Spice & Wolf XI (DWT) Page 11

  The wizened old man sat silently with a serious look on his face, and eventually nodded.

  “And talk is far too cheap.. that’s why we need contracts.”

  “To be proper merchant?”

  In an effort to put him at ease, she smiled as naturally as she could. When his expression finally melted into something more comfortable, she coughed softly and stretched. There were a lot of things left for her to memorize.

  “Alright, then I’ll get to this. I’ll do my best, so have some faith in me and let me learn at my own pace, please?”

  Ora sat for a while before opting to leave her alone. She finally smiled as she watched him quietly close the door. The people around her were so kind. She felt she had to make sure their investment paid dividends.

  She scratched her nose, shrugging at her ambition, then picked up the pen, no longer distracted.

  * * *

  For her to trust a man’s word that he would return in three days would be like a third-rate poem. She knew better that business wouldn’t go that smoothly.

  On the fourth evening Fleur received a letter from Milton. The business meeting was delayed. But Fleur didn’t mind; Ora was keeping her busy. She was also talking to the Jones company - who had introduced her to Milton - about purchasing licorice.

  Ora was filling her mornings and evenings with study about clothes. From the spinning of wool into thread to weaving linen, she was learning everything involved. Yet no matter if it was raw materials, wool, of dye from some distant land she’d never heard of, this was all new to her. After two days she was already forgetting everything.

  For instance, wool wasn’t spun where sheep were raised.. let alone where it was dyed or woven. After learning all of that, she no longer remembered the names of the cities where the clothes were made, nor where sales were strong. Ora knew so much that Fleur wondered if her brain was too small and was already full.

  She even shared these concerns with one of her friendlier colleagues on her business route - rather oddly, the same man who had threatened to underpay her. He called himself Hans, and actually empathized with her.

  “I feel the same way.”

  Fleur couldn’t believe it.

  “Really?”

  “Of course, there’s just too much to remember. I sometimes feel I’ll push out my own name if I try to force anything else into my brain.”

  Hans, who smelled of herring and musty grass, who nearly undercut her, was agreeing with her. She was beside herself.

  “But hey.. you’ve got nothing to complain about. You’ve got an excellent mentor, and noble blood. Most apprentices get lashed by their teachers, or worse, rolling pins if they’re training to become bakers.”

  “Oh.. then Ora’s that kind after all? I thought he was joking when he told me that.”

  She smiled, revealing her disbelief. Hans simply rolled up his sleeves.

  “This one’s from a lash, from when I was learning to write on stone tablets. My arm was covered in dust, but the lash blew it all away. And this one..”

  He pointed at his left wrist, which had a different scar.

  “This one’s from trying to keep myself awake by burning myself with a candle.”

  He was sharing these painful memories like they were nothing. He looked at her calmly, with a face full of sympathy. Nobles weren’t taught how hard commoners had to work from the day they were born. But Fleur was now learning it first-hand.

  His earlier attitude toward her made a bit more sense now. Before her was someone who’d led a hard life, and yet if she was still a noble she would have laughed at his efforts.

  “There were other, cleverer apprentices where I was training, so I felt I couldn’t afford to lose out to them. Now I can be proud that I’ve succeeded after working so hard. By contrast..”

  He suddenly stopped talking and laughed at himself.

  “Jeez, listen to me going on and on.”

  It was obvious what he was going to say. Those who work hard won, those who didn’t would fail even if they were clever. Merchants were confident, so they had no respect for nobles. They even joked about kings.

  Back when Fleur was still a noble, she always looked at merchants as fearless. She wondered if they simply had nothing worth protecting.

  “We’re no good when it comes to talking to priests.”

  Fleur felt compelled to question Hans about merchants. He thought for a while before revealing an expression of uncertainty. Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as her first impression.

  “We’re like their opposites. Merchants only try to fulfill their desires.”

  “I suspect it’s because priests also can’t give up their desire to find salvation and spread it to others.”

  She repeated Ora’s words without thinking about it. The look of surprise on Hans’ face was unexpected. She’d just shared her own feelings during their conversation. He seemed curious, and looked at her while stroking his chin.

  That merchantly gesture, which previously seemed so arrogant and rude to Fleur, suddenly seemed a bit more endearing.

  “That may be true. Well, perhaps it’s disrespectful to say this, but we might be more similar to priests than we think. Priests make it their goal to seek out a world without illness or death, whereas we seek out a world without loss or bankruptcy.”

  After his cheerful speech he murmured to himself, “That would truly be paradise.”

  Merchants always fought for profit, and schemed of any means to do so. They trusted no one, and even if they trusted someone they could still cheat them. It was all for profit. Titles, even noble or kingly, meant nothing to them. To become successful, a merchant had to overcome lashings, blood and rain. By comparison, nobility was born with everything.

  “May I ask you something?”

  She turned to Hans. They’d known each other long enough that hiding her identity from him wasn’t necessary, so she pulled off her scarf. He had no idea what she would ask, but he replied with a gentle expression that threw her off-guard.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What is it you’re fighting for?”

  She’d already guessed the answer, but she wasn’t so cocky as to believe that a former noble like her would guess correctly. In fact she was hoping he would reveal a reason she’d never considered. Perhaps another real merchant could still surprise her.

  “Haha, that’s your big question?”

  “It’s a strange one, is it?”

  She smiled apologetically - a reflexive gesture for nobles who attended balls.

  “Well, no.. I understand why you’d ask. I’ve actually wanted to ask the owner the same thing. After all, I’m just one man, and just barely able to feed myself and my family. So I really don’t know how to answer you.”

  Apparently Hans hadn’t found his own answer yet. She’d probably always remember his name and face, unless she found someone else even more eager to drive prices so brutally. Exceptionally greedy, yet somehow modest. Merchants were truly strange.

  “I was born to poor farmers who were never really sure if they would have a next meal. I was their fourth son, so I count myself lucky to have survived until now. I left home, not knowing where to go, and having nowhere to go. This company kept and raised me, so it’s the only place I have. That said, there aren’t many who can survive this lifestyle.”

  He explained himself in embarrassment, covering up his anxiety by rubbing his nose. It was an endearingly boyish gesture. A man who was used to laughing at people for missing their homes was now struck with the same melancholy.

  “In other words, I could give you a lot of advice for how to survive this long, but I don’t know if any of it will be of any use. I only know that it helped me make it, so maybe it’ll be worthwhile, but..”

  Despite struggling with this issue himself, Hans seemed happy to talk about it. He stared off into the distance and became quiet, and Fleur turned her eyes down to her hands. She was smiling, being familiar with the kind of expression he was wearing. His sile
nce was proof that her guess was right.

  She didn’t have much love for her ex-husband, but had a grudging respect for him. Anytime he saw an opportunity, he gave up whatever he needed to grasp it - honor, beliefs, friendships, even relatives and love. But what did such people seek?

  She also wanted to see what their eyes saw.. even just once. Whatever goal it was they were fighting toward seemed impressive enough that Fleur had begun to hate her husband less and less. And in the end, when he declared bankruptcy that thing had vanished from his eyes.. but what was it?

  People were fighting through so much pain and misery for it, and even Hans had gone through a lot in his own fight to grasp it.

  “I can’t really describe what it is.”

  He snapped out of his meditation and spoke, pulling Fleur back from her thoughts as well.

  “But I think it’s something like an expectation.”

  “An expectation?”

  He smiled and shook his head at her query.

  “I don’t know.. I’m just too young to answer that question.”

  His honesty was enough to show how difficult the question was. It wasn’t the kind of virtue that a knight would fight for. And as a fallen noble, Fleur had no choice but to acknowledge her respect.

  “I apologize; I shouldn’t be asking you such odd questions.”

  He recovered his composure and squinted.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  It felt like they had grown a bit closer, and to top it if off Fleur had an answer for the question she had always had.

  “Thank you.”

  Merchants could be honest and humble, even when they were greedier than any other person.

  After their discussion, Fleur finally spoke with him about the hay trade. But her mind was elsewhere. Hans didn’t necessarily care about their conversation. He may have only opened up to her because she also traded in hay, and could help him out with the latest information on what villages had the best hay, and how to best approach their elders.

  In the past, she would have hated this “act friendly to get information” game, but not anymore. Merchants were running after those who were born with everything because they had their own goals, and wouldn’t stop fighting even if beaten with whips or sticks. Of course they would be nicer to those who could help them.

  She walked back to town from the port, cash in hand after a busy day. Milton seemed exhausted; it was written on his face even if he tried to keep his spirits high as they walked together. Still, Fleur was now only thinking about how to make the most money possible through their mutual cooperation.

  Milton had told her that he was fighting so hard because he wanted to stick it to the family that disowned him. But that surely wasn’t enough to make him force such a smile on his face right now.. he was just like Hans, and had his own expectation that there would be something at the end of his business path.

  If this was really Milton’s attitude, then Fleur need neither greet nor speak words of consolation to him now. She stood before the fatigue-ridden Milton, who was on the verge of collapsing onto the bed and into unconsciousness.

  “I wish to have a discussion with you about the purchase of clothing.”

  It was a slow change, but as he heard those words from Fleur, his initial look of surprise was gradually replaced with an invincible smile.

  * * *

  They were in her home, and Beltra was there, but she knew how to read the atmosphere well enough to hear the mice in the dens. They didn’t have to worry about her listening in, nor about Ora, who was standing guard outside. And so, Fleur removed her scarf, feeling secure in her place of power.

  “I went to a company to sell them clothes, and we ended up negotiating.”

  “So it’s their first time dealing with you?”

  “Yeah, so I couldn’t negotiate for much.”

  “Is that why you were late?”

  He smiled at her question.

  “Right. And they’re the only ones I could see today. If I overdo it, I might lose customers. But I also sold them as much as I could, so unless they suddenly get fat they won’t need any more clothing from me.”

  He’d left with twenty aprons, and if it was a normal-sized company they probably bought more than they needed. He’d probably talked them into it, which only showed how strong his sales skills were: trades with new customers had to be fair.

  “So the worst aspect of selling clothes is doing your best to not take a loss?”

  He brought his hand up to his chin, which seemed rather dry compared to a week ago.. maybe it was the stubble that made it seem that way.

  “That’s basically it. When I started..”

  “Hmm?”

  He looked up as she urged him. Something squealed from the rafters, probably a mouse.

  “When I started I was just as determined to work hard. But if I had the choice, I’d really rather not.”

  He didn’t turn to face her, but rather watched the mouse scurry around. What was he implying? She tried to remain calm while he thought it over.. she really didn’t want him to guess what she was thinking. Was he talking about changing strategies to something less demanding, or just comparing himself to the mouse?

  “And there’s still someone else we have to worry about.”

  “Huh?”

  She stammered in surprise. Ora had warned her to stay silent and contemplate what was said when she didn’t know how to reply, but this time she couldn’t help it. But it was easy to blurt out like that when someone intentionally changed the topic on you. His smile betrayed that he was laughing at her, but as he continued it became clear that she wasn’t the only one.

  “My creditors.”

  “Creditors?”

  She wasn’t asking him what that meant; she was intimately familiar with the meaning.

  “Indeed. The ones who discovered my talents. But they’ve never put themselves in my shoes, and I had to rely on another to sponsor my living expenses, lucky for me. I can’t say I’m grateful to them.”

  Fleur soon realized the meaning behind his little riddle. His mouth twisted into the same one a devil-may-care mercenary would wear.

  “We should take work seriously, but we can only work in the daytime. We need the night to rest. God himself has set that truth for us, and yet here we are, working day and night and even through festivals and celebrations. It never ends. Only someone who makes a deal with the Devil can keep that sort of effort up.”

  It was a pretty famous sentiment, and Fleur knew where it lead.

  “That Devil’s name is usury.”

  Milton must have been granted a large loan, and was still repaying it. Of course, merchant’s greed being what it was, they would have set a short loan period with an extreme rate of interest.

  Fleur’s own husband had applied for loans daily to cover their shortfalls, until one day he could only take one from a usury lender. They demanded to be repaid seven-fold within half a year, wanting to make the largest profit they could. And so they issued such an interest rate, which was tighter than the collar around a hound’s neck.

  It was a common story, so Fleur turned her eyes empathetically toward Milton. She was surprised to see him already calm, having recited that famous quote. His tough and honest eyes made it clear that he intended to bounce back, and everything would be alright. That he would protect her as well if he had to.

  She had no idea what to say at a time like this; Milton had been left with no choice but to ask her for another loan.

  “But what if..”

  She stopped nervously mid-sentence, making him lower his gaze gently and urge her to continue.

  “What if..?”

  “What if I were to ask you for interest as well? What would you do?”

  Even those who weren’t in the world of business knew that money was power. Fleur might be a freeman from the nobility, but even if she had Beltra and Ora she wasn’t pathetic. She’d taken money from her husband’s purse as vengeance.

&nbs
p; Milton could earn much more than she could, but if it came down purely to money she had the advantage. He looked up and slowly replied.

  “I knew you were gentle the first time we met.”

  “..”

  She was doing her best to remain calm, but faltered. Her face had betrayed her, and it didn’t help that she cast her eyes downward. But she wanted to look at something else. She coughed.

  “B-but people always change when interest is involved. You know that.”

  She’d learned that from Ora, and in this situation it was all she could do to repeat his words; if she spoke her own mind right now she would choke up.

  “Of course they do. But even then you can always tell their true character. And..”

  He smiled.

  “You’d never charge interest. I could be sure of that, even if you were wearing your scarf right now.”

  He didn’t ever seem to take her seriously as a merchant, only as the daughter of nobility. Normally she would have been furious, but right now her emotions were a mess. She felt like crying, and yet she felt happy. And so, she surrendered.

  “I.. can pass on interest. But the profits will be split evenly. We’ve promised that much.”

  She said this simply to save face.

  “We’re merchants, so of course we treasure promises..”

  His face became worried.

  “..But we haven’t yet signed any contracts.”

  He meant of course that she still had time to change her mind and stipulate terms of interest. It seemed that he, too, was being destroyed by this restless atmosphere.

  She shook her head, but his expression didn’t change. He simply leaned back in his chair. It didn’t seem to be an act, and it was the first time Fleur had seen him so nervous.

  “Then, let’s be specific.”

  He finally spoke up when they’d both fallen silent.. just as one might expect of an expelled noble. Before the war could end, he would begin another battle.

  “I think I can trust you completely.”

  A perfect line. In fact, perfect enough to comfort Fleur. It reduced the issue to one of buying and selling.

  “Then let’s discuss the types and quantities of clothing we should purchase.”

  “Let’s.”