Town of Strife II Page 5

  If he was getting to the point so quickly, he must have been running out of time—or perhaps this was just how Reynolds did business.

  Lawrence slowly turned his gaze elsewhere, then just as slowly, moved it back to Reynolds. “The Lydon Inn?”

  He was better at deception now, probably a result of having spent so much time with Holo, who was first-rate at it.

  Reynolds’s expression froze, probably out of surprise that Lawrence was proving harder to take off guard than he had anticipated. “Lies benefit neither of us. I already know you’ve been there.”

  Reynolds set his cup down and opened his palms to Lawrence. It was a gesture inviting mutual openness but held no special meaning between merchants.

  Lawrence thought.

  The fact that he had been summoned to the Lydon Inn by Eve was exposed, but it was still in his best interests to keep the nature and contents of that visit a secret.

  “I suppose if I were to say I went there for some friendly chatter, you wouldn’t believe me, would you, Mr. Reynolds?” queried Lawrence with a small, tired sigh.

  Even Holo, who could see through any lie, would have trouble determining the truth of those words. There were any number of ways to phrase things that made them mysterious, both truth and falsehood at once.

  Lawrence continued. “I learned of the situation in the town from Eve. What I told her then was that she had quite a lot of nerve to summon me in such an easily misunderstood manner to such an easily misunderstood place amid such unrest.”

  The sound of rustling cloth came from the direction of the bed. It was Holo turning over—probably to hide the grin on her face.

  Lawrence continued.

  “Eve seems to be in a unique position in this town, and despite the placid expression on her face, her mind must be swirling with notions. But she did not see fit to tell me about them.”

  “Truly?” replied Reynolds immediately, his eyes widening with surprise.

  “Truly.” The more obvious the statement, the more persuasive it would be.

  Reynolds peered at Lawrence, almost glaring at him, before finally relaxing and heaving a sigh. “…My apologies.”

  “Not at all. For you to be so worried, I assume you have some direct connection to all this?”

  Changing the tone of the conversation was a common trick; Lawrence could not drop his guard just because Reynolds seemed to have relaxed.

  “Quite the opposite. I’m worried precisely because I’ve been left entirely out.” He sighed and shifted heavily in his chair.

  Lawrence recalled that the Jean Company was having its profits sucked away by the landlords of the town.

  In business, when things are going well, sometimes still more lucrative opportunities arise—but the opposite also holds true.

  In such times, it is all too common to have friends abandon you. Such moments are frequent in the travels of merchants, whose lives often hang in the balance.

  And Reynolds had conducted a successful business on the otherwise poorer north side of town, which had surely made him few friends—and now he lacked even the funds to gain support.

  It was clear that when things came to a head, he would be left on his own.

  “Still, I’m sure you’ve heard, haven’t you? I’ve a good connection with the powerful men of this town,” said Reynolds.

  It would have been better for him if he had intended that remark simply to make himself sound more important. But the statement was heavy with implication. Reynolds had concluded that Lawrence had learned quite a bit about the town’s situation from Eve.

  Given that, if he had gone so far as to sneak all the way out here in the middle of the night to talk about the narwhal, then Lawrence could make a guess as to what he was thinking—essentially, either Eve would be an important figure in the tumult surrounding the narwhal or was at least in a position to gather information about it.

  And many of the things Eve had revealed in her one-sided grumbling to Lawrence earlier in the day now gained the tint of truth.

  “Given that you’re in the copper trade, as far as that goes.”

  “Heh.” Reynolds could not help but chuckle at Lawrence’s roundabout statement, scratching his nose.

  Lawrence had nothing to add and so sipped his wine. At length, Reynolds looked up and continued.

  “Just as when you all came by to ask after the wolf bones, I thought maybe I could turn the tables,” he said, rubbing his face.

  Nothing is less reliable than a merchant’s friendly smile, but Reynolds’s smile seemed to lay his heart bare.

  The Jean Company was still in dire straits, and Reynolds certainly wanted to free himself of the north side’s yoke.

  “I came with the slightest hope of connecting with the wolf of the Roam, but…heh, seems I’ve only caused a fuss,” said Reynolds with a pathetic smile, his cheeks slackening.

  Lawrence had nothing to say and could only smile in sympathy.

  Silence then fell, which was broken at length by Holo’s quiet sleep mumbling.

  “Ah…I suppose it’s late. Again, I’m sorry,” Reynolds apologized and then stood.

  Lawrence didn’t want to admit it, but for Reynolds to have come all the way to the inn at this hour, he must have exhausted all other options and come to the end of his rope.

  The furtiveness of his visit was not because he needed to keep their meeting a secret, but rather that he did not want anyone to see him reduced to asking an outsider for help.

  When this occurred to Lawrence, Reynolds’s sagging cheeks seemed somehow very sad indeed.

  “Not at all. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any help.”

  “And I’m sorry, too, that I couldn’t give you any good answers to your questions.”

  They each smiled as though trying to be considerate of the other as they exchanged words across the table.

  Their smiles turned sheepish at the sudden silence that descended. They shook hands.

  “Should you meet the wolf again, tell her that Reynolds has a bone to pick with her.”

  “Yes…quite. I’ll do that,” Lawrence answered, forcing the smile from his face.

  “Again, I’m truly sorry for the late hour,” Reynolds said, making one last apology as he headed for the room’s door, his footsteps much heavier than they had been when he arrived. “Good night to you.”

  In the dark hallway, Lawrence watched him put his coat back on. “Good night,” he replied.

  Reynolds descended the stairs and disappeared into the darkness.

  Despite his shop in the town and his monopoly over the copper trade, which would provide a lifetime of security, there was something about watching Reynolds recede that made the man seem like a defeated man, an abandoned dog. It was just too sad.

  Lawrence returned to the room, sighing softly and sitting back down in his chair. His elbow on the table, he sipped some wine and reviewed the conversation in his mind. The weight of the situation bore down on him yet again.

  Even Reynolds, a merchant with a fair amount of power, was that desperate in his pursuit of the narwhal.

  Or no—perhaps there was a better way to put it.

  He was this desperate for it.

  “Well…time for bed, I suppose,” Lawrence murmured to himself, blowing out the candle and making for his bed.

  He passed first by the bed in which Col and Holo slept and then put his hand on his own bed. He wrapped himself in a blanket and curled up, sighing helplessly.

  His eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark, but he could see Holo’s open eyes in the bed next to his.

  “So he’s gone, has he?” she said, seeming to disappear for a moment, probably because she had turned in the opposite direction.

  Lawrence closed his eyes briefly. “Sorry to put you through all that,” he said.

  “Still, I was relieved you did not speak up to me immediately after,” said an amused Holo, sitting on the bed.

  As Lawrence had guessed, Reynolds had probably crept quietly back u
p the stairs and pressed his ear to the door, in case Lawrence were to tell the truth of the situation to Holo or Col.

  “I suppose I’m not surprised,” said Lawrence, smiling. “I suppose I did well, then.”

  “Heh-heh. He was acting so truly sad that I nearly fell for it myself. I wouldn’t have thought him capable of such guile!”

  “Merchants carry items both hot and cold in their purses. While his feelings may have been true, he won’t be giving up just yet.”

  “Merchants are rather stubborn creatures, are they not?”

  “They surely are.” Lawrence grinned. “But”—he added—“what do you think Reynolds’s true goal was?” He ventured to put the question to Holo, since he had already figured it out for himself.

  Holo’s answer was immediate. “He wishes to contact the vixen. He’ll do anything to do it.”

  “So that’s really it…”

  “What are you thinking?” Holo grinned maliciously as she pushed off the bed with her hands. Despite her question, her face made it clear she already knew the answer.

  “Nothing. I only thought it was an interesting conversation.”

  Holo continued to smile as she flicked her ears, obviously able to tell the half-truth from the half-lie.

  Merchants put both hot things and cold things in their purses.

  At a loss for anything else, Lawrence put his hands behind his head.

  Hopefully the posture would convey that despite his trepidation, his curiosity had overcome his fear and he was now interested in getting involved.

  No matter how easily Holo might see through him, he still had his pride as a man—but Holo could no doubt already tell that was exactly what he was thinking.

  She sat beside him on the bed, smiling a full, bright smile.

  If he went along with her on this, no doubt the wisewolf would be very pleased indeed. But that was only as long as his curiosity was greater than his fear.

  Holo had but to playfully tug at the facade and it would come tumbling down. It was too miserable to imagine.

  If it came to that, this carefully balanced feeling of play would be destroyed.

  “I’m going to sleep,” said Lawrence, turning his back to Holo and lying down.

  If the mood turned sour, he would be able to sense it.

  But Holo only swished her tail once and said a quiet “Good night.”

  The sound of her rustling beneath the covers was strangely loud.

  Holo would not break her favorite toy.

  Which meant Lawrence’s course of action was clear.

  He loved seeing her happy, so he would be the toughest toy he possibly could.

  The next morning.

  Lawrence was no Holo, but he did have premonitions of his own sometimes.

  One came as Holo put an extra-large piece of cheese atop the rye bread left over from the provisions they had laid in for their river journey; she excused this by saying she was finishing up leftovers.

  Even Col had to laugh at her wolfing the bread down, until Holo’s face went pale and her smile disappeared.

  Lawrence wondered if she had bit her tongue, but fortunately before he could say so, he understood the true cause.

  The innkeeper, who should have been busy seeing off departing patrons or tending to breakfast service, had come to visit their room.

  Had that been all, Holo would have been content to cover herself with her robe.

  But Lawrence caught a sudden, meaningful glance from her, and when Col opened the door, the innkeeper was indeed there—accompanied by one other.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lawrence” came a steady, clear voice matching its owner’s confidence.

  Dressed impeccably, it was none other than Lud Kieman.

  “…Good morning to you,” replied Lawrence, by which time the innkeeper had already accepted a few silver coins from Kieman.

  They were nothing to Kieman, who offered them by way of a vague apology for bothering the innkeeper during his busy morning. And although he made it seem quite natural, he was purposely allowing Lawrence to witness this display.

  “I see you’re taking breakfast. My apologies for the interruption.”

  Lawrence got the distinct sense that Kieman was thinking, You’re a mere merchant, and yet you take breakfast like a nobleman? but decided he was being paranoid. From the perspective of people who lived in a town that had no tradition of breakfast, he knew they found the idea of eating just after rising to be bizarre.

  “Not at all—we’re nearly done. What can I do for you?”

  There were a limited number of reasons why Kieman would go to the trouble of visiting after sending that letter.

  Given that Lawrence had not fled, it was reasonable to conclude he was going to cooperate. But from Kieman’s point of view, their current location was a den of treacherous temptations, and so Lawrence was quite sure they would be taken to the south side.

  Kieman stared openly across the room, and with a voice like a child pleased at being able to deliver a clever answer, replied, “Might we conduct this outside? I feel as though a mouse might appear in here at any moment.”

  Lawrence did not have to wonder what he meant by that.

  While mice might make pleasant companions for a traveler taking a lonely meal out on the road, for those who stored goods in town, they were practically demons.

  Kieman was either worried about eavesdroppers or he sincerely hated mice.

  “If possible, I’d like to leave the inn. As for your things…ah, they seem to be ready.”

  Lawrence knew perfectly well that the “if possible” was simply for politeness’s sake. He had accepted that. He was, however, a bit concerned that his bags were packed a bit too neatly there in the corner.

  Whoever saw them might well catch the whiff of imminent escape about them.

  “I shall await you downstairs, then.” Whether or not Kieman had noticed what the bags’ readiness implied, he turned on his heel and left the room.

  A nobleman’s arrival was pompous, and his departure was quick—and Lawrence felt as if he had just witnessed a perfect example of this.

  “Hmph. He seems like something you’d loathe,” said Holo.

  “Doesn’t he?”

  Holo flicked her ears as she popped the last bite of bread into her mouth—perhaps Kieman had rubbed her the wrong way as well.

  “Huh…? I thought he was sort of handsome…,” said Col.

  Lawrence and Holo looked at each other and then advanced upon the boy together, speaking in unison: “You mustn’t grow up to be like him.”

  Col blinked rapidly before giving an uncertain nod.

  Descending to the first floor, they found Kieman, who seemed to have been discussing something with the innkeeper.

  “Now then, shall we leave through the back door and board the carriage?”

  He seemed to know that Lawrence had entered the inn through the back door after receiving the letter from Eve.

  Given that Lawrence had spoken of his acquaintance with Eve, Kieman must have considered the possibility that he was spying for her. Nevertheless, he seemed to regard Lawrence as useful.

  “I was unable to prepare a covered carriage—my apologies. Ah, please, do get in.”

  The carriage that waited alongside the inn could seat six people and was very fine indeed.

  The driver was an old, bearded man with one eye, and he gave Lawrence a brief look before silently turning his gaze forward again.

  It was not uncommon for sailors who had dabbled in piracy to find work in port towns after injuries or old age brought an end to their sailing careers.

  The driver’s left hand was missing a pinkie and ring finger, and the back of his hand was covered in scars.

  He seemed usefully silent.

  The carriage had seats facing both forward and backward, so Lawrence and company faced the direction of their travel while Kieman sat opposite them.

  “Now, to the port,” said Kieman, and the driver gave a quiet nod
. The carriage began moving. “So, as to my reason for coming here this morning.”

  “The best trades are made in enemy territory, I assumed.”

  Kieman’s face froze in a smile at Lawrence’s interruption, and he then nodded, impressed.

  He clearly did not take Lawrence seriously and was just as clearly surprised by such a reply—Lawrence was supposed to be thoroughly cowed by now.

  And naturally, had Holo not been there, Lawrence would indeed have been withering.

  “Ah, yes, just so. When there’s trouble in the town, people like us are prohibited from crossing the river in order to prevent the trouble from escalating. Further communication is usually done via notes attached to arrows, but this time both sides require haste. It’s been decided to resolve the dispute on the delta. We young ones are just the heralds, you see. Right about now, the others are consulting with the landlords to decide upon a schedule for the proceedings.”

  Most likely Kieman’s ilk, who so enjoyed the attention, would be gathering on the north side of town, each of them trying to take advantage of the situation in order to improve the standing of his own name or the name of his company.

  The only reason Kieman himself was not there was his confidence that he was above them all and that only he possessed the means to meet with Eve.

  “May I presume that the source of all this commotion is the narwhal?” Lawrence asked, at which Kieman seemed unsurprised.

  Quite the contrary, he looked pleased not to have to explain the situation. “Yes, exactly. They say a narwhal’s horn is even better for gout than the heart blood of a fowl. You can imagine just how much the nobility would want something like that.”

  “Indeed, given that gout is the punishment for gluttony, one of the Church’s seven deadly sins.” Lawrence was relaxed enough to even aim a few words at Holo.

  He was still wary, knowing that Kieman’s words could not be trusted, but the unreasoning fear he had felt earlier was gone.

  “The house merchants of the nobility who live in the city will surely have sent word to their masters on fast horses. Of course, we can already list those who most want the narwhal.”

  “So you’re prepared for battle, then?”

  Kieman’s eyes narrowed as he smiled. “Quite.”