Spice & Wolf II Read online

  However, even Lawrence the traveling merchant knew little of the kingdom of Leedon, save that it was famous for its spices. To get there from Pazzio, one had to take the river all the way to the coast and then board a long-distance sailing ship south across two separate seas, a journey of roughly two months.

  The language was different, of course, and apparently it was hot like summertime year-round in Leedon, and the population was permanently tanned near black from the time they were horn.

  It seemed unbelievable, but there was spice, gold, silver, and iron that supposedly came from the place, and the Milone Company vouched for the origin of the pepper, which the certificate claimed was Ramapata.

  Was it a real country?

  “The certificate seems authentic,” said the master.

  The kinds of bills of exchange, trusted promissory notes and contracts that passed through town merchants were huge. Supposedly they could even recognize bills signed by small companies in faraway lands to say nothing of huge organizations that had their main branches in a foreign country.

  Recognizing the seal of a company as large as Milone would be but the work of a moment. Signatures were important, but the soul of a contract was the seal.

  “Right, then, it’ll be one lumione per measure. Will this do?”

  “Can you tell me what the lumione is trading at currently?” Lawrence asked suddenly, even though he had some grasp of the coin’s market value.

  Gold coin was generally used as an accounting currency—that is to say it was the basis for calculating the values of the many other currencies in the world. Calculations were performed in gold currency and then remitted in other, more convenient forms. Of course, in that situation the market value of the currency in question became an issue.

  Lawrence was suddenly very nervous.

  “Mr. Lawrence, as I recall, you follow the path of Saint Metrogius in business, like your teacher did, correct?”

  “Yes. Perhaps it’s the protection of Saint Metrogius that’s kept my travels safe and my business sound.”

  “So I presume that you’ll take payment in trenni silver?”

  Many traveling merchants wanted to repeat the successes of the past, and so rather than move randomly from one town to another, they trod the paths of the saints of old.

  Thus it was that the currency they used at a given time was quite predictable.

  For the master of the Latparron Trading Company to come to that conclusion so quickly meant he was very shrewd merchant indeed.

  “In trenni silver,” he continued, “the current rate is thirty-two and five-sixths.”

  The rate was lower than Lawrence remembered. But given this town’s importance as a trade center, it was within the realm he could allow.

  In places where currencies from many different places all converged, the exchange rate with respect to accounting currencies tended to be lower.

  Lawrence did the calculations in his head at lightning speed. At this rate he’d get 1,477 trenni for his pepper.

  The amount was less than he’d anticipated but a tolerable price nonetheless. It would be a huge step toward realizing the dream of opening his own shop.

  He took a deep breath and extended his right hand toward the master. “That price will be fine, sir.”

  The master’s face broke into a smile, and he accepted Lawrence’s hand. A merchant’s spirits were never better than at the moment of a successful contract.

  This was one such moment.

  “Ughh...” Holo cut in with a listless voice.

  “Whatever is the matter?” asked the master worriedly as he and Lawrence looked to Holo, who leaned unsteadily against the wall.

  In that instant, Lawrence remembered the sale of his furs to the Milone Company and grew suddenly nervous.

  The master of the Latparron Company was a canny merchant who managed his shop alone. Trying to outwit him was likely to end badly. Having Holo around didn’t mean they had to try to trick their trading partners every single time.

  Even as Lawrence thought this, he stopped short. Holo was acting strangely.

  “U-ugh...I’m, I’m dizzy...”

  Holo held on to the cup as her unsteadiness grew worse, and the water seemed like it would spill out at any moment.

  The master walked up to her, looking worried as he stilled the cup and supported her slim shoulders.

  “Are you recovered?”

  “...A bit. Thank you,” said Holo weakly, finally standing straight again with the master’s help.

  She looked every bit the fasting nun suffering from a bout of anemia. Even someone who wasn’t as devout as the master would have wanted to help her, but Lawrence noticed something strange.

  Underneath Holo’s hood, her wolf ears had not drooped very much.

  “A long journey will tire even the strongest man,” declared the master.

  Holo nodded slightly, then spoke. “I may well be tired from the travel. My vision seemed to tilt suddenly...”

  “That won’t do. Ah, I have it—shall I bring some goat milk? It’s fresh from yesterday’s milking,” he said, offering her a chair and briskly going to fetch the milk without waiting for her response.

  Lawrence was surely the only one who had any premonition that Holo was going to do something else when she did not sit in the offered chair and instead went to set the iron cup on the table.

  “Sir,” she said to the master, whose back was turned. “I believe I am yet a bit dizzy.”

  “Heavens. Shall I call a physician?” asked the master, looking over his shoulder with heartfelt concern.

  Underneath the hood, Holo’s expression was anything but the weak dizziness she feigned.

  “Look here. It’s tilting before my very eyes,” said Holo, taking the cup and spilling a few drops on the surface of the table—whereupon it flowed smoothly to Holo’s right and off the edge of the table, dripping to the floor with a small plip sound.

  “Wha—!” Lawrence walked swiftly to the table and put his hand on the scales.

  It was the same set of scales he’d so carefully gauged the accuracy of earlier. If they were even slightly off, it would mean a large loss for him, and so he’d checked the scales’ accuracy carefully—but they aligned perfectly with the direction in which the water had flowed off the table.

  This led to a single conclusion.

  The weighing was over, and the plates of the scale were empty save for the counterweights on them. Lawrence took the set of scales and rotated it to face precisely the opposite direction.

  The scales tipped this way and that owing to the sudden movement, but when set back on the table, their movement slowed and eventually stopped.

  According to the gradations, the scales balanced perfectly—despite the incline of the table. If they had been accurate, the reading would have been skewed by the slant of the table.

  The scales had clearly been tampered with.

  “So, then, did I drink water, or was it wine?” inquired Holo. She looked back to the master—as did Lawrence.

  The master’s expression froze, and sweat appeared on his forehead.

  “What I drank was wine. Was it not?” Holo’s voice sounded so a mused that even her smile was practically audible.

  The master’s face paled to a nearly deathly pallor. If the fact that he used fraudulent scales to swindle merchants was made public in a god-fearing town like this, all his assets would be forfeit, and he would face instant bankruptcy.

  “There’s a saying that ‘no one drinks less than the master of a full tavern’—this must be what that means,” said Lawrence.

  The stricken master was like a cornered hare, unable to cry out even as a predator’s fangs pierced its skin.

  Lawrence walked back toward the master with an easy smile.

  “The secret to prosperity is being the only sober one, eh?”

  So much sweat beaded up on the master’s forehead that you could trace a picture in it.

  “It seems I’m drunk on t
he same wine as my companion. I doubt we’ll be able to remember anything we’ve seen or heard in here...though in exchange I may be a bit unreasonable.”

  “Wh-what do you...?” The master’s face shivered in fear.

  Taking easy revenge here would be failing as a merchant, though.

  There wasn’t even a mote of anger at being deceived in Lawrence’s mind.

  All he thought of were cold calculations of how much more profit he could extract from his opponent’s fear.

  This was an unexpected opportunity.

  Lawrence drew near the man, his expression still smiling, his tone still every bit the negotiating merchant.

  “Let’s see...I think the amount we agreed to, plus the amount you were going to gain, plus, oh...you’ll let us buy double on margin.”

  Lawrence was demanding to be allowed to buy more than he had the cash to secure. It’s self-evident that the more money a merchant can invest, the greater profit he can realize. If he can buy two silver pieces’ worth of goods with a single piece, he will double his profit, pure and simple.

  But to buy two pieces’ worth with one piece, he would obviously need collateral. Since the merchant is essentially borrowing money, the lender has the right to demand collateral from the borrower.

  However, the master was in no position to make such a demand, which is why Lawrence pushed such an unreasonable position. It’s a third-rate merchant that doesn’t take advantage of weakness.

  “I, uh, er, I can’t possibly...”

  “You can’t do it? Oh, that’s a shame...I’m feeling significantly less drunk.”

  The master’s face was so wet it seemed to nearly melt as the sweat mixed with tears.

  His face a mask of despair, he slumped, defeated.

  “As for the goods, let’s see. Given the amount, perhaps some high-quality arms? Surely you have lots of goods bound for Ruvinheigen.”

  ...Arms, you say?”

  The master looked up, seeming to see a glimmer of hope. He had probably been assuming that Lawrence never planned to pay him back.

  “They’re always a good bet for turning a tidy profit, and I can get the loan back to you quickly that way. What say you?”

  Ruvinheigen served as a resupply base for the efforts to subjugate the pagans. Any items that served in the fighting flew off the shelves year-round.

  It was difficult to sustain depreciation losses when selling such goods.

  Since Lawrence would be able to purchase double the normal amount on margin, he’d have double the insurance against depreciation, which made weapons a good choice for a margin buy.

  The master’s face shifted to that of a shrewdly calculating merchant. “Weapons...you say?”

  “Since I’m sure there’s a trading company in Ruvinheigen with connections to yours, selling them there will balance out the books.”

  In short, after Lawrence sold the weapons he bought with money borrowed from the Latparron Company to another company in Ruvinheigen, he wouldn’t have to come all the way back to Poroson to return the money.

  In certain situations, the give-and-take of money could be accomplished with nothing more than entries in a ledger.

  It was the great triumph of the merchant class.

  “What say you?”

  At times, the business smile of a merchant could be an intimidating thing. Even among such smiles, Lawrence’s was exceptionally intimidating as he cornered the manager of the Latparron Trading Company, who—unable to refuse—finally nodded.

  “My thanks! I’d like to arrange for the goods immediately, as I hope to depart for Ruvinheigen very soon.”

  “U-understood. Er, as for the valuation...”

  “I shall leave that to you. After all, I trust in God.”

  The master’s lip twisted bitterly in what must have been a pained smile. It was unavoidable that he’d appraise the weapons rather cheaply.

  “Are you two quite finished?” said Holo, guessing that the strong-armed “negotiation” was over. The master gave a sigh of dismay. It seemed there was still one person who wanted a say.

  “I daresay my drunkenness is lifting as well,” said Holo, her head tilted charmingly to one side—but she must’ve seemed like a devil to the master.

  “Some fine wine and mutton would do much for my spirits. Make sure the mutton’s from the flanks now!”

  The master could only nod his head at her casual imperiousness.

  “Make it quick now,” said Holo, partially in jest, but hearing these words from the girl who adroitly saw through his doctored scales, the master turned around and scampered from the room like a pig smacked on the rear.

  One couldn’t help but feel the master was overdoing it a bit, but if his fraud was made public, he would be ruined. To that extent, a little bowing and scraping was a small price to pay.

  Lawrence would have taken a huge hit to his own assets if the trick hadn’t been noticed.

  “Hee-hee. Poor little man,” said Holo with a delighted chuckle that made her seem even nastier.

  “You’ve certainly a keen eye, as usual. I didn’t notice a thing.”

  “I’m beautiful and my tail fur is sleek, but my eyes and ears are also keen. I noticed the moment we entered the room. I suppose he would’ve been sly enough to fool the likes of you, though,” said Holo, sighing and waving her hand dismissively.

  Lawrence would have been happier if she’d said something sooner, but the reality was he had not noticed the fraud, and the fact that Holo did had turned a great loss into a great gain.

  It wouldn’t kill him to be polite.

  “I’ve nothing to say for myself,” Lawrence admitted. Holo’s eyes twinkled at his unexpected meekness.

  “Oh ho! I see you’ve matured a bit.”

  Lawrence—indeed having nothing to say for himself—could only smile, chagrined.

  There is something known as “spring fever.”

  It is most common during the winter in places far from rivers or seas. The streams freeze, and people survive on salted meat and stale bread day in and day out. It’s not that no vegetables can survive the frost, but rather that such produce is better sold than eaten. Eating the produce does nothing for the chill, but with the money gained from its sale, firewood can be bought and furnaces stoked.

  Rating naught but meat and drinking nothing but wine takes its toll, and by spring, many have broken out in rashes.

  This is spring fever, and it is proof of neglect for one’s health.

  Naturally it is well-known that resisting the temptation of meat and the comfort of wine will spare one this fate. Eat vegetables and meat only in moderation—such will the Church’s sermon be every Sunday.

  Thus come spring, the sufferers of spring fever will often find themselves being terribly scolded by the priest. Gluttony is, after all, one of the seven deadly sins—whether or not the glutton knows it.

  Lawrence heaved a long-suffering sigh at Holo’s overindulgence.

  She burped. “Whew...that was tasty.” She was in high spirits after washing down the fine mutton with some fine wine.

  Not only was it all free of charge, but after eating and drinking her fill, she could curl up in the wagon bed for a nap.

  Even the most extravagant merchant will, as a matter of course, think ahead and limit his excesses, but not Holo.

  Tapping her feet in delight, she had eaten and drunk with glee and only stopped to take a break.

  Lawrence reckoned that if it had been their travel provisions, she would’ve eaten three weeks’ worth—and she drank so much wine he began to wonder where it was going.

  If she had turned around and sold the food she extorted from the Latparron master, she would have put a big dent in her own debt to Lawrence.

  This was yet another reason Lawrence was stunned.

  “Now, then, I daresay I’ll take a nap,” said Holo.

  Lawrence didn’t even bother to look at the source of this exemplar of depravity.

  In addition to squeezi
ng some fine wine and mutton from the Latparron Company master, Lawrence had obtained a large load of arms at a very reasonable price. He and his companion left the town of Poroson without so much as waiting for the noontime bells. Little time had passed since then, and the sun was just now overhead.

  With the clear skies and warm sunshine, it was perfect weather for a midday drink, followed by a nap.

  Owing to the load, the wagon bed was in a state of disarray, but with wine enough in her, Holo probably wouldn’t mind.

  The trade road that they took to Ruvinheigen was full of steep inclines and sudden turns just outside of Poroson but smoothed out and gave a grand view as it slowly descended.

  The road meandered on.

  It was well traveled, which made for a firmly packed surface with holes being quickly filled.

  Even though her “bed” was packed full of sword hilts, Holo was easily able to nap on top of them and pass the afternoon away since the road was so smooth.

  Then there was Lawrence, who had drunk no wine and spent the day looking at a horse’s backside, reins in hand. His jealousy made it easy for him not to look at Holo.

  “Mm, I ought to tend to my tail,” said Holo—her tail the only thing she was diligent about. She pulled it out of her robes without a hint of concern.

  Not that any was warranted; the expansive view meant there was no danger of being surprised by an approaching traveler.

  Holo began to comb her tail, occasionally picking a flea out or pausing to lick the fur clean.

  The care she took with her tail was visible in her silent, single-minded attention to the job.

  She worked from the very base of the tail, which was covered in dark brown fur, finally reaching its fluffy white tip, and then suddenly looked up. “Oh, that’s right.”

  “...What?”

  “When we get to the next town, I want oil.”

  “...Oil?”

  “Mm. I’ve heard it would be good to use on my tail.”

  Lawrence turned away from Holo wordlessly.

  “So will you buy some for me?” asked Holo with a charming smile, her head tilted.

  Even a poor man would be hard-pressed to resist that smile, but Lawrence only glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.