“Well, then,” murmured Lawrence to himself. This had all taken longer than he had expected. He considered going to the stables, but then Holo’s hungry, displeased face flashed across his mind. He sighed and decided to hurry back to the inn.
He got his bearings and headed down an alley in order to avoid the crowded streets. He wound up having to press himself against a wall in order to let by some women carrying full baskets on their heads. In place of offering thanks, they gave him large smiles.
Perhaps the barmaid at the Beast and Fish Tail was not so bewitching after all—perhaps it was just the custom in Lenos. He thought about it as he made his way down the narrow alley, when he suddenly emerged onto a slightly broader street.
Directly in front of him was a very familiar building.
“So he really is out of business, eh?” It was old Arold’s inn, at which Lawrence and Holo had stayed the last time they were in Lenos. Currently, its master headed south on a pilgrimage.
Originally it had been a busy tannery, but circumstances had forced it closed, and it had become an inn. The dormitories for the many apprentices had become rooms for travelers to stay in.
The permission to run the inn had been transferred to the Delink Company, who had held Holo as collateral, but Lawrence could hardly imagine them opening an inn. Once they sold the permit to someone else, they would probably sell the building itself.
The building must have seen many faces within its walls, but now it was silent, expressionless, like some cast-off shell.
Perhaps that was why.
Lawrence put on an obstinate expression and grinned wryly at no one. He was imagining himself opening up some small shop there. Nothing as big as Philon’s general store, but perhaps a business serving road-weary travelers for whom the journey itself was home.
And taking care of the quietly thriving little shop would be him and one other.
“…How absurd.”
Lawrence chuckled in self-reproach, then sighed a long-suffering sigh. It would surely be a mistake to imagine that he would be the only one who would be sentimental about the approaching end of their journey. Holo was thinking many of the same things, no doubt, but showing them less obviously in her manner and words.
Even so, if he continued his idling much longer, he would certainly risk her ire. And given that her nose was keener than any hound’s, he would need to put a tight lid on anything that stank of sentimentality. Lawrence let his weakness go as though kicking the dust from his feet and resolved to put this inn behind him.
What stopped him in his tracks was the emergence of someone from the inn, which he had assumed to be deserted.
“Huh?” said the figure who stepped out of the inn, looking at Lawrence.
—which was probably Lawrence’s imagination, but the figure did indeed make a face of surprise, although his mouth moved just slightly.
Lawrence himself was just as shocked. The man who had stepped out of the inn was one of the four masters of the Delink Company. If Lawrence recalled correctly, his name was Luz Eringin.
“So will that all be quite all right?”
From across the way, Lawrence could hear that same slithering, serpentine voice, but it was not directed at him.
Eringin looked over his shoulder and addressed the others who were following him out of the building.
“Yes, yes. Though the remaining goods will need to be inspected.”
“I was told by the former owner that they could be disposed of.”
“No, that won’t do at all. They were probably used for smuggling. We’ll consider disposal after they’ve been inspected.”
Given the contents of the conversation, they were probably town officials, perhaps conducting the many verifications that were involved in the transfer of a permit.
“Will sir come by the trading company later? If you’ve time, I’ve just taken delivery of a fine vintage…,” came the invitation from one of the officials.
Everyone wanted to earn the gratitude of a town official, but those officials only cared about the gratitude of men like Eringin.
It spoke of Eringin’s position of strength in this town that he declined the invitation with a slight wave. “No, I really must return to my own company. I’ve got an engagement to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me.”
These last words were delivered while Eringin looked at Lawrence.
The official noticed this, of course, and also looked in Lawrence’s direction, but expressed little interest in him. “Well, then,” he said with a bow and walked off.
Eringin only spoke again once the official had rounded a distant corner and gone out of sight. “Well, Mr. Kraft Lawrence! I thought it’d be quite a while before I saw you again.”
“And here I was sad to think the day would never come at all.”
Eve might one day make a triumphant return, attended by underlings who, like Eringin, were accomplished in their own right. But given his own disposition, Lawrence knew he himself would never be such a one.
“Heh. Not every successful man is an ambitious one.”
“I’d welcome such good fortune.”
At Lawrence’s words, Eringin briefly flashed the smile of a kindly old man, then cocked his head. “Well, men such as us must treasure our connections. If you’ve time, do come visit the company. We’ve got a fine vintage on hand.” They were the same words the official earlier had used. His smile turned ferocious, eyes angular and glittering as though set in polished gold. “Well, I’ll be off, then,” he said and began to walk away.
He was dressed in the finest clothing: a long-sleeved coat, a warm-looking fur muffler, and even lightweight leather boots.
It was strange to see a man dressed as he was walking around without any attendants, but considering Eringin’s business, that lonely-yet-opulent bearing suited him perfectly.
“I could never manage it.”
There was not time enough in the world to count all the stories of brave, unyielding men who nonetheless could not defeat their loneliness.
Even Holo was no exception to that rule.
Those who attained the highest levels of achievement were the only ones who defeated it. In that sense, Lawrence had to afford Eringin a certain amount of respect as he watched the man walk away.
“Now, then,” said Lawrence, as he began to walk—only to suddenly look over his shoulder.
He had the feeling that someone had suddenly ducked out of sight in the corner of his vision.
Lawrence took a long look at the mostly deserted street, but saw no one spying on him. He decided it was his imagination and walked back to the inn.
Upon returning, he found that it had not been his imagination and that Holo was most displeased.
Lunch was cheese over rye bread, with a small amount of boiled beans atop it.
It was simple fare that seemed likely to accompany a book on religious travel, but given that it brought an end to several straight days of Holo being able to eat her fill, she found it unacceptable.
Evidently, Elsa had taken the lead and ordered it when the innkeeper had come to check on them.
“Such food isn’t nearly enough!” Holo’s angry shout was, fortunately, covered up by the noisy clatter of a passing wagon, but that did nothing to erase her anger.
Her hood was sharply pointed thanks to her pricked ears, and her overcoat billowed around her like a noblewoman’s skirts.
“I’m not sure eating luxurious food every day is such a good thing,” said Lawrence, earning himself an immediate and sharp glare from Holo.
“Oh, so you’re going to lecture me on this point as well, eh?”
“…I get it, I get it. Don’t be so angry.”
Holo seemed to have more to say on the matter but simply harrumphed and turned around.
Fran had been a mercenary chaplain who had taught of God with the scriptures in her hand, but her goal had not been to save anyone’s soul; rather, it was to deliver last rites. Chaplains, who borrowed God’s name to
do their work, were often called by another name: reapers. Her teachings were meant very specifically for the battlefield.
Meanwhile, Elsa lived a thoroughly pure life by God’s teachings.
For Col, whose goal was to learn Church law but whose studies had come to a halt because of a lack of funds, it had been an opportunity he would never have dared wish for. Lawrence felt it was altogether a good and proper thing for Col to learn as much as he could from her.
And then there was Holo, who herself was well aware of that fact. While she had made every effort to hand down a bit of her wisewolf’s dignity to Col, even if she had not, she still would have had no desire to trample on his thirst for knowledge in this situation.
The result was that she could do nothing but watch, and ever since morning prayers had ended, she had simply followed along with Col as Elsa delivered her lessons.
While she could bare her fangs and give the barmaid at the Beast and Fish Tail a good challenge, it was hard to do the same toward someone like Elsa. Elsa had no particular designs on Col, and no matter how Holo might snarl, she was the only one trying to compete.
For the proud wisewolf, it was an unbearably foolish position to suffer. And so she vented her frustration upon Lawrence.
“She just loves to flaunt all her so-called knowledge, lecturing Col on this and that all the way to the church and all the way back. And who was it that saved that village, hmm? It was me!” Holo grumbled, going on and on about every little thing that irritated her as it happened to come to mind.
Lawrence gave vague, noncommittal replies as he gazed out onto the town.
“And that’s not the only part of my territory she’s ruined! This is all because you said you’d put her up in our room! Are you even listening to me?” She stood on her toes, her face so close and so angry that Lawrence wondered if she were going to bite his nose.
Lawrence flinched away as he answered. “I’m listening,” he said and was about to continue, but found himself at a loss for words and so gave up.
No matter what angle he might try to take, he was well aware that it would only serve to rile her up further. For once, Holo was genuinely furious beyond the means of logic or sense to assuage.
Her darling Col was being instructed by another woman. And whatever had been bothering him ever since Kerube, he had not confided in Holo about it. The previous morning he had begged Holo to let him go to morning prayers, and for some reason, on the way back his worries seemed to have lifted.
Holo, of course, had been honestly pleased that this was so. She herself seemed to feel that the approach of the journey’s end was cause for happiness, but in point of fact was rather jealous of Col’s attention.
So while he certainly understood her irrational anger at the intrusion of Elsa, looking at Holo, Lawrence could not help but smile.
“Is something amusing to you?” she demanded with fangs flashing keenly; depending on his answer, he would be spared no mercy.
Until just recently—and certainly when they had first met—Lawrence would have erased his smile and immediately betrayed his fear of her. But nowadays, he was able to meet even this mannerism with utter calm.
“Oh yes, quite amusing,” said Lawrence, taking Holo’s hand and pulling her out of the way of a wagon she was about to bump into. “I never thought I would see a wisewolf rage like this.”
Holo tried to snatch her hand away from Lawrence’s grasp, but Lawrence strengthened his grip slightly, so she was unsuccessful.
“Come now, don’t be so angry.”
His words were like oil on a fire, and Holo only pulled away harder, acting like a child throwing a tantrum.
Just as she was about to actually bite his hand, Lawrence let go and placed his now-empty hand on her head. “I wasn’t making fun of you.”
Holo brushed his hand away and glared at him, but Lawrence only repeated himself.
“I wasn’t making fun of you.”
The street finally arrived at the port district of the town, and the field of view was suddenly much broader.
The sailors and dockworkers seemed to be taking a post-meal break as they sat around the piles of unloaded goods and chattered good-naturedly.
“So what, then?” Holo’s displeasure now seemed forced, as though she had lost track of what exactly it was she was so angry about. Either that, or she had never really known in the first place.
There was, of course, the anger she had over feeling that Col was being taken from her. But previously, such a thing would never have made her so angry, as though she had had a favorite apple snatched out of her grasp. If Col’s attention had been stolen from her, she would first have accepted that reality, then taken logical, appropriate action given the entirety of the situation. And if, after all her efforts, Col did not come back to her, she would allow for that outcome and give up.
That would have been worthy of the name Wisewolf and be the sort of action one who had perfected the noble way of the traveler would take.
This was not baseless speculation, either. The very reason Lawrence was able to travel with Holo was regardless of how clumsy or foolish it made him look, he had always reached his hand out to her.
In her relationships with others, Holo always drew away first. She did it because she mistook it for the smart, noble thing to do, and because she insisted that it had served her well thus far—even though she hated being alone.
In her interactions with Lawrence, though, Holo had stopped wearing that mask.
“I just thought it might be nice for you not to act the wisewolf,” said Lawrence, gazing out at the port. Holo looked wordlessly up at him.
But her silence was not because she did not understand what he was saying—rather, it was a look of shock that her secret had somehow been exposed.
“Though it is a bit silly of you to be so worked up over worries that your dear Col might be taken from you,” Lawrence added.
At this, Holo seemed to find a solid reason to be angry, and she turned away, pouting. Yet as ever, her ears and tail were more eloquent than her tongue.
Lawrence said exactly what he was thinking. “The truth is, you want to be even more selfish, don’t you?”
Holo was proud. And being proud, she was very stubborn about her position, her role. While she had hated being revered as a god, if she received no praise at all, the truth might well have been that her loneliness would crush her. Whatever she might say, Holo was a kind and serious wolf, who wished to live up to the expectations of others.
That was why, even after being faced by open hostility from the villagers she had aided through the centuries, she never once bared her fangs at them.
She was kind and responsible. And she hated being lonely.
Though she was pathetically trapped in a cage of her own construction, there was no personality that could have suited her better.
“No one would think less of you for being envious or for showing that childish attachment. This isn’t your wheat fields. Nobody here is worshipping you.” Lawrence paused for a moment before continuing. “You don’t need to force yourself to simply endure things anymore. At the very least, I’m not thinking of you as some kind of god.”
It was late to say so, given how many times by now he had seen her pathetic, awkward sides.
But even saying so, he knew that her habits and ideals would not change easily after so much time. Still, after so many misadventures with Lawrence, she had finally opened up to him, at least.
There was little he could do for her. But at the very least, Lawrence wanted to give her the push she needed to take that first step.
“So why don’t you stop taking out on me the frustration of enduring all that alone, and just be a little more honest? I feel like that’s more of what a wisewolf would do—”
He had originally meant it as a bit of a joke, but the moment he looked over at Holo, his mouth stopped moving.
Holo had pulled her hood down over her eyes. Her head was downcast, her shoulders drawn in
.
“Ah…”
Holo was stubborn and proud, but for all that, her heart was quite soft and fragile. Everything Lawrence had just said, she had surely thought to herself hundreds of times. What if she had just wanted to vent her frustration at Lawrence?
His logic would have had the precise opposite of its intended effect. He would have hurt her instead of helped her.
Lawrence’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came.
Holo’s feet suddenly stopped in their tracks, and a cold sweat dripped down Lawrence’s back.
People around them were watching.
Holding in his arms his great bundle of regrets, Lawrence dared come around in front of Holo and look under her hood—past the chestnut brown hair in its shadow.
Holo was drawn inward and her shoulders trembled, and beneath her hood, she seemed to be waiting for Lawrence uneasily.
“After all that talk, this is all it takes to fluster you? You’re rather full of yourself,” said Holo.
Even if he could endure her anger, her tears were hard to bear. He knew he had that in common with many of the men of the world, and when Holo was unhappy with something, she was merciless in her exploitation of it.
“Hmph,” she said, pushing Lawrence aside and starting to walk. The careless, foolish traveling merchant had no choice but to follow after her. “I hardly need you to tell me such things. I’m perfectly aware of them.”
Lawrence swallowed the retort that came immediately to mind, but could not quite help from saying something. “…If so—”
“If so?” Holo stopped again and turned to face him. When Lawrence’s words stuck in his throat, Holo continued, closing in on him. “If so, I ought to just act as I wish, you say? Just throw all my pride and wisdom as a wisewolf aside?”
Her tone from under her hood was a challenging one, and the irises of her eyes were as red as the reddest, thickest wine.
“I have my own things to consider, in my own way. But I’m not so clever as that. You want me to be honest here, polite there, but I simply cannot. And anyway,” she said, clasping her hands together behind her and looking off, “you’re only asking what would be most convenient for you.”