Spice and Wolf, Vol. 10 Read online

  “And if after all that a foreign merchant is coming as a pilgrim, maybe this is the limit of their punishment. Serves them right, I say!”

  Given how deeply people revered places of worship, their reactions when their faith was abused were that much more violent. Each of the tavern’s patrons was all too happy to speak ill of the abbey.

  Given that, Lawrence was sure it would not be difficult to get them to talk about the Ruvik Alliance.

  “So that’s how it is…So does that mean nobody visits the abbey at all anymore?” asked Lawrence, at which the tavern master’s expression turned complicated, looking both pleased and helpless.

  But he could not say what he was feeling. Lawrence could tell that much.

  Brondel Abbey was still an important center for the town and for the nation—a symbol of their faith.

  “Not at all. Even now, merchants gather there. Though they are of a rather different kind. Have you ever heard of the Ruvik Alliance?”

  Holo ceased biting into her mutton and sipped her wine as though taking a short break—though her actions were no coincidence. She could tell the lively chatter had come to an end.

  “That’s the largest and most famous economic alliance in the world, is it not?”

  “Indeed it is. Evidently their people are visiting the abbey in great numbers. At first it was their leaders, riding in black carriages, but apparently the abbey winter was too much for them to endure, and merchants coming on foot replaced them. I hear they come and go constantly, each trying to be the first to strike a deal. This year they’ve passed right by all the taverns, grim-faced as they go.”

  “What kind of deal are they trying to make?” This would be the rest of the story Lawrence had heard from Deutchmann, but what came out of the tavern master’s mouth next was utterly surprising.

  “Don’t laugh now, but I hear they’re trying to buy the golden sheep.”

  Lawrence got the feeling he could hear Holo’s ears prick to attention beneath her hood.

  Lawrence himself looked the tavern master disbelievingly in the face.

  “The story comes up whenever times are hard. The fields of Brondel Abbey are vast, and when they’re covered in snow, the whiteness extends as far as you can see. Legend has it that at the very edge there’s a sheep as brilliantly golden as the newly risen sun.”

  “The story goes that a man once managed to pluck a bit of wool from it, but that the moment the wool was plucked it turned into pure light and vanished.”

  It was true enough that such stories did circulate.

  Nowhere was the ground more fertile for miraculous stories than a nation beset by war or hardship—tales of statues of the Holy Mother weeping, witches’ grins splitting from ear to ear as they stole children, or the symbol of the Church appearing on a great flag in the sky.

  Even across the sea on the continent there were people who had heard the tale of the golden sheep of Brondel Abbey.

  It was quite a convenient legend to cling to in times of great difficulty.

  “They’re probably trying to buy the abbey’s name, or its land…”

  “I heard a rumor the Ruvik Alliance is trying to become Winfiel’s new nobility.”

  “But King Sufon’s the grandson of the great Winfiel the First. He won’t just stand by and allow his own retainers to be bought off. There once was a merchant who bought himself the name of a fallen noble family, and the king’s anger was such that his decrees ruined the merchant’s wool trade—and then this.” The patron drew a finger across his neck in a familiar gesture for beheading.

  Lawrence realized the merchant had to have been the former husband of someone he knew quite well.

  “There’s no money, but taxes keep going up, though I suppose it’s because there is no money that his reaction is so excessive.”

  “You’re good customers, so I’ll tell you something. If you’re going to the abbey, watch yourselves. Demons have taken up within the house of God. The God that should have been coming to our aid has been lost on the vast plains for long time now.”

  Lawrence couldn’t tell whether they were speaking ill of the abbey or of the Ruvik Alliance. Maybe they did not know themselves.

  Maybe they did not care as long as they had something to complain about. But no matter the target of their complaints, it was clear they did not truly hate them.

  The Ruvik Alliance and the Winfiel monarchy were entities far beyond their own positions, and even if it had fallen, Brondel Abbey was still viewed with respect.

  These nebulous contradictions were all too clear to Lawrence. And because they were so clear, Lawrence understood well just how difficult the tavern’s patrons’ lives were.

  “Thank you. We’ll be very careful.”

  “Aye. Other than that, you’d best eat and drink such that you’ve energy to spare. The moment you leave the town, it’s naught but snowy fields. Without enough energy, you’ll never make it across!”

  The tavern’s noise level rose with the tavern master’s pronouncement, and Lawrence raised his cup.

  Col seemed to be at his limit, though Holo was still ready to go.

  The great Brondel Abbey out on the snow-strewn plains.

  Indeed, they would need to eat plenty while they could.

  There was a tik, tik sound.

  It sounded like the crackling of burning firewood. But wait, no—no bonfire had been started the previous night. Ah, of course—the fireplace.

  And yet despite that realization, the sound was odd.

  Lawrence finally opened his eyes and raised his head. Given the still dim room, he knew the hour was yet early, and from the light that entered through the window, he could tell whether the weather outside was clear or not.

  The day unfortunately seemed to be a cloudy one. The moment he thought to himself, Seems cold, the frigid air he inhaled through his nose roused him mercilessly to total wakefulness.

  It was cold in the room, despite the sound of the crackling firewood.

  “Snow, eh?” he muttered, then yawned hugely and sat up.

  It had been a long time since he had slept so soundly, thanks to the impressive warmth provided by the wool quilt.

  Holo seemed fast asleep, the fluffed-up quilt rising and falling with her breath.

  And yet it was cold.

  Lawrence felt as though ice had been left on his face. He looked at Col, who like Holo seemed to be curled up and sleeping, entirely covered by his quilt.

  Evidently Lawrence was the only one who had slept with his face exposed.

  He rubbed his frigid face and exhaled whitely. Getting out of bed, he shivered and walked over to the room’s table, then swirled the water jug there experimentally.

  He had not hoped for much, and the water in the metal jug was frozen solid.

  “Suppose I’ll have to go downstairs…”

  Since beginning his travels with Holo, he had talked to himself much less, but sometimes it still happened. He added some straw to the still faintly flickering fire, and once it flared up, he put another piece of firewood in.

  The bricks of the lovely brick fireplace seemed cold enough to put the fire out.

  Having confirmed that the firewood was well and truly burning, Lawrence left the room.

  The hallway was utterly quiet. Either for want of guests or simply because of the early hour, the silence seemed to swallow all sound.

  He was not concerned about the creaking of the floorboards as he walked.

  This silence, as though the world were wrapped in cotton, was unique to newly fallen snow.

  When he reached the ground floor, he saw that the front door was still barred, and the inn was not yet open for business.

  Then he thought he heard the sound of a door opening come from the end of the hallway that continued on to the courtyard. When he looked, he saw the innkeeper, red-nosed and wearing a scarf wrapped about his neck and carrying a barrel.

  “Goodness, you’re up early.”

  “Good morning to yo
u.”

  “My, but it’s cold! Took some effort to break through the ice in the well. Looks like the lid’s coming down starting today.”

  The innkeeper carried the barrel in and then poured its contents into a jug at the end of the hall.

  Keeping water available was a constant problem for those who lived in colder climes. It seemed ironic to Lawrence that there would be snow falling and yet water was still a concern.

  “The lid?”

  “Oh, that’s what we say around here when we’re covered in snow. Everything turns white in single day.”

  “I see.”

  “So, what shall I get you? I can make some breakfast for my guests, though it’ll take some time.”

  “We’re fine for breakfast. To be honest, we brought home quite a bit from the tavern last night.”

  Things had gotten so raucous at the tavern that eventually the town guard had come by, and Lawrence had gotten their leftovers packed up to take with them.

  Everything was of the finest quality, and heated beside the fireplace it would make for an excellent breakfast.

  “Ha-ha-ha! I suppose you’ve got to eat such good mutton while you’ve got the chance, eh?”

  “Indeed. Ah, but if you could get us some water—”

  “Yes, of course. Ah, I suppose the water in your metal pitcher would be solid as a rock. I’ll bring a box of sawdust up later. Keep it in that and it’ll resist the cold a little better.”

  “Ah, thank you.”

  After receiving an earthenware jug of water from the innkeeper, Lawrence returned to the room.

  It seemed to him that “putting the lid on” was an apt phrase for snowfall. Once long ago, while drinking cheap liquor at a meager lodge one cold night, he seemed to remember a mercenary saying something similar.

  The man had said that if you had to go to war, the northlands were the place to do it, where the snow would cover all the pain and suffering.

  Snow made people sentimental.

  Lawrence smirked wryly at the notion and then opened the door to his room. “Oh, you’re awake—”

  He cut himself off the moment he realized the mood in the room.

  Holo sat on the bed, staring out the open window.

  She was totally motionless, looking straight ahead, and but for the white exhalations of her breath, she could easily have been mistaken for a clay statue.

  Lawrence entered the room and closed the door behind him, but Holo continued to gaze outside.

  The wood was still crackling away in the fireplace, but Lawrence added another piece.

  He set the water jug on the table and then walked over to Holo’s bed.

  “’Tis snow,” said Holo, still not looking at him.

  Lawrence did not answer immediately, following her gaze before saying, “Indeed,” and sitting beside her.

  Holo continued to stare out the window.

  Her legs were not crossed, nor did she hug her knees as she gazed silently outward, as though she had been left in some particular moment.

  Lawrence’s sigh mingled with the chill air that poured in through the open window, and he placed his hand on her head.

  Her beautiful hair felt like so many strands of ice.

  Lawrence knew all too well what Holo must have been thinking about as she looked out over the snow.

  So rather than hugging her close, he simply stayed there.

  “…”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Holo look at him wordlessly.

  She no longer wore the blank expression, with which she’d looked out the window; her still face was filled with pathos.

  Her cold, thin lips, too, had regained some of their softness.

  “I see even you can manage some kindness after all,” she said.

  “You’ll catch cold,” said Lawrence instead of giving her a proper reply, at which Holo nodded.

  The very next instant, she sneezed, then immediately dove back under her quilt. Lawrence stood and closed the window.

  “Were I in my true form, I could gaze at the snow for as long as I liked.”

  “No doubt you’d become covered in snow as you watched,” said Lawrence. Holo smiled and pointed to the water jug.

  Lawrence gave it to her, and with her other hand, she took his.

  “I told you snow was no great problem, did I not?” she said with a faint half smile.

  For her, snow was no occasion for play.

  In the village of Pasloe, where she had stayed for centuries, it did not snow—unlike her homelands of Yoitsu.

  Lawrence held her cold hand and answered, “I wonder about that. You’re hardly a weeping, frail maiden after all—you might well go dashing happily off over the snow at any moment.”

  “…”

  Holo smiled wordlessly, then sat up and put the jug to her lips.

  Immediately thereafter, her smile turned to a glare. “This is no wine.”

  “You fool,” said Lawrence, imitating her particular tone, which made her force the jug back into his hand and then flop sulkily back onto the bed.

  “So you’re going to sleep, then? Breakfast is going to be rather magnificent today.”

  Snow made one sentimental.

  And yet it was just as true that good food improved any mood.

  Perhaps it should have been unsurprising, given that they were in sheep-farming territory.

  Along with the leftover mutton that had been packed up for them was an unfamiliar leather pouch, which turned out to be packed full with butter.

  A very pleased Holo spread it upon her rye bread before stuffing the bread in her mouth, while Col, smaller of appetite and particularly so in the morning, could only look on queasily.

  “Sho, wha’ shall whe do nexsht?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Given that Deutchmann said he would introduce us to a trading company affiliated with the Ruvik Alliance, we’ll simply wait for them to contact us.”

  “Mm…mmph.” Taking a breath after finally swallowing her mouthful of rye bread, she then opened her mouth. Lawrence thought she was about to speak, but she simply took another huge bite.

  “Are you planning to hibernate anytime soon?”

  “That migh’ no’ be sush a ba’ idea.”

  It was impossible to talk to Holo while she was preoccupied with tasty food.

  Lawrence put some fireplace-warmed mutton between slices of bread and took a bite.

  “But it’s already so cold—it’ll be hard to travel with the snow, won’t it?” said Col as he put a cup of warm sheep’s milk to his lips after happily watching Lawrence and Holo’s exchange.

  “True. What did you do when you were traveling alone?”

  “When I first left home, it was a good season for travel…and I decided to avoid traveling through places where it seemed like it would snow, since it suddenly got very cold once I crossed the Roam River.”

  “Indeed. In those clothes of yours, it’d be up to God’s grace whether you woke up or not after getting snowed upon.”

  Lawrence plucked a bit of mutton fat off of Col’s face, and the boy grinned sheepishly, though it was unclear whether his embarrassment was over his clothes or the scrap of food on his face.

  “Still, there’s a certain amount of preparation done along routes that can expect snow. Signposts are erected at set intervals, and there are small way houses placed at distances where even in deep snow, a traveler could expect to reach them. The blizzards around Arohitostok are indeed terrible, but thanks to the weather there are no bandits, and the bears and wolves stay holed up in their dens so travel was surprisingly easy.”

  “You’ve even been to Arohitostok? Isn’t that the northernmost town of all?”

  “Just once, to deliver the personal things of a traveler who passed away. It’s northwest of even the Dolan Plains. I saw the land there as smooth and flat as a calm sea. It was an amazing sight.”

  It was said that the land had been stripped bare by the great wind caused by a drago
n that flew up to the ends of the sky, with grass and trees alike uprooted.

  Owing to all the snow that fell on the nearby village of Arohitostok, it was extremely dry despite the cold, which made for a strange landscape.

  It was where Lawrence first learned what it meant for a place to have truly nothing.

  “They say Saint Alagia spent thirty years as an ascetic there…If that’s true, then he’s a saint, no mistaking it.”

  “Wow…,” breathed Col in wonderment.

  Lately Holo’s mood had been turning sour after meals, but it could not be helped. She would not listen to Lawrence like this, the way Col did, and so his treatment of her naturally differed.

  Hopefully God would forgive him.

  “In school, I learned the names of towns all over the world, but I’ve been to so few of them myself…”

  “That’s true of people everywhere. I’ve only rarely joined caravans or traveled fixed trade routes—that’s why I’ve traveled so far and seen so much.”

  “Have you been to any towns in the south?”

  “I expect you’re more familiar with the south than I am. I’ve gone east, as well—”

  Just then Lawrence stopped, but it was not because Holo was about to start crying from having been so thoroughly left out of the conversation.

  It was because there was a knock at the door.

  “Coming!” said Col energetically, jumping out of his chair. He had gotten quite used to handling such minor duties.

  Holo continued eating her breakfast, but it was obvious that she was in a foul temper; despite the arrival of a guest, she had not put her hood up.

  Lawrence reverently took her hood and placed it over her head.

  “Who is it, please?” Col opened the door, and there stood a man wrapped entirely in heavy clothing, in a manner reminiscent of Eve.

  A turban covered his head, and he wore two long coats, each reaching to his ankles. Animal hides that still held their fur covered his shins, and he had a large burlap sack over his shoulder.

  He seemed ready for a long march through the snow, but there was already snow on his head and shoulders. It seemed very likely that he had just arrived, and after casting his gaze this way and that from under the scarf around his head, he began unwrapping it.