Side Colors Read online

  Worse, Holo seemed to enjoy this.

  On top of that, she also seemed to enjoy how pathetic this made Lawrence feel.

  If he could avoid it, he didn’t want to bring Holo along to see the money changer.

  “Money changing, eh? That means…oh ho.” The clever Holo realized who they’d be seeing and grinned. “Well, then, you’d better make the arrangements. I want to be drinking wine sooner rather than later.”

  Holo pulled on his hand, heading for the lively avenue.

  Lawrence sighed the way he always did before any deal, cursing the mean-spiritedness of the owner of the soft hand that held his.

  “For one lumione, today’s rate is thirty-four trenni.”

  “And the fee?”

  “Ten silver lute or thirty copper trie.”

  “I’ll pay in lute.”

  “Very good, then. Right here, then…Oh, please do take care. Anything you drop on the street becomes the property of he who picks it up,” said the money changer, politely placing the silver coins in Holo’s hand, then covering them with his, as though he’d given them to a child.

  Lawrence offered a single lumione coin, but the cambist did not let go of her hand.

  In fact, he wasn’t looking at Lawrence at all.

  “Weiz.”

  At the sound of his name, the man finally looked over. “What?”

  “I’m your customer.”

  Lawrence had been using Weiz as his cambist for a long time, owing to them both knowing his master. Weiz sighed dramatically and gestured to his table with his chin. “Just leave the gold there. I’m busy right now.”

  “And what is it you’re busy with?”

  “Can’t you tell? I’m right in the middle of making sure this lovely maiden doesn’t drop her silver.” Weiz smiled at Holo, having still not let go of her hand.

  Holo, for her part, acted more bashful than Lawrence had realized she was capable of and now lowered her gaze, seemingly pleased.

  Both Weiz and Holo were acting ridiculously, and as the only serious one, Lawrence was left entirely out of the play.

  “But, sir—” said Holo finally, which Weiz’s face tensed at, and he straightened his posture like a knight. “There seems to be too much silver for my hands to hold.”

  Weiz answered before Lawrence could get a word in. “My dear Miss Holo, that is why you have my hands as well.”

  Holo looked surprised, then spoke as though very sad. “I could not possibly impose such a weight upon you.”

  Weiz shook his head and continued. “If silver overflows from your hand, then I will gladly lend you mine. It would not trouble me in the slightest—because, my dear, I am sure that you, Miss Holo, will accept my feelings in turn, feelings so passionate I cannot hold them in both arms.”

  Holo averted her eyes like the blushing daughter of some nobleman while Weiz gazed steadily at her face.

  The exchange was so teeth-grittingly saccharine it made Lawrence want to slap them both.

  The whole thing was a cliché, of course, but it was also so perfectly done that it made Lawrence wonder if they’d somehow arranged it ahead of time.

  He found the whole thing deeply unamusing.

  It was time to throw cold water on it.

  “Silver coins for the coin purse, gold for the box, and plain copper in hand—or have you forgotten that proverb, Weiz?” It was the most basic principle of handling money, the first thing that any cambist’s apprentice learned from his master.

  Weiz’s fun was thoroughly spoiled.

  As Lawrence expected, he finally removed both of his hands from Holo’s and scratched his head noisily. “Bah. Keeping a lovely girl like this all to yourself is an insult to God. Haven’t you ever heard ‘Share thine bread with others’?”

  “You want me to share?” asked Lawrence, opening his leather purse and filling it with the silver coins in Holo’s hand. She was smiling faintly but gave Lawrence an expressionless glance.

  “There’s no lending at the cambist’s table. Only exchange or no exchange,” said Lawrence with a smile to the serious-faced Weiz, placing the last silver coin in his pouch. “She comes with the debt she owes me. Do you mind?”

  “Hmph,” said Weiz, pulling his chin in.

  He seemed a bit regretful now that talk of money had returned.

  Still, Weiz was accustomed to that. He soon assumed a sad expression and looked at Holo. “I cannot possibly put a price upon you.”

  A laugh escaped Holo, but she still switched into her performance before replying, “I’m afraid the scales within my heart are still swinging. But I’m sure they will not simply tilt under the weight of gold…”

  “Oh, but of course.”

  Weiz tried to take Holo’s hands again, and she pulled them away. “To put your hands upon a swinging scale…sir, you truly are a scoundrel,” Holo said to Weiz like a barmaid scolding a drunken customer, which flustered him so much Lawrence couldn’t see him as the same man.

  Swearing that he’d never let that happen to him, Lawrence sighed and lowered the curtain on this third-rate comedy.

  “Come, let’s be off.”

  “Oh, hey, Lawrence—”

  “Hmm?”

  “So if you came all the way out to change money, are you doing some kind of shopping?”

  “Yes, we’re heading north, so I’m getting clothes and such.”

  Weiz rolled his eyes up briefly. “S-so, you’re going soon, then?”

  “Yes, probably…,” said Lawrence, looking at Holo, who smiled happily.

  He didn’t have to be as good at seeing through people as Holo was to know what Weiz was thinking.

  “Prices rise with the sun after all. I’d like to buy what I need before the day’s out.”

  “Ugh…” Weiz looked like he was ready to close his business and run after them, but he surely had deals he couldn’t abandon.

  Feeling like he’d gotten even for being made to feel like a third wheel, Lawrence said, “Well, then,” and turned to leave.

  But Holo blocked his path. “Can money be exchanged after the sun sets?”

  Suddenly, Weiz seized the chance to jump in. “The market’s decided that cambists who use scales after the sun sets are all swindlers. And, of course, I’m no swindler.”

  “You heard him,” said Holo to Lawrence.

  He realized he wasn’t going to be able to nurse his petty grudge forever. And he’d planned on inviting Weiz anyway.

  Traveling merchants didn’t have many town friends close enough to drink with in the evenings.

  “Once we’ve bought our clothes, we’ll be heading to the tavern. When you’re done with work, you should come by if you’re free.”

  “Of course, brother! The usual tavern?”

  “I’d be scared to get drunk in a place I didn’t know.”

  “Right, got it. I’ll be there—I’ll surely be there!”

  These last words were directed mostly at Holo. The other cambists in the area paid him little mind, only glancing at him briefly as if to say, “What, again?” Even as Lawrence and Holo moved away from his stall, Weiz continued waving.

  Perhaps enjoying the display, Holo waved right back until they were out of sight.

  When she finally faced forward again, it was because they’d finished crossing the bridge where all the money changers’ and goldsmiths’ stalls were lined up roof to roof.

  “Heh. I knew that would be amusing,” said Holo, as though having drunk a particularly tasty wine.

  Lawrence could only sigh at this. “If you toy with people too much, you’ll regret it later.”

  “Regret?”

  There were many jokes about beautiful nuns who went on pilgrimage only to return with more people than they’d left with.

  “You’ll be followed around.”

  “I’m already being followed around by you.” When Lawrence faltered in reply, Holo grinned wickedly, showing both fangs. “Unlike you, he knows I’m playing with him. ’Tis amusing enough toy
ing with you, but sometimes one longs for a cleverer male to play with.”

  Lawrence had all sorts of things he wanted to say but couldn’t force even one of them out of his mouth.

  He felt a renewed sense of shame at being so utterly hopeless at everything besides business.

  “We both know ’tis mere play; do not be so serious. You’re making me bashful now.”

  Holo deliberately placed her hand on his cheek, which Lawrence could only look sour about.

  “’Tis well, though. Weiz has a cleverer tongue than you, but I’ve lived long enough to know that nothing is so untrustworthy as the words we say. Living in the world of trade as you do, surely you’re not entirely unaware of that yourself.”

  A bit surprised at her sudden words, Lawrence saw that while Holo herself was smiling, her clear amber eyes were very serious indeed.

  As the god of the wheat harvest, Holo had been kept in her village for a long time. Though the villagers sang her praises, they also hung an iron chain around her neck and did not let her leave. In the end, when they were done with her, their revenge would have been ruthless.

  Considering that, Holo’s words were heavy.

  And yet the hand that so casually held his was warm.

  “It’s true. I’ll tell any lie if it’ll bring me a profit.”

  “They won’t work on me, though.”

  Lawrence could tell her ears twitched proudly beneath her hood, and he couldn’t help but smile. “So, shall we go buy some clothes?”

  “Aye.”

  Lawrence wondered what sort of clothes would suit Holo and did his very best to make sure his musings weren’t noticed.

  Clothes of the sort Holo had bought previously—that cost a gold piece or two for a single item—were basically new goods.

  However, few villagers actually wore new clothes.

  Once a piece was finished, it was worn until holes began to wear through, and even then were sold again secondhand, repaired, and so on and so on. Merchants would buy used clothes originally made for wealthier merchants, and the used clothes of those middling merchants would then go to man-servants. Servants would sell their clothes to apprentice craftsmen, or donate them to traveling ascetic monks.

  This cycle made it clear at a glance where people fit in the social hierarchy.

  To be able to spend two gold pieces on newly made clothes was very impressive. Even Lawrence had only one item of tailored clothing, which had been torn in the disturbance with Holo some days earlier.

  Did she know that, or didn’t she?

  Before a shop selling used goods quite a ways down on the cycle of clothing, Holo’s face evidenced clear displeasure.

  “Huh…” She let a vague sigh escape as she held a brown piece that had probably been dyed by boiling it with tree bark.

  Of course, there was no way to tell whether it had just been stained so much that it had turned the color of whatever stains had failed to wash out. That was how beat-up it was.

  “That one’s forty lute. It’s quite sturdy for the price, I must say.” The shopkeeper nodded vaguely, and Holo finally put it back on the display table, taking three steps back from the stall.

  It was surely meant to declare her lack of interest in any of the clothes here, but it was so like a noble girl that Lawrence had to grin.

  “Sir, as we are going north, could you possibly choose some warmer items for the two of us? And not too expensive, please.”

  “And your budget?”

  “Two trenni.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  The type of clothing being sold around this time of year was not for everyday use, but meant for protecting against the cold and little different from bundles of straw. Color and shape were secondary—if the clothing held its shape, was as thick as possible, and wasn’t full of bugs, it was great.

  These heavy-duty items were sold off by travelers coming down from the north and in turn bought by people who planned to go back up.

  Who knew how many years the beat-up piece that Holo held had been carried back and forth for?

  When it came to such items, one did not buy them by the piece, but by the pile.

  “For tops and bottoms plus two blankets, how does this sound?”

  “Yes…well, as you can see, I’m a traveling merchant, and I’ve come here on business with a trading company I know well—the Milone Company.”

  At the mention of one of the more prominent trading houses in the town, the shopkeeper’s ears perked up.

  “And it seems I’ll be coming here several times a year.”

  This made it clear that the shopkeeper’s customer was a traveling merchant with money to spare.

  And it was all the better if he was planning on visiting often.

  The clothier’s business was not based on how much profit he could make from a single piece, but rather how many pieces he could sell, so Lawrence’s words put a smile on his face.

  “Very good, sir. I quite understand. Shall I add this cloak, then? It’s been treated with smoke, of course. I guarantee it’ll be vermin-free for two years.”

  The battered cloak was full of patches, and the blankets were made of terribly scratchy wool, but for those buying supplies for a journey to the north, they could still fetch a decent price.

  Lawrence nodded, satisfied, and held out his right hand.

  The deal was sealed with a handshake, and the shopkeeper started tying up the bundle of clothes with hemp twine.

  Lawrence watched him do it but looked back when one of the pieces was suddenly snatched away.

  As he expected, Holo wore a displeased expression.

  “I thought we’d come to buy clothes for me,” she said.

  “That’s right…and?” said Lawrence, as though wondering why Holo was asking him something so obvious. As he looked at her, the vigor seemed to drain from her face.

  He realized that despite seeming to care only about her tail, Holo had actually been excited about these clothes.

  But right after the wave of her disappointment receded, it came crashing back down as anger.

  “Are you…saying I should wear this?”

  “If you want to fight the cold with just that robe, I don’t mind, but…”

  Whether she snatched the clothes away because the shopkeeper hadn’t asked her or whether it was out of sheer rage, Holo spoke in a low growl. “If you’re angry about my using your money, just say as much. I’m Holo the Wisewolf. I’ve brains and beauty, but my nose is good, too. ’Twould wrinkle my nose to wear such a thing.”

  “Perhaps a bit of hardship will fix your wrinkled spirits.”

  Coughing at the sudden smack to the chest he received for this, Lawrence decided not to tease Holo any further.

  “Don’t be angry. I’ll explain the secret here.”

  Holo was still baring her fangs and growling, but Lawrence took her hand, then spoke to the shopkeeper, who was still busy binding up the clothes.

  “Sir, a word, please.”

  “Hnnnggh…There. Yes?”

  “Have you no fine ladies’ clothing?”

  “Ladies’ clothing, you say?”

  “Something that could be worn in a northern town and is about her size,” he said, referring, of course, to Holo.

  The shopkeeper sized Holo up, then glanced back at Lawrence.

  There was no doubt he was doing the cost-benefit calculations in his head.

  This included not only the state of Lawrence’s coin purse, but also Lawrence and Holo’s relationship and how much he estimated Holo would be able to get Lawrence to spend.

  If he was to bring out a treasured rare article, it could improve his relationship with Lawrence, which in turn could lead to untold profit in the future, which was exactly what he was surely trying to estimate. The more customers a used clothing store had, the more competitors it created. Gaining a traveling client who would visit often was a very big deal.

  There was a reason he’d come to a bulk-sale stall like this to buy Ho
lo’s clothes.

  Even a child could tell the robe Holo wore was of very fine quality. If he brought her, wearing a robe like that, to a cheap used clothier like this, that was like standing in front of rabbit while holding a meat cleaver.

  The key to negotiation was to occupy a better position than your opponent.

  “Very well. One moment, please.”

  Heaving the rudely bundled clothing—a horse’s hay bale was more neatly tied—onto the display table, he turned and attended to the mountain of goods in the back of the stall.

  For a stall like this, the challenge was moving goods from here to there, and thus the shopkeeper would not hesitate to buy from rather suspicious sources.

  In other words, stolen goods were common, and among them were some choice items.

  If bargain finds were the goal, there was no better place than a little stall like this.

  “What about something like this? A certain merchant house sold it to me upon the change of the season,” said the shopkeeper, producing a collared shirt, which together with a long skirt, had been dyed blue.

  Paired with a clean white apron and good posture, it would produce a perfectly suitable ensemble for a maid at a good inn somewhere. Its color was not faded nor its hems worn, so it was most likely stolen.

  But whether the article was good or not, the question was would Holo like it?

  Lawrence glanced at Holo, who seemed unimpressed.

  “Perhaps the lady does not like it.”

  “I’ve no time for these silly colors.”

  If Holo truly had been born into a noble house, she would’ve inspired rumors that she preferred armor to dresses.

  “I want something simpler. Something easy to put on.”

  Lawrence met the shopkeeper’s eyes and smiled.

  There was something charming about a girl who wanted to dress quickly.

  “In that case…” The shopkeeper turned around and again went searching through his pile of clothes.

  When it came to things that were easy to put on, something that went over the shoulders like a robe was a likely choice.

  So what along those lines would turn up that would fit a town lass like Holo?

  Lawrence wondered about it as he watched the shopkeeper’s back, when his eyes lit upon something. “Excuse me, sir, but what is that?”