Spice and Wolf, Vol. 4 Page 5

  Lawrence feigned horror as he shook his head, but he now realized why the town’s church went unused.

  As a matter of fact, it was something of a miracle that the church hadn’t been razed to the ground.

  But after Lawrence thought it over for a moment, he realized the reason why the church was still standing.

  The town of Enberch was not so very far away.

  “You passed through Enberch ere arriving here, did you not?”

  Just as Lawrence wondered how to broach the topic, a villager did it for him.

  “You saw the giant church there, then. A man named Bishop Van is in charge there, and every generation of bishop there has been a maddening presence,” continued the villager.

  “Enberch was once much smaller than Tereo, the story goes,” said another. “They, too, were looked over by Lord Truyeo until one day missionaries from the Church came, and the whole village rolled over and converted without so much as a second thought. A cathedral went up in a flash, more people came, a road was laid, and soon it was a grand town. Then they started making demands of Tereo…”

  “Aye,” continued a third. “And of course, they wanted us to convert as well. But thanks to the efforts of the people here two generations ago, they managed to hold off conversion by letting a church be built. But there’s no comparison between their grand town and our little village. They let us continue our devotion to Truyeo, but in exchange we pay heavy taxes. Ask any of our grandfathers; they’ll complain about it all day.”

  There were stories all the time of deals like this being made on the front lines of missionary work.

  “So it was about thirty or forty years ago that Father Franz arrived,” said a villager.

  Lawrence was beginning to understand the village’s situation more and more. “I see,” he said. “But I gather that a young lady by the name of Elsa now has charge of the church.”

  “Ah, yes, indeed she does…”

  Thanks to the ale, tongues were loosened all around.

  Lawrence decided he would get answers to all of his questions in one fell swoop.

  “When we stopped to pray for safe travels, I was quite surprised to find such a young girl wearing priestly robes. Are there special circumstances surrounding her, as I can’t help but assume?”

  “It’s strange, isn’t it?” agreed a villager. “It was more than ten years ago that Father Franz took Miss Elsa in. She’s a good girl, but as a priest? Surely not.”

  “If the responsibility becomes too heavy for her, would it not be possible to summon a priest from Enberch?” Lawrence asked.

  “Ah, about that…,” said one man, who looked nervously at the fellow next to him, who in turn looked to his neighbor.

  In the end, the gaze traveled fully around the table before the first man spoke again.

  “You’re a merchant from a distant land, are you not?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “Well, then, perhaps—well, do you know any powerful men in the Church?”

  Lawrence did not immediately understand why the man was asking, but he got the feeling that if he had known any, the man would have told him everything.

  The man continued. “Someone that could really stick it to that lot in Enberch—”

  “Hey!” Iima had appeared just a moment earlier. She rapped the man smartly on the head. “What are you saying to our guest? Do you want a beating from the elder?”

  Lawrence almost laughed at the chastened man, who looked at the moment like a boy being scolded by his mother, but as he saw Iima’s gaze move to him, he quickly suppressed his smile.

  “I’m sorry—it must look like we’re hiding something. But even a traveler—no, especially a traveler—can understand that every village has its own problems.”

  Iima’s words carried weight, given her past spent traveling from village to village with a brewing jug on her back.

  And in any case, Lawrence saw the truth in what she said.

  “When travelers come through, we’d like them to eat our food and drink our wine, and when they visit another region, to talk about how nice the village was. That’s how I see it anyway.”

  “I quite agree,” said Lawrence.

  Iima grinned and slapped the village men on their backs. “Now then, you lot, your last job of the day is to drink and make merry!” she said, but suddenly her gaze flicked elsewhere. She then looked back at Lawrence and smiled apologetically. “I wish I could say the same to you, but it seems your companion has had quite enough.”

  “She hasn’t had anything to drink in some time; I daresay she went a bit overboard.” There wasn’t much ale left in Lawrence’s own cup. He drained it in one go and stood. “I’ll return to the inn before she makes a spectacle of herself. At least she hasn’t married anyone yet.”

  “Ha! She can take it from me, no good comes from a woman drinking!”

  The men all chuckled furtively at Iima’s hearty comment. There seemed to be a number of stories about the subject.

  “I’ll remember that,” said Lawrence, leaving some silver coins on the table.

  It had cost him ten trenni to treat everyone in the tavern, which he’d done in order to quickly fit in.

  Nobody wanted a spendthrift for a friend, but a generous traveler was welcome the world over.

  Once Lawrence had collected Holo—who was sprawled out over a table, having seemingly drunk herself into a stupor—he left the bar, sent off with a mixture of friendly teasing and thanks.

  It was fortune within misfortune that the tavern and inn both faced the town square.

  Despite Holo’s slender frame, being a wolf spirit she could eat and drink tremendous amounts—extra weight that Lawrence now felt. Lifting her took effort.

  Of course, that was only necessary if she truly had passed out from the liquor.

  “You ate too much and drank too much.”

  Lawrence put her arm around his neck, supporting her from the side. As soon as he spoke, she seemed to support her weight a bit on her own, lightening his burden.

  Holo burped. “Wasn’t it my job to eat and drink, leaving barely a space for chatter?”

  “Of course, I’m aware of that. But you kept on ordering the most expensive stuff.”

  Though Holo’s eyes may have been sharper, Lawrence could hardly fail to notice the food and drink Holo had brought to her table.

  “Ah, you’re a stingy male, you are. Ah, but enough of that—I need to lie down. It’s hard to breathe!”

  Lawrence gave a brief sigh—it seemed Holo’s unsteady footsteps were not an act after all—but he himself had had a bit to drink and wanted to sit down.

  The village square of Tereo, dimly lit by the lamps hanging on a few of the buildings that faced it, was deserted.

  Though it had been some time since sunset, the ways in which this village differed from a larger town were clear.

  When they reached the inn and opened the door, the front room was illuminated only by a single apologetic candle. The master was not there—which was hardly surprising as he’d been drinking merrily away at the same table as Holo.

  Noticing the return of her guests, the master’s wife came out, taking one look at Holo’s sad state and smiling sympathetically.

  Lawrence asked for some water, then climbed the creaking stairs to their second-story room.

  The inn seemed to have but four rooms in total, and at the moment, Lawrence and Holo were the only guests.

  Despite this, apparently a good number of people came for the spring seed-sowing and autumn harvest festivals.

  The only decoration in the inn was the embroidered cloth crest, which hung in the hall, left behind by a knight that had evidently passed through long ago.

  If Lawrence remembered correctly, the crest—now illuminated by a shaft of moonlight that streamed in through the open window—was the symbol of a mercenary group famous in the northlands of Ploania for killing saints of the Church.

  Lawrence didn’t know if the innkeeper was igno
rant of this or if he displayed the crest because of its connotations.

  Looking at the crest made it clear to Lawrence just what the relationship between the Church and the village of Tereo was like.

  “Hey, we’re nearly there. Don’t fall asleep yet!” As they climbed the stairs, Holo’s footing became less and less sure, and by the time they came to the door of their room, she seemed to be at her limit.

  They entered, Lawrence guessing that she would be hungover again tomorrow, and he felt more sympathy than annoyance toward his companion as he managed to lay her down on the bed.

  The room’s window was closed, but a few slivers of moonlight found their way through the cracks. Lawrence opened the battered window and breathed out the hustle and bustle of the day, exchanging it for the solemnly cold winter air.

  Shortly after, there was a knock at the door. He turned to see the innkeeper’s wife enter, bringing water and some fruit he couldn’t immediately identify.

  He asked and she explained that it was good for hangovers—though unfortunately the one most in need of the cure had already fallen fast asleep. It wouldn’t do to refuse her kindness, so he accepted the fruit gratefully.

  The fruits were hard and round. Two fit in the palm of his hand. When Lawrence bit into one, the sourness was so intense it made his temples ache.

  The fruits certainly seemed effective. There might even be business to be had with them. He made a mental note to look into such the next day, if there was time.

  Lawrence thought back on the noisy evening at the tavern.

  Holo’s speed at blending into the tavern’s mood was genuinely impressive.

  Of course, he’d explained the goal to her ahead of time, as well as the part he wanted her to play.

  When a pair of travelers stopped in a tavern, generally they had to either endure endless questions from the patrons or be left out of conversation entirely.

  Avoiding these fates took money.

  There was no easy way to obtain coin in a village like this with little in the way of commerce—but unless it was completely isolated, Tereo wouldn’t be able to survive without at least some money.

  This was the main reason travelers were so welcome. Without money, they would have no reason to entertain people whose backgrounds were completely unknown.

  Next, the travelers had to eat and drink heartily.

  They had no way of knowing the quality of food and drink the village tavern had to offer. In the worst case, a traveler could be poisoned, and even if he didn’t die outright, he could be stripped bare and left in the mountains.

  Which meant that eating and drinking indicated trust in the village.

  It was important to be careful, but an interesting thing about the world is this: People tend not to be heartless if they feel they are trusted.

  Lawrence had learned these things as he had opened new trade routes, but Holo’s skill at fitting into the tavern’s atmosphere was even better than his—and it was thanks to her that he was able to get answers to difficult questions much more easily than he’d anticipated.

  Though Iima interrupted his last question, the visit had still gone well. If it had been a business visit, Lawrence would’ve been willing to give Holo some coin by way of thanks.

  That said, it wasn’t much fun to see her accomplish the task so effortlessly when he’d gotten along perfectly well on his own up until this point.

  With age came experience, he supposed.

  And yet.

  Lawrence closed the window and sank into contemplation as he lay himself down on the bed.

  Should Holo grasp the ways of business, it would clearly be the birth of a merchant with incredible prowess. With someone who could so adroitly penetrate social circles, Lawrence couldn’t help but dream of the new trade routes he might open. Holo could certainly become such a trader.

  Lawrence’s dream was to have a shop of his own in a town somewhere. For the shop to prosper, it was clear to him that two people working would be better than one, and three was still better than two. It was only natural for him to think about how reassuring Holo’s presence would be.

  Holo’s home of Yoitsu was not far, and its location wasn’t entirely a mystery anymore.

  Even if they were unable to discover the location of the abbey and even if they found no further clues, they would still probably find Yoitsu by the time summer came.

  What did Holo plan to do after that?

  Though it was only a verbal contract, he had promised to accompany her home.

  Lawrence looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

  He knew full well that parting was part and parcel of travel.

  But it was not just Holo’s talent that he would miss. When he thought of their constant verbal sparring, the notion that it would end with their travels together caused his chest to ache.

  Having thought it through this far, Lawrence closed his eyes and smiled to himself there in the darkness.

  No good would come of a merchant thinking of matters outside business.

  That was another lesson he had learned in his seven years of experience on the road.

  What he needed to worry about was the content of his coin purse.

  What he should be thinking about was how to rein in Holo’s constant gluttony.

  The thoughts chased each other through Lawrence’s mind until he finally began to feel sleepy.

  No good would come of it.

  No good at all.

  The room’s ragged blankets felt like they had been boiled in a pot, then dried in the sun. They were completely useless against the morning chill.

  Lawrence was awakened by his own sneeze. A new day had begun.

  At this hour, what little warmth could be found in the blanket was truly worth ten thousand gold pieces—not that he would be compensated for it.

  Far from it—the warmth was like a devil child sent to devour his time. Lawrence rose and looked over at the bed next to him. Holo was already awake.

  Her back was turned to him, and she looked down, as though busy with some task.

  “Ho—”

  He stopped in the middle of her name—her tail had suddenly fluffed out in a way he’d never seen before.

  “Wh-what’s wrong?” he managed.

  Holo’s ears pricked up, and at length she slowly turned around.

  The sun had not yet fully risen, and the air was bluish. White puffs of her breath were visible as she looked over her shoulder.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and in her hand was a small round fruit out of which a bite had just been taken.

  “…Ah, you ate it?” Lawrence asked, half-smiling.

  Holo licked her lips and nodded. “Wh…what is this…?”

  “The innkeeper’s wife brought it after we came back to the inn last night. Apparently it’s good for hangovers.”

  Evidently some of the fruit lingered in her mouth. Holo squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to swallow, then sniffed and wiped the corners of her eyes. “Eating this would drag me back to sobriety after a hundred years’ drinking!”

  “It certainly looks like you could use its help.”

  Holo frowned and threw what was left of the fruit at Lawrence, then tended to her still-fluffed tail. “’Tis not as though I am hungover every morning.”

  “And thank goodness for that. It’s cold again today, I should say.”

  Lawrence looked at the fruit Holo had thrown at him. It was half gone. To have eaten half of the sour fruit’s flesh in a single bite without knowing what to expect—there was no wonder she’d found the taste a shock. While it was impressive she hadn’t cried out, that might have been because she was simply unable to.

  “I don’t mind a bit of cold, but no one in the village is yet awake.”

  “Surely someone is up…but I daresay shops will not be open until late.”

  Lawrence stood up from the bed and opened the rickety window, which seemed like it would be little use against even a weak breeze. He looked out; there w
as nothing but wisps of morning mist in the village square.

  Lawrence was used to seeing merchants jostle for space in town square markets. The contrast made this one seem quite lonely.

  “I surely prefer a livelier place,” said Holo.

  “You’ll find no argument from me there.” Lawrence closed the window and looked over his shoulder to see Holo burrowing underneath the blankets to go back to sleep.

  “You know, they say the gods made us to sleep just once a day.”

  “Oh? Well, I’m a wolf,” Holo said with a yawn. “There’s nothing for it if no one has yet risen. If I must be cold and hungry, I’d rather be asleep.”

  “Well, we are here in the wrong season. Still, it’s odd.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ah, it’s nothing you’d care about. I just can’t quite figure the sources of income for the people here.”

  Holo had initially popped her head out of the covers with interest, but at these words, she immediately retreated back within them.

  Lawrence chuckled slightly at her actions, and having nothing better to do, he thought the problem over.

  Though it was true that this was a slow season for farmers, villages prosperous enough to cease work entirely during the winter were few and far between.

  And based on what Lawrence heard in the tavern, they had to pay taxes to the town of Enberch.

  Yet the villagers did not seem to be engaging in any jobs on the side.

  The village was still very quiet just as Holo had said.

  Side jobs for farming villages like this were things like spinning and weaving wool or making baskets and bags out of straw. Such work wasn’t profitable unless the volume was high, so people were generally busy at work as soon as the sun was up. If taxes had to be paid, they would have to work that much harder.

  What was even stranger was the excellent ale and food at the tavern the night before.

  In truth, the village of Tereo seemed, somehow, to have money.

  While Holo’s nose for the quality of food was unmatched, Lawrence’s sense of smell was attuned to money.