoitsu. Once it arrives, we should know the current location of wherever Yoitsu was.”

  Philon’s reply was quick. “You gained her trust so quickly—!”

  Evidently, that was the most surprising aspect of all.

  Lawrence nodded with a somewhat abashed smile, but Philon only gave his face a good, long look. “I see…I wouldn’t mind having such a map myself! So then, you three. Have you anything else you’d like to ask?” he asked a little jokingly.

  Lawrence smiled and looked over at Col. “In that case, what of the village of Pinu?”

  It was Col who found this question the most surprising.

  Although Col was concerned about Holo’s homeland, he was still more worried about his own, and though he tried to hide this within himself, Lawrence was well aware of the boy’s true feelings. Because after all, just as any purchase of goods required an exchange, information had a price, too. And Col had nothing to pay with.

  Col’s face took on an ex
pression of utter shock, but as Philon looked back and forth between Col and Lawrence, he seemed very pleased indeed. “That I can tell you right off. It’s close to a village that a parish in the east dispatched soldiers to, some years back. The region’s thick with skilled hunters, some of whom joined bands here and there. For a major push into the hard north country, they would need a confident foothold, and that was one of the likely places for it. None of those men are stupid enough to destroy their own homes, and mercenaries are surprisingly respectful of the homes of their comrades. So for the time being, Pinu’s safe.”

  Philon directed this information not to Lawrence, but to Col. He used simple words and spoke slowly.

  If the couch he was sitting in had not had a back, Col’s slump of relief might well have sent him tumbling over backward.

  “Ha-ha-ha, though I don’t know how much use to you any of that is.”

  “No, thank you, truly,” said Lawrence. When Col hastily tried to offer his own thanks, the words choked up in his throat.

  Holo stood from her seat, unconcerned, then sat down again next to Col. In times like these, nothing was as comforting as her smile could be.

  “So we’ll talk again about Yoitsu when your map arrives, shall we?”

  “It seems so, yes.”

  “Understood. Now then, have you arranged your lodging? There hasn’t been much snow this year, so there are more travelers than normal. Most places are full by now, and you may be unable to find accommodations.”

  “We’ve no worries on that count. The Beast and Fish Tail sent us to Eunice’s inn.”

  “Oh ho. You’re no ordinary traveling party, that’s for sure,” said Philon, stroking his beard.

  Lawrence had not known there were no vacancies in the inns, but it was true they had managed to secure exceptional boarding. Just as he was thinking he would need to give thanks for that later, Philon grinned and spoke up.

  “It’s no easy thing to get in the good graces of the barmaid there.”

  How did he know? Lawrence immediately thought, at which Philon grinned and elaborated.

  “The innkeeper at Eunice’s place is a widower, you see. He’s rather soft on that particular barmaid, so if she asks, he’ll kick someone out just to open up a room for her.”

  Lawrence smiled in understanding. Evidently the barmaid was even more devilish than Holo could be.

  “Well, it seems I wasn’t much able to help you. Even if you’d needed a room, I don’t know that I could’ve arranged it for you.”

  “Still, you’ve probably left an impression of someone who helped me a great deal.”

  This general store owner, the descendant of mercenaries, had a surprisingly gentle smile. “Quite so! I’d certainly like a copy of that map. I wonder how I might manage it…,” Philon said as he held his cheek in his hand, elbow on the table.

  If he had really been angling for the map, he would not be acting the way he was. He’s a good merchant, Lawrence thought to himself.

  “In any case, once the map arrives, come visit again.”

  “I shall. And I’ll see if I can’t find other favor to ask of you, as well.”

  “By all means, please do.”

  Lawrence stood and shook Philon’s hand again. Philon shook not just Lawrence’s hand, but Col’s and Holo’s as well.

  Just as Lawrence said, “Well, then,” and was about to bring the encounter to an end, there was a knock at the door.

  “Good grief. So busy today!”

  “I should think that’s a good thing.”

  “So it is.” Philon waved to Lawrence and his companions, then called out past them in a loud voice, “The door’s open!”

  Lawrence stood aside and opened the door, thinking to first let in whoever it was. Thereupon, however, the figure on the other side also tried to open the door, but instead his large, round body stumbled through it and he gave a loud “Wah!”

  Lawrence was at the door, and Philon at his table with his wine; both their eyes went wide in surprise.

  The big man who had fallen face-first on the floor had a mountain of goods on his back.

  “Oh. Here I was wondering who it could be, but it’s you, Le Roi,” said Philon, looking down at the man. He was wriggling comically, even clownishly, under his load of goods.

  But Philon did not appear inclined to help. With nothing else to do, Lawrence helped the man to his feet. From the smell of dust on him, he must have just arrived in town.

  “Ouch! My apologies, sir.”

  “Not at all. Are you all right?”

  The man called Le Roi nodded abashedly and repeatedly in response to Lawrence’s question, all while skillfully regaining his feet underneath a collection of goods nearly as big as he was. He might have appeared to be fat, but evidently he was just well built.

  “Still, now you’ve come all the way out here, too, and your timing’s no good, either,” said Philon.

  “Huh?”

  “You heard the rumors of war and came here with a sackful of scriptures, am I right? Unfortunately, those who would’ve wanted them have already packed their things and headed north.”

  His face half-blackened with road dust, Le Roi seemed stunned at the merciless words and sat right back down on the spot.

  Scriptures—that meant he was a bookseller…

  In any case, this was the sort of thing that was the constant nightmare of all traveling merchants. Lawrence was sympathetic.

  Le Roi waved both hands unrestrainedly in the air. “Damn you, God! Have you any idea how I suffered to bring these here?!”

  Philon bared his teeth in a great grin as Le Roi flailed his arms about like a petulant child. His feelings were understandable, but Le Roi’s display was certainly an exceptional one. Such humor could easily endear one to others. He probably traded on this.

  Lawrence was smiling, too, but then he realized that Philon’s gaze was on the doorway. Immediately thereafter, a noble, dignified voice rang out.

  “Blame your own avarice before you lay responsibility at God’s feet.”

  A small-framed person entered the shop.

  It was hard to imagine a person less suited to the surroundings. The person who had crossed the threshold with such words was clearly of the Church and dressed in a nun’s clothing to boot.

  But that was not what widened Lawrence’s eyes.

  Entering the door, the person soon took note of Lawrence and his companions. She calmed her expression so as not to appear surprised. And then, with eyes as sharp as they ever were, she spoke.

  “Quite a coincidence.”

  On that count, Lawrence was in total agreement. “Indeed it is,” he said. This girl had always been difficult for him, but he forced her name out after a cough. “It has been a while, Miss Elsa.”

  Her pulled-back hair and honey-colored eyes that betrayed no emotion were just as they had been. Her cheeks were a bit sunken, perhaps owing to the unfamiliar travel. Out from under her overcoat peeked her nun’s robes, once dyed a deep black but now whitish with dust.

  And yet her tone betrayed no fatigue; she was admirable, if stubbornly so.

  “What, you two know each other?” Le Roi watched Elsa’s and Lawrence’s greetings as though they were a scene out of a stage play, his face shifting busily to and fro between them.

  “He once came to my village’s aid.”

  “Oh ho!” Le Roi’s mouth opened in surprise so widely that it thinned even his puffy cheeks. “So you’re from Tereo as well, then, sir?” he asked, looking up to Lawrence. He was a bit shorter than Lawrence to begin with, and his heavy burden caused him to stoop over.

  “No, I just happened to be passing through and was able to be of some small assistance.”

  “Oh ho, I see. My goodness.” Every bit of Le Roi’s exaggerated bumbling seemed to be quite on purpose. But there was no telling what hid behind the act of such a merchant. Many acted this way because they were fully aware of how sly they would appear otherwise.

  Of course,
there was no way of knowing whether Le Roi was such a man or not, but that was no reason for Lawrence to let his guard down. Lawrence smiled pleasantly, declining to say anything further. It was Philon who ended up speaking next.

  “This is a general store, not a tavern. Might I ask you to celebrate your reunion elsewhere?”

  At the cold exasperation in his words, Le Roi looked to Philon and smacked his own cheeks in chagrin. “Ah, apologies!”

  Elsa was not the effusive type, and she said nothing further to Lawrence or his companions.

  But given that Holo did not seem to be expressing any irritation at Elsa’s quietness, she must have realized that the girl was more exhausted from her travels than anything else.

  “And your companion appears to be quite tired. You ought to secure lodgings before venturing out again, hmm?” said Philon. He had dealt enough with those who lived by travel to know what such exhaustion looked like.

  Elsa merely stood there, neither refuting nor confirming this, but Le Roi nodded again in that exaggerated way of his. “You’re quite right, quite right indeed! We came here without even changing out of our travel clothes.”

  Lawrence did not fail to notice the look of worry that passed over Philon’s face. The only reasons you went directly to a trading partner without even stopping to change clothes were because you were uncommonly close to them or because you were in trouble.

  In this case it was surely the latter, which Le Roi immediately confirmed. “Might you arrange a room for us?”

  Philon did not hide his look of irritation, and he took a long breath in through his nose. “You’ve bad timing.”

  The merciless words were delivered with exquisite precision.

  “Wh—come now, Mr. Philon. Don’t be so heartless! We don’t need a fancy room, you know. I’ve asked at inns all over the city. I don’t mind being put alongside my goods somewhere, but my companion”—said Le Roi, pausing to grab Elsa’s shoulders with his hands and shove her forward, as though he were a livestock owner showing off a prize hen—“I can’t let such a fate befall her, you see.”

  Elsa, meanwhile, wore a look of terrible embarrassment, while Philon looked flatly irritated.