Spring Log III Page 5

  “But rules are rules…”

  “No, if you’re going to send out a servant to buy some, Mr. Morris, then we will, too!”

  “Hey!”

  “The harvest this year is already over. The more time passes, the more expensive the good flour is. It will certainly mean more losses for us if we don’t rush to buy some quickly.”

  “But if we do this without an assembly, the other bathhouses…”

  “Then we should hold an assembly. This is the village’s problem!”

  “But then again, it was us who were tricked by the sly words of that miller from Atiph…If we try to bend the village’s rules, they’ll say, I told you so!”

  Though it was said this hot spring village was the closest to heaven, the ones who sponsored these waters were troubled over something rather grounded in reality.

  While I thought it was quite comical, I also felt it was quite healthy.

  As I was thinking, the hot-blooded man named Morris spoke.

  “Then are you all planning to knead snow instead of wheat and put that in the oven?!”

  It said in the scripture that man shall not live by bread alone.

  Yet, guests used to wheat bread would never eat oat bread or porridge.

  The bathhouse masters all exchanged glances, then sighed in defeat.

  “Needs must when the devil drives…I suppose we should put up with this shame and call an emergency assembly.”

  Everyone nodded gloomily and left the port.

  When I returned to the bathhouse and reported the situation, Lawrence, too, looked as if he had a headache.

  I was not a member of the village, so I do not know in detail what happened with the miller afterward.

  But I was precisely aware of where the constant stacks of delicious wheat bread on Spice and Wolf’s tables were coming from.

  According to the bathers, they all agreed that the bathhouse was using its connection to the Debau Company, the corporation controlling the entirety of the northlands. They all laughed, saying that no matter how bad the harvest was that year, it was just this bathhouse where they could eat soft, sweet wheat bread.

  I wondered if Lawrence was involved with the Debau Company, but it sounded like he had assisted them in a time of crisis back when he was a traveling merchant.

  If that was so, then I found answers not just for the bread, but for my other questions. Essentially, if I considered he was borrowing help from the Debau Company, famous for their control over mines, they could indeed manage to find new springs in this land and fund the opening of their business.

  However, there were still yet some oddities about this bathhouse. I came to realize this as I stayed and kept an eye on the entire village, but they were thriving so well that I would understand if the surrounding bathhouses were merely spreading malicious rumors.

  Spice and Wolf was in a good location, the baths were spacious, and they were even equipped with a grotto bath that was the object of envy among nobles; otherwise, there was nothing particularly novel about it.

  There were bathhouses that served more exquisite meals, and there were bathhouses that were particular about their alcohol. Their beds were made of bundles of straw—absolutely no match for the bathhouses with silk and wool beds.

  The entertainment in the baths, too, was rather standard, and there were none who were making bears do tricks or breathing fire. Nor were they making the dancing girls do the unspeakable.

  Upon asking the other guests what was so attractive about this, the only answer I received was “Just a feeling.”

  The atmosphere in the house was certainly nice, but something did not quite add up. It made much more sense thinking they had applied some sort of magic. Dubious spells to pull in customers were not unusual.

  I searched here and there around the grounds but found nothing in particular.

  Meanwhile, many of the guests mentioned how charming the bathhouse master Lawrence’s wife Holo and her daughter, Myuri, were. They talked about the kind of appeal they had, one that even the traveling artists could never hope to reach.

  In fact, the silver-haired Myuri was energetic and endearing, and while her mother, Holo, seemed to be just as young as she was, she exuded a strange air of maturity and had a mysterious charm about her.

  That being said, it was much too simple to believe that was the only reason the guests gathered here.

  There had to be a reason for it, but time idly went by as I still could not find what that was.

  It was two weeks into my stay at the bathhouse that there was a small change.

  As I left the bustle of the baths behind and wandered about an empty road that continued through the heart of the village, I noticed someone walking, head down.

  While I cannot speak for others, a person walking around alone, gloomily, in this village stood out terribly to me.

  I looked closely, wondering if it was a suspicious character, and found it was the ordinary bathhouse master, Lawrence.

  “Is something the matter?”

  I asked the question from the position of a holy man. Of course, it was also my job to investigate heresy.

  “Hmm? Oh no…That’s, um, that’s just my face.”

  Lawrence looked up, and he had not noticed me on the road uphill from him. He rubbed his cheek, and his wry smile was rather strained.

  “I hope you do not mind me asking. I assure you I am not trying to kill time.”

  I spoke in a joking manner, and Lawrence laughed, then sighed.

  “Are you headed to the village, Sir Salgado?”

  “No, just out for a walk. I receive greater joy from jumping in the baths after I have cooled my body.”

  “Just one of the many secrets to enjoying life. In that case, please listen to this poor bathhouse master’s trifle as we head back to the house.”

  According to the other guests, while he seemed unreliable at first, Lawrence had a rare talent for trade with ties to many of those with influence.

  What was he troubled over?

  I could understand if someone had come to arrange a marriage for his precious only daughter, Myuri.

  “To tell the truth, that flour incident from the other day is still affecting us.”

  “The flour incident? Ah, you mean the faithless miller.”

  “We ended up buying cheap and wasting our money.”

  “But you always have a great supply of delicious wheat bread on the tables in the bathhouse. Is there yet another problem?”

  Lawrence heaved another sigh and scratched his head.

  “There were many people in the village who opposed ordering flour from that miller. Then, after many of the greedy bathhouse masters—myself included—spoke with one another, we ended up purchasing it.”

  Lawrence shrugged as he exhaled.

  “Everyone started looking for someone to blame. Well, I suppose it is a rite of passage for a newcomer…”

  “So they pushed the blame on to you?”

  “There are some bathhouses that hate us. Although, I don’t think I should be talking about this,” he said with a wry smile. “At least, not when I have such a splitting headache.”

  “I do not know the details, but I often hear similar stories in my travels. Keep your head up. God will always side with the righteous.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lawrence seemed somewhat inspired, yet he still did not look entirely happy.

  “If you have been given unreasonable demands, shall I mediate? I can do at least that much as a servant of God.”

  “Oh no, nothing like that. And, well, I guess you could say the resolution itself is possible.”

  It was like he was saying a riddle. I studied Lawrence, and this young-looking bathhouse master smiled tiredly and continued.

  “They forced on me all the oats that no one wanted to eat. I can’t bring myself to throw food away, and since there is so much of it, it cost quite a bit. I want to use it somehow, but…”

  I could easily imagine wh
at came next in his evasive phrase. The guests with their exquisite tastes would not even look at bread made from oat flour. That meant it would be Lawrence and the others in the bathhouse who would have to eat it, but since they had so much, it would take them a long time.

  Since it was the snowy season in a cold region, they were lucky in that bugs would not soon appear, but no one would be happy eating oat bread every day.

  “I will help as much as I can. I do not dislike unleavened bread.”

  Lawrence was about to shake his head, but as though reconsidering it, he forced a grin.

  “I want to say how I can’t make a guest do such a thing, but…I won’t ask you to, either. At worst, it might end up just being Col and I eating it all.”

  Col was a young man who worked in the bathhouse. As someone aspiring to become a man of the cloth, his knowledge, faith, and character made for a wonderful human being.

  And after two weeks in the bathhouse, I came to roughly understand their relationships.

  Studying the relationships between the master Lawrence and his wife, Holo, as well as between their daughter, Myuri, and Col, I could see how the two men, in their kindness, would end up eating the oat bread in place of the girls.

  Holo and Myuri, like mother like daughter, were extremely fond of fine cuisine.

  It also sounded like both mother and daughter had been sticking their fingers into the sugar pot, which Myuri had been making a fuss about. Then, by the time they realized it, the entire pot had been emptied, and that was when I saw the master, Lawrence, holding his head. It seemed as if the arrangement of Holo and Myuri pushing Lawrence and Col about was the main attraction of this bathhouse.

  As I considered this, Lawrence suddenly appeared very merchantlike.

  “May I ask you something?”

  “What is it?”

  Lawrence looked away and brought his hand to his mouth, perhaps in a show of contemplation.

  “How much oat flour would God forgive if it were mixed in with wheat flour?”

  As a cutthroat former merchant, he could have kept this quiet, but that just was not in his disposition. I could not help myself smiling before I answered.

  “It is written in the scripture that the earth needs salt. It would be best for one’s health to occasionally eat a bit of hardened bread and not always sup on soft bread,” I replied, thinking he would not do anything too greedy.

  “Well…I’m not entirely sure if I’ll do it.”

  “Yes, of course. Only God and I may know of the sins you confessed.”

  Lawrence smiled, relieved, and bowed his head.

  After that, while I do not know how much oat flour was mixed into the bread served on the tables, it seemed I was not mistaken in my judgment of Lawrence as an honest man. Many times afterward, I caught glimpses of him with his head in his hands, standing before the bags stuffed with oats outside of the shed.

  Oat bread was not something anyone could eat every day: Not only did it not rise when baked, it was also rock-hard yet still had the strange habit of sticking to one’s teeth. Furthermore, since it had been ground into flour, probably done by the miller to trick his customers, it could not be made into porridge.

  It would not be a great expense if a little was mixed into the wheat flour.

  As I saw him worry about what to do with the unnecessary items his village seniors had pushed upon him, I thought that perhaps peeling back a layer showed how the bathhouse’s liveliness was barely being kept together.

  In the end, I could not even find anything glaringly suspicious through my investigation.

  Even after holding a meeting with my companions who were infiltrating other bathhouses, it sounded like all the other places were the same. Apparently rumors about other bathhouses harboring heretics was mostly the usual bad-mouthing, stemming from tiffs that regularly occurred in such a small village.

  We came to the conclusion that staying any longer would not bring any significant results after having stayed at the Spice and Wolf bathhouse for two months.

  “Oh, you’re leaving?”

  Lawrence was surprised when I informed him. It was still the middle of winter, and the region was deep with snow. It must have been unusual for a guest to leave at this time. Of course, I had an excuse ready.

  “Spring festivals in the south begin early. I must be returning soon.”

  Lawrence seemed disappointed for a moment, because he knew he could not force me to stay any longer, so he gripped my hand with both of his and said, “Please do come again.”

  I came to the Spice and Wolf bathhouse on the papal office’s orders, but I wanted to come again on my own will, if possible.

  Then, after a short bow, I raised a question.

  “Do you think you could bake me some oat bread for my journey? It keeps very well due to how hard it is.”

  “I appreciate the consideration. I swear, our girls sneak tastes of the sweet, white sugar but won’t even give oats the time of day.”

  If the business at the bathhouse folded, it would likely be because the whole framework had been melted down by their stomachs.

  In the days following, they baked the hard oat bread for me. I was impressed to see Holo and Myuri unusually working the bread oven, perhaps in atonement for their sin of emptying the sugar pot. Lawrence had given a defeated smile, saying that was what made them crafty.

  I placed the bread they provided at the bottom of my sack. As long as it stayed dry, I could probably even eat it this time next year.

  Once my preparations were done, I left the bathhouse.

  Though I never learned the secret to their success, which had spawned the rumors that they were using magic, I did not find any clear evidence that they were involved with the unnatural.

  Of course, I could easily report that it was suspicious, but on the other hand, such a report would only be followed up with a warning, then stowed away somewhere in the papal office library.

  Though I personally know nothing of how pressing the campaign against heresy had once been, the way one should conduct themselves in the present society was, at the end of the day, dictated only by whether or not they were satisfied with their own work.

  Additionally, I also felt it pitiful to question if the bathhouse was a result of magic. Though there were no particular points worthy of mention, it could perhaps simply be a case of a flourishing business.

  I also felt that their honesty was apparent in the oat bread and how Holo and Myuri, the beautiful mother and daughter, were the very embodiment of innocence.

  While it is hard to say they are entirely in the clear, there was nothing to be concerned about.

  I decided that was what I would write in my report.

  Then, over the small, sulking fire burning beneath the moldy tent, I held up the oat bread Lawrence had given me.

  My companions, whose food had gone bad long ago, seemed to gain a bit of life back for the first time in a long time the moment they saw it.

  Wheat bread would not keep like this.

  As the oat bread roasted, a somewhat pleasant aroma wafted about that would appeal even to those who insisted it tasted bad. Even my companions, who sung praises of asceticism and were not troubled at all by a life of subsisting on beans and water, had growling stomachs.

  “They often say an empty stomach is the greatest spice,” someone said.

  There was a small ripple of laughter, but his smile soon tensed in an odd expression.

  “But it smells too good.”

  Though he seemed happy, he sounded unsure.

  “Hmm. Was oat bread truly this good-looking…?”

  Filling the tent was a delightful scent that made my head spin.

  “Perhaps it’s because that beautiful mother and daughter repented as they ground the flour and baked the bread?”

  I said it as a joke, but once I finished speaking, the bread smelled so good that it was the only possibility I could think of.

  “Impossible, a miracle from God?”
/>
  “Sacramental bread, you mean?”

  Excitement suddenly stirred beneath the tent.

  As I thought, No, impossible, it can’t be, my hand holding the bread began to shake at the delicious aroma. What fortune it would be to encounter a miracle from God in such a place!

  “We must report this to the cardinal and investigate once again. Sir Salgado, what was the name of the inn you stayed at?”

  I noticed something was appearing on the other side of the oat bread I was roasting before the excited bunch.

  “B-be quiet. There appears to be a stigmata on this sacramental bread!”

  There was a clamor, and those who gripped the crest of the Church, those who retrieved their scriptures from their bags, and those who folded their hands in prayer all gazed at the loaf.

  While it felt as though it would fall from my hands in nervousness, I slowly turned the bread over.

  It was unleavened bread, the kind that was flat and would not rise.

  Then, the moment the other side of the bread became visible, everyone held their breath.

  “…Th-this is…”

  It appeared on one side of the plate-sized bread.

  There was no doubting what we saw.

  There was the figure of a howling wolf and a short sentence.

  “…Please…come again to…Spice and Wolf?”

  “Oh! I remember this smell!”

  One cried out, grabbed the oat bread from me, pinched off a piece of the image that appeared from the roast, and tasted it.

  “It’s sweet! Yes, this is the smell of burned sugar!”

  Everyone stared at the one who yelled, then they all vied for a piece.

  I took a bite, too, and it was certainly sweet. Since I had not been eating properly, the spot beneath my temples clenched in aching comfort.

  “Honestly, scaring us like that! Perhaps there is melted sugar on top.”

  Someone spoke, and everyone laughed.

  “Is the same trick on the other pieces of bread?”

  When I heard that, I immediately tried roasting other pieces of bread. As we suspected, there were various things written on it, such as “The Best Bathhouse in Nyohhira” and even “Grouchy Brother” underneath a caricature of that young one, Col. I knew right away that Myuri had made that one.