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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The Church's greatest enemy—alchemists.
"No, I've knowledge of it is all."
"Knowledge is a merchant's greatest weapon. You're good at your job."
"...It's kind of you to say so."
The area within the walls was several steps lower than the outside ground.
The spaces between the buildings in the district were narrow, and although they called to mind alleys Lawrence had seen in other towns, there were some strange differences.
For one, many of the alleys they walked in were scattered with bird feathers.
"One can't always smell the poison wind. People keep small birds—and if the bird suddenly dies, they know to be careful."
Lawrence knew of the practice as it was used in mines, but having come to a place where it was actually employed sent a shiver up his spine.
The phrase poison wind was certainly descriptive, but for Lawrence's part, he felt the Church's phrase—the hand of death—to be more apt. Apparently it came from the fact that no sooner did one notice a strangely cold wind than one was paralyzed, unable to move.
Lawrence wondered if the cats that he saw here and there as they walked down the street were kept for the same purpose as the birds or if they instead gathered to prey on those birds.
In either case, it was eerie.
"Mr. Batos—"
It had been some time since Lawrence had found walking in silence to be so difficult.
The street was dim and strange, the silence punctuated by the meowing of cats and the flutter of birds; mysterious metallic sounds rang out occasionally, and the smell of sulfur was constant. Lawrence couldn't help raising his voice.
"How many alchemists are in this district, would you say?"
"Hmm...counting apprentices perhaps twenty, give or take. But in any case, accidents are common, so it is hard to know for sure."
In other words, there were a lot of fatalities.
Regretting having asked the question, Lawrence shifted to more mercantile concerns.
"Do you find that trading with alchemists makes good business? I would think it would bring significant danger."
"Mm...," said Batos slowly, stepping around a barrel that had held some green substance that Lawrence didn't want to look at too long. "There's a lot of profit to be had in trading with alchemists that have nobility backing them up. They buy a lot of iron, lead, quicksilver, and tin—to say nothing of copper, silver, and gold."
They were all quite normal commodities; Lawrence was surprised.
He had been expecting something much weirder—five-legged frogs, perhaps.
"Ha-ha-ha, are you surprised? Even here in the north, there are people who think alchemists are basically sorcerers. In truth, they're not so very different from metalsmiths. They heat metals or melt them down with acids. Of course..."
They turned right at a narrow intersection.
"...In reality, there are some who research sorcery." Batos looked behind them and then twisted his lip in a feral grin.
Lawrence faltered and stopped walking for a moment, at which Batos immediately smiled, apologetic.
"But I've only heard rumors of them, and I don't believe any of the alchemists in this district have met any such people. And incidentally, everyone living in this area is basically a good person."
This was the first time Lawrence had heard alchemists—who practiced their arts without any fear of God—described as "good people."
Whenever the subject came up, alchemists were spoken of in fearful, incurious tones, as though they had committed some unspeakable corruption.
"They're my bread and butter, after all, so I can't very well accuse them of being bad people now, can I?"
A slightly relieved Lawrence smiled at Batos's very merchant-like statement.
Shortly thereafter, Batos stopped before the door of one of the buildings.
The street received no sunlight and was riddled with holes and dark puddles of water.
The stone wall facing the alley had a wooden window that was cracked open, and the entire two-story building seemed to lean to one side.
| The area was completely silent; no peals of childish laughter sounded.
"Come now, you needn't be so nervous. They really are fine people here."
No matter how many times Batos tried to reassure him, Lawrence could only give an uncertain smile in return.
It was impossible for him not to be nervous—this was, after all, a place where people lived who had been branded criminals of the most serious sort by an authority that brooked no opposition.
"Excuse us—is anybody home?" Batos called out casually, knocking upon the door without any such fear.
The ancient door seemed like it had gone years without being opened.
Lawrence could hear a cat's quiet meow from somewhere.
A monk accused of heresy, chased out of a monastery—what kind of person would that be?
A shriveled old frog of a man appeared briefly in Lawrence's mind, clad in a tattered robe.
This was no world for a traveling merchant.
The door slowly opened.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Batos!"
The moment was so anticlimactic that Lawrence very nearly collapsed.
"It's been a while. You seem well!"
"I could say the same of you! Spending all your time in the mountains of Hyoram. God must favor you indeed."
It was a tall, blue-eyed woman who had opened the thin wooden door. She seemed a few years older than Lawrence, but the fashionable robe draped comfortably around her body gave her a nonetheless fascinating aura.
Her speech was lively and pleasant—she was indisputably beautiful.
But in that instant, Lawrence thought of that which all alchemists sought—the power of immortality.
Witch.
The word appeared in his mind just as the woman looked at him.
"You're quite a handsome man, but you think me a witch—I can see it in your eyes."
The woman had seen right through him; Batos spoke quickly to smooth things over.
"In that case, perhaps that's how I should introduce you?"
"Don't be absurd—this place is already quite tedious enough. And in any case, is any witch as pretty as I am?"
"I hear many women are exposed as witches because of their beauty."
"You never change, Mr. Batos. No doubt you've hideaways all over Hyoram."
Lawrence had no idea what was going on, so he abandoned his attempts to grasp the situation and concentrated instead on calming himself.
He took one and a half deep breaths.
Then he straightened himself and became Lawrence the traveling merchant.
"So, m'dear. It's not me that has business with you today, but Lawrence here."
Batos seemed to have noticed Lawrence regain his composure; at his well-timed statement, Lawrence took a step forward, put on his best merchant's smile, and greeted the woman.
"Please excuse my rudeness. I am Kraft Lawrence, a traveling merchant. I've come to call upon one Dian Rubens. Might he be in the house?"
Lawrence rarely spoke so formally.
The woman stood with her hand on the door, silent for a moment, before smiling, amused. "What, did Batos not tell you?"
"Oh—" Batos lightly smacked his head with his hand as if to punish his own carelessness, and then he looked to Lawrence apologetically. "Mr. Lawrence, this is Miss Dian Rubens."
"Dian Rubens at your service. It's quite a masculine name, is it not? Please call me Diana," said the woman, her manner suddenly very elegant as she smiled. It was enough to make Lawrence feel that she must have been attached to a very well-to-do monastery indeed.
"Well, enough of that. Please, come in. I don't bite," said Diana with a mischievous smile as she gestured into the house.
The inside of Diana's home was not so very different from the outside—it called to mind the captain's quarters in a battered vessel that had been through a bad storm.
Wooden chests reinforced with iron bands were everywhere, piled in every corner of the room, their drawers left sloppily open, and there were sturdy, expensive-looking chairs mostly buried under clothes or books.
Also within the room were countless quill pens, as if some great bird had done its grooming in the room.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The area was completely silent; no peals of childish laughter sounded.
"Come now, you needn't be so nervous. They really are fine people here."
No matter how many times Batos tried to reassure him, Lawrence could only give an uncertain smile in return.
It was impossible for him not to be nervous—this was, after all, a place where people lived who had been branded criminals of the most serious sort by an authority that brooked no opposition.
"Excuse us—is anybody home?" Batos called out casually, knocking upon the door without any such fear.
The ancient door seemed like it had gone years without being opened.
Lawrence could hear a cat's quiet meow from somewhere.
A monk accused of heresy, chased out of a monastery—what kind of person would that be?
A shriveled old frog of a man appeared briefly in Lawrence's mind, clad in a tattered robe.
This was no world for a traveling merchant.
The door slowly opened.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Batos!"
The moment was so anticlimactic that Lawrence very nearly collapsed.
"It's been a while. You seem well!"
"I could say the same of you! Spending all your time in the mountains of Hyoram. God must favor you indeed."
It was a tall, blue-eyed woman who had opened the thin wooden door. She seemed a few years older than Lawrence, but the fashionable robe draped comfortably around her body gave her a nonetheless fascinating aura.
Her speech was lively and pleasant—she was indisputably beautiful.
But in that instant, Lawrence thought of that which all alchemists sought—the power of immortality.
Witch.
The word appeared in his mind just as the woman looked at him.
"You're quite a handsome man, but you think me a witch—I can see it in your eyes."
The woman had seen right through him; Batos spoke quickly to smooth things over.
"In that case, perhaps that's how I should introduce you?"
"Don't be absurd—this place is already quite tedious enough. And in any case, is any witch as pretty as I am?"
"I hear many women are exposed as witches because of their beauty."
"You never change, Mr. Batos. No doubt you've hideaways all over Hyoram."
Lawrence had no idea what was going on, so he abandoned his attempts to grasp the situation and concentrated instead on calming himself.
He took one and a half deep breaths.
Then he straightened himself and became Lawrence the traveling merchant.
"So, m'dear. It's not me that has business with you today, but Lawrence here."
Batos seemed to have noticed Lawrence regain his composure; at his well-timed statement, Lawrence took a step forward, put on his best merchant's smile, and greeted the woman.
"Please excuse my rudeness. I am Kraft Lawrence, a traveling merchant. I've come to call upon one Dian Rubens. Might he be in the house?"
Lawrence rarely spoke so formally.
The woman stood with her hand on the door, silent for a moment, before smiling, amused. "What, did Batos not tell you?"
"Oh—" Batos lightly smacked his head with his hand as if to punish his own carelessness, and then he looked to Lawrence apologetically. "Mr. Lawrence, this is Miss Dian Rubens."
"Dian Rubens at your service. It's quite a masculine name, is it not? Please call me Diana," said the woman, her manner suddenly very elegant as she smiled. It was enough to make Lawrence feel that she must have been attached to a very well-to-do monastery indeed.
"Well, enough of that. Please, come in. I don't bite," said Diana with a mischievous smile as she gestured into the house.
The inside of Diana's home was not so very different from the outside—it called to mind the captain's quarters in a battered vessel that had been through a bad storm.
Wooden chests reinforced with iron bands were everywhere, piled in every corner of the room, their drawers left sloppily open, and there were sturdy, expensive-looking chairs mostly buried under clothes or books.
Also within the room were countless quill pens, as if some great bird had done its grooming in the room.
| "So, what might your business be?" asked Diana, pulling a chair out from under her desk, on which by some miracle of planning sunlight fell. She neither put hot water on nor gestured for her guests to sit down.
Tea or not just as Lawrence was wondering if she wouldn't do something about a place to sit, Batos took the liberty of removing items from one of the chairs turned into storage and gestured for Lawrence to sit.
Even the most arrogant nobleman would invite his guests to sit.
Lawrence felt no special malice behind Diana's eccentricity; it seemed part of her strange charm.
"First, I should apologize for my sudden intrusion," Lawrence said.
Diana smiled and nodded at the standard pleasantry.
Lawrence cleared his throat and continued, "Actually, Miss Rubens, I was—"
"Diana, please," she corrected him immediately, her expression serious.
Lawrence concealed his perturbation. "Excuse me," he said, and Diana's face resumed its soft smile.
"Yes, as I was saying, I have heard that you are quite knowledgeable about the old tales of the northlands. I was hoping you would share some of that knowledge with me."
"The north?"
"Yes."
Diana's countenance became thoughtful, and she looked at Batos. "And here I thought he'd want to talk business."
"You jest. Had he spoken of business you'd have had him out on his ear."
Diana laughed at Batos's words, but Lawrence got the sense that it was probably true.
"But you don't even know if I know the tale you seek."
"That might mean the tale I heard was made up from whole cloth," said Lawrence.
"Well then, it appears you will have to tell me this tale, and I shall do the listening."
Lawrence had to look away from Diana's kind smile as he cleared his throat again.
He was grateful Holo was not there.
"In that case, the story I wish to hear of concerns a village called Yoitsu."
"Ah, the one said to have been destroyed by the Moon-Hunting Bear."
Diana seemed to have immediately opened the drawers of her memory.
Given how quickly the subject of the town's destruction had come up, Lawrence again felt that leaving Holo behind was the right choice. It looked as though Yoitsu really had been destroyed. His head hurt when he thought of how he would have to break this news to Holo.
As Lawrence thought this over, Diana stood slowly and approached the room's strangely well-ordered bookshelves, taking down a single volume from a neat row of large tomes.
"I seem to recall...Ah, here it is. The Moon-Hunting Bear, also known as Irawa Weir Muheddhunde, and Yoitsu, the village it destroyed. There are many stories of this bear. All quite old, though," said Diana smoothly as she scanned the pages. She had a callus on her index finger from writing, and it was swollen, making it seem quite possible that she had written all of these books.
How many pagan tales and superstitions were contained in those pages?
Something suddenly occurred to Lawrence. Batos had said he was thinking of making a business out of the old tales—no doubt he meant selling Diana's books to the Church.
With the stories in the books, the Church leaders would be able to instantly ascertain which heretical beliefs had penetrated which lands; they would do nearly anything for such information.
"It's not the bear I'm interested in, but the town."
"The town?"
"Yes. I've occasion to be searching it out. Is there anything in your tales that might reveal its location?"
Anyone would have been puzzled by Lawrence's question, which had nothing to do with the source for a commodity but rather the setting for an old legend.
Diana made an expression of surprise and then set the book on the table and began to think.
"Location, eh? Location, indeed..."
"Have you any ideas?" Lawrence asked again, at which Diana put one hand to her head as though suffering a headache and gestured for Lawrence to wait with the other.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "So, what might your business be?" asked Diana, pulling a chair out from under her desk, on which by some miracle of planning sunlight fell. She neither put hot water on nor gestured for her guests to sit down.
Tea or not just as Lawrence was wondering if she wouldn't do something about a place to sit, Batos took the liberty of removing items from one of the chairs turned into storage and gestured for Lawrence to sit.
Even the most arrogant nobleman would invite his guests to sit.
Lawrence felt no special malice behind Diana's eccentricity; it seemed part of her strange charm.
"First, I should apologize for my sudden intrusion," Lawrence said.
Diana smiled and nodded at the standard pleasantry.
Lawrence cleared his throat and continued, "Actually, Miss Rubens, I was—"
"Diana, please," she corrected him immediately, her expression serious.
Lawrence concealed his perturbation. "Excuse me," he said, and Diana's face resumed its soft smile.
"Yes, as I was saying, I have heard that you are quite knowledgeable about the old tales of the northlands. I was hoping you would share some of that knowledge with me."
"The north?"
"Yes."
Diana's countenance became thoughtful, and she looked at Batos. "And here I thought he'd want to talk business."
"You jest. Had he spoken of business you'd have had him out on his ear."
Diana laughed at Batos's words, but Lawrence got the sense that it was probably true.
"But you don't even know if I know the tale you seek."
"That might mean the tale I heard was made up from whole cloth," said Lawrence.
"Well then, it appears you will have to tell me this tale, and I shall do the listening."
Lawrence had to look away from Diana's kind smile as he cleared his throat again.
He was grateful Holo was not there.
"In that case, the story I wish to hear of concerns a village called Yoitsu."
"Ah, the one said to have been destroyed by the Moon-Hunting Bear."
Diana seemed to have immediately opened the drawers of her memory.
Given how quickly the subject of the town's destruction had come up, Lawrence again felt that leaving Holo behind was the right choice. It looked as though Yoitsu really had been destroyed. His head hurt when he thought of how he would have to break this news to Holo.
As Lawrence thought this over, Diana stood slowly and approached the room's strangely well-ordered bookshelves, taking down a single volume from a neat row of large tomes.
"I seem to recall...Ah, here it is. The Moon-Hunting Bear, also known as Irawa Weir Muheddhunde, and Yoitsu, the village it destroyed. There are many stories of this bear. All quite old, though," said Diana smoothly as she scanned the pages. She had a callus on her index finger from writing, and it was swollen, making it seem quite possible that she had written all of these books.
How many pagan tales and superstitions were contained in those pages?
Something suddenly occurred to Lawrence. Batos had said he was thinking of making a business out of the old tales—no doubt he meant selling Diana's books to the Church.
With the stories in the books, the Church leaders would be able to instantly ascertain which heretical beliefs had penetrated which lands; they would do nearly anything for such information.
"It's not the bear I'm interested in, but the town."
"The town?"
"Yes. I've occasion to be searching it out. Is there anything in your tales that might reveal its location?"
Anyone would have been puzzled by Lawrence's question, which had nothing to do with the source for a commodity but rather the setting for an old legend.
Diana made an expression of surprise and then set the book on the table and began to think.
"Location, eh? Location, indeed..."
"Have you any ideas?" Lawrence asked again, at which Diana put one hand to her head as though suffering a headache and gestured for Lawrence to wait with the other.
| Diana's eyes were screwed shut as she groaned with the effort of searching her memory, but then she suddenly looked up, happy as a maiden who had just succeeded in threading a needle.
"I have it! At the headwaters of the Roam River, which flows north of Ploania, there's a story like this in a town called Lenos," she said, suddenly and surprisingly as affable as she had been when speaking to Batos.
She seemed to forget herself when talking about old tales.
Diana cleared her throat, closed her eyes, and began to recite from an ancient legend.
"Long ago, a lone wolf called Holoh appeared in the village. Its great height was such that one had to look up to keep it in view. The villagers were certain that it was the punishment from the gods, but Holoh told of her journey from the deep forests of the east, explaining that she was bound for the southlands. She loved wine, and at times would take the form of a maiden and dance with the village girls. Her form was both fetching and youthful, though she kept her wolf tail. After frolicking with them for a time, she blessed their harvest and continued south. Since that time, bountiful harvests have continued, and we of the village remember her as Holoh of the Wheat Tail."
Lawrence was doubly surprised—both at Diana's smooth recitation and at the mention of Holo's name.
The name's pronunciation was slightly different, but it was unmistakably a story about Holo. Her blessing of the village's harvest supported that as did her maiden's form and retaining her lupine tail.
Yet this surprise paled in comparison to the content of Diana's tale.
The town of Lenos still existed at the headwaters of the Roam River. Using that as a reference point and knowing that there was a forest to the east Lawrence could draw a line southwest from Nyohhira and east from Lenos, which would put Yoitsu right at the intersection.
"Was that any use?"
"Yes, as it limits the area to the forest east of Lenos. It's a great help!"
"I'm so glad."
"I'll surely repay you as soon—"
Lawrence was cut off by a gesture from Diana. "As you can see, even if the Church pursues me for it, I love the old pagan tales—the ones that haven't been twisted out for consideration of Church beliefs. As you are indeed a traveling merchant, Mr. Lawrence, surely you have even one story you could share with me. If you'll do that, I'll require no further payment."
Those who composed histories for the Church did so to preserve the Church's authority. Historians retained by the nobility composed works praising their employers—this was simply the way of the world.
The Church's tale of Saint Ruvinheigen, namesake of the great Church city bearing the same name, was quite different from Holo's story of the man. The tale was deliberately rewritten to protect and extend Church authority.
Diana loved the old tales enough that she was willing to live in the slums of Kumersun, a town devoted to religious and economic freedom.
Lawrence wondered what terrible knowledge she must possess to have been chased from her cloister on charges of heresy, but now he saw that she simply loved the old tales enough to die for them.
"Understood," he said and began to tell his tale.
It was the tale of a place known for its bountiful wheat harvests.
And the tale of the wolf that ruled over them.
Eventually, once they had all gotten into some wine, they wound up talking of old tales and legends from all sorts of lands.
The sun was low in the sky when Lawrence finally remembered himself, and politely refusing Diana's invitation to stay, he left the house with Batos.
As he and Batos walked along the narrow street, neither could help laughing as they talked of the many stories they had shared.
It had been some time since Lawrence had enjoyed the tales of dragons and golden cities—he was well past the age when such stories were taken with anything but a large grain of salt.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Diana's eyes were screwed shut as she groaned with the effort of searching her memory, but then she suddenly looked up, happy as a maiden who had just succeeded in threading a needle.
"I have it! At the headwaters of the Roam River, which flows north of Ploania, there's a story like this in a town called Lenos," she said, suddenly and surprisingly as affable as she had been when speaking to Batos.
She seemed to forget herself when talking about old tales.
Diana cleared her throat, closed her eyes, and began to recite from an ancient legend.
"Long ago, a lone wolf called Holoh appeared in the village. Its great height was such that one had to look up to keep it in view. The villagers were certain that it was the punishment from the gods, but Holoh told of her journey from the deep forests of the east, explaining that she was bound for the southlands. She loved wine, and at times would take the form of a maiden and dance with the village girls. Her form was both fetching and youthful, though she kept her wolf tail. After frolicking with them for a time, she blessed their harvest and continued south. Since that time, bountiful harvests have continued, and we of the village remember her as Holoh of the Wheat Tail."
Lawrence was doubly surprised—both at Diana's smooth recitation and at the mention of Holo's name.
The name's pronunciation was slightly different, but it was unmistakably a story about Holo. Her blessing of the village's harvest supported that as did her maiden's form and retaining her lupine tail.
Yet this surprise paled in comparison to the content of Diana's tale.
The town of Lenos still existed at the headwaters of the Roam River. Using that as a reference point and knowing that there was a forest to the east Lawrence could draw a line southwest from Nyohhira and east from Lenos, which would put Yoitsu right at the intersection.
"Was that any use?"
"Yes, as it limits the area to the forest east of Lenos. It's a great help!"
"I'm so glad."
"I'll surely repay you as soon—"
Lawrence was cut off by a gesture from Diana. "As you can see, even if the Church pursues me for it, I love the old pagan tales—the ones that haven't been twisted out for consideration of Church beliefs. As you are indeed a traveling merchant, Mr. Lawrence, surely you have even one story you could share with me. If you'll do that, I'll require no further payment."
Those who composed histories for the Church did so to preserve the Church's authority. Historians retained by the nobility composed works praising their employers—this was simply the way of the world.
The Church's tale of Saint Ruvinheigen, namesake of the great Church city bearing the same name, was quite different from Holo's story of the man. The tale was deliberately rewritten to protect and extend Church authority.
Diana loved the old tales enough that she was willing to live in the slums of Kumersun, a town devoted to religious and economic freedom.
Lawrence wondered what terrible knowledge she must possess to have been chased from her cloister on charges of heresy, but now he saw that she simply loved the old tales enough to die for them.
"Understood," he said and began to tell his tale.
It was the tale of a place known for its bountiful wheat harvests.
And the tale of the wolf that ruled over them.
Eventually, once they had all gotten into some wine, they wound up talking of old tales and legends from all sorts of lands.
The sun was low in the sky when Lawrence finally remembered himself, and politely refusing Diana's invitation to stay, he left the house with Batos.
As he and Batos walked along the narrow street, neither could help laughing as they talked of the many stories they had shared.
It had been some time since Lawrence had enjoyed the tales of dragons and golden cities—he was well past the age when such stories were taken with anything but a large grain of salt.
| Of course, eventually he had dismissed such tales as pure fantasy.
It was meeting Holo that allowed Lawrence to enjoy them again.
Many of those old tales and legends were not fantasy at all, and even a humble traveling merchant might have adventures as great as any knight-errant.
That realization alone was enough to cause a warmth he had not felt in many years to spread throughout his heart.
In the midst of his giddiness, however, he remembered the events that happened during the attempt at smuggling gold into Ruvinheigen. He smiled at his folly.
He hadn't seen its form, but there was no doubt that a wolf not unlike Holo in those eerie woods near Ruvinheigen were the source of so much rumor. Lawrence, though, had been no strapping protagonist of a thrilling adventure. He was merely a helpless minor character caught up in the tale.
A merchant's life suited him much better, he felt.
Lawrence mused on this as they came to the broad street that led back to the inn. He took his leave from Batos there.
When Lawrence thanked Batos for acting as a go-between, Batos's reply was quick. "People tend to gossip if I go to Diana's place alone, so you were a fine excuse."
The lot back at the trading company were very fond of such talk.
"Ask me along anytime," Batos said. It was no mere pleasantry. He seemed to genuinely mean it. Lawrence, too, had enjoyed himself, so he nodded in the affirmative.
The sun was beginning to sink below the rooftops on the broad avenue, which was crowded with craftsmen returning home from a long day, traders winding up their negotiations, and farmers on their way home, having sold the produce and livestock they brought from their villages.
Lawrence headed south down the street into the central part of the town, where drunkards and children were added to the mix of the crowd.
Normally the number of town girls in the street tended to drop after sunset, but today they were plentiful, adding to the atmosphere of anticipation for the next day's festival. Here and there, circles of people gathered around fortune-tellers and the like, who did their business brazenly amid the crowds.
Lawrence cut his way through the throng and passed right by the inn along the street, heading straight for the market in the center of Kumersun.
Thanks to Diana, he had a general grasp of Yoitsu's location, and thus would not be heading for Nyohhira, but rather the town of Lenos.
Lenos was closer, and the road leading to it was better maintained. He also expected that once he was in Lenos he would be able to get more detailed information about the legends of Holo.
Thus it was that Lawrence found himself visiting Mark again. As Mark was gathering travel information for him, he needed to know about this change in destination.
"Hey there, lover boy."
As Lawrence approached Mark's shop, he saw Mark with a bottle of wine in one hand, looking merry indeed; the young apprentice he'd sent out to contact Batos earlier was now red faced and prone in the back of the shop.
It was Mark's wife, Adele, that attended to the closing of the shop, covering the piles of goods with a canopy against the evening dew.
As soon as she noticed Lawrence, Adele gave a slight nod and pointed to her husband with a chagrined smile.
"What's wrong?" said Mark. "Bah—here, have a drink."
"So about that information I asked you about this morning...Whoa, that's too much."
Mark didn't seem to hear Lawrence's protest at all as he poured wine from a ceramic wine bottle into a wooden cup.
His expression suggested that he would have nothing to say until Lawrence picked up the cup, which was now nearly overflowing with wine.
"Fine, fine." Exasperated, Lawrence took the cup and put it to his lips; it was good wine. He suddenly wanted some jerky to go with it.
"So, what was that? Have you changed your travel plans?"
"Indeed. There's a town, Lenos, at the headwaters of the Roam River. That's where I'm going."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Of course, eventually he had dismissed such tales as pure fantasy.
It was meeting Holo that allowed Lawrence to enjoy them again.
Many of those old tales and legends were not fantasy at all, and even a humble traveling merchant might have adventures as great as any knight-errant.
That realization alone was enough to cause a warmth he had not felt in many years to spread throughout his heart.
In the midst of his giddiness, however, he remembered the events that happened during the attempt at smuggling gold into Ruvinheigen. He smiled at his folly.
He hadn't seen its form, but there was no doubt that a wolf not unlike Holo in those eerie woods near Ruvinheigen were the source of so much rumor. Lawrence, though, had been no strapping protagonist of a thrilling adventure. He was merely a helpless minor character caught up in the tale.
A merchant's life suited him much better, he felt.
Lawrence mused on this as they came to the broad street that led back to the inn. He took his leave from Batos there.
When Lawrence thanked Batos for acting as a go-between, Batos's reply was quick. "People tend to gossip if I go to Diana's place alone, so you were a fine excuse."
The lot back at the trading company were very fond of such talk.
"Ask me along anytime," Batos said. It was no mere pleasantry. He seemed to genuinely mean it. Lawrence, too, had enjoyed himself, so he nodded in the affirmative.
The sun was beginning to sink below the rooftops on the broad avenue, which was crowded with craftsmen returning home from a long day, traders winding up their negotiations, and farmers on their way home, having sold the produce and livestock they brought from their villages.
Lawrence headed south down the street into the central part of the town, where drunkards and children were added to the mix of the crowd.
Normally the number of town girls in the street tended to drop after sunset, but today they were plentiful, adding to the atmosphere of anticipation for the next day's festival. Here and there, circles of people gathered around fortune-tellers and the like, who did their business brazenly amid the crowds.
Lawrence cut his way through the throng and passed right by the inn along the street, heading straight for the market in the center of Kumersun.
Thanks to Diana, he had a general grasp of Yoitsu's location, and thus would not be heading for Nyohhira, but rather the town of Lenos.
Lenos was closer, and the road leading to it was better maintained. He also expected that once he was in Lenos he would be able to get more detailed information about the legends of Holo.
Thus it was that Lawrence found himself visiting Mark again. As Mark was gathering travel information for him, he needed to know about this change in destination.
"Hey there, lover boy."
As Lawrence approached Mark's shop, he saw Mark with a bottle of wine in one hand, looking merry indeed; the young apprentice he'd sent out to contact Batos earlier was now red faced and prone in the back of the shop.
It was Mark's wife, Adele, that attended to the closing of the shop, covering the piles of goods with a canopy against the evening dew.
As soon as she noticed Lawrence, Adele gave a slight nod and pointed to her husband with a chagrined smile.
"What's wrong?" said Mark. "Bah—here, have a drink."
"So about that information I asked you about this morning...Whoa, that's too much."
Mark didn't seem to hear Lawrence's protest at all as he poured wine from a ceramic wine bottle into a wooden cup.
His expression suggested that he would have nothing to say until Lawrence picked up the cup, which was now nearly overflowing with wine.
"Fine, fine." Exasperated, Lawrence took the cup and put it to his lips; it was good wine. He suddenly wanted some jerky to go with it.
"So, what was that? Have you changed your travel plans?"
"Indeed. There's a town, Lenos, at the headwaters of the Roam River. That's where I'm going."
| "Apologies. Circumstances have changed a bit."
"Oh ho," said Mark with a smile as he gulped down wine as if it were water. He then regarded Lawrence with a look of amusement. "So it's true that things have gone bad with that companion of yours?"
There was a pause.
"What did you say?" Lawrence finally asked.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha. Word's gotten around, lover boy. Everyone knows you're holed up in a nice inn with a gorgeous nun. You've surely got no fear of God."
Kumersun was a large enough town, but it wasn't so large as Ruvinheigen—word spread quickly from one merchant to another until nearly all of them would have heard the news. The bonds between traders here were strong. If someone had seen Holo with Lawrence, word would get around.
If Mark knew about Holo, then everyone at the trading company would also know. He was glad he hadn't returned with Batos.
What he did not understand was why Mark said things had gone sour between Lawrence and Holo.
"We don't have the sort of relationship that makes for a good story over wine, but I don't see why you'd say things have gone bad with her."
"Heh-heh. The lover boy knows how to play dumb, that's for sure. But I can see the worry on your face."
"Well, there's no mistaking that she's a beauty. If things were to go poorly with us, it would be a shame."
Lawrence was surprised at his own ability to stay cool during the exchange—no doubt it came about because he was used to constant teasing from Holo.
Although truth be told, he felt he would have preferred for his business acumen to have gotten sharper rather than his patience.
Mark burped. "Why, just a moment ago, I heard that your companion was seen in the company of a young lad from our trade guild. Evidently they were getting on quite well."
"Ah, you mean Mr. Amati." Lawrence didn't feel comfortable calling the boy simply "Amati," and yet "Mr." suddenly seemed unnecessarily subservient as well.
"Oh, so you've given up already, then."
"You seem to be sadly mistaken. I simply had business today and was unable to accompany her, and Mr. Amati found himself with free time and wished to show us around town. These two events happened to coincide; that is all."
"Hmm..."
"You don't believe me?"
Lawrence had fully expected Mark to appear disappointed, so he found himself confused at Mark's look of genuine concern.
"I used to be a traveling merchant like you, so I'll give you some advice. Amati is more formidable than he seems."
"...What do you mean?"
"What I mean is, if you're careless, he'll snatch that pretty little companion of yours right out from under you. Men his age will do anything to gain the object of their obsession. And do you know how much fish Amati moves? It's a lot. And what's more, he was born in a pretty nice region of the south, but once he figured out that as the youngest child he'd never be allowed to make anything of himself, he ran away from home and came here to open his business. That was just three years ago. Quite a story, eh?"
It was hard to imagine the slight Amati doing all that, but Lawrence had seen for himself the boy's three cartloads of fresh fish.
What's more, Amati had been able to easily arrange a room at an inn facing a main avenue—albeit one to which he sold his fish. During a time when the town was overflowing with travelers coming and going, this was no mean feat.
A seed of fear began to take root in Lawrence's heart, but at the same time, he could not believe that Holo would transfer her affections so easily.
"No need to worry. My companion is not so fickle."
"Ha-ha-ha. You've a lot of faith. If I heard my Adele was out with Amati, I'd give up right on the spot."
"What's this of me and Amati?" said Adele, a truly frightful smile on her face. She had been behind Mark for some time as she cleaned up the shop in place of her husband.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Apologies. Circumstances have changed a bit."
"Oh ho," said Mark with a smile as he gulped down wine as if it were water. He then regarded Lawrence with a look of amusement. "So it's true that things have gone bad with that companion of yours?"
There was a pause.
"What did you say?" Lawrence finally asked.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha. Word's gotten around, lover boy. Everyone knows you're holed up in a nice inn with a gorgeous nun. You've surely got no fear of God."
Kumersun was a large enough town, but it wasn't so large as Ruvinheigen—word spread quickly from one merchant to another until nearly all of them would have heard the news. The bonds between traders here were strong. If someone had seen Holo with Lawrence, word would get around.
If Mark knew about Holo, then everyone at the trading company would also know. He was glad he hadn't returned with Batos.
What he did not understand was why Mark said things had gone sour between Lawrence and Holo.
"We don't have the sort of relationship that makes for a good story over wine, but I don't see why you'd say things have gone bad with her."
"Heh-heh. The lover boy knows how to play dumb, that's for sure. But I can see the worry on your face."
"Well, there's no mistaking that she's a beauty. If things were to go poorly with us, it would be a shame."
Lawrence was surprised at his own ability to stay cool during the exchange—no doubt it came about because he was used to constant teasing from Holo.
Although truth be told, he felt he would have preferred for his business acumen to have gotten sharper rather than his patience.
Mark burped. "Why, just a moment ago, I heard that your companion was seen in the company of a young lad from our trade guild. Evidently they were getting on quite well."
"Ah, you mean Mr. Amati." Lawrence didn't feel comfortable calling the boy simply "Amati," and yet "Mr." suddenly seemed unnecessarily subservient as well.
"Oh, so you've given up already, then."
"You seem to be sadly mistaken. I simply had business today and was unable to accompany her, and Mr. Amati found himself with free time and wished to show us around town. These two events happened to coincide; that is all."
"Hmm..."
"You don't believe me?"
Lawrence had fully expected Mark to appear disappointed, so he found himself confused at Mark's look of genuine concern.
"I used to be a traveling merchant like you, so I'll give you some advice. Amati is more formidable than he seems."
"...What do you mean?"
"What I mean is, if you're careless, he'll snatch that pretty little companion of yours right out from under you. Men his age will do anything to gain the object of their obsession. And do you know how much fish Amati moves? It's a lot. And what's more, he was born in a pretty nice region of the south, but once he figured out that as the youngest child he'd never be allowed to make anything of himself, he ran away from home and came here to open his business. That was just three years ago. Quite a story, eh?"
It was hard to imagine the slight Amati doing all that, but Lawrence had seen for himself the boy's three cartloads of fresh fish.
What's more, Amati had been able to easily arrange a room at an inn facing a main avenue—albeit one to which he sold his fish. During a time when the town was overflowing with travelers coming and going, this was no mean feat.
A seed of fear began to take root in Lawrence's heart, but at the same time, he could not believe that Holo would transfer her affections so easily.
"No need to worry. My companion is not so fickle."
"Ha-ha-ha. You've a lot of faith. If I heard my Adele was out with Amati, I'd give up right on the spot."
"What's this of me and Amati?" said Adele, a truly frightful smile on her face. She had been behind Mark for some time as she cleaned up the shop in place of her husband.
| When Lawrence first met her, Adele had been quite frail, but now she was even more robust than her husband.
Two years previous she'd given birth to their first child—perhaps it was the strength of motherhood that she now had.
"Uh, what I was saying was that if I ever saw you out with Amati, why, you're so dear to me that the flames of my jealousy would burn my very flesh!"
"Burn away, dear. I'll just light a fire with the cinders you leave behind to make some tasty bread for Mr. Amati."
Adele was so caustic that all Mark could do in response was take another drink.
Perhaps women everywhere really are stronger.
"So then, Mr. Lawrence," said Adele. "Drinking in the company of this sot must make the wine taste poorly. We'll be closing up shop here, so why don't you come by the house and help yourself to some dinner? The baby may be a bit noisy, though."
Lawrence couldn't even begin to imagine how much mischief Mark's child would be capable of.
He was not especially good with children, but that wasn't why he declined the offer.
"I've still more business to attend to, unfortunately."
It was a lie, of course, but Adele nodded her regret without any trace of suspicion.
Mark, on the other hand, smiled as though having seen right through Lawrence. "Oh, indeed, you've unfinished business aplenty. And good luck to you."
Yes, Mark had seen the truth of it. Lawrence managed a weak smile.
"Ah, yes, so I'll keep your new destination in mind. I'll be keeping the shop open all during the festival, so I should be able to ask all about the route to Lenos."
"I appreciate it."
Lawrence finished off his remaining wine, thanked the couple again, and took his leave.
He noticed himself walking more quickly through the lively, bustling night and laughed at his own folly.
He'd actually claimed to have unfinished business—ridiculous!
But articulating the real reason made Lawrence hate himself, so admitting it to anyone else was out of the question.
Amati and Holo walking happily together—the image flashed briefly through his mind.
Despite his frustration, he noticed himself quickening his step more and more.
The boisterous clamor outside grew louder as the evening deepened. Lawrence was well into working out his upcoming travel plans with ink and pen borrowed from the inn when Holo finally returned.
Lawrence had hurried back to the inn only to find that Holo was still out, and although he'd had to swallow his disappointment, the time did give him a chance to calm himself, for which he was grateful.
Amati had taken his leave from her in front of the inn, Holo said, so she had come up to the room alone. Judging from the fox kit–skin muffler around her neck, Amati had been taken for quite a ride. There was no doubt in Lawrence's mind that she'd gotten him to buy her more than that.
His relief and happiness at seeing Holo's safe return was nothing compared to the headache that came with trying to figure out what would be an appropriate way to thank Amati.
"Ugh...it's too tight. Come...help me with this, won't you?"
However much she had eaten and drunk, Holo seemed incapable of taking off her own clothes.
Lawrence sighed and got out of his chair, walked over beside the bed, and undid the sash Holo struggled so valiantly against. He also removed the robe that was cinched up against her skirts.
"If you're going to lie down, take off your muffler and shawl. They'll wrinkle otherwise." Holo grunted vaguely in reply.
Lawrence managed to stop her from falling over onto the bed right then and there, and he helped her take off the muffler and rabbit skin shawl, as well as the triangular kerchief that she wore on her head.
Holo nodded off as she let Lawrence have his way with her clothing. She had probably parted ways with Amati in front of the inn because she was unable to keep herself together any longer.
Once Lawrence managed to get her out of the muffler, shawl, and kerchief, she immediately flopped down onto the bed.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | When Lawrence first met her, Adele had been quite frail, but now she was even more robust than her husband.
Two years previous she'd given birth to their first child—perhaps it was the strength of motherhood that she now had.
"Uh, what I was saying was that if I ever saw you out with Amati, why, you're so dear to me that the flames of my jealousy would burn my very flesh!"
"Burn away, dear. I'll just light a fire with the cinders you leave behind to make some tasty bread for Mr. Amati."
Adele was so caustic that all Mark could do in response was take another drink.
Perhaps women everywhere really are stronger.
"So then, Mr. Lawrence," said Adele. "Drinking in the company of this sot must make the wine taste poorly. We'll be closing up shop here, so why don't you come by the house and help yourself to some dinner? The baby may be a bit noisy, though."
Lawrence couldn't even begin to imagine how much mischief Mark's child would be capable of.
He was not especially good with children, but that wasn't why he declined the offer.
"I've still more business to attend to, unfortunately."
It was a lie, of course, but Adele nodded her regret without any trace of suspicion.
Mark, on the other hand, smiled as though having seen right through Lawrence. "Oh, indeed, you've unfinished business aplenty. And good luck to you."
Yes, Mark had seen the truth of it. Lawrence managed a weak smile.
"Ah, yes, so I'll keep your new destination in mind. I'll be keeping the shop open all during the festival, so I should be able to ask all about the route to Lenos."
"I appreciate it."
Lawrence finished off his remaining wine, thanked the couple again, and took his leave.
He noticed himself walking more quickly through the lively, bustling night and laughed at his own folly.
He'd actually claimed to have unfinished business—ridiculous!
But articulating the real reason made Lawrence hate himself, so admitting it to anyone else was out of the question.
Amati and Holo walking happily together—the image flashed briefly through his mind.
Despite his frustration, he noticed himself quickening his step more and more.
The boisterous clamor outside grew louder as the evening deepened. Lawrence was well into working out his upcoming travel plans with ink and pen borrowed from the inn when Holo finally returned.
Lawrence had hurried back to the inn only to find that Holo was still out, and although he'd had to swallow his disappointment, the time did give him a chance to calm himself, for which he was grateful.
Amati had taken his leave from her in front of the inn, Holo said, so she had come up to the room alone. Judging from the fox kit–skin muffler around her neck, Amati had been taken for quite a ride. There was no doubt in Lawrence's mind that she'd gotten him to buy her more than that.
His relief and happiness at seeing Holo's safe return was nothing compared to the headache that came with trying to figure out what would be an appropriate way to thank Amati.
"Ugh...it's too tight. Come...help me with this, won't you?"
However much she had eaten and drunk, Holo seemed incapable of taking off her own clothes.
Lawrence sighed and got out of his chair, walked over beside the bed, and undid the sash Holo struggled so valiantly against. He also removed the robe that was cinched up against her skirts.
"If you're going to lie down, take off your muffler and shawl. They'll wrinkle otherwise." Holo grunted vaguely in reply.
Lawrence managed to stop her from falling over onto the bed right then and there, and he helped her take off the muffler and rabbit skin shawl, as well as the triangular kerchief that she wore on her head.
Holo nodded off as she let Lawrence have his way with her clothing. She had probably parted ways with Amati in front of the inn because she was unable to keep herself together any longer.
Once Lawrence managed to get her out of the muffler, shawl, and kerchief, she immediately flopped down onto the bed.
| "Hey, you—what else did you get him to buy you, eh?"
If Amati had gone this far, it seemed likely he'd bought her something still more costly.
Holo didn't even have the energy to lift her legs onto the bed, and her strange position remained unchanged as she took the long, slow breaths of the deeply asleep. The ears she was so proud of gave nary a twitch at Lawrence's question.
Realizing there was nothing else to do, Lawrence lifted her legs up onto the bed, and even then she did not so much as open her eyes.
He wondered if this utter defenselessness was due to trust or simply disdain.
He mulled it over for a while, but ultimately decided that such thoughts would only lead to disappointment, so he banished them from his head. Putting the muffler and shawl on the desk, he began to fold up her robe.
As soon as he did so, something fell out of the robe and hit the floor with a clunk.
He picked the object up; it was a beautiful metallic cube.
"Iron...? No."
It had sharp, carefully filed edges and a surface that was beautifully smooth even in the dim moonlight. Even if it were just metalwork, the cube would have been a valuable piece, but there was no telling how angry Holo would be if he woke her up just to ask about it.
He set the cube on the desk, deciding to ask about it the next day.
He put the robe over the back of the chair and folded the kerchief; then he rolled up the sash after smoothing out its wrinkles.
For a moment, he wondered why he was attending to these menial tasks—he was no manservant, after all—but one look at the sleeping Holo, snoring away artlessly on the bed there, was enough to dispel his indignation.
She had made no move to do it herself, so Lawrence walked over to the bed and drew the covers over her, chuckling.
He then returned to his desk and his travel plans.
If his circumstances didn't allow him to stay in the north while he searched for Yoitsu, he would simply have to change his business plan to accommodate some travel in the north. Whether or not he would actually follow those changes, there was no harm in making the plan.
Also, it had been some time since he'd really sat down with pen and paper and listed the towns, trade routes, commodities, and profit margins that made up the life of a traveling merchant.
He was filled with nostalgia when he remembered the times he had once burned the midnight oil to make such plans.
There was one large difference between then and now, though.
Were the plans being made for his own sake—or for someone else's?
Lawrence worked, pen in hand, listening to Holo's quiet snores, until the tallow candle burned itself out.
"Food, drink, the scarf, and this die."
"Anything else?"
"That was all. Well, that and enough sweet talk to fill a lifetime," said Holo lightly, chewing on the comb she used to groom her tail. Lawrence regarded her wearily.
He'd been relieved when she woke up without a hangover and had immediately interrogated her about the events of the previous night. Looking at the gifts she had received in the light of morning, Lawrence could tell they were of considerable value.
"So you ate and drank the night away, but then there's this muffler. I can't believe you'd go and accept such a thing..."
"It's fine fur, is it not? Though nothing compared with my tail."
"Did you make him buy this thing?"
"You think me so shameless? Why, he practically pressed it upon me. Rather fashionable of him, though, giving a muffler as a gift."
Lawrence looked at the fox skin piece, then at Holo. She continued, sounding pleased, "He's quite mad about me, you know."
"I'm sorry, did I ask for a joke? You can't just call it over and done when you receive a gift this valuable. Here I just thought to let someone else show you a good time, but now look at the debt I carry!"
Holo giggled. "So that was your plan all along, was it? I thought as much."
"I'm taking the consideration for this scarf out of your funds for the festival, just so you know."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Hey, you—what else did you get him to buy you, eh?"
If Amati had gone this far, it seemed likely he'd bought her something still more costly.
Holo didn't even have the energy to lift her legs onto the bed, and her strange position remained unchanged as she took the long, slow breaths of the deeply asleep. The ears she was so proud of gave nary a twitch at Lawrence's question.
Realizing there was nothing else to do, Lawrence lifted her legs up onto the bed, and even then she did not so much as open her eyes.
He wondered if this utter defenselessness was due to trust or simply disdain.
He mulled it over for a while, but ultimately decided that such thoughts would only lead to disappointment, so he banished them from his head. Putting the muffler and shawl on the desk, he began to fold up her robe.
As soon as he did so, something fell out of the robe and hit the floor with a clunk.
He picked the object up; it was a beautiful metallic cube.
"Iron...? No."
It had sharp, carefully filed edges and a surface that was beautifully smooth even in the dim moonlight. Even if it were just metalwork, the cube would have been a valuable piece, but there was no telling how angry Holo would be if he woke her up just to ask about it.
He set the cube on the desk, deciding to ask about it the next day.
He put the robe over the back of the chair and folded the kerchief; then he rolled up the sash after smoothing out its wrinkles.
For a moment, he wondered why he was attending to these menial tasks—he was no manservant, after all—but one look at the sleeping Holo, snoring away artlessly on the bed there, was enough to dispel his indignation.
She had made no move to do it herself, so Lawrence walked over to the bed and drew the covers over her, chuckling.
He then returned to his desk and his travel plans.
If his circumstances didn't allow him to stay in the north while he searched for Yoitsu, he would simply have to change his business plan to accommodate some travel in the north. Whether or not he would actually follow those changes, there was no harm in making the plan.
Also, it had been some time since he'd really sat down with pen and paper and listed the towns, trade routes, commodities, and profit margins that made up the life of a traveling merchant.
He was filled with nostalgia when he remembered the times he had once burned the midnight oil to make such plans.
There was one large difference between then and now, though.
Were the plans being made for his own sake—or for someone else's?
Lawrence worked, pen in hand, listening to Holo's quiet snores, until the tallow candle burned itself out.
"Food, drink, the scarf, and this die."
"Anything else?"
"That was all. Well, that and enough sweet talk to fill a lifetime," said Holo lightly, chewing on the comb she used to groom her tail. Lawrence regarded her wearily.
He'd been relieved when she woke up without a hangover and had immediately interrogated her about the events of the previous night. Looking at the gifts she had received in the light of morning, Lawrence could tell they were of considerable value.
"So you ate and drank the night away, but then there's this muffler. I can't believe you'd go and accept such a thing..."
"It's fine fur, is it not? Though nothing compared with my tail."
"Did you make him buy this thing?"
"You think me so shameless? Why, he practically pressed it upon me. Rather fashionable of him, though, giving a muffler as a gift."
Lawrence looked at the fox skin piece, then at Holo. She continued, sounding pleased, "He's quite mad about me, you know."
"I'm sorry, did I ask for a joke? You can't just call it over and done when you receive a gift this valuable. Here I just thought to let someone else show you a good time, but now look at the debt I carry!"
Holo giggled. "So that was your plan all along, was it? I thought as much."
"I'm taking the consideration for this scarf out of your funds for the festival, just so you know."
| "I trust you didn't show him your ears and tail at least?"
"You needn't worry. I am not quite that foolish."
Based on her state the previous night, Lawrence had not thought to worry about such a possibility, but now he wasn't so sure.
"I suppose you were asked what sort of relationship you have with me."
"What I would like to know is precisely why you're asking."
"If our stories do not match, people will begin to suspect things."
"Mm. Right you are. Yes, I was quite thoroughly questioned. I am a traveling nun and you saved me from being sold off by evil men is what I told him."
Aside from the part about Holo being a nun, that was more or less consistent with the truth.
"But once you saved me, I fell deeply into your debt, and as I cannot hope to repay it, I am gradually working it off by praying for your safety as we travel. Oh, alas and alack, woe is me! My voice was desperately sad as I told the tale. What do you think, eh? It has the ring of truth!"
Although it irked Lawrence that he seemed to be the villain of the story, it did seem convincing.
"As soon as I told the tale, he bought me the muffler," said the fake traveling nun with a frankly devilish smile.
"I suppose that will do. But what of this die? What made him buy you something like this?"
Lawrence had been unable to discern the color of the thing in the dim moonlight, but he could now tell that the cube of metal, so perfect it seemed the work of a master smith, had a distinctly yellow tint, like unpolished gold.
Lawrence had seen this kind of goldlike mineral before.
It was not the work of any human but entirely natural.
"Oh, that? The fortune-teller was using it. They say it's a die that can divine the future. It has a lovely shape, has it not? I can scarcely fathom how it was made. There's no doubt it'll sell for some fine coin."
"You fool. Do you actually think you can sell this?" said Lawrence, using the same tone she often rebuked him with. Holo's ears pricked up at the sudden harshness.
"This is no die. This is a mineral called pyrite. And no man made it."
His information was obviously unexpected. Holo regarded him dubiously, but Lawrence ignored this, plucking the yellowish crystalline cube off the desk and tossing it at Holo.
"I suppose the wisewolf that guarantees the harvest would know little of rocks. That die-shaped stone was mined just as you see it."
Holo smiled uncertainly, clearly disbelieving him, as she toyed with the pyrite.
"You should be able to tell that I'm not lying."
Holo murmured quietly and held the pyrite up between her fingers.
"It's not good for much, but it's often sold as a souvenir. And since it looks like gold, sometimes it's used by swindlers. Was anybody else buying it?"
"Oh, indeed. Many. The fortune-teller had great skill, enough to impress even me. He claimed that with dice like his, anyone could read the fates, so all that were gathered wanted the pyrite dice he was selling. He made up all manner of reasons why they were desirable."
"You mean the dice?"
"Indeed. Even the ones less perfect in shape than this he claimed would ward away sickness or evil."
Lawrence felt a certain professional respect for anyone who could invent such a lucrative business. Festivals and fairs often sparked strange fads.
The charged atmosphere made for great business, but pyrite—that was quite an angle, indeed.
"Amati bid down the price on that die, too."
This genuinely surprised Lawrence. "He bid it down?"
"The crowd had gotten quite enthusiastic. I'd not seen that sort of competition before—it was something to see, indeed. I expect I could sell the die quite dear now."
Lawrence thought of Batos, who traveled the Hyoram regions.
Did Batos know of this? If he had pyrite on hand or connections to gain it, there might be excellent business to be had here.
Lawrence had gotten that far in his train of thought when there was a knock at the door.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I trust you didn't show him your ears and tail at least?"
"You needn't worry. I am not quite that foolish."
Based on her state the previous night, Lawrence had not thought to worry about such a possibility, but now he wasn't so sure.
"I suppose you were asked what sort of relationship you have with me."
"What I would like to know is precisely why you're asking."
"If our stories do not match, people will begin to suspect things."
"Mm. Right you are. Yes, I was quite thoroughly questioned. I am a traveling nun and you saved me from being sold off by evil men is what I told him."
Aside from the part about Holo being a nun, that was more or less consistent with the truth.
"But once you saved me, I fell deeply into your debt, and as I cannot hope to repay it, I am gradually working it off by praying for your safety as we travel. Oh, alas and alack, woe is me! My voice was desperately sad as I told the tale. What do you think, eh? It has the ring of truth!"
Although it irked Lawrence that he seemed to be the villain of the story, it did seem convincing.
"As soon as I told the tale, he bought me the muffler," said the fake traveling nun with a frankly devilish smile.
"I suppose that will do. But what of this die? What made him buy you something like this?"
Lawrence had been unable to discern the color of the thing in the dim moonlight, but he could now tell that the cube of metal, so perfect it seemed the work of a master smith, had a distinctly yellow tint, like unpolished gold.
Lawrence had seen this kind of goldlike mineral before.
It was not the work of any human but entirely natural.
"Oh, that? The fortune-teller was using it. They say it's a die that can divine the future. It has a lovely shape, has it not? I can scarcely fathom how it was made. There's no doubt it'll sell for some fine coin."
"You fool. Do you actually think you can sell this?" said Lawrence, using the same tone she often rebuked him with. Holo's ears pricked up at the sudden harshness.
"This is no die. This is a mineral called pyrite. And no man made it."
His information was obviously unexpected. Holo regarded him dubiously, but Lawrence ignored this, plucking the yellowish crystalline cube off the desk and tossing it at Holo.
"I suppose the wisewolf that guarantees the harvest would know little of rocks. That die-shaped stone was mined just as you see it."
Holo smiled uncertainly, clearly disbelieving him, as she toyed with the pyrite.
"You should be able to tell that I'm not lying."
Holo murmured quietly and held the pyrite up between her fingers.
"It's not good for much, but it's often sold as a souvenir. And since it looks like gold, sometimes it's used by swindlers. Was anybody else buying it?"
"Oh, indeed. Many. The fortune-teller had great skill, enough to impress even me. He claimed that with dice like his, anyone could read the fates, so all that were gathered wanted the pyrite dice he was selling. He made up all manner of reasons why they were desirable."
"You mean the dice?"
"Indeed. Even the ones less perfect in shape than this he claimed would ward away sickness or evil."
Lawrence felt a certain professional respect for anyone who could invent such a lucrative business. Festivals and fairs often sparked strange fads.
The charged atmosphere made for great business, but pyrite—that was quite an angle, indeed.
"Amati bid down the price on that die, too."
This genuinely surprised Lawrence. "He bid it down?"
"The crowd had gotten quite enthusiastic. I'd not seen that sort of competition before—it was something to see, indeed. I expect I could sell the die quite dear now."
Lawrence thought of Batos, who traveled the Hyoram regions.
Did Batos know of this? If he had pyrite on hand or connections to gain it, there might be excellent business to be had here.
Lawrence had gotten that far in his train of thought when there was a knock at the door.
| He looked from the door to Holo and saw that she drew the bedclothes up over herself. Evidently the visitor at the door was not of the dangerous sort they had encountered in Pazzio.
Lawrence walked over to the door and opened it.
On the other side was Mark's young apprentice.
"I apologize for calling so early in the morning. I have a message from my master."
It was hardly "early in the morning," and Lawrence couldn't imagine what was so pressing that it would inspire Mark to send his apprentice on an errand just when the market would be opening.
He wondered if Mark had perhaps fallen gravely ill, but no—were that the case, the boy would not claim to have a message from his master.
Holo shifted underneath the blankets, popping her head out.
The boy noticed and glanced her way. Seeing a girl on a bed covered from the neck down in blankets was evidently more than he had bargained for. He turned away, red faced.
"So what was the message?"
"Oh, er, yes. He said you needed to know right away, so I ran over immediately. Actually—"
The shocking news had Lawrence running through the streets of Kumersun a moment later.
***
The town of Kumersun rose early.
Lawrence crossed the broad north-south avenue and headed west toward the trading company. Here and there on the way, he spotted many people erecting what looked like signposts.
Lawrence glanced at them as he ran with Mark's apprentice. They seemed to indeed be signposts of some kind, but he could not tell what was written on them. It was a script he had never seen before, and the signs were decorated with flowers, turnips, or bundles of hay.
Undoubtedly they were used in the Laddora festival, which began today, but Lawrence had no time to investigate.
The boy was fleet of foot and showed no signs of tiring, perhaps from being worked so hard day in and day out by Mark. Lawrence had a fair amount of confidence in his own stamina but was hard-pressed to keep up. It was just as he was running short of breath that they arrived at the trading company.
The normally forbidding, tightly closed doors of the company were thrown open. A handful of merchants stood at the entrance, wine cups already in hand despite the early hour.
Their attention had been directed into the building, but upon noticing Lawrence's arrival, they beckoned him in with gusto.
"Hey! It's the man himself! Haschmidt the Knight has arrived!"
Hearing the name Haschmidt, Lawrence now knew for a certainty that Mark's apprentice had been neither jesting nor lying.
There was a romantic tale from the country of Eleas, a passionate nation of seas and vineyards.
The protagonist was Hendt La Haschmidt, a knight of the royal court.
However, Lawrence was far from happy to be called a knight.
Haschmidt the Knight fought bravely for Ilesa, the princess he loved. He challenged Prince Philip the Third to a duel for the right to her hand and died a tragic death.
Lawrence ascended the stone steps, pushing through the jeering merchants into the trading company.
Their gazes pierced him, spearlike, as though he was a criminal about to be crucified.
There at the back of the room, at the counter behind which sat the master of the firm, was his Prince Philip the Third.
"I say again!" cried a reedy, boyish voice that echoed through the lobby.
It was Amati—not wearing the standard oiled-leather coat of the fishmonger, but rather an aristocratic formal robe. He looked every inch the young son of a nobleman.
He leveled his gaze directly at Lawrence as the entire assemblage of merchants held their breath.
Right then and there, Amati held up a dagger and a sheet of parchment and made his declaration.
"I will pay the debt that now weighs upon the slender shoulders of this traveling nun—and when this goddess of loveliness does regain her freedom, I swear by Saint Lambardos, who watches over this Rowen Trade Guild, that Holo the nun will have my undying love!"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He looked from the door to Holo and saw that she drew the bedclothes up over herself. Evidently the visitor at the door was not of the dangerous sort they had encountered in Pazzio.
Lawrence walked over to the door and opened it.
On the other side was Mark's young apprentice.
"I apologize for calling so early in the morning. I have a message from my master."
It was hardly "early in the morning," and Lawrence couldn't imagine what was so pressing that it would inspire Mark to send his apprentice on an errand just when the market would be opening.
He wondered if Mark had perhaps fallen gravely ill, but no—were that the case, the boy would not claim to have a message from his master.
Holo shifted underneath the blankets, popping her head out.
The boy noticed and glanced her way. Seeing a girl on a bed covered from the neck down in blankets was evidently more than he had bargained for. He turned away, red faced.
"So what was the message?"
"Oh, er, yes. He said you needed to know right away, so I ran over immediately. Actually—"
The shocking news had Lawrence running through the streets of Kumersun a moment later.
***
The town of Kumersun rose early.
Lawrence crossed the broad north-south avenue and headed west toward the trading company. Here and there on the way, he spotted many people erecting what looked like signposts.
Lawrence glanced at them as he ran with Mark's apprentice. They seemed to indeed be signposts of some kind, but he could not tell what was written on them. It was a script he had never seen before, and the signs were decorated with flowers, turnips, or bundles of hay.
Undoubtedly they were used in the Laddora festival, which began today, but Lawrence had no time to investigate.
The boy was fleet of foot and showed no signs of tiring, perhaps from being worked so hard day in and day out by Mark. Lawrence had a fair amount of confidence in his own stamina but was hard-pressed to keep up. It was just as he was running short of breath that they arrived at the trading company.
The normally forbidding, tightly closed doors of the company were thrown open. A handful of merchants stood at the entrance, wine cups already in hand despite the early hour.
Their attention had been directed into the building, but upon noticing Lawrence's arrival, they beckoned him in with gusto.
"Hey! It's the man himself! Haschmidt the Knight has arrived!"
Hearing the name Haschmidt, Lawrence now knew for a certainty that Mark's apprentice had been neither jesting nor lying.
There was a romantic tale from the country of Eleas, a passionate nation of seas and vineyards.
The protagonist was Hendt La Haschmidt, a knight of the royal court.
However, Lawrence was far from happy to be called a knight.
Haschmidt the Knight fought bravely for Ilesa, the princess he loved. He challenged Prince Philip the Third to a duel for the right to her hand and died a tragic death.
Lawrence ascended the stone steps, pushing through the jeering merchants into the trading company.
Their gazes pierced him, spearlike, as though he was a criminal about to be crucified.
There at the back of the room, at the counter behind which sat the master of the firm, was his Prince Philip the Third.
"I say again!" cried a reedy, boyish voice that echoed through the lobby.
It was Amati—not wearing the standard oiled-leather coat of the fishmonger, but rather an aristocratic formal robe. He looked every inch the young son of a nobleman.
He leveled his gaze directly at Lawrence as the entire assemblage of merchants held their breath.
Right then and there, Amati held up a dagger and a sheet of parchment and made his declaration.
"I will pay the debt that now weighs upon the slender shoulders of this traveling nun—and when this goddess of loveliness does regain her freedom, I swear by Saint Lambardos, who watches over this Rowen Trade Guild, that Holo the nun will have my undying love!"
| Amati ignored the noise. He lowered his hands and spun the dagger around, gripping it by the blade and holding the hilt out to Lawrence.
"Miss Holo has told me of her misfortune and ill treatment. I thus propose to use my fortune and position as a free man to regain for her the feathers of freedom, and furthermore to wed her."
Lawrence instantly recalled Mark's words the previous day.
Men his age will do anything to gain the object of their obsession.
He regarded the hilt thrust at him with a bitter gaze and then looked at the parchment.
Amati was just far enough away that Lawrence could not make the writing out, but it surely reiterated what the boy had just said in more concrete terms. The red seal at the bottom left of the sheet was probably not wax, but blood.
In regions without a public witness, or when one needed a contract with far more weight than a public witness could provide, there was contract law. The party who put their blood seal upon the contract would give the knife they used to the opposite party and swear an oath in God's name.
If the first party failed to fulfill the contract, they would be bound to kill the opposing party with that knife or else turn it to their own throat.
As soon as Lawrence took the knife offered to him by Amati, the contract would be sealed.
Lawrence did not move. He'd had not the slightest inkling that Amati's infatuation would come to this.
"Mr. Lawrence." The words were as piercing as Amati's gaze.
Neither flimsy excuses nor disregard would sway the boy, Lawrence guessed.
Desperate to buy himself some time, he said, "It is true that Holo is indebted to me and that she prays for me as we travel to repay that debt, but she will not necessarily abandon our journeying once that debt is lifted."
"True. But I am confident she will for my sake."
A murmur ran through the crowd, which was impressed at Amati's audacity.
He didn't seem drunk, but he was the very image of Philip the Third.
"Also, while she may not be perfectly devout, Holo is a nun, which makes marriage—"
"If you are worried that I do not fully understand the situation, then your concern, sir, is misplaced. I am aware that Holo is unattached to any convent."
Lawrence snapped his mouth shut to avoid the expletive that came to mind.
There were two types of so-called traveling nuns. The first type were women in a church-sanctioned mendicant order that nonetheless lacked a fixed base of operations. The second type were totally self-styled, unattached to any Church organization.
Such self-proclaimed itinerant nuns made up the greater part of the group, and they referred to themselves as such simply for the convenience it afforded them while traveling. Since they were not officially attached to any Church organization, they were not disallowed from marriage the way true nuns are.
Amati knew Holo was a self-styled nun, so it was too late to arrange any sort of pretense with a convent now.
Amati continued speaking, his voice smooth and confident. "It is in truth not my desire to propose a contract to you thus, Mr. Lawrence. No doubt everyone here thinks me like Philip the Third from the tale of Haschmidt the Knight. However, according to Kumersun law, when a woman is indebted, her creditor is considered to be her guardian. Of course—"
Amati paused, clearing his throat, then continued, "If you will unconditionally assent to my proposal of marriage, there is no need for this contract."
This sort of rare competition over a woman made for the best drinking stories.
The assembled merchants spoke in low tones as they watched the developing drama.
Most experienced merchants would not take Lawrence and Holo's relationship at face value. It would have been the height of naiveté to think that an indebted nun was really paying off her obligation by praying for her creditor as they traveled. It was much more likely that she didn't want to be sold off by whoever held her debt or that she was traveling with him simply because she wanted to.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Amati ignored the noise. He lowered his hands and spun the dagger around, gripping it by the blade and holding the hilt out to Lawrence.
"Miss Holo has told me of her misfortune and ill treatment. I thus propose to use my fortune and position as a free man to regain for her the feathers of freedom, and furthermore to wed her."
Lawrence instantly recalled Mark's words the previous day.
Men his age will do anything to gain the object of their obsession.
He regarded the hilt thrust at him with a bitter gaze and then looked at the parchment.
Amati was just far enough away that Lawrence could not make the writing out, but it surely reiterated what the boy had just said in more concrete terms. The red seal at the bottom left of the sheet was probably not wax, but blood.
In regions without a public witness, or when one needed a contract with far more weight than a public witness could provide, there was contract law. The party who put their blood seal upon the contract would give the knife they used to the opposite party and swear an oath in God's name.
If the first party failed to fulfill the contract, they would be bound to kill the opposing party with that knife or else turn it to their own throat.
As soon as Lawrence took the knife offered to him by Amati, the contract would be sealed.
Lawrence did not move. He'd had not the slightest inkling that Amati's infatuation would come to this.
"Mr. Lawrence." The words were as piercing as Amati's gaze.
Neither flimsy excuses nor disregard would sway the boy, Lawrence guessed.
Desperate to buy himself some time, he said, "It is true that Holo is indebted to me and that she prays for me as we travel to repay that debt, but she will not necessarily abandon our journeying once that debt is lifted."
"True. But I am confident she will for my sake."
A murmur ran through the crowd, which was impressed at Amati's audacity.
He didn't seem drunk, but he was the very image of Philip the Third.
"Also, while she may not be perfectly devout, Holo is a nun, which makes marriage—"
"If you are worried that I do not fully understand the situation, then your concern, sir, is misplaced. I am aware that Holo is unattached to any convent."
Lawrence snapped his mouth shut to avoid the expletive that came to mind.
There were two types of so-called traveling nuns. The first type were women in a church-sanctioned mendicant order that nonetheless lacked a fixed base of operations. The second type were totally self-styled, unattached to any Church organization.
Such self-proclaimed itinerant nuns made up the greater part of the group, and they referred to themselves as such simply for the convenience it afforded them while traveling. Since they were not officially attached to any Church organization, they were not disallowed from marriage the way true nuns are.
Amati knew Holo was a self-styled nun, so it was too late to arrange any sort of pretense with a convent now.
Amati continued speaking, his voice smooth and confident. "It is in truth not my desire to propose a contract to you thus, Mr. Lawrence. No doubt everyone here thinks me like Philip the Third from the tale of Haschmidt the Knight. However, according to Kumersun law, when a woman is indebted, her creditor is considered to be her guardian. Of course—"
Amati paused, clearing his throat, then continued, "If you will unconditionally assent to my proposal of marriage, there is no need for this contract."
This sort of rare competition over a woman made for the best drinking stories.
The assembled merchants spoke in low tones as they watched the developing drama.
Most experienced merchants would not take Lawrence and Holo's relationship at face value. It would have been the height of naiveté to think that an indebted nun was really paying off her obligation by praying for her creditor as they traveled. It was much more likely that she didn't want to be sold off by whoever held her debt or that she was traveling with him simply because she wanted to.
| Freeing the poor, beautiful maiden from the bonds of debt was a moral imperative that justified this ridiculous display of gallantry, Amati must have felt.
And even if he didn't think this, Lawrence still came away looking like the villain.
"Mr. Lawrence, will you accept this contract dagger?"
The merchants looked on, grinning silently.
The traveling merchant was about to lose his fetching companion to the young fishmonger out of sheer inattentiveness.
It made for rare entertainment—and there was no acceptable way for Lawrence to escape.
His only option was to best Amati by being the nobler man.
In any case, he didn't believe that if Holo's debt were paid she would stop traveling with him just because Amati told her to.
"I am not so careless to agree to a contract I have not read," Lawrence said.
Amati nodded, withdrawing the knife and extending the contract to Lawrence.
Lawrence walked toward Amati, watched by everyone in the room, and took the parchment, scanning its contents quickly.
As he expected, what was written there was a more tortuously worded version of the declaration Amati had just made.
What Lawrence was most interested in was the amount that Amati proposed to pay.
What had Holo claimed her debt to be?
For Amati to be so brimming with confidence, it had to be a relatively small amount.
Finally, he found the amount in one of the lines of the contract.
For a moment, he doubted his eyes.
One thousand pieces of trenni silver.
Relief washed over him, bodily.
"I assume this contract is to your satisfaction?"
Lawrence checked again, making sure there were no obvious traps hidden in the contract's language. He also looked for any points he might turn to his own advantage.
But the contract language was stiff enough to leave no such room to trip up the first party.
Lawrence had no choice but to return Amati's contract.
"Understood," he said, handing the contract back to the boy and looking him in the eye.
Lawrence reached out to grasp the knife, and the contract was sealed.
Every merchant in the hall—and more importantly, the patron saint of the trade guild, Saint Lambardos—was witness to the dagger contract.
The merchants raised their voices in a cry, clinking their cups together, bringing an end to the entertainment.
Amid the din, the two men looked at each other and left the contract parchment and dagger with the firm's master.
"The terms of the contract extend until the end of the festival—sundown tomorrow, in other words. Will that do?"
Lawrence nodded. "Bring the thousand trenni in cash. I will not accept a partial payment or anything less than that."
Even if Amati was the sort of merchant that routinely hauled three wagonloads of fresh fish, there was no way he would be able to simply produce one thousand trenni. If he were that successful, Lawrence would know about it.
Of course, if it was stock whose worth amounted to a thousand trenni, that could easily be produced.
To put it in the ugliest manner possible, this agreement amounted to Amati buying Holo for a thousand pieces of silver. Assuming Amati had no intention of trying to resell her somewhere else, it was as though a thousand pieces of silver were simply moving from Amati's pocket to Lawrence's.
If that was the case, Amati would surely have problems paying for his next day's stock of fish. Even if by some wild chance Holo did accept his proposal of marriage, what awaited them was a difficult future. The minstrels might claim that coin could not buy love, but the opposite was also true.
"In that case, Mr. Lawrence, we'll meet again here tomorrow."
His face still betraying his heightened emotion, Amati strode out of the guild hall. No one said a word to him, and soon all eyes were on Lawrence.
If he did not say something here, all would think him a mere rube taken for a ride by the cleverer Amati.
Lawrence straightened his collar. "I don't expect my companion will follow him simply because her debt has been lifted."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Freeing the poor, beautiful maiden from the bonds of debt was a moral imperative that justified this ridiculous display of gallantry, Amati must have felt.
And even if he didn't think this, Lawrence still came away looking like the villain.
"Mr. Lawrence, will you accept this contract dagger?"
The merchants looked on, grinning silently.
The traveling merchant was about to lose his fetching companion to the young fishmonger out of sheer inattentiveness.
It made for rare entertainment—and there was no acceptable way for Lawrence to escape.
His only option was to best Amati by being the nobler man.
In any case, he didn't believe that if Holo's debt were paid she would stop traveling with him just because Amati told her to.
"I am not so careless to agree to a contract I have not read," Lawrence said.
Amati nodded, withdrawing the knife and extending the contract to Lawrence.
Lawrence walked toward Amati, watched by everyone in the room, and took the parchment, scanning its contents quickly.
As he expected, what was written there was a more tortuously worded version of the declaration Amati had just made.
What Lawrence was most interested in was the amount that Amati proposed to pay.
What had Holo claimed her debt to be?
For Amati to be so brimming with confidence, it had to be a relatively small amount.
Finally, he found the amount in one of the lines of the contract.
For a moment, he doubted his eyes.
One thousand pieces of trenni silver.
Relief washed over him, bodily.
"I assume this contract is to your satisfaction?"
Lawrence checked again, making sure there were no obvious traps hidden in the contract's language. He also looked for any points he might turn to his own advantage.
But the contract language was stiff enough to leave no such room to trip up the first party.
Lawrence had no choice but to return Amati's contract.
"Understood," he said, handing the contract back to the boy and looking him in the eye.
Lawrence reached out to grasp the knife, and the contract was sealed.
Every merchant in the hall—and more importantly, the patron saint of the trade guild, Saint Lambardos—was witness to the dagger contract.
The merchants raised their voices in a cry, clinking their cups together, bringing an end to the entertainment.
Amid the din, the two men looked at each other and left the contract parchment and dagger with the firm's master.
"The terms of the contract extend until the end of the festival—sundown tomorrow, in other words. Will that do?"
Lawrence nodded. "Bring the thousand trenni in cash. I will not accept a partial payment or anything less than that."
Even if Amati was the sort of merchant that routinely hauled three wagonloads of fresh fish, there was no way he would be able to simply produce one thousand trenni. If he were that successful, Lawrence would know about it.
Of course, if it was stock whose worth amounted to a thousand trenni, that could easily be produced.
To put it in the ugliest manner possible, this agreement amounted to Amati buying Holo for a thousand pieces of silver. Assuming Amati had no intention of trying to resell her somewhere else, it was as though a thousand pieces of silver were simply moving from Amati's pocket to Lawrence's.
If that was the case, Amati would surely have problems paying for his next day's stock of fish. Even if by some wild chance Holo did accept his proposal of marriage, what awaited them was a difficult future. The minstrels might claim that coin could not buy love, but the opposite was also true.
"In that case, Mr. Lawrence, we'll meet again here tomorrow."
His face still betraying his heightened emotion, Amati strode out of the guild hall. No one said a word to him, and soon all eyes were on Lawrence.
If he did not say something here, all would think him a mere rube taken for a ride by the cleverer Amati.
Lawrence straightened his collar. "I don't expect my companion will follow him simply because her debt has been lifted."
| It was a salt merchant of Lawrence's acquaintance who offered his services as a bookmaker—he caught Lawrence's eye and grinned.
The fact that the odds for Lawrence were lower meant that the merchants in this hall thought Amati's chances of winning were worse. The sense of relief he'd felt at seeing the sum of one thousand trenni in the contract was not wild-eyed optimism. Common sense dictated that Amati had overextended himself.
The bets rolled in, the majority of them on Lawrence. The more money that was placed on his odds for victory, the more his confidence grew.
Though his blood had run cold momentarily when Amati had made his proposal of marriage, the odds of it happening in reality were low.
Not only were the numbers against Amati—Lawrence took solace in knowing there was another barrier he would have to surmount.
Amati could never marry Holo unless she gave her assent.
On this point, Lawrence had absolute confidence.
There was no way Amati could know that Holo was traveling with Lawrence to the northlands.
He had told Holo already that knowledge was a merchant's best friend and that an ignorant trader was like a soldier walking blindfolded onto a battlefield.
Amati's situation was a perfect example. Even if he did manage to run all over town and scrape together a thousand trenni, in all likelihood Holo would remain with Lawrence as they traveled north.
He mulled the subject over as he apologized to the master for the unavoidable commotion and then put the guild hall behind him.
It seemed prudent to leave before the merchants finished placing their bets and the attention returned to him. He did not want to be the appetizer for their drinking.
Once Lawrence made his way through the considerable crowd and out of the hall, he recognized a familiar face.
It was Batos, who had introduced him to Diana the chronicler.
"It seems you've gotten wrapped up in quite a to-do."
Lawrence grinned, embarrassed, at which Batos smiled sympathetically.
Batos then continued ominously, "However, I think the young Mr. Amati has hit on a way to raise the capital."
Lawrence's smile disappeared at Batos's unexpected statement. "Surely not."
"I can't say it's the most admirable method, of course."
He couldn't be doing anything like Lawrence did in Ruvinheigen.
Kumersun lacked the steep import tariffs of Ruvinheigen, and with no tariffs, there was no point in smuggling.
"It won't be long before the news is all over town, so I can't say too much. If I show too much support for you, it wouldn't be fair to poor Amati—after all, he screwed up his courage and made that impressive declaration. But I wanted to give you some warning."
"Why?"
Batos grinned boyishly. "Whatever the circumstances, it is a good thing to have a traveling companion. It's hard to watch one be taken from a fellow wandering merchant."
Lawrence felt the sincerity in the man's smile.
"You might do well to return to your inn and formulate a counterplan."
Lawrence bowed to Batos as though Batos was a business partner who had just agreed to very favorable terms on a very large deal, and then he hurried back to the inn.
Amati had found a way to secure the funds.
Lawrence had miscalculated, but there were still things between him and Holo that Batos knew nothing about.
He turned the situation over in his mind as he walked down the broad avenue, whose traffic was limited owing to the festival.
He was confident that there was no way Holo would be swayed by Amati.
When Lawrence had returned to the inn and explained the situation to Holo, her reaction was unexpectedly vague.
She had been surprised enough upon hearing the message that Mark's apprentice delivered, but now she seemed to find the grooming of her tail to be the weightier matter. She sat cross-legged, her tail curling around her lap as she tended to it.
"So did you accept this contract?"
"I did."
"Mm...," she said vaguely, looking back down at her tail. Holo was unimpressed; Lawrence felt sorry for Amati.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It was a salt merchant of Lawrence's acquaintance who offered his services as a bookmaker—he caught Lawrence's eye and grinned.
The fact that the odds for Lawrence were lower meant that the merchants in this hall thought Amati's chances of winning were worse. The sense of relief he'd felt at seeing the sum of one thousand trenni in the contract was not wild-eyed optimism. Common sense dictated that Amati had overextended himself.
The bets rolled in, the majority of them on Lawrence. The more money that was placed on his odds for victory, the more his confidence grew.
Though his blood had run cold momentarily when Amati had made his proposal of marriage, the odds of it happening in reality were low.
Not only were the numbers against Amati—Lawrence took solace in knowing there was another barrier he would have to surmount.
Amati could never marry Holo unless she gave her assent.
On this point, Lawrence had absolute confidence.
There was no way Amati could know that Holo was traveling with Lawrence to the northlands.
He had told Holo already that knowledge was a merchant's best friend and that an ignorant trader was like a soldier walking blindfolded onto a battlefield.
Amati's situation was a perfect example. Even if he did manage to run all over town and scrape together a thousand trenni, in all likelihood Holo would remain with Lawrence as they traveled north.
He mulled the subject over as he apologized to the master for the unavoidable commotion and then put the guild hall behind him.
It seemed prudent to leave before the merchants finished placing their bets and the attention returned to him. He did not want to be the appetizer for their drinking.
Once Lawrence made his way through the considerable crowd and out of the hall, he recognized a familiar face.
It was Batos, who had introduced him to Diana the chronicler.
"It seems you've gotten wrapped up in quite a to-do."
Lawrence grinned, embarrassed, at which Batos smiled sympathetically.
Batos then continued ominously, "However, I think the young Mr. Amati has hit on a way to raise the capital."
Lawrence's smile disappeared at Batos's unexpected statement. "Surely not."
"I can't say it's the most admirable method, of course."
He couldn't be doing anything like Lawrence did in Ruvinheigen.
Kumersun lacked the steep import tariffs of Ruvinheigen, and with no tariffs, there was no point in smuggling.
"It won't be long before the news is all over town, so I can't say too much. If I show too much support for you, it wouldn't be fair to poor Amati—after all, he screwed up his courage and made that impressive declaration. But I wanted to give you some warning."
"Why?"
Batos grinned boyishly. "Whatever the circumstances, it is a good thing to have a traveling companion. It's hard to watch one be taken from a fellow wandering merchant."
Lawrence felt the sincerity in the man's smile.
"You might do well to return to your inn and formulate a counterplan."
Lawrence bowed to Batos as though Batos was a business partner who had just agreed to very favorable terms on a very large deal, and then he hurried back to the inn.
Amati had found a way to secure the funds.
Lawrence had miscalculated, but there were still things between him and Holo that Batos knew nothing about.
He turned the situation over in his mind as he walked down the broad avenue, whose traffic was limited owing to the festival.
He was confident that there was no way Holo would be swayed by Amati.
When Lawrence had returned to the inn and explained the situation to Holo, her reaction was unexpectedly vague.
She had been surprised enough upon hearing the message that Mark's apprentice delivered, but now she seemed to find the grooming of her tail to be the weightier matter. She sat cross-legged, her tail curling around her lap as she tended to it.
"So did you accept this contract?"
"I did."
"Mm...," she said vaguely, looking back down at her tail. Holo was unimpressed; Lawrence felt sorry for Amati.
| "Listen, you."
"What?"
"What will you do if the boy actually gives you the money?"
He knew if he answered by saying "What do you mean, what will I do?" she would be unamused.
When she asked him questions like this, Holo wanted to know the first thing that came to his mind.
Lawrence pretended to think about it for a moment and then purposely gave a less-than-ideal answer. "After I'd calculated the amount you've used, I'd give it to you."
Holo's ears moved up slowly and she narrowed her eyes. "Do not test me."
"It's a bit unfair that I'm the only one who's tested, eh?"
"Hmph." Holo sniffed, unamused, then looked back down at the tail she tended to.
Lawrence had purposefully avoided saying the first thing that came to mind.
He wanted to test whether she had noticed that fact.
"If Amati should fulfill his part of the contract, I will certainly fulfill mine," he said.
"Oh ho." Holo didn't look up, but Lawrence could tell she wasn't really looking at her tail, either.
"Of course, you've been free all along. You may act as you wish."
"Brimming with confidence, aren't you?" Holo straightened her legs and dangled them off the edge of the bed.
It looked as if she was getting ready to spring upon him like she so often did, and Lawrence flinched but regained his composure and answered.
"It's not confidence. I merely trust you."
That was one way to put it.
There were any number of ways to indicate the same idea, but this one seemed the most gallant.
Holo was speechless for a moment, but her quick wits divined this soon enough.
She smiled and then stood up suddenly.
"In truth, you're much more charming when you're nervous."
"Even I can tell how much I've matured."
"So it's more adult to simply pretend composure?"
"Isn't it?"
"Having room to boast because you've seen a gamble that's to your advantage just means you're a bit clever. It does not an adult make."
Hearing the sage words of the centuries-old wisewolf, Lawrence made a suspicious expression, as though he were the subject of a shady sales pitch.
"For example, when Amati proposed the contract to you, would it not have been more admirable to refuse it?"
Far from it, Lawrence was about to say, but Holo cut him off. "But you looked around and judged whether or not you would be embarrassed."
"Uh—"
"Consider if our positions had been reversed. For example, thus—"
Holo cleared her throat, put her right hand to her breast, and began to recite:
"I cannot consider entering into such a contract. I wish to stay always with Lawrence. It may be a bond of debt that binds us, but it is still a bond. No matter how many different threads may entwine us, I cannot bear to cut even a one. Even if it shames me, I cannot accept your contract—or some such statement. What do you think?"
It was like a scene from a stage play.
Holo's expression had been absolutely serious, and her words echoed in Lawrence's heart.
"If someone said something like that about me, I would be beside myself with joy, I daresay," said Holo.
That was undoubtedly a joke, but she had a point.
Lawrence was not willing to simply admit her correctness—doing so was tantamount to admitting he was a coward who had only accepted the contract in order to avoid embarrassment. And in any case, being so frank and open in front of so many people was all well and good, but it would have had consequences.
"Well, that might have been the manly thing to do, but whether or not it's the adult thing to do is another issue."
Holo folded her arms, looking aside and nodding minutely. "True. It might be both the action of a good male and a reckless, youthful thing to do. One might be happy to hear it, but it is still rather rich."
"You see?"
"Mm. Now that I think on it, the actions that make a good male and those that make a good adult may be mutually exclusive. A good male is like a child. A good adult has a measure of cowardice."
It was easy to imagine a stalwart knight drawing his sword in anger at Holo's light dismissal of the male sex.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Listen, you."
"What?"
"What will you do if the boy actually gives you the money?"
He knew if he answered by saying "What do you mean, what will I do?" she would be unamused.
When she asked him questions like this, Holo wanted to know the first thing that came to his mind.
Lawrence pretended to think about it for a moment and then purposely gave a less-than-ideal answer. "After I'd calculated the amount you've used, I'd give it to you."
Holo's ears moved up slowly and she narrowed her eyes. "Do not test me."
"It's a bit unfair that I'm the only one who's tested, eh?"
"Hmph." Holo sniffed, unamused, then looked back down at the tail she tended to.
Lawrence had purposefully avoided saying the first thing that came to mind.
He wanted to test whether she had noticed that fact.
"If Amati should fulfill his part of the contract, I will certainly fulfill mine," he said.
"Oh ho." Holo didn't look up, but Lawrence could tell she wasn't really looking at her tail, either.
"Of course, you've been free all along. You may act as you wish."
"Brimming with confidence, aren't you?" Holo straightened her legs and dangled them off the edge of the bed.
It looked as if she was getting ready to spring upon him like she so often did, and Lawrence flinched but regained his composure and answered.
"It's not confidence. I merely trust you."
That was one way to put it.
There were any number of ways to indicate the same idea, but this one seemed the most gallant.
Holo was speechless for a moment, but her quick wits divined this soon enough.
She smiled and then stood up suddenly.
"In truth, you're much more charming when you're nervous."
"Even I can tell how much I've matured."
"So it's more adult to simply pretend composure?"
"Isn't it?"
"Having room to boast because you've seen a gamble that's to your advantage just means you're a bit clever. It does not an adult make."
Hearing the sage words of the centuries-old wisewolf, Lawrence made a suspicious expression, as though he were the subject of a shady sales pitch.
"For example, when Amati proposed the contract to you, would it not have been more admirable to refuse it?"
Far from it, Lawrence was about to say, but Holo cut him off. "But you looked around and judged whether or not you would be embarrassed."
"Uh—"
"Consider if our positions had been reversed. For example, thus—"
Holo cleared her throat, put her right hand to her breast, and began to recite:
"I cannot consider entering into such a contract. I wish to stay always with Lawrence. It may be a bond of debt that binds us, but it is still a bond. No matter how many different threads may entwine us, I cannot bear to cut even a one. Even if it shames me, I cannot accept your contract—or some such statement. What do you think?"
It was like a scene from a stage play.
Holo's expression had been absolutely serious, and her words echoed in Lawrence's heart.
"If someone said something like that about me, I would be beside myself with joy, I daresay," said Holo.
That was undoubtedly a joke, but she had a point.
Lawrence was not willing to simply admit her correctness—doing so was tantamount to admitting he was a coward who had only accepted the contract in order to avoid embarrassment. And in any case, being so frank and open in front of so many people was all well and good, but it would have had consequences.
"Well, that might have been the manly thing to do, but whether or not it's the adult thing to do is another issue."
Holo folded her arms, looking aside and nodding minutely. "True. It might be both the action of a good male and a reckless, youthful thing to do. One might be happy to hear it, but it is still rather rich."
"You see?"
"Mm. Now that I think on it, the actions that make a good male and those that make a good adult may be mutually exclusive. A good male is like a child. A good adult has a measure of cowardice."
It was easy to imagine a stalwart knight drawing his sword in anger at Holo's light dismissal of the male sex.
| Holo's smile remained.
Her arms still folded, she replied, "Why, I would smile and accept it, of course."
Her light, effortless smile as she so easily claimed to agree to the contract made Lawrence realize just how profound her confidence and ease was.
He would have had no such ideas.
It truly was Holo the Wisewolf that stood before him.
"Of course, upon accepting the contract, I would return to the inn and, saying nothing, draw near to you like so—," she continued, unfolding her arms and walking toward Lawrence, backing him up against the windowsill. She reached out to him. "Then I would look down..." Her ears and tail drooped, her shoulders slumped, and she looked positively miserable. If this was a trap, it would be impossible to see through.
Holo's snicker that came soon after was genuinely frightening.
"Still," she said lightly, "you're a good enough merchant. You entered the contract because you think you can win. No doubt you'll do some under-the-table deals just to make sure."
Holo looked back up, her tail and ears flicking playfully. She spun around and arrived smoothly at Lawrence's side.
He soon understood what she was getting at.
"'Take me to the festival,' is it?"
"Surely a fine merchant like yourself isn't shy of bribery to fulfill a contract, right?"
Lawrence's contract with Amati did not directly involve Holo, but the true issue was whether or not Amati's marriage proposal would succeed. To put it bluntly, one thousand pieces of silver might or might not find their way into Lawrence's pocket depending entirely on Holo's mood.
For his part, Lawrence could hardly afford not to bribe Holo, on whose judgment this all depended.
"Well, I've got to go gather information on Amati either way. I may as well bring you along."
"What you mean is you'll take me to the festival and gather information on the way."
"Fine, fine," Lawrence replied, sighing as Holo jabbed him in the ribs.
The first thing that needed to be investigated was Amati's assets.
Batos had said the boy was going to use some not altogether admirable methods to get the cash, which Lawrence guessed was probably true. He couldn't imagine that Amati could produce a thousand trenni out of nowhere.
But it would be trouble if Amati actually pulled it off, so Lawrence headed to Mark's stall to ask his cooperation.
As Mark kept his stall open for the duration of the fair, he had missed the commotion at the guild hall and so readily agreed to help. With rumors spreading like wildfire but so few merchants having actually seen Holo's face, Lawrence's bringing her along to the stall was quite effective.
If it meant Mark would get to see the developments from a front-row seat, Lawrence thought it was a small price to pay for whatever favors were required.
"And anyway, it won't be me that's running about the town," Mark added.
Lawrence felt bad for Mark's young apprentice, but his was a path every merchant had to travel—it was a complicated emotion.
"Still, is it all right to be running around with the beautiful maiden of the hour?"
"She wants to see the Laddora festival. And besides, if I locked her up in the inn, it really would look like I was keeping her bound by debt."
"So Sir Lawrence says, but what is the truth of it?" Mark asked Holo, smiling. Holo was dressed in her usual town-girl clothes with the fox skin muffler Amati had given her wrapped around her neck. She seemed to understand what Mark was getting at. "The truth is just that. I am bound by heavy chains of debt. Through them I can see no tomorrow, and from them I cannot escape. If you were to free me from them, I would happily coat myself in wheat flour working for you."
Mark's face immediately split as he erupted with raucous laughter. "Bwa-ha-ha! Oh, that poor Amati lad. Lawrence is the one bound by you, aye!"
Lawrence looked away, not deigning to respond. He could see clearly enough that going up against both Mark and Holo would lead only to frustration.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Holo's smile remained.
Her arms still folded, she replied, "Why, I would smile and accept it, of course."
Her light, effortless smile as she so easily claimed to agree to the contract made Lawrence realize just how profound her confidence and ease was.
He would have had no such ideas.
It truly was Holo the Wisewolf that stood before him.
"Of course, upon accepting the contract, I would return to the inn and, saying nothing, draw near to you like so—," she continued, unfolding her arms and walking toward Lawrence, backing him up against the windowsill. She reached out to him. "Then I would look down..." Her ears and tail drooped, her shoulders slumped, and she looked positively miserable. If this was a trap, it would be impossible to see through.
Holo's snicker that came soon after was genuinely frightening.
"Still," she said lightly, "you're a good enough merchant. You entered the contract because you think you can win. No doubt you'll do some under-the-table deals just to make sure."
Holo looked back up, her tail and ears flicking playfully. She spun around and arrived smoothly at Lawrence's side.
He soon understood what she was getting at.
"'Take me to the festival,' is it?"
"Surely a fine merchant like yourself isn't shy of bribery to fulfill a contract, right?"
Lawrence's contract with Amati did not directly involve Holo, but the true issue was whether or not Amati's marriage proposal would succeed. To put it bluntly, one thousand pieces of silver might or might not find their way into Lawrence's pocket depending entirely on Holo's mood.
For his part, Lawrence could hardly afford not to bribe Holo, on whose judgment this all depended.
"Well, I've got to go gather information on Amati either way. I may as well bring you along."
"What you mean is you'll take me to the festival and gather information on the way."
"Fine, fine," Lawrence replied, sighing as Holo jabbed him in the ribs.
The first thing that needed to be investigated was Amati's assets.
Batos had said the boy was going to use some not altogether admirable methods to get the cash, which Lawrence guessed was probably true. He couldn't imagine that Amati could produce a thousand trenni out of nowhere.
But it would be trouble if Amati actually pulled it off, so Lawrence headed to Mark's stall to ask his cooperation.
As Mark kept his stall open for the duration of the fair, he had missed the commotion at the guild hall and so readily agreed to help. With rumors spreading like wildfire but so few merchants having actually seen Holo's face, Lawrence's bringing her along to the stall was quite effective.
If it meant Mark would get to see the developments from a front-row seat, Lawrence thought it was a small price to pay for whatever favors were required.
"And anyway, it won't be me that's running about the town," Mark added.
Lawrence felt bad for Mark's young apprentice, but his was a path every merchant had to travel—it was a complicated emotion.
"Still, is it all right to be running around with the beautiful maiden of the hour?"
"She wants to see the Laddora festival. And besides, if I locked her up in the inn, it really would look like I was keeping her bound by debt."
"So Sir Lawrence says, but what is the truth of it?" Mark asked Holo, smiling. Holo was dressed in her usual town-girl clothes with the fox skin muffler Amati had given her wrapped around her neck. She seemed to understand what Mark was getting at. "The truth is just that. I am bound by heavy chains of debt. Through them I can see no tomorrow, and from them I cannot escape. If you were to free me from them, I would happily coat myself in wheat flour working for you."
Mark's face immediately split as he erupted with raucous laughter. "Bwa-ha-ha! Oh, that poor Amati lad. Lawrence is the one bound by you, aye!"
Lawrence looked away, not deigning to respond. He could see clearly enough that going up against both Mark and Holo would lead only to frustration.
| "I've checked it out," he said to Mark.
"Oh? Well done. What do you have?"
The apprentice greeted Lawrence and Holo as he delivered his report to Mark.
There was no question that what he wanted was not a reward from Lawrence or Mark, but a smile from Holo.
Understanding this, she graced him with her loveliest, most demure smile. Holo's undeniable mischief caused the poor boy to turn red all the way to his ears.
"So what have you learned?" Mark grinned at his apprentice, who flailed for a moment before answering. Knowing Mark, Lawrence was sure the poor lad had been teased for some time.
"Ah, yes. Er, according to the taxation records, he was taxed on two hundred irehd."
"Two hundred irehd, eh? So that'd make it...what, about eight hundred trenni that Amati has on hand that the city council is aware of."
With a few exceptions, every merchant with a certain amount of assets was subject to taxation. The amount was recorded in the tax ledger, and anyone with a reason to do so could examine the records. Mark had gone through his acquaintances to take a look at Amati's tax records.
But there was no guarantee that a merchant would report his assets to the city council accurately, so it was better to assume he had some amount hidden away. In any case, as a merchant, most of his worth would exist in credit with other sources.
But Amati wouldn't be able to easily produce a thousand silver pieces to buy Holo.
Which meant that if he truly planned to fulfill the contract, he would have to resort to either borrowing, gambling, or some other method of realizing short-term gains.
"Where's the town gambling hall?"
"Hey, just because we keep the Church in check doesn't mean it's a free-for-all. It's pretty much limited to cards, dice games, and rabbit chasing. There's also an upper limit on how much you can bet. He's not going to raise the money gambling."
Given the precision and detail with which he had answered the short question, it seemed Mark, too, was trying to work out how Amati could possibly raise the funds.
After all, Amati was essentially proposing to spend a thousand silver pieces on something he would never be able to resell, so any merchant would be curious as to the source of such wealth.
Lawrence was deep in thought, trying to decide what to investigate next, when Mark suddenly spoke.
"Oh, that's right. Apparently there's another bet on—about what's going to happen after the contract."
"After the contract?"
"Yes, if Amati wins the contract, who will be the victor after that."
Mark grinned provocatively; Lawrence turned away, his face betraying his irritation.
Holo had evidently taken an interest in the grain and flour laid up in Mark's shop, and she wandered about, listening to the apprentice's grand explanations.
She seemed to hear Mark and Lawrence and looked their way.
"But you've got the advantage as far as the odds go."
"Maybe I should demand the bookmaker give me a cut."
"Ha-ha-ha. So what are you actually going to do?"
Mark was obviously trying to get some information that would allow him to make some money on the wager, but he also seemed genuinely curious.
Lawrence only shrugged, not giving a proper answer to the question, but then Holo (who had evidently approached the two at some point during their conversation) spoke.
"Even if a question has a proper answer, sometimes one cannot simply give it away. For example, the mixing of your flour there."
"Erk—" Flustered, Mark shot his apprentice a sharp look, but the boy merely shook his head, as if to say, "I didn't tell her anything!" The mixing of the flour surely referred to its purity. Mixing in cheaper grades of flour with wheat flour to increase its volume was a standard merchant trick.
Even a merchant that dealt with flour day in and day out would probably have a hard time noticing small fluctuations in purity, but for Holo, whose very spirit resided within the wheat, it was simplicity itself.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I've checked it out," he said to Mark.
"Oh? Well done. What do you have?"
The apprentice greeted Lawrence and Holo as he delivered his report to Mark.
There was no question that what he wanted was not a reward from Lawrence or Mark, but a smile from Holo.
Understanding this, she graced him with her loveliest, most demure smile. Holo's undeniable mischief caused the poor boy to turn red all the way to his ears.
"So what have you learned?" Mark grinned at his apprentice, who flailed for a moment before answering. Knowing Mark, Lawrence was sure the poor lad had been teased for some time.
"Ah, yes. Er, according to the taxation records, he was taxed on two hundred irehd."
"Two hundred irehd, eh? So that'd make it...what, about eight hundred trenni that Amati has on hand that the city council is aware of."
With a few exceptions, every merchant with a certain amount of assets was subject to taxation. The amount was recorded in the tax ledger, and anyone with a reason to do so could examine the records. Mark had gone through his acquaintances to take a look at Amati's tax records.
But there was no guarantee that a merchant would report his assets to the city council accurately, so it was better to assume he had some amount hidden away. In any case, as a merchant, most of his worth would exist in credit with other sources.
But Amati wouldn't be able to easily produce a thousand silver pieces to buy Holo.
Which meant that if he truly planned to fulfill the contract, he would have to resort to either borrowing, gambling, or some other method of realizing short-term gains.
"Where's the town gambling hall?"
"Hey, just because we keep the Church in check doesn't mean it's a free-for-all. It's pretty much limited to cards, dice games, and rabbit chasing. There's also an upper limit on how much you can bet. He's not going to raise the money gambling."
Given the precision and detail with which he had answered the short question, it seemed Mark, too, was trying to work out how Amati could possibly raise the funds.
After all, Amati was essentially proposing to spend a thousand silver pieces on something he would never be able to resell, so any merchant would be curious as to the source of such wealth.
Lawrence was deep in thought, trying to decide what to investigate next, when Mark suddenly spoke.
"Oh, that's right. Apparently there's another bet on—about what's going to happen after the contract."
"After the contract?"
"Yes, if Amati wins the contract, who will be the victor after that."
Mark grinned provocatively; Lawrence turned away, his face betraying his irritation.
Holo had evidently taken an interest in the grain and flour laid up in Mark's shop, and she wandered about, listening to the apprentice's grand explanations.
She seemed to hear Mark and Lawrence and looked their way.
"But you've got the advantage as far as the odds go."
"Maybe I should demand the bookmaker give me a cut."
"Ha-ha-ha. So what are you actually going to do?"
Mark was obviously trying to get some information that would allow him to make some money on the wager, but he also seemed genuinely curious.
Lawrence only shrugged, not giving a proper answer to the question, but then Holo (who had evidently approached the two at some point during their conversation) spoke.
"Even if a question has a proper answer, sometimes one cannot simply give it away. For example, the mixing of your flour there."
"Erk—" Flustered, Mark shot his apprentice a sharp look, but the boy merely shook his head, as if to say, "I didn't tell her anything!" The mixing of the flour surely referred to its purity. Mixing in cheaper grades of flour with wheat flour to increase its volume was a standard merchant trick.
Even a merchant that dealt with flour day in and day out would probably have a hard time noticing small fluctuations in purity, but for Holo, whose very spirit resided within the wheat, it was simplicity itself.
| She gave the unfriendly smile that was her specialty.
Mark now shook his head frantically, much like his apprentice, as they looked to Lawrence with beseeching eyes.
"At this point, all we can do is observe our opponent's actions," said Lawrence.
"How treacherous."
Holo's sharp appraisal pierced Lawrence's heart.
"I'd be happier if you called it a hidden contest. He'll certainly have someone watching our moves as well, you know," Lawrence said.
Mark recovered his composure enough to differ. "I wonder about that. Amati ran away from home and came alone all the way to this town, achieving all his success independently. And there's his youth to consider. He's very self-confident. Not only does he not give much thought to the connections between merchants, he would probably consider tricks like that beneath him. He trusts only in his eye for good fish and his ability to sell them. That and the protection of the gods."
Amati sounded more like a knight than a merchant to Lawrence, who found himself envying the boy's ability to achieve such success on his own.
"That'd explain why he'd fall so hard for a charming girl who'd just arrived in town," Mark continued. "The townswomen are even more closely connected than the merchants. They seem to care only about reputation and are always watching each other. If one starts to stick out a little more, the others beat her down. I'm sure he finds it distasteful. Of course, not all women are like that, as I found out when I married my Adele."
As a traveling merchant, Lawrence well understood Mark's explanation. The town could certainly look that way from the outside.
Lawrence glanced sideways at Holo. He felt that yes, if he was in similar circumstances and saw a girl like Holo, he might well fall for her instantly—all the more so if he thought she was just an ordinary girl.
"Amati may well be as you say, but I will not hesitate to use any connection I need to. Treachery may be forbidden when knights duel, but there's no crying in a contest of merchants."
"I surely agree," said Mark. He looked at Holo.
Lawrence likewise looked at her again. Holo put her hands to her cheeks in a gesture of embarrassment, as though she had been waiting for the moment, and spoke.
"I wish just once someone would attack me from the front."
No doubt Mark was finally realizing, Lawrence mused, that there was no winning against Holo.
In the end, Lawrence decided to use Mark's connections to get more information on Amati. He made sure to mention to Mark the peddler Batos's hint regarding Amati's potential reserves of capital.
Lawrence trusted Holo, but there was no telling what she would do if he rested on his laurels in this contest. And there was always the possibility of being able to make some money in Amati's wake.
Holo and Lawrence couldn't very well hang around Mark's shop all day long, so after Lawrence asked Mark to help him with information, they put the stall behind them.
The town was becoming livelier and livelier, and the crowds did not diminish at all as they passed from the market to the plaza.
Midday approached, and people lined up in front of every stall alongside the road. Holo was not shy about lining up herself, clutching the money she'd relieved Lawrence of.
Lawrence watched her from afar, thinking it was just about time for the midday bell to ring, when he heard a low, lazy tone sound.
"A horn?"
The horn's sound made him think of shepherds, and for a moment, he remembered Norah and the danger they had faced together in Ruvinheigen. If the keen-eyed Holo saw through him, though, it would be trouble.
Lawrence chased the thought from his mind and tried to see where the sound came from just as Holo returned, bearing the fried bread she'd managed to successfully buy.
"Did I not just hear a shepherd's horn?" she asked.
"You did. I wasn't sure, but if you call it a shepherd's horn, then it must be so."
"It fairly overflows with the scent of food here. I cannot tell if there are sheep or not."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | She gave the unfriendly smile that was her specialty.
Mark now shook his head frantically, much like his apprentice, as they looked to Lawrence with beseeching eyes.
"At this point, all we can do is observe our opponent's actions," said Lawrence.
"How treacherous."
Holo's sharp appraisal pierced Lawrence's heart.
"I'd be happier if you called it a hidden contest. He'll certainly have someone watching our moves as well, you know," Lawrence said.
Mark recovered his composure enough to differ. "I wonder about that. Amati ran away from home and came alone all the way to this town, achieving all his success independently. And there's his youth to consider. He's very self-confident. Not only does he not give much thought to the connections between merchants, he would probably consider tricks like that beneath him. He trusts only in his eye for good fish and his ability to sell them. That and the protection of the gods."
Amati sounded more like a knight than a merchant to Lawrence, who found himself envying the boy's ability to achieve such success on his own.
"That'd explain why he'd fall so hard for a charming girl who'd just arrived in town," Mark continued. "The townswomen are even more closely connected than the merchants. They seem to care only about reputation and are always watching each other. If one starts to stick out a little more, the others beat her down. I'm sure he finds it distasteful. Of course, not all women are like that, as I found out when I married my Adele."
As a traveling merchant, Lawrence well understood Mark's explanation. The town could certainly look that way from the outside.
Lawrence glanced sideways at Holo. He felt that yes, if he was in similar circumstances and saw a girl like Holo, he might well fall for her instantly—all the more so if he thought she was just an ordinary girl.
"Amati may well be as you say, but I will not hesitate to use any connection I need to. Treachery may be forbidden when knights duel, but there's no crying in a contest of merchants."
"I surely agree," said Mark. He looked at Holo.
Lawrence likewise looked at her again. Holo put her hands to her cheeks in a gesture of embarrassment, as though she had been waiting for the moment, and spoke.
"I wish just once someone would attack me from the front."
No doubt Mark was finally realizing, Lawrence mused, that there was no winning against Holo.
In the end, Lawrence decided to use Mark's connections to get more information on Amati. He made sure to mention to Mark the peddler Batos's hint regarding Amati's potential reserves of capital.
Lawrence trusted Holo, but there was no telling what she would do if he rested on his laurels in this contest. And there was always the possibility of being able to make some money in Amati's wake.
Holo and Lawrence couldn't very well hang around Mark's shop all day long, so after Lawrence asked Mark to help him with information, they put the stall behind them.
The town was becoming livelier and livelier, and the crowds did not diminish at all as they passed from the market to the plaza.
Midday approached, and people lined up in front of every stall alongside the road. Holo was not shy about lining up herself, clutching the money she'd relieved Lawrence of.
Lawrence watched her from afar, thinking it was just about time for the midday bell to ring, when he heard a low, lazy tone sound.
"A horn?"
The horn's sound made him think of shepherds, and for a moment, he remembered Norah and the danger they had faced together in Ruvinheigen. If the keen-eyed Holo saw through him, though, it would be trouble.
Lawrence chased the thought from his mind and tried to see where the sound came from just as Holo returned, bearing the fried bread she'd managed to successfully buy.
"Did I not just hear a shepherd's horn?" she asked.
"You did. I wasn't sure, but if you call it a shepherd's horn, then it must be so."
"It fairly overflows with the scent of food here. I cannot tell if there are sheep or not."
| "And no comely shepherdesses."
Lawrence had been expecting the jab, so he was relatively unaffected.
"Hmph," said Holo. "When you fail to react, it does rather feel like I am trying to win your affection."
"I'm just terribly delighted. Scarily so."
Holo happily bit into her bread with an audible crunch. Lawrence chuckled and looked out over the plaza again, realizing that the crowd seemed to be flowing in a particular direction. People were heading for the center of the city. Perhaps the horn had been the signal for the opening of the festival.
"Sounds like the festival has begun. Shall we go see?"
"'Twould be boring to do naught but eat."
Lawrence's smile was a bit forced as he started walking; Holo took his hand and followed.
They moved with the crowds, bearing north along the marketplace's edge, until eventually they began to hear cheers amid the sounds of drum and horn.
All manner of people were gathering—town girls dressed much like Holo, apprentice craftsmen (their faces black with soot after having snuck away from their work), itinerant priests with the customary three feathers pinned to their robes, and even lightly armored men who might have been knights or mercenaries.
The noise seemed to come from the intersection of the two main streets that quartered the town, but the crowds made it impossible to see. Holo craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse ahead, but even Lawrence couldn't see past the crowds, and he was much taller than Holo.
Lawrence remembered something, and taking Holo's hand, he ducked into an alleyway.
Once they were a few steps into the alley, things were much quieter, unlike the clamorous street. Here and there were beggars clothed in rags, dozing away as though to proclaim their disinterest in the festival, along with craftsmen who busily prepared the wares they would sell in their stalls, their workshops open to the alley.
Holo soon seemed to understand where they were heading and silently followed.
If the festival was being held in the main streets, they would be able to see the sights perfectly well from their room at the inn.
Holo and Lawrence walked easily down the uncrowded back alleys, entering the inn from its rear door and climbing to the second floor.
It seemed that someone else had the same idea and was making a business out of it. As they arrived on the second floor, they noticed several of the doors along the hallway leading to their room had been left open and a bored-looking merchant sat on a chair in front of them, idly playing with a coin.
"We'll have to be thankful to Amati on this count anyway."
Upon entering their room and opening the window, they immediately had front-row seats.
To see everything that was happening at the large intersection, Holo and Lawrence had but to lean a bit out the window, and even without leaning, they had a perfectly acceptable view.
The musicians playing pipes and drums in the intersection were clad head to toe in ominous black robes that obscured even their sex.
Behind the group in black walked another strangely dressed troupe.
Some of the costumes consisted of sewn-together pieces of clothing large enough to cover any number of people. Such a costume had several people hidden underneath it and was topped with a mask where the head would be. Other performers wore robes that concealed what must have been one person riding on another's shoulders, their head popping out of the top of the garment. Some carried great swords made from thin pieces of wood; others had bows taller than they were. They brandished the weapons wildly to great cries from the crowd.
But just as Lawrence thought that was all there would be, there was a noticeably louder shout from the crowd, and a new set of instruments could be heard.
Holo gave a small cry of surprise, and Lawrence leaned his head out the window so as not to block her view.
The inn sat at the southeast corner of the intersection, and it seemed another group in strange costumes was emerging from the east.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "And no comely shepherdesses."
Lawrence had been expecting the jab, so he was relatively unaffected.
"Hmph," said Holo. "When you fail to react, it does rather feel like I am trying to win your affection."
"I'm just terribly delighted. Scarily so."
Holo happily bit into her bread with an audible crunch. Lawrence chuckled and looked out over the plaza again, realizing that the crowd seemed to be flowing in a particular direction. People were heading for the center of the city. Perhaps the horn had been the signal for the opening of the festival.
"Sounds like the festival has begun. Shall we go see?"
"'Twould be boring to do naught but eat."
Lawrence's smile was a bit forced as he started walking; Holo took his hand and followed.
They moved with the crowds, bearing north along the marketplace's edge, until eventually they began to hear cheers amid the sounds of drum and horn.
All manner of people were gathering—town girls dressed much like Holo, apprentice craftsmen (their faces black with soot after having snuck away from their work), itinerant priests with the customary three feathers pinned to their robes, and even lightly armored men who might have been knights or mercenaries.
The noise seemed to come from the intersection of the two main streets that quartered the town, but the crowds made it impossible to see. Holo craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse ahead, but even Lawrence couldn't see past the crowds, and he was much taller than Holo.
Lawrence remembered something, and taking Holo's hand, he ducked into an alleyway.
Once they were a few steps into the alley, things were much quieter, unlike the clamorous street. Here and there were beggars clothed in rags, dozing away as though to proclaim their disinterest in the festival, along with craftsmen who busily prepared the wares they would sell in their stalls, their workshops open to the alley.
Holo soon seemed to understand where they were heading and silently followed.
If the festival was being held in the main streets, they would be able to see the sights perfectly well from their room at the inn.
Holo and Lawrence walked easily down the uncrowded back alleys, entering the inn from its rear door and climbing to the second floor.
It seemed that someone else had the same idea and was making a business out of it. As they arrived on the second floor, they noticed several of the doors along the hallway leading to their room had been left open and a bored-looking merchant sat on a chair in front of them, idly playing with a coin.
"We'll have to be thankful to Amati on this count anyway."
Upon entering their room and opening the window, they immediately had front-row seats.
To see everything that was happening at the large intersection, Holo and Lawrence had but to lean a bit out the window, and even without leaning, they had a perfectly acceptable view.
The musicians playing pipes and drums in the intersection were clad head to toe in ominous black robes that obscured even their sex.
Behind the group in black walked another strangely dressed troupe.
Some of the costumes consisted of sewn-together pieces of clothing large enough to cover any number of people. Such a costume had several people hidden underneath it and was topped with a mask where the head would be. Other performers wore robes that concealed what must have been one person riding on another's shoulders, their head popping out of the top of the garment. Some carried great swords made from thin pieces of wood; others had bows taller than they were. They brandished the weapons wildly to great cries from the crowd.
But just as Lawrence thought that was all there would be, there was a noticeably louder shout from the crowd, and a new set of instruments could be heard.
Holo gave a small cry of surprise, and Lawrence leaned his head out the window so as not to block her view.
The inn sat at the southeast corner of the intersection, and it seemed another group in strange costumes was emerging from the east.
| Some people had paint-blackened faces and wore cow horns upon their heads; others carried bird wings on their backs. Many were covered in animal skins of some sort, and it seemed likely that if Holo was to walk among them with her ears and tail exposed, no one would bat an eye. After that column passed, there arose a riotous cry and with it appeared a giant straw figure far bigger than a human. It was vaguely lupine in shape, four legged, and larger even than Holo's wolf form. The figure was supported on a wooden rack, which was carried by ten men or so.
Lawrence was about to say something about it to Holo, but he abandoned the notion when he saw the intense focus with which she watched the festival.
Animal costume after animal costume appeared in the intersection-cum-stage as the column continued along.
The black-painted marchers at the head of the procession now pointed at the signposts that had been erected here and there in the intersection, milling about as they did so.
Seeing this, Lawrence guessed that this was no mere costume parade. He thought there was some kind of tale being told—unfortunately, he was not sure. He was just thinking he would ask Mark about this later when he saw another procession arrive from the north.
These were normal folk, though some were dressed in tatters, some in noble robes, and some as knights and soldiers. The single commonality was the spoon that each one of them carried. Lawrence wondered why spoons, of all things, when the three groups collided in the intersection and began crying out in a language he had never heard. A slight ripple of nervousness ran through the assembled spectators as they watched the exchange; Lawrence, too, felt some trepidation.
Just as he was wondering what would happen next, the black-clad group all pointed in the same direction as one.
It was southwest that they pointed, and everyone's gaze soon turned that way.
Carts loaded with large barrels had evidently been prepared beforehand. Their stewards laughed loudly (if somewhat forcedly) and pushed the carts into the intersection.
The black-clad people began to play the instruments they held, the people in costumes began to sing, and the barrel carriers opened the barrels and began to sprinkle their liquid contents about.
As if that were some kind of signal, the onlookers now flooded into the intersection and began to dance.
The ring of dancers expanded rapidly. Many of the strangely dressed revelers had jumped out of the intersection and danced along the sides of the streets.
The merriment spread, and in no time at all, the entire boulevard was a huge ballroom. In the middle of the intersection, the participants of the original procession linked arms and began to dance in a circle. The festival was well and truly under way now; the singing and dancing would continue into the night.
It seemed that the opening of this festival—this revel—was complete.
Holo pulled her body—which heretofore had leaned well out of the window—back into the room.
"I'm going to go dance," she said, though it was not clear if she spoke to Lawrence or not.
Lawrence could count the number of times he'd danced like this on one hand. He tended to avoid festivals such as this one, and dancing alone was always a depressing affair.
Thus he hesitated for a moment, but he soon changed his mind after seeing Holo's outstretched hand.
Everyone would be drunk anyway—no one would notice if his dancing was a little clumsy.
And Holo's outstretched hand was worth ten thousand gold pieces.
"All right," said Lawrence, taking Holo's hand and preparing himself.
Holo laughed at his overserious resolve. "Just mind you don't tread on my feet," she said with a smile.
"...I will do my best."
The two exited the inn and plunged into the reveling crowds.
How many years had it been since he'd celebrated so much?
Lawrence had danced, drunk, and laughed so much he could not help but wonder.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Some people had paint-blackened faces and wore cow horns upon their heads; others carried bird wings on their backs. Many were covered in animal skins of some sort, and it seemed likely that if Holo was to walk among them with her ears and tail exposed, no one would bat an eye. After that column passed, there arose a riotous cry and with it appeared a giant straw figure far bigger than a human. It was vaguely lupine in shape, four legged, and larger even than Holo's wolf form. The figure was supported on a wooden rack, which was carried by ten men or so.
Lawrence was about to say something about it to Holo, but he abandoned the notion when he saw the intense focus with which she watched the festival.
Animal costume after animal costume appeared in the intersection-cum-stage as the column continued along.
The black-painted marchers at the head of the procession now pointed at the signposts that had been erected here and there in the intersection, milling about as they did so.
Seeing this, Lawrence guessed that this was no mere costume parade. He thought there was some kind of tale being told—unfortunately, he was not sure. He was just thinking he would ask Mark about this later when he saw another procession arrive from the north.
These were normal folk, though some were dressed in tatters, some in noble robes, and some as knights and soldiers. The single commonality was the spoon that each one of them carried. Lawrence wondered why spoons, of all things, when the three groups collided in the intersection and began crying out in a language he had never heard. A slight ripple of nervousness ran through the assembled spectators as they watched the exchange; Lawrence, too, felt some trepidation.
Just as he was wondering what would happen next, the black-clad group all pointed in the same direction as one.
It was southwest that they pointed, and everyone's gaze soon turned that way.
Carts loaded with large barrels had evidently been prepared beforehand. Their stewards laughed loudly (if somewhat forcedly) and pushed the carts into the intersection.
The black-clad people began to play the instruments they held, the people in costumes began to sing, and the barrel carriers opened the barrels and began to sprinkle their liquid contents about.
As if that were some kind of signal, the onlookers now flooded into the intersection and began to dance.
The ring of dancers expanded rapidly. Many of the strangely dressed revelers had jumped out of the intersection and danced along the sides of the streets.
The merriment spread, and in no time at all, the entire boulevard was a huge ballroom. In the middle of the intersection, the participants of the original procession linked arms and began to dance in a circle. The festival was well and truly under way now; the singing and dancing would continue into the night.
It seemed that the opening of this festival—this revel—was complete.
Holo pulled her body—which heretofore had leaned well out of the window—back into the room.
"I'm going to go dance," she said, though it was not clear if she spoke to Lawrence or not.
Lawrence could count the number of times he'd danced like this on one hand. He tended to avoid festivals such as this one, and dancing alone was always a depressing affair.
Thus he hesitated for a moment, but he soon changed his mind after seeing Holo's outstretched hand.
Everyone would be drunk anyway—no one would notice if his dancing was a little clumsy.
And Holo's outstretched hand was worth ten thousand gold pieces.
"All right," said Lawrence, taking Holo's hand and preparing himself.
Holo laughed at his overserious resolve. "Just mind you don't tread on my feet," she said with a smile.
"...I will do my best."
The two exited the inn and plunged into the reveling crowds.
How many years had it been since he'd celebrated so much?
Lawrence had danced, drunk, and laughed so much he could not help but wonder.
| Normally, once the fun had passed, it was followed by a rush of terrible loneliness.
But as he helped Holo, unsteady on her feet from a surfeit of merriment and wine, up the inn stairs, the heat of the moment faded to a pleasant warmth. As long as Holo was with him, he felt, the celebration would continue.
The inn room's window had been left open, and the sounds of the continuing festival filtered through it. The night was young, and the merchants and craftsmen who had to work through the day were only now beginning to join in the festivities.
The festival seemed to have entered a new phase. As they returned to the inn, Lawrence had looked back at the intersection to see it filled with people busily coming and going.
If Holo had had any strength remaining, she surely would have wanted to see. Unfortunately, she was exhausted.
After putting her to bed and setting her things in order (continuing his manservant duties from the previous day), Lawrence sighed.
It was not, however, an unhappy sigh. It came out as he looked at Holo's flushed cheeks as she lay sideways and innocent on the bed.
He felt a bit bad for Amati. He was no longer even remotely worried about having to fulfill the contract.
Far from it—in fact, he'd forgotten about it entirely until they had returned to the inn.
Once they came back, the innkeeper told Lawrence there was a message for him. It was from Mark; the message was "I've found how Amati plans to make the money—come to the shop as soon as you can."
The first thought that crossed Lawrence's mind was I'll go tomorrow. Normally such procrastination would never have occurred to him, and when he thought on it, it illustrated just how low of a priority it was for him.
What concerned him more than Mark's message was the letter that had come with it. It was sealed with a wax stamp and had "Diana" written in a lovely hand on the envelope. The letter had apparently been delivered by a stout man with a coffin-like build, which had to be Batos.
Lawrence had asked the chronicler to please let him know if she should happen to recall anything more about Yoitsu, which is what he expected the letter to be about. He considered opening it right then and there, but he decided that once he sat down and opened the envelope, he would be even less inclined to go visit Mark, so he decided against it.
Lawrence slipped the envelope back into his coat, and closing the window against the clamor still wafting in from the street, he headed out.
Just as he was about to open the door, he felt a gaze on his back, and looking behind him, he saw Holo forcing her sleep-heavy eyes open to look at him.
"I'm just going out for a bit."
"...Quite, and with a letter from a female tucked near your breast?" Her irritation did not seem to come from her struggle to stay awake.
"Aye, and she's a beauty, I might add. Does it bother you?"
"...Fool."
"She's a chronicler. Do you know what that is? She's the one telling me about Yoitsu. She's quite knowledgeable about the tales from the northlands. I haven't read the letter yet, but just talking to her yesterday gained us some excellent information. I even heard a story about you."
Holo rubbed her eyes like a cat washing its face, and then she sat up. "...A story? About me?"
"A town called Lenos has a story of you. Holoh of the Wheat Tail. That's you, is it not?"
"...I've no idea. But what do you mean by 'excellent information'?" With her homeland as the subject of conversation, Holo was now fully awake.
"Part of the tale included the direction from which you arrived in the town."
"I-in..." Holo's eyes widened and she froze, emotion writ large on her face. "In truth?"
"I've no reason to lie, do I? Evidently you arrived in Lenos from the forest east of it, so the mountains southwest of Nyohhira and east of Lenos are where we'll find Yoitsu."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Normally, once the fun had passed, it was followed by a rush of terrible loneliness.
But as he helped Holo, unsteady on her feet from a surfeit of merriment and wine, up the inn stairs, the heat of the moment faded to a pleasant warmth. As long as Holo was with him, he felt, the celebration would continue.
The inn room's window had been left open, and the sounds of the continuing festival filtered through it. The night was young, and the merchants and craftsmen who had to work through the day were only now beginning to join in the festivities.
The festival seemed to have entered a new phase. As they returned to the inn, Lawrence had looked back at the intersection to see it filled with people busily coming and going.
If Holo had had any strength remaining, she surely would have wanted to see. Unfortunately, she was exhausted.
After putting her to bed and setting her things in order (continuing his manservant duties from the previous day), Lawrence sighed.
It was not, however, an unhappy sigh. It came out as he looked at Holo's flushed cheeks as she lay sideways and innocent on the bed.
He felt a bit bad for Amati. He was no longer even remotely worried about having to fulfill the contract.
Far from it—in fact, he'd forgotten about it entirely until they had returned to the inn.
Once they came back, the innkeeper told Lawrence there was a message for him. It was from Mark; the message was "I've found how Amati plans to make the money—come to the shop as soon as you can."
The first thought that crossed Lawrence's mind was I'll go tomorrow. Normally such procrastination would never have occurred to him, and when he thought on it, it illustrated just how low of a priority it was for him.
What concerned him more than Mark's message was the letter that had come with it. It was sealed with a wax stamp and had "Diana" written in a lovely hand on the envelope. The letter had apparently been delivered by a stout man with a coffin-like build, which had to be Batos.
Lawrence had asked the chronicler to please let him know if she should happen to recall anything more about Yoitsu, which is what he expected the letter to be about. He considered opening it right then and there, but he decided that once he sat down and opened the envelope, he would be even less inclined to go visit Mark, so he decided against it.
Lawrence slipped the envelope back into his coat, and closing the window against the clamor still wafting in from the street, he headed out.
Just as he was about to open the door, he felt a gaze on his back, and looking behind him, he saw Holo forcing her sleep-heavy eyes open to look at him.
"I'm just going out for a bit."
"...Quite, and with a letter from a female tucked near your breast?" Her irritation did not seem to come from her struggle to stay awake.
"Aye, and she's a beauty, I might add. Does it bother you?"
"...Fool."
"She's a chronicler. Do you know what that is? She's the one telling me about Yoitsu. She's quite knowledgeable about the tales from the northlands. I haven't read the letter yet, but just talking to her yesterday gained us some excellent information. I even heard a story about you."
Holo rubbed her eyes like a cat washing its face, and then she sat up. "...A story? About me?"
"A town called Lenos has a story of you. Holoh of the Wheat Tail. That's you, is it not?"
"...I've no idea. But what do you mean by 'excellent information'?" With her homeland as the subject of conversation, Holo was now fully awake.
"Part of the tale included the direction from which you arrived in the town."
"I-in..." Holo's eyes widened and she froze, emotion writ large on her face. "In truth?"
"I've no reason to lie, do I? Evidently you arrived in Lenos from the forest east of it, so the mountains southwest of Nyohhira and east of Lenos are where we'll find Yoitsu."
| Hers was the relief of a girl who'd long ago lost her way but had finally found a familiar path.
Slowly and carefully she took a deep breath, which she then exhaled forcefully.
It was only her wisewolf's pride that kept her from bursting into tears right there on the spot.
"I'm surprised you didn't cry."
"...Fool." Her sneer proved how close to tears she had actually come.
"Knowing only that it was to the southwest of Nyohhira would have made the search difficult, but now it will be much narrower. I haven't opened the letter yet, but I'm sure it has additional information. It should be much easier to find our destination now."
Holo nodded and looked aside; then still holding the bedclothes, she looked back to Lawrence searchingly.
Her red-tinged amber eyes sparkled with a mixture of anticipation and doubt.
The white tip of her tail flicked to and fro uncertainly, and she looked so much the frail maiden that Lawrence couldn't help but smile weakly.
If he'd failed to understand what she was saying with that gaze, he would have no cause for complaint when she ripped his throat out.
Lawrence cleared his throat. "I daresay we'll be able to find it within a half year."
He could tell that the blood was once again flowing through her stone-still form.
"Mm!" said Holo happily with a nod.
"So the sender of this note is like a dove bearing good news. Go reflect on your misguided assumptions."
Holo's lips twisted in displeasure, but Lawrence could not fail to notice that it was an affectation.
"In any case, I'm now off to see Mark."
"With a letter tinged with a female's scent tucked near your breast?"
Lawrence couldn't help but laugh at Holo repeating her pointed question.
No doubt she wanted him to leave the letter.
She could not come right out and say as much, though, because it was too embarrassing to admit she was so nervous that she wanted him to leave a letter she could not even read.
Amused at the normally opaque Holo's transparent state of mind, Lawrence handed her the letter.
"You said the sender was a beauty?"
"Oh, indeed, and fairly wrapped in adulthood."
Holo raised a single eyebrow. She took the letter and then looked back to Lawrence, her eyes narrowed. "You're becoming a bit too adult and cunning." She grinned, revealing her fangs.
"Also, apparently Amati's found a way to raise the thousand silver pieces he needs. I'm off to ask about that."
"Oh, aye? Well, do try to come up with some way to prevent me being purchased away, hmm?"
Given their exchange thus far, Lawrence did not take Holo's words too seriously.
"If you want to read the letter, feel free to open it. If you can read, that is."
Holo sniffed and flopped over on the bed, letter in hand, her tail waving as if to say, "Well, run along now." She was like a dog carrying a bone back to its den.
He wouldn't dare to say as much, though, so he smiled wordlessly and, opening the door, left the room.
Just before he closed the door behind him, Lawrence looked back at Holo one last time, whose tail waved as though she had expected him to take one last look.
He chuckled and closed the door slowly so as not to make a sound.
"I must say, for someone asking a favor, you don't seem too worried."
"Apologies."
Lawrence had debated going straight to Mark's home but decided the man was probably still at his marketplace stall, which turned out to be correct.
Among the stands scattered here and there in the marketplace, people toasted each other's health in the moonlight, and even many of the guards responsible for watching over their masters' goods had succumbed to their desires and were drinking.
"Though I suppose I've time to spare aplenty during the festival," Mark admitted.
"Oh?"
"Oh, indeed. No one wants to lug heavy goods about while they take in the sights, do they? Especially something as bulky as wheat, which I sell before the festival begins and buy once it ends. Of course, the night festival is a different matter, though."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Hers was the relief of a girl who'd long ago lost her way but had finally found a familiar path.
Slowly and carefully she took a deep breath, which she then exhaled forcefully.
It was only her wisewolf's pride that kept her from bursting into tears right there on the spot.
"I'm surprised you didn't cry."
"...Fool." Her sneer proved how close to tears she had actually come.
"Knowing only that it was to the southwest of Nyohhira would have made the search difficult, but now it will be much narrower. I haven't opened the letter yet, but I'm sure it has additional information. It should be much easier to find our destination now."
Holo nodded and looked aside; then still holding the bedclothes, she looked back to Lawrence searchingly.
Her red-tinged amber eyes sparkled with a mixture of anticipation and doubt.
The white tip of her tail flicked to and fro uncertainly, and she looked so much the frail maiden that Lawrence couldn't help but smile weakly.
If he'd failed to understand what she was saying with that gaze, he would have no cause for complaint when she ripped his throat out.
Lawrence cleared his throat. "I daresay we'll be able to find it within a half year."
He could tell that the blood was once again flowing through her stone-still form.
"Mm!" said Holo happily with a nod.
"So the sender of this note is like a dove bearing good news. Go reflect on your misguided assumptions."
Holo's lips twisted in displeasure, but Lawrence could not fail to notice that it was an affectation.
"In any case, I'm now off to see Mark."
"With a letter tinged with a female's scent tucked near your breast?"
Lawrence couldn't help but laugh at Holo repeating her pointed question.
No doubt she wanted him to leave the letter.
She could not come right out and say as much, though, because it was too embarrassing to admit she was so nervous that she wanted him to leave a letter she could not even read.
Amused at the normally opaque Holo's transparent state of mind, Lawrence handed her the letter.
"You said the sender was a beauty?"
"Oh, indeed, and fairly wrapped in adulthood."
Holo raised a single eyebrow. She took the letter and then looked back to Lawrence, her eyes narrowed. "You're becoming a bit too adult and cunning." She grinned, revealing her fangs.
"Also, apparently Amati's found a way to raise the thousand silver pieces he needs. I'm off to ask about that."
"Oh, aye? Well, do try to come up with some way to prevent me being purchased away, hmm?"
Given their exchange thus far, Lawrence did not take Holo's words too seriously.
"If you want to read the letter, feel free to open it. If you can read, that is."
Holo sniffed and flopped over on the bed, letter in hand, her tail waving as if to say, "Well, run along now." She was like a dog carrying a bone back to its den.
He wouldn't dare to say as much, though, so he smiled wordlessly and, opening the door, left the room.
Just before he closed the door behind him, Lawrence looked back at Holo one last time, whose tail waved as though she had expected him to take one last look.
He chuckled and closed the door slowly so as not to make a sound.
"I must say, for someone asking a favor, you don't seem too worried."
"Apologies."
Lawrence had debated going straight to Mark's home but decided the man was probably still at his marketplace stall, which turned out to be correct.
Among the stands scattered here and there in the marketplace, people toasted each other's health in the moonlight, and even many of the guards responsible for watching over their masters' goods had succumbed to their desires and were drinking.
"Though I suppose I've time to spare aplenty during the festival," Mark admitted.
"Oh?"
"Oh, indeed. No one wants to lug heavy goods about while they take in the sights, do they? Especially something as bulky as wheat, which I sell before the festival begins and buy once it ends. Of course, the night festival is a different matter, though."
| "And anyway, I've already turned a bit of a profit thanks to your information, so I suppose I'll let you off the hook this time." Mark's smiling face was every inch the pleased merchant.
Evidently he'd taken advantage of whatever it was Amati was up to.
"So you're on board, eh? What's his trick?"
"You're going to like this. I don't mean the trick is just clever—I mean it's like picking up gold off the street."
"I'm all ears," said Lawrence, sitting down in a conveniently close split-log chair.
Mark grinned at what this implied. "I hear tell the knight Haschmidt is quite a dancer. If he keeps making merry like this, he may have to take the thousand silver and lose the lovely maid."
"You're certainly welcome to bet your whole fortune on Amati—it makes not a whit of difference to me."
Mark blocked Lawrence's attack not with his shield, but his sword. "That Philip the Third has been saying some interesting things about you."
"Oh?"
"That you keep the poor girl in debt simply so you can take her wherever you please, that you treat her cruelly and feed her nothing but cold porridge—and so on."
Mark was obviously amused, as though it were a grand joke, but Lawrence could only listen and smile uncomfortably.
Amati was obviously spreading rumors about Lawrence as a way to justify his own actions. Lawrence's cheek twitched, more from the annoyance of this mosquito buzzing around his face than from the damage done to his reputation.
A traveling merchant was no sword-wielding mercenary—he couldn't simply foist debt off on any girl he wished, forcing her to travel with him. Even if a note of debt was written in a city where the merchant had some pull, it would be meaningless as soon as they were on the road.
Likewise, anyone used to long journeys would know there was nothing surprising about the meager food one ate during travel. Any merchant who'd tried to maximize profit knew that there were times one went without food.
So Amati's slander of Lawrence would not be taken seriously. That was not the problem. What irked Lawrence was that Amati spread the notion that he and Lawrence were in the same ring, fighting over a woman.
Even if that didn't have a direct effect on Lawrence's business, it was hardly something to be happy about in regards to his standing as an independent trader.
Mark surely knew how irritating this would be, which explained his self-satisfied smirk. Lawrence sighed and waved his hand as if to end the discussion. "Anyway, what's this talk of profit?"
"Ah, yes. Once I'd heard that old Batos had figured it out, I put the pieces together."
So it was something to do with Batos's business.
"Precious gems, then?"
"Close, but no. You can hardly call it 'precious.'"
The commodities that ore merchants bought and sold as they traveled through mining country ran through his mind. Suddenly, Lawrence had it.
The mineral he'd talked about with Holo that looked like gold—
"Pyrite?"
"Oh, so you've already heard?"
Apparently that was the answer.
"No, I'd just thought it might make a good business myself. Because of the fortune-teller, right?"
"That's what they say. Though that fortune-teller's already left town."
"I see."
A sudden cheer grabbed Lawrence's attention; he looked to see a group of men in traveling clothes joyfully greeting some town merchants, embracing one another heartily at their evidently happy reunion.
"Yeah, the public story is that his fortune-telling was too good, so he was attracting the eye of a Church inquisitor, but that sounds pretty suspicious."
"Why suspicious?"
Mark took a sip of wine and removed a small burlap sack from the shelf behind him.
"First of all, if an inquisitor had actually come to town, it would be huge news. Secondly, there's just a little too much pyrite in circulation right now. My guess is he bought up somewhere else and left as soon as he'd sold all his stock. Also..."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "And anyway, I've already turned a bit of a profit thanks to your information, so I suppose I'll let you off the hook this time." Mark's smiling face was every inch the pleased merchant.
Evidently he'd taken advantage of whatever it was Amati was up to.
"So you're on board, eh? What's his trick?"
"You're going to like this. I don't mean the trick is just clever—I mean it's like picking up gold off the street."
"I'm all ears," said Lawrence, sitting down in a conveniently close split-log chair.
Mark grinned at what this implied. "I hear tell the knight Haschmidt is quite a dancer. If he keeps making merry like this, he may have to take the thousand silver and lose the lovely maid."
"You're certainly welcome to bet your whole fortune on Amati—it makes not a whit of difference to me."
Mark blocked Lawrence's attack not with his shield, but his sword. "That Philip the Third has been saying some interesting things about you."
"Oh?"
"That you keep the poor girl in debt simply so you can take her wherever you please, that you treat her cruelly and feed her nothing but cold porridge—and so on."
Mark was obviously amused, as though it were a grand joke, but Lawrence could only listen and smile uncomfortably.
Amati was obviously spreading rumors about Lawrence as a way to justify his own actions. Lawrence's cheek twitched, more from the annoyance of this mosquito buzzing around his face than from the damage done to his reputation.
A traveling merchant was no sword-wielding mercenary—he couldn't simply foist debt off on any girl he wished, forcing her to travel with him. Even if a note of debt was written in a city where the merchant had some pull, it would be meaningless as soon as they were on the road.
Likewise, anyone used to long journeys would know there was nothing surprising about the meager food one ate during travel. Any merchant who'd tried to maximize profit knew that there were times one went without food.
So Amati's slander of Lawrence would not be taken seriously. That was not the problem. What irked Lawrence was that Amati spread the notion that he and Lawrence were in the same ring, fighting over a woman.
Even if that didn't have a direct effect on Lawrence's business, it was hardly something to be happy about in regards to his standing as an independent trader.
Mark surely knew how irritating this would be, which explained his self-satisfied smirk. Lawrence sighed and waved his hand as if to end the discussion. "Anyway, what's this talk of profit?"
"Ah, yes. Once I'd heard that old Batos had figured it out, I put the pieces together."
So it was something to do with Batos's business.
"Precious gems, then?"
"Close, but no. You can hardly call it 'precious.'"
The commodities that ore merchants bought and sold as they traveled through mining country ran through his mind. Suddenly, Lawrence had it.
The mineral he'd talked about with Holo that looked like gold—
"Pyrite?"
"Oh, so you've already heard?"
Apparently that was the answer.
"No, I'd just thought it might make a good business myself. Because of the fortune-teller, right?"
"That's what they say. Though that fortune-teller's already left town."
"I see."
A sudden cheer grabbed Lawrence's attention; he looked to see a group of men in traveling clothes joyfully greeting some town merchants, embracing one another heartily at their evidently happy reunion.
"Yeah, the public story is that his fortune-telling was too good, so he was attracting the eye of a Church inquisitor, but that sounds pretty suspicious."
"Why suspicious?"
Mark took a sip of wine and removed a small burlap sack from the shelf behind him.
"First of all, if an inquisitor had actually come to town, it would be huge news. Secondly, there's just a little too much pyrite in circulation right now. My guess is he bought up somewhere else and left as soon as he'd sold all his stock. Also..."
| "I think he was trying to exaggerate the rarity of pyrite. How much do you think this is worth right now?"
In his hand, Mark held a die-shaped piece, which was generally considered the most precious form of pyrite. Standard market value was perhaps ten irehd, or one-quarter of a trenni piece.
But Holo had said the pyrite piece Amati gave her had been bought at an auction, so Lawrence made a bolder guess.
"One hundred irehd."
"Try two hundred seventy."
"Im—"
—possible, he was about to say, but he swallowed the word, cursing himself for not buying up stock immediately after Holo told him of the pyrite.
"To men like us, that'd be a ridiculous price even for a precious gem. But when the market opens tomorrow, it's going to rise even higher. Right now every woman in town is scheming to buy. Fortune-telling and secret beauty potions will always be in demand."
"But still—two hundred seventy? For this?"
"It doesn't even have to be die shaped. Other shapes have risen in value, too, thanks to the idea that each one serves a different purpose. The women come to the market and sweet-talk their fat-walleted merchant and farmer husbands into buying them the stuff. And if you want to talk about miracles, they're even starting to compete among each other, these women, to see who's been given the most pyrite. It's gotten to where the price rises with every word of flattery a woman speaks."
Lawrence had bought wine and trinkets for town girls before; this was difficult for him to hear.
But that difficulty paled in comparison to his regret at having let this opportunity get away.
"It's not a question of what percentage of profit can be made on an investment now. It's a question of how many times, how many tens of times you'll multiply your money. Your Philip the Third has his eye on your princess, and he's making tremendous amounts of money to get her."
If Amati had come up with this plan as soon as he'd bought Holo her piece of pyrite, he might very well have made a fair amount of money already. It was entirely possible he would have the thousand pieces of silver on the morrow.
"I've just barely gotten my foot in the door, and I've already made three hundred irehd. That's how much the price is going up. It's not an opportunity to let go."
"Who else knows?"
"Apparently, it was spreading around the market this morning. I was actually late to the game. Incidentally, the line in front of the ore merchant's stall was going mad just about the time you were dancing with your princess."
Despite being long-since sober, Lawrence's face was redder than the still-drinking Mark's.
It was not because Mark teased him about Holo, but rather because just when even the dullest of traders would have known to get in on the action, Lawrence had been right next to the marketplace, dancing the night away.
No amount of red-faced frustration could adequately express his feelings.
He was a failure as a merchant.
For the first time since the Ruvinheigen debacle, he wanted to hold his head in his hands and cry.
"If Amati were doing something complicated, there would probably be something we could do to block him. As it is, I don't think we can. I'm sorry, friend, but you're a fish in a barrel here."
Mark was trying to say, All you can do is wait to be cooked, but that wasn't what depressed Lawrence. He was simply upset with himself for putting fun with Holo before business.
"Ah, I should mention that the news has already spread through the market, so the number of merchants looking to buy up pyrite to sell has driven the price even higher. What I'm saying is that the wind is just now picking up. If you don't hoist your sail, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
"True enough. I'll not sit by and watch those ships sail away."
"That's the spirit! And hey, if worst comes to worst, you'll need money to buy a new princess, eh?"
Lawrence smiled wryly at Mark. It would be a good opportunity to make up for his losses in Ruvinheigen at least.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I think he was trying to exaggerate the rarity of pyrite. How much do you think this is worth right now?"
In his hand, Mark held a die-shaped piece, which was generally considered the most precious form of pyrite. Standard market value was perhaps ten irehd, or one-quarter of a trenni piece.
But Holo had said the pyrite piece Amati gave her had been bought at an auction, so Lawrence made a bolder guess.
"One hundred irehd."
"Try two hundred seventy."
"Im—"
—possible, he was about to say, but he swallowed the word, cursing himself for not buying up stock immediately after Holo told him of the pyrite.
"To men like us, that'd be a ridiculous price even for a precious gem. But when the market opens tomorrow, it's going to rise even higher. Right now every woman in town is scheming to buy. Fortune-telling and secret beauty potions will always be in demand."
"But still—two hundred seventy? For this?"
"It doesn't even have to be die shaped. Other shapes have risen in value, too, thanks to the idea that each one serves a different purpose. The women come to the market and sweet-talk their fat-walleted merchant and farmer husbands into buying them the stuff. And if you want to talk about miracles, they're even starting to compete among each other, these women, to see who's been given the most pyrite. It's gotten to where the price rises with every word of flattery a woman speaks."
Lawrence had bought wine and trinkets for town girls before; this was difficult for him to hear.
But that difficulty paled in comparison to his regret at having let this opportunity get away.
"It's not a question of what percentage of profit can be made on an investment now. It's a question of how many times, how many tens of times you'll multiply your money. Your Philip the Third has his eye on your princess, and he's making tremendous amounts of money to get her."
If Amati had come up with this plan as soon as he'd bought Holo her piece of pyrite, he might very well have made a fair amount of money already. It was entirely possible he would have the thousand pieces of silver on the morrow.
"I've just barely gotten my foot in the door, and I've already made three hundred irehd. That's how much the price is going up. It's not an opportunity to let go."
"Who else knows?"
"Apparently, it was spreading around the market this morning. I was actually late to the game. Incidentally, the line in front of the ore merchant's stall was going mad just about the time you were dancing with your princess."
Despite being long-since sober, Lawrence's face was redder than the still-drinking Mark's.
It was not because Mark teased him about Holo, but rather because just when even the dullest of traders would have known to get in on the action, Lawrence had been right next to the marketplace, dancing the night away.
No amount of red-faced frustration could adequately express his feelings.
He was a failure as a merchant.
For the first time since the Ruvinheigen debacle, he wanted to hold his head in his hands and cry.
"If Amati were doing something complicated, there would probably be something we could do to block him. As it is, I don't think we can. I'm sorry, friend, but you're a fish in a barrel here."
Mark was trying to say, All you can do is wait to be cooked, but that wasn't what depressed Lawrence. He was simply upset with himself for putting fun with Holo before business.
"Ah, I should mention that the news has already spread through the market, so the number of merchants looking to buy up pyrite to sell has driven the price even higher. What I'm saying is that the wind is just now picking up. If you don't hoist your sail, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
"True enough. I'll not sit by and watch those ships sail away."
"That's the spirit! And hey, if worst comes to worst, you'll need money to buy a new princess, eh?"
Lawrence smiled wryly at Mark. It would be a good opportunity to make up for his losses in Ruvinheigen at least.
| Mark immediately scowled as if he suddenly regretted mentioning anything.
Lawrence paid Mark thirty trenni for four pieces of pyrite and then made his way back to the inn through the crowds that sang and danced by the light of the bonfires.
The festival seemed to have entered its second stage, and he heard the sound of drums powerfully beaten.
The crowds were dense enough that it was difficult to see, but in contrast to the festivities of the day, the revelry seemed to have become wilder. Straw puppets collided with one another and sword dancers whirled.
It was a surprising development since people had already been dancing and drinking all day long.
But if he wanted to view the festival, it would be easy to do so from the front-row seat that was the inn room.
He hurried through the throng and made for the inn.
Lawrence had some thinking to do.
Amati's chances of actually pulling together a thousand trenni had increased, but Lawrence still didn't feel perturbed or worried about losing Holo.
What he worried about was how much he could make with the pyrite he had on hand and how cheaply he could convince Holo to sell him the piece she'd gotten from Amati.
Sometimes worthless items turned into gold.
Festivals were special times indeed.
Along the quieter alleys slightly removed from the clamor and lights of the festival, knights and mercenaries made passes at girls or draped their arms around the already-convinced.
The girls who leaned so easily into the arms of dark-eyed, dangerous, bandit-like knights did not seem to be women of the night, but rather ordinary town girls, who on any other night would only speak to men of more serious disposition and stature.
The strange aphrodisiac that was the passionate festival atmosphere clouded their eyes—and so long as it also did things like drive the price of pyrite upward, Lawrence had no complaints.
As he was mulling this over, Lawrence caught sight of a shop selling sweet melons to soothe throats burning from too much wine and bought two for Holo.
There was no telling how angry she might be should he return empty-handed. The melons were like the eggs of some huge bird; he smiled, resigned, carrying one under his arm and one in his hand.
The inn's first-floor dining hall was just as lively as the streets, but Lawrence only glanced at it as he made his way up to the second story.
Upon reaching the second floor, Lawrence noticed that the noise from below seemed strangely unreal, as though he were watching a fire burn from the opposite shore.
The sound of the chatter brought to mind a babbling brook; he listened to it as he opened the door and entered the room.
For a moment, he wondered why it was so well lit, but then he saw that the window had been left open.
It had probably been too dark to read the letter otherwise.
Suddenly, Lawrence realized something was wrong with that notion.
The letter?
He met Holo's eyes as she stood before the window with the letter in her hand.
Those frightened eyes.
No—not frightened.
The eyes of someone who had just come back to their senses after being utterly stunned.
"You..."
...can read? Lawrence was going to ask, but the words stuck in his throat.
Holo's lips quivered, followed shortly by her shoulders. He saw her try to gather strength in her numb, slim fingers, but the letter slipped from them and fluttered to the floor.
Lawrence did not move. He was afraid she would shatter like an ice sculpture if he moved.
It was the letter from Diana that she'd held.
If reading that letter brought Holo to this state, there were not many possibilities Lawrence could imagine.
It had to be about Yoitsu.
"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.
Her voice sounded as it always did. Despite being visibly on the brink of collapse, she managed a thin smile; the contrast was unreal, dreamlike.
"Is there something s-stuck to my face?" Holo tried maintaining her smile, but her lips trembled and it was clearly difficult for her to speak.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Mark immediately scowled as if he suddenly regretted mentioning anything.
Lawrence paid Mark thirty trenni for four pieces of pyrite and then made his way back to the inn through the crowds that sang and danced by the light of the bonfires.
The festival seemed to have entered its second stage, and he heard the sound of drums powerfully beaten.
The crowds were dense enough that it was difficult to see, but in contrast to the festivities of the day, the revelry seemed to have become wilder. Straw puppets collided with one another and sword dancers whirled.
It was a surprising development since people had already been dancing and drinking all day long.
But if he wanted to view the festival, it would be easy to do so from the front-row seat that was the inn room.
He hurried through the throng and made for the inn.
Lawrence had some thinking to do.
Amati's chances of actually pulling together a thousand trenni had increased, but Lawrence still didn't feel perturbed or worried about losing Holo.
What he worried about was how much he could make with the pyrite he had on hand and how cheaply he could convince Holo to sell him the piece she'd gotten from Amati.
Sometimes worthless items turned into gold.
Festivals were special times indeed.
Along the quieter alleys slightly removed from the clamor and lights of the festival, knights and mercenaries made passes at girls or draped their arms around the already-convinced.
The girls who leaned so easily into the arms of dark-eyed, dangerous, bandit-like knights did not seem to be women of the night, but rather ordinary town girls, who on any other night would only speak to men of more serious disposition and stature.
The strange aphrodisiac that was the passionate festival atmosphere clouded their eyes—and so long as it also did things like drive the price of pyrite upward, Lawrence had no complaints.
As he was mulling this over, Lawrence caught sight of a shop selling sweet melons to soothe throats burning from too much wine and bought two for Holo.
There was no telling how angry she might be should he return empty-handed. The melons were like the eggs of some huge bird; he smiled, resigned, carrying one under his arm and one in his hand.
The inn's first-floor dining hall was just as lively as the streets, but Lawrence only glanced at it as he made his way up to the second story.
Upon reaching the second floor, Lawrence noticed that the noise from below seemed strangely unreal, as though he were watching a fire burn from the opposite shore.
The sound of the chatter brought to mind a babbling brook; he listened to it as he opened the door and entered the room.
For a moment, he wondered why it was so well lit, but then he saw that the window had been left open.
It had probably been too dark to read the letter otherwise.
Suddenly, Lawrence realized something was wrong with that notion.
The letter?
He met Holo's eyes as she stood before the window with the letter in her hand.
Those frightened eyes.
No—not frightened.
The eyes of someone who had just come back to their senses after being utterly stunned.
"You..."
...can read? Lawrence was going to ask, but the words stuck in his throat.
Holo's lips quivered, followed shortly by her shoulders. He saw her try to gather strength in her numb, slim fingers, but the letter slipped from them and fluttered to the floor.
Lawrence did not move. He was afraid she would shatter like an ice sculpture if he moved.
It was the letter from Diana that she'd held.
If reading that letter brought Holo to this state, there were not many possibilities Lawrence could imagine.
It had to be about Yoitsu.
"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.
Her voice sounded as it always did. Despite being visibly on the brink of collapse, she managed a thin smile; the contrast was unreal, dreamlike.
"Is there something s-stuck to my face?" Holo tried maintaining her smile, but her lips trembled and it was clearly difficult for her to speak.
| "There's nothing on your face. You might be a bit drunk, though."
He couldn't bear standing silently before her like that, so he tried to choose the least offensive words he could.
What to say next? No, he had to figure out first how much she knew. Lawrence had gotten that far when Holo spoke again.
"Y-yes, quite. I-I must be drunk. Drunk i-indeed."
Her teeth chattered as she smiled, and she stiffly walked over to the bed and sat.
Lawrence finally moved away from the door and very slowly, so as not to cause this frightened bird to fly, made his way to the desk.
He set the two melons down on the desk and casually glanced down at the letter Holo had dropped.
Diana's lovely handwriting was clearly illuminated by the moonlight.
Regarding the matter we discussed yesterday of the town of Yoitsu, destroyed long ago...
Lawrence's eyes flicked over the words. He couldn't help closing his eyes.
Holo had claimed to be unable to read—probably she had planned to surprise or to tease him sometime in the future. No doubt she was surprised that the chance to do so had come so quickly, and she had read the letter immediately.
But it had backfired.
The letter had been about her home of Yoitsu—of course, she would want to read it.
The image of an excited Holo tearing into the envelope suddenly flickered into Lawrence's mind.
And then she saw the words about Yoitsu's destruction. He couldn't even imagine how bad the shock must have been.
Holo sat on the bed, staring at the floor.
While Lawrence struggled to think of the right words, she looked up.
"What—what shall I do?" Her lips curled into a forced smile. "I've...I've nowhere to return to..."
She neither blinked nor cried, but a steady stream of tears rolled down her cheeks.
"What shall I do...," she murmured again, like a child who had broken her favorite toy. Lawrence couldn't bear to see her this way. Everyone was a child when they remembered their homelands.
Holo was a wisewolf of many centuries' experience; she had certainly considered the possibility that Yoitsu had been buried within the flow of time.
But just as logic has no hold over a child, it was of no use in the face of such strong emotions.
"Holo."
Holo flinched momentarily at the sound of her name before regaining some composure.
"It's just an old story, a legend. There are many legends that are mistaken."
Lawrence spoke almost admonishingly, in order to give his words as much weight as he could. As far as possibilities went, the chances of Yoitsu being intact were very low. The towns that survived unharmed for hundreds of years were typically large ones; that everyone knew.
But he could think of nothing else to say.
"Mis...mistaken?"
"That's right. In places where a new king or faction takes over, they'll spread all kinds of tales like this to stake a claim to the new territory."
It wasn't a lie. He had heard many such examples of this.
But Holo shook her head suddenly, her tears streaming left and right across her cheeks.
The stillness in her eyes was the calm before the storm.
"No, if that were true, why—why would you hide it from me?"
"I was looking for the right time to speak. It's a delicate issue. So—"
"Heh," Holo laughed, though it sounded like a cough.
It was as though a demon had possessed her somehow.
"I-It must have been terribly amusing, seeing me be so carefree."
Lawrence's mind went instantly blank. He could never feel anything of the sort. Anger surged up within him, seizing his throat, but he restrained it somehow.
He realized Holo just wanted to hurt something, anything.
"Holo, please, calm down."
"I'm qu-quite calm. Am I not the very picture of lucidity? You must have known about Yoitsu all along."
Lawrence was speechless; she had discerned the truth.
He realized that his ultimate mistake lay in hiding it from her.
"You did, did you not? Did you not? You knew as soon as you met me. That explains so much."
Holo's expression was now that of a cornered wolf.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "There's nothing on your face. You might be a bit drunk, though."
He couldn't bear standing silently before her like that, so he tried to choose the least offensive words he could.
What to say next? No, he had to figure out first how much she knew. Lawrence had gotten that far when Holo spoke again.
"Y-yes, quite. I-I must be drunk. Drunk i-indeed."
Her teeth chattered as she smiled, and she stiffly walked over to the bed and sat.
Lawrence finally moved away from the door and very slowly, so as not to cause this frightened bird to fly, made his way to the desk.
He set the two melons down on the desk and casually glanced down at the letter Holo had dropped.
Diana's lovely handwriting was clearly illuminated by the moonlight.
Regarding the matter we discussed yesterday of the town of Yoitsu, destroyed long ago...
Lawrence's eyes flicked over the words. He couldn't help closing his eyes.
Holo had claimed to be unable to read—probably she had planned to surprise or to tease him sometime in the future. No doubt she was surprised that the chance to do so had come so quickly, and she had read the letter immediately.
But it had backfired.
The letter had been about her home of Yoitsu—of course, she would want to read it.
The image of an excited Holo tearing into the envelope suddenly flickered into Lawrence's mind.
And then she saw the words about Yoitsu's destruction. He couldn't even imagine how bad the shock must have been.
Holo sat on the bed, staring at the floor.
While Lawrence struggled to think of the right words, she looked up.
"What—what shall I do?" Her lips curled into a forced smile. "I've...I've nowhere to return to..."
She neither blinked nor cried, but a steady stream of tears rolled down her cheeks.
"What shall I do...," she murmured again, like a child who had broken her favorite toy. Lawrence couldn't bear to see her this way. Everyone was a child when they remembered their homelands.
Holo was a wisewolf of many centuries' experience; she had certainly considered the possibility that Yoitsu had been buried within the flow of time.
But just as logic has no hold over a child, it was of no use in the face of such strong emotions.
"Holo."
Holo flinched momentarily at the sound of her name before regaining some composure.
"It's just an old story, a legend. There are many legends that are mistaken."
Lawrence spoke almost admonishingly, in order to give his words as much weight as he could. As far as possibilities went, the chances of Yoitsu being intact were very low. The towns that survived unharmed for hundreds of years were typically large ones; that everyone knew.
But he could think of nothing else to say.
"Mis...mistaken?"
"That's right. In places where a new king or faction takes over, they'll spread all kinds of tales like this to stake a claim to the new territory."
It wasn't a lie. He had heard many such examples of this.
But Holo shook her head suddenly, her tears streaming left and right across her cheeks.
The stillness in her eyes was the calm before the storm.
"No, if that were true, why—why would you hide it from me?"
"I was looking for the right time to speak. It's a delicate issue. So—"
"Heh," Holo laughed, though it sounded like a cough.
It was as though a demon had possessed her somehow.
"I-It must have been terribly amusing, seeing me be so carefree."
Lawrence's mind went instantly blank. He could never feel anything of the sort. Anger surged up within him, seizing his throat, but he restrained it somehow.
He realized Holo just wanted to hurt something, anything.
"Holo, please, calm down."
"I'm qu-quite calm. Am I not the very picture of lucidity? You must have known about Yoitsu all along."
Lawrence was speechless; she had discerned the truth.
He realized that his ultimate mistake lay in hiding it from her.
"You did, did you not? Did you not? You knew as soon as you met me. That explains so much."
Holo's expression was now that of a cornered wolf.
| Lawrence tried to speak, but Holo continued.
"And then you told me to go back to Nyohhira alone because you'd grown tired of me, no?"
Her smile was a despairing one. Even Holo herself should know that what she said was a deliberate, malicious distortion.
He knew that if he was to lose his temper and strike her, she would only wag her tail happily.
"Is that really what you think?"
Lawrence's words struck her; she stared through him with blazing red eyes. "Yes, it is!"
Holo stood up, her fists trembling and white.
Her sharp teeth clattered, and her tail puffed out like a bottlebrush.
Lawrence still did not flinch. He knew that Holo's rage came from a place of deep sadness.
"Yes, I do think that! You are human! The only animal that raises other animals! It must have been so amusing for you as I foolishly took the bait that was Yoitsu and—"
"Holo."
Holo had been gesticulating wildly; Lawrence quickly drew close to her and grabbed her arms with all his might.
She was as angry and frightened as a trapped stray dog, and she could put up no more resistance than that of the young girl she appeared to be.
With Lawrence holding on to her arms, the difference in their strength was clear.
"I-I'm all alone. Wh-what shall I-I do? No one awaits my return. There is no one for me. I'm...I'm alone..."
"You have me, don't you?" he said, completely serious.
They were not words that could be said lightly.
But Holo merely scoffed and shot back, "What are you to me? Nay—what am I to you?"
Lawrence had no quick reply. He had to think.
It was a moment later that he realized he should have answered quickly, even if it had to be a lie.
"No! I do not want to be alone anymore! I can't!" shouted Holo, then froze. "Come now...Would...would you lie with me?"
Lawrence was just about to loosen his grip on her arms.
But then he noticed that her smile was empty. She was mocking her own unhinged state.
"I am all alone, I am. But with a child, that would make two. Look, I have taken human form. It is not impossible that with you, I could...Come, please..."
"Don't talk. I'm begging you."
Lawrence understood the overflowing emotions that boiled up within her, which could only come out as sharp, poisonous words. He understood too well.
But he could not manage the trick of tying those emotions up and setting them aside to cool.
Telling her not to speak was all he could do.
Holo's smile strengthened, and a new wave of tears poured from her eyes.
"Heh. Aha...ha-ha-ha-ha. 'Tis true. You're too softhearted. I can expect nothing like that from you. But I care not. I've remembered, you see. There's...Yes, there's someone who loves me."
She couldn't overcome Lawrence's grip with force, so in order to take advantage of any gap that might appear, Holo relaxed her fists and let the tension drain from her body. Lawrence let go of her wrists, and words now came from her like so many sickly butterflies.
"That is why such talk did not cause you worry, is it not? That if you could receive a thousand silver coins for me, it would not be so regrettable to let me go?"
Lawrence knew that anything he said would be meaningless, so he only listened silently.
The silence continued, as if Holo had burned up the last of her fuel.
At length, just when Lawrence reached out to her again, Holo spoke weakly.
"...I am sorry," she said.
Lawrence felt he could hear the slam that came with those words as Holo closed the door to her heart.
He froze. It was all he could do to back away.
Holo sat down again, staring at the floor, unmoving.
Lawrence retreated, but he found himself unable to stand still, so he picked up the letter from Diana that Holo had dropped, reading it as if to escape.
In it, Diana said that there was a monk who lived in a town on the way to Lenos, specializing in the legends of the northlands, and that Lawrence would do well to visit him. On the back of the letter was written the name of the monk.
Lawrence closed his eyes, anguished.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence tried to speak, but Holo continued.
"And then you told me to go back to Nyohhira alone because you'd grown tired of me, no?"
Her smile was a despairing one. Even Holo herself should know that what she said was a deliberate, malicious distortion.
He knew that if he was to lose his temper and strike her, she would only wag her tail happily.
"Is that really what you think?"
Lawrence's words struck her; she stared through him with blazing red eyes. "Yes, it is!"
Holo stood up, her fists trembling and white.
Her sharp teeth clattered, and her tail puffed out like a bottlebrush.
Lawrence still did not flinch. He knew that Holo's rage came from a place of deep sadness.
"Yes, I do think that! You are human! The only animal that raises other animals! It must have been so amusing for you as I foolishly took the bait that was Yoitsu and—"
"Holo."
Holo had been gesticulating wildly; Lawrence quickly drew close to her and grabbed her arms with all his might.
She was as angry and frightened as a trapped stray dog, and she could put up no more resistance than that of the young girl she appeared to be.
With Lawrence holding on to her arms, the difference in their strength was clear.
"I-I'm all alone. Wh-what shall I-I do? No one awaits my return. There is no one for me. I'm...I'm alone..."
"You have me, don't you?" he said, completely serious.
They were not words that could be said lightly.
But Holo merely scoffed and shot back, "What are you to me? Nay—what am I to you?"
Lawrence had no quick reply. He had to think.
It was a moment later that he realized he should have answered quickly, even if it had to be a lie.
"No! I do not want to be alone anymore! I can't!" shouted Holo, then froze. "Come now...Would...would you lie with me?"
Lawrence was just about to loosen his grip on her arms.
But then he noticed that her smile was empty. She was mocking her own unhinged state.
"I am all alone, I am. But with a child, that would make two. Look, I have taken human form. It is not impossible that with you, I could...Come, please..."
"Don't talk. I'm begging you."
Lawrence understood the overflowing emotions that boiled up within her, which could only come out as sharp, poisonous words. He understood too well.
But he could not manage the trick of tying those emotions up and setting them aside to cool.
Telling her not to speak was all he could do.
Holo's smile strengthened, and a new wave of tears poured from her eyes.
"Heh. Aha...ha-ha-ha-ha. 'Tis true. You're too softhearted. I can expect nothing like that from you. But I care not. I've remembered, you see. There's...Yes, there's someone who loves me."
She couldn't overcome Lawrence's grip with force, so in order to take advantage of any gap that might appear, Holo relaxed her fists and let the tension drain from her body. Lawrence let go of her wrists, and words now came from her like so many sickly butterflies.
"That is why such talk did not cause you worry, is it not? That if you could receive a thousand silver coins for me, it would not be so regrettable to let me go?"
Lawrence knew that anything he said would be meaningless, so he only listened silently.
The silence continued, as if Holo had burned up the last of her fuel.
At length, just when Lawrence reached out to her again, Holo spoke weakly.
"...I am sorry," she said.
Lawrence felt he could hear the slam that came with those words as Holo closed the door to her heart.
He froze. It was all he could do to back away.
Holo sat down again, staring at the floor, unmoving.
Lawrence retreated, but he found himself unable to stand still, so he picked up the letter from Diana that Holo had dropped, reading it as if to escape.
In it, Diana said that there was a monk who lived in a town on the way to Lenos, specializing in the legends of the northlands, and that Lawrence would do well to visit him. On the back of the letter was written the name of the monk.
Lawrence closed his eyes, anguished.
| He was filled with a sudden urge to tear it into pieces, but he knew such an outburst was pointless.
The letter was still an important clue to finding Yoitsu.
It felt like one of the few thin threads still connecting Holo to him; he folded the letter and slipped it beneath his coat.
He looked back at Holo, who still stared at the floor.
In his mind, he heard again the word she had spoken—"sorry"—when he reached out to her.
All he could do now was silently leave the room.
He took one step back. Two steps.
A loud cheer came through the window. Lawrence took this opportunity and left the room.
For just an instant, he thought that Holo had lifted her face to look at him, but he knew it was just hope's illusion.
He reached behind himself to close the door, averting his eyes as if to make it clear he wished to see nothing.
But that would not undo all of this.
He would have to do something.
He would have to do something—but what and how?
Lawrence left the inn.
The streets were again overflowing with strangers.
***
Lawrence headed out into the town only to find there was no place for him there.
The festival that had started when the sun set was the precise opposite of its daytime counterpart, and it lacked the latter's sense of fun entirely.
Every straw or wooden puppet was now armed with a weapon, to say nothing of every costumed reveler. The larger puppets that had no weapons were themselves used as weapons as the fighting spread.
The straw puppets collided amid angry cries, the crowds yelling each time debris went flying. Around them instruments blared their raucous tunes so as not to be drowned out by the clamor of fighting. The black-robed figures sang an ominous war hymn.
Lawrence avoided the crowds and headed north. The awful din churned over and over in his head unbearably.
No matter how long he walked down the long avenue, the festival noise seemed endless. It ate into his nerves like some witch's spell, causing his exchange with Holo to echo through his mind. He could see her before him. He wanted to cry out at his own worthlessness but managed to restrain himself.
If he had enough energy to scream, Lawrence reasoned, he should put that toward improving the situation.
Yet evaluating the situation rationally, he could find no such possibilities.
Given the state Holo was in, Lawrence saw it was entirely possible that she would accept Amati's proposal.
Amati was probably the first merchant to have taken advantage of the pyrite boom, so it was best to assume that he had already made a fair amount of money.
In the worst case, Amati might not even have to wait until sunset to bring the money and declare the contract fulfilled.
Lawrence knew he was not just being pessimistic.
***
The anxiety seized his gut, and a whimper escaped his lips.
He looked up into the dark sky and covered his eyes.
If he couldn't stop Amati's profit machine, he could at least go back to the inn and try to make up with Holo.
But Lawrence could see plain as day that reconciling with Holo would be even more difficult than stopping Amati.
What am I to you? Holo's question had thrown him into contemplation.
Even now, having had a bit of time to consider the question, he could not answer it.
He wanted her to keep traveling with him—that much he knew—and he couldn't bear even thinking about her going to be Amati's bride.
Yet after ruminating on the memory of the scene, his face only contorted at the terrible acidity of it.
He knew that Holo was precious to him, but precious in what way? If asked, it was not something he could articulate clearly.
His jaw was clenched, and Lawrence rubbed his face to try and relax it.
How could this have happened?
The fun they'd had at the festival now seemed like a fleeting dream. Even an omniscient god could never have anticipated that in a few short hours, things would turn out this way.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He was filled with a sudden urge to tear it into pieces, but he knew such an outburst was pointless.
The letter was still an important clue to finding Yoitsu.
It felt like one of the few thin threads still connecting Holo to him; he folded the letter and slipped it beneath his coat.
He looked back at Holo, who still stared at the floor.
In his mind, he heard again the word she had spoken—"sorry"—when he reached out to her.
All he could do now was silently leave the room.
He took one step back. Two steps.
A loud cheer came through the window. Lawrence took this opportunity and left the room.
For just an instant, he thought that Holo had lifted her face to look at him, but he knew it was just hope's illusion.
He reached behind himself to close the door, averting his eyes as if to make it clear he wished to see nothing.
But that would not undo all of this.
He would have to do something.
He would have to do something—but what and how?
Lawrence left the inn.
The streets were again overflowing with strangers.
***
Lawrence headed out into the town only to find there was no place for him there.
The festival that had started when the sun set was the precise opposite of its daytime counterpart, and it lacked the latter's sense of fun entirely.
Every straw or wooden puppet was now armed with a weapon, to say nothing of every costumed reveler. The larger puppets that had no weapons were themselves used as weapons as the fighting spread.
The straw puppets collided amid angry cries, the crowds yelling each time debris went flying. Around them instruments blared their raucous tunes so as not to be drowned out by the clamor of fighting. The black-robed figures sang an ominous war hymn.
Lawrence avoided the crowds and headed north. The awful din churned over and over in his head unbearably.
No matter how long he walked down the long avenue, the festival noise seemed endless. It ate into his nerves like some witch's spell, causing his exchange with Holo to echo through his mind. He could see her before him. He wanted to cry out at his own worthlessness but managed to restrain himself.
If he had enough energy to scream, Lawrence reasoned, he should put that toward improving the situation.
Yet evaluating the situation rationally, he could find no such possibilities.
Given the state Holo was in, Lawrence saw it was entirely possible that she would accept Amati's proposal.
Amati was probably the first merchant to have taken advantage of the pyrite boom, so it was best to assume that he had already made a fair amount of money.
In the worst case, Amati might not even have to wait until sunset to bring the money and declare the contract fulfilled.
Lawrence knew he was not just being pessimistic.
***
The anxiety seized his gut, and a whimper escaped his lips.
He looked up into the dark sky and covered his eyes.
If he couldn't stop Amati's profit machine, he could at least go back to the inn and try to make up with Holo.
But Lawrence could see plain as day that reconciling with Holo would be even more difficult than stopping Amati.
What am I to you? Holo's question had thrown him into contemplation.
Even now, having had a bit of time to consider the question, he could not answer it.
He wanted her to keep traveling with him—that much he knew—and he couldn't bear even thinking about her going to be Amati's bride.
Yet after ruminating on the memory of the scene, his face only contorted at the terrible acidity of it.
He knew that Holo was precious to him, but precious in what way? If asked, it was not something he could articulate clearly.
His jaw was clenched, and Lawrence rubbed his face to try and relax it.
How could this have happened?
The fun they'd had at the festival now seemed like a fleeting dream. Even an omniscient god could never have anticipated that in a few short hours, things would turn out this way.
| He regretted leaving the letter on the desk. It felt to him like none of this would have happened if he had only taken it with him. If he had only found the right time to talk to her, surely the clever Holo would not have become distraught.
Beyond that, Holo's words had laid bare his own selfishness and lack of resolve. He couldn't imagine being able to speak to her properly now.
Eventually Lawrence realized he'd made it all the way to Kumersun's lonely northern district without having come up with any good ideas.
He'd been walking slowly, and it had taken some time, but he hadn't even noticed.
Despite the sense that the town was crowded everywhere one might go, here in the northern section there were few pedestrians. The festivities did not extend this far.
There in the silence, he was finally able to calm down and take some deep breaths.
He turned on his heel and began to walk back, rethinking the situation.
First—
Sincerity alone would not be enough to convince Holo to hear him out. He didn't even have enough confidence to look her in the eye anyway.
So setting aside whether or not he would be able to salvage his relationship with her, he could at least avoid giving her a good reason to leave him and be with Amati.
As long as Amati was unable to raise a thousand silver pieces, Holo's debt to Lawrence would still stand. There was no telling if that would be enough to get her to stay with him, but he could at least try to make that assertion.
So the problem lay in preventing Amati from fulfilling the contract.
It was due to the strange mood of the festival that the price of pyrite had risen so high, and to hear Mark tell it, the price was going to rise still higher. Lawrence did not know how much pyrite Amati had on hand or how much profit he had turned. Since the pyrite was selling for many times—even many tens of times—its cost price, depending on how much money Amati had been able to invest, he might already have raised the thousand silver.
However, there was a factor that worked in Lawrence's favor—pyrite did tend to exist in large quantities.
Even if it could be sold for ten times the purchase price, one had to have the pyrite in quantity before making truly large amounts of money.
Of course, Amati wasn't necessarily relying solely on pyrite to raise the money, but the thought that he might have trouble obtaining sufficient quantity to do so was some consolation to Lawrence.
Lawrence had to prevent Amati from making this kind of deal. More accurately, he had to force him to take a loss, because if Amati was pressed and didn't care about the future of his business, he might liquidate all of his assets just to raise the money.
But if Lawrence found it difficult to stop him from turning a huge profit, forcing him to suffer a loss was nearly impossible.
A frontal assault was out of the question. The rising demand for pyrite meant there was no need to push any deals through by force; the profit would naturally come.
If there was no urgency, there was no way to swindle.
So what to do...?
He turned the problem over and over in his mind, always running into the same walls. Eventually without thinking, Lawrence said, "Say, Ho—"
He managed not to say "lo," but a passing craftsman did look at him strangely.
Again, he realized how largely Holo's small figure and invincible smile loomed in his mind.
It seemed impossible that he'd gotten along on his own for so long before her.
Holo would certainly be able to come up with some good ideas or at least set him on the right path.
Somewhere along the line, Lawrence realized, he'd become quite dependent on her.
What am I to you?
He simply could not answer the question with any kind of confidence.
"If I were Holo, what would I do?"
Lawrence didn't imagine that he could imitate the endlessly mysterious Holo's thought process perfectly.
But he was a merchant.
When a merchant came upon a new idea, it was his job to make that idea his own and get ahead of his competitors.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He regretted leaving the letter on the desk. It felt to him like none of this would have happened if he had only taken it with him. If he had only found the right time to talk to her, surely the clever Holo would not have become distraught.
Beyond that, Holo's words had laid bare his own selfishness and lack of resolve. He couldn't imagine being able to speak to her properly now.
Eventually Lawrence realized he'd made it all the way to Kumersun's lonely northern district without having come up with any good ideas.
He'd been walking slowly, and it had taken some time, but he hadn't even noticed.
Despite the sense that the town was crowded everywhere one might go, here in the northern section there were few pedestrians. The festivities did not extend this far.
There in the silence, he was finally able to calm down and take some deep breaths.
He turned on his heel and began to walk back, rethinking the situation.
First—
Sincerity alone would not be enough to convince Holo to hear him out. He didn't even have enough confidence to look her in the eye anyway.
So setting aside whether or not he would be able to salvage his relationship with her, he could at least avoid giving her a good reason to leave him and be with Amati.
As long as Amati was unable to raise a thousand silver pieces, Holo's debt to Lawrence would still stand. There was no telling if that would be enough to get her to stay with him, but he could at least try to make that assertion.
So the problem lay in preventing Amati from fulfilling the contract.
It was due to the strange mood of the festival that the price of pyrite had risen so high, and to hear Mark tell it, the price was going to rise still higher. Lawrence did not know how much pyrite Amati had on hand or how much profit he had turned. Since the pyrite was selling for many times—even many tens of times—its cost price, depending on how much money Amati had been able to invest, he might already have raised the thousand silver.
However, there was a factor that worked in Lawrence's favor—pyrite did tend to exist in large quantities.
Even if it could be sold for ten times the purchase price, one had to have the pyrite in quantity before making truly large amounts of money.
Of course, Amati wasn't necessarily relying solely on pyrite to raise the money, but the thought that he might have trouble obtaining sufficient quantity to do so was some consolation to Lawrence.
Lawrence had to prevent Amati from making this kind of deal. More accurately, he had to force him to take a loss, because if Amati was pressed and didn't care about the future of his business, he might liquidate all of his assets just to raise the money.
But if Lawrence found it difficult to stop him from turning a huge profit, forcing him to suffer a loss was nearly impossible.
A frontal assault was out of the question. The rising demand for pyrite meant there was no need to push any deals through by force; the profit would naturally come.
If there was no urgency, there was no way to swindle.
So what to do...?
He turned the problem over and over in his mind, always running into the same walls. Eventually without thinking, Lawrence said, "Say, Ho—"
He managed not to say "lo," but a passing craftsman did look at him strangely.
Again, he realized how largely Holo's small figure and invincible smile loomed in his mind.
It seemed impossible that he'd gotten along on his own for so long before her.
Holo would certainly be able to come up with some good ideas or at least set him on the right path.
Somewhere along the line, Lawrence realized, he'd become quite dependent on her.
What am I to you?
He simply could not answer the question with any kind of confidence.
"If I were Holo, what would I do?"
Lawrence didn't imagine that he could imitate the endlessly mysterious Holo's thought process perfectly.
But he was a merchant.
When a merchant came upon a new idea, it was his job to make that idea his own and get ahead of his competitors.
| Given the situation before him, Lawrence knew she would look at the whole problem from every possible angle.
It seemed easy but wasn't. Sometimes the most brilliant idea would seem obvious in retrospect.
Amati was making a profit on the rising demand for pyrite. Lawrence needed to make him suffer a loss.
What was the simplest, most obvious way for that to happen?
Lawrence mused.
Unconstrained by the bonds of common sense, he thought.
One answer occurred to him.
"The demand for pyrite needs to fall."
Lawrence said it out loud, then laughed foolishly.
So this is what happened when he tried to imitate Holo?
If the value of pyrite was to drop, that truly would be cause for celebration.
But demand was climbing and showed no signs of stopping. The price was already past increases of tenfold, twentyfold. It would climb and then—
"...And then?"
Lawrence stopped dead in his tracks as the realization hit him.
"Ten times? Twenty times? And then what...thirty? And after that?"
He felt as if he could see Holo snickering at him.
The price would not rise forever. The craze would end as it always did.
Lawrence almost felt like he might sob again. He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle it.
There were two questions he had to answer:
The first was when the crash would come, and the second was would it be possible to make Amati fall with it?
Lawrence started walking again, his hand still over his mouth.
Even if the price of pyrite were to crash, would Amati really be pulled down with it? Lawrence doubted it. It would be underestimating the boy to assume so.
So the problem would be contriving to make that situation happen. If he could articulate the problem concretely, Lawrence didn't think his mind was so very far behind Holo's.
The ideal situation appeared in his mind, settling heavy and cold into his stomach. He'd experienced this sensation before. It wasn't logic, but the intuition that an important contest was upon him.
He took a deep breath and thought about a critical point: When would the crash occur?
It was obvious that the price could not continue to rise forever, but when would it crash—and more to the point, would it crash sometime before the end of the next day, when the contract between Lawrence and Amati was up?
Even a fortune-teller would find it impossible to predict such a thing, as would anyone short of the gods themselves.
Lawrence pictured in his mind the farmers in a wheat-producing region, using their own ingenuity to carry out the harvests that had once been the sole purview of the gods.
Rather than waiting terrified for the gods to make the price drop, why not become those gods?
A moment after the outrageous arrogance of the idea occurred to him, a great cry arose, and he turned to look.
Lawrence realized that he'd walked all the way back into town and arrived again at the center of the great intersection.
The straw puppets still collided with one another amid angry shouts, each collision bringing a shower of twigs and cries. It was like an actual war.
Lawrence set aside his scheming for a moment to appreciate the intensity of the scene, and he saw something that immediately brought him back to his senses.
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Amati.
Amati was right there.
At first he thought it was some cruel joke of the gods, but then he wondered—even this coincidence might be somehow significant.
Lawrence stood in the heart of Kumersun at the intersection of the main streets running north to south and east to west.
Amati's back was toward the inn where Holo presumably still was.
Amati stopped and slowly looked behind him.
For a moment, Lawrence was afraid that Amati saw him, but no, Amati didn't notice him at all.
Lawrence followed the boy's gaze.
Its direction was obvious.
But what was there? Lawrence had to know.
And there, at a window on the second floor of the inn, facing the broad avenue, fox skin muffler wrapped about her neck, was Holo.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Given the situation before him, Lawrence knew she would look at the whole problem from every possible angle.
It seemed easy but wasn't. Sometimes the most brilliant idea would seem obvious in retrospect.
Amati was making a profit on the rising demand for pyrite. Lawrence needed to make him suffer a loss.
What was the simplest, most obvious way for that to happen?
Lawrence mused.
Unconstrained by the bonds of common sense, he thought.
One answer occurred to him.
"The demand for pyrite needs to fall."
Lawrence said it out loud, then laughed foolishly.
So this is what happened when he tried to imitate Holo?
If the value of pyrite was to drop, that truly would be cause for celebration.
But demand was climbing and showed no signs of stopping. The price was already past increases of tenfold, twentyfold. It would climb and then—
"...And then?"
Lawrence stopped dead in his tracks as the realization hit him.
"Ten times? Twenty times? And then what...thirty? And after that?"
He felt as if he could see Holo snickering at him.
The price would not rise forever. The craze would end as it always did.
Lawrence almost felt like he might sob again. He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle it.
There were two questions he had to answer:
The first was when the crash would come, and the second was would it be possible to make Amati fall with it?
Lawrence started walking again, his hand still over his mouth.
Even if the price of pyrite were to crash, would Amati really be pulled down with it? Lawrence doubted it. It would be underestimating the boy to assume so.
So the problem would be contriving to make that situation happen. If he could articulate the problem concretely, Lawrence didn't think his mind was so very far behind Holo's.
The ideal situation appeared in his mind, settling heavy and cold into his stomach. He'd experienced this sensation before. It wasn't logic, but the intuition that an important contest was upon him.
He took a deep breath and thought about a critical point: When would the crash occur?
It was obvious that the price could not continue to rise forever, but when would it crash—and more to the point, would it crash sometime before the end of the next day, when the contract between Lawrence and Amati was up?
Even a fortune-teller would find it impossible to predict such a thing, as would anyone short of the gods themselves.
Lawrence pictured in his mind the farmers in a wheat-producing region, using their own ingenuity to carry out the harvests that had once been the sole purview of the gods.
Rather than waiting terrified for the gods to make the price drop, why not become those gods?
A moment after the outrageous arrogance of the idea occurred to him, a great cry arose, and he turned to look.
Lawrence realized that he'd walked all the way back into town and arrived again at the center of the great intersection.
The straw puppets still collided with one another amid angry shouts, each collision bringing a shower of twigs and cries. It was like an actual war.
Lawrence set aside his scheming for a moment to appreciate the intensity of the scene, and he saw something that immediately brought him back to his senses.
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Amati.
Amati was right there.
At first he thought it was some cruel joke of the gods, but then he wondered—even this coincidence might be somehow significant.
Lawrence stood in the heart of Kumersun at the intersection of the main streets running north to south and east to west.
Amati's back was toward the inn where Holo presumably still was.
Amati stopped and slowly looked behind him.
For a moment, Lawrence was afraid that Amati saw him, but no, Amati didn't notice him at all.
Lawrence followed the boy's gaze.
Its direction was obvious.
But what was there? Lawrence had to know.
And there, at a window on the second floor of the inn, facing the broad avenue, fox skin muffler wrapped about her neck, was Holo.
| Holo nuzzled the muffler and then nodded.
Lawrence saw Amati put his hand over his chest in response, as though swearing an oath before God.
Whether Holo had invited him in or Amati had forced his way in, Lawrence did not know.
However, based on what he was seeing, Lawrence thought there was little reason to be optimistic.
Amati turned his back on the inn and walked away. He leaned forward and seemed hurried, as though he was escaping, which only exacerbated Lawrence's suspicions.
In a moment, Amati had disappeared into the crowd, and Lawrence looked back to the inn window.
He held his breath.
Holo was clearly looking directly at him.
If Lawrence was able to spot Amati in the crowd, there was no reason the sharp-eyed Holo would have difficulty spotting Lawrence.
Although Holo did not look away immediately, neither did she smile. She simply looked at him steadily.
They stayed that way for some time. Lawrence was about to finally exhale when Holo suddenly withdrew from the windowsill.
If she had closed the window, he might have stayed frozen there.
But she didn't. The window was left open.
It seemed to exert a pull on him, drawing him toward the inn.
Lawrence was of course not so naive as to think that Holo and Amati had simply spoken through the window.
Holo was no simple town girl, and Amati's feelings for her were far from coolheaded. There was no reason to think that they hadn't had a conversation in the room.
Holo had looked quietly unflustered and unconcerned, probably because she hadn't been seen doing anything she would need to be concerned about.
Which meant she was provoking him.
Lawrence thought back to the conversation they had once had in Ruvinheigen. He believed that if he spoke to her honestly, she would understand.
He steeled himself and then headed for the inn.
Immediately upon entering the inn, Lawrence was greeted by a lively feast.
The tables were piled with all manner of food, and the guests were drinking, talking, and even singing.
It occurred to Lawrence that he and Holo should have been at one of those tables enjoying themselves, and despite his merchant's aversion to regret, he felt a pang nonetheless.
But there was still a chance. If Holo had wanted to utterly reject him, she would've closed the window.
Lawrence held onto that tenuous idea, which gave him confidence, and ascended the stairs next to the counter, leading to the second floor.
Immediately, someone called out to him.
"Mr. Lawrence—"
Not particularly serene to begin with, Lawrence started and turned around; the innkeeper was also surprised, blinking as he looked at Lawrence while leaning over the counter.
"...I'm sorry, is there something...?"
"Ah, yes, I was told to give you a letter."
The mention of a letter sent a surge of uneasiness through Lawrence's chest. He stifled it with a cough.
Descending the stairs, he walked over to the counter and took the proffered letter.
"Who is this from?"
"Your companion left it just a moment ago."
Impressively, Lawrence managed to hide his surprise.
It went without saying that the innkeeper had knowledge of all the comings and goings of his inn's residents.
Lawrence had left the inn, and Holo had remained. While Lawrence was out, Amati paid Holo a visit, and Holo now chose to communicate with Lawrence not directly but via letter.
No innkeeper could observe these events and not suppose something was afoot.
Yet the innkeeper betrayed no such suspicions as he looked at Lawrence.
Connections between merchants in a town like this ran deeply.
If Lawrence was to behave in an unseemly fashion here, the rumors would be all over town almost instantly.
"Might I borrow a light?" Lawrence said with careful control. The innkeeper nodded and brought out a silver candlestick from the back.
The bright candle was not tallow, and Lawrence felt that his inner turmoil might be laid bare underneath its strong light.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Holo nuzzled the muffler and then nodded.
Lawrence saw Amati put his hand over his chest in response, as though swearing an oath before God.
Whether Holo had invited him in or Amati had forced his way in, Lawrence did not know.
However, based on what he was seeing, Lawrence thought there was little reason to be optimistic.
Amati turned his back on the inn and walked away. He leaned forward and seemed hurried, as though he was escaping, which only exacerbated Lawrence's suspicions.
In a moment, Amati had disappeared into the crowd, and Lawrence looked back to the inn window.
He held his breath.
Holo was clearly looking directly at him.
If Lawrence was able to spot Amati in the crowd, there was no reason the sharp-eyed Holo would have difficulty spotting Lawrence.
Although Holo did not look away immediately, neither did she smile. She simply looked at him steadily.
They stayed that way for some time. Lawrence was about to finally exhale when Holo suddenly withdrew from the windowsill.
If she had closed the window, he might have stayed frozen there.
But she didn't. The window was left open.
It seemed to exert a pull on him, drawing him toward the inn.
Lawrence was of course not so naive as to think that Holo and Amati had simply spoken through the window.
Holo was no simple town girl, and Amati's feelings for her were far from coolheaded. There was no reason to think that they hadn't had a conversation in the room.
Holo had looked quietly unflustered and unconcerned, probably because she hadn't been seen doing anything she would need to be concerned about.
Which meant she was provoking him.
Lawrence thought back to the conversation they had once had in Ruvinheigen. He believed that if he spoke to her honestly, she would understand.
He steeled himself and then headed for the inn.
Immediately upon entering the inn, Lawrence was greeted by a lively feast.
The tables were piled with all manner of food, and the guests were drinking, talking, and even singing.
It occurred to Lawrence that he and Holo should have been at one of those tables enjoying themselves, and despite his merchant's aversion to regret, he felt a pang nonetheless.
But there was still a chance. If Holo had wanted to utterly reject him, she would've closed the window.
Lawrence held onto that tenuous idea, which gave him confidence, and ascended the stairs next to the counter, leading to the second floor.
Immediately, someone called out to him.
"Mr. Lawrence—"
Not particularly serene to begin with, Lawrence started and turned around; the innkeeper was also surprised, blinking as he looked at Lawrence while leaning over the counter.
"...I'm sorry, is there something...?"
"Ah, yes, I was told to give you a letter."
The mention of a letter sent a surge of uneasiness through Lawrence's chest. He stifled it with a cough.
Descending the stairs, he walked over to the counter and took the proffered letter.
"Who is this from?"
"Your companion left it just a moment ago."
Impressively, Lawrence managed to hide his surprise.
It went without saying that the innkeeper had knowledge of all the comings and goings of his inn's residents.
Lawrence had left the inn, and Holo had remained. While Lawrence was out, Amati paid Holo a visit, and Holo now chose to communicate with Lawrence not directly but via letter.
No innkeeper could observe these events and not suppose something was afoot.
Yet the innkeeper betrayed no such suspicions as he looked at Lawrence.
Connections between merchants in a town like this ran deeply.
If Lawrence was to behave in an unseemly fashion here, the rumors would be all over town almost instantly.
"Might I borrow a light?" Lawrence said with careful control. The innkeeper nodded and brought out a silver candlestick from the back.
The bright candle was not tallow, and Lawrence felt that his inner turmoil might be laid bare underneath its strong light.
| The innkeeper moved away, as if realizing it would be rude of him to read the contents of the letter, but Lawrence could tell the man still glanced at him from time to time.
He coughed lightly and removed the letter from its envelope.
One sheet was parchment; the other was normal paper.
His heart pounded. Hesitating here meant that he did not completely trust Holo.
It was well within the realm of possibility that within the letter, Holo would attempt reconciliation.
He opened the letter—which was folded in half—slowly, and a bit of sand fell from the surface of the paper.
It had probably been used in order to persuade the ink to dry more quickly, which meant the letter had only just been written.
Would it be a letter that repaired their relationship or destroyed it?
The words on the paper leapt out at Lawrence's eyes.
Cash on hand, two hundred silver pieces. Pyrite on hand, three hundred silver pieces' worth. Salable assets—
He looked up, taken aback at the list of assets that began without so much as a preamble.
Cash? Pyrite?
He had expected a letter that would echo in his mind with her voice, but what he held here was a sheet of paper with a list of figures and nothing more.
Lawrence looked back to the paper and, gritting his teeth, continued reading.
...on hand, three hundred silver pieces' worth. Salable assets roughly two hundred silver pieces' worth.
This was obviously a list of Amati's assets.
Lawrence felt his shoulders slacken, as if they were stale bread loaves sprinkled with water.
Holo had allowed Amati into the room so she could get this information from him.
She had to have done so for Lawrence.
It was her roundabout way of reconciling.
Lawrence smiled widely. He didn't even bother trying to hide it.
At the end of the note was written "These contents transcribed by another."
There were many people who could read but not write. Holo had gotten this information, slipped from the room under the pretense of visiting the restroom perhaps, and gotten a merchant or someone to write out the list for her. Lawrence remembered Amati's handwriting from the contract. This was not his writing.
Lawrence carefully folded up the note, which was now suddenly beyond value to him, and tucked it near his breast, and then he pulled the parchment free.
Perhaps she'd used her wiles to fool Amati into signing some sort of ridiculous contract.
Lawrence flashed to the memory of Amati's self-satisfied face after his meeting with Holo.
Holo still wants to travel with me, Lawrence thought to himself.
Flooded with a sense of incredible relief, he unfolded the parchment without hesitation.
In the name of God...
It was unmistakably Amati's bold, gallant handwriting.
Lawrence quashed the rush of emotion that came and kept reading.
He read the first line, the second line, the third line—
And then—
By these terms shall the two be bound in marriage.
As he got to the end of the document, it felt like the world was spinning around him.
"...Wha...?"
He heard himself murmur in a voice that sounded very faraway indeed.
He closed his eyes, but the contents of the parchment, the words that he'd just read, remained there in his vision.
It was a marriage certificate.
There on the parchment, sworn in the name of God, were written the names of a young fishmonger named Fermi Amati and Holo.
The line for the signature of Holo's guardian was blank.
But once it had been signed and sealed by her guardian and delivered to a church, Amati and Holo would be husband and wife.
Holo's name had been written in an uncertain hand.
Hers were the letters of someone who could read but who could only write by imitation.
An image flashed through Lawrence's mind—Holo watching Amati write the contract and then clumsily signing her own name.
Lawrence pulled the first sheet of paper out of his breast pocket—that desperately valuable paper—and reread it.
It had to be a list of Amati's property. The amounts were entirely plausible.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The innkeeper moved away, as if realizing it would be rude of him to read the contents of the letter, but Lawrence could tell the man still glanced at him from time to time.
He coughed lightly and removed the letter from its envelope.
One sheet was parchment; the other was normal paper.
His heart pounded. Hesitating here meant that he did not completely trust Holo.
It was well within the realm of possibility that within the letter, Holo would attempt reconciliation.
He opened the letter—which was folded in half—slowly, and a bit of sand fell from the surface of the paper.
It had probably been used in order to persuade the ink to dry more quickly, which meant the letter had only just been written.
Would it be a letter that repaired their relationship or destroyed it?
The words on the paper leapt out at Lawrence's eyes.
Cash on hand, two hundred silver pieces. Pyrite on hand, three hundred silver pieces' worth. Salable assets—
He looked up, taken aback at the list of assets that began without so much as a preamble.
Cash? Pyrite?
He had expected a letter that would echo in his mind with her voice, but what he held here was a sheet of paper with a list of figures and nothing more.
Lawrence looked back to the paper and, gritting his teeth, continued reading.
...on hand, three hundred silver pieces' worth. Salable assets roughly two hundred silver pieces' worth.
This was obviously a list of Amati's assets.
Lawrence felt his shoulders slacken, as if they were stale bread loaves sprinkled with water.
Holo had allowed Amati into the room so she could get this information from him.
She had to have done so for Lawrence.
It was her roundabout way of reconciling.
Lawrence smiled widely. He didn't even bother trying to hide it.
At the end of the note was written "These contents transcribed by another."
There were many people who could read but not write. Holo had gotten this information, slipped from the room under the pretense of visiting the restroom perhaps, and gotten a merchant or someone to write out the list for her. Lawrence remembered Amati's handwriting from the contract. This was not his writing.
Lawrence carefully folded up the note, which was now suddenly beyond value to him, and tucked it near his breast, and then he pulled the parchment free.
Perhaps she'd used her wiles to fool Amati into signing some sort of ridiculous contract.
Lawrence flashed to the memory of Amati's self-satisfied face after his meeting with Holo.
Holo still wants to travel with me, Lawrence thought to himself.
Flooded with a sense of incredible relief, he unfolded the parchment without hesitation.
In the name of God...
It was unmistakably Amati's bold, gallant handwriting.
Lawrence quashed the rush of emotion that came and kept reading.
He read the first line, the second line, the third line—
And then—
By these terms shall the two be bound in marriage.
As he got to the end of the document, it felt like the world was spinning around him.
"...Wha...?"
He heard himself murmur in a voice that sounded very faraway indeed.
He closed his eyes, but the contents of the parchment, the words that he'd just read, remained there in his vision.
It was a marriage certificate.
There on the parchment, sworn in the name of God, were written the names of a young fishmonger named Fermi Amati and Holo.
The line for the signature of Holo's guardian was blank.
But once it had been signed and sealed by her guardian and delivered to a church, Amati and Holo would be husband and wife.
Holo's name had been written in an uncertain hand.
Hers were the letters of someone who could read but who could only write by imitation.
An image flashed through Lawrence's mind—Holo watching Amati write the contract and then clumsily signing her own name.
Lawrence pulled the first sheet of paper out of his breast pocket—that desperately valuable paper—and reread it.
It had to be a list of Amati's property. The amounts were entirely plausible.
| Why would she do that? It was silly even to ask.
Taken along with the marriage certificate, Lawrence thought the answer was obvious.
Amati was on the verge of fulfilling his contract with Lawrence, whom Holo was planning to leave.
Their meeting, Holo's and Lawrence's, had been pure chance.
Despite Amati being young, rash, and honest to a fault, Holo had perhaps found the overachieving, self-important boy to be a more suitable partner.
There was no reason not to think so.
Even if Lawrence was to dash up the stairs and beg her not to marry, clutching the marriage certificate in his hand, Holo would simply turn him out. She excelled at that.
He had no choice but to steel himself.
Holo had revealed Amati's assets to Lawrence; she had to be telling him that if he could successfully defeat the young fishmonger, she would hear him out. On the other hand, if Lawrence failed—that would be the end of it.
There was a way to defeat Amati. There was hope.
Lawrence quickly put the note and contract away, and then he turned to the innkeeper.
"Fetch me all the coin I've left with you, if you please."
Traveling with Holo was worth all the gold he'd ever have.
Lawrence knew it was possible to legally bankrupt Amati.
The problem lay in getting Amati to accept a deal that held such a possibility.
Lawrence suspected Amati was unfamiliar with the sort of deal he would propose. This wasn't because he looked down on the boy; it was simply because Amati's business did not involve transactions like the one that Lawrence had in mind.
Nobody wants to get involved in deals they don't fully understand, after all.
Lawrence had the additional disadvantage of being Amati's enemy.
Given all that, he expected the odds of Amati accepting his deal at one in nine on the outside. Lawrence didn't care if he had to provoke the boy—he had to get Amati to take the bait.
Unfortunately, no matter how normal the deal appeared on the surface, Amati was bound to notice how antagonistic it really was.
The provocation Lawrence considered was thus entirely justified.
This was not business because Lawrence had no intention of turning a profit.
Any time a merchant's thoughts strayed from gains and losses, losses were inevitable. But Lawrence had long since abandoned his merchant's common sense.
He asked the innkeeper which taverns Amati frequented and began searching them one by one. Despite the festivities that continued in the streets, he found Amati quietly drinking alone.
The boy appeared fatigued; perhaps it was the aftermath from the tension of negotiating his hoped-for marriage with Holo, or perhaps he had not yet raised the thousand silver pieces.
In any case, Amati's emotional state was completely irrelevant.
Lawrence knew he couldn't always count on completely favorable negotiation conditions. When it came to that, a merchant had only his own abilities to fall back on.
If he waited until tomorrow, the negotiations could become even more difficult.
The deal he was going to propose to Amati could not wait.
He took a deep breath and moved into Amati's field of vision before the latter noticed him.
"Ah—"
"Good evening."
Amati was apparently not so naive as to betray his irritation at Lawrence's arrival.
He was surprised enough to be speechless for a moment, but the young fishmonger soon recovered his professional demeanor.
"No need for suspicion. I'm here for business." Lawrence surprised himself by managing an easy smile.
"If you're here on business, it's all the more reason not to let down my guard," said Amati, unamused.
"Ha-ha, fair enough. Can you spare a moment?"
Amati nodded, and Lawrence sat down at the table with him. "Wine," Lawrence simply said to the annoyed-looking tavern keeper.
Lawrence reminded himself not to underestimate the slender, effeminate boy who sat across the table from him. Amati had left his home and and was on his way to success with his fish-selling business.
At the same time, he could not let Amati keep his own guard up.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Why would she do that? It was silly even to ask.
Taken along with the marriage certificate, Lawrence thought the answer was obvious.
Amati was on the verge of fulfilling his contract with Lawrence, whom Holo was planning to leave.
Their meeting, Holo's and Lawrence's, had been pure chance.
Despite Amati being young, rash, and honest to a fault, Holo had perhaps found the overachieving, self-important boy to be a more suitable partner.
There was no reason not to think so.
Even if Lawrence was to dash up the stairs and beg her not to marry, clutching the marriage certificate in his hand, Holo would simply turn him out. She excelled at that.
He had no choice but to steel himself.
Holo had revealed Amati's assets to Lawrence; she had to be telling him that if he could successfully defeat the young fishmonger, she would hear him out. On the other hand, if Lawrence failed—that would be the end of it.
There was a way to defeat Amati. There was hope.
Lawrence quickly put the note and contract away, and then he turned to the innkeeper.
"Fetch me all the coin I've left with you, if you please."
Traveling with Holo was worth all the gold he'd ever have.
Lawrence knew it was possible to legally bankrupt Amati.
The problem lay in getting Amati to accept a deal that held such a possibility.
Lawrence suspected Amati was unfamiliar with the sort of deal he would propose. This wasn't because he looked down on the boy; it was simply because Amati's business did not involve transactions like the one that Lawrence had in mind.
Nobody wants to get involved in deals they don't fully understand, after all.
Lawrence had the additional disadvantage of being Amati's enemy.
Given all that, he expected the odds of Amati accepting his deal at one in nine on the outside. Lawrence didn't care if he had to provoke the boy—he had to get Amati to take the bait.
Unfortunately, no matter how normal the deal appeared on the surface, Amati was bound to notice how antagonistic it really was.
The provocation Lawrence considered was thus entirely justified.
This was not business because Lawrence had no intention of turning a profit.
Any time a merchant's thoughts strayed from gains and losses, losses were inevitable. But Lawrence had long since abandoned his merchant's common sense.
He asked the innkeeper which taverns Amati frequented and began searching them one by one. Despite the festivities that continued in the streets, he found Amati quietly drinking alone.
The boy appeared fatigued; perhaps it was the aftermath from the tension of negotiating his hoped-for marriage with Holo, or perhaps he had not yet raised the thousand silver pieces.
In any case, Amati's emotional state was completely irrelevant.
Lawrence knew he couldn't always count on completely favorable negotiation conditions. When it came to that, a merchant had only his own abilities to fall back on.
If he waited until tomorrow, the negotiations could become even more difficult.
The deal he was going to propose to Amati could not wait.
He took a deep breath and moved into Amati's field of vision before the latter noticed him.
"Ah—"
"Good evening."
Amati was apparently not so naive as to betray his irritation at Lawrence's arrival.
He was surprised enough to be speechless for a moment, but the young fishmonger soon recovered his professional demeanor.
"No need for suspicion. I'm here for business." Lawrence surprised himself by managing an easy smile.
"If you're here on business, it's all the more reason not to let down my guard," said Amati, unamused.
"Ha-ha, fair enough. Can you spare a moment?"
Amati nodded, and Lawrence sat down at the table with him. "Wine," Lawrence simply said to the annoyed-looking tavern keeper.
Lawrence reminded himself not to underestimate the slender, effeminate boy who sat across the table from him. Amati had left his home and and was on his way to success with his fish-selling business.
At the same time, he could not let Amati keep his own guard up.
| "You can't drink peacefully at most taverns. This place is special."
Lawrence wondered if Amati was implying that his peace had been disturbed by a certain unpleasant character, that is, himself, but decided that was overthinking.
He was of one mind with Amati in that he wanted to finish the conversation as quickly as possible.
"So I know you must be surprised to see me but no more surprised than I was earlier today, so I think I can beg your indulgence."
Lawrence didn't know what Amati had said to get Holo to sign the contract. No matter how clever and impulsive she was, he could not imagine what would make her actually sign.
Which meant that Amati had somehow persuaded her, and she had agreed.
However, Lawrence knew he had no right to blame her.
The one who had let Amati into the room was Holo, but the one who had caused the situation in the first place was Lawrence.
He did not know then what Holo had heard from Amati. Amati opened his mouth to explain just that presumably, but Lawrence raised his hand and cut the boy off.
"No, that is not the matter I am here to discuss. It does however inform my decision to come and talk business with you certainly, but that is all. Holo is entirely free to act as she will."
Amati looked at Lawrence angrily for a moment and then nodded.
He was clearly still suspicious of Lawrence, but for his part, Lawrence would expend no more effort to allay those suspicions.
After all, what he was going to say next would only heighten them.
"However, given the reason for my proposing this deal to you, I can't very well call it normal."
"Just what is it you're scheming?" Amati asked.
Unfazed, Lawrence continued, "I'll get right to the point, then. It is my wish to sell you pyrite."
Amati's blue eyes seemed to look through Lawrence into some far-off place for a moment. "What?"
"I wish to sell you pyrite. By current market value, it is roughly five hundred silver pieces' worth."
Amati, mouth half-open and eyes unfocused, regained his composure. He laughed and then sighed. "Surely you jest."
"I am quite serious."
Amati's smile disappeared, his keen eyes now almost angry. "You must be aware that I have done quite well reselling pyrite. What are you playing at, trying to sell it then to me? The more I have, the more money I can make. I cannot believe you would help me in this. Unless"—Amati paused, his gaze now definitely angry—"it's true that as long as you collect the debt, you care not what becomes of Miss Holo."
"Far from it. Holo is very important to me."
"In that case, why—"
"Of course, I do not mean to simply sell it to you outright."
Amati might have been the better man when it came to the frenetic business of auctions, but when negotiating one-on-one, Lawrence had confidence in his own abilities.
Keeping his tone even, he continued on with his proposal.
"I wish to sell it to you on margin."
"On...margin?" Amati repeated the unfamiliar phrase.
"Quite."
"And what does that—"
"It means I will sell you five hundred trenni of pyrite tomorrow evening at its current market value."
Holo sometimes bragged of being able to hear the sound of someone frowning in consternation—Lawrence now felt he heard that very sound, so complete was Amati's look of noncomprehension.
"In that case, simply come to me tomorrow evening—"
"No, I'd like to receive the payment now."
Amati's dubious expression grew still more dubious.
Unless he was as good at acting as Holo, Amati obviously knew nothing of margin selling.
A merchant that lacked knowledge might as well be entering a battlefield while blindfolded.
Lawrence pulled his bowstring tight, preparing to fire his arrow.
"In other words, I'll accept five hundred silver pieces from you now, and tomorrow I'll give you five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite at today's market value."
Amati thought hard. On the surface, it was not a difficult arrangement to understand.
After a time, he seemed to work out the implications.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "You can't drink peacefully at most taverns. This place is special."
Lawrence wondered if Amati was implying that his peace had been disturbed by a certain unpleasant character, that is, himself, but decided that was overthinking.
He was of one mind with Amati in that he wanted to finish the conversation as quickly as possible.
"So I know you must be surprised to see me but no more surprised than I was earlier today, so I think I can beg your indulgence."
Lawrence didn't know what Amati had said to get Holo to sign the contract. No matter how clever and impulsive she was, he could not imagine what would make her actually sign.
Which meant that Amati had somehow persuaded her, and she had agreed.
However, Lawrence knew he had no right to blame her.
The one who had let Amati into the room was Holo, but the one who had caused the situation in the first place was Lawrence.
He did not know then what Holo had heard from Amati. Amati opened his mouth to explain just that presumably, but Lawrence raised his hand and cut the boy off.
"No, that is not the matter I am here to discuss. It does however inform my decision to come and talk business with you certainly, but that is all. Holo is entirely free to act as she will."
Amati looked at Lawrence angrily for a moment and then nodded.
He was clearly still suspicious of Lawrence, but for his part, Lawrence would expend no more effort to allay those suspicions.
After all, what he was going to say next would only heighten them.
"However, given the reason for my proposing this deal to you, I can't very well call it normal."
"Just what is it you're scheming?" Amati asked.
Unfazed, Lawrence continued, "I'll get right to the point, then. It is my wish to sell you pyrite."
Amati's blue eyes seemed to look through Lawrence into some far-off place for a moment. "What?"
"I wish to sell you pyrite. By current market value, it is roughly five hundred silver pieces' worth."
Amati, mouth half-open and eyes unfocused, regained his composure. He laughed and then sighed. "Surely you jest."
"I am quite serious."
Amati's smile disappeared, his keen eyes now almost angry. "You must be aware that I have done quite well reselling pyrite. What are you playing at, trying to sell it then to me? The more I have, the more money I can make. I cannot believe you would help me in this. Unless"—Amati paused, his gaze now definitely angry—"it's true that as long as you collect the debt, you care not what becomes of Miss Holo."
"Far from it. Holo is very important to me."
"In that case, why—"
"Of course, I do not mean to simply sell it to you outright."
Amati might have been the better man when it came to the frenetic business of auctions, but when negotiating one-on-one, Lawrence had confidence in his own abilities.
Keeping his tone even, he continued on with his proposal.
"I wish to sell it to you on margin."
"On...margin?" Amati repeated the unfamiliar phrase.
"Quite."
"And what does that—"
"It means I will sell you five hundred trenni of pyrite tomorrow evening at its current market value."
Holo sometimes bragged of being able to hear the sound of someone frowning in consternation—Lawrence now felt he heard that very sound, so complete was Amati's look of noncomprehension.
"In that case, simply come to me tomorrow evening—"
"No, I'd like to receive the payment now."
Amati's dubious expression grew still more dubious.
Unless he was as good at acting as Holo, Amati obviously knew nothing of margin selling.
A merchant that lacked knowledge might as well be entering a battlefield while blindfolded.
Lawrence pulled his bowstring tight, preparing to fire his arrow.
"In other words, I'll accept five hundred silver pieces from you now, and tomorrow I'll give you five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite at today's market value."
Amati thought hard. On the surface, it was not a difficult arrangement to understand.
After a time, he seemed to work out the implications.
| "Correct. For example, if I sold you a single piece of pyrite worth twelve hundred irehd on margin tonight, even if tomorrow's price is two thousand irehd, I still have to give you the pyrite."
"...Contrariwise, if the value has dropped to two hundred irehd by tomorrow, I still receive only the one piece, despite having paid twelve hundred the night before."
"Also correct."
The boy was clever.
However, Lawrence still worried whether Amati would understand the true meaning of margin transactions.
In a sense, they were no different from when a merchant sold a commodity on the spot.
If the price of a good was to rise after it had been sold, a merchant would regret not waiting to sell it. Likewise, if it fell, he would be relieved at having gotten a better deal.
But the time interval between the cash transaction and the commodity transaction was an important one.
Lawrence wanted Amati to understand this.
If Amati failed to see the significance of it, he would in all likelihood turn down the proposal.
Amati spoke.
"How is this different from an ordinary transaction?"
He did not understand.
Lawrence stifled the urge to click his tongue in irritation and prepared to deliver a lecture on margin purchasing.
Just then, Amati cut him off before he could begin.
"No, wait. It is different." Amati smiled in understanding, his boyish face now every inch a merchant's, calculating gain and loss. "You, Mr. Lawrence, are trying to salvage some profit despite having arrived late to the game. Am I right?"
It seemed a lecture would be unnecessary.
A merchant would not propose a meaningless deal. It only appeared meaningless when viewed in ignorance.
Amati continued, "If buying on margin allows you to gain a commodity without having the cash on hand, then selling on margin allows you to gain cash without having the commodity on hand. Buying on margin yields profit when the good rises in price, but selling on margin allows you to profit when the good's market value drops."
When selling on margin, one did not even need to have the goods on hand until they were due to be delivered, since the deal was made by promising to deliver goods at a later point in time.
"This is quite a business, indeed. It seems my focus on fish has left me ignorant of much of the world. You chose me for this deal because...No, it goes without saying. If I buy five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite from you, I stand to gain if the market value of pyrite rises, but if it falls, my losses increase. When you profit—that is when I lose."
Amati thrust out his chest, his face fairly brimming with confidence.
Lawrence was acutely aware of his own even expression.
His hand trembled upon the bowstring.
Amati continued, "So in other words, this is—"
Lawrence cut him off and let fly the arrow.
"Mr. Amati, I am challenging you to a battle."
The fishmonger's lips curled into a smile.
It was every bit a merchant's smile.
"Surely this cannot be called a 'battle.' A battle presupposes that both sides are equal, and this is not equal at all. I'm sure that you're not suggesting that this transaction would be meaningful only between you and me?"
"By which you mean...?"
"Surely you don't plan to conduct the deal without a certificate, and I assume this certificate could be sold to someone else, correct?"
Outside of remote areas, it was quite common for debt obligations to be bought and sold.
Certificates for margin selling were no exception.
"I would hardly expect you to accept my proposal otherwise," replied Lawrence. "It would be far too much risk; you would never accept it."
"Quite so. Even supposing the value of pyrite drops by tomorrow evening as you're predicting it will, as long as it reaches the value I need sometime during the day, I'll want to sell the certificate. If I weren't allowed to do that, I doubt I would accept the deal. But if I keep that ability, the deal remains unfair."
Lawrence listened silently as Amati continued.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Correct. For example, if I sold you a single piece of pyrite worth twelve hundred irehd on margin tonight, even if tomorrow's price is two thousand irehd, I still have to give you the pyrite."
"...Contrariwise, if the value has dropped to two hundred irehd by tomorrow, I still receive only the one piece, despite having paid twelve hundred the night before."
"Also correct."
The boy was clever.
However, Lawrence still worried whether Amati would understand the true meaning of margin transactions.
In a sense, they were no different from when a merchant sold a commodity on the spot.
If the price of a good was to rise after it had been sold, a merchant would regret not waiting to sell it. Likewise, if it fell, he would be relieved at having gotten a better deal.
But the time interval between the cash transaction and the commodity transaction was an important one.
Lawrence wanted Amati to understand this.
If Amati failed to see the significance of it, he would in all likelihood turn down the proposal.
Amati spoke.
"How is this different from an ordinary transaction?"
He did not understand.
Lawrence stifled the urge to click his tongue in irritation and prepared to deliver a lecture on margin purchasing.
Just then, Amati cut him off before he could begin.
"No, wait. It is different." Amati smiled in understanding, his boyish face now every inch a merchant's, calculating gain and loss. "You, Mr. Lawrence, are trying to salvage some profit despite having arrived late to the game. Am I right?"
It seemed a lecture would be unnecessary.
A merchant would not propose a meaningless deal. It only appeared meaningless when viewed in ignorance.
Amati continued, "If buying on margin allows you to gain a commodity without having the cash on hand, then selling on margin allows you to gain cash without having the commodity on hand. Buying on margin yields profit when the good rises in price, but selling on margin allows you to profit when the good's market value drops."
When selling on margin, one did not even need to have the goods on hand until they were due to be delivered, since the deal was made by promising to deliver goods at a later point in time.
"This is quite a business, indeed. It seems my focus on fish has left me ignorant of much of the world. You chose me for this deal because...No, it goes without saying. If I buy five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite from you, I stand to gain if the market value of pyrite rises, but if it falls, my losses increase. When you profit—that is when I lose."
Amati thrust out his chest, his face fairly brimming with confidence.
Lawrence was acutely aware of his own even expression.
His hand trembled upon the bowstring.
Amati continued, "So in other words, this is—"
Lawrence cut him off and let fly the arrow.
"Mr. Amati, I am challenging you to a battle."
The fishmonger's lips curled into a smile.
It was every bit a merchant's smile.
"Surely this cannot be called a 'battle.' A battle presupposes that both sides are equal, and this is not equal at all. I'm sure that you're not suggesting that this transaction would be meaningful only between you and me?"
"By which you mean...?"
"Surely you don't plan to conduct the deal without a certificate, and I assume this certificate could be sold to someone else, correct?"
Outside of remote areas, it was quite common for debt obligations to be bought and sold.
Certificates for margin selling were no exception.
"I would hardly expect you to accept my proposal otherwise," replied Lawrence. "It would be far too much risk; you would never accept it."
"Quite so. Even supposing the value of pyrite drops by tomorrow evening as you're predicting it will, as long as it reaches the value I need sometime during the day, I'll want to sell the certificate. If I weren't allowed to do that, I doubt I would accept the deal. But if I keep that ability, the deal remains unfair."
Lawrence listened silently as Amati continued.
| So either way, Amati was unwilling.
But no merchant worth his salt would give up after a single refusal.
Lawrence calmed himself and replied.
"That may be true if you look at this transaction by itself, but if you'll look at the bigger picture, you'll see this amount of unfairness is actually quite fair."
"...By which you mean...?"
"By which I mean it is quite possible that Holo will simply tear up that marriage certificate. I assume you have a copy as well?"
Amati paled.
"Even if you pay me the thousand silver to lift Holo's debt, there's no way for you to avoid the risk of her simply shaking her head no. Compared to that risk, the marginal unfairness I face is nothing."
"Hah. Don't you think that worry is unfounded? I understand you had quite a row with her," Amati shot back with a snort and a chuckle.
Lawrence felt his body grow hot as though he was empaled from behind on a red-hot iron bar, but he summoned every ounce of his merchant's self-control and revealed nothing. "In our travels together, Holo has cried in my arms three times."
It was now Amati whose face betrayed his emotion.
He'd had a smirk, but his face now froze, and he took a long, slow breath.
"She was quite charming all three times, Holo was," continued Lawrence. "So it's a shame she's usually so stubborn. She often says and does things that are contrary to her true feelings. In other words—"
Amati cut Lawrence off forcefully, like a knight challenged to a duel. "I accept! I accept your proposal, Mr. Lawrence."
"Are you quite sure?"
"I say again: I accept. I was...if you'll pardon me, I was worried that it would be too cruel to take absolutely everything from you, Mr. Lawrence. But if this is the way you want it, I accept. I will take from you your fortune and everything you have!"
Amati's face was red with anger.
Lawrence had to smile.
As he extended his right hand to Amati, his was the smile of the hunter that reaches into a trap to retrieve his prey. "So you'll accept these terms?"
"I shall!"
The two hands that then clasped tightly together each planned to take everything from the other.
"In that case, let us sign the contract and be done with it."
Lawrence remained coolheaded and came to a conclusion.
The two of them, Lawrence and Amati, were on equal footing when it came to the deal at this time. Amati might even be shouldering a slightly greater risk.
But it was far from clear whether Amati realized this. No, it was precisely because he had not realized it that he was willing to agree.
But even if he were to realize now, it would be too late.
They borrowed pen and paper from the tavern keeper and signed the contract on the spot.
Amati couldn't produce five hundred pieces of silver right there, so Lawrence let him substitute his three horses for the remaining two hundred. The coin would be handed over in the morning at the toll of the market bell. The horses would follow in the evening.
If Holo was to be believed, Amati had two hundred silver coins, pyrite worth three hundred pieces of silver, and another two hundred pieces of silver of salable assets.
Evidently, though, he had a hundred more silver pieces than that, and the two hundred silver pieces of salable assets were clearly the three horses.
All this meant that Amati had the equivalent of eight hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite. If the value of pyrite was to rise by even 25 percent, he'd have more than the thousand silver he needed. If Amati had more assets than what Holo reported, the price wouldn't even need to go up that much.
"We'll settle this tomorrow evening, then," said Amati, visibly excited as the final seal was stamped on the paper. Lawrence nodded calmly.
All he'd had to do was mention Holo crying in his arms.
Merchants truly were useless once matters strayed from business.
"I'll take my leave, then. Enjoy your wine," said Lawrence once the contract was signed and complete.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | So either way, Amati was unwilling.
But no merchant worth his salt would give up after a single refusal.
Lawrence calmed himself and replied.
"That may be true if you look at this transaction by itself, but if you'll look at the bigger picture, you'll see this amount of unfairness is actually quite fair."
"...By which you mean...?"
"By which I mean it is quite possible that Holo will simply tear up that marriage certificate. I assume you have a copy as well?"
Amati paled.
"Even if you pay me the thousand silver to lift Holo's debt, there's no way for you to avoid the risk of her simply shaking her head no. Compared to that risk, the marginal unfairness I face is nothing."
"Hah. Don't you think that worry is unfounded? I understand you had quite a row with her," Amati shot back with a snort and a chuckle.
Lawrence felt his body grow hot as though he was empaled from behind on a red-hot iron bar, but he summoned every ounce of his merchant's self-control and revealed nothing. "In our travels together, Holo has cried in my arms three times."
It was now Amati whose face betrayed his emotion.
He'd had a smirk, but his face now froze, and he took a long, slow breath.
"She was quite charming all three times, Holo was," continued Lawrence. "So it's a shame she's usually so stubborn. She often says and does things that are contrary to her true feelings. In other words—"
Amati cut Lawrence off forcefully, like a knight challenged to a duel. "I accept! I accept your proposal, Mr. Lawrence."
"Are you quite sure?"
"I say again: I accept. I was...if you'll pardon me, I was worried that it would be too cruel to take absolutely everything from you, Mr. Lawrence. But if this is the way you want it, I accept. I will take from you your fortune and everything you have!"
Amati's face was red with anger.
Lawrence had to smile.
As he extended his right hand to Amati, his was the smile of the hunter that reaches into a trap to retrieve his prey. "So you'll accept these terms?"
"I shall!"
The two hands that then clasped tightly together each planned to take everything from the other.
"In that case, let us sign the contract and be done with it."
Lawrence remained coolheaded and came to a conclusion.
The two of them, Lawrence and Amati, were on equal footing when it came to the deal at this time. Amati might even be shouldering a slightly greater risk.
But it was far from clear whether Amati realized this. No, it was precisely because he had not realized it that he was willing to agree.
But even if he were to realize now, it would be too late.
They borrowed pen and paper from the tavern keeper and signed the contract on the spot.
Amati couldn't produce five hundred pieces of silver right there, so Lawrence let him substitute his three horses for the remaining two hundred. The coin would be handed over in the morning at the toll of the market bell. The horses would follow in the evening.
If Holo was to be believed, Amati had two hundred silver coins, pyrite worth three hundred pieces of silver, and another two hundred pieces of silver of salable assets.
Evidently, though, he had a hundred more silver pieces than that, and the two hundred silver pieces of salable assets were clearly the three horses.
All this meant that Amati had the equivalent of eight hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite. If the value of pyrite was to rise by even 25 percent, he'd have more than the thousand silver he needed. If Amati had more assets than what Holo reported, the price wouldn't even need to go up that much.
"We'll settle this tomorrow evening, then," said Amati, visibly excited as the final seal was stamped on the paper. Lawrence nodded calmly.
All he'd had to do was mention Holo crying in his arms.
Merchants truly were useless once matters strayed from business.
"I'll take my leave, then. Enjoy your wine," said Lawrence once the contract was signed and complete.
| The arrow had been tipped with a slow-acting poison known only to those familiar with margin selling.
The merchant's hunt lay between truth and deception.
There was no obligation to tell the whole truth.
Merchants were all of them treacherous.
As soon as he completed the margin-selling contract with Amati, Lawrence headed straight to the marketplace.
Though business hours were long since over, the marketplace was as lively as it had been during the day. The merchants drank wine and made merry by the light of the moon, and the festivities soon spread to include the night watchmen.
So it was that Mark was still at his stall and not at home as he might have been at such a late hour.
That he was drinking alone, with only the noise of the festivities to accompany the wine, proved he had once been a traveling merchant himself.
"What's this? Does the princess not require an escort?" were the first words from Mark's mouth.
Lawrence shrugged, smiling unhappily.
Mark laughed. "Well, no matter—have a drink," he said, pouring ale from an earthen bottle into an empty cup.
"I'm not disturbing you?"
"You will be if you stay sober!"
Lawrence sat in the sawed-log chair and set down the sack containing the gold and silver coins. He put the proffered ale to his lips. Its foamy fragrance filled his head as the bitter stuff washed down his throat.
The hops had been good in this batch.
Lawrence supposed it was unsurprising that a wheat merchant would know good ale.
"It's fine ale."
"It's been a good harvest this year for all wheat. When there's a bad harvest, the barley that normally goes to ale is put toward bread instead. I'll have to thank the god of the harvest."
"Hah, quite so," said Lawrence, setting the ale cup down on the tabletop. "Listen, this may not be the best discussion to match good ale, but..."
Mark gulped and burped. "Is there profit in it?"
"That's hard to say. There might be gain in it, though that's not my aim."
Mark popped a piece of salted fish into his mouth, speaking as he crunched away on it. "You're too honest, friend. You should've said there's money in it. I'd have gladly helped you."
"I'll pay you for your trouble, and there may yet be profit in it."
"Do tell."
Lawrence wiped a bit of ale foam from the corner of his mouth. "After the festival ends is when the wheat buying begins in earnest, yes?"
"Oh, aye."
"I'd like you to spread a rumor for me."
Mark's expression turned shrewd, as though he was appraising wheat. "I won't do anything risky."
"It might be risky for you to spread it, but your apprentice can do so with no trouble at all."
It was a trifling rumor.
But rumors can wield a terrible power.
There was a tale of a kingdom long ago that met its destruction because of a simple rumor that the king was ill, which was started by a young town boy. The rumor eventually circulated beyond the kingdom's borders, leading to the dissolution of alliances and finally invasion.
It turns out that people do not have that much to talk about in their daily lives.
It seemed that their ears existed only to pick up on small rumors, so they could then shout them to the world.
Mark gestured with his chin, as if to say, "Go on."
"At my signal, I want someone to begin saying that it seems about time for the price of wheat to rise."
Mark froze, his eyes staring through Lawrence and off into the distance. He was considering the implications of what Lawrence had said.
"You're trying to lower the price of that mineral."
"Exactly so."
Lawrence imagined that most of the people who were trying their hand at the pyrite business had come to town to sell something, and they would be buying something before they left.
And as they left, the product they would buy the most of was undoubtedly wheat.
If people heard that wheat was going to rise in price, they would surely sell off their pyrite in order to buy whatever it was they had originally come to town to buy.
And as a result, demand for pyrite would fall off.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The arrow had been tipped with a slow-acting poison known only to those familiar with margin selling.
The merchant's hunt lay between truth and deception.
There was no obligation to tell the whole truth.
Merchants were all of them treacherous.
As soon as he completed the margin-selling contract with Amati, Lawrence headed straight to the marketplace.
Though business hours were long since over, the marketplace was as lively as it had been during the day. The merchants drank wine and made merry by the light of the moon, and the festivities soon spread to include the night watchmen.
So it was that Mark was still at his stall and not at home as he might have been at such a late hour.
That he was drinking alone, with only the noise of the festivities to accompany the wine, proved he had once been a traveling merchant himself.
"What's this? Does the princess not require an escort?" were the first words from Mark's mouth.
Lawrence shrugged, smiling unhappily.
Mark laughed. "Well, no matter—have a drink," he said, pouring ale from an earthen bottle into an empty cup.
"I'm not disturbing you?"
"You will be if you stay sober!"
Lawrence sat in the sawed-log chair and set down the sack containing the gold and silver coins. He put the proffered ale to his lips. Its foamy fragrance filled his head as the bitter stuff washed down his throat.
The hops had been good in this batch.
Lawrence supposed it was unsurprising that a wheat merchant would know good ale.
"It's fine ale."
"It's been a good harvest this year for all wheat. When there's a bad harvest, the barley that normally goes to ale is put toward bread instead. I'll have to thank the god of the harvest."
"Hah, quite so," said Lawrence, setting the ale cup down on the tabletop. "Listen, this may not be the best discussion to match good ale, but..."
Mark gulped and burped. "Is there profit in it?"
"That's hard to say. There might be gain in it, though that's not my aim."
Mark popped a piece of salted fish into his mouth, speaking as he crunched away on it. "You're too honest, friend. You should've said there's money in it. I'd have gladly helped you."
"I'll pay you for your trouble, and there may yet be profit in it."
"Do tell."
Lawrence wiped a bit of ale foam from the corner of his mouth. "After the festival ends is when the wheat buying begins in earnest, yes?"
"Oh, aye."
"I'd like you to spread a rumor for me."
Mark's expression turned shrewd, as though he was appraising wheat. "I won't do anything risky."
"It might be risky for you to spread it, but your apprentice can do so with no trouble at all."
It was a trifling rumor.
But rumors can wield a terrible power.
There was a tale of a kingdom long ago that met its destruction because of a simple rumor that the king was ill, which was started by a young town boy. The rumor eventually circulated beyond the kingdom's borders, leading to the dissolution of alliances and finally invasion.
It turns out that people do not have that much to talk about in their daily lives.
It seemed that their ears existed only to pick up on small rumors, so they could then shout them to the world.
Mark gestured with his chin, as if to say, "Go on."
"At my signal, I want someone to begin saying that it seems about time for the price of wheat to rise."
Mark froze, his eyes staring through Lawrence and off into the distance. He was considering the implications of what Lawrence had said.
"You're trying to lower the price of that mineral."
"Exactly so."
Lawrence imagined that most of the people who were trying their hand at the pyrite business had come to town to sell something, and they would be buying something before they left.
And as they left, the product they would buy the most of was undoubtedly wheat.
If people heard that wheat was going to rise in price, they would surely sell off their pyrite in order to buy whatever it was they had originally come to town to buy.
And as a result, demand for pyrite would fall off.
| The wheat merchant drank deeply from his ale cup before speaking. "I wouldn't have figured you to come up with such a simpleminded idea."
"What if I told you that I was planning to sell off a considerable amount of pyrite at the same time?"
Mark blinked, and after a moment of thought, he asked, "How much?"
"One thousand trenni worth."
"Wha—! One thousand? Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much you might lose in the process?"
Mark scowled and scratched his beard, muttering as he looked about. Judging by his reaction, he had no idea what Lawrence was thinking.
"So long as I've five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite when this is all over, it matters nothing to me whether the price rises or falls."
It was Amati who had greater risk in the deal Lawrence had brought to him.
And this was the reason.
"Damn. Selling on margin, are you?"
Obviously no one complained when a commodity they had on hand went up in price, but there weren't many situations where someone didn't mind if their goods dropped in value.
If the goods sold on margin depreciated, all one had to do was repurchase the product at the new lower price to ensure a profit. If the product rose in value, as long as it were paired up with a conventional transaction, Lawrence could create a situation where he would come out the same whether or not the price rose or fell.
His most decisive advantage was that the price of pyrite would definitely fall once it was sold in large quantities, but Amati absolutely needed the price to rise in order to turn a profit.
Lawrence's plan was, in essence, to use the five hundred silver pieces he'd received from Amati plus his own assets to buy up as much pyrite as possible; then he would sell it off all at once in order to drive the price sharply down.
It was only possible to do this upon abandoning any notion of profit.
Mark, once a traveling merchant himself, soon worked all this out—including who the victim was.
"I must say I feel bad for that poor, ignorant fishmonger."
Lawrence shrugged in reply.
Although the plan looked flawless, there was a reason why Lawrence was not completely comfortable with it.
There was no such thing as a perfect plan.
"You'd think he would understand how dangerous it is to take part in a deal he's not used to," said Mark.
"No—he knows the risks, and he accepted. I explained that much."
Mark gave a throaty chuckle and polished off his beer. "So, was that all you needed?"
"No, there's one more thing."
"I'm all ears."
"I want you to help me buy up pyrite."
Mark stared blankly at Lawrence. "You didn't secure a source before making the margin contract?"
"There wasn't time. Will you help me?"
This was the flaw in his plan.
No matter how ideal the plan, without all the components in place it would come to nothing.
And what Lawrence needed to do was far from easy.
He could wait until dawn to purchase pyrite in the marketplace like any other merchant. But if he bought several hundred trenni worth of pyrite all at once, a sudden spike in price was inevitable.
He had to work behind the scenes and buy up pyrite in such a way that his purchasing would not disturb the market value.
To do this, the best way would be to make many small purchases via various town merchants.
"Payments will be in cash. I'll even pay over market value. If the quantity is enough, I can even pay in lumione."
If trenni silver was a sword, then lumione gold was a phalanx of spears. When buying high-value commodities, a more powerful weapon did not exist.
Lawrence had coin but lacked connections, and outside of Mark, he had no one he could turn to for aid.
If Mark refused, Lawrence would have no choice but to gather pyrite on his own.
He couldn't even consider how difficult it would be to buy up the mineral in an aboveboard fashion in this town, where he only did business a few days of the year.
Mark was unmoving, staring off in some unclear direction.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The wheat merchant drank deeply from his ale cup before speaking. "I wouldn't have figured you to come up with such a simpleminded idea."
"What if I told you that I was planning to sell off a considerable amount of pyrite at the same time?"
Mark blinked, and after a moment of thought, he asked, "How much?"
"One thousand trenni worth."
"Wha—! One thousand? Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much you might lose in the process?"
Mark scowled and scratched his beard, muttering as he looked about. Judging by his reaction, he had no idea what Lawrence was thinking.
"So long as I've five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite when this is all over, it matters nothing to me whether the price rises or falls."
It was Amati who had greater risk in the deal Lawrence had brought to him.
And this was the reason.
"Damn. Selling on margin, are you?"
Obviously no one complained when a commodity they had on hand went up in price, but there weren't many situations where someone didn't mind if their goods dropped in value.
If the goods sold on margin depreciated, all one had to do was repurchase the product at the new lower price to ensure a profit. If the product rose in value, as long as it were paired up with a conventional transaction, Lawrence could create a situation where he would come out the same whether or not the price rose or fell.
His most decisive advantage was that the price of pyrite would definitely fall once it was sold in large quantities, but Amati absolutely needed the price to rise in order to turn a profit.
Lawrence's plan was, in essence, to use the five hundred silver pieces he'd received from Amati plus his own assets to buy up as much pyrite as possible; then he would sell it off all at once in order to drive the price sharply down.
It was only possible to do this upon abandoning any notion of profit.
Mark, once a traveling merchant himself, soon worked all this out—including who the victim was.
"I must say I feel bad for that poor, ignorant fishmonger."
Lawrence shrugged in reply.
Although the plan looked flawless, there was a reason why Lawrence was not completely comfortable with it.
There was no such thing as a perfect plan.
"You'd think he would understand how dangerous it is to take part in a deal he's not used to," said Mark.
"No—he knows the risks, and he accepted. I explained that much."
Mark gave a throaty chuckle and polished off his beer. "So, was that all you needed?"
"No, there's one more thing."
"I'm all ears."
"I want you to help me buy up pyrite."
Mark stared blankly at Lawrence. "You didn't secure a source before making the margin contract?"
"There wasn't time. Will you help me?"
This was the flaw in his plan.
No matter how ideal the plan, without all the components in place it would come to nothing.
And what Lawrence needed to do was far from easy.
He could wait until dawn to purchase pyrite in the marketplace like any other merchant. But if he bought several hundred trenni worth of pyrite all at once, a sudden spike in price was inevitable.
He had to work behind the scenes and buy up pyrite in such a way that his purchasing would not disturb the market value.
To do this, the best way would be to make many small purchases via various town merchants.
"Payments will be in cash. I'll even pay over market value. If the quantity is enough, I can even pay in lumione."
If trenni silver was a sword, then lumione gold was a phalanx of spears. When buying high-value commodities, a more powerful weapon did not exist.
Lawrence had coin but lacked connections, and outside of Mark, he had no one he could turn to for aid.
If Mark refused, Lawrence would have no choice but to gather pyrite on his own.
He couldn't even consider how difficult it would be to buy up the mineral in an aboveboard fashion in this town, where he only did business a few days of the year.
Mark was unmoving, staring off in some unclear direction.
| Mark glanced over upon hearing those words.
He was, after all, a merchant. He wouldn't work for free.
Mark's answer was short. "I can't."
"I see, so...Wait, what?"
"I can't," he said again, looking Lawrence in the eye.
"Wha—"
"I cannot help you with this," he said flatly.
Lawrence leaned forward. "I'll pay you a consideration and not a paltry service fee, either. You've nothing to lose. It's a good trade, is it not?"
"I've nothing to lose?" He frowned, his square-cut beard making his face look even stonier.
"But you don't, do you? I'm asking you to help me find and purchase pyrite, not shoulder a risky investment. What have you to lose?"
"Lawrence." The sound of his name cut Lawrence off.
Yet Lawrence did not understand what Mark was thinking. It made no sense for a merchant to refuse a deal that promised a sizable reward with no risk.
Why then the refusal?
He wondered if Mark was trying to take advantage of him, and something like anger roiled in his gut.
Mark continued, "You'd be able to pay me, say, ten lumione at the outside, am I right?"
"Well, given that you're simply making some purchases for me, that's more than generous, I should think. It is not as though I'm asking you to cross a mountain range alone and bring back an entire caravan's worth of ore."
"But you are asking me to go about the marketplace and buy up pyrite, are you not? It amounts to the same thing."
"How is that—?" Lawrence stood suddenly, knocking back the log chair with a clatter. He was a moment from bodily grabbing the wheat merchant when he regained his composure.
Mark was unmoved.
His even, businesslike expression did not change.
"Er—I mean, how is that the same thing? I'm hardly asking you to run around all night or to traverse some treacherous mountain pass. I'm simply asking you to help me buy pyrite with your connections."
"It's the same thing, Lawrence," said Mark almost patiently. "You're a traveling merchant who crosses the plains; I do battle in the marketplace. The dangers you see, they're the dangers of the traveling merchant."
"So..." Lawrence swallowed his protest. Mark's face was also strained, as if he'd swallowed something bitter.
Mark continued, "To a town merchant, leaping at every chance to make a quick profit is no virtue. It's making a steady living through an honest, reliable business that makes my reputation, not making big profits on fleeting side jobs. I may be the owner of this stall, but its reputation is not just mine. It extends to my wife, my relatives, and anyone connected with it. If it's making a bit of coin on the side, that's surely not a bad thing..."
Mark paused here, taking another quaff of ale. His knit brow was surely not owing to the ale's bitter taste. "...But helping you find and buy five hundred trenni of pyrite is quite another matter. How do you think the townspeople would view me and mine? Would they not think of me as a villain, who cares nothing for his real business and has eyes only on easy riches? Can you pay me enough to take that risk? I was once a traveling merchant myself, and I'd venture to say the trifling sums a traveling merchant handles cannot compare to the amounts town merchants deal with."
Lawrence could say nothing.
Mark made his final statement. "This shop may seem small, but the value of its name is surprisingly high. If the name were to be tarnished, ten or twenty gold pieces would be far from enough to cover it."
It was a compelling statement.
Lawrence had nothing to say in return and stared at the table.
"That's how it is."
Mark was neither taking advantage of Lawrence nor mocking him.
It was simply the truth.
Lawrence saw that though both he and Mark were merchants, they lived in different worlds.
"I am sorry," said Mark.
Lawrence still had no good reply.
It was hardly worth counting the number of allies that remained to him.
"N-no, I should apologize for asking the impossible."
Lawrence tried to think of who else he might turn to; only Batos came to mind.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Mark glanced over upon hearing those words.
He was, after all, a merchant. He wouldn't work for free.
Mark's answer was short. "I can't."
"I see, so...Wait, what?"
"I can't," he said again, looking Lawrence in the eye.
"Wha—"
"I cannot help you with this," he said flatly.
Lawrence leaned forward. "I'll pay you a consideration and not a paltry service fee, either. You've nothing to lose. It's a good trade, is it not?"
"I've nothing to lose?" He frowned, his square-cut beard making his face look even stonier.
"But you don't, do you? I'm asking you to help me find and purchase pyrite, not shoulder a risky investment. What have you to lose?"
"Lawrence." The sound of his name cut Lawrence off.
Yet Lawrence did not understand what Mark was thinking. It made no sense for a merchant to refuse a deal that promised a sizable reward with no risk.
Why then the refusal?
He wondered if Mark was trying to take advantage of him, and something like anger roiled in his gut.
Mark continued, "You'd be able to pay me, say, ten lumione at the outside, am I right?"
"Well, given that you're simply making some purchases for me, that's more than generous, I should think. It is not as though I'm asking you to cross a mountain range alone and bring back an entire caravan's worth of ore."
"But you are asking me to go about the marketplace and buy up pyrite, are you not? It amounts to the same thing."
"How is that—?" Lawrence stood suddenly, knocking back the log chair with a clatter. He was a moment from bodily grabbing the wheat merchant when he regained his composure.
Mark was unmoved.
His even, businesslike expression did not change.
"Er—I mean, how is that the same thing? I'm hardly asking you to run around all night or to traverse some treacherous mountain pass. I'm simply asking you to help me buy pyrite with your connections."
"It's the same thing, Lawrence," said Mark almost patiently. "You're a traveling merchant who crosses the plains; I do battle in the marketplace. The dangers you see, they're the dangers of the traveling merchant."
"So..." Lawrence swallowed his protest. Mark's face was also strained, as if he'd swallowed something bitter.
Mark continued, "To a town merchant, leaping at every chance to make a quick profit is no virtue. It's making a steady living through an honest, reliable business that makes my reputation, not making big profits on fleeting side jobs. I may be the owner of this stall, but its reputation is not just mine. It extends to my wife, my relatives, and anyone connected with it. If it's making a bit of coin on the side, that's surely not a bad thing..."
Mark paused here, taking another quaff of ale. His knit brow was surely not owing to the ale's bitter taste. "...But helping you find and buy five hundred trenni of pyrite is quite another matter. How do you think the townspeople would view me and mine? Would they not think of me as a villain, who cares nothing for his real business and has eyes only on easy riches? Can you pay me enough to take that risk? I was once a traveling merchant myself, and I'd venture to say the trifling sums a traveling merchant handles cannot compare to the amounts town merchants deal with."
Lawrence could say nothing.
Mark made his final statement. "This shop may seem small, but the value of its name is surprisingly high. If the name were to be tarnished, ten or twenty gold pieces would be far from enough to cover it."
It was a compelling statement.
Lawrence had nothing to say in return and stared at the table.
"That's how it is."
Mark was neither taking advantage of Lawrence nor mocking him.
It was simply the truth.
Lawrence saw that though both he and Mark were merchants, they lived in different worlds.
"I am sorry," said Mark.
Lawrence still had no good reply.
It was hardly worth counting the number of allies that remained to him.
"N-no, I should apologize for asking the impossible."
Lawrence tried to think of who else he might turn to; only Batos came to mind.
| But Lawrence remembered that when Batos tipped him off about Amati's plan, he'd said the boy's plan was not exactly praiseworthy.
Batos hauled ore through dangerous mountain passes—he would no doubt consider the quick buying and selling of pyrite to be rather odious.
He doubted that Batos would help him, but Lawrence had no choice but to put aside his misgivings and ask nonetheless.
Lawrence steeled himself and looked up.
It was just then that Mark spoke again. "So even the ever-composed Lawrence gets like this sometimes, eh?"
Mark's face was neither upset nor amused; he simply seemed surprised.
"Ah, apologies," Mark continued. "Don't be angry. It just seems unusual," he said, hurriedly explaining. Lawrence was also surprised at his own behavior and far from angry.
"I can't say I'm surprised with your companion being who she is and all. But you needn't go to all this effort to stop Amati, do you? Surely she won't leave you so easily. I thought as much the first time I saw her at your side. Have more confidence, man!"
Mark finally smiled, but Lawrence was expressionless as he replied, "She gave me a signed marriage certificate. The other party is Amati naturally."
Mark's eyes widened, and he realized that he'd said the wrong thing. He scratched his beard awkwardly.
Lawrence saw this and slackened his shoulders. "If nothing had happened, sure, I'd have more confidence. But something did happen."
"So it happened after you came by here? We never know what lies even a step ahead in life, do we? But you still have hope, so you're still running—I see."
Lawrence nodded, and Mark stuck out his lower lip and sighed.
"Still," said Mark, "I knew she was a person to be reckoned with, but I can't believe she'd be so bold...Anyway, do you have any other leads?"
"I expect I'll go talk to Mr. Batos next."
"Batos, eh? Ah, so you're going to have him talk to the woman for you," murmured Mark.
"...The woman?" asked Lawrence in reply.
"Huh? Oh, so you're not going to have him talk to her for you? The chronicler, I mean. You met her, right?"
"If you mean Miss Diana, I've met her, but I don't see what she has to do with this."
"So long as you're not worried about the consequences, you might try dealing with her."
"Look, what are you talking about?" asked Lawrence.
Mark looked over his shoulder conspiratorially, then lowering his voice, he spoke. "She practically coordinates the northern regions. Especially the alchemists—you might as well call her their storefront. It's because of her that the alchemists that have managed to escape persecution gather here, from our perspective. Of course, only the local nobility and elders of the town council know the details. Oh, and—"
Mark took a sip of ale and continued, "Everybody knows that the alchemists have pyrite, but nobody wants to make waves, so they don't do business with alchemists. In old Batos's case, he deals mostly with the alchemists and rarely with anybody else. No—it's more accurate to say he can't deal with anyone else because he deals with alchemists. So if you can risk the trouble it might bring, getting Batos to talk to the woman for you is an option."
It wasn't clear to Lawrence whether this sudden revelation was the truth, but Mark had nothing to gain from lying.
"Depending on the circumstances, it might be worth trying. The flames are getting quite close, after all, are they not?"
It was pathetic, but Lawrence had to admit that with Mark's refusal to help, the situation was quite desperate.
"I'm actually quite pleased that you'd turn to me for help, but this is all I can do for you," said Mark.
"No, I appreciate it. I nearly overlooked a huge opportunity."
Even Lawrence felt that Mark's reason for refusing him was completely justified.
Mark was a town merchant, and Lawrence was a traveling merchant. The abilities and limitations of each were naturally very different.
"I know I refused you...but I'll be praying for your success nonetheless."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | But Lawrence remembered that when Batos tipped him off about Amati's plan, he'd said the boy's plan was not exactly praiseworthy.
Batos hauled ore through dangerous mountain passes—he would no doubt consider the quick buying and selling of pyrite to be rather odious.
He doubted that Batos would help him, but Lawrence had no choice but to put aside his misgivings and ask nonetheless.
Lawrence steeled himself and looked up.
It was just then that Mark spoke again. "So even the ever-composed Lawrence gets like this sometimes, eh?"
Mark's face was neither upset nor amused; he simply seemed surprised.
"Ah, apologies," Mark continued. "Don't be angry. It just seems unusual," he said, hurriedly explaining. Lawrence was also surprised at his own behavior and far from angry.
"I can't say I'm surprised with your companion being who she is and all. But you needn't go to all this effort to stop Amati, do you? Surely she won't leave you so easily. I thought as much the first time I saw her at your side. Have more confidence, man!"
Mark finally smiled, but Lawrence was expressionless as he replied, "She gave me a signed marriage certificate. The other party is Amati naturally."
Mark's eyes widened, and he realized that he'd said the wrong thing. He scratched his beard awkwardly.
Lawrence saw this and slackened his shoulders. "If nothing had happened, sure, I'd have more confidence. But something did happen."
"So it happened after you came by here? We never know what lies even a step ahead in life, do we? But you still have hope, so you're still running—I see."
Lawrence nodded, and Mark stuck out his lower lip and sighed.
"Still," said Mark, "I knew she was a person to be reckoned with, but I can't believe she'd be so bold...Anyway, do you have any other leads?"
"I expect I'll go talk to Mr. Batos next."
"Batos, eh? Ah, so you're going to have him talk to the woman for you," murmured Mark.
"...The woman?" asked Lawrence in reply.
"Huh? Oh, so you're not going to have him talk to her for you? The chronicler, I mean. You met her, right?"
"If you mean Miss Diana, I've met her, but I don't see what she has to do with this."
"So long as you're not worried about the consequences, you might try dealing with her."
"Look, what are you talking about?" asked Lawrence.
Mark looked over his shoulder conspiratorially, then lowering his voice, he spoke. "She practically coordinates the northern regions. Especially the alchemists—you might as well call her their storefront. It's because of her that the alchemists that have managed to escape persecution gather here, from our perspective. Of course, only the local nobility and elders of the town council know the details. Oh, and—"
Mark took a sip of ale and continued, "Everybody knows that the alchemists have pyrite, but nobody wants to make waves, so they don't do business with alchemists. In old Batos's case, he deals mostly with the alchemists and rarely with anybody else. No—it's more accurate to say he can't deal with anyone else because he deals with alchemists. So if you can risk the trouble it might bring, getting Batos to talk to the woman for you is an option."
It wasn't clear to Lawrence whether this sudden revelation was the truth, but Mark had nothing to gain from lying.
"Depending on the circumstances, it might be worth trying. The flames are getting quite close, after all, are they not?"
It was pathetic, but Lawrence had to admit that with Mark's refusal to help, the situation was quite desperate.
"I'm actually quite pleased that you'd turn to me for help, but this is all I can do for you," said Mark.
"No, I appreciate it. I nearly overlooked a huge opportunity."
Even Lawrence felt that Mark's reason for refusing him was completely justified.
Mark was a town merchant, and Lawrence was a traveling merchant. The abilities and limitations of each were naturally very different.
"I know I refused you...but I'll be praying for your success nonetheless."
| Whether or not it was in response to Lawrence's words, Mark stroked his beard noisily.
He frowned and looked off to the side as he spoke. "I may not be able to help you directly, but I might be able to whisper the condition of someone's wallet in your ear."
Lawrence was visibly surprised, at which Mark closed his eyes.
"Come by the shop later. I can at least tell you who to buy from."
"...Thank you, truly," said Lawrence with complete honesty.
Mark shook his head as if at a loss, sighing. "When you make that face, I guess I see why that girl would be so bold."
"...What do you mean?"
"Ah, nothing. Just that merchants should stick to business."
Lawrence wanted the laughing Mark to explain himself, but he was already focusing on Batos and Diana.
"Good luck to you," said Mark.
"Thanks."
Lawrence's chest was still tight with anxiety, and if he was to go negotiate, the sooner he did so the better.
He thanked Mark again and put Mark's stall behind him.
It was often said that the traveling merchant has no friends. As he walked the streets, Lawrence decided this was not true.
Lawrence first headed directly to the trade guild.
He had two goals: first, to discover whether Batos had a stock of pyrite on hand or any connections to buy some, and second, to have Batos take him to Diana.
He remembered Batos's dismissal of Amati's plan to raise money—not entirely praiseworthy, Batos had said.
The man hauled ore and precious stones from the mines over dangerous mountain paths. He might well find this pyrite-speculation business downright shameful.
Even though he knew he might be asking the impossible, Lawrence still had to go.
He made his way through the back alleys to the guild house, turning a blind eye to the festival, which was even at this late hour continuing with an atmosphere that was near riotous.
He finally arrived at his destination—a street lined with trade companies. Each company had lit lanterns, and there were circles of people dancing about here and there. Now and then, Lawrence caught sight of employees continuing the festivities by holding clumsy mock sword battles.
Pushing his way through the congested street, Lawrence approached the Rowen Trade Guild building. He silently slipped through the open doors and passed the guild members that were drinking and carrying on there.
The delineation between those who wanted to quietly drink inside and those who wished to join in the clamor outside seemed quite clear. Beneath the glow of the distinctive-smelling fish oil lamps, the guild hall was filled with quiet conversation and pleasant laughter.
A few seemed to notice Lawrence's arrival and looked at him curiously, but the greater part were wholly concerned with enjoying themselves.
Lawrence spied the man he was looking for among those gathered and walked straight toward him.
The man sat at a table with several other older merchants. Beneath the dim lamplight, he looked somehow hermitlike.
It was Gi Batos.
"I apologize for interrupting in the middle of your celebration," said Lawrence quietly. The older merchants with their decades of experience immediately understood that he was here for business.
They sipped their wine wordlessly, glancing at Batos.
Batos smiled briefly. "Ho there, Mr. Lawrence. What can I do for you?"
"I'm sorry this is so sudden, but I need to speak with you."
"Business, is it?"
After a short hesitation, Lawrence nodded.
"We'll talk over there. We can't let these old codgers steal all our profit, after all."
The other merchants at the table laughed, raising their cups as if to say, "We'll keep on without you."
Lawrence gave a quick bow and then followed Batos, who was heading farther into the guild house.
Standing in sharp contrast to the lively lobby, the halls of the guild house were like back alleys; the lamplight soon failed to reach them, and the clamor from those gathered faded like a fire burning on a river's distant shore.
Batos then stopped and turned. "So what is it you want to speak about?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Whether or not it was in response to Lawrence's words, Mark stroked his beard noisily.
He frowned and looked off to the side as he spoke. "I may not be able to help you directly, but I might be able to whisper the condition of someone's wallet in your ear."
Lawrence was visibly surprised, at which Mark closed his eyes.
"Come by the shop later. I can at least tell you who to buy from."
"...Thank you, truly," said Lawrence with complete honesty.
Mark shook his head as if at a loss, sighing. "When you make that face, I guess I see why that girl would be so bold."
"...What do you mean?"
"Ah, nothing. Just that merchants should stick to business."
Lawrence wanted the laughing Mark to explain himself, but he was already focusing on Batos and Diana.
"Good luck to you," said Mark.
"Thanks."
Lawrence's chest was still tight with anxiety, and if he was to go negotiate, the sooner he did so the better.
He thanked Mark again and put Mark's stall behind him.
It was often said that the traveling merchant has no friends. As he walked the streets, Lawrence decided this was not true.
Lawrence first headed directly to the trade guild.
He had two goals: first, to discover whether Batos had a stock of pyrite on hand or any connections to buy some, and second, to have Batos take him to Diana.
He remembered Batos's dismissal of Amati's plan to raise money—not entirely praiseworthy, Batos had said.
The man hauled ore and precious stones from the mines over dangerous mountain paths. He might well find this pyrite-speculation business downright shameful.
Even though he knew he might be asking the impossible, Lawrence still had to go.
He made his way through the back alleys to the guild house, turning a blind eye to the festival, which was even at this late hour continuing with an atmosphere that was near riotous.
He finally arrived at his destination—a street lined with trade companies. Each company had lit lanterns, and there were circles of people dancing about here and there. Now and then, Lawrence caught sight of employees continuing the festivities by holding clumsy mock sword battles.
Pushing his way through the congested street, Lawrence approached the Rowen Trade Guild building. He silently slipped through the open doors and passed the guild members that were drinking and carrying on there.
The delineation between those who wanted to quietly drink inside and those who wished to join in the clamor outside seemed quite clear. Beneath the glow of the distinctive-smelling fish oil lamps, the guild hall was filled with quiet conversation and pleasant laughter.
A few seemed to notice Lawrence's arrival and looked at him curiously, but the greater part were wholly concerned with enjoying themselves.
Lawrence spied the man he was looking for among those gathered and walked straight toward him.
The man sat at a table with several other older merchants. Beneath the dim lamplight, he looked somehow hermitlike.
It was Gi Batos.
"I apologize for interrupting in the middle of your celebration," said Lawrence quietly. The older merchants with their decades of experience immediately understood that he was here for business.
They sipped their wine wordlessly, glancing at Batos.
Batos smiled briefly. "Ho there, Mr. Lawrence. What can I do for you?"
"I'm sorry this is so sudden, but I need to speak with you."
"Business, is it?"
After a short hesitation, Lawrence nodded.
"We'll talk over there. We can't let these old codgers steal all our profit, after all."
The other merchants at the table laughed, raising their cups as if to say, "We'll keep on without you."
Lawrence gave a quick bow and then followed Batos, who was heading farther into the guild house.
Standing in sharp contrast to the lively lobby, the halls of the guild house were like back alleys; the lamplight soon failed to reach them, and the clamor from those gathered faded like a fire burning on a river's distant shore.
Batos then stopped and turned. "So what is it you want to speak about?"
| "Pyrite?"
"Yes."
Batos's eyes were a dark blue that bordered on black. They looked gray in the faint yellow light of the lamp.
Those eyes looked evenly at Lawrence.
"Have you any leads?" Lawrence asked again.
Batos sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Mr. Lawrence, you—"
"Yes?"
"Do you remember what I said when I told you about what the young Amati was planning?"
Lawrence nodded immediately. Of course, he remembered. "Not only that, I remember that Miss Diana hates business discussions."
Batos took his hand from his eyes and then stopped, his gaze now for the first time what one would expect from a merchant.
It was the look of a man whose life was devoted to the safe transport of goods through incredible hardship, unconcerned about how much profit would be made.
Those eyes seemed somehow wolflike.
"So you're eyeing the alchemists' stock, are you?"
"That will make this conversation easy—yes. However, I've heard that without Miss Diana's permission, no business can be had. That is why I've come to you."
Lawrence suddenly remembered when he was just starting out as a merchant—with no connections, he would visit without notice and say whatever it took to increase his business.
Batos's eyes widened slightly in surprise before he forced them back to their usual expression. "Is pyrite so lucrative that knowing all this, you still wish to deal with them?"
"No, that is not it."
"Then...you want to know your fortune or ward away illness as pyrite is rumored to do?" Batos smiled indulgently, as though he were playing with a grandchild. It was his way of poking fun.
Lawrence was neither angry nor impatient.
If it was for his own gain, a merchant could stare at a swinging scale all night, if that's what it took. "I am acting in my own interest. That I will not deny."
Batos stared wide-eyed, unmoving.
If he was turned away here, his best chance of finding a stockpile of pyrite would be gone.
Lawrence did not have the luxury of allowing that to happen.
"But I'm not after it because I'm trying to gain from the pyrite bubble. My aim is more...more basic."
Batos did not interrupt him, and Lawrence took this as his cue to continue.
"Mr. Batos, you're a traveling merchant, so surely you've had times when the goods you're hauling fall into a crevasse."
Still silence.
"When our wagon sinks in a mire, we weigh the difficulty of saving it against abandoning it to the mud. The value of the goods, the gain, the amount of cash on hand, the cost of getting assistance—the danger of being attacked by brigands even—we weigh it all and decide to abandon the cargo or not to."
Batos spoke slowly. "And you've found yourself thus, have you?"
"I have."
Batos's keen eyes seemed as though they could see to the end of a dark road.
He'd traveled the same road for a lifetime and came to Diana to hear tales of the roads he hadn't taken.
Those eyes would surely see through any lie.
But Lawrence did not waver.
For he was telling no lies.
"I am determined not to abandon my load. So long as I can get it back on my cart, I am willing to risk a bit of trouble."
Batos had to realize what the "cargo" was and why Lawrence was so desperate.
But the old merchant just closed his eyes, saying nothing.
Was there something more to say? Lawrence wondered. Should he push further?
The laughter that echoed from the lobby sounded derisive and mocking.
Precious time was slipping away.
Lawrence readied himself to speak.
And at the last possible moment, he stopped himself.
He remembered his master telling him that waiting was the most powerful weapon when asking another's favor.
"That's what I wanted to see," said Batos at that moment with a little smile. "It's a good merchant that can wait, even if time is short, when that's the only option left to him."
Lawrence realized he had been tested; cold sweat ran down his back, making him shiver.
"Of course, I was even pushier back in the old days."
"Er..."
"Ah, yes. I've no supply of pyrite, sad to say. But surely the alchemists do."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Pyrite?"
"Yes."
Batos's eyes were a dark blue that bordered on black. They looked gray in the faint yellow light of the lamp.
Those eyes looked evenly at Lawrence.
"Have you any leads?" Lawrence asked again.
Batos sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Mr. Lawrence, you—"
"Yes?"
"Do you remember what I said when I told you about what the young Amati was planning?"
Lawrence nodded immediately. Of course, he remembered. "Not only that, I remember that Miss Diana hates business discussions."
Batos took his hand from his eyes and then stopped, his gaze now for the first time what one would expect from a merchant.
It was the look of a man whose life was devoted to the safe transport of goods through incredible hardship, unconcerned about how much profit would be made.
Those eyes seemed somehow wolflike.
"So you're eyeing the alchemists' stock, are you?"
"That will make this conversation easy—yes. However, I've heard that without Miss Diana's permission, no business can be had. That is why I've come to you."
Lawrence suddenly remembered when he was just starting out as a merchant—with no connections, he would visit without notice and say whatever it took to increase his business.
Batos's eyes widened slightly in surprise before he forced them back to their usual expression. "Is pyrite so lucrative that knowing all this, you still wish to deal with them?"
"No, that is not it."
"Then...you want to know your fortune or ward away illness as pyrite is rumored to do?" Batos smiled indulgently, as though he were playing with a grandchild. It was his way of poking fun.
Lawrence was neither angry nor impatient.
If it was for his own gain, a merchant could stare at a swinging scale all night, if that's what it took. "I am acting in my own interest. That I will not deny."
Batos stared wide-eyed, unmoving.
If he was turned away here, his best chance of finding a stockpile of pyrite would be gone.
Lawrence did not have the luxury of allowing that to happen.
"But I'm not after it because I'm trying to gain from the pyrite bubble. My aim is more...more basic."
Batos did not interrupt him, and Lawrence took this as his cue to continue.
"Mr. Batos, you're a traveling merchant, so surely you've had times when the goods you're hauling fall into a crevasse."
Still silence.
"When our wagon sinks in a mire, we weigh the difficulty of saving it against abandoning it to the mud. The value of the goods, the gain, the amount of cash on hand, the cost of getting assistance—the danger of being attacked by brigands even—we weigh it all and decide to abandon the cargo or not to."
Batos spoke slowly. "And you've found yourself thus, have you?"
"I have."
Batos's keen eyes seemed as though they could see to the end of a dark road.
He'd traveled the same road for a lifetime and came to Diana to hear tales of the roads he hadn't taken.
Those eyes would surely see through any lie.
But Lawrence did not waver.
For he was telling no lies.
"I am determined not to abandon my load. So long as I can get it back on my cart, I am willing to risk a bit of trouble."
Batos had to realize what the "cargo" was and why Lawrence was so desperate.
But the old merchant just closed his eyes, saying nothing.
Was there something more to say? Lawrence wondered. Should he push further?
The laughter that echoed from the lobby sounded derisive and mocking.
Precious time was slipping away.
Lawrence readied himself to speak.
And at the last possible moment, he stopped himself.
He remembered his master telling him that waiting was the most powerful weapon when asking another's favor.
"That's what I wanted to see," said Batos at that moment with a little smile. "It's a good merchant that can wait, even if time is short, when that's the only option left to him."
Lawrence realized he had been tested; cold sweat ran down his back, making him shiver.
"Of course, I was even pushier back in the old days."
"Er..."
"Ah, yes. I've no supply of pyrite, sad to say. But surely the alchemists do."
| Batos nodded slightly. "All you need say is 'I've come to buy a box of white feathers.' That should get you in the door. The rest is up to you. You'll have to be quite clever with dear Diana. I doubt anyone has gone to buy pyrite there yet."
"Thank you very much. By way of thanks—"
"As long as you'll tell me a good tale, I'll call it even. What do you think? Do I sound as dignified as Diana?"
Batos grinned childishly; Lawrence couldn't help but laugh.
Batos continued, "You never know when she's sleeping, Diana, so you should be able to go over there right now. And if you're going, you should go soon. Time is money and all." He pointed to the back of the trade guild. "If you take the back way, you can leave without answering any questions."
Lawrence thanked Batos and headed down the hall. He looked back to see the old merchant still smiling.
There with his back to the lamplight from the lobby, Batos looked a bit like his old master, Lawrence thought.
Leaving the guild house and heading north, Lawrence soon ran right into the stone wall.
He hadn't been lucky enough to arrive at the entrance, so he ran along the wall for a while until he found it, levering the rickety door open and slipping inside.
There were, of course, no lights, but as Lawrence ran, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and as a traveling merchant who camped on the road quite a bit, he was used to a bit of darkness.
However, the slivers of light that sliced out from between the cracks in the district's wooden doors, the meowing of cats in the distance, and the sudden occasional beating of birds' wings were all much more unsettling than they had been during the day.
Without the keen sense of direction common among traveling merchants, Lawrence might have become lost and wound up sprinting away in fear.
When he finally found Diana's house, his relief was genuine.
It was like he'd arrived at a friendly woodcutter's cabin after a long walk through an ominous forest.
But on the other side of the door, which Lawrence stood in front of, there was perhaps not a friend who'd welcome him with open arms.
Even though he'd gotten the password from Batos, when Lawrence thought back on his exchange with Diana, he felt she truly did hate business.
He wondered if he would really be able to buy any pyrite.
The uncertainty grew in his chest, but he took a deep breath and pushed it back down.
He had to obtain the mineral.
"Excuse me, is anyone home?" Lawrence asked hesitantly, knocking lightly on the door.
The silence of someone home but asleep is subtly different from the silence of no one being present.
When it is the former, it was somehow hard to raise one's voice.
There was no reaction from behind the door.
A bit of light shone through the cracks, though, so even if Diana might have been asleep, she seemed to be there.
The town leveled harsh punishments at those who left their lamps burning as they slept, but it was hard to imagine the evening patrols venturing into this district.
Just as Lawrence was about to knock on the door again, he heard someone move behind it.
"Who is it?" The voice sounded sleepy, weary.
"I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour. I am Lawrence; I visited you yesterday with Mr. Batos."
A short pause followed, after which he heard the rustling of fabric. Next, the door slowly opened.
Light poured out of the house, along with the air from within the room.
Diana's eyes were annoyed and sleepy.
She wore the same style of robe she'd had on when he visited her before. Being a former nun, she probably wore that style year-round, morning and night, making it impossible for Lawrence to tell from her dress whether he'd woken her.
In any case, it was extremely rude to visit a woman living alone in the middle of the night; Lawrence knew this but spoke without hesitation.
"I know it's very rude, but I had to come." He continued, "I wish to buy a box of white feathers."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Batos nodded slightly. "All you need say is 'I've come to buy a box of white feathers.' That should get you in the door. The rest is up to you. You'll have to be quite clever with dear Diana. I doubt anyone has gone to buy pyrite there yet."
"Thank you very much. By way of thanks—"
"As long as you'll tell me a good tale, I'll call it even. What do you think? Do I sound as dignified as Diana?"
Batos grinned childishly; Lawrence couldn't help but laugh.
Batos continued, "You never know when she's sleeping, Diana, so you should be able to go over there right now. And if you're going, you should go soon. Time is money and all." He pointed to the back of the trade guild. "If you take the back way, you can leave without answering any questions."
Lawrence thanked Batos and headed down the hall. He looked back to see the old merchant still smiling.
There with his back to the lamplight from the lobby, Batos looked a bit like his old master, Lawrence thought.
Leaving the guild house and heading north, Lawrence soon ran right into the stone wall.
He hadn't been lucky enough to arrive at the entrance, so he ran along the wall for a while until he found it, levering the rickety door open and slipping inside.
There were, of course, no lights, but as Lawrence ran, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and as a traveling merchant who camped on the road quite a bit, he was used to a bit of darkness.
However, the slivers of light that sliced out from between the cracks in the district's wooden doors, the meowing of cats in the distance, and the sudden occasional beating of birds' wings were all much more unsettling than they had been during the day.
Without the keen sense of direction common among traveling merchants, Lawrence might have become lost and wound up sprinting away in fear.
When he finally found Diana's house, his relief was genuine.
It was like he'd arrived at a friendly woodcutter's cabin after a long walk through an ominous forest.
But on the other side of the door, which Lawrence stood in front of, there was perhaps not a friend who'd welcome him with open arms.
Even though he'd gotten the password from Batos, when Lawrence thought back on his exchange with Diana, he felt she truly did hate business.
He wondered if he would really be able to buy any pyrite.
The uncertainty grew in his chest, but he took a deep breath and pushed it back down.
He had to obtain the mineral.
"Excuse me, is anyone home?" Lawrence asked hesitantly, knocking lightly on the door.
The silence of someone home but asleep is subtly different from the silence of no one being present.
When it is the former, it was somehow hard to raise one's voice.
There was no reaction from behind the door.
A bit of light shone through the cracks, though, so even if Diana might have been asleep, she seemed to be there.
The town leveled harsh punishments at those who left their lamps burning as they slept, but it was hard to imagine the evening patrols venturing into this district.
Just as Lawrence was about to knock on the door again, he heard someone move behind it.
"Who is it?" The voice sounded sleepy, weary.
"I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour. I am Lawrence; I visited you yesterday with Mr. Batos."
A short pause followed, after which he heard the rustling of fabric. Next, the door slowly opened.
Light poured out of the house, along with the air from within the room.
Diana's eyes were annoyed and sleepy.
She wore the same style of robe she'd had on when he visited her before. Being a former nun, she probably wore that style year-round, morning and night, making it impossible for Lawrence to tell from her dress whether he'd woken her.
In any case, it was extremely rude to visit a woman living alone in the middle of the night; Lawrence knew this but spoke without hesitation.
"I know it's very rude, but I had to come." He continued, "I wish to buy a box of white feathers."
| The inside of her house—which was free from the stench of sulfur—seemed to be even more cluttered than it had been the previous day.
Even the room's sole trace of organization—the bookshelves—were a mess, with most of the books now off the shelves, left open with their pages staring up at the ceiling.
And there were even more white quill pens scattered about than before.
"My goodness, so many guests all on the same day. The festival really does bring people out," said Diana, mostly to herself. She sat—and as before, she did not offer Lawrence a chair.
Lawrence was about to sit anyway in one of the chairs not piled high with things, but then he realized something.
So many guests.
So people had come before Lawrence.
"I expect it was Mr. Batos that told you to ask for a box of white feathers?"
Lawrence was still worried about who had come calling here, but he shook his head to clear it. "Ah, yes. I'm sorry to say I forced the issue and made him tell me how to meet with you..."
"Goodness, really? I have a hard time imagining anyone forcing Batos to do anything," said Diana with an amused smile.
Lawrence had nothing to say to that.
Her personality was different, but something about Diana reminded Lawrence distinctly of Holo.
"So what business is it that's so pressing you managed to convince that stubborn old coot?"
There were any number of people who would desire the skills and products alchemists possessed for a variety of reasons.
Diana was a dam that held those desires in check.
Lawrence did not know why, but Diana—sitting in her chair and looking evenly at him—seemed somehow like a great bird, guarding her eggs with iron wings.
"I need to purchase pyrite," said Lawrence, despite being half-overwhelmed by Diana's mien.
Diana put one white hand to her cheek. "I hear the price has gotten quite high."
"That's not—"
"Of course, dear Mr. Batos would never have helped you over something as simple as mere profit. So there must be some other reason, no?"
He felt like Diana was always one step ahead of him. She was quicker than Lawrence and seemed fully willing to demonstrate that.
Mustn't get angry, Lawrence told himself. He was being tested.
He nodded. "It's not business. I need pyrite for a battle."
Diana's eyes narrowed as she smiled. "A battle with whom?"
"It's..."
He hesitated to mention Amati's name. It wasn't because he thought it would be inappropriate.
It was because he wondered whether Amati was his true opponent in this battle.
He shook his head. "No, it's—" Lawrence looked back to Diana. "It's against my cargo."
"Cargo?"
"A traveling merchant's enemy is always his cargo. Estimating its value, planning for its transport, deciding upon its destination. If he errs in even one of these, he will lose. At this very moment, I am trying to recover a piece that has fallen from my wagon. Having reevaluated the value, the transport, and the destination, I have realized that this is a piece of cargo I cannot afford to lose."
Diana's bangs fluttered in what seemed like the breeze—but no, it was her own breath as she exhaled.
She smiled softly and retrieved a quill pen that was at her feet.
"'Buying a box of white feathers' is nothing more than a glorified password. All it means is that I don't mind so long as I'm able to have a bit of fun. Does a bird not drop feathers when it beats its wings excitedly? Those people that I give my password to help me choose my visitors carefully, so all I need to do is glance at them to tell. I don't mind a bit as far as pyrite goes. Buy it up as you please."
Lawrence jumped to his feet. "Thank—"
"However," said Diana, cutting him off. Lawrence suddenly had a very bad feeling.
Several visitors in a single day. A chair with nothing piled on it.
It can't be—the black words floated up in Lawrence's mind.
Diana's face was now apologetic. "Someone has already come to buy."
It was just as he'd feared.
He immediately asked the questions any merchant would ask.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The inside of her house—which was free from the stench of sulfur—seemed to be even more cluttered than it had been the previous day.
Even the room's sole trace of organization—the bookshelves—were a mess, with most of the books now off the shelves, left open with their pages staring up at the ceiling.
And there were even more white quill pens scattered about than before.
"My goodness, so many guests all on the same day. The festival really does bring people out," said Diana, mostly to herself. She sat—and as before, she did not offer Lawrence a chair.
Lawrence was about to sit anyway in one of the chairs not piled high with things, but then he realized something.
So many guests.
So people had come before Lawrence.
"I expect it was Mr. Batos that told you to ask for a box of white feathers?"
Lawrence was still worried about who had come calling here, but he shook his head to clear it. "Ah, yes. I'm sorry to say I forced the issue and made him tell me how to meet with you..."
"Goodness, really? I have a hard time imagining anyone forcing Batos to do anything," said Diana with an amused smile.
Lawrence had nothing to say to that.
Her personality was different, but something about Diana reminded Lawrence distinctly of Holo.
"So what business is it that's so pressing you managed to convince that stubborn old coot?"
There were any number of people who would desire the skills and products alchemists possessed for a variety of reasons.
Diana was a dam that held those desires in check.
Lawrence did not know why, but Diana—sitting in her chair and looking evenly at him—seemed somehow like a great bird, guarding her eggs with iron wings.
"I need to purchase pyrite," said Lawrence, despite being half-overwhelmed by Diana's mien.
Diana put one white hand to her cheek. "I hear the price has gotten quite high."
"That's not—"
"Of course, dear Mr. Batos would never have helped you over something as simple as mere profit. So there must be some other reason, no?"
He felt like Diana was always one step ahead of him. She was quicker than Lawrence and seemed fully willing to demonstrate that.
Mustn't get angry, Lawrence told himself. He was being tested.
He nodded. "It's not business. I need pyrite for a battle."
Diana's eyes narrowed as she smiled. "A battle with whom?"
"It's..."
He hesitated to mention Amati's name. It wasn't because he thought it would be inappropriate.
It was because he wondered whether Amati was his true opponent in this battle.
He shook his head. "No, it's—" Lawrence looked back to Diana. "It's against my cargo."
"Cargo?"
"A traveling merchant's enemy is always his cargo. Estimating its value, planning for its transport, deciding upon its destination. If he errs in even one of these, he will lose. At this very moment, I am trying to recover a piece that has fallen from my wagon. Having reevaluated the value, the transport, and the destination, I have realized that this is a piece of cargo I cannot afford to lose."
Diana's bangs fluttered in what seemed like the breeze—but no, it was her own breath as she exhaled.
She smiled softly and retrieved a quill pen that was at her feet.
"'Buying a box of white feathers' is nothing more than a glorified password. All it means is that I don't mind so long as I'm able to have a bit of fun. Does a bird not drop feathers when it beats its wings excitedly? Those people that I give my password to help me choose my visitors carefully, so all I need to do is glance at them to tell. I don't mind a bit as far as pyrite goes. Buy it up as you please."
Lawrence jumped to his feet. "Thank—"
"However," said Diana, cutting him off. Lawrence suddenly had a very bad feeling.
Several visitors in a single day. A chair with nothing piled on it.
It can't be—the black words floated up in Lawrence's mind.
Diana's face was now apologetic. "Someone has already come to buy."
It was just as he'd feared.
He immediately asked the questions any merchant would ask.
| "Do calm yourself. The customer in question bought on credit and did not leave with the pyrite. You could say they simply made an order. For my part, I wouldn't mind letting you have the material instead. Let us try to negotiate with the first party, shall we? As for the amount, I seem to recall it being sixteen thousand irehd worth at current market value."
That was four hundred trenni. If he could acquire that much, it would be a giant boon to his plans. "I understand. Might you tell me who the buyer was...?"
If Diana were to say it was Amati, Lawrence's hopes would be obliterated.
But she only shook her head slightly. "I will handle the negotiation. For safety's sake, we do not allow others to know the identity of those who have dealt with us alchemists."
"B-but—"
"You have an objection?" She smiled coldly.
Lawrence was the one asking the favor; he could only remain silent.
"You've said this is a battle, so I presume the circumstances are not ordinary. I will help all I can and let you know the results as soon as possible. Where will I be able to find you tomorrow?"
"Ah, er...the marketplace in front of the stone seller's booth. I'll be there the entire time the market is open. Otherwise, if you contact Mark the wheat seller, his stand is..."
"I know the place. I'll send a messenger as soon as I'm able."
"Thank you." Lawrence couldn't think of anything else to say.
Yet the fact was that depending on the results of Diana's negotiation, it was still possible that he would be unable to buy any pyrite. The consequences would be near fatal.
There was only so much he could say.
"I won't hesitate to pay a considerable sum. I can't pay double market value or anything like that, but please inform them I will be quite generous."
Diana smiled and nodded, standing up from her chair.
Lawrence realized it was time for him to take his leave. The fact that he hadn't been turned away after showing up uninvited at this ridiculous hour was enough of a miracle already.
"I do apologize for calling so suddenly at this hour."
"Not at all. Night and day are meaningless to me."
Somehow he knew she wasn't joking, and yet he laughed anyway.
"And so long as you've brought interesting stories, you could stay all night and I wouldn't mind a bit."
Her words could have been interpreted as seduction, but Lawrence knew she was just being sincere.
Unfortunately, he'd already told her the one interesting story he knew.
In its place, a question appeared unbidden in his mind.
"Is something wrong?" asked Diana.
Lawrence was stopped in his tracks by the thought that struck him.
Flustered, he claimed it was nothing before heading for the door.
The question was preposterous. He couldn't possibly ask it.
"Being so mysterious when you leave a woman's home—honestly, you'll be lucky if the gods don't punish you," said Diana girlishly. Her playful smile made him think that she really would answer whatever question he cared to ask.
And she was probably the only one who could.
He turned to speak even as he reached for the door.
"I...have a question."
"Ask whatever you like," she said without hesitating.
Lawrence cleared his throat. "Are there any stories of gods...and humans, that is...falling in love, becoming a pair?"
He knew he wouldn't be able to answer if Diana asked why he wanted to know this.
Yet despite the risks, Lawrence had to ask.
Holo had wept, saying if she had a child, she would no longer be alone.
If this was at all possible, he wanted to tell her and perhaps give her some small hope.
Diana was stunned for a moment by this question, but she soon regained her composure and answered in a slow and measured voice.
"There are many."
"Really?" said Lawrence in spite of himself.
"Yes, for example—ah, but I'm sorry. You were in a hurry."
"Ah, er, yes. But perhaps later...if you wouldn't mind, I would very much like to hear the details."
"Certainly."
Fortunately, she did not ask his reasons for wanting to know.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Do calm yourself. The customer in question bought on credit and did not leave with the pyrite. You could say they simply made an order. For my part, I wouldn't mind letting you have the material instead. Let us try to negotiate with the first party, shall we? As for the amount, I seem to recall it being sixteen thousand irehd worth at current market value."
That was four hundred trenni. If he could acquire that much, it would be a giant boon to his plans. "I understand. Might you tell me who the buyer was...?"
If Diana were to say it was Amati, Lawrence's hopes would be obliterated.
But she only shook her head slightly. "I will handle the negotiation. For safety's sake, we do not allow others to know the identity of those who have dealt with us alchemists."
"B-but—"
"You have an objection?" She smiled coldly.
Lawrence was the one asking the favor; he could only remain silent.
"You've said this is a battle, so I presume the circumstances are not ordinary. I will help all I can and let you know the results as soon as possible. Where will I be able to find you tomorrow?"
"Ah, er...the marketplace in front of the stone seller's booth. I'll be there the entire time the market is open. Otherwise, if you contact Mark the wheat seller, his stand is..."
"I know the place. I'll send a messenger as soon as I'm able."
"Thank you." Lawrence couldn't think of anything else to say.
Yet the fact was that depending on the results of Diana's negotiation, it was still possible that he would be unable to buy any pyrite. The consequences would be near fatal.
There was only so much he could say.
"I won't hesitate to pay a considerable sum. I can't pay double market value or anything like that, but please inform them I will be quite generous."
Diana smiled and nodded, standing up from her chair.
Lawrence realized it was time for him to take his leave. The fact that he hadn't been turned away after showing up uninvited at this ridiculous hour was enough of a miracle already.
"I do apologize for calling so suddenly at this hour."
"Not at all. Night and day are meaningless to me."
Somehow he knew she wasn't joking, and yet he laughed anyway.
"And so long as you've brought interesting stories, you could stay all night and I wouldn't mind a bit."
Her words could have been interpreted as seduction, but Lawrence knew she was just being sincere.
Unfortunately, he'd already told her the one interesting story he knew.
In its place, a question appeared unbidden in his mind.
"Is something wrong?" asked Diana.
Lawrence was stopped in his tracks by the thought that struck him.
Flustered, he claimed it was nothing before heading for the door.
The question was preposterous. He couldn't possibly ask it.
"Being so mysterious when you leave a woman's home—honestly, you'll be lucky if the gods don't punish you," said Diana girlishly. Her playful smile made him think that she really would answer whatever question he cared to ask.
And she was probably the only one who could.
He turned to speak even as he reached for the door.
"I...have a question."
"Ask whatever you like," she said without hesitating.
Lawrence cleared his throat. "Are there any stories of gods...and humans, that is...falling in love, becoming a pair?"
He knew he wouldn't be able to answer if Diana asked why he wanted to know this.
Yet despite the risks, Lawrence had to ask.
Holo had wept, saying if she had a child, she would no longer be alone.
If this was at all possible, he wanted to tell her and perhaps give her some small hope.
Diana was stunned for a moment by this question, but she soon regained her composure and answered in a slow and measured voice.
"There are many."
"Really?" said Lawrence in spite of himself.
"Yes, for example—ah, but I'm sorry. You were in a hurry."
"Ah, er, yes. But perhaps later...if you wouldn't mind, I would very much like to hear the details."
"Certainly."
Fortunately, she did not ask his reasons for wanting to know.
| Just as he was closing the door, he thought he heard her say something very softly: "Good luck to you."
When he turned to ask, the door was already closed.
Did she know of the battle between him and Amati?
Something was strange about the conversation, but Lawrence had no time to dwell on it.
Next, he needed to return to Mark's stall and then search out others who might possess pyrite in quantity.
He was short on time—and as if that wasn't bad enough, he had essentially no pyrite on hand.
Were this to continue, it would be no contest at all. His only recourse would be to pray for divine intervention.
Even if it meant leaning on his friend, Lawrence had to get Mark to give him some names, and even if he had to pay more than it was worth, he had to get pyrite.
Lawrence wondered to himself if his frantic nocturnal dealings would bring him any closer to Holo, and his only answer was uncertainty.
When he arrived back at Mark's stall, Lawrence found Mark sitting at the same table, still drinking ale, though now his apprentice was beside him, devouring a piece of bread.
Just as Lawrence thought it an odd time for the boy to be taking dinner, Mark noticed his presence.
"Any luck?" he asked.
"Just what you see," said Lawrence, waving his hands lightly as he looked Mark in the eye. "I spoke with Diana, but someone's beaten me to it. No telling how this'll turn out."
"Someone got there first?"
"I've no choice but to place my hopes in what you told me."
Given Diana's willingness to cooperate, Lawrence guessed the odds were maybe 70–30 of that working out.
But he expected that acting like there was no hope would make Mark a bit more sympathetic.
In his previous exchange with Mark, Lawrence had learned that his request for aid was an unreasonable one from the perspective of a town merchant.
Which left an appeal to emotion as the only other option.
However, Mark's reply was slow in coming.
"Ah...yes, about that."
Lawrence listened to the noncommittal statement as the blood drained from his face.
Mark thwacked his apprentice on the head, gesturing with his chin. "So? Let's hear the results."
The boy gulped down a bite of bread and quickly stood up out of the log chair. "If we pay in trenni silver, then...three hundred seventy pieces' worth of py—"
"Don't just say it in front of everyone!" Mark looked around hastily as he clamped a thick hand over the boy's mouth. If the conversation were overheard, it would be trouble. "So that's how it is."
Lawrence was confused.
Paying in trenni silver? Three hundred seventy pieces' worth?
"Ha-ha, I can't help but enjoy it when you make that face. See, after you left, I thought it over."
Mark took his hand from the boy's mouth and reached for his ale cup, his tone amused.
"I refused your request because I have a reputation to uphold. Any other town merchant would do the same. But even I have bought some you-know-what to make some money on the side—and many others have done likewise. The reason I can only buy a limited amount is that I have very little cash on hand. By all rights, the price of wheat should be dropping since the people laying in goods for their return trips haven't been buying wheat. And yet the people who've come to sell wheat are selling it right off—which is where all my cash has gone. So..."
Mark gulped down some ale, belching comfortably before continuing.
"So what of the people who do have cash? I can't believe they'd be able to resist. They've probably been buying up you-know-what in large quantities behind the scenes. And here's where you need some backstory. You see, these merchants aren't lone wolves like you. Each one has their business, their position, their reputation. And they've bought this stuff, but the price has risen so high that it's getting hard to sell. All they need do is sell a little bit to bring in a surprising profit, but this makes some of them even more nervous. So what happens next? I'm sure a clever fellow like you can figure it out."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Just as he was closing the door, he thought he heard her say something very softly: "Good luck to you."
When he turned to ask, the door was already closed.
Did she know of the battle between him and Amati?
Something was strange about the conversation, but Lawrence had no time to dwell on it.
Next, he needed to return to Mark's stall and then search out others who might possess pyrite in quantity.
He was short on time—and as if that wasn't bad enough, he had essentially no pyrite on hand.
Were this to continue, it would be no contest at all. His only recourse would be to pray for divine intervention.
Even if it meant leaning on his friend, Lawrence had to get Mark to give him some names, and even if he had to pay more than it was worth, he had to get pyrite.
Lawrence wondered to himself if his frantic nocturnal dealings would bring him any closer to Holo, and his only answer was uncertainty.
When he arrived back at Mark's stall, Lawrence found Mark sitting at the same table, still drinking ale, though now his apprentice was beside him, devouring a piece of bread.
Just as Lawrence thought it an odd time for the boy to be taking dinner, Mark noticed his presence.
"Any luck?" he asked.
"Just what you see," said Lawrence, waving his hands lightly as he looked Mark in the eye. "I spoke with Diana, but someone's beaten me to it. No telling how this'll turn out."
"Someone got there first?"
"I've no choice but to place my hopes in what you told me."
Given Diana's willingness to cooperate, Lawrence guessed the odds were maybe 70–30 of that working out.
But he expected that acting like there was no hope would make Mark a bit more sympathetic.
In his previous exchange with Mark, Lawrence had learned that his request for aid was an unreasonable one from the perspective of a town merchant.
Which left an appeal to emotion as the only other option.
However, Mark's reply was slow in coming.
"Ah...yes, about that."
Lawrence listened to the noncommittal statement as the blood drained from his face.
Mark thwacked his apprentice on the head, gesturing with his chin. "So? Let's hear the results."
The boy gulped down a bite of bread and quickly stood up out of the log chair. "If we pay in trenni silver, then...three hundred seventy pieces' worth of py—"
"Don't just say it in front of everyone!" Mark looked around hastily as he clamped a thick hand over the boy's mouth. If the conversation were overheard, it would be trouble. "So that's how it is."
Lawrence was confused.
Paying in trenni silver? Three hundred seventy pieces' worth?
"Ha-ha, I can't help but enjoy it when you make that face. See, after you left, I thought it over."
Mark took his hand from the boy's mouth and reached for his ale cup, his tone amused.
"I refused your request because I have a reputation to uphold. Any other town merchant would do the same. But even I have bought some you-know-what to make some money on the side—and many others have done likewise. The reason I can only buy a limited amount is that I have very little cash on hand. By all rights, the price of wheat should be dropping since the people laying in goods for their return trips haven't been buying wheat. And yet the people who've come to sell wheat are selling it right off—which is where all my cash has gone. So..."
Mark gulped down some ale, belching comfortably before continuing.
"So what of the people who do have cash? I can't believe they'd be able to resist. They've probably been buying up you-know-what in large quantities behind the scenes. And here's where you need some backstory. You see, these merchants aren't lone wolves like you. Each one has their business, their position, their reputation. And they've bought this stuff, but the price has risen so high that it's getting hard to sell. All they need do is sell a little bit to bring in a surprising profit, but this makes some of them even more nervous. So what happens next? I'm sure a clever fellow like you can figure it out."
| Mark must have had his apprentice running all over town, spreading a rumor—a rumor that had to go something like this: There's a mad traveling merchant in town who wants to buy pyrite with cash. Why not take the chance to unload some of that pyrite that's not selling?
It would be a perfect opportunity for those merchants.
And to be sure, there was no question that Mark had signed a contract promising him a service fee for brokering the hidden transaction.
It was brilliant—conducting a pyrite deal under the pretense of doing someone a favor.
But to have been able to pull together 370 trenni worth—there was clearly pressure to sell in the marketplace.
"So that's how it is. If you're on board, I'll send the boy out immediately."
There was no reason to refuse.
Lawrence undid the tie of the burlap sack he had on his back.
But then he stopped. "Still—"
Mark regarded him dubiously.
Lawrence returned to himself and quickly retrieved a bag of silver coins from the sack and placed it on the table. "Sorry," he muttered.
Mark seemed momentarily at a loss for Lawrence's strange behavior. "This is when you thank me, right?"
"Ah, er, yes, sor...no, I mean—" Lawrence suddenly felt like he was speaking to Holo. "I mean, thanks."
"Bwa-ha-ha-ha! If I'd known you were such an amusing guy, I'd have...Actually, I suppose not."
Mark took the bag of silver from Lawrence and quickly looked at it; then he undid the string and handed the bag to his apprentice, who quickly emptied its contents and began counting the silver pieces.
"You've changed," said Mark.
"...Is that so?"
"Quite. You used to be not an excellent merchant, but a merchant wholly from head to toe. That's all there was of you. You never even truly thought of me as a friend, did you?"
Mark had the right of it. Lawrence had no response.
The wheat seller just smiled, though. "But what of now? Am I merely a convenient merchant to do a deal with?"
Lawrence was momentarily stunned. He couldn't possibly nod at this statement.
Feeling as though he were trapped in the center of some strange illusion, he shook his head no.
"That's why I could never content myself with the life of a traveling merchant. But there's something even more interesting."
Was this because Mark had been drinking? Or was there some other reason?
Mark continued, sounding truly amused. His face was chestnut round now despite the square cut of his beard.
"Let me ask you one thing. If it were me whose separation you were faced with, would you be running around town as frantically as you are now?"
The boy, who lived every day with Mark as his master, looked up at the two men.
Lawrence found this all very mysterious.
Though he certainly thought of Mark as a friend, he could not honestly bring himself to nod and say "yes" to that question.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha. Well, I look forward to the future. Still"—he paused, then continued quietly—"it's for your companion that you're so desperate."
Lawrence felt as though he'd swallowed something hot and felt it pass down into his stomach.
Mark looked at his apprentice. "This is what a man looks like when he's obsessed with a woman. But it's the unbending branch that breaks in a strong wind."
A single year weathered alone was worth less than half a year with company.
So how much older than Lawrence might Mark be?
"You're no different from me. You've got the traveling merchant's curse," said Mark.
"C-curse?"
"But it's almost broken, which is what's made you so amusing. Do you not see? Did you not begin traveling with your current companion out of nothing more than good fortune?"
Holo had happened to hide herself in his wheat-filled wagon as Lawrence had passed through the village.
That he'd become close to her was nothing more or less than good fortune's gift.
"Bwa-ha-ha! I feel like I'm looking at myself when I first met Adele! You've got the curse, all right."
Lawrence felt like he finally understood.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Mark must have had his apprentice running all over town, spreading a rumor—a rumor that had to go something like this: There's a mad traveling merchant in town who wants to buy pyrite with cash. Why not take the chance to unload some of that pyrite that's not selling?
It would be a perfect opportunity for those merchants.
And to be sure, there was no question that Mark had signed a contract promising him a service fee for brokering the hidden transaction.
It was brilliant—conducting a pyrite deal under the pretense of doing someone a favor.
But to have been able to pull together 370 trenni worth—there was clearly pressure to sell in the marketplace.
"So that's how it is. If you're on board, I'll send the boy out immediately."
There was no reason to refuse.
Lawrence undid the tie of the burlap sack he had on his back.
But then he stopped. "Still—"
Mark regarded him dubiously.
Lawrence returned to himself and quickly retrieved a bag of silver coins from the sack and placed it on the table. "Sorry," he muttered.
Mark seemed momentarily at a loss for Lawrence's strange behavior. "This is when you thank me, right?"
"Ah, er, yes, sor...no, I mean—" Lawrence suddenly felt like he was speaking to Holo. "I mean, thanks."
"Bwa-ha-ha-ha! If I'd known you were such an amusing guy, I'd have...Actually, I suppose not."
Mark took the bag of silver from Lawrence and quickly looked at it; then he undid the string and handed the bag to his apprentice, who quickly emptied its contents and began counting the silver pieces.
"You've changed," said Mark.
"...Is that so?"
"Quite. You used to be not an excellent merchant, but a merchant wholly from head to toe. That's all there was of you. You never even truly thought of me as a friend, did you?"
Mark had the right of it. Lawrence had no response.
The wheat seller just smiled, though. "But what of now? Am I merely a convenient merchant to do a deal with?"
Lawrence was momentarily stunned. He couldn't possibly nod at this statement.
Feeling as though he were trapped in the center of some strange illusion, he shook his head no.
"That's why I could never content myself with the life of a traveling merchant. But there's something even more interesting."
Was this because Mark had been drinking? Or was there some other reason?
Mark continued, sounding truly amused. His face was chestnut round now despite the square cut of his beard.
"Let me ask you one thing. If it were me whose separation you were faced with, would you be running around town as frantically as you are now?"
The boy, who lived every day with Mark as his master, looked up at the two men.
Lawrence found this all very mysterious.
Though he certainly thought of Mark as a friend, he could not honestly bring himself to nod and say "yes" to that question.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha. Well, I look forward to the future. Still"—he paused, then continued quietly—"it's for your companion that you're so desperate."
Lawrence felt as though he'd swallowed something hot and felt it pass down into his stomach.
Mark looked at his apprentice. "This is what a man looks like when he's obsessed with a woman. But it's the unbending branch that breaks in a strong wind."
A single year weathered alone was worth less than half a year with company.
So how much older than Lawrence might Mark be?
"You're no different from me. You've got the traveling merchant's curse," said Mark.
"C-curse?"
"But it's almost broken, which is what's made you so amusing. Do you not see? Did you not begin traveling with your current companion out of nothing more than good fortune?"
Holo had happened to hide herself in his wheat-filled wagon as Lawrence had passed through the village.
That he'd become close to her was nothing more or less than good fortune's gift.
"Bwa-ha-ha! I feel like I'm looking at myself when I first met Adele! You've got the curse, all right."
Lawrence felt like he finally understood.
| He hadn't realized how blind he'd become to his surroundings because of Holo.
It was an unbalancing situation.
"The curse...You mean that famous 'traveling merchant's complaint'?"
Mark guffawed, then smacked his apprentice—who'd stopped working—upside the head. "The poets will tell you that money can't buy love, and the priest will tell you that there are things more precious than money. But if that's so, why is it we labor so hard to earn money, then gain something even more precious?"
Lawrence had thought so little about what exactly Holo was to him because she was always right there beside him.
If her presence had been something he had gained only after laboring long and hard, he would not have been so ambivalent.
He'd always believed that anything truly precious required much effort to gain.
If she was to ask him "What am I to you?" now, Lawrence was sure he could answer.
"Ah, such a fine tale I've not told in a long time. Combined with the information on conditions in the north, why, ten lumione seems a bargain!"
"If you'd made all this up, it'd be extortion," said Lawrence indignantly. Mark only grinned, which in turn teased a smile out of Lawrence.
"I hope all goes well for you."
Lawrence nodded, his mood clear like a cloudless evening sky.
"Though I suppose how it turns out is up to you..."
"Hm?"
"Ah, nothing," said Mark with a shake of his head. He gestured to the boy, who had finished counting up the silver coins. The apprentice was a model of competence as he made his preparations and was ready to depart a moment later.
"Right, off with you, then." Mark sent the apprentice on his way and then turned back to Lawrence. "So where will you be sleeping tonight?"
"Haven't decided yet."
"Well, then—"
"Wait, I've decided. May I sleep here?"
Mark gave Lawrence a blank look. "Here?"
"Quite—you've wheat sacks aplenty. Lend me a few of those."
"I can certainly lend you some, but come to my house. I won't even charge you."
"Ah, but this will bring luck." The practice was something many a traveling merchant believed.
Mark gave up on pressing his invitation further. "I'll see you here, dawn tomorrow."
Lawrence nodded, and Mark raised his cup.
"A toast then to your dreams."
Lawrence found he had no reason to refuse.
***
Lawrence sneezed grandly.
Of course, it didn't make a difference when he traveled alone, but lately he'd had a certain cheeky, irritable companion, so Lawrence always minded himself. Now, though, it seemed he was slipping—hence the sneeze.
He frantically checked to see if the other occupant of the blanket was still asleep—only to realize that side was rather cold.
And then he remembered that he was alone, sleeping on the wheat sacks next to Mark's stall.
***
He'd tried to prepare himself for it and had after all chosen to sleep alone, but upon awakening, he still felt a huge sense of loss.
Lawrence was used to someone being beside him when he awoke.
He had become so quickly accustomed to it that only now did he realize its value.
Lawrence overcame his reluctance to part from his warm blanket and stood up suddenly.
Frigid air immediately attacked him.
The morning sky was still dim, but already Mark's apprentice was sweeping the area in front of the stall.
"Oh, good morning, sir."
"Good morning," said Lawrence.
It didn't seem like this was a show put on for the benefit of his master's acquaintance; undoubtedly it was the boy's habit to wake this early in order to prepare the stall for opening. He casually greeted a few other boys that passed by.
He was an admirable apprentice.
More than whatever training Mark had given him, the boy simply seemed like an excellent individual.
"Ah, that reminds me—"
The boy turned around smartly as soon as Lawrence spoke.
"Did you hear from Mark what's happening today?"
"Er, no...are we not forcing the dastardly villain into a trap?" asked the apprentice.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He hadn't realized how blind he'd become to his surroundings because of Holo.
It was an unbalancing situation.
"The curse...You mean that famous 'traveling merchant's complaint'?"
Mark guffawed, then smacked his apprentice—who'd stopped working—upside the head. "The poets will tell you that money can't buy love, and the priest will tell you that there are things more precious than money. But if that's so, why is it we labor so hard to earn money, then gain something even more precious?"
Lawrence had thought so little about what exactly Holo was to him because she was always right there beside him.
If her presence had been something he had gained only after laboring long and hard, he would not have been so ambivalent.
He'd always believed that anything truly precious required much effort to gain.
If she was to ask him "What am I to you?" now, Lawrence was sure he could answer.
"Ah, such a fine tale I've not told in a long time. Combined with the information on conditions in the north, why, ten lumione seems a bargain!"
"If you'd made all this up, it'd be extortion," said Lawrence indignantly. Mark only grinned, which in turn teased a smile out of Lawrence.
"I hope all goes well for you."
Lawrence nodded, his mood clear like a cloudless evening sky.
"Though I suppose how it turns out is up to you..."
"Hm?"
"Ah, nothing," said Mark with a shake of his head. He gestured to the boy, who had finished counting up the silver coins. The apprentice was a model of competence as he made his preparations and was ready to depart a moment later.
"Right, off with you, then." Mark sent the apprentice on his way and then turned back to Lawrence. "So where will you be sleeping tonight?"
"Haven't decided yet."
"Well, then—"
"Wait, I've decided. May I sleep here?"
Mark gave Lawrence a blank look. "Here?"
"Quite—you've wheat sacks aplenty. Lend me a few of those."
"I can certainly lend you some, but come to my house. I won't even charge you."
"Ah, but this will bring luck." The practice was something many a traveling merchant believed.
Mark gave up on pressing his invitation further. "I'll see you here, dawn tomorrow."
Lawrence nodded, and Mark raised his cup.
"A toast then to your dreams."
Lawrence found he had no reason to refuse.
***
Lawrence sneezed grandly.
Of course, it didn't make a difference when he traveled alone, but lately he'd had a certain cheeky, irritable companion, so Lawrence always minded himself. Now, though, it seemed he was slipping—hence the sneeze.
He frantically checked to see if the other occupant of the blanket was still asleep—only to realize that side was rather cold.
And then he remembered that he was alone, sleeping on the wheat sacks next to Mark's stall.
***
He'd tried to prepare himself for it and had after all chosen to sleep alone, but upon awakening, he still felt a huge sense of loss.
Lawrence was used to someone being beside him when he awoke.
He had become so quickly accustomed to it that only now did he realize its value.
Lawrence overcame his reluctance to part from his warm blanket and stood up suddenly.
Frigid air immediately attacked him.
The morning sky was still dim, but already Mark's apprentice was sweeping the area in front of the stall.
"Oh, good morning, sir."
"Good morning," said Lawrence.
It didn't seem like this was a show put on for the benefit of his master's acquaintance; undoubtedly it was the boy's habit to wake this early in order to prepare the stall for opening. He casually greeted a few other boys that passed by.
He was an admirable apprentice.
More than whatever training Mark had given him, the boy simply seemed like an excellent individual.
"Ah, that reminds me—"
The boy turned around smartly as soon as Lawrence spoke.
"Did you hear from Mark what's happening today?"
"Er, no...are we not forcing the dastardly villain into a trap?" asked the apprentice.
| The boy held his broom at his side like a sword and gulped.
Seeing the boy made Lawrence sure of one thing.
He might well have been the promising young apprentice of a wheat seller, but in his heart he still longed for the life of a knight.
After all, one only sees "dastardly villains" in fairy tales.
Lawrence got a ticklish feeling, as though he was looking back on his younger self.
"What's your name, lad?"
"Ah, er, it's—"
When a merchant asked another person for their name, it was an acknowledgment of that person's status.
The boy had probably never been asked his name before in his life.
Despite his visible fluster, he really was an admirable lad, Lawrence felt.
The boy straightened up and answered. "Landt. My name is Eu Landt."
"Born in the northlands, were you?"
"Yes, from a village frozen in snow and frost."
Lawrence saw that Landt's description was not just an easy way to convey a sense of his hometown, but a literal description of how it must have seemed when he looked back on it for the last time.
That was how things were in the north.
"I see. Well, I'm counting on you today, Landt." Lawrence extended his right hand, and Landt hurried to wipe his own hand off on his tunic before shaking Lawrence's proffered hand.
The boy's palm was rough and callused, and who knew what sort of future it might grasp?
Lawrence knew he had to win.
He let the boy's hand go.
"Well then, first let's fill our bellies, eh? Is there anyplace nearby that's selling food yet?"
"There's a stand that sells dry bread to travelers. Shall I go and buy some?"
"Indeed," said Lawrence and produced two tarnished irehd pieces that were so dark they looked almost coppery.
"Er, one piece should be plenty," said Landt.
"The other's an advance on your help today. Of course, I'll pay you a proper consideration when it's all done."
The boy was stunned.
Smiling, Lawrence added, "If you dawdle, Mark's liable to arrive. No doubt he'll claim breakfast is a luxury, don't you think?"
Landt nodded hastily and then dashed off.
Lawrence watched his form recede for a while, and then he turned his gaze to the spaces between the many stalls across the street.
"Don't you spoil my apprentice now."
"You could've stopped me."
Mark's form appeared in the space between crates. His expression seemed irritable, and he sighed. "It's gotten cold lately. If he takes ill because I haven't let him eat enough, that's more trouble for me."
It was clear enough that Mark had a good deal of affection for Landt.
But having Landt get some breakfast was no simple act of kindness; it was an important part of Lawrence's plan.
Merchants were not saints, after all. Whatever their actions, they always have ulterior motives.
"Should be good weather today," said Mark. "Good for selling," he finished with a nod.
Lawrence took a deep breath.
The bracing morning air felt good.
When he exhaled, all the unnecessary thoughts in his mind seemed to leave with his breath.
All he had to think about now was making his plan succeed.
Once success was his, he could second-guess and doubt all he wanted.
"Right then, time to fill my stomach," said Lawrence heartily as he caught sight of a winded Landt returning.
The atmosphere itself was different.
That was the first thing that struck Lawrence as he arrived at the marketplace.
What at first look seemed to be as quiet as a glassy lake's surface was a roiling boil as soon as one touched it.
Ever since sunrise, a single corner of the marketplace was the focus of an unusually dense crowd, and every person's gaze was turned to a single stall.
It was the sole stone seller in the town of Kumersun, and the only detail the crowd cared about was a makeshift board with prices written on it.
On the price board were written descriptions of the weight and shape of pieces of pyrite, and beside each description line was a wooden placard with the price and the number of people in line to buy it.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The boy held his broom at his side like a sword and gulped.
Seeing the boy made Lawrence sure of one thing.
He might well have been the promising young apprentice of a wheat seller, but in his heart he still longed for the life of a knight.
After all, one only sees "dastardly villains" in fairy tales.
Lawrence got a ticklish feeling, as though he was looking back on his younger self.
"What's your name, lad?"
"Ah, er, it's—"
When a merchant asked another person for their name, it was an acknowledgment of that person's status.
The boy had probably never been asked his name before in his life.
Despite his visible fluster, he really was an admirable lad, Lawrence felt.
The boy straightened up and answered. "Landt. My name is Eu Landt."
"Born in the northlands, were you?"
"Yes, from a village frozen in snow and frost."
Lawrence saw that Landt's description was not just an easy way to convey a sense of his hometown, but a literal description of how it must have seemed when he looked back on it for the last time.
That was how things were in the north.
"I see. Well, I'm counting on you today, Landt." Lawrence extended his right hand, and Landt hurried to wipe his own hand off on his tunic before shaking Lawrence's proffered hand.
The boy's palm was rough and callused, and who knew what sort of future it might grasp?
Lawrence knew he had to win.
He let the boy's hand go.
"Well then, first let's fill our bellies, eh? Is there anyplace nearby that's selling food yet?"
"There's a stand that sells dry bread to travelers. Shall I go and buy some?"
"Indeed," said Lawrence and produced two tarnished irehd pieces that were so dark they looked almost coppery.
"Er, one piece should be plenty," said Landt.
"The other's an advance on your help today. Of course, I'll pay you a proper consideration when it's all done."
The boy was stunned.
Smiling, Lawrence added, "If you dawdle, Mark's liable to arrive. No doubt he'll claim breakfast is a luxury, don't you think?"
Landt nodded hastily and then dashed off.
Lawrence watched his form recede for a while, and then he turned his gaze to the spaces between the many stalls across the street.
"Don't you spoil my apprentice now."
"You could've stopped me."
Mark's form appeared in the space between crates. His expression seemed irritable, and he sighed. "It's gotten cold lately. If he takes ill because I haven't let him eat enough, that's more trouble for me."
It was clear enough that Mark had a good deal of affection for Landt.
But having Landt get some breakfast was no simple act of kindness; it was an important part of Lawrence's plan.
Merchants were not saints, after all. Whatever their actions, they always have ulterior motives.
"Should be good weather today," said Mark. "Good for selling," he finished with a nod.
Lawrence took a deep breath.
The bracing morning air felt good.
When he exhaled, all the unnecessary thoughts in his mind seemed to leave with his breath.
All he had to think about now was making his plan succeed.
Once success was his, he could second-guess and doubt all he wanted.
"Right then, time to fill my stomach," said Lawrence heartily as he caught sight of a winded Landt returning.
The atmosphere itself was different.
That was the first thing that struck Lawrence as he arrived at the marketplace.
What at first look seemed to be as quiet as a glassy lake's surface was a roiling boil as soon as one touched it.
Ever since sunrise, a single corner of the marketplace was the focus of an unusually dense crowd, and every person's gaze was turned to a single stall.
It was the sole stone seller in the town of Kumersun, and the only detail the crowd cared about was a makeshift board with prices written on it.
On the price board were written descriptions of the weight and shape of pieces of pyrite, and beside each description line was a wooden placard with the price and the number of people in line to buy it.
| The board made obvious the supply and demand for pyrite, and the demand was high.
"Looks like the average price is...eight hundred irehd."
That was eighty times the old price.
It could only be described as absurd. Like a runaway horse with no rider to check it, the price kept rising and rising.
Presented with an opportunity for easy money, human reason was like reins of mud—completely incapable of stopping this runaway horse.
Though the market bell would not ring for some time, there seemed to be a tacit approval for doing early deals. Once Lawrence reached that stand, he caught sight of merchants approaching the master occasionally to whisper a few words. Once a number of deals had been reached, the master would quietly replace the relevant wooden placards.
The master didn't update the prices and line numbers immediately, probably to keep others from knowing exactly who had purchased pyrite and at what price.
But in any case, the number of people waiting to buy kept rising.
Just as Lawrence was estimating the total amount being spent, a figure appeared at the edge of his vision.
He looked. It was Amati.
Lawrence had seen Amati before Amati had spotted him the previous night, but the young merchant was sharp-eyed enough not to let chances for profit escape. His gaze was every bit as keen as Lawrence's, and he soon caught sight of his rival.
A friendly greeting would hardly have been appropriate.
But since Lawrence had arranged to collect the cash he was owed upon the sounding of the bell that opened the marketplace, he could hardly ignore Amati, either.
Just as he considered this, Amati revealed a smile and nodded slightly.
Lawrence was taken aback for a moment but soon understood the reason.
Beside Amati was Holo.
For whatever reason, she was not dressed as a town girl, but instead wore her nun's robes. Three pure white feathers, vivid enough to be visible at a distance, were affixed to her hood.
She looked steadily at the stone seller's stall, not once meeting Lawrence's eye.
Heat rose in his belly at Amati's smile.
Holo whispered something in Amati's ear before the the young merchant made his way through the gathered merchants toward Lawrence, and Lawrence feigned total serenity, as if the anger he felt did not exist.
He had confidence that as long as he did not have to fool Holo, his charade would go unchallenged.
"Good morning, Mr. Lawrence."
"And to you."
It took some effort for Lawrence to maintain his facade in the face of Amati's pleasant greeting.
"Things are going to become quite hectic once the bell rings, so I thought it would be best to turn this over to you ahead of time," said Amati, producing a small bag from near his breast.
In size it was more of a coin purse than anything else. "What's this?" Lawrence asked, having expected Amati to give him the agreed-upon silver coins.
The bag was far too small to carry three hundred pieces of silver.
"This is the promised amount," said Amati.
Having no other choice, Lawrence suspiciously accepted the bag.
When he opened the bag's mouth and looked inside, his eyes widened.
"It might have been a bit presumptuous of me," said Amati, "but three hundred silver pieces would be quite cumbersome, so I took the liberty of remitting in gold limar coins."
Though it was hard to imagine how he'd managed to obtain them, the bag was indeed filled with gold coins.
The gold limar was not as valuable as the lumione, but it was a widely circulated coin within Ploania, the country in which Kumersun was situated. It was worth about twenty trenni.
But managing to obtain this amount during a currency shortage—the service charge must have been incredibly steep.
The only reason to do it was for Amati to prove how much coin he had on hand—it was a psychological attack.
Amati had Holo in tow, too, probably as another way to divert Lawrence's attention.
Lawrence had inadvertently widened his eyes in surprise, so there could be no concealing his perturbation.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The board made obvious the supply and demand for pyrite, and the demand was high.
"Looks like the average price is...eight hundred irehd."
That was eighty times the old price.
It could only be described as absurd. Like a runaway horse with no rider to check it, the price kept rising and rising.
Presented with an opportunity for easy money, human reason was like reins of mud—completely incapable of stopping this runaway horse.
Though the market bell would not ring for some time, there seemed to be a tacit approval for doing early deals. Once Lawrence reached that stand, he caught sight of merchants approaching the master occasionally to whisper a few words. Once a number of deals had been reached, the master would quietly replace the relevant wooden placards.
The master didn't update the prices and line numbers immediately, probably to keep others from knowing exactly who had purchased pyrite and at what price.
But in any case, the number of people waiting to buy kept rising.
Just as Lawrence was estimating the total amount being spent, a figure appeared at the edge of his vision.
He looked. It was Amati.
Lawrence had seen Amati before Amati had spotted him the previous night, but the young merchant was sharp-eyed enough not to let chances for profit escape. His gaze was every bit as keen as Lawrence's, and he soon caught sight of his rival.
A friendly greeting would hardly have been appropriate.
But since Lawrence had arranged to collect the cash he was owed upon the sounding of the bell that opened the marketplace, he could hardly ignore Amati, either.
Just as he considered this, Amati revealed a smile and nodded slightly.
Lawrence was taken aback for a moment but soon understood the reason.
Beside Amati was Holo.
For whatever reason, she was not dressed as a town girl, but instead wore her nun's robes. Three pure white feathers, vivid enough to be visible at a distance, were affixed to her hood.
She looked steadily at the stone seller's stall, not once meeting Lawrence's eye.
Heat rose in his belly at Amati's smile.
Holo whispered something in Amati's ear before the the young merchant made his way through the gathered merchants toward Lawrence, and Lawrence feigned total serenity, as if the anger he felt did not exist.
He had confidence that as long as he did not have to fool Holo, his charade would go unchallenged.
"Good morning, Mr. Lawrence."
"And to you."
It took some effort for Lawrence to maintain his facade in the face of Amati's pleasant greeting.
"Things are going to become quite hectic once the bell rings, so I thought it would be best to turn this over to you ahead of time," said Amati, producing a small bag from near his breast.
In size it was more of a coin purse than anything else. "What's this?" Lawrence asked, having expected Amati to give him the agreed-upon silver coins.
The bag was far too small to carry three hundred pieces of silver.
"This is the promised amount," said Amati.
Having no other choice, Lawrence suspiciously accepted the bag.
When he opened the bag's mouth and looked inside, his eyes widened.
"It might have been a bit presumptuous of me," said Amati, "but three hundred silver pieces would be quite cumbersome, so I took the liberty of remitting in gold limar coins."
Though it was hard to imagine how he'd managed to obtain them, the bag was indeed filled with gold coins.
The gold limar was not as valuable as the lumione, but it was a widely circulated coin within Ploania, the country in which Kumersun was situated. It was worth about twenty trenni.
But managing to obtain this amount during a currency shortage—the service charge must have been incredibly steep.
The only reason to do it was for Amati to prove how much coin he had on hand—it was a psychological attack.
Amati had Holo in tow, too, probably as another way to divert Lawrence's attention.
Lawrence had inadvertently widened his eyes in surprise, so there could be no concealing his perturbation.
| "...Understood. I accept."
"Do you not wish to count the coins?"
Normally saying "There's no need," as Lawrence did, should've shown confidence, but now it just seemed as though he was merely pretending at strength.
"In that case, I'd like the contract for three hundred silver."
Lawrence only did so after being asked.
Amati was still one step ahead of him.
Once the cash and the partially fulfilled contract had been exchanged, Amati was even the first to say, "Very well."
As he watched Amati's receding form, one ill realization after another flashed through Lawrence's mind.
When they had signed the contract the previous day, Amati may have claimed to have insufficient cash as an excuse to provide the horses in lieu of coin.
Always keeping a certain amount of cash on hand was a trait shared by all merchants.
What was worse, Amati had surely searched out and bought pyrite just as Lawrence had.
If Amati had gathered enough, all he would require was a very small increase in price.
Thinking back on the way Amati had just bowed so gracefully and turned around after accepting the contract, Lawrence could not believe that it had been a bluff.
Just how much pyrite had the boy managed to buy?
Lawrence feigned rubbing his nose and instead bit his thumbnail.
His original plan had been to observe carefully and then begin selling off quantities of pyrite starting at noon to check the rising price.
Suddenly Lawrence wondered if he should move more quickly.
But Diana's messenger had not arrived yet.
Until he knew whether or not he would be able to obtain the necessary amounts, Lawrence couldn't act.
He could purchase more pyrite using the gold Amati had paid him but if Diana's negotiations on his behalf succeeded and he received another four hundred silver pieces' worth, that would also be a problem.
He'd set aside money to pay Diana with so that was not an issue, but he would have too much of the mineral.
Of course, he'd been purchasing pyrite in order to be able to force a drop in its price, and he'd been careful to buy just enough to be able to control that drop, in order to avoid his own bankruptcy.
Admittedly, if Lawrence was willing to ruin himself in order to stop Amati for Holo's sake, she might finally accept his sincerity.
Of course, the story would not end so easily—he still needed to live on something after that.
The weight of reality bore down on him heavier than the gold coins in his hand.
The stone shop's price board was updated again.
It seemed someone had just bought a large amount of pyrite; both the prices and the line numbers jumped dramatically.
How much would Amati's pyrite be worth after this jump?
Lawrence felt unable to simply stand by and do nothing.
But losing his cool could lead to defeat.
He closed his eyes, lowered the hand with the fingernails he'd been biting from his mouth, and took a deep breath.
Everything he had been thinking was all due to Amati's bluffing.
After all, behind Amati was Holo. If Lawrence could just discern everyone's ulterior motives, he would be fine.
Just then, the clear tone of a ringing bell swept overhead.
It was the signal for the market to open.
The battle had begun.
The charged atmosphere seemed to induce everyone to stay scrupulously honest and calm.
They had been waiting for some time in front of the stone seller's stand but only began to move once the bell rang.
An examination of the crown revealed travelers and farmers furtively selling small quantities of pyrite—but the small-scale selling only served to further heat the marketplace.
In a situation where none were willing to sell, the only people with an advantage were those who already had a large stock of pyrite—it was thanks to the small-scale selling along with new buyers that kept people excited and close to the stall's front.
Since each person there thought they had a chance to profit, none left.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "...Understood. I accept."
"Do you not wish to count the coins?"
Normally saying "There's no need," as Lawrence did, should've shown confidence, but now it just seemed as though he was merely pretending at strength.
"In that case, I'd like the contract for three hundred silver."
Lawrence only did so after being asked.
Amati was still one step ahead of him.
Once the cash and the partially fulfilled contract had been exchanged, Amati was even the first to say, "Very well."
As he watched Amati's receding form, one ill realization after another flashed through Lawrence's mind.
When they had signed the contract the previous day, Amati may have claimed to have insufficient cash as an excuse to provide the horses in lieu of coin.
Always keeping a certain amount of cash on hand was a trait shared by all merchants.
What was worse, Amati had surely searched out and bought pyrite just as Lawrence had.
If Amati had gathered enough, all he would require was a very small increase in price.
Thinking back on the way Amati had just bowed so gracefully and turned around after accepting the contract, Lawrence could not believe that it had been a bluff.
Just how much pyrite had the boy managed to buy?
Lawrence feigned rubbing his nose and instead bit his thumbnail.
His original plan had been to observe carefully and then begin selling off quantities of pyrite starting at noon to check the rising price.
Suddenly Lawrence wondered if he should move more quickly.
But Diana's messenger had not arrived yet.
Until he knew whether or not he would be able to obtain the necessary amounts, Lawrence couldn't act.
He could purchase more pyrite using the gold Amati had paid him but if Diana's negotiations on his behalf succeeded and he received another four hundred silver pieces' worth, that would also be a problem.
He'd set aside money to pay Diana with so that was not an issue, but he would have too much of the mineral.
Of course, he'd been purchasing pyrite in order to be able to force a drop in its price, and he'd been careful to buy just enough to be able to control that drop, in order to avoid his own bankruptcy.
Admittedly, if Lawrence was willing to ruin himself in order to stop Amati for Holo's sake, she might finally accept his sincerity.
Of course, the story would not end so easily—he still needed to live on something after that.
The weight of reality bore down on him heavier than the gold coins in his hand.
The stone shop's price board was updated again.
It seemed someone had just bought a large amount of pyrite; both the prices and the line numbers jumped dramatically.
How much would Amati's pyrite be worth after this jump?
Lawrence felt unable to simply stand by and do nothing.
But losing his cool could lead to defeat.
He closed his eyes, lowered the hand with the fingernails he'd been biting from his mouth, and took a deep breath.
Everything he had been thinking was all due to Amati's bluffing.
After all, behind Amati was Holo. If Lawrence could just discern everyone's ulterior motives, he would be fine.
Just then, the clear tone of a ringing bell swept overhead.
It was the signal for the market to open.
The battle had begun.
The charged atmosphere seemed to induce everyone to stay scrupulously honest and calm.
They had been waiting for some time in front of the stone seller's stand but only began to move once the bell rang.
An examination of the crown revealed travelers and farmers furtively selling small quantities of pyrite—but the small-scale selling only served to further heat the marketplace.
In a situation where none were willing to sell, the only people with an advantage were those who already had a large stock of pyrite—it was thanks to the small-scale selling along with new buyers that kept people excited and close to the stall's front.
Since each person there thought they had a chance to profit, none left.
| The price board, which occasionally disappeared behind the heads of the people in the crowd, was a thermometer for the marketplace, and it was constantly rising.
Diana's messenger still had not arrived.
If her negotiations failed, he would have to take action quickly.
The thoughts pained him as he stared at the price board, and suddenly Amati appeared in his field of vision in front of the stall.
Panic washed over Lawrence, and he wanted to dash forward, clutching the bag of what pyrite he had to his breast.
But if that was Amati's plan to shake him up, such a move could be disastrous. If Lawrence sold off only a middling amount, it would just increase demand as buyers assumed they would be able to purchase pyrite so long as they waited long enough, and as the line grew longer, the price would continue to rise.
Lawrence controlled his urge to sell, praying that this was a ploy on Amati's part.
Then he realized something.
Holo was gone.
Lawrence glanced around and saw that at some point Holo had moved outside of the strange crowd of people and was looking at him.
When their eyes met, she narrowed hers in displeasure, then turned, and began to walk away.
As he saw this, sweat sprung upon Lawrence's back.
This had to be a trap that Holo was hinting at.
If she had heard of the circumstances surrounding pyrite from Amati, it was entirely possible she'd contrived a way to trap Lawrence. Someone as clever as Holo would surely notice things that Amati would miss, even if he was the one explaining the situation to her.
And Holo excelled at discerning what was in people's hearts. She was unparalleled at such times.
As soon as he thought of this, Lawrence was assaulted by a vision of the quagmire that surrounded him.
No matter where he stepped, he would sink into the mud; no matter whose movements he watched, they would be illusions.
Lawrence suspected darkly that this was all part of Holo's plan.
The terror of having a sly wolf circling him thus sunk into his body.
Yet Lawrence couldn't abandon hope that Holo was merely doing this out of some perverse obstinacy.
The poisons of assumption and doubt penetrated his mind.
He stared blankly at the price board, though this was not his intention. It was simply all he could do at the moment.
The price of pyrite continued to inch upward.
Fortunately, since the price was already so preposterously inflated, the rate of the increase was quite slow.
Still, if the price continued to increase at this rate, it would certainly reach by noon the 20 percent needed by Amati.
To Lawrence's knowledge, Amati's current stock of pyrite was worth eight hundred silver pieces. If the price rose twenty percent, he would need only forty more silver pieces to reach the required thousand.
And if all he needed was forty coins, Amati would surely be able to produce them.
He could sell whatever of his fortune he needed to and complete the contract on the spot. If that happened, the margin sale poison that Lawrence counted on would undoubtedly have little effect.
Where was Diana's messenger?
Lawrence muttered to himself, a consuming panic sinking into his gut.
Even if he was to start scrambling to buy pyrite now, how much would he be able to collect?
It was not like the previous night, where the market had already closed and no one knew whether the price would rise or fall next—no, now it was utterly obvious that the price was rising.
Anybody who had pyrite knew it was like free money—nobody would sell to him under such circumstances.
The realization hit him—his plan could only succeed if he got the pyrite from Diana, and at this rate, he might wind up taking a huge blow from Amati because of the margin-selling contract, as well.
Lawrence rubbed his eye and thought hard. He had planned to pursue his goal coolly and logically, but he was starting to feel as though he'd been forced into a complete dead end.
No, he told himself.
He knew what the problem was.
It was not because of the fluctuating price of pyrite.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The price board, which occasionally disappeared behind the heads of the people in the crowd, was a thermometer for the marketplace, and it was constantly rising.
Diana's messenger still had not arrived.
If her negotiations failed, he would have to take action quickly.
The thoughts pained him as he stared at the price board, and suddenly Amati appeared in his field of vision in front of the stall.
Panic washed over Lawrence, and he wanted to dash forward, clutching the bag of what pyrite he had to his breast.
But if that was Amati's plan to shake him up, such a move could be disastrous. If Lawrence sold off only a middling amount, it would just increase demand as buyers assumed they would be able to purchase pyrite so long as they waited long enough, and as the line grew longer, the price would continue to rise.
Lawrence controlled his urge to sell, praying that this was a ploy on Amati's part.
Then he realized something.
Holo was gone.
Lawrence glanced around and saw that at some point Holo had moved outside of the strange crowd of people and was looking at him.
When their eyes met, she narrowed hers in displeasure, then turned, and began to walk away.
As he saw this, sweat sprung upon Lawrence's back.
This had to be a trap that Holo was hinting at.
If she had heard of the circumstances surrounding pyrite from Amati, it was entirely possible she'd contrived a way to trap Lawrence. Someone as clever as Holo would surely notice things that Amati would miss, even if he was the one explaining the situation to her.
And Holo excelled at discerning what was in people's hearts. She was unparalleled at such times.
As soon as he thought of this, Lawrence was assaulted by a vision of the quagmire that surrounded him.
No matter where he stepped, he would sink into the mud; no matter whose movements he watched, they would be illusions.
Lawrence suspected darkly that this was all part of Holo's plan.
The terror of having a sly wolf circling him thus sunk into his body.
Yet Lawrence couldn't abandon hope that Holo was merely doing this out of some perverse obstinacy.
The poisons of assumption and doubt penetrated his mind.
He stared blankly at the price board, though this was not his intention. It was simply all he could do at the moment.
The price of pyrite continued to inch upward.
Fortunately, since the price was already so preposterously inflated, the rate of the increase was quite slow.
Still, if the price continued to increase at this rate, it would certainly reach by noon the 20 percent needed by Amati.
To Lawrence's knowledge, Amati's current stock of pyrite was worth eight hundred silver pieces. If the price rose twenty percent, he would need only forty more silver pieces to reach the required thousand.
And if all he needed was forty coins, Amati would surely be able to produce them.
He could sell whatever of his fortune he needed to and complete the contract on the spot. If that happened, the margin sale poison that Lawrence counted on would undoubtedly have little effect.
Where was Diana's messenger?
Lawrence muttered to himself, a consuming panic sinking into his gut.
Even if he was to start scrambling to buy pyrite now, how much would he be able to collect?
It was not like the previous night, where the market had already closed and no one knew whether the price would rise or fall next—no, now it was utterly obvious that the price was rising.
Anybody who had pyrite knew it was like free money—nobody would sell to him under such circumstances.
The realization hit him—his plan could only succeed if he got the pyrite from Diana, and at this rate, he might wind up taking a huge blow from Amati because of the margin-selling contract, as well.
Lawrence rubbed his eye and thought hard. He had planned to pursue his goal coolly and logically, but he was starting to feel as though he'd been forced into a complete dead end.
No, he told himself.
He knew what the problem was.
It was not because of the fluctuating price of pyrite.
| She had arrived with Amati at the marketplace—it was possible that rather than meeting up in the morning, they'd spent the night together.
Holo might have invited Amati back to the inn after Lawrence had arranged the margin-selling contract with him.
Depending on the circumstances, she might even have shown him her ears and tail and told him the truth of her existence.
Lawrence wanted to believe such a thing was impossible, but he remembered that Holo had revealed her true nature to him the same day they'd met. It was the height of folly to believe that she had somehow marked him and only him as particularly open-minded.
Amati was clearly and madly in love with Holo; no doubt she could evaluate anyone as quickly as she had Lawrence.
And what if Amati had accepted her?
He remembered the young merchant's smile only moments ago.
Holo feared being alone.
And Lawrence was not sure that she wanted to be with him and only him.
The realization that he should not be thinking this way hit him, and his legs nearly collapsed under him at the shock of it.
It was out of sheer luck that he didn't fall.
Suddenly a murmur ran through the crowd, bringing Lawrence back to himself.
He turned to look at the oohs! that arose, only to see that the price of the most expensive pyrite had jumped significantly.
Someone had put in a large bid.
Its acceptance meant that others would soon follow suit.
It might already be impossible to stop Amati from fulfilling the contract.
The fact that there was still no word from Diana suggested that the other party might be being stubborn; if the price of pyrite continued to rise, that would only make them more reluctant to sell.
It was looking more and more as if Lawrence should abandon that hope and take action now.
The weapons he had on hand were four hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite, along with the rumor that Landt had been given to spread.
It was such a pathetic arsenal that Lawrence wanted to laugh. He now seriously doubted the idea he'd had such faith in the previous day, that a mere rumor could do any damage. Only yesterday it had been his secret weapon, the product of his years of experience.
It was becoming more and more clear to him just how drunk he must have been.
He realized he was already trying to think of a contingency plan.
If he did nothing, he would still receive one thousand silver pieces from Amati, which would leave him a tidy profit even after subtracting the losses from the margin selling.
Lawrence was disgusted by how much lighter this made him feel.
...If you could receive a thousand silver coins for me, it would not be so regrettable to let me go—Holo's accusation hit him.
Lawrence remembered the letter from Diana that was tucked near his breast.
It was the information that would help him find Holo's home of Yoitsu. Perhaps he no longer had any right to hold this letter.
I'm just a lowly merchant. Lawrence thought to himself as he looked around for Holo.
The events that happened in the port town of Pazzio and the Church city of Ruvinheigen had been but a dream.
As soon as the thought struck him, he realized that it seemed to be exactly so.
Lawrence smiled weakly as he looked into the hotly swirling crowd, but Holo was nowhere to be found, so he moved elsewhere.
Some time had passed since the opening of the market, but the day's festival had not yet started, so more and more people seemed to be making their way in.
Holo remained elusive.
Cursing his inability to find her now—now of all times!—he realized something.
After he'd met her gaze in the crowd, Holo had walked away.
Had she simply left right then and there?
If so, where had she gone? Had she decided his failure was a foregone conclusion, Lawrence wondered, and returned to the inn?
It would stand to reason.
The idea was so humiliating that Lawrence felt broken just thinking it—and yet he believed it himself.
He wanted some wine.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | She had arrived with Amati at the marketplace—it was possible that rather than meeting up in the morning, they'd spent the night together.
Holo might have invited Amati back to the inn after Lawrence had arranged the margin-selling contract with him.
Depending on the circumstances, she might even have shown him her ears and tail and told him the truth of her existence.
Lawrence wanted to believe such a thing was impossible, but he remembered that Holo had revealed her true nature to him the same day they'd met. It was the height of folly to believe that she had somehow marked him and only him as particularly open-minded.
Amati was clearly and madly in love with Holo; no doubt she could evaluate anyone as quickly as she had Lawrence.
And what if Amati had accepted her?
He remembered the young merchant's smile only moments ago.
Holo feared being alone.
And Lawrence was not sure that she wanted to be with him and only him.
The realization that he should not be thinking this way hit him, and his legs nearly collapsed under him at the shock of it.
It was out of sheer luck that he didn't fall.
Suddenly a murmur ran through the crowd, bringing Lawrence back to himself.
He turned to look at the oohs! that arose, only to see that the price of the most expensive pyrite had jumped significantly.
Someone had put in a large bid.
Its acceptance meant that others would soon follow suit.
It might already be impossible to stop Amati from fulfilling the contract.
The fact that there was still no word from Diana suggested that the other party might be being stubborn; if the price of pyrite continued to rise, that would only make them more reluctant to sell.
It was looking more and more as if Lawrence should abandon that hope and take action now.
The weapons he had on hand were four hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite, along with the rumor that Landt had been given to spread.
It was such a pathetic arsenal that Lawrence wanted to laugh. He now seriously doubted the idea he'd had such faith in the previous day, that a mere rumor could do any damage. Only yesterday it had been his secret weapon, the product of his years of experience.
It was becoming more and more clear to him just how drunk he must have been.
He realized he was already trying to think of a contingency plan.
If he did nothing, he would still receive one thousand silver pieces from Amati, which would leave him a tidy profit even after subtracting the losses from the margin selling.
Lawrence was disgusted by how much lighter this made him feel.
...If you could receive a thousand silver coins for me, it would not be so regrettable to let me go—Holo's accusation hit him.
Lawrence remembered the letter from Diana that was tucked near his breast.
It was the information that would help him find Holo's home of Yoitsu. Perhaps he no longer had any right to hold this letter.
I'm just a lowly merchant. Lawrence thought to himself as he looked around for Holo.
The events that happened in the port town of Pazzio and the Church city of Ruvinheigen had been but a dream.
As soon as the thought struck him, he realized that it seemed to be exactly so.
Lawrence smiled weakly as he looked into the hotly swirling crowd, but Holo was nowhere to be found, so he moved elsewhere.
Some time had passed since the opening of the market, but the day's festival had not yet started, so more and more people seemed to be making their way in.
Holo remained elusive.
Cursing his inability to find her now—now of all times!—he realized something.
After he'd met her gaze in the crowd, Holo had walked away.
Had she simply left right then and there?
If so, where had she gone? Had she decided his failure was a foregone conclusion, Lawrence wondered, and returned to the inn?
It would stand to reason.
The idea was so humiliating that Lawrence felt broken just thinking it—and yet he believed it himself.
He wanted some wine.
| He'd been scanning a fairly small area, so his eyes were bound to notice the detail eventually.
Amati had entered his field of vision, which caused Lawrence to make a noise of confusion and surprise.
Amati's right hand was pressed up against his chest, probably holding a bag of coin and pyrite.
The problem was not in what he was doing, but rather the expression of concern on his face and the way that he looked here and there, searching for something—just like Lawrence.
Lawrence suspected Amati of putting on some kind of act.
But then by some miracle, the crowd between them thinned, and Amati noticed Lawrence. He was clearly surprised to see his rival.
And then Lawrence glimpsed a look of relief on Amati's face. Though the crowd quickly closed in around them and blocked Lawrence's view again, there was no mistaking what he had seen.
A single thought jumped out at Lawrence.
Amati—like him—was looking for Holo. Not only that, Amati had been relieved to see that Holo wasn't with Lawrence.
Lawrence felt a thump, as though someone's shoulder had bumped into him from behind.
He turned to see one mercantile-looking fellow talking excitedly with another.
That's odd, he said to himself, whereupon he felt the same thump reverberate from his back to his chest.
Then he realized.
It was the pounding of his heart.
Amati had been frantically looking for Holo and was obviously very worried that she would be with Lawrence.
The young merchant did not trust her fully.
Which in turn suggested that there was a reason for his doubt.
But what was it?
"It couldn't be—," said Lawrence.
If Amati was looking for her, that meant she had not told him where she was going.
And if that alone was enough to cause Amati stress, it was very unlikely she had revealed her ears and tail to him.
It was enough to make Lawrence want to abandon the dark, dismal conclusions he'd come to only a moment ago and turn to brighter assumptions.
He had no confidence in his ability to tell whether or not this was wishful thinking, however.
It was vexing enough to make him nauseous.
Suddenly there was another cry from the crowd.
Lawrence looked hastily toward the stone seller's stall and saw that somewhere along the line, the placard for the highest-value pyrite had been removed.
Which meant that it had sold at that price.
And that wasn't even the reason for the shouts.
The placards marking the highest values for various types of pyrite had all been taken down, and there was a drop in the number of plates for buyers in line.
Someone had sold off a considerable amount.
Lawrence fought back the nausea that rose and looked about frantically, trying to spot Amati.
He was not in front of the stall.
He wasn't even near it.
When Lawrence finally spotted him, Amati was in the crowd.
He was watching the stall with a shocked expression.
So it hadn't been Amati who had made the large sale.
Lawrence felt but a fleeting moment of relief before more placards for waiting buyers went up, along with a new round of cries from the crowd.
Nearly everyone here had at least a small amount of pyrite; they were waiting for just the right moment to buy or sell. The market was starting to fluctuate, which would become another factor for them to consider.
Essentially, now was the right time to sell.
Lawrence was on the verge of giving up—but pushing him in the opposite direction was the thought that he could still accomplish something with his plan of carefully selling off a large amount.
But he soon thought better of it, like some kind of cowardly hare.
Lawrence had no idea what Holo was thinking or where she had gone. People's hearts were not so easily understood. To think otherwise was to invite ruin.
And yet—Lawrence could not help thinking.
Expectation, suspicion, supposition, and reality were four hooks that tore at Lawrence's thoughts.
What would Holo the Wisewolf say at a time like this?
Pathetically, Lawrence couldn't help but wonder.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He'd been scanning a fairly small area, so his eyes were bound to notice the detail eventually.
Amati had entered his field of vision, which caused Lawrence to make a noise of confusion and surprise.
Amati's right hand was pressed up against his chest, probably holding a bag of coin and pyrite.
The problem was not in what he was doing, but rather the expression of concern on his face and the way that he looked here and there, searching for something—just like Lawrence.
Lawrence suspected Amati of putting on some kind of act.
But then by some miracle, the crowd between them thinned, and Amati noticed Lawrence. He was clearly surprised to see his rival.
And then Lawrence glimpsed a look of relief on Amati's face. Though the crowd quickly closed in around them and blocked Lawrence's view again, there was no mistaking what he had seen.
A single thought jumped out at Lawrence.
Amati—like him—was looking for Holo. Not only that, Amati had been relieved to see that Holo wasn't with Lawrence.
Lawrence felt a thump, as though someone's shoulder had bumped into him from behind.
He turned to see one mercantile-looking fellow talking excitedly with another.
That's odd, he said to himself, whereupon he felt the same thump reverberate from his back to his chest.
Then he realized.
It was the pounding of his heart.
Amati had been frantically looking for Holo and was obviously very worried that she would be with Lawrence.
The young merchant did not trust her fully.
Which in turn suggested that there was a reason for his doubt.
But what was it?
"It couldn't be—," said Lawrence.
If Amati was looking for her, that meant she had not told him where she was going.
And if that alone was enough to cause Amati stress, it was very unlikely she had revealed her ears and tail to him.
It was enough to make Lawrence want to abandon the dark, dismal conclusions he'd come to only a moment ago and turn to brighter assumptions.
He had no confidence in his ability to tell whether or not this was wishful thinking, however.
It was vexing enough to make him nauseous.
Suddenly there was another cry from the crowd.
Lawrence looked hastily toward the stone seller's stall and saw that somewhere along the line, the placard for the highest-value pyrite had been removed.
Which meant that it had sold at that price.
And that wasn't even the reason for the shouts.
The placards marking the highest values for various types of pyrite had all been taken down, and there was a drop in the number of plates for buyers in line.
Someone had sold off a considerable amount.
Lawrence fought back the nausea that rose and looked about frantically, trying to spot Amati.
He was not in front of the stall.
He wasn't even near it.
When Lawrence finally spotted him, Amati was in the crowd.
He was watching the stall with a shocked expression.
So it hadn't been Amati who had made the large sale.
Lawrence felt but a fleeting moment of relief before more placards for waiting buyers went up, along with a new round of cries from the crowd.
Nearly everyone here had at least a small amount of pyrite; they were waiting for just the right moment to buy or sell. The market was starting to fluctuate, which would become another factor for them to consider.
Essentially, now was the right time to sell.
Lawrence was on the verge of giving up—but pushing him in the opposite direction was the thought that he could still accomplish something with his plan of carefully selling off a large amount.
But he soon thought better of it, like some kind of cowardly hare.
Lawrence had no idea what Holo was thinking or where she had gone. People's hearts were not so easily understood. To think otherwise was to invite ruin.
And yet—Lawrence could not help thinking.
Expectation, suspicion, supposition, and reality were four hooks that tore at Lawrence's thoughts.
What would Holo the Wisewolf say at a time like this?
Pathetically, Lawrence couldn't help but wonder.
| He trusted her.
Just then—
"Um, excuse me—"
Lawrence felt a tug on his sleeve as the words reached his ears.
He whirled as if struck, expecting to see a certain cheeky girl behind him.
But it was a boy—Landt, to be precise.
"Um, Mr. Lawrence, may I have a moment?"
Lawrence turned with such speed that Landt was taken aback for a moment, but the boy's expression made it clear that there was urgent business.
Anxiety swept over Lawrence as he looked around; then he knelt down to bring his face closer to the much shorter Landt and nodded.
"A customer has come to our shop wishing to pay for wheat in pyrite."
Lawrence understood immediately. Mark was willing to take the offer and then sell Lawrence that pyrite, assuming Lawrence could pay cash.
"How much?"
If Mark had sent the boy all the way over here, it had to be a sizable amount.
Lawrence swallowed and waited for the reply.
"Two hundred fifty silver," said Landt.
Lawrence clenched his teeth to avoid shouting out at the unexpected development.
The wolf-god of the harvest might have abandoned him, but the goddess of fortune was still on his side.
Lawrence immediately pushed the small bag he'd gotten from Amati into Landt's hands. "Go, as fast as you can."
Landt nodded, and then tore off like an envoy carrying a vital message.
Meanwhile, the market continued to fluctuate.
Perhaps indicating that the price had topped out, the number of buyers on the line placards had changed shockingly fast.
It was clear that the buyers and sellers were beginning to turn completely against one another.
With the price this high, some would start to sell while those who needed the price to go still higher would buy.
Occasionally Lawrence would catch sight of Amati at the other side of the crowd; he had no doubt that Amati was watching him, as well.
The fact that Amati kept such a close eye on both the stone seller's stall and Lawrence suggested that he hadn't yet raised the thousand coins he needed.
No, that's not it—Lawrence corrected himself.
He might already have raised the money but was worried that if he sold off the pyrite he had on hand, trading might go awry and cause the price to crash before he could sell his entire stock.
And because Amati was party to Lawrence's margin-selling contract, a crash in price would hit him with a huge loss.
There was one other important fact, as well.
The five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite that Amati held still only existed in the form of a paper contract.
It could be bought or sold, yes, but the physical pyrite the contract represented could not be collected until that evening.
The market had started to fluctuate instead of simply rise, and the possibility of a drop was now much more real. If Amati was to sell the certificate, what would happen?
Margin transactions involved an interval of time between the exchange of money and goods.
In an environment where a drop in price was anticipated, a margin sale certificate—which promised future goods for immediate cash—was a joker, a worthless card with a grinning witch on it.
Once the market value of a product actually dropped, whoever held this joker would be ruined.
The slow-acting poison of Lawrence's margin sale was beginning to take effect.
Amati was still glancing this way and that, desperate.
He was obviously looking for Holo.
Holo had probably guessed what Lawrence was up to and told Amati of the trap.
The winds seemed about to change; offense and defense were reversing themselves.
If Lawrence did not strike, he would be letting a once-in-a-millennium chance go by.
People nearly attacked the stone seller's stall, and the price placards were swapped out one after another.
Lawrence held tightly to the pyrite in his breast pocket, desperately hoping Landt would return soon.
It did not take too much time to run to Mark's stall and back.
Just then—
A voice echoed across the crowd. "A purchase is in!"
Someone had been unable to contain their excitement.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He trusted her.
Just then—
"Um, excuse me—"
Lawrence felt a tug on his sleeve as the words reached his ears.
He whirled as if struck, expecting to see a certain cheeky girl behind him.
But it was a boy—Landt, to be precise.
"Um, Mr. Lawrence, may I have a moment?"
Lawrence turned with such speed that Landt was taken aback for a moment, but the boy's expression made it clear that there was urgent business.
Anxiety swept over Lawrence as he looked around; then he knelt down to bring his face closer to the much shorter Landt and nodded.
"A customer has come to our shop wishing to pay for wheat in pyrite."
Lawrence understood immediately. Mark was willing to take the offer and then sell Lawrence that pyrite, assuming Lawrence could pay cash.
"How much?"
If Mark had sent the boy all the way over here, it had to be a sizable amount.
Lawrence swallowed and waited for the reply.
"Two hundred fifty silver," said Landt.
Lawrence clenched his teeth to avoid shouting out at the unexpected development.
The wolf-god of the harvest might have abandoned him, but the goddess of fortune was still on his side.
Lawrence immediately pushed the small bag he'd gotten from Amati into Landt's hands. "Go, as fast as you can."
Landt nodded, and then tore off like an envoy carrying a vital message.
Meanwhile, the market continued to fluctuate.
Perhaps indicating that the price had topped out, the number of buyers on the line placards had changed shockingly fast.
It was clear that the buyers and sellers were beginning to turn completely against one another.
With the price this high, some would start to sell while those who needed the price to go still higher would buy.
Occasionally Lawrence would catch sight of Amati at the other side of the crowd; he had no doubt that Amati was watching him, as well.
The fact that Amati kept such a close eye on both the stone seller's stall and Lawrence suggested that he hadn't yet raised the thousand coins he needed.
No, that's not it—Lawrence corrected himself.
He might already have raised the money but was worried that if he sold off the pyrite he had on hand, trading might go awry and cause the price to crash before he could sell his entire stock.
And because Amati was party to Lawrence's margin-selling contract, a crash in price would hit him with a huge loss.
There was one other important fact, as well.
The five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite that Amati held still only existed in the form of a paper contract.
It could be bought or sold, yes, but the physical pyrite the contract represented could not be collected until that evening.
The market had started to fluctuate instead of simply rise, and the possibility of a drop was now much more real. If Amati was to sell the certificate, what would happen?
Margin transactions involved an interval of time between the exchange of money and goods.
In an environment where a drop in price was anticipated, a margin sale certificate—which promised future goods for immediate cash—was a joker, a worthless card with a grinning witch on it.
Once the market value of a product actually dropped, whoever held this joker would be ruined.
The slow-acting poison of Lawrence's margin sale was beginning to take effect.
Amati was still glancing this way and that, desperate.
He was obviously looking for Holo.
Holo had probably guessed what Lawrence was up to and told Amati of the trap.
The winds seemed about to change; offense and defense were reversing themselves.
If Lawrence did not strike, he would be letting a once-in-a-millennium chance go by.
People nearly attacked the stone seller's stall, and the price placards were swapped out one after another.
Lawrence held tightly to the pyrite in his breast pocket, desperately hoping Landt would return soon.
It did not take too much time to run to Mark's stall and back.
Just then—
A voice echoed across the crowd. "A purchase is in!"
Someone had been unable to contain their excitement.
| Someone had purchased a large amount of pyrite. This suggested that the price would continue to rise.
Buoyed by the expectation, the crowd seemed to settle down.
Landt had yet to return.
The more time passed, the more the market seemed to steady itself.
But the number of possible buyers was dropping—Lawrence could take this opportunity to sell off a quantity of pyrite and sweep away this stability.
If he did that, he might be able to clear out the buying line even if it was just for a brief amount of time.
Doing so at this precise moment would surely have a profound effect.
Lawrence made his move.
He slipped between the crowds, pulling the bag of pyrite from his breast pocket as he arrived before the stone seller's booth.
"I'm here to sell!"
As everybody watched, Lawrence threw the bag of pyrite down in front of the stone seller.
The stone seller and his apprentices were stunned for a moment, but they quickly came to their senses and resumed business.
Lawrence had tossed a stone into a quiet lake; now came the rippling effect.
The measuring was done quickly, whereupon the apprentices that held line placards took the pyrite pieces off to the various buyers who had ordered them.
Lawrence immediately received his payment.
Without bothering to count, he grabbed the bag of coins tightly and looked back out into the crowd.
He caught a glimpse of Amati's stricken face.
Lawrence felt neither vindication nor pity.
His sole concern was his own goal.
He had sold all of the pyrite he had on hand. Any further attacks would have to wait until he had more.
Where was Landt? Where was Diana's messenger?
If he had the four hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite he was expecting from Diana, there was no question he would be able to turn the marketplace around.
He was at the crossroads of destiny.
And then he heard a voice.
"Mr. Lawrence."
It was Landt, his forehead shiny with sweat as he ran up to Lawrence and offered him another bag.
It was 250 silver pieces' worth of pyrite.
Lawrence was torn between returning immediately to the stone seller's stall to sell the pyrite he now had on hand or waiting for Diana's messenger to come so he could be sure.
He cursed himself.
Had he not even now given up on Diana?
The negotiations had dragged on for so long. There was a limit to how optimistic Lawrence could afford to be.
He had to take his chances.
Lawrence turned and prepared to venture forth again.
There was a loud cheer that froze him in his tracks.
"Ooooh!"
The crowd blocked his view; he couldn't see what was happening.
But the instant the cheer rose, Lawrence's intuition almost compelled him to cry out and run—it told him the worst had happened.
He pushed his way back through the crowd to a place where he could see the price board.
It was admirable indeed that he didn't fall to his knees on the spot.
The top price on the board had been renewed.
Demand had pushed it back up.
It seemed some of the market buyers had decided that the disturbance a moment ago was a temporary fluctuation, and they had put in a wave of purchase orders.
Purchase line placards were put back on the board.
Lawrence suppressed the urge to vomit. The decision of whether or not to sell the pyrite he had again pressed in on him.
There was still some small chance of success if he took quick action.
No—the wise decision would be to wait for Diana's messenger.
The amount of pyrite he was negotiating for with her was worth four hundred pieces of silver then—it might well be as high as five hundred by now.
If Lawrence could add that to what he already had, it would be enough for another big sell-off.
As Lawrence was placing all his hopes in that small chance, he saw Amati, now looking much more at ease, walk away from the stall.
The young merchant was planning to sell.
It was unclear whether or not he was going to sell all he had, though.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Someone had purchased a large amount of pyrite. This suggested that the price would continue to rise.
Buoyed by the expectation, the crowd seemed to settle down.
Landt had yet to return.
The more time passed, the more the market seemed to steady itself.
But the number of possible buyers was dropping—Lawrence could take this opportunity to sell off a quantity of pyrite and sweep away this stability.
If he did that, he might be able to clear out the buying line even if it was just for a brief amount of time.
Doing so at this precise moment would surely have a profound effect.
Lawrence made his move.
He slipped between the crowds, pulling the bag of pyrite from his breast pocket as he arrived before the stone seller's booth.
"I'm here to sell!"
As everybody watched, Lawrence threw the bag of pyrite down in front of the stone seller.
The stone seller and his apprentices were stunned for a moment, but they quickly came to their senses and resumed business.
Lawrence had tossed a stone into a quiet lake; now came the rippling effect.
The measuring was done quickly, whereupon the apprentices that held line placards took the pyrite pieces off to the various buyers who had ordered them.
Lawrence immediately received his payment.
Without bothering to count, he grabbed the bag of coins tightly and looked back out into the crowd.
He caught a glimpse of Amati's stricken face.
Lawrence felt neither vindication nor pity.
His sole concern was his own goal.
He had sold all of the pyrite he had on hand. Any further attacks would have to wait until he had more.
Where was Landt? Where was Diana's messenger?
If he had the four hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite he was expecting from Diana, there was no question he would be able to turn the marketplace around.
He was at the crossroads of destiny.
And then he heard a voice.
"Mr. Lawrence."
It was Landt, his forehead shiny with sweat as he ran up to Lawrence and offered him another bag.
It was 250 silver pieces' worth of pyrite.
Lawrence was torn between returning immediately to the stone seller's stall to sell the pyrite he now had on hand or waiting for Diana's messenger to come so he could be sure.
He cursed himself.
Had he not even now given up on Diana?
The negotiations had dragged on for so long. There was a limit to how optimistic Lawrence could afford to be.
He had to take his chances.
Lawrence turned and prepared to venture forth again.
There was a loud cheer that froze him in his tracks.
"Ooooh!"
The crowd blocked his view; he couldn't see what was happening.
But the instant the cheer rose, Lawrence's intuition almost compelled him to cry out and run—it told him the worst had happened.
He pushed his way back through the crowd to a place where he could see the price board.
It was admirable indeed that he didn't fall to his knees on the spot.
The top price on the board had been renewed.
Demand had pushed it back up.
It seemed some of the market buyers had decided that the disturbance a moment ago was a temporary fluctuation, and they had put in a wave of purchase orders.
Purchase line placards were put back on the board.
Lawrence suppressed the urge to vomit. The decision of whether or not to sell the pyrite he had again pressed in on him.
There was still some small chance of success if he took quick action.
No—the wise decision would be to wait for Diana's messenger.
The amount of pyrite he was negotiating for with her was worth four hundred pieces of silver then—it might well be as high as five hundred by now.
If Lawrence could add that to what he already had, it would be enough for another big sell-off.
As Lawrence was placing all his hopes in that small chance, he saw Amati, now looking much more at ease, walk away from the stall.
The young merchant was planning to sell.
It was unclear whether or not he was going to sell all he had, though.
| Why had Diana's messenger not come? Lawrence wondered if he had finally been abandoned by the gods.
In his mind, he screamed.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Lawrence?"
In his despair, Lawrence thought he'd heard wrong.
"Mr. Lawrence, I presume?"
A small figure stood beside Lawrence, his face—or possibly her face as it was impossible to tell the sex of the person—hidden behind a shroud that covered all but the eyes.
It clearly was not Landt.
Which meant it was the person Lawrence had been waiting for.
"I have a message from Miss Diana."
The messenger's pale green eyes had a tranquillity completely unlike the swirling commotion that surrounded them.
There was a mysterious aura about the messenger; Lawrence couldn't help but feel this person was truly a messenger from the gods.
And if so—perhaps a miracle was about to happen.
"She wishes to tell you that the negotiations have failed."
A moment passed.
"What?"
"The other party is unwilling to sell. Miss Diana apologizes for being unable to live up to your expectations," said the messenger in a clear voice, as if announcing a death.
Was this—was this how it would be, then? Lawrence wondered.
True despair did not come from hopelessness.
No, when his last tiny speck of hope was crushed at the last moment—that was despair.
Lawrence could not reply.
The messenger seemed to understand this and turned around silently.
Somehow the messenger's form receding into the crowd became conflated in Lawrence's mind with the memory of Holo, as she'd walked away from him in the tunnels under Pazzio.
Lawrence felt like an ancient knight in rusted armor as he looked up at the price board again.
The purchase line had returned to normal, and the price continued to climb.
One could ride the changes of the market, but only the gods could control them.
Lawrence remembered the words of a famous merchant.
With just a bit more luck—just a bit more—a merchant can be a god.
Having exchanged some amount of his pyrite for coin, Amati strolled away from the stall and returned to the outer ring.
Lawrence expected the young merchant to flash him a cocky, triumphant grin, but Amati did not so much as glance at Lawrence.
There must be someone else commanding his attention.
Holo had returned to Amati's side.
"Mr. Lawrence...?"
It was Landt that now spoke to Lawrence; Holo was speaking to Amati and looked nowhere else.
"Oh, er, sorry...You've...you've done a lot of running around for me. Thanks."
"Oh no, not at all."
"Could you give Mark a message for me? Tell him my plan has failed," said Lawrence, surprised at how easy it was to say.
Yet despite the "failure," from the standpoint of a merchant it was a very nice outcome.
Lawrence still had some pyrite on hand. All he needed to do was buy a bit more to have what he needed to hand over to Amati in the evening and then subtract the cost of that from the money he'd made selling the previous lot of pyrite—the amount left over would probably be positive.
On top of that, he would be receiving one thousand silver coins from Amati, which could not be called anything less than a huge windfall.
Such profit would have been enough to make any merchant happy, but Lawrence felt only a vast emptiness.
Landt was momentarily at a loss as he looked about, but just as Lawrence was about to hand over his compensation, the boy's eyes filled with a steely resolve.
"Mr. Lawrence."
Landt's expression was enough to stop Lawrence's hand, which held a few silver coins.
"Are—are you giving up?"
Lawrence remembered his days as an apprentice—any time he wanted to make a comment, he had to be ready for a beating.
Landt was likewise prepared to be struck. His left eye twitched as if he expected a fist to come at him at any moment.
"My master always tells me that merchants never give up."
Lawrence pulled his hand away, and Landt's shoulder twitched in response.
But the boy did not look away.
He was entirely serious.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Why had Diana's messenger not come? Lawrence wondered if he had finally been abandoned by the gods.
In his mind, he screamed.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Lawrence?"
In his despair, Lawrence thought he'd heard wrong.
"Mr. Lawrence, I presume?"
A small figure stood beside Lawrence, his face—or possibly her face as it was impossible to tell the sex of the person—hidden behind a shroud that covered all but the eyes.
It clearly was not Landt.
Which meant it was the person Lawrence had been waiting for.
"I have a message from Miss Diana."
The messenger's pale green eyes had a tranquillity completely unlike the swirling commotion that surrounded them.
There was a mysterious aura about the messenger; Lawrence couldn't help but feel this person was truly a messenger from the gods.
And if so—perhaps a miracle was about to happen.
"She wishes to tell you that the negotiations have failed."
A moment passed.
"What?"
"The other party is unwilling to sell. Miss Diana apologizes for being unable to live up to your expectations," said the messenger in a clear voice, as if announcing a death.
Was this—was this how it would be, then? Lawrence wondered.
True despair did not come from hopelessness.
No, when his last tiny speck of hope was crushed at the last moment—that was despair.
Lawrence could not reply.
The messenger seemed to understand this and turned around silently.
Somehow the messenger's form receding into the crowd became conflated in Lawrence's mind with the memory of Holo, as she'd walked away from him in the tunnels under Pazzio.
Lawrence felt like an ancient knight in rusted armor as he looked up at the price board again.
The purchase line had returned to normal, and the price continued to climb.
One could ride the changes of the market, but only the gods could control them.
Lawrence remembered the words of a famous merchant.
With just a bit more luck—just a bit more—a merchant can be a god.
Having exchanged some amount of his pyrite for coin, Amati strolled away from the stall and returned to the outer ring.
Lawrence expected the young merchant to flash him a cocky, triumphant grin, but Amati did not so much as glance at Lawrence.
There must be someone else commanding his attention.
Holo had returned to Amati's side.
"Mr. Lawrence...?"
It was Landt that now spoke to Lawrence; Holo was speaking to Amati and looked nowhere else.
"Oh, er, sorry...You've...you've done a lot of running around for me. Thanks."
"Oh no, not at all."
"Could you give Mark a message for me? Tell him my plan has failed," said Lawrence, surprised at how easy it was to say.
Yet despite the "failure," from the standpoint of a merchant it was a very nice outcome.
Lawrence still had some pyrite on hand. All he needed to do was buy a bit more to have what he needed to hand over to Amati in the evening and then subtract the cost of that from the money he'd made selling the previous lot of pyrite—the amount left over would probably be positive.
On top of that, he would be receiving one thousand silver coins from Amati, which could not be called anything less than a huge windfall.
Such profit would have been enough to make any merchant happy, but Lawrence felt only a vast emptiness.
Landt was momentarily at a loss as he looked about, but just as Lawrence was about to hand over his compensation, the boy's eyes filled with a steely resolve.
"Mr. Lawrence."
Landt's expression was enough to stop Lawrence's hand, which held a few silver coins.
"Are—are you giving up?"
Lawrence remembered his days as an apprentice—any time he wanted to make a comment, he had to be ready for a beating.
Landt was likewise prepared to be struck. His left eye twitched as if he expected a fist to come at him at any moment.
"My master always tells me that merchants never give up."
Lawrence pulled his hand away, and Landt's shoulder twitched in response.
But the boy did not look away.
He was entirely serious.
| Lawrence did not disagree.
But what he was after was not wealth.
"Mr. Lawrence." Landt's gaze pierced him.
Lawrence glanced over at Holo for a moment before looking back to Landt.
"I..." began Landt. "I liked H-Holo from the first time I saw her. But my master told me—," said the faithful apprentice. He wordlessly completed every task given to him, yet now Landt was every inch a young boy. "He said that if I said that in front of you, I'd get a sound beating."
Landt was on the verge of tears as Lawrence raised his hand up high.
"—!" Landt gasped and flinched.
But with his fist, Lawrence only tapped the boy lightly on his cheek, smiling. "Yes, I suppose I should give you a beating. A sound one, too," he said with a chuckle—though he wanted to cry.
Landt seemed roughly ten years younger than Lawrence.
Yet with things the way they were, he felt no different than the boy.
Damn, he cursed himself.
It seemed that before Holo, any man would turn into a runny-nosed lad.
Lawrence shook his head.
The stubborn ones who never give in, eh?
It was a laughable phrase, and he sighed at its seductive charm, looking up at the sky.
The words of a boy ten years his junior had wiped from his mind the maelstrom of supposition and doubt.
Landt was right.
He'd gotten this far, and the profit that remained in his hands was only proof of his true loss—he could lose it without regret.
There was no reason not to think everything through one last time before taking action.
Things of value did not always come with hard effort.
Mark had only a short while ago made him realize that.
Lawrence opened the spigot on his considerable memory, pulling out the materials he needed to construct a new approach.
The pillar of his new plan was something he'd forgotten until just a moment ago.
"The ones who just can't give up—they're the same ones who just can't stop themselves from being so optimistic you wouldn't believe it," said Lawrence.
Landt's happy expression was even more appealing than the boy's normal, overachieving nature usually tended to be.
There was little doubt that Mark treasured the lad as he would his own child.
"A merchant makes plans, predicts the outcome, and always holds the results up to the light of reality. Understand?"
Landt nodded politely at what appeared to be an unconnected statement.
"If selling one item causes something to change thus, another item will cause it to change so. Such hypotheses are also important, you see."
Landt nodded again. Lawrence knelt down so he was close to the boy's face and spoke.
"But if I'm honest, these hypotheses can be anything you might like them to be. If you make too many, you'll become lost, seeing danger and risk in every deal you do. To avoid that, you need some kind of guidepost—something to believe. It's the one thing every merchant needs."
The young Landt looked something like a real merchant as he nodded. "I see," he said.
"If you can believe in that guidepost, then no matter how absurd the idea it leads you to..."
Lawrence looked up, closing his eyes.
"...You can trust it."
Even so, a voice in Lawrence's head told him it was impossible.
And yet when he looked at Holo, he was almost convinced.
There was a chance—a small chance—that Holo's choice of dress said something.
Despite the idea's outlandishness, if he was to put it to the test, it might well prove to be true.
But this idea required that one condition had to be met.
It was what Lawrence had forgotten earlier—namely, the possibility that Holo had in fact not abandoned him.
Considering this now was just the kind of thing a stubbornly optimistic merchant, who never gave up, would do.
At this stage of the game, it seemed far better to think as much than to continue trying to stop Amati—it was enough to make Lawrence think he was in some kind of fantastic dream.
He had no idea what Landt had heard from Mark that made the boy so willing to help him.
In any case, it was clear that Landt told the truth when he said he liked Holo.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence did not disagree.
But what he was after was not wealth.
"Mr. Lawrence." Landt's gaze pierced him.
Lawrence glanced over at Holo for a moment before looking back to Landt.
"I..." began Landt. "I liked H-Holo from the first time I saw her. But my master told me—," said the faithful apprentice. He wordlessly completed every task given to him, yet now Landt was every inch a young boy. "He said that if I said that in front of you, I'd get a sound beating."
Landt was on the verge of tears as Lawrence raised his hand up high.
"—!" Landt gasped and flinched.
But with his fist, Lawrence only tapped the boy lightly on his cheek, smiling. "Yes, I suppose I should give you a beating. A sound one, too," he said with a chuckle—though he wanted to cry.
Landt seemed roughly ten years younger than Lawrence.
Yet with things the way they were, he felt no different than the boy.
Damn, he cursed himself.
It seemed that before Holo, any man would turn into a runny-nosed lad.
Lawrence shook his head.
The stubborn ones who never give in, eh?
It was a laughable phrase, and he sighed at its seductive charm, looking up at the sky.
The words of a boy ten years his junior had wiped from his mind the maelstrom of supposition and doubt.
Landt was right.
He'd gotten this far, and the profit that remained in his hands was only proof of his true loss—he could lose it without regret.
There was no reason not to think everything through one last time before taking action.
Things of value did not always come with hard effort.
Mark had only a short while ago made him realize that.
Lawrence opened the spigot on his considerable memory, pulling out the materials he needed to construct a new approach.
The pillar of his new plan was something he'd forgotten until just a moment ago.
"The ones who just can't give up—they're the same ones who just can't stop themselves from being so optimistic you wouldn't believe it," said Lawrence.
Landt's happy expression was even more appealing than the boy's normal, overachieving nature usually tended to be.
There was little doubt that Mark treasured the lad as he would his own child.
"A merchant makes plans, predicts the outcome, and always holds the results up to the light of reality. Understand?"
Landt nodded politely at what appeared to be an unconnected statement.
"If selling one item causes something to change thus, another item will cause it to change so. Such hypotheses are also important, you see."
Landt nodded again. Lawrence knelt down so he was close to the boy's face and spoke.
"But if I'm honest, these hypotheses can be anything you might like them to be. If you make too many, you'll become lost, seeing danger and risk in every deal you do. To avoid that, you need some kind of guidepost—something to believe. It's the one thing every merchant needs."
The young Landt looked something like a real merchant as he nodded. "I see," he said.
"If you can believe in that guidepost, then no matter how absurd the idea it leads you to..."
Lawrence looked up, closing his eyes.
"...You can trust it."
Even so, a voice in Lawrence's head told him it was impossible.
And yet when he looked at Holo, he was almost convinced.
There was a chance—a small chance—that Holo's choice of dress said something.
Despite the idea's outlandishness, if he was to put it to the test, it might well prove to be true.
But this idea required that one condition had to be met.
It was what Lawrence had forgotten earlier—namely, the possibility that Holo had in fact not abandoned him.
Considering this now was just the kind of thing a stubbornly optimistic merchant, who never gave up, would do.
At this stage of the game, it seemed far better to think as much than to continue trying to stop Amati—it was enough to make Lawrence think he was in some kind of fantastic dream.
He had no idea what Landt had heard from Mark that made the boy so willing to help him.
In any case, it was clear that Landt told the truth when he said he liked Holo.
| Before a display of such courage, it was the least Lawrence could do to live up to this idea of the fearlessly optimistic merchant.
Lawrence patted Landt on the shoulder, took a deep breath, and spoke. "Once I sell my stones at the stall, start spreading the rumor I asked you to."
Landt's face lit up. He nodded his head, once again the consummate apprentice.
"Good lad."
Lawrence was about to turn around, but he stopped short.
Landt's eyes were full of questions, but Lawrence was the one who asked, "Do you believe in the gods?"
The boy was unsurprisingly dumbstruck.
Lawrence chuckled and repeated himself. "There's a good lad," he said before walking away.
He had 250 silver pieces' worth of pyrite on hand. Tallying up the purchase line markers on the board showed that there was already four hundred silver pieces' worth of orders waiting—even if Lawrence sold all the pyrite he had on hand, it would have no real effect.
But no—it would have an effect. If his new assumption was correct, it had to. He glanced back at Holo for just a moment; she was still standing by Amati.
Just one second would be enough—if Holo would just look in his direction for a moment, that would be enough.
And then—
Lawrence stood in front of the stone seller's stall. The influx of orders had slowed; the shopkeeper, having finally regained a measure of calm, looked at Lawrence with a face that said, "Yes?" He then smiled, an expression that seemed to add, "You're making out pretty well today."
Despite no words being exchanged, Lawrence nodded. He was about to make a lot more.
He thrust the bag of pyrite he'd received from Landt toward the stone seller and spoke. "I'm selling."
The shopkeeper received a cut from each transaction, so he smiled heartily and nodded, but then he looked strangely stunned.
Lawrence closed his eyes and smiled.
He had been right.
"Master, I too shall sell."
The voice actually made Lawrence nostalgic.
With a loud thud, a bag of pyrite at least twice the size of Lawrence's was slammed down on the counter.
Lawrence glanced sideways, and there was Holo, looking ready to bite his head off.
"You fool," she said.
Lawrence's only response to her accusation was a smile and a heartfelt "Sorry."
The shopkeeper stood there, amazed for a while, and then he quickly ordered his apprentices to remove all the purchase line placards from the price board.
The two bags together came to at least 650 silver pieces' worth of pyrite.
The amount Holo had was appraised before the day's bump in price, so it was probably worth even more than that. The mysterious party that had bought pyrite from Diana was, of course, Holo.
Put simply, nearly a thousand silver pieces' worth of pyrite had been sold all at once.
There was no room for demand to push the price up in the face of that.
Lawrence plucked at one of the white feathers affixed to Holo's robe. "She's quite the grown-up beauty, unlike a certain someone I could name," he said.
Holo jabbed Lawrence's side with her fist.
But then her hand remained there.
That was enough, Lawrence thought.
Though behind them a crazed mob pushed and shoved, Lawrence would not take his hand from hers.
He did want to show off to Amati, though.
Lawrence smirked at himself for being so childish.
***
The price crashed in an instant.
There were a few purchases that came in after all the existing purchase orders were filled, but the sale of close to one thousand silver pieces' worth of pyrite tipped the market in favor of selling, and the price soon dived.
The ones who were least fortunate—who held that old maid card in the end—were those who'd been waiting just a bit longer to sell their stock at the highest-possible price.
Even the sharp-eyed merchants who noticed Lawrence and Holo's actions and sold as quickly as they could had taken losses.
Amati's fate went without saying—he had been unable to sell off the margin contract.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Before a display of such courage, it was the least Lawrence could do to live up to this idea of the fearlessly optimistic merchant.
Lawrence patted Landt on the shoulder, took a deep breath, and spoke. "Once I sell my stones at the stall, start spreading the rumor I asked you to."
Landt's face lit up. He nodded his head, once again the consummate apprentice.
"Good lad."
Lawrence was about to turn around, but he stopped short.
Landt's eyes were full of questions, but Lawrence was the one who asked, "Do you believe in the gods?"
The boy was unsurprisingly dumbstruck.
Lawrence chuckled and repeated himself. "There's a good lad," he said before walking away.
He had 250 silver pieces' worth of pyrite on hand. Tallying up the purchase line markers on the board showed that there was already four hundred silver pieces' worth of orders waiting—even if Lawrence sold all the pyrite he had on hand, it would have no real effect.
But no—it would have an effect. If his new assumption was correct, it had to. He glanced back at Holo for just a moment; she was still standing by Amati.
Just one second would be enough—if Holo would just look in his direction for a moment, that would be enough.
And then—
Lawrence stood in front of the stone seller's stall. The influx of orders had slowed; the shopkeeper, having finally regained a measure of calm, looked at Lawrence with a face that said, "Yes?" He then smiled, an expression that seemed to add, "You're making out pretty well today."
Despite no words being exchanged, Lawrence nodded. He was about to make a lot more.
He thrust the bag of pyrite he'd received from Landt toward the stone seller and spoke. "I'm selling."
The shopkeeper received a cut from each transaction, so he smiled heartily and nodded, but then he looked strangely stunned.
Lawrence closed his eyes and smiled.
He had been right.
"Master, I too shall sell."
The voice actually made Lawrence nostalgic.
With a loud thud, a bag of pyrite at least twice the size of Lawrence's was slammed down on the counter.
Lawrence glanced sideways, and there was Holo, looking ready to bite his head off.
"You fool," she said.
Lawrence's only response to her accusation was a smile and a heartfelt "Sorry."
The shopkeeper stood there, amazed for a while, and then he quickly ordered his apprentices to remove all the purchase line placards from the price board.
The two bags together came to at least 650 silver pieces' worth of pyrite.
The amount Holo had was appraised before the day's bump in price, so it was probably worth even more than that. The mysterious party that had bought pyrite from Diana was, of course, Holo.
Put simply, nearly a thousand silver pieces' worth of pyrite had been sold all at once.
There was no room for demand to push the price up in the face of that.
Lawrence plucked at one of the white feathers affixed to Holo's robe. "She's quite the grown-up beauty, unlike a certain someone I could name," he said.
Holo jabbed Lawrence's side with her fist.
But then her hand remained there.
That was enough, Lawrence thought.
Though behind them a crazed mob pushed and shoved, Lawrence would not take his hand from hers.
He did want to show off to Amati, though.
Lawrence smirked at himself for being so childish.
***
The price crashed in an instant.
There were a few purchases that came in after all the existing purchase orders were filled, but the sale of close to one thousand silver pieces' worth of pyrite tipped the market in favor of selling, and the price soon dived.
The ones who were least fortunate—who held that old maid card in the end—were those who'd been waiting just a bit longer to sell their stock at the highest-possible price.
Even the sharp-eyed merchants who noticed Lawrence and Holo's actions and sold as quickly as they could had taken losses.
Amati's fate went without saying—he had been unable to sell off the margin contract.
| No doubt Holo's betrayal came as a far worse shock than the margin certificate he held now turning worthless.
On that point, Lawrence had sympathy for him. Holo clearly had no intention of ever staying with him and had, in fact, separated from him in a particularly cruel way.
Evidently Amati had said something to Holo that she simply could not abide.
Lawrence didn't dare ask Holo what it was for fear of her response, but he still wanted to know, if only so he wouldn't make the same mistake himself.
"So, this contract is over, then?" Holo asked, not even bothering to look up as she groomed her tail. Lawrence had just returned from finishing the contract with Amati and thanking Mark for his trouble.
There was still an edge to Holo's voice and not just because the two had only just finished a battle of wills.
Lawrence, of course, knew the reason.
He set his things down, took a chair, and replied. "It's over, all right. As cleanly as we could ever hope."
It was not a joke.
He had indeed just finalized the contract with Amati, who looked like his spirit had left his body.
In the end, Amati hadn't actually lost money. Against the margin loss he'd taken because of Lawrence, Amati had made a bit more on intermediary sales of pyrite.
Yet Lawrence understood Amati's despair all too well—up until not long ago, he too had felt every bit as low.
In the end, Amati had been unable to meet the conditions of the contract that would've allowed him to propose marriage to Holo, and as for the margin sale of pyrite, that was completed when Lawrence handed over the bag, which was by that time essentially worthless.
He'd been worried about the possibility of Amati losing his temper, so Lawrence had asked the chief of the guild house to act as mediator. "This is your punishment for trying to take another man's woman," the guild master had said to Amati.
Whether or not Holo was in fact "Lawrence's woman," at least the proud Amati had learned a lesson.
As Lawrence briefly explained all this, Holo, who was sitting on the bed, stopped grooming her tail and gave Lawrence an appraising look.
"Surely you do not think that this is all over and done with."
She seemed to be trying to decide just how harsh his punishment should be.
Lawrence understood the mistake he had made.
He stood and raised both hands in a gesture of contrition. "I'm sorry."
Holo was unmoved. "Do you truly know where you went wrong?"
It was a pathetic way for a grown man to be scolded, but Lawrence had no choice but to endure it.
"I know."
Holo's wolf ears pricked up.
"At least...I think I know."
Holo exhaled through her nose and folded her arms in expectant displeasure.
A mere "I'm sorry" was not going to suffice.
Lawrence screwed up his courage and apologized as best he knew how.
"When I started doing things on my own after the contract with Amati, I was being utterly self-centered."
Despite the all-consuming panic he'd felt, not only had all his frantic efforts to stop Amati come to nothing, he had been—just as he said—completely self-centered.
"The point is...my biggest mistake was not trusting you."
Holo looked away, turning only a single ear toward Lawrence.
"I shall hear you out," she seemed to be saying.
Her unpleasant attitude was of course frustrating, but Lawrence had to admit he didn't have a foot to stand on.
He looked up at the ceiling before he continued.
"The feathers you attached to your hood—those were to let me know you'd bought pyrite from Diana."
Holo nodded, irritated.
"Yet when Amati sold his pyrite at the stall, trying to bluff me, I thought it was a trap you'd set for me."
"Wha—," Holo said in a small voice; Lawrence hastily shut his mouth.
He realized he'd said something he shouldn't have said, but it was too late. Holo uncrossed her legs and hung one off the edge of the bed. "What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked.
Holo's chestnut brown eyes shone dully.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | No doubt Holo's betrayal came as a far worse shock than the margin certificate he held now turning worthless.
On that point, Lawrence had sympathy for him. Holo clearly had no intention of ever staying with him and had, in fact, separated from him in a particularly cruel way.
Evidently Amati had said something to Holo that she simply could not abide.
Lawrence didn't dare ask Holo what it was for fear of her response, but he still wanted to know, if only so he wouldn't make the same mistake himself.
"So, this contract is over, then?" Holo asked, not even bothering to look up as she groomed her tail. Lawrence had just returned from finishing the contract with Amati and thanking Mark for his trouble.
There was still an edge to Holo's voice and not just because the two had only just finished a battle of wills.
Lawrence, of course, knew the reason.
He set his things down, took a chair, and replied. "It's over, all right. As cleanly as we could ever hope."
It was not a joke.
He had indeed just finalized the contract with Amati, who looked like his spirit had left his body.
In the end, Amati hadn't actually lost money. Against the margin loss he'd taken because of Lawrence, Amati had made a bit more on intermediary sales of pyrite.
Yet Lawrence understood Amati's despair all too well—up until not long ago, he too had felt every bit as low.
In the end, Amati had been unable to meet the conditions of the contract that would've allowed him to propose marriage to Holo, and as for the margin sale of pyrite, that was completed when Lawrence handed over the bag, which was by that time essentially worthless.
He'd been worried about the possibility of Amati losing his temper, so Lawrence had asked the chief of the guild house to act as mediator. "This is your punishment for trying to take another man's woman," the guild master had said to Amati.
Whether or not Holo was in fact "Lawrence's woman," at least the proud Amati had learned a lesson.
As Lawrence briefly explained all this, Holo, who was sitting on the bed, stopped grooming her tail and gave Lawrence an appraising look.
"Surely you do not think that this is all over and done with."
She seemed to be trying to decide just how harsh his punishment should be.
Lawrence understood the mistake he had made.
He stood and raised both hands in a gesture of contrition. "I'm sorry."
Holo was unmoved. "Do you truly know where you went wrong?"
It was a pathetic way for a grown man to be scolded, but Lawrence had no choice but to endure it.
"I know."
Holo's wolf ears pricked up.
"At least...I think I know."
Holo exhaled through her nose and folded her arms in expectant displeasure.
A mere "I'm sorry" was not going to suffice.
Lawrence screwed up his courage and apologized as best he knew how.
"When I started doing things on my own after the contract with Amati, I was being utterly self-centered."
Despite the all-consuming panic he'd felt, not only had all his frantic efforts to stop Amati come to nothing, he had been—just as he said—completely self-centered.
"The point is...my biggest mistake was not trusting you."
Holo looked away, turning only a single ear toward Lawrence.
"I shall hear you out," she seemed to be saying.
Her unpleasant attitude was of course frustrating, but Lawrence had to admit he didn't have a foot to stand on.
He looked up at the ceiling before he continued.
"The feathers you attached to your hood—those were to let me know you'd bought pyrite from Diana."
Holo nodded, irritated.
"Yet when Amati sold his pyrite at the stall, trying to bluff me, I thought it was a trap you'd set for me."
"Wha—," Holo said in a small voice; Lawrence hastily shut his mouth.
He realized he'd said something he shouldn't have said, but it was too late. Holo uncrossed her legs and hung one off the edge of the bed. "What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked.
Holo's chestnut brown eyes shone dully.
| It certainly was, Holo's eyes seemed to say.
Of course, now he understood her intention.
"You wanted to tell me that Amati had fully enough pyrite on hand and that I should move quickly to sell mine off. Right?"
Lawrence had not trusted Holo, but Holo had trusted Lawrence.
That was the crux of the matter.
Holo had made Amati take an action that Lawrence could make no sense of, and for his part, Lawrence had decided it was not just Amati trying to destroy his confidence, but that Holo had also turned hostile and was trying to force him into a trap.
The only part Lawrence had been correct about was in assuming that Holo knew what he planned to do.
If Lawrence had but noticed the white feathers and made eye contact with Holo, she would have sold her pyrite with him right there on the spot.
"Honestly...," muttered Holo.
She gestured with her chin for Lawrence to continue.
"And before that, the fact that you would sign the marriage certificate with Amati, that was..."
It was humiliating, but he had to keep going.
"...It was to make it easy for me to be angry...Wasn't it?"
Holo's ears twitched, and she took a deep breath.
It seemed likely that she was becoming increasingly angrier as the memories came back to her.
She must have been waiting for Lawrence to come running up to the second floor at any moment, marriage certificate in hand.
And yet no matter how long she waited, he had not come—she might have waited until dawn.
Lawrence counted himself lucky that she hadn't torn his throat out.
"Didn't I tell you in Ruvinheigen? Don't be clever and subtle all the time—tell me what you're thinking! If we can just yell at each other, problems get solved a lot faster."
Holo scratched the base of her ears, as though she could not possibly become any angrier.
She'd purposely been unperturbed when Lawrence saw Amati walking out of the inn and even had a marriage certificate ready, all to make Lawrence angry, all to make it easier for him to speak his mind.
And Lawrence had thought she was notifying him of her intentions.
And now that he thought about it, Lawrence realized that the situation there in the inn had been a perfect one—perfect for him to pour out his heart and admit to Holo that he did not want her to accept Amati's proposal.
If he'd only said as much—it would've been enough.
"So I was wrong from the start."
Holo drew in her chin and gave Lawrence a look that went past displeasure right on into resentment.
That was how far wrong he'd gone.
"When...when you lost control because of the business of Yoitsu...that last apology you gave me, that was—"
...I am sorry, she had said that night, her voice hoarse.
"—That was because you'd come to your senses...wasn't it?"
Holo glared at Lawrence. She glared, and her fangs showed.
After her onslaught of verbal abuse, filled with ill intent and distortions, Holo had realized how awful she was being.
Yet she had not continued to be stubborn.
She had apologized immediately with all sincerity.
But Lawrence had only made things worse by taking her apology as the final word that sealed away her heart.
He had been reaching out to her but stopped short.
If he'd managed to say something then, Lawrence thought, he might have been able to salvage the situation.
Holo must have been stunned.
She had truly apologized for the terrible things she said after losing her temper, but instead of accepting the apology, Lawrence had backed out of the room and run.
She was no fool; Holo must have seen that Lawrence misunderstood her.
Yet having realized this, Holo thought that chasing Lawrence down just to explain how he was mistaken would have been ridiculous.
She must have assumed he would realize his mistake much sooner.
Her eyes were now full of anger at Lawrence's failure to see this.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It certainly was, Holo's eyes seemed to say.
Of course, now he understood her intention.
"You wanted to tell me that Amati had fully enough pyrite on hand and that I should move quickly to sell mine off. Right?"
Lawrence had not trusted Holo, but Holo had trusted Lawrence.
That was the crux of the matter.
Holo had made Amati take an action that Lawrence could make no sense of, and for his part, Lawrence had decided it was not just Amati trying to destroy his confidence, but that Holo had also turned hostile and was trying to force him into a trap.
The only part Lawrence had been correct about was in assuming that Holo knew what he planned to do.
If Lawrence had but noticed the white feathers and made eye contact with Holo, she would have sold her pyrite with him right there on the spot.
"Honestly...," muttered Holo.
She gestured with her chin for Lawrence to continue.
"And before that, the fact that you would sign the marriage certificate with Amati, that was..."
It was humiliating, but he had to keep going.
"...It was to make it easy for me to be angry...Wasn't it?"
Holo's ears twitched, and she took a deep breath.
It seemed likely that she was becoming increasingly angrier as the memories came back to her.
She must have been waiting for Lawrence to come running up to the second floor at any moment, marriage certificate in hand.
And yet no matter how long she waited, he had not come—she might have waited until dawn.
Lawrence counted himself lucky that she hadn't torn his throat out.
"Didn't I tell you in Ruvinheigen? Don't be clever and subtle all the time—tell me what you're thinking! If we can just yell at each other, problems get solved a lot faster."
Holo scratched the base of her ears, as though she could not possibly become any angrier.
She'd purposely been unperturbed when Lawrence saw Amati walking out of the inn and even had a marriage certificate ready, all to make Lawrence angry, all to make it easier for him to speak his mind.
And Lawrence had thought she was notifying him of her intentions.
And now that he thought about it, Lawrence realized that the situation there in the inn had been a perfect one—perfect for him to pour out his heart and admit to Holo that he did not want her to accept Amati's proposal.
If he'd only said as much—it would've been enough.
"So I was wrong from the start."
Holo drew in her chin and gave Lawrence a look that went past displeasure right on into resentment.
That was how far wrong he'd gone.
"When...when you lost control because of the business of Yoitsu...that last apology you gave me, that was—"
...I am sorry, she had said that night, her voice hoarse.
"—That was because you'd come to your senses...wasn't it?"
Holo glared at Lawrence. She glared, and her fangs showed.
After her onslaught of verbal abuse, filled with ill intent and distortions, Holo had realized how awful she was being.
Yet she had not continued to be stubborn.
She had apologized immediately with all sincerity.
But Lawrence had only made things worse by taking her apology as the final word that sealed away her heart.
He had been reaching out to her but stopped short.
If he'd managed to say something then, Lawrence thought, he might have been able to salvage the situation.
Holo must have been stunned.
She had truly apologized for the terrible things she said after losing her temper, but instead of accepting the apology, Lawrence had backed out of the room and run.
She was no fool; Holo must have seen that Lawrence misunderstood her.
Yet having realized this, Holo thought that chasing Lawrence down just to explain how he was mistaken would have been ridiculous.
She must have assumed he would realize his mistake much sooner.
Her eyes were now full of anger at Lawrence's failure to see this.
| "I wish to continue traveling with you."
There were only a few steps between the desk and the bed.
Human and wolf, merchant and nonmerchant—separated by only a few steps.
If Lawrence but reached his hand out, it would soon reach her.
"My life has been naught but business from dawn to dusk, and I plan to keep it that way. Just think of me as a little slow when it comes to anything besides business."
Holo's expression turned sulky.
"And yet—I do wish to travel with you."
"Well...what am I to you?"
It was the question he'd been unable to answer.
Now, however, he was completely certain.
"It cannot be explained in words."
Holo's eyes widened, her ears pricked up, and then—
And then she laughed, so frustrated with Lawrence she was fit to cry. "What sort of dried-up old line is that?"
"Ah, but I thought dried jerky was your favorite!"
Holo chuckled, her fangs bared, her mouth very near Lawrence's hand. "I hate it!"
Lawrence felt pain shoot through his palm, but he quietly accepted it as his punishment.
"Though I do have one question for you," said Lawrence finally.
"Oh?" said Holo. She looked up after biting Lawrence's hand with considerable anger.
"How did you know there was pyrite in the alchemists' quarter—wait, no, Amati probably told you. What I want to know is, how did you get Diana to sell it to you? I just can't see it."
Holo looked out the window as if to say, "Oh, that?"
Dusk had arrived, and the second evening's festivities were about to begin.
It seemed that the same giant puppets from the first night were being used, though they were much the worse for wear. Half of the large lupine shapes had lost their heads. The participants' fatigue was obvious, even from a distance, as they tottered along. Some even fell on their bottoms—and not in jest.
Yet the column marched on, pulled forward by the sounds of flutes and drums.
Holo looked back to Lawrence; her eyes beckoned him to join her at the window.
Having no reason to refuse, he did so.
"The boy Amati told me everything he knew, so I was able to make a fair guess at what you were planning. But your plan was, well—I should compliment you."
Holo looked out on the festival as she leaned back into Lawrence.
He was unable to see her expression, but having been complimented, he felt he should accept it as gracefully as he could manage.
"Yes, so—Diana, was it? I went to see her for a different reason truthfully."
"A different reason?"
"I suppose you could call it a favor. I tracked down the location from the scent on the letter. The place stank like the worst hot springs—it was far from enjoyable."
While Lawrence was impressed at Holo's keen sense of smell, he had to admit the alchemists' quarter must have been quite an ordeal for her.
Holo sighed softly and continued, not looking at Lawrence. "So I asked her thus. I asked her if she would not invent a story of Yoitsu still existing and if she would pass it on to you."
Lawrence cocked his head for a moment, confused.
But then he understood.
Had he heard such a tale from Diana, he would surely have found it easier to speak to Holo again.
With that as a trigger, he would've needed nothing more.
"However," continued Holo, her tone suddenly irritated. "That girl just had me explain all the circumstances to her only to turn me down."
"Oh...really?" Lawrence thought back on the words Diana had spoken to him as he left her house: Good luck to you.
Had it been sarcasm?
"It was your fault that I was refused! Consider that, why don't you!"
Lawrence was jolted from his reverie by Holo stomping on his foot—though he did not follow her meaning.
"Honestly...I suffer through the humiliation of explaining everything and am on the very cusp of success, then you show up and make that girl come up with her pointless plan."
He was stunned beyond words—Holo had been there when he'd visited Diana?
"She said it would be good to test your resolve—the gall, acting as if she knows me!"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I wish to continue traveling with you."
There were only a few steps between the desk and the bed.
Human and wolf, merchant and nonmerchant—separated by only a few steps.
If Lawrence but reached his hand out, it would soon reach her.
"My life has been naught but business from dawn to dusk, and I plan to keep it that way. Just think of me as a little slow when it comes to anything besides business."
Holo's expression turned sulky.
"And yet—I do wish to travel with you."
"Well...what am I to you?"
It was the question he'd been unable to answer.
Now, however, he was completely certain.
"It cannot be explained in words."
Holo's eyes widened, her ears pricked up, and then—
And then she laughed, so frustrated with Lawrence she was fit to cry. "What sort of dried-up old line is that?"
"Ah, but I thought dried jerky was your favorite!"
Holo chuckled, her fangs bared, her mouth very near Lawrence's hand. "I hate it!"
Lawrence felt pain shoot through his palm, but he quietly accepted it as his punishment.
"Though I do have one question for you," said Lawrence finally.
"Oh?" said Holo. She looked up after biting Lawrence's hand with considerable anger.
"How did you know there was pyrite in the alchemists' quarter—wait, no, Amati probably told you. What I want to know is, how did you get Diana to sell it to you? I just can't see it."
Holo looked out the window as if to say, "Oh, that?"
Dusk had arrived, and the second evening's festivities were about to begin.
It seemed that the same giant puppets from the first night were being used, though they were much the worse for wear. Half of the large lupine shapes had lost their heads. The participants' fatigue was obvious, even from a distance, as they tottered along. Some even fell on their bottoms—and not in jest.
Yet the column marched on, pulled forward by the sounds of flutes and drums.
Holo looked back to Lawrence; her eyes beckoned him to join her at the window.
Having no reason to refuse, he did so.
"The boy Amati told me everything he knew, so I was able to make a fair guess at what you were planning. But your plan was, well—I should compliment you."
Holo looked out on the festival as she leaned back into Lawrence.
He was unable to see her expression, but having been complimented, he felt he should accept it as gracefully as he could manage.
"Yes, so—Diana, was it? I went to see her for a different reason truthfully."
"A different reason?"
"I suppose you could call it a favor. I tracked down the location from the scent on the letter. The place stank like the worst hot springs—it was far from enjoyable."
While Lawrence was impressed at Holo's keen sense of smell, he had to admit the alchemists' quarter must have been quite an ordeal for her.
Holo sighed softly and continued, not looking at Lawrence. "So I asked her thus. I asked her if she would not invent a story of Yoitsu still existing and if she would pass it on to you."
Lawrence cocked his head for a moment, confused.
But then he understood.
Had he heard such a tale from Diana, he would surely have found it easier to speak to Holo again.
With that as a trigger, he would've needed nothing more.
"However," continued Holo, her tone suddenly irritated. "That girl just had me explain all the circumstances to her only to turn me down."
"Oh...really?" Lawrence thought back on the words Diana had spoken to him as he left her house: Good luck to you.
Had it been sarcasm?
"It was your fault that I was refused! Consider that, why don't you!"
Lawrence was jolted from his reverie by Holo stomping on his foot—though he did not follow her meaning.
"Honestly...I suffer through the humiliation of explaining everything and am on the very cusp of success, then you show up and make that girl come up with her pointless plan."
He was stunned beyond words—Holo had been there when he'd visited Diana?
"She said it would be good to test your resolve—the gall, acting as if she knows me!"
| But he felt like he was forgetting something important.
"I also heard that foolish question you put to her."
"Ah—!" Lawrence shouted, his voice strangled.
Holo grinned devilishly and turned around to face Lawrence. "So there are many stories of gods and humans becoming mates, eh?" Her upward-cast eyes were frightening.
She slid her slender arms around Lawrence, like a snake entrapping its prey.
"If that is how you feel, I would not mind. Though I'd ask..."
The light that fell through the window cast a red glow over Holo's features.
"...I'd ask you to be gentle with me."
She must really be a demon, Lawrence thought to himself half-seriously—but she soon dropped her act.
"Mm. I just cannot seem to rouse myself after talking to that girl," said Holo, looking tired as she gazed out the window, her arms still around Lawrence.
She seemed to be looking not at the festival, but somewhere far away.
"Did you notice that she was not human?" Holo finally said.
Lawrence couldn't even manage a "surely not."
"You saw the feathers scattered about her room, yes? Those were hers."
"...They were?"
Although now that Holo mentioned it, Lawrence recalled that something about Diana had made him think of a bird.
Holo nodded and continued, "Her true form is a bird, much larger than you. She fell in love with a traveling monk and spent many years building a church with him, but eventually he noticed that no matter how many years passed, the girl never aged—thus the monk grew suspicious. No doubt you can guess the rest."
Lawrence felt Holo's arms tighten around him.
He thought he now understood the reason why Diana collected stories and why she protected the alchemists so.
But it would be painful to say it. Surely Holo did not want to hear it, either.
Lawrence said nothing.
Instead, he simply put his arm around Holo's shoulders.
"I wish to return to my homeland. Even...even if it's no longer there."
"We will."
Outside the window, the giant human and lupine puppets collided, and a great cheer arose.
But Lawrence realized the display was not reenacting some battle.
The people controlling these battered puppets were all laughing, and each onlooker seemed to have a cup of ale in hand.
They were not hitting each other, but putting their arms about one another's shoulders.
Soon they began to sing and dance, and the giant puppets in the center of the intersection were set ablaze.
Holo giggled. "Humans are so showy."
"They surely are."
Despite their distance from the intersection, Lawrence could feel the heat of the flames on his cheeks.
The ring of revelers that surrounded the fire gave a great cheer, and the bonfire itself seemed intense enough to overpower the pale moon.
Once again in the town of Kumersun, various gods and humans from near and far had come together to drink and celebrate after putting an end to their quarreling.
The conflicts were finally over.
"Shall we go?" asked Holo.
"I suppose we shall?"
But Holo did not immediately move. She looked up at the puzzled Lawrence. "For my part, I would not mind you being as passionate as those flames."
The flaming puppets had begun to collapse into a single pile.
Lawrence laughed. "I suppose if I were drunk enough."
Holo laughed, her sharp fangs flashing. Her tail wagged as she spoke, delighted. "If you become drunk, who's to watch over me? Fool!"
Lawrence took the laughing Holo's hand and led her out of the room.
The Kumersun night had once again been set ablaze with festivities.
Some time thereafter, it was spoken of in rumors that a true goddess had walked amid the crowds.
***
It has been a while! I'm Isuna Hasekura, and this is the third volume, which makes it the third story in the series.
This time I feel like I was able to write without forgetting the personalities of the characters. Instead of that, I've managed to forget the deadline for this afterword, and just a moment ago, I got a phone call from my editor, whose unfriendly smile I felt I could hear over the phone.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | But he felt like he was forgetting something important.
"I also heard that foolish question you put to her."
"Ah—!" Lawrence shouted, his voice strangled.
Holo grinned devilishly and turned around to face Lawrence. "So there are many stories of gods and humans becoming mates, eh?" Her upward-cast eyes were frightening.
She slid her slender arms around Lawrence, like a snake entrapping its prey.
"If that is how you feel, I would not mind. Though I'd ask..."
The light that fell through the window cast a red glow over Holo's features.
"...I'd ask you to be gentle with me."
She must really be a demon, Lawrence thought to himself half-seriously—but she soon dropped her act.
"Mm. I just cannot seem to rouse myself after talking to that girl," said Holo, looking tired as she gazed out the window, her arms still around Lawrence.
She seemed to be looking not at the festival, but somewhere far away.
"Did you notice that she was not human?" Holo finally said.
Lawrence couldn't even manage a "surely not."
"You saw the feathers scattered about her room, yes? Those were hers."
"...They were?"
Although now that Holo mentioned it, Lawrence recalled that something about Diana had made him think of a bird.
Holo nodded and continued, "Her true form is a bird, much larger than you. She fell in love with a traveling monk and spent many years building a church with him, but eventually he noticed that no matter how many years passed, the girl never aged—thus the monk grew suspicious. No doubt you can guess the rest."
Lawrence felt Holo's arms tighten around him.
He thought he now understood the reason why Diana collected stories and why she protected the alchemists so.
But it would be painful to say it. Surely Holo did not want to hear it, either.
Lawrence said nothing.
Instead, he simply put his arm around Holo's shoulders.
"I wish to return to my homeland. Even...even if it's no longer there."
"We will."
Outside the window, the giant human and lupine puppets collided, and a great cheer arose.
But Lawrence realized the display was not reenacting some battle.
The people controlling these battered puppets were all laughing, and each onlooker seemed to have a cup of ale in hand.
They were not hitting each other, but putting their arms about one another's shoulders.
Soon they began to sing and dance, and the giant puppets in the center of the intersection were set ablaze.
Holo giggled. "Humans are so showy."
"They surely are."
Despite their distance from the intersection, Lawrence could feel the heat of the flames on his cheeks.
The ring of revelers that surrounded the fire gave a great cheer, and the bonfire itself seemed intense enough to overpower the pale moon.
Once again in the town of Kumersun, various gods and humans from near and far had come together to drink and celebrate after putting an end to their quarreling.
The conflicts were finally over.
"Shall we go?" asked Holo.
"I suppose we shall?"
But Holo did not immediately move. She looked up at the puzzled Lawrence. "For my part, I would not mind you being as passionate as those flames."
The flaming puppets had begun to collapse into a single pile.
Lawrence laughed. "I suppose if I were drunk enough."
Holo laughed, her sharp fangs flashing. Her tail wagged as she spoke, delighted. "If you become drunk, who's to watch over me? Fool!"
Lawrence took the laughing Holo's hand and led her out of the room.
The Kumersun night had once again been set ablaze with festivities.
Some time thereafter, it was spoken of in rumors that a true goddess had walked amid the crowds.
***
It has been a while! I'm Isuna Hasekura, and this is the third volume, which makes it the third story in the series.
This time I feel like I was able to write without forgetting the personalities of the characters. Instead of that, I've managed to forget the deadline for this afterword, and just a moment ago, I got a phone call from my editor, whose unfriendly smile I felt I could hear over the phone.
| Well then, volume 3 means there are three books, of which this is the third novel. Around this time last year, I'd passed the first-round selection for the Dengeki Novel Prize and was camped out next to the phone, waiting for the results of the second-round selection. Back then, writing even one volume was a major effort—I'd write, then throw it away, write again, then throw it away again.
So since the end of last year, I've been writing at a nigh-heroic pace, and even in that year, I feel like maybe I've grown up just a bit.
My latest hobby is surfing real estate sites. And not normal ones. I'm talking about the big time—hundred-million-yen condos and mansions.
I like the view from high places, so I was thinking I'd like to live someday in a high-rise condo with a view of the city lights at night. I've been looking at model homes along those lines, and they're crazy. Everything's just done up in this unimaginably overwhelming fashion, and before I knew it, I was sucked in.
The prices had so many zeros I was rubbing my eyes just to make sure my vision still worked right, and when I saw the mere two-hundred-yen neighborhood association fee, I was genuinely relieved. Somehow I felt like I could work hard and keep on living. When I realized that using the parking lot and wine cellar (it had a wine cellar, guys!) of one of these mansions would cost more than the rent of my entire apartment, well, I guess I'm just a commoner at heart. I hope you'll all bear with me.
And now, my thanks.
To illustrator Jyuu Ayakura-sensei, thank you for making time in the midst of your busy schedule to draw such wonderful pictures. They make me want to have my writing be worthy of them every day.
And to my editor, Koetsu-sama. For your patient grammatical guidance, I thank you. As basic corrections to my Japanese become less and less frequent, I will devote myself more thoroughly to everything that comes after those corrections.
Finally to all of my readers, thank you for taking this book into your hands.
Let us meet again in the next volume.
Isuna Hasekura
***
The six days of winter travel had taken a toll on his body.
While it was fortunate that there had been no snow, cold was still cold.
What blankets he had were bought by the bundle and closer to softish boards than proper bedding. Anything that could plausibly ward off the chill had been stuffed under those blankets.
The warmest thing of all, naturally, would have been another warm-bodied creature, ideally one with fur.
If said creature could talk, though, well—that would be a problem.
"I cannot but muse that I am on the losing end of this bargain, 'tis true."
The sky was growing faintly brighter, the last vestiges of the night still caressing his face as though reluctant to leave.
Normally after being awakened by the cold, he would stare up at the paling sky for a time, unwilling to emerge from the blankets—but today his furred companion was obviously in a terrible temper.
"Look, I said I was sorry."
"Oh, aye, if it's a question of who is in the wrong and who should be apologizing, 'tis you and sure enough. I help ease night's chill as I can, and I'm even generous enough not to charge you for the favor."
The young man buried underneath the blankets, his face exposed and looking up at the sky, was Kraft Lawrence. He turned his head to the left.
Lawrence had been on his own as a merchant since he was eighteen—seven years now—and he had a fair amount of confidence in his ability to talk around even the most unreasonable of customers.
But even this seasoned merchant found himself at a loss for words when confronted by his companion, who lay to his right, directing at him a displeased stream of words with a sharp gaze to match.
The girl with her dark red eyes and flaxen hair was named Holo.
It was a rare name, but that was not the only rare thing about her.
After all, she sported a pair of keen, beastlike ears atop her head, and a splendid wolf tail sprouted from her waist.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Well then, volume 3 means there are three books, of which this is the third novel. Around this time last year, I'd passed the first-round selection for the Dengeki Novel Prize and was camped out next to the phone, waiting for the results of the second-round selection. Back then, writing even one volume was a major effort—I'd write, then throw it away, write again, then throw it away again.
So since the end of last year, I've been writing at a nigh-heroic pace, and even in that year, I feel like maybe I've grown up just a bit.
My latest hobby is surfing real estate sites. And not normal ones. I'm talking about the big time—hundred-million-yen condos and mansions.
I like the view from high places, so I was thinking I'd like to live someday in a high-rise condo with a view of the city lights at night. I've been looking at model homes along those lines, and they're crazy. Everything's just done up in this unimaginably overwhelming fashion, and before I knew it, I was sucked in.
The prices had so many zeros I was rubbing my eyes just to make sure my vision still worked right, and when I saw the mere two-hundred-yen neighborhood association fee, I was genuinely relieved. Somehow I felt like I could work hard and keep on living. When I realized that using the parking lot and wine cellar (it had a wine cellar, guys!) of one of these mansions would cost more than the rent of my entire apartment, well, I guess I'm just a commoner at heart. I hope you'll all bear with me.
And now, my thanks.
To illustrator Jyuu Ayakura-sensei, thank you for making time in the midst of your busy schedule to draw such wonderful pictures. They make me want to have my writing be worthy of them every day.
And to my editor, Koetsu-sama. For your patient grammatical guidance, I thank you. As basic corrections to my Japanese become less and less frequent, I will devote myself more thoroughly to everything that comes after those corrections.
Finally to all of my readers, thank you for taking this book into your hands.
Let us meet again in the next volume.
Isuna Hasekura
***
The six days of winter travel had taken a toll on his body.
While it was fortunate that there had been no snow, cold was still cold.
What blankets he had were bought by the bundle and closer to softish boards than proper bedding. Anything that could plausibly ward off the chill had been stuffed under those blankets.
The warmest thing of all, naturally, would have been another warm-bodied creature, ideally one with fur.
If said creature could talk, though, well—that would be a problem.
"I cannot but muse that I am on the losing end of this bargain, 'tis true."
The sky was growing faintly brighter, the last vestiges of the night still caressing his face as though reluctant to leave.
Normally after being awakened by the cold, he would stare up at the paling sky for a time, unwilling to emerge from the blankets—but today his furred companion was obviously in a terrible temper.
"Look, I said I was sorry."
"Oh, aye, if it's a question of who is in the wrong and who should be apologizing, 'tis you and sure enough. I help ease night's chill as I can, and I'm even generous enough not to charge you for the favor."
The young man buried underneath the blankets, his face exposed and looking up at the sky, was Kraft Lawrence. He turned his head to the left.
Lawrence had been on his own as a merchant since he was eighteen—seven years now—and he had a fair amount of confidence in his ability to talk around even the most unreasonable of customers.
But even this seasoned merchant found himself at a loss for words when confronted by his companion, who lay to his right, directing at him a displeased stream of words with a sharp gaze to match.
The girl with her dark red eyes and flaxen hair was named Holo.
It was a rare name, but that was not the only rare thing about her.
After all, she sported a pair of keen, beastlike ears atop her head, and a splendid wolf tail sprouted from her waist.
| Holo would not have been as angry, presumably, if Lawrence had done something as easily understood as assaulting her in her bed while his wits were still dulled by sleep.
She would have simply mocked him mercilessly until he could barely stand, laughed a hearty laugh, and called it a day.
But no—the reason Lawrence endured this ceaseless stream of recrimination was because he had done something unforgivable.
What had he done? Owing to the cold, he'd unconsciously nestled his feet on Holo's furry tail. Worse, when he turned over in his sleep, he had caught her fur.
The centuries-old Holo, the self-styled wisewolf, the girl who was sometimes called a goddess (though she hated it) had uttered a piercing, girlish cry—the pain alone must have been insult enough.
Nevertheless, Lawrence felt a bit aggrieved at his subsequent treatment. He had been asleep, after all.
Despite the fact that even now Holo continued to rail at him, the instant his feet tangled in her fur and he stepped on her tail, she had punched him hard, twice, in the face.
Surely that was punishment enough, he felt.
"'Tis bad enough that you humans tread so easily upon one's feet when you are fully awake. But even when you are asleep! But lo—this tail is my pride! The only proof that I am me!"
Though the tail that Lawrence had rolled over was unharmed, a bit of fur had come free.
More than any pain, it was that indignity that infuriated Holo so.
Worse, before he'd rolled over, his feet seemed to have flattened a section of fur on her tail as they slept.
After staring dazedly at her tail for a moment, Holo tackled Lawrence, who had sensed that the situation was turning ugly and tried to escape from underneath the blankets, and she began to verbally assault him.
When angered, most would either turn cold and cruel or demand a duel of some kind. Holo's method of reprisal was far more effective.
It had been quite warm sleeping underneath the blankets with Holo, and the hour was just before dawn, and Lawrence's body was beleaguered after many days of winter travel.
It would hardly have been surprising if he began to doze off in the face of such unrelenting abuse.
If Lawrence's face betrayed even a hint of sleepiness, though, no doubt he would never hear the end of it.
It was like torture.
Holo would have made an excellent sheriff.
"Honestly, though..."
The interrogation did not cease until Holo exhausted herself with anger and dozed off again.
Lawrence was well aware that Holo's wrath was something to be feared and that anger could take many forms. He'd had no particular desire to discover yet another facet of it, but discover it he had—and having done so, he started the wagon moving along.
Worn out by her own tirade, Holo had stolen the blankets entirely and curled up like a caterpillar against the cold.
But she wasn't in the wagon bed. Instead, she lay sideways in the driver's seat, her head resting upon Lawrence's lap.
She certainly looked suitably meek and lovely, but given the timing...No, the depth of her calculation was frightening.
If she'd bared her teeth, that would have given Lawrence an excuse to fight back. If she'd ignored him, he could have ignored her in turn.
But forcing her head onto the merchant's lap only further worsened his position.
He couldn't get angry; he couldn't ignore her. And if she were to beg him for something to eat, he'd be unable to refuse her. Her actions, after all, made it clear that she was mollified.
Though the sun had now risen, taking the chill off the morning air, the sigh that came from Lawrence's mouth was a heavy one.
Despite warning himself that he would need to be more careful of Holo's tail in the future, it was hard to resist such warmth when camping in the winter.
If there had been a god to ask, he would've prayed: "What should I do?"
But then the mute morning travels came to an unexpectedly sudden end.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Holo would not have been as angry, presumably, if Lawrence had done something as easily understood as assaulting her in her bed while his wits were still dulled by sleep.
She would have simply mocked him mercilessly until he could barely stand, laughed a hearty laugh, and called it a day.
But no—the reason Lawrence endured this ceaseless stream of recrimination was because he had done something unforgivable.
What had he done? Owing to the cold, he'd unconsciously nestled his feet on Holo's furry tail. Worse, when he turned over in his sleep, he had caught her fur.
The centuries-old Holo, the self-styled wisewolf, the girl who was sometimes called a goddess (though she hated it) had uttered a piercing, girlish cry—the pain alone must have been insult enough.
Nevertheless, Lawrence felt a bit aggrieved at his subsequent treatment. He had been asleep, after all.
Despite the fact that even now Holo continued to rail at him, the instant his feet tangled in her fur and he stepped on her tail, she had punched him hard, twice, in the face.
Surely that was punishment enough, he felt.
"'Tis bad enough that you humans tread so easily upon one's feet when you are fully awake. But even when you are asleep! But lo—this tail is my pride! The only proof that I am me!"
Though the tail that Lawrence had rolled over was unharmed, a bit of fur had come free.
More than any pain, it was that indignity that infuriated Holo so.
Worse, before he'd rolled over, his feet seemed to have flattened a section of fur on her tail as they slept.
After staring dazedly at her tail for a moment, Holo tackled Lawrence, who had sensed that the situation was turning ugly and tried to escape from underneath the blankets, and she began to verbally assault him.
When angered, most would either turn cold and cruel or demand a duel of some kind. Holo's method of reprisal was far more effective.
It had been quite warm sleeping underneath the blankets with Holo, and the hour was just before dawn, and Lawrence's body was beleaguered after many days of winter travel.
It would hardly have been surprising if he began to doze off in the face of such unrelenting abuse.
If Lawrence's face betrayed even a hint of sleepiness, though, no doubt he would never hear the end of it.
It was like torture.
Holo would have made an excellent sheriff.
"Honestly, though..."
The interrogation did not cease until Holo exhausted herself with anger and dozed off again.
Lawrence was well aware that Holo's wrath was something to be feared and that anger could take many forms. He'd had no particular desire to discover yet another facet of it, but discover it he had—and having done so, he started the wagon moving along.
Worn out by her own tirade, Holo had stolen the blankets entirely and curled up like a caterpillar against the cold.
But she wasn't in the wagon bed. Instead, she lay sideways in the driver's seat, her head resting upon Lawrence's lap.
She certainly looked suitably meek and lovely, but given the timing...No, the depth of her calculation was frightening.
If she'd bared her teeth, that would have given Lawrence an excuse to fight back. If she'd ignored him, he could have ignored her in turn.
But forcing her head onto the merchant's lap only further worsened his position.
He couldn't get angry; he couldn't ignore her. And if she were to beg him for something to eat, he'd be unable to refuse her. Her actions, after all, made it clear that she was mollified.
Though the sun had now risen, taking the chill off the morning air, the sigh that came from Lawrence's mouth was a heavy one.
Despite warning himself that he would need to be more careful of Holo's tail in the future, it was hard to resist such warmth when camping in the winter.
If there had been a god to ask, he would've prayed: "What should I do?"
But then the mute morning travels came to an unexpectedly sudden end.
| He'd never been to this region before and lacked any sense of the lay of the land.
It was slightly to the east of the central region of Ploania, a vast nation that was home to both pagans and church followers. Lawrence wasn't sure about the military importance of the area, but he knew it held little to interest a merchant such as himself.
The only reason he was here at all was because of the devilish girl who lay asleep on his lap.
He was guiding her back to her homeland, Yoitsu.
Because of the centuries that had passed since she had left, her memories of the details of the place were blurry and dim. Much had changed in the world over such a span of time, and Holo was eager to learn even the tiniest rumor of her homeland—all the more so now that she had learned of the legend recounting Yoitsu's destruction.
Six days earlier in the town of Kumersun, they'd made the acquaintance of Diana, a chronicler who collected folklore. Diana had told them of a monk who specialized in tales of pagan gods.
The monk in question lived in a remote monastery, and only the Church priest in the town of Tereo knew its location.
The path to Tereo was not widely known, however, so the pair headed first to another town, Enberch, to ask directions.
It was that town at which they had finally arrived.
"I wish to eat sweetbread." As they approached the town's gatehouse, Holo stirred and awoke, and these were the first words from her mouth. "And by sweetbread, I mean—you know. Wheat bread."
What she requested was not inexpensive, but Lawrence had no right to refuse her.
Lawrence didn't know what would sell in the region, so he'd brought wheat with him—wheat he had bought from his friend Mark the wheat seller, to whom he owed a favor. But as Lawrence and Holo traveled, it was bitter rye bread he'd chosen for their rations.
His miserly decision had made him the target of no small amount of complaining on Holo's part.
He couldn't help thinking darkly of the high-quality, grandly risen bread Holo would no doubt demand.
"We've got to sell our goods first, in any case."
"I suppose I'll allow that."
Truthfully it had been Holo who begged Lawrence to allow her to accompany him, yet most of the time Lawrence felt like her valet.
She seemed to notice Lawrence's irritation. "Ah, but my lovely tail has been trampled 'neath your feet. 'Tis only fair that I trample upon you a bit in return," she said mischievously, stroking her tail beneath her robe.
He'd expected Holo to continue complaining for some time, but it seemed she had spoken her piece.
Lawrence sighed inwardly, relieved, and turned the wagon toward the miller's.
Though Enberch was remote, it seemed to be the acknowledged trade center of the region and fairly busy.
Lawrence and Holo had merely happened to approach the town from a less-trafficked direction.
Throughout the town square were carts loaded with grain, produce, and animals that had been brought from nearby villages. Buyers and sellers jammed the area.
There was a large church that faced the square, its doors flung open to accommodate the bustling trade it seemed to do. Through the doorway passed a steady stream of townspeople coming to pray or to attend service.
Enberch was the sort of rural town you could find anywhere in the world.
Upon asking at the gatehouse, Lawrence learned that the largest miller in town was the Riendott Company.
Though it was little more than a miller's shop, the word company had been tacked onto the end. It struck Lawrence as awfully countrified.
Yet past the north edge of the square on the right side of the clean, straight road, there stood the Riendott Company—complete with a wide storefront and grand loading dock. The merchant understood why this business would want to maintain its reputation.
He'd bought up about three hundred trenni worth of grain in Kumersun.
About half of this had carefully been winnowed and ground into flour. The remainder had merely been threshed.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He'd never been to this region before and lacked any sense of the lay of the land.
It was slightly to the east of the central region of Ploania, a vast nation that was home to both pagans and church followers. Lawrence wasn't sure about the military importance of the area, but he knew it held little to interest a merchant such as himself.
The only reason he was here at all was because of the devilish girl who lay asleep on his lap.
He was guiding her back to her homeland, Yoitsu.
Because of the centuries that had passed since she had left, her memories of the details of the place were blurry and dim. Much had changed in the world over such a span of time, and Holo was eager to learn even the tiniest rumor of her homeland—all the more so now that she had learned of the legend recounting Yoitsu's destruction.
Six days earlier in the town of Kumersun, they'd made the acquaintance of Diana, a chronicler who collected folklore. Diana had told them of a monk who specialized in tales of pagan gods.
The monk in question lived in a remote monastery, and only the Church priest in the town of Tereo knew its location.
The path to Tereo was not widely known, however, so the pair headed first to another town, Enberch, to ask directions.
It was that town at which they had finally arrived.
"I wish to eat sweetbread." As they approached the town's gatehouse, Holo stirred and awoke, and these were the first words from her mouth. "And by sweetbread, I mean—you know. Wheat bread."
What she requested was not inexpensive, but Lawrence had no right to refuse her.
Lawrence didn't know what would sell in the region, so he'd brought wheat with him—wheat he had bought from his friend Mark the wheat seller, to whom he owed a favor. But as Lawrence and Holo traveled, it was bitter rye bread he'd chosen for their rations.
His miserly decision had made him the target of no small amount of complaining on Holo's part.
He couldn't help thinking darkly of the high-quality, grandly risen bread Holo would no doubt demand.
"We've got to sell our goods first, in any case."
"I suppose I'll allow that."
Truthfully it had been Holo who begged Lawrence to allow her to accompany him, yet most of the time Lawrence felt like her valet.
She seemed to notice Lawrence's irritation. "Ah, but my lovely tail has been trampled 'neath your feet. 'Tis only fair that I trample upon you a bit in return," she said mischievously, stroking her tail beneath her robe.
He'd expected Holo to continue complaining for some time, but it seemed she had spoken her piece.
Lawrence sighed inwardly, relieved, and turned the wagon toward the miller's.
Though Enberch was remote, it seemed to be the acknowledged trade center of the region and fairly busy.
Lawrence and Holo had merely happened to approach the town from a less-trafficked direction.
Throughout the town square were carts loaded with grain, produce, and animals that had been brought from nearby villages. Buyers and sellers jammed the area.
There was a large church that faced the square, its doors flung open to accommodate the bustling trade it seemed to do. Through the doorway passed a steady stream of townspeople coming to pray or to attend service.
Enberch was the sort of rural town you could find anywhere in the world.
Upon asking at the gatehouse, Lawrence learned that the largest miller in town was the Riendott Company.
Though it was little more than a miller's shop, the word company had been tacked onto the end. It struck Lawrence as awfully countrified.
Yet past the north edge of the square on the right side of the clean, straight road, there stood the Riendott Company—complete with a wide storefront and grand loading dock. The merchant understood why this business would want to maintain its reputation.
He'd bought up about three hundred trenni worth of grain in Kumersun.
About half of this had carefully been winnowed and ground into flour. The remainder had merely been threshed.
| If a merchant was unlucky enough to encounter a few days of rain on his journey, the wheat would quickly rot—and in any case, it was too expensive for northlanders to afford as a staple, so finding buyers could be difficult.
Lawrence mostly carried wheat simply because, as a merchant, he hated to travel with an empty wagon.
It was also because, having made a large profit in Kumersun, he'd decided to err on the side of prudence.
In any case, a town the size of Enberch should have a few nobles or Church officials rich enough to afford wheat, so Lawrence expected the Riendott Company would be willing to buy from him.
"Ho, is that wheat?"
It was Riendott himself who emerged to greet Lawrence, probably because Lawrence's wagon was loaded with wheat. Riendott was a round man, giving the impression more of a butcher than a miller, and his face seemed a bit troubled.
"Indeed. Half as flour and the other half in grain. I've a writ of quality to go with it."
"I see. I'll allow as how kneaded and baked it would make fine bread—but as you can see, we've had a huge harvest of rye this year. We simply lack the resources to deal with extra wheat."
The company's loading dock was indeed piled high with sacks of rye, and on the wall next to them, placards were affixed, upon which delivery destinations had been scrawled in chalk.
"Though for our part, wheat does yield a nice profit. We'd like to buy from you given the chance, but we've no spare funds on hand..."
The owner was surely thinking that rye—which was guaranteed to sell—was more important to him than wheat that might or might not be easy to sell, depending on the whims of wealthy customers.
Interpersonal relationships were important in business. This was doubly true in remote areas like Enberch. The miller could scarcely afford a single traveling merchant disrupting his business with farmers who would bring in rye year after year.
"I gather that you're a traveling merchant—have you come to create a new trade route?"
"Nay, this is merely a side business."
"I see. May I ask your destination?"
"I'm bound for Lenos, but there's a place nearby I'd like to visit first."
Riendott blinked his surprise.
Though Lenos was yet farther north, it was sure that the master of a trade company—even one like this, a glorified mill—would know it at least by reputation.
"Good heavens, you're headed quite a ways...quite a ways, indeed."
It was obvious that Riendott assumed Enberch was the only town in the region worth a merchant's time.
"Aye, though I plan to stop in Tereo first."
Riendott's surprise was obvious. "Goodness, what would take you there?"
"I've business with the Church there. Ah, and merchant matters aside, would you happen to know the way?"
Riendott's gaze swam for a moment, as though he'd been asked the price of the very first good he had ever sold. "The road that leads there has no forks, so you needn't worry about losing your way. I'd say it's about half a day's travel by wagon. The road is poor, though."
Maybe it really had been a strange question to ask. Maybe there truly was nothing of note in Lenos.
Riendott hemmed and hawed for a moment, glancing toward Lawrence's wagon. "Will you be coming through Enberch on your return?"
"Unfortunately, no; I'm taking a different route."
No doubt the miller was contemplating buying on credit if Lawrence had been coming back through Enberch.
But no—Lawrence had no plans to add the region to his regular route.
"I see, well...unfortunately, I'm afraid we'll have to leave it at that, then," said Riendott, his face twisted with regret that was probably at least half-false.
Buying up expensive wheat from a traveler just passing through was a dangerous gamble.
The wheat flour could easily have been cut with flour from other grains, or it might merely appear to be of fine quality, only showing its true colors upon baking.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | If a merchant was unlucky enough to encounter a few days of rain on his journey, the wheat would quickly rot—and in any case, it was too expensive for northlanders to afford as a staple, so finding buyers could be difficult.
Lawrence mostly carried wheat simply because, as a merchant, he hated to travel with an empty wagon.
It was also because, having made a large profit in Kumersun, he'd decided to err on the side of prudence.
In any case, a town the size of Enberch should have a few nobles or Church officials rich enough to afford wheat, so Lawrence expected the Riendott Company would be willing to buy from him.
"Ho, is that wheat?"
It was Riendott himself who emerged to greet Lawrence, probably because Lawrence's wagon was loaded with wheat. Riendott was a round man, giving the impression more of a butcher than a miller, and his face seemed a bit troubled.
"Indeed. Half as flour and the other half in grain. I've a writ of quality to go with it."
"I see. I'll allow as how kneaded and baked it would make fine bread—but as you can see, we've had a huge harvest of rye this year. We simply lack the resources to deal with extra wheat."
The company's loading dock was indeed piled high with sacks of rye, and on the wall next to them, placards were affixed, upon which delivery destinations had been scrawled in chalk.
"Though for our part, wheat does yield a nice profit. We'd like to buy from you given the chance, but we've no spare funds on hand..."
The owner was surely thinking that rye—which was guaranteed to sell—was more important to him than wheat that might or might not be easy to sell, depending on the whims of wealthy customers.
Interpersonal relationships were important in business. This was doubly true in remote areas like Enberch. The miller could scarcely afford a single traveling merchant disrupting his business with farmers who would bring in rye year after year.
"I gather that you're a traveling merchant—have you come to create a new trade route?"
"Nay, this is merely a side business."
"I see. May I ask your destination?"
"I'm bound for Lenos, but there's a place nearby I'd like to visit first."
Riendott blinked his surprise.
Though Lenos was yet farther north, it was sure that the master of a trade company—even one like this, a glorified mill—would know it at least by reputation.
"Good heavens, you're headed quite a ways...quite a ways, indeed."
It was obvious that Riendott assumed Enberch was the only town in the region worth a merchant's time.
"Aye, though I plan to stop in Tereo first."
Riendott's surprise was obvious. "Goodness, what would take you there?"
"I've business with the Church there. Ah, and merchant matters aside, would you happen to know the way?"
Riendott's gaze swam for a moment, as though he'd been asked the price of the very first good he had ever sold. "The road that leads there has no forks, so you needn't worry about losing your way. I'd say it's about half a day's travel by wagon. The road is poor, though."
Maybe it really had been a strange question to ask. Maybe there truly was nothing of note in Lenos.
Riendott hemmed and hawed for a moment, glancing toward Lawrence's wagon. "Will you be coming through Enberch on your return?"
"Unfortunately, no; I'm taking a different route."
No doubt the miller was contemplating buying on credit if Lawrence had been coming back through Enberch.
But no—Lawrence had no plans to add the region to his regular route.
"I see, well...unfortunately, I'm afraid we'll have to leave it at that, then," said Riendott, his face twisted with regret that was probably at least half-false.
Buying up expensive wheat from a traveler just passing through was a dangerous gamble.
The wheat flour could easily have been cut with flour from other grains, or it might merely appear to be of fine quality, only showing its true colors upon baking.
| But Lawrence had no particular need to sell his wheat immediately.
The time was not right. He shook hands with Riendott and prepared to take his leave.
"I suppose 'tis true—the fastest way to sell wheat is not as flour, but as baked bread," said Lawrence.
Bread's quality could be easily determined with a single bite. A taste was far more effective than the grandest tale of a sack of flour's supposed quality.
"Ha-ha-ha. All us merchants think so. It's a sore spot with the town bakers!" declared Riendott.
"Ah, so the bakers here are tough, are they?"
"Aye, and how. If anyone besides the bakers begins selling bread, they'll come running, stone rolling pins brandished high!"
Merchants bought and sold, and bakers baked—this division of labor could be found anywhere in the world.
It was a reality, though, that if a merchant was to take over the entire process, from buying wheat to baking bread, the profits would be substantial.
As it was, the process between harvesting wheat to selling baked bread was long and involved many different people.
"Well then—God go with us," said Lawrence.
"Indeed. I look forward to your future patronage."
Lawrence gave Riendott a smile and a nod, and then he and Holo put the shop behind them.
Though Lawrence was mildly disappointed about not selling off the wheat, he was more concerned with Holo's ominous silence.
"You didn't say anything this time," he said casually.
Holo's reply was quick. "That miller, he said Tereo was a half day's journey from here, yes?"
"Huh? Oh yes, he did."
"So if we leave now, we can be there by nightfall," said Holo, being strangely confrontational.
Lawrence leaned away from the tone of her voice. "I was thinking it would be nice to rest. You're tired yourself, are you not?"
"If it's rest you need, we can rest in Tereo. If we're going, I'd prefer to go sooner."
Lawrence finally realized the reason for her unusually obstinate tone.
Though she rarely spoke about it, Holo clearly wanted to meet this monk who collected tales of pagan gods as soon as she possibly could.
Holo was stubborn and could be strangely proud.
She would consider it beneath her dignity to be constantly urging Lawrence to hurry.
But with their destination so close, the embers that smoldered in her chest were turning to blazing flames.
No doubt she was tired. The fact that she urged him on nonetheless proved how desperate her need for knowledge was.
"All right, then. But let's have a hot meal first? Surely you won't mind that."
Holo looked stunned at Lawrence's statement. "Need you even ask?"
Lawrence grinned—just as surely as Holo's stomach growled.
Just when it seemed that the gently rolling hills would never end, the landscape shifted—here it appeared that God had taken a more active hand in the molding of the terrain.
The undulating geography was like bread dough, carelessly folded over upon itself. A river flowed through the valley between the mounds, and here and there were lush stands of woods.
The wagon on which the pair rode made little creaking sounds as it bumped along the road following the river.
Lawrence looked over at Holo, wondering if he should have forced her to rest while they were in Enberch.
Between nightfall and dawn, the chill of winter made deep sleep difficult. One was always waking, then sleeping, and then awake yet again. Though Holo's true form was lupine, as a maiden she seemed to possess a maiden's constitution.
The long journey could not have been anything but difficult for her.
She leaned against Lawrence, asleep, looking utterly exhausted.
He considered asking for lodgings at the monastery.
It was possible that the accommodations would be plain, which Holo might grumble at...As Lawrence considered the matter, he noticed that the river was beginning to widen.
The river wound around a slope ahead so he could not see where it led. The basin was certainly widening, though, and the flow slowing.
And then a certain unmistakable sound reached his ears.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | But Lawrence had no particular need to sell his wheat immediately.
The time was not right. He shook hands with Riendott and prepared to take his leave.
"I suppose 'tis true—the fastest way to sell wheat is not as flour, but as baked bread," said Lawrence.
Bread's quality could be easily determined with a single bite. A taste was far more effective than the grandest tale of a sack of flour's supposed quality.
"Ha-ha-ha. All us merchants think so. It's a sore spot with the town bakers!" declared Riendott.
"Ah, so the bakers here are tough, are they?"
"Aye, and how. If anyone besides the bakers begins selling bread, they'll come running, stone rolling pins brandished high!"
Merchants bought and sold, and bakers baked—this division of labor could be found anywhere in the world.
It was a reality, though, that if a merchant was to take over the entire process, from buying wheat to baking bread, the profits would be substantial.
As it was, the process between harvesting wheat to selling baked bread was long and involved many different people.
"Well then—God go with us," said Lawrence.
"Indeed. I look forward to your future patronage."
Lawrence gave Riendott a smile and a nod, and then he and Holo put the shop behind them.
Though Lawrence was mildly disappointed about not selling off the wheat, he was more concerned with Holo's ominous silence.
"You didn't say anything this time," he said casually.
Holo's reply was quick. "That miller, he said Tereo was a half day's journey from here, yes?"
"Huh? Oh yes, he did."
"So if we leave now, we can be there by nightfall," said Holo, being strangely confrontational.
Lawrence leaned away from the tone of her voice. "I was thinking it would be nice to rest. You're tired yourself, are you not?"
"If it's rest you need, we can rest in Tereo. If we're going, I'd prefer to go sooner."
Lawrence finally realized the reason for her unusually obstinate tone.
Though she rarely spoke about it, Holo clearly wanted to meet this monk who collected tales of pagan gods as soon as she possibly could.
Holo was stubborn and could be strangely proud.
She would consider it beneath her dignity to be constantly urging Lawrence to hurry.
But with their destination so close, the embers that smoldered in her chest were turning to blazing flames.
No doubt she was tired. The fact that she urged him on nonetheless proved how desperate her need for knowledge was.
"All right, then. But let's have a hot meal first? Surely you won't mind that."
Holo looked stunned at Lawrence's statement. "Need you even ask?"
Lawrence grinned—just as surely as Holo's stomach growled.
Just when it seemed that the gently rolling hills would never end, the landscape shifted—here it appeared that God had taken a more active hand in the molding of the terrain.
The undulating geography was like bread dough, carelessly folded over upon itself. A river flowed through the valley between the mounds, and here and there were lush stands of woods.
The wagon on which the pair rode made little creaking sounds as it bumped along the road following the river.
Lawrence looked over at Holo, wondering if he should have forced her to rest while they were in Enberch.
Between nightfall and dawn, the chill of winter made deep sleep difficult. One was always waking, then sleeping, and then awake yet again. Though Holo's true form was lupine, as a maiden she seemed to possess a maiden's constitution.
The long journey could not have been anything but difficult for her.
She leaned against Lawrence, asleep, looking utterly exhausted.
He considered asking for lodgings at the monastery.
It was possible that the accommodations would be plain, which Holo might grumble at...As Lawrence considered the matter, he noticed that the river was beginning to widen.
The river wound around a slope ahead so he could not see where it led. The basin was certainly widening, though, and the flow slowing.
And then a certain unmistakable sound reached his ears.
| Holo's keen wolf ears picked up the noise as well. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked out from under her hood.
Tereo was close.
Just where the river's flow slowed to a stop, forming a small pond ahead, a snug little waterwheel and millhouse were situated.
"If there's a waterwheel here, we must be close."
In places where water was limited, people would store it up, and then use the elevation change to power the waterwheel.
Owing to the lack of water, the method worked for only so long—and with the harvest complete, the time when a line of villagers had waited to grind their grain at the millhouse was past.
At the moment, the blackened, river weed–tinged millhouse merely sat there, forlorn.
Just as Lawrence drew near enough to the mill that he could begin to make out the grain of the wood from which it was constructed, a shadow leaped out from inside.
Surprised, Lawrence pulled back on the reins. His cart horse let out a disgruntled whinny, shaking its head from side to side.
It was a young man who had rushed out. His sleeves were rolled up despite the cold weather, and his arms were white with flour.
"Whoa—whoa there! Say, are you a traveler?" inquired the youth, coming around in front of the cart before Lawrence could either voice his irritation or continue along his way.
"...I suppose if you put it that way, aye, a traveler I am. And you?"
Though he was a boy, the youth could not have been more different from Amati, the lad against whom Lawrence had sparred in the marketplace a week earlier. The boy in front of him was slender but had a sturdiness born of physical labor. He was about Lawrence's height with the black hair and eyes that were common in the northlands. He looked strong enough that Lawrence imagined him wielding an oxbow. His black hair was haphazardly dusted with flour.
Asking this flour-dusted boy, who had just emerged from a millhouse, who he was would be like standing before a baker's stall filled with bread and asking what was for sale.
"Ha, well, as you can see, I'm a miller. So, where'd you come from? You don't look like you're from Enberch."
Lawrence found the boy's carefree smile rather childish.
He inwardly guessed the boy to be six or seven years his junior, and he was suddenly wary of Holo catching yet another hapless pup's eye—creating yet another mess for Lawrence to clean up.
"As you might guess, I've a question for you," said Lawrence. "How much longer will it take to make the town of Tereo?"
"The town...of Tereo?" repeated the youth, stunned for a moment. He then grinned and continued. "If Tereo's a town, then Enberch is the royal capital! I don't know what brings you out there, but Tereo's a tiny smear of a village. Just look at this pitiful millhouse!"
Lawrence was vaguely surprised by the lad's words until he remembered that like Holo, Diana (who had given him the information about the town) was hundreds of years old. In her time, Tereo may well have been the largest, busiest town in the region. Decline was hardly rare.
Lawrence nodded and posed his question again. "So how far, then?"
"It's just ahead. Of course, it's not like there's a grand wall surrounding the place—you could even say you're already in Tereo."
"I see. Well, thank you," Lawrence said shortly, guessing that left to his own devices, the lad would probably continue his rant.
Lawrence flicked the reins and began to ease the wagon around the boy, who became flustered and quickly moved to block the wagon's path. "H-hey now, don't be in such a hurry, eh, kind traveler?"
With the youth's arms blocking the none-too-wide path, there was no way for Lawrence to get by.
It would have been easy enough to force his way past, but if the lad was injured, it would hardly leave a good first impression on the people of Tereo.
Lawrence sighed. "What business have you, then?"
"Ah, er—well...Ah! Your companion—she's quite the beauty!"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Holo's keen wolf ears picked up the noise as well. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked out from under her hood.
Tereo was close.
Just where the river's flow slowed to a stop, forming a small pond ahead, a snug little waterwheel and millhouse were situated.
"If there's a waterwheel here, we must be close."
In places where water was limited, people would store it up, and then use the elevation change to power the waterwheel.
Owing to the lack of water, the method worked for only so long—and with the harvest complete, the time when a line of villagers had waited to grind their grain at the millhouse was past.
At the moment, the blackened, river weed–tinged millhouse merely sat there, forlorn.
Just as Lawrence drew near enough to the mill that he could begin to make out the grain of the wood from which it was constructed, a shadow leaped out from inside.
Surprised, Lawrence pulled back on the reins. His cart horse let out a disgruntled whinny, shaking its head from side to side.
It was a young man who had rushed out. His sleeves were rolled up despite the cold weather, and his arms were white with flour.
"Whoa—whoa there! Say, are you a traveler?" inquired the youth, coming around in front of the cart before Lawrence could either voice his irritation or continue along his way.
"...I suppose if you put it that way, aye, a traveler I am. And you?"
Though he was a boy, the youth could not have been more different from Amati, the lad against whom Lawrence had sparred in the marketplace a week earlier. The boy in front of him was slender but had a sturdiness born of physical labor. He was about Lawrence's height with the black hair and eyes that were common in the northlands. He looked strong enough that Lawrence imagined him wielding an oxbow. His black hair was haphazardly dusted with flour.
Asking this flour-dusted boy, who had just emerged from a millhouse, who he was would be like standing before a baker's stall filled with bread and asking what was for sale.
"Ha, well, as you can see, I'm a miller. So, where'd you come from? You don't look like you're from Enberch."
Lawrence found the boy's carefree smile rather childish.
He inwardly guessed the boy to be six or seven years his junior, and he was suddenly wary of Holo catching yet another hapless pup's eye—creating yet another mess for Lawrence to clean up.
"As you might guess, I've a question for you," said Lawrence. "How much longer will it take to make the town of Tereo?"
"The town...of Tereo?" repeated the youth, stunned for a moment. He then grinned and continued. "If Tereo's a town, then Enberch is the royal capital! I don't know what brings you out there, but Tereo's a tiny smear of a village. Just look at this pitiful millhouse!"
Lawrence was vaguely surprised by the lad's words until he remembered that like Holo, Diana (who had given him the information about the town) was hundreds of years old. In her time, Tereo may well have been the largest, busiest town in the region. Decline was hardly rare.
Lawrence nodded and posed his question again. "So how far, then?"
"It's just ahead. Of course, it's not like there's a grand wall surrounding the place—you could even say you're already in Tereo."
"I see. Well, thank you," Lawrence said shortly, guessing that left to his own devices, the lad would probably continue his rant.
Lawrence flicked the reins and began to ease the wagon around the boy, who became flustered and quickly moved to block the wagon's path. "H-hey now, don't be in such a hurry, eh, kind traveler?"
With the youth's arms blocking the none-too-wide path, there was no way for Lawrence to get by.
It would have been easy enough to force his way past, but if the lad was injured, it would hardly leave a good first impression on the people of Tereo.
Lawrence sighed. "What business have you, then?"
"Ah, er—well...Ah! Your companion—she's quite the beauty!"
| Lawrence might feel the occasional frisson of superiority thanks to his charming companion, but lately his worries over the trouble she seemed to attract outweighed those brief flashes of pleasure.
"She is a nun on pilgrimage. Will that do? Only a tax collector can block the path of a merchant, sir."
"A-a nun?" The youth's surprise at the unexpected word was obvious.
Given the grand church at the center of Enberch, it seemed unlikely that the tiny village of Tereo would be entirely pagan. Even in the northern regions of Ploania, a pagan village would need considerable defenses to resist a nearby Church stronghold like Enberch.
Surely there was a church in Tereo—so why would the youth be surprised?
As Lawrence thought on it, the youth noticed his contemplative state. It seemed he was more concerned about Lawrence than Holo.
"Understood, traveler. I won't obstruct you any further. But listen to my words—you'd best not bring a nun into Tereo."
"Oh?"
It did not seem to Lawrence that the lad was joking.
Just to be sure, he nudged Holo beneath the blankets to get her appraisal. She nodded quickly under her hood, confirming his assessment.
"Why might that be? We've come with business at the Church in Tereo. Surely if there's a church, there's no reason for a nun not to enter the village. Or is there no—"
"N-no, there is surely a church. But the reason...there's a bit of a fight, you see. With an unpleasant lot from the Church in Enberch." The youth's expression was sharp, like a newly trained mercenary.
The unexpected force of the youth's gaze took Lawrence momentarily by surprise, but then he remembered the lad was just a miller.
"So, that is how it is. How should I say it...? If a nun were to arrive now, things could become complicated. That is why I'd rather you didn't go." Putting away his hostility, the youth was now suddenly the picture of good-natured concern—but still, there was something strange about him.
Given that he did not seem to bear Lawrence and Holo any particular ill will, Lawrence decided not to question him further.
"I see. Well, we'll be cautious. Surely we won't be thrown out as soon as we arrive."
"Well...no, I don't suppose you will."
"My thanks to you. I'll keep your advice in mind. Suppose she's not dressed as a nun—no one would mind, then, would they?"
The youth seemed to relax. "That would be a boon, yes." His wariness of Lawrence seemed to have turned to entreaty. "But what business have you with the church?"
"We need directions."
"Directions?" The youth scratched his face, dubious. "So...so you haven't come to do business, then. You're a merchant, right?"
"Aye, and you're a miller, are you not?"
The boy grinned as though his nose has been flicked, then slumped, defeated. "And here I was hoping I might be of some use to you in business."
"I'll call on you if need be. Now, may I pass?"
The youth seemed to have something yet to say, but unable to put the words together, he nodded briefly and gave way.
The look he gave Lawrence was a deeply imploring one.
It was clear, though, that he was not asking for an information fee.
Lawrence loosened his grip on the reins and extended his hand to the youth. He looked directly into the boy's eyes, speaking clearly and evenly. "My name is Kraft Lawrence. What are you called?"
In an instant, the lad's face blossomed into a smile. "Evan! I-I'm Gyoam Evan."
"Evan, then. Understood. I'll remember that."
"Please—please do!" the young miller shouted in a voice loud enough to cause an easily startled horse to panic, gripping Lawrence's hand tightly. "Come by upon your return, if you would," he added as he stepped back from the wagon and into the doorway of the little millhouse.
He stood there in front of the black wooden millhouse, his face whitened with flour, looking distinctly lonely as he watched Lawrence and Holo drive away.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence might feel the occasional frisson of superiority thanks to his charming companion, but lately his worries over the trouble she seemed to attract outweighed those brief flashes of pleasure.
"She is a nun on pilgrimage. Will that do? Only a tax collector can block the path of a merchant, sir."
"A-a nun?" The youth's surprise at the unexpected word was obvious.
Given the grand church at the center of Enberch, it seemed unlikely that the tiny village of Tereo would be entirely pagan. Even in the northern regions of Ploania, a pagan village would need considerable defenses to resist a nearby Church stronghold like Enberch.
Surely there was a church in Tereo—so why would the youth be surprised?
As Lawrence thought on it, the youth noticed his contemplative state. It seemed he was more concerned about Lawrence than Holo.
"Understood, traveler. I won't obstruct you any further. But listen to my words—you'd best not bring a nun into Tereo."
"Oh?"
It did not seem to Lawrence that the lad was joking.
Just to be sure, he nudged Holo beneath the blankets to get her appraisal. She nodded quickly under her hood, confirming his assessment.
"Why might that be? We've come with business at the Church in Tereo. Surely if there's a church, there's no reason for a nun not to enter the village. Or is there no—"
"N-no, there is surely a church. But the reason...there's a bit of a fight, you see. With an unpleasant lot from the Church in Enberch." The youth's expression was sharp, like a newly trained mercenary.
The unexpected force of the youth's gaze took Lawrence momentarily by surprise, but then he remembered the lad was just a miller.
"So, that is how it is. How should I say it...? If a nun were to arrive now, things could become complicated. That is why I'd rather you didn't go." Putting away his hostility, the youth was now suddenly the picture of good-natured concern—but still, there was something strange about him.
Given that he did not seem to bear Lawrence and Holo any particular ill will, Lawrence decided not to question him further.
"I see. Well, we'll be cautious. Surely we won't be thrown out as soon as we arrive."
"Well...no, I don't suppose you will."
"My thanks to you. I'll keep your advice in mind. Suppose she's not dressed as a nun—no one would mind, then, would they?"
The youth seemed to relax. "That would be a boon, yes." His wariness of Lawrence seemed to have turned to entreaty. "But what business have you with the church?"
"We need directions."
"Directions?" The youth scratched his face, dubious. "So...so you haven't come to do business, then. You're a merchant, right?"
"Aye, and you're a miller, are you not?"
The boy grinned as though his nose has been flicked, then slumped, defeated. "And here I was hoping I might be of some use to you in business."
"I'll call on you if need be. Now, may I pass?"
The youth seemed to have something yet to say, but unable to put the words together, he nodded briefly and gave way.
The look he gave Lawrence was a deeply imploring one.
It was clear, though, that he was not asking for an information fee.
Lawrence loosened his grip on the reins and extended his hand to the youth. He looked directly into the boy's eyes, speaking clearly and evenly. "My name is Kraft Lawrence. What are you called?"
In an instant, the lad's face blossomed into a smile. "Evan! I-I'm Gyoam Evan."
"Evan, then. Understood. I'll remember that."
"Please—please do!" the young miller shouted in a voice loud enough to cause an easily startled horse to panic, gripping Lawrence's hand tightly. "Come by upon your return, if you would," he added as he stepped back from the wagon and into the doorway of the little millhouse.
He stood there in front of the black wooden millhouse, his face whitened with flour, looking distinctly lonely as he watched Lawrence and Holo drive away.
| He seemed less like a lad waving to a beautiful maiden and more like a boy happy to have found a friend.
The path ahead curved to the right, putting Evan's mill out of sight. Holo turned back around to face forward.
"Hmph. The boy seemed to look at you more than he did me," she announced, displeased.
Lawrence smiled for a moment, then heaved a sigh and replied, "Well, he's a miller. His is not an easy life."
Holo regarded Lawrence dubiously, her head cocked.
There must have been a reason behind the lad's desire to shake hands with Lawrence the merchant rather than Holo the maiden.
But was it a pleasant reason? Surely, the answer was no.
"It's no different from being a shepherd. Both are necessary jobs, but the people who toil in them are held in contempt in towns and villages."
Naturally depending on the region, this was not always the case. But Lawrence was quite sure that the people of Tereo did not hold the millhouse here in much regard.
"For example," continued Lawrence, "think of the wheat that's in the pouch about your neck."
Holo did indeed wear a small pouch around her neck—though it was hidden beneath layers of clothing at the moment—which contained the wheat in which her essence dwelled.
"If you were to hull and grind that much wheat, how much flour do you think it would yield?"
Holo looked down at her chest.
She could control the harvest's quality and quantity, but even she seemed not to be entirely sure how much flour would come from the handful of grain.
"Suppose you have this much grain," said Lawrence, putting the reins down for a moment and tracing the outline of a small mound in his hand. "If you hull and grind it, you'd probably get about this much flour," he continued, making a much smaller circle with his index finger and thumb.
Once ground in a mill, wheat's volume became surprisingly small.
So what must a farmer think, toiling day in and day out to raise his crop, praying always to the god of the harvest, only to see his months of labor ground into a depressingly small amount of wheat?
Holo uttered a small sound of assent after Lawrence put the question to her.
"They say that millers at the waterwheel have six fingers and that the sixth grows from the palm—for the purpose of stealing flour. Also, most waterwheels are owned by the local landlord, who levies a tax on all who grind their grain there. But the landlord can't watch over the millhouse all day, so who do you suppose collects taxes in his place?"
"I suppose it would be the miller."
Lawrence nodded and continued. "Aye, and no one is happy about paying taxes. But it is necessary. So who do you suppose bears the brunt of their resentment?"
She might not have been human, but Holo's understanding of the human world was deep.
She knew the answer immediately.
"Ah, I see the way of it. So the reason that pup was wagging his tail with such vigor at you, rather than me, was—"
"Even so," said Lawrence with a sigh and a nod. Ahead of them, the houses of the village of Tereo finally came into view. "He would like nothing better than to leave this village."
Millwork was an important job that had to be done.
But those who did the thankless task were often resented.
The more thoroughly grain was ground, the better the rise of the bread made from it.
However, the finer the grind, the smaller the volume of the resulting flour.
Doing a good job yet bearing the resentment of those who benefited from it—Lawrence had heard the story somewhere else. Holo looked straight ahead, as though sorry she had asked.
"But it's a necessary task, and there are those who appreciate it," said Lawrence. He stroked Holo's head gently before taking up the reins again. Holo nodded slightly under his touch.
Though Evan had called it a tiny smear of a village, Tereo was not so bad as he would have Lawrence believe.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He seemed less like a lad waving to a beautiful maiden and more like a boy happy to have found a friend.
The path ahead curved to the right, putting Evan's mill out of sight. Holo turned back around to face forward.
"Hmph. The boy seemed to look at you more than he did me," she announced, displeased.
Lawrence smiled for a moment, then heaved a sigh and replied, "Well, he's a miller. His is not an easy life."
Holo regarded Lawrence dubiously, her head cocked.
There must have been a reason behind the lad's desire to shake hands with Lawrence the merchant rather than Holo the maiden.
But was it a pleasant reason? Surely, the answer was no.
"It's no different from being a shepherd. Both are necessary jobs, but the people who toil in them are held in contempt in towns and villages."
Naturally depending on the region, this was not always the case. But Lawrence was quite sure that the people of Tereo did not hold the millhouse here in much regard.
"For example," continued Lawrence, "think of the wheat that's in the pouch about your neck."
Holo did indeed wear a small pouch around her neck—though it was hidden beneath layers of clothing at the moment—which contained the wheat in which her essence dwelled.
"If you were to hull and grind that much wheat, how much flour do you think it would yield?"
Holo looked down at her chest.
She could control the harvest's quality and quantity, but even she seemed not to be entirely sure how much flour would come from the handful of grain.
"Suppose you have this much grain," said Lawrence, putting the reins down for a moment and tracing the outline of a small mound in his hand. "If you hull and grind it, you'd probably get about this much flour," he continued, making a much smaller circle with his index finger and thumb.
Once ground in a mill, wheat's volume became surprisingly small.
So what must a farmer think, toiling day in and day out to raise his crop, praying always to the god of the harvest, only to see his months of labor ground into a depressingly small amount of wheat?
Holo uttered a small sound of assent after Lawrence put the question to her.
"They say that millers at the waterwheel have six fingers and that the sixth grows from the palm—for the purpose of stealing flour. Also, most waterwheels are owned by the local landlord, who levies a tax on all who grind their grain there. But the landlord can't watch over the millhouse all day, so who do you suppose collects taxes in his place?"
"I suppose it would be the miller."
Lawrence nodded and continued. "Aye, and no one is happy about paying taxes. But it is necessary. So who do you suppose bears the brunt of their resentment?"
She might not have been human, but Holo's understanding of the human world was deep.
She knew the answer immediately.
"Ah, I see the way of it. So the reason that pup was wagging his tail with such vigor at you, rather than me, was—"
"Even so," said Lawrence with a sigh and a nod. Ahead of them, the houses of the village of Tereo finally came into view. "He would like nothing better than to leave this village."
Millwork was an important job that had to be done.
But those who did the thankless task were often resented.
The more thoroughly grain was ground, the better the rise of the bread made from it.
However, the finer the grind, the smaller the volume of the resulting flour.
Doing a good job yet bearing the resentment of those who benefited from it—Lawrence had heard the story somewhere else. Holo looked straight ahead, as though sorry she had asked.
"But it's a necessary task, and there are those who appreciate it," said Lawrence. He stroked Holo's head gently before taking up the reins again. Holo nodded slightly under his touch.
Though Evan had called it a tiny smear of a village, Tereo was not so bad as he would have Lawrence believe.
| Like other villages, its buildings were not packed closely together (instead they had been erected in a more scattered fashion), but there was some stone-walled architecture in what seemed to be the heart of Tereo. The streets, while not cobbled, were clean and free from holes. The church was large enough to be visible a fair distance away, and it had a proper tower and bell.
Truly, in order to be called a town, all Tereo lacked was a wall.
Heeding Evan's warning, Holo covered her head with Lawrence's coat, cinching it up with a cord about her neck as though she expected rain. She eschewed her typical town-girl clothing. It seemed a bit too stylish and might attract attention.
Holo stood out enough as it was.
Once she had finished changing, Lawrence steered the cart toward the buildings of the village.
Having no walls meant there was no gatehouse, which in turn ensured that travelers passing through the village could not be taxed.
There was no one to stop the cart as it rolled into town. A man busy bundling sheaves of wheat stared openly at Lawrence and Holo; Lawrence nodded in greeting.
The village was dusty, its smaller streets bumpy and pitted. Buildings of both stone and wood were on the large side with low roofs. Many of the houses had gardens—a rare sight in larger towns.
Here and there along the roadside were piles of straw, the sign of the recently concluded harvest. Bundles of firewood were interspersed among them.
Pedestrians were few; it seemed as if they were outnumbered by the pigs and chickens that wandered here and there.
The one way that the village was like other places of its kind was the staring—upon noticing the travelers, every villager stared at Lawrence and Holo.
In this sense, Tereo was every bit a small village.
Lawrence felt his outsider status keenly in a way he hadn't felt in many years.
He had grown up in a poor village himself. He was well aware that such places offered little in the way of amusement and that a traveler was the perfect diversion.
Lawrence thought on this as he drove. They eventually arrived at a wide square with a great block of stone placed in the center.
It seemed to be the center of the village, surrounded as it was by various buildings.
Based on the wrought iron signs that hung from the buildings' eaves, there appeared to be a tavern, an inn, and a baker's shop, along with what seemed to be a wool weaver's workshop. A building with a larger entrance faced the street, and it was surely a common area where the harvested wheat could be threshed and sifted.
Other buildings seemed to be the homes of the village's older, more influential families—and of course, there was also the church.
There were unsurprisingly a good number of people—children playing in the square and adults standing and talking. Lawrence and Holo found themselves yet again the subject of curious stares.
"That's quite a stone there. What's it used for?" asked Holo casually, unconcerned by the villagers' scrutiny.
"Probably for ceremonial use in some festival or for dancing or maybe for holding meetings, I suppose."
The stone in question had a smooth, flat surface and came up to about Lawrence's waist. A wooden ladder leaned against it, which suggested the stone hadn't been placed here as a mere landmark.
The only way to know for sure would be to ask a villager, but Holo merely nodded vaguely and leaned back against the wagon seat.
Lawrence guided the wagon around the stone and toward the church.
Despite the constant bombardment of curious gazes, it was clear that this was no isolated mountain hamlet.
The wagon stopped in front of the church, at which point the villagers seemed to assume that the pair had come to pray for safe travel, and the level of interest dropped.
"Seems like they're almost disappointed," muttered Lawrence to Holo once he'd stopped the wagon and climbed down. Holo smiled conspiratorially.
The church was a grand stone building, its great wooden door framed in iron.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Like other villages, its buildings were not packed closely together (instead they had been erected in a more scattered fashion), but there was some stone-walled architecture in what seemed to be the heart of Tereo. The streets, while not cobbled, were clean and free from holes. The church was large enough to be visible a fair distance away, and it had a proper tower and bell.
Truly, in order to be called a town, all Tereo lacked was a wall.
Heeding Evan's warning, Holo covered her head with Lawrence's coat, cinching it up with a cord about her neck as though she expected rain. She eschewed her typical town-girl clothing. It seemed a bit too stylish and might attract attention.
Holo stood out enough as it was.
Once she had finished changing, Lawrence steered the cart toward the buildings of the village.
Having no walls meant there was no gatehouse, which in turn ensured that travelers passing through the village could not be taxed.
There was no one to stop the cart as it rolled into town. A man busy bundling sheaves of wheat stared openly at Lawrence and Holo; Lawrence nodded in greeting.
The village was dusty, its smaller streets bumpy and pitted. Buildings of both stone and wood were on the large side with low roofs. Many of the houses had gardens—a rare sight in larger towns.
Here and there along the roadside were piles of straw, the sign of the recently concluded harvest. Bundles of firewood were interspersed among them.
Pedestrians were few; it seemed as if they were outnumbered by the pigs and chickens that wandered here and there.
The one way that the village was like other places of its kind was the staring—upon noticing the travelers, every villager stared at Lawrence and Holo.
In this sense, Tereo was every bit a small village.
Lawrence felt his outsider status keenly in a way he hadn't felt in many years.
He had grown up in a poor village himself. He was well aware that such places offered little in the way of amusement and that a traveler was the perfect diversion.
Lawrence thought on this as he drove. They eventually arrived at a wide square with a great block of stone placed in the center.
It seemed to be the center of the village, surrounded as it was by various buildings.
Based on the wrought iron signs that hung from the buildings' eaves, there appeared to be a tavern, an inn, and a baker's shop, along with what seemed to be a wool weaver's workshop. A building with a larger entrance faced the street, and it was surely a common area where the harvested wheat could be threshed and sifted.
Other buildings seemed to be the homes of the village's older, more influential families—and of course, there was also the church.
There were unsurprisingly a good number of people—children playing in the square and adults standing and talking. Lawrence and Holo found themselves yet again the subject of curious stares.
"That's quite a stone there. What's it used for?" asked Holo casually, unconcerned by the villagers' scrutiny.
"Probably for ceremonial use in some festival or for dancing or maybe for holding meetings, I suppose."
The stone in question had a smooth, flat surface and came up to about Lawrence's waist. A wooden ladder leaned against it, which suggested the stone hadn't been placed here as a mere landmark.
The only way to know for sure would be to ask a villager, but Holo merely nodded vaguely and leaned back against the wagon seat.
Lawrence guided the wagon around the stone and toward the church.
Despite the constant bombardment of curious gazes, it was clear that this was no isolated mountain hamlet.
The wagon stopped in front of the church, at which point the villagers seemed to assume that the pair had come to pray for safe travel, and the level of interest dropped.
"Seems like they're almost disappointed," muttered Lawrence to Holo once he'd stopped the wagon and climbed down. Holo smiled conspiratorially.
The church was a grand stone building, its great wooden door framed in iron.
| It was odd, too, for the door to be closed. It wasn't a cloister, after all, nor did there seem to be a service in progress. The doors of any normal church would have been open.
If he had to put it simply, Lawrence would have guessed that the church was unloved by the village.
But there was no point in conjecture. Lawrence grabbed hold of the knocker and rapped it several times.
Klang, klang—the dry sound echoed strangely across the square.
There was no reply for several moments, but just as Lawrence was beginning to wonder if anyone was there, the door creaked loudly, opening just a crack.
"Who is it?" A girl's voice, none too friendly, was audible through the crack.
"I apologize for calling without notice. I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant," said Lawrence with an ingratiating smile. The girl on the other side of the door narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"A...merchant?"
"That's right. I've come from Kumersun."
Churches so cautious in their admittance were rare.
"...What about her?" The girl's gaze turned to Holo.
"Circumstances have led to her traveling with me," said Lawrence simply.
The girl looked back and forth between Lawrence and Holo before sighing softly, then slowly opening the door.
As the great door creaked open, Lawrence was surprised to see that the girl wore a long-sleeved priest's robe.
"What is your business here?" she asked.
Though Lawrence was confident he'd concealed his surprise, the robed girl bore a severe expression that matched her tone. Her dark brown hair was bound up tightly, and her honey eyes glittered with challenge.
Her attitude aside, this was the first time Lawrence had ever been asked what his business was upon calling at a church.
"Ah, yes—I'd like to speak to the priest, if that is at all possible."
Normally it was impossible for women to serve in the Church's priesthood. The organization was entirely patriarchal.
That had been Lawrence's assumption when he'd asked the question, but the girl's brows only furrowed more deeply at his words.
She looked deliberately at her own robe before replying, "Though I am not a full priest, I am responsible for this church. My name is Elsa Schtingheim."
A woman in charge of a church—and such a young one at that.
Lawrence would have been less surprised to discover that the owner of some large, successful company was a woman—and that would've been surprise enough.
Elsa seemed to be used to this reaction. Again she calmly asked her question: "What is your business here?"
"Ah, er, we wish to ask directions..."
"Directions?"
"Yes. We need to find a particular monastery—Diendran Abbey, under the care of Abbot Louis Lana Schtinghilt."
As Lawrence said it aloud, the similarity between the abbot's name and Elsa's occurred to him. Elsa's surprise was immediately clear.
But before Lawrence could so much as ask what was wrong, she wiped the look of surprise from her face. "I know it not," she said.
Elsa's words themselves were polite enough, but her severe mien revealed her true feelings. She began to close the door without waiting for Lawrence's reply.
Yet what sort of merchant would he be to let the door be closed in his face?
Lawrence quickly jammed his foot in the crack before it could close, smiling. "I have heard that there is a priest here by the name of Franz."
Elsa glared bitterly down at Lawrence's foot before looking him dead in the eye. "Father Franz passed away in the summer."
"Wha—?"
She took advantage of his surprise to continue. "Are you satisfied? I know not of the abbey you seek, and I'm very busy."
Lawrence felt that if he was to persist and she was to call out for help, he'd be in trouble.
He withdrew his foot. Elsa gave one last angry sigh, then closed the door.
***
"She certainly hated you."
"Maybe it's because I didn't leave a tithe." Lawrence shrugged and looked over at Holo. "Is it true that Father Franz is dead?"
"She did not seem to be lying. However—"
"She was lying when she said she didn't know of the abbey."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It was odd, too, for the door to be closed. It wasn't a cloister, after all, nor did there seem to be a service in progress. The doors of any normal church would have been open.
If he had to put it simply, Lawrence would have guessed that the church was unloved by the village.
But there was no point in conjecture. Lawrence grabbed hold of the knocker and rapped it several times.
Klang, klang—the dry sound echoed strangely across the square.
There was no reply for several moments, but just as Lawrence was beginning to wonder if anyone was there, the door creaked loudly, opening just a crack.
"Who is it?" A girl's voice, none too friendly, was audible through the crack.
"I apologize for calling without notice. I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant," said Lawrence with an ingratiating smile. The girl on the other side of the door narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"A...merchant?"
"That's right. I've come from Kumersun."
Churches so cautious in their admittance were rare.
"...What about her?" The girl's gaze turned to Holo.
"Circumstances have led to her traveling with me," said Lawrence simply.
The girl looked back and forth between Lawrence and Holo before sighing softly, then slowly opening the door.
As the great door creaked open, Lawrence was surprised to see that the girl wore a long-sleeved priest's robe.
"What is your business here?" she asked.
Though Lawrence was confident he'd concealed his surprise, the robed girl bore a severe expression that matched her tone. Her dark brown hair was bound up tightly, and her honey eyes glittered with challenge.
Her attitude aside, this was the first time Lawrence had ever been asked what his business was upon calling at a church.
"Ah, yes—I'd like to speak to the priest, if that is at all possible."
Normally it was impossible for women to serve in the Church's priesthood. The organization was entirely patriarchal.
That had been Lawrence's assumption when he'd asked the question, but the girl's brows only furrowed more deeply at his words.
She looked deliberately at her own robe before replying, "Though I am not a full priest, I am responsible for this church. My name is Elsa Schtingheim."
A woman in charge of a church—and such a young one at that.
Lawrence would have been less surprised to discover that the owner of some large, successful company was a woman—and that would've been surprise enough.
Elsa seemed to be used to this reaction. Again she calmly asked her question: "What is your business here?"
"Ah, er, we wish to ask directions..."
"Directions?"
"Yes. We need to find a particular monastery—Diendran Abbey, under the care of Abbot Louis Lana Schtinghilt."
As Lawrence said it aloud, the similarity between the abbot's name and Elsa's occurred to him. Elsa's surprise was immediately clear.
But before Lawrence could so much as ask what was wrong, she wiped the look of surprise from her face. "I know it not," she said.
Elsa's words themselves were polite enough, but her severe mien revealed her true feelings. She began to close the door without waiting for Lawrence's reply.
Yet what sort of merchant would he be to let the door be closed in his face?
Lawrence quickly jammed his foot in the crack before it could close, smiling. "I have heard that there is a priest here by the name of Franz."
Elsa glared bitterly down at Lawrence's foot before looking him dead in the eye. "Father Franz passed away in the summer."
"Wha—?"
She took advantage of his surprise to continue. "Are you satisfied? I know not of the abbey you seek, and I'm very busy."
Lawrence felt that if he was to persist and she was to call out for help, he'd be in trouble.
He withdrew his foot. Elsa gave one last angry sigh, then closed the door.
***
"She certainly hated you."
"Maybe it's because I didn't leave a tithe." Lawrence shrugged and looked over at Holo. "Is it true that Father Franz is dead?"
"She did not seem to be lying. However—"
"She was lying when she said she didn't know of the abbey."
| But was it true that she was in charge of the church? It seemed a dangerous thing to joke about.
Perhaps Elsa was Father Franz's daughter, if not by blood, then by adoption.
"What shall we do?" asked Lawrence.
Holo's reply was quick. "In any case, we cannot force our way in. Let us find an inn."
Still the object of many a curious gaze, the two reseated themselves in the wagon.
"Ooh...It has been so very long...," said Holo, flinging herself onto the bed and stretching out.
"It certainly trumps sleeping in a wagon bed, but mind yourself—there may be bugs."
This bed was not wool or cotton stretched over a wooden frame, but rather had a mattress made from tightly bound straw. Most likely there were insects hibernating within the straw, waiting for the summer breeding season.
He knew that it mattered little whether she heeded his caution or not. Insects would love her fluffy tail.
"Mind myself? Why, I'm already followed about by the largest bugs of all."
Holo grinned mischievously, her chin cupped in her hands. Lawrence sighed. It was true—she would attract that sort of insect, too.
"This is a very small village. Don't cause a fuss," he said.
"That will depend entirely on your attitude." After sneering unpleasantly at Lawrence, Holo rolled over, her tail swishing, and yawned hugely. "I'm tired. Might I sleep?"
"And if I say no?" Lawrence asked with a chuckle.
Holo looked over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes suggestively. "Why, I would doze off at your side."
Humiliatingly, Lawrence considered the possibility and did not find it at all unpleasant. He coughed, avoiding her gaze—which made it all too clear that she saw right through him—and decided to avoid a confrontation. "Well, I suppose you really are tired, yes? If you rest now before you collapse from exhaustion, that would be a boon to your traveling companion."
"Hmph. Well, in that case, I shall take my rest."
Holo abandoned her offense and closed her eyes.
Her swishing tail flicked to a halt as well. Lawrence felt like he might hear her snore any moment.
"But first take off that cap and the robe about your waist as well and my coat that you just tossed aside there. Fold it neatly, and put a blanket on the mattress. Honestly." Lawrence couldn't help thinking of the spoiled princesses that showed up in stage plays.
Holo did not so much as move her head at Lawrence's nagging.
"If the clothes aren't folded by the time I get back, you won't get a nice dinner."
It was as though he were scolding a disobedient child. Holo played the role to a tee as she looked up sharply. "You're too kind to really do that."
"...You'll meet a bad end someday."
"Oh, aye, if you can bring yourself to do something about it. Never mind that—are you going out somewhere?"
Holo's eyes were beginning to look bleary even as she spoke. Lawrence couldn't help walking over and drawing the blanket over her. "I wouldn't bother if we were just passing through, but as it seems we'll be staying here for a bit, I'd best see the village elder. The elder might know where the abbey is as well."
"...I see."
"Quite. So you just sleep here."
Holo tugged the blanked up over her mouth and nodded.
"I doubt I'll find a souvenir for you, though."
"...I care not." Holo's eyes opened slightly, and she added in a sweet, soft voice that sounded like she might drift off to sleep at any moment, "So long as you return..."
He knew it was a trap, yet was still unable to conceal his fluster.
Holo's ears pricked up happily.
She might not be getting a souvenir, but she'd been able to see his foolish face.
"I've already got my souvenir. Good night."
Holo snuggled in beneath the blanket. "Sleep well," Lawrence replied by way of surrender.
Lawrence unloaded some wheat from his wagon bed into a moderately sized bag, and once he'd asked the innkeeper where the village elder's house was, he left the inn.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | But was it true that she was in charge of the church? It seemed a dangerous thing to joke about.
Perhaps Elsa was Father Franz's daughter, if not by blood, then by adoption.
"What shall we do?" asked Lawrence.
Holo's reply was quick. "In any case, we cannot force our way in. Let us find an inn."
Still the object of many a curious gaze, the two reseated themselves in the wagon.
"Ooh...It has been so very long...," said Holo, flinging herself onto the bed and stretching out.
"It certainly trumps sleeping in a wagon bed, but mind yourself—there may be bugs."
This bed was not wool or cotton stretched over a wooden frame, but rather had a mattress made from tightly bound straw. Most likely there were insects hibernating within the straw, waiting for the summer breeding season.
He knew that it mattered little whether she heeded his caution or not. Insects would love her fluffy tail.
"Mind myself? Why, I'm already followed about by the largest bugs of all."
Holo grinned mischievously, her chin cupped in her hands. Lawrence sighed. It was true—she would attract that sort of insect, too.
"This is a very small village. Don't cause a fuss," he said.
"That will depend entirely on your attitude." After sneering unpleasantly at Lawrence, Holo rolled over, her tail swishing, and yawned hugely. "I'm tired. Might I sleep?"
"And if I say no?" Lawrence asked with a chuckle.
Holo looked over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes suggestively. "Why, I would doze off at your side."
Humiliatingly, Lawrence considered the possibility and did not find it at all unpleasant. He coughed, avoiding her gaze—which made it all too clear that she saw right through him—and decided to avoid a confrontation. "Well, I suppose you really are tired, yes? If you rest now before you collapse from exhaustion, that would be a boon to your traveling companion."
"Hmph. Well, in that case, I shall take my rest."
Holo abandoned her offense and closed her eyes.
Her swishing tail flicked to a halt as well. Lawrence felt like he might hear her snore any moment.
"But first take off that cap and the robe about your waist as well and my coat that you just tossed aside there. Fold it neatly, and put a blanket on the mattress. Honestly." Lawrence couldn't help thinking of the spoiled princesses that showed up in stage plays.
Holo did not so much as move her head at Lawrence's nagging.
"If the clothes aren't folded by the time I get back, you won't get a nice dinner."
It was as though he were scolding a disobedient child. Holo played the role to a tee as she looked up sharply. "You're too kind to really do that."
"...You'll meet a bad end someday."
"Oh, aye, if you can bring yourself to do something about it. Never mind that—are you going out somewhere?"
Holo's eyes were beginning to look bleary even as she spoke. Lawrence couldn't help walking over and drawing the blanket over her. "I wouldn't bother if we were just passing through, but as it seems we'll be staying here for a bit, I'd best see the village elder. The elder might know where the abbey is as well."
"...I see."
"Quite. So you just sleep here."
Holo tugged the blanked up over her mouth and nodded.
"I doubt I'll find a souvenir for you, though."
"...I care not." Holo's eyes opened slightly, and she added in a sweet, soft voice that sounded like she might drift off to sleep at any moment, "So long as you return..."
He knew it was a trap, yet was still unable to conceal his fluster.
Holo's ears pricked up happily.
She might not be getting a souvenir, but she'd been able to see his foolish face.
"I've already got my souvenir. Good night."
Holo snuggled in beneath the blanket. "Sleep well," Lawrence replied by way of surrender.
Lawrence unloaded some wheat from his wagon bed into a moderately sized bag, and once he'd asked the innkeeper where the village elder's house was, he left the inn.
| To hear the innkeeper tell it, the festivals held in the spring and fall—for planting and harvest, respectively—attracted some people from outside the village, but since Tereo was well off the beaten path, visitors were generally rare. At the moment, Lawrence and Holo were the only guests at the inn.
The Tereo village elder's home was the grandest building facing the square. Its foundations and ground floor were made of stone while the second and third floors of the stately edifice were constructed from wood.
The front door had the kind of iron frame Lawrence expected to see on a church door, and it was finely wrought with subtle designs.
The door knocker was fashioned in the shape of a lizard or a snake and was a bit tasteless.
It was probably to venerate a local deity of some kind. Snake and frog deities were surprisingly common.
"Excuse me, is anyone home?" Lawrence said as he rapped the knocker. After a short while, the door opened and a middle-aged woman emerged, her apron and hands covered in a dusting of flour. "Hello—who might you be?"
"I apologize for the intrusion. My name is Kraft Lawrence; I am a traveling merchant. I've—"
"Oh, goodness. Elder, sir! The one everyone's been talking about—he's here!"
Though Lawrence was taken aback at having been cut off so abruptly, the woman seemed not to take notice as she turned around and called out, "Elder, sir!" again, walking back into the house.
Having been so roundly ignored, Lawrence cleared his throat in order to center himself.
At length, the woman returned, escorting a small, elderly man carrying a cane back to the door.
"See, here he is!"
"Mrs. Kemp, you're being rude to our guest."
Lawrence heard the entire exchange, though he was not so narrow-minded as to become angry.
And anyway, a cheerful village wife could be a powerful ally when doing business.
Lawrence smiled brilliantly at the two.
"Please forgive our terrible manners. I am Sem, elder of the village of Tereo," said the old man.
"I'm very pleased to meet you. I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant."
"Well, now, Mrs. Kemp, do go back inside and take up with the others...Goodness, my apologies, sir. A visitor so late in the season sets all the idle goodwives' tongues wagging."
"I surely hope the rumors are good ones."
Sem smiled. "Come, come in," he invited, leading Lawrence into the house.
A hall led straight in from the entrance. Lawrence could hear laughter issuing from a large room farther inside the house.
As he walked, flour dust tickled at his nose. No doubt the women were chatting and laughing as they kneaded the newly ground wheat flour into bread dough.
It was a common sight in the countryside.
"If you head into the inner room, you'll end up white with flour! Come, follow me," said Sem, opening the door to a large room. He gestured for Lawrence to enter first, then followed.
Lawrence was immediately stunned.
A giant snake was coiled up atop the shelf against one wall of the room.
"Ha-ha-ha, be at ease. It is not alive."
Lawrence looked again, and true enough, the black gleaming scales were dry, and the body was wrinkled. The skin had been dried, stuffed, and sewn back together.
He remembered the snake-shaped knocker on the door. Perhaps the village truly did worship a snake deity.
At Sem's suggestion, Lawrence took a seat, thinking he would have to ask Holo about this later.
"So, then, what business is it that brings you to our humble village?"
"Ah, yes. First, as we're staying in your village, I should offer my regards. Here is some of the wheat I have stocked," offered Lawrence, producing the sack of wheat he had filled for the occasion. Sem blinked rapidly.
"Goodness gracious! Most traveling merchants these days start talking business from the first word out of their mouths."
This was a bit unpleasant for Lawrence to hear, given that it described him perfectly—up until recently.
"And what would your other goal be?" asked Sem.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | To hear the innkeeper tell it, the festivals held in the spring and fall—for planting and harvest, respectively—attracted some people from outside the village, but since Tereo was well off the beaten path, visitors were generally rare. At the moment, Lawrence and Holo were the only guests at the inn.
The Tereo village elder's home was the grandest building facing the square. Its foundations and ground floor were made of stone while the second and third floors of the stately edifice were constructed from wood.
The front door had the kind of iron frame Lawrence expected to see on a church door, and it was finely wrought with subtle designs.
The door knocker was fashioned in the shape of a lizard or a snake and was a bit tasteless.
It was probably to venerate a local deity of some kind. Snake and frog deities were surprisingly common.
"Excuse me, is anyone home?" Lawrence said as he rapped the knocker. After a short while, the door opened and a middle-aged woman emerged, her apron and hands covered in a dusting of flour. "Hello—who might you be?"
"I apologize for the intrusion. My name is Kraft Lawrence; I am a traveling merchant. I've—"
"Oh, goodness. Elder, sir! The one everyone's been talking about—he's here!"
Though Lawrence was taken aback at having been cut off so abruptly, the woman seemed not to take notice as she turned around and called out, "Elder, sir!" again, walking back into the house.
Having been so roundly ignored, Lawrence cleared his throat in order to center himself.
At length, the woman returned, escorting a small, elderly man carrying a cane back to the door.
"See, here he is!"
"Mrs. Kemp, you're being rude to our guest."
Lawrence heard the entire exchange, though he was not so narrow-minded as to become angry.
And anyway, a cheerful village wife could be a powerful ally when doing business.
Lawrence smiled brilliantly at the two.
"Please forgive our terrible manners. I am Sem, elder of the village of Tereo," said the old man.
"I'm very pleased to meet you. I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant."
"Well, now, Mrs. Kemp, do go back inside and take up with the others...Goodness, my apologies, sir. A visitor so late in the season sets all the idle goodwives' tongues wagging."
"I surely hope the rumors are good ones."
Sem smiled. "Come, come in," he invited, leading Lawrence into the house.
A hall led straight in from the entrance. Lawrence could hear laughter issuing from a large room farther inside the house.
As he walked, flour dust tickled at his nose. No doubt the women were chatting and laughing as they kneaded the newly ground wheat flour into bread dough.
It was a common sight in the countryside.
"If you head into the inner room, you'll end up white with flour! Come, follow me," said Sem, opening the door to a large room. He gestured for Lawrence to enter first, then followed.
Lawrence was immediately stunned.
A giant snake was coiled up atop the shelf against one wall of the room.
"Ha-ha-ha, be at ease. It is not alive."
Lawrence looked again, and true enough, the black gleaming scales were dry, and the body was wrinkled. The skin had been dried, stuffed, and sewn back together.
He remembered the snake-shaped knocker on the door. Perhaps the village truly did worship a snake deity.
At Sem's suggestion, Lawrence took a seat, thinking he would have to ask Holo about this later.
"So, then, what business is it that brings you to our humble village?"
"Ah, yes. First, as we're staying in your village, I should offer my regards. Here is some of the wheat I have stocked," offered Lawrence, producing the sack of wheat he had filled for the occasion. Sem blinked rapidly.
"Goodness gracious! Most traveling merchants these days start talking business from the first word out of their mouths."
This was a bit unpleasant for Lawrence to hear, given that it described him perfectly—up until recently.
"And what would your other goal be?" asked Sem.
| "An abbey?"
"Yes. We inquired at the church earlier, but unfortunately they did not know it." Lawrence's expression was troubled, though his keen merchant eyes continued to watch Sem carefully for any reaction.
He saw Sem's gaze drift for just a moment.
"I see...Unfortunately I, too, have heard of no abbey in this region. Where did you come by this information?"
Lawrence's gut told him that Sem knew.
But if he were to lie about his source of information, it could become troublesome later. He decided to be honest.
"In Kumerson. A chronicler there told me."
Sem's mustache twitched.
Lawrence was sure he was hiding something.
No—not just that, Lawrence realized.
Sem and Elsa did not just know where the abbey was, they knew what could be found there.
Diana had told him about a monk there—a monk who specialized in collecting tales of pagan gods.
If Sem and Elsa knew about this, too, they might have been pretending ignorance to keep from getting involved.
In any case, Father Franz—the man Diana told Lawrence to ask about this abbey—had already been called to heaven.
It was hardly surprising that those he left behind wanted to close the door on the matter.
"The chronicler in Kumersun told me that if I spoke with Father Franz, he would be able to tell me where the abbey is."
"Ah, I see...Unfortunately, this summer, Father Franz..."
"Yes, I heard."
"His loss was hard. He devoted many years to his labor for the village." Sem's sorrowful expression did not seem to be an act, but neither was it borne of respect for the Church.
Something seemed awry.
"And now Miss Elsa has taken his place?"
"Even so. She's quite young—no doubt you were surprised."
"Surprised indeed. So then—"
Lawrence was about to continue when there was a pounding at the door, and a voice cried out, "Elder!"
The questions Lawrence wanted to ask welled up in his throat, but there would be no gain in haste, he decided.
"You seem to have another visitor. I had best take my leave. I am worried about my companion."
"Oh, goodness. I am most sorry I was unable to be of any service."
The knocking continued for a while until Mrs. Kemp went to answer the door.
"I hope the tidings are good ones," Lawrence heard Sem murmur when a man wearing traveling clothes, his face red and sweaty despite the cold, entered the room briskly, brushing past Lawrence on his way to Sem.
"Elder, I've brought this!"
Sem gave Lawrence an apologetic look, and with a smile, Lawrence left the elder's home.
He felt he had given a good representation of himself as a traveling merchant.
It should be a bit easier to stay in the village now, Lawrence thought.
But what was it that the man had brought to Sem?
Upon leaving the elder's home, he immediately saw a horse whose body fairly radiated heat. It had not been tied at a post, but simply left there. A group of children gazed at the animal from a distance.
Based on the horse's tack, Lawrence could tell that it had been ridden some distance; the man, too, had been dressed for travel.
For a moment, he wondered what would cause a villager to go on such a journey, but then he remembered he had not come here to do business.
His first priority had to be getting Elsa or Sem to tell him the location of the abbey.
So how to do it?
Lawrence remained deep in thought as he returned to the inn.
Holo was sprawled out so comfortably on the bed that Lawrence couldn't help but lay himself down beside her for a nap, only to fall fast asleep.
When he awoke, the room was dim.
"There'd be a poor dinner unless the clothes were folded, nay?"
He opened his eyes and sat up, realizing he was now covered in a blanket he had no memory of using.
"You're too nice to really do that," he said, repeating Holo's earlier line back to her through a yawn.
Holo giggled as she groomed her tail.
"Seems I slept for some time. Aren't you hungry?" asked Lawrence.
"Even if I was, surely you know I am far too kind to wake you from slumber."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "An abbey?"
"Yes. We inquired at the church earlier, but unfortunately they did not know it." Lawrence's expression was troubled, though his keen merchant eyes continued to watch Sem carefully for any reaction.
He saw Sem's gaze drift for just a moment.
"I see...Unfortunately I, too, have heard of no abbey in this region. Where did you come by this information?"
Lawrence's gut told him that Sem knew.
But if he were to lie about his source of information, it could become troublesome later. He decided to be honest.
"In Kumerson. A chronicler there told me."
Sem's mustache twitched.
Lawrence was sure he was hiding something.
No—not just that, Lawrence realized.
Sem and Elsa did not just know where the abbey was, they knew what could be found there.
Diana had told him about a monk there—a monk who specialized in collecting tales of pagan gods.
If Sem and Elsa knew about this, too, they might have been pretending ignorance to keep from getting involved.
In any case, Father Franz—the man Diana told Lawrence to ask about this abbey—had already been called to heaven.
It was hardly surprising that those he left behind wanted to close the door on the matter.
"The chronicler in Kumersun told me that if I spoke with Father Franz, he would be able to tell me where the abbey is."
"Ah, I see...Unfortunately, this summer, Father Franz..."
"Yes, I heard."
"His loss was hard. He devoted many years to his labor for the village." Sem's sorrowful expression did not seem to be an act, but neither was it borne of respect for the Church.
Something seemed awry.
"And now Miss Elsa has taken his place?"
"Even so. She's quite young—no doubt you were surprised."
"Surprised indeed. So then—"
Lawrence was about to continue when there was a pounding at the door, and a voice cried out, "Elder!"
The questions Lawrence wanted to ask welled up in his throat, but there would be no gain in haste, he decided.
"You seem to have another visitor. I had best take my leave. I am worried about my companion."
"Oh, goodness. I am most sorry I was unable to be of any service."
The knocking continued for a while until Mrs. Kemp went to answer the door.
"I hope the tidings are good ones," Lawrence heard Sem murmur when a man wearing traveling clothes, his face red and sweaty despite the cold, entered the room briskly, brushing past Lawrence on his way to Sem.
"Elder, I've brought this!"
Sem gave Lawrence an apologetic look, and with a smile, Lawrence left the elder's home.
He felt he had given a good representation of himself as a traveling merchant.
It should be a bit easier to stay in the village now, Lawrence thought.
But what was it that the man had brought to Sem?
Upon leaving the elder's home, he immediately saw a horse whose body fairly radiated heat. It had not been tied at a post, but simply left there. A group of children gazed at the animal from a distance.
Based on the horse's tack, Lawrence could tell that it had been ridden some distance; the man, too, had been dressed for travel.
For a moment, he wondered what would cause a villager to go on such a journey, but then he remembered he had not come here to do business.
His first priority had to be getting Elsa or Sem to tell him the location of the abbey.
So how to do it?
Lawrence remained deep in thought as he returned to the inn.
Holo was sprawled out so comfortably on the bed that Lawrence couldn't help but lay himself down beside her for a nap, only to fall fast asleep.
When he awoke, the room was dim.
"There'd be a poor dinner unless the clothes were folded, nay?"
He opened his eyes and sat up, realizing he was now covered in a blanket he had no memory of using.
"You're too nice to really do that," he said, repeating Holo's earlier line back to her through a yawn.
Holo giggled as she groomed her tail.
"Seems I slept for some time. Aren't you hungry?" asked Lawrence.
"Even if I was, surely you know I am far too kind to wake you from slumber."
| Holo merely grinned in her peculiar way, baring her sharp fangs.
Lawrence rose and opened the wooden window, gazing outside as he worked the kinks out of his neck.
"Night falls early here. It's not so late, but the square is deserted."
"And nary a stall to be found. Will we be all right for dinner?" said Holo, worried, suddenly concerned as she looked at Lawrence, who sat on the window frame.
"We'll be fine if we go to the tavern. It's not as though this town sees no travelers at all."
"Hm. Let us hurry, then."
"I've only just woken—oh, fine. Fine!" Lawrence shrugged at the glare he caught from Holo, then noticed something as he got to his feet. "What's that?"
A single, shadowy figure moved across the dim, deserted town square.
As he narrowed his eyes, Lawrence realized it was Evan the miller.
"Oh?"
"—!" Lawrence very nearly cried out in surprise as Holo appeared at his feet. "Don't just appear like that!"
"My, but you are a skittish one. Never mind that—what did you see?"
Anyone would be frightened if someone appeared before them without so much as the slightest hint of rustling clothing, but Lawrence was not up to quarreling over every one of Holo's japes. "Nothing important," he said. "I just wondered where he was heading."
"Seems he's bound for the church."
Millers had to be more honest than any other profession.
Back in Ruvinheigen, Norah the shepherdess was probably attending Church services just as assiduously as ever, even though that same Church imposed difficult constraints upon her work.
Evan might go to services just as often.
"Quite suspicious," said Holo.
"We're the suspicious ones."
As Lawrence and Holo bantered, Evan knocked lightly on the church's door. His knocking had a strange rhythm to it, as though it were a secret sign to communicate his identity.
There was a furtive quality to his movements, which only seemed strange until Lawrence recalled Evan's vocation.
And it did not seem that the Church was well regarded in this village, either.
Lawrence turned away from the window with a sigh of faint disappointment when Holo tugged at his sleeve.
"What?"
In response to his question, Holo merely pointed her finger out the window.
Assuming she was pointing at the church, Lawrence looked back out the window at the building.
He was surprised by what he saw there.
"Oh ho, so that's how it is," murmured an amused Holo as her tail swished as though sweeping the floor.
Lawrence was mesmerized for a moment by what he saw, but he soon returned to himself and closed the window.
Holo immediately looked up at him, annoyed.
"Only the gods may spy on others' lives," he said.
"...Hmph." Holo said nothing further, only glancing in displeasure at the now-closed window.
When Evan had knocked at the church door, it had of course been Elsa who answered.
As soon as she emerged, Evan had gathered her up in a tight embrace, as though she was something very precious.
Given Elsa's manner as she leaned in to Evan, it was hard to dismiss the embrace as a mere greeting between friends.
"Are you not interested, then?" Holo asked.
"Perhaps if they were secretly talking of business, I would be."
"They may well be. My keen wolf ears could listen in—what say you?"
Holo narrowed her eyes and grinned a lopsided grin that showed a single fang.
"To think you'd be interested in such nonsense," said Lawrence with a long-suffering sigh.
Holo narrowed her eyes even further. "What's wrong with being interested?" she growled.
"Well, it's certainly nothing to be complimented on."
Pressing one's ears against the wall for hours at a time to overhear someone's business secrets was no vice—indeed, it was the paragon of mercantile cunning. But eavesdropping on lovers—it was the height of boorishness.
"Hmph. 'Tis not as though I am motivated by vulgar curiosity," asserted Holo, folding her arms. She cocked her head and closed her eyes, as though trying to remember something.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Holo merely grinned in her peculiar way, baring her sharp fangs.
Lawrence rose and opened the wooden window, gazing outside as he worked the kinks out of his neck.
"Night falls early here. It's not so late, but the square is deserted."
"And nary a stall to be found. Will we be all right for dinner?" said Holo, worried, suddenly concerned as she looked at Lawrence, who sat on the window frame.
"We'll be fine if we go to the tavern. It's not as though this town sees no travelers at all."
"Hm. Let us hurry, then."
"I've only just woken—oh, fine. Fine!" Lawrence shrugged at the glare he caught from Holo, then noticed something as he got to his feet. "What's that?"
A single, shadowy figure moved across the dim, deserted town square.
As he narrowed his eyes, Lawrence realized it was Evan the miller.
"Oh?"
"—!" Lawrence very nearly cried out in surprise as Holo appeared at his feet. "Don't just appear like that!"
"My, but you are a skittish one. Never mind that—what did you see?"
Anyone would be frightened if someone appeared before them without so much as the slightest hint of rustling clothing, but Lawrence was not up to quarreling over every one of Holo's japes. "Nothing important," he said. "I just wondered where he was heading."
"Seems he's bound for the church."
Millers had to be more honest than any other profession.
Back in Ruvinheigen, Norah the shepherdess was probably attending Church services just as assiduously as ever, even though that same Church imposed difficult constraints upon her work.
Evan might go to services just as often.
"Quite suspicious," said Holo.
"We're the suspicious ones."
As Lawrence and Holo bantered, Evan knocked lightly on the church's door. His knocking had a strange rhythm to it, as though it were a secret sign to communicate his identity.
There was a furtive quality to his movements, which only seemed strange until Lawrence recalled Evan's vocation.
And it did not seem that the Church was well regarded in this village, either.
Lawrence turned away from the window with a sigh of faint disappointment when Holo tugged at his sleeve.
"What?"
In response to his question, Holo merely pointed her finger out the window.
Assuming she was pointing at the church, Lawrence looked back out the window at the building.
He was surprised by what he saw there.
"Oh ho, so that's how it is," murmured an amused Holo as her tail swished as though sweeping the floor.
Lawrence was mesmerized for a moment by what he saw, but he soon returned to himself and closed the window.
Holo immediately looked up at him, annoyed.
"Only the gods may spy on others' lives," he said.
"...Hmph." Holo said nothing further, only glancing in displeasure at the now-closed window.
When Evan had knocked at the church door, it had of course been Elsa who answered.
As soon as she emerged, Evan had gathered her up in a tight embrace, as though she was something very precious.
Given Elsa's manner as she leaned in to Evan, it was hard to dismiss the embrace as a mere greeting between friends.
"Are you not interested, then?" Holo asked.
"Perhaps if they were secretly talking of business, I would be."
"They may well be. My keen wolf ears could listen in—what say you?"
Holo narrowed her eyes and grinned a lopsided grin that showed a single fang.
"To think you'd be interested in such nonsense," said Lawrence with a long-suffering sigh.
Holo narrowed her eyes even further. "What's wrong with being interested?" she growled.
"Well, it's certainly nothing to be complimented on."
Pressing one's ears against the wall for hours at a time to overhear someone's business secrets was no vice—indeed, it was the paragon of mercantile cunning. But eavesdropping on lovers—it was the height of boorishness.
"Hmph. 'Tis not as though I am motivated by vulgar curiosity," asserted Holo, folding her arms. She cocked her head and closed her eyes, as though trying to remember something.
| She stood that way for a while, and then she finally spoke. "If I absolutely must give a reason, I suppose it would be to study."
"Study?" It was such an ordinary response that Lawrence couldn't help but feel disappointed.
What would Holo possibly need to study?
Did she have designs to swindle the monarch of some kingdom?
He briefly considered demanding tax exceptions from this hypothetical king should her plan succeed before shaking his head to clear it of the ridiculous notion. He reached for the water jug to have a drink, and Holo continued.
"Indeed, study. To see how you and I must look to other people."
Lawrence's fingers bumped clumsily into the jug, tipping it over. He tried to recover it and failed.
"Listen, you. Would you not agree that one needs an outside perspective in order to truly understand a situation? Are you listening to me?"
Lawrence knew Holo was chuckling under her breath, and even without turning around, he could guess the expression that she wore.
Fortunately, there had not been much water in the jug, so it was hardly a disaster—though the teasing he now endured was disaster enough.
"So that is how I look to others when I'm with you...," said Holo, mulling it over, her voice serious.
Lawrence shut his ears in an effort to stop himself from reacting further and began to wipe up the water he had spilled.
He didn't know what he should be angry about.
He didn't even know why he was so irritated.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had been so obviously flustered.
Holo giggled. "Well, at least I know we're certainly a match for them."
Lawrence couldn't guess what sort of trap he might fall into if he was to respond to this.
He put the jug in its place after finishing what little was left with a gulp.
He wished the water had been strong wine.
"Now then," Holo said shortly.
Lawrence knew that if he ignored her, it would only bring down her ire.
If it came to a fight, he would certainly lose.
He sighed and turned to Holo, defeated.
"I'm hungry," she said with a smile.
She was always a step—or two—ahead of him.
***
"Hah, that's the way to drink!"
Surrounded by a happy tumult in the tavern, Holo—dressed now in her town-girl clothing—set her large rustic mug down on the table.
A saintly beard of white foam rimmed her lips, and she kept her hand on the mug's handle as if to say, "Another round!"
One after another, the amused patrons of the bar added to Holo's mug from the contents of their own, and soon hers was filled again.
Though no one knew who the two mysterious travelers arriving in their town so suddenly were, the pair were generous in treating the tavern's patrons to liquor and drank full well themselves—their conduct would be well received in any village.
One of the pair was a beautiful lass to boot. They could hardly fail to impress.
"Come now! You can't call yourself a man if you'd lose to your pretty companion!"
Holo's hearty drinking ensured that Lawrence would be urged to drink as well, but unlike Holo, he had come for information.
He could not afford to let himself be jollied into drinking himself into a stupor.
He drank just enough not to spoil the festive mood, eating the food that was brought out and gradually making small talk with the villagers.
"Ah, this is fine ale indeed. Is there some secret to its brewing?"
"Ha-ha-ha, right there is! It's Iima Ranel, the mistress of this tavern. She's famous around here—her arms are as strong as three men, and she has the appetite of five!"
"Don't tell the travelers such lies! Aye, here you are, fried garlic mutton."
The woman in question, Iima, lightly knocked the edge of a wooden plate against the man's head, then efficiently laid the food out on the table.
With her curly red hair tied back and her sleeves rolled up to expose her powerful-looking arms, a glance at Iima's robust build made it easy to understand why some said she had the strength of three men.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | She stood that way for a while, and then she finally spoke. "If I absolutely must give a reason, I suppose it would be to study."
"Study?" It was such an ordinary response that Lawrence couldn't help but feel disappointed.
What would Holo possibly need to study?
Did she have designs to swindle the monarch of some kingdom?
He briefly considered demanding tax exceptions from this hypothetical king should her plan succeed before shaking his head to clear it of the ridiculous notion. He reached for the water jug to have a drink, and Holo continued.
"Indeed, study. To see how you and I must look to other people."
Lawrence's fingers bumped clumsily into the jug, tipping it over. He tried to recover it and failed.
"Listen, you. Would you not agree that one needs an outside perspective in order to truly understand a situation? Are you listening to me?"
Lawrence knew Holo was chuckling under her breath, and even without turning around, he could guess the expression that she wore.
Fortunately, there had not been much water in the jug, so it was hardly a disaster—though the teasing he now endured was disaster enough.
"So that is how I look to others when I'm with you...," said Holo, mulling it over, her voice serious.
Lawrence shut his ears in an effort to stop himself from reacting further and began to wipe up the water he had spilled.
He didn't know what he should be angry about.
He didn't even know why he was so irritated.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had been so obviously flustered.
Holo giggled. "Well, at least I know we're certainly a match for them."
Lawrence couldn't guess what sort of trap he might fall into if he was to respond to this.
He put the jug in its place after finishing what little was left with a gulp.
He wished the water had been strong wine.
"Now then," Holo said shortly.
Lawrence knew that if he ignored her, it would only bring down her ire.
If it came to a fight, he would certainly lose.
He sighed and turned to Holo, defeated.
"I'm hungry," she said with a smile.
She was always a step—or two—ahead of him.
***
"Hah, that's the way to drink!"
Surrounded by a happy tumult in the tavern, Holo—dressed now in her town-girl clothing—set her large rustic mug down on the table.
A saintly beard of white foam rimmed her lips, and she kept her hand on the mug's handle as if to say, "Another round!"
One after another, the amused patrons of the bar added to Holo's mug from the contents of their own, and soon hers was filled again.
Though no one knew who the two mysterious travelers arriving in their town so suddenly were, the pair were generous in treating the tavern's patrons to liquor and drank full well themselves—their conduct would be well received in any village.
One of the pair was a beautiful lass to boot. They could hardly fail to impress.
"Come now! You can't call yourself a man if you'd lose to your pretty companion!"
Holo's hearty drinking ensured that Lawrence would be urged to drink as well, but unlike Holo, he had come for information.
He could not afford to let himself be jollied into drinking himself into a stupor.
He drank just enough not to spoil the festive mood, eating the food that was brought out and gradually making small talk with the villagers.
"Ah, this is fine ale indeed. Is there some secret to its brewing?"
"Ha-ha-ha, right there is! It's Iima Ranel, the mistress of this tavern. She's famous around here—her arms are as strong as three men, and she has the appetite of five!"
"Don't tell the travelers such lies! Aye, here you are, fried garlic mutton."
The woman in question, Iima, lightly knocked the edge of a wooden plate against the man's head, then efficiently laid the food out on the table.
With her curly red hair tied back and her sleeves rolled up to expose her powerful-looking arms, a glance at Iima's robust build made it easy to understand why some said she had the strength of three men.
| "So what you said just now wasn't praise? You got what you deserved, then!"
Everyone at the table laughed. A different man continued the topic at hand. "The mistress here used to travel with a brewing jug over her shoulder!"
"Ha-ha, surely not," said Lawrence.
"Ha! No one believes the tale when they first hear it. But it's true, isn't it?"
Iima, who was by now serving the drunken patrons of another table, turned around at the question. "It surely is," she answered. Once she finished serving the other table, she returned to the one at which Lawrence sat. "I was younger and prettier then. I was born west of here in a town along the coast. But it's the fate of such towns to be swept away by the sea, and one day a huge ship pulled into port, and soon the town was swallowed into the waves."
Lawrence soon realized that she was talking about pirates.
"Then I got mixed up with the crowd as it rushed away, and at some point, I noticed I was carrying a brewing jug and a sack of barley," recalled Iima, her face wistful as she looked off into the distance. She wore a little smile, but it must have been hard at the time.
A man at Lawrence's table thrust out a mug. "Here, one for you, too, Iima."
"Ah, my thanks. Anyway, a girl on her own wouldn't have a prayer of finding work in some strange town, and there'd been rumors of pirates striking towns three mountains away. So I just used the river water there along with my brewing jug and barley, and I started brewing ale. And who would be the ones to drink that brew but a passing duke and his men come from afar to check on the resistance against the pirates."
Iima was interrupted by applause. She took the opportunity to finish her ale in a single, great gulp.
"Ah, in truth, I've never been so embarrassed as I was that day! And to have the duke discover that this young girl with the tangled hair and dirty face had been brewing ale in the forest—why, when I asked him about it later, he told me he'd thought I was a dryad! I suppose he had an eye for such things."
Again applause rose, this time from elsewhere. Lawrence looked and it appeared that Holo had won another drinking contest.
"But then, wouldn't you know it—the duke said my ale was delicious! He said that as the town they were heading to had been sacked by pirates, he and his men would be unable to get decent drink there, so he asked me to travel with his company and brew for them!
"Indeed, the ambitious young maiden, Iima Ranel, thought things were finally going her way.
"But alas! The duke already had a beautiful consort!
"Ah, 'tis well, I thought—my beauty would be wasted on such a homely nobleman, anyway. Though I had hoped for a black marten fur coat."
"So you became his personal brewer, then?" asked Lawrence—but no sooner had he asked the question than he realized that couldn't possibly have been the case.
If she'd been the personal brewer to a nobleman, she would hardly deign to run a tavern in the village of Tereo.
"Ha-ha, no, that would be impossible. At the time, I did not know the ways of the world, so it was surely my dream—but no. But as thanks for traveling with the duke and his men, I was able to dine in his absurdly large mansion, and I was given special permission to sell ale under the duke's name, and that was boon enough.
"So that's where the story of the rare ale-selling maiden begins—call it 'The Brewer Maid's Tale.'"
Iima pounded the table once with her fist, giving everyone sitting around it a start.
"So that is how I came to wander the land, brewing and selling, selling and brewing—many things happened, but for the most part, the road was easy. But then I made a single mistake—"
"Aye, Iima visited Tereo, and tragedy followed!" someone called out with perfect dramatic timing.
It seemed to Lawrence that Iima's tale was probably told to every traveler that passed through the village.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "So what you said just now wasn't praise? You got what you deserved, then!"
Everyone at the table laughed. A different man continued the topic at hand. "The mistress here used to travel with a brewing jug over her shoulder!"
"Ha-ha, surely not," said Lawrence.
"Ha! No one believes the tale when they first hear it. But it's true, isn't it?"
Iima, who was by now serving the drunken patrons of another table, turned around at the question. "It surely is," she answered. Once she finished serving the other table, she returned to the one at which Lawrence sat. "I was younger and prettier then. I was born west of here in a town along the coast. But it's the fate of such towns to be swept away by the sea, and one day a huge ship pulled into port, and soon the town was swallowed into the waves."
Lawrence soon realized that she was talking about pirates.
"Then I got mixed up with the crowd as it rushed away, and at some point, I noticed I was carrying a brewing jug and a sack of barley," recalled Iima, her face wistful as she looked off into the distance. She wore a little smile, but it must have been hard at the time.
A man at Lawrence's table thrust out a mug. "Here, one for you, too, Iima."
"Ah, my thanks. Anyway, a girl on her own wouldn't have a prayer of finding work in some strange town, and there'd been rumors of pirates striking towns three mountains away. So I just used the river water there along with my brewing jug and barley, and I started brewing ale. And who would be the ones to drink that brew but a passing duke and his men come from afar to check on the resistance against the pirates."
Iima was interrupted by applause. She took the opportunity to finish her ale in a single, great gulp.
"Ah, in truth, I've never been so embarrassed as I was that day! And to have the duke discover that this young girl with the tangled hair and dirty face had been brewing ale in the forest—why, when I asked him about it later, he told me he'd thought I was a dryad! I suppose he had an eye for such things."
Again applause rose, this time from elsewhere. Lawrence looked and it appeared that Holo had won another drinking contest.
"But then, wouldn't you know it—the duke said my ale was delicious! He said that as the town they were heading to had been sacked by pirates, he and his men would be unable to get decent drink there, so he asked me to travel with his company and brew for them!
"Indeed, the ambitious young maiden, Iima Ranel, thought things were finally going her way.
"But alas! The duke already had a beautiful consort!
"Ah, 'tis well, I thought—my beauty would be wasted on such a homely nobleman, anyway. Though I had hoped for a black marten fur coat."
"So you became his personal brewer, then?" asked Lawrence—but no sooner had he asked the question than he realized that couldn't possibly have been the case.
If she'd been the personal brewer to a nobleman, she would hardly deign to run a tavern in the village of Tereo.
"Ha-ha, no, that would be impossible. At the time, I did not know the ways of the world, so it was surely my dream—but no. But as thanks for traveling with the duke and his men, I was able to dine in his absurdly large mansion, and I was given special permission to sell ale under the duke's name, and that was boon enough.
"So that's where the story of the rare ale-selling maiden begins—call it 'The Brewer Maid's Tale.'"
Iima pounded the table once with her fist, giving everyone sitting around it a start.
"So that is how I came to wander the land, brewing and selling, selling and brewing—many things happened, but for the most part, the road was easy. But then I made a single mistake—"
"Aye, Iima visited Tereo, and tragedy followed!" someone called out with perfect dramatic timing.
It seemed to Lawrence that Iima's tale was probably told to every traveler that passed through the village.
| Lawrence laughed as he imagined the rueful grin that had to be on said husband's face at this moment as he toiled in the tavern's kitchen. As for the rest of the audience, they feigned tears.
"And so I became the tavern keeper's wife. But this village is a good one—do take your time and enjoy yourselves," finished Iima with a pleasant grin, then left the table.
Lawrence watched her go, a guileless smile on his face.
"Ah, but this is a fine tavern. I doubt you'll find its equal even in Endima," he said.
Endima, capital of the kingdom of Ploania, was the largest city in the northern region of the kingdom—larger even than the Church city of Ruvinheigen.
Saying something couldn't be found even in Endima was a common way to extol the virtues of the smaller towns and villages of Ploania.
"Aye, right you are! You may be but a traveling peddler, friend, but you've got an eye for quality."
Everyone liked to hear his or her hometown praised.
The men around the table all grinned and drank from their mugs in unison.
Now's my chance, Lawrence thought.
"Indeed!" he said. "And the ale's fine, too. Truly this village must enjoy God's blessings," he continued, casually slipping the statement into the flow of conversation.
Yet his words hung there like a drop of oil in water.
"Ah, excuse my rudeness," he added.
He'd heard countless tales of other merchants who had misspoken while drinking wine in some pagan town.
Lawrence himself had made such mistakes—and the reaction he now saw was no different from his previous experiences.
"Ah, no—it's no fault of yours, traveler," said one of the men, as if to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere. "There is a big church here, after all." The others nodded.
"Ours is a remote village," another added, "so things are a bit more complicated here. And 'tis true that we owe a great deal to the late Father Franz. But still..."
"Aye, but still! Come what may, we mustn't disobey Lord Truyeo."
"Lord Truyeo?"
"Ah, Lord Truyeo is the guardian spirit of this village. He brings us good harvests, helps our children grow up strong and healthy, and keeps evil spirits away. He's where the name Tereo comes from."
"Ah, I see," Lawrence murmured to himself. This no doubt explained the great snake in the room at Sem's house.
He gave vague agreements and looked at Holo, who despite the great clamor that her drinking had been the center of a moment ago, looked back at him.
The spirit right before his eyes was not one to take lightly, either.
"A spirit of good harvest, eh? As a traveling merchant, I've heard such things. Is this Lord Truyeo a wolf spirit?"
"A wolf? Ridiculous! As though such a devil's spirit would guard a village!"
It was quite a rebuke. Lawrence mused that he might be able to use this to tease Holo later.
"Ah, so he is—"
"A snake, merchant! Lord Truyeo is a snake!"
If one was careless, both poison fangs and wagon bed stowaways could be equally troublesome, so Lawrence didn't see much difference between snakes and wolves. But snake spirits were quite common here in the northlands.
However, the Church held the snake as its sworn enemy. It was written in the scriptures that it was a snake that had caused man's fall.
"I've heard legends of snake spirits," said Lawrence. "One once descended from the mountains to the sea, and the path left behind it became a great river."
"Oh, come now, you can't put Lord Truyeo beside such things! They say he's so long that the weather at his head is different from what's at his tail and that he devours the moon for breakfast and the sun for dinner."
"Aye, that's right!" came a cacophony of voices.
"And besides, Lord Truyeo is nothing like those old fairy tales. After all, there's a cave he dug to hibernate in not far outside of the village."
"A hole?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence laughed as he imagined the rueful grin that had to be on said husband's face at this moment as he toiled in the tavern's kitchen. As for the rest of the audience, they feigned tears.
"And so I became the tavern keeper's wife. But this village is a good one—do take your time and enjoy yourselves," finished Iima with a pleasant grin, then left the table.
Lawrence watched her go, a guileless smile on his face.
"Ah, but this is a fine tavern. I doubt you'll find its equal even in Endima," he said.
Endima, capital of the kingdom of Ploania, was the largest city in the northern region of the kingdom—larger even than the Church city of Ruvinheigen.
Saying something couldn't be found even in Endima was a common way to extol the virtues of the smaller towns and villages of Ploania.
"Aye, right you are! You may be but a traveling peddler, friend, but you've got an eye for quality."
Everyone liked to hear his or her hometown praised.
The men around the table all grinned and drank from their mugs in unison.
Now's my chance, Lawrence thought.
"Indeed!" he said. "And the ale's fine, too. Truly this village must enjoy God's blessings," he continued, casually slipping the statement into the flow of conversation.
Yet his words hung there like a drop of oil in water.
"Ah, excuse my rudeness," he added.
He'd heard countless tales of other merchants who had misspoken while drinking wine in some pagan town.
Lawrence himself had made such mistakes—and the reaction he now saw was no different from his previous experiences.
"Ah, no—it's no fault of yours, traveler," said one of the men, as if to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere. "There is a big church here, after all." The others nodded.
"Ours is a remote village," another added, "so things are a bit more complicated here. And 'tis true that we owe a great deal to the late Father Franz. But still..."
"Aye, but still! Come what may, we mustn't disobey Lord Truyeo."
"Lord Truyeo?"
"Ah, Lord Truyeo is the guardian spirit of this village. He brings us good harvests, helps our children grow up strong and healthy, and keeps evil spirits away. He's where the name Tereo comes from."
"Ah, I see," Lawrence murmured to himself. This no doubt explained the great snake in the room at Sem's house.
He gave vague agreements and looked at Holo, who despite the great clamor that her drinking had been the center of a moment ago, looked back at him.
The spirit right before his eyes was not one to take lightly, either.
"A spirit of good harvest, eh? As a traveling merchant, I've heard such things. Is this Lord Truyeo a wolf spirit?"
"A wolf? Ridiculous! As though such a devil's spirit would guard a village!"
It was quite a rebuke. Lawrence mused that he might be able to use this to tease Holo later.
"Ah, so he is—"
"A snake, merchant! Lord Truyeo is a snake!"
If one was careless, both poison fangs and wagon bed stowaways could be equally troublesome, so Lawrence didn't see much difference between snakes and wolves. But snake spirits were quite common here in the northlands.
However, the Church held the snake as its sworn enemy. It was written in the scriptures that it was a snake that had caused man's fall.
"I've heard legends of snake spirits," said Lawrence. "One once descended from the mountains to the sea, and the path left behind it became a great river."
"Oh, come now, you can't put Lord Truyeo beside such things! They say he's so long that the weather at his head is different from what's at his tail and that he devours the moon for breakfast and the sun for dinner."
"Aye, that's right!" came a cacophony of voices.
"And besides, Lord Truyeo is nothing like those old fairy tales. After all, there's a cave he dug to hibernate in not far outside of the village."
"A hole?"
| 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.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | 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.
| "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 ignorant 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.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "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 ignorant 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.
| 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.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | 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.
| 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 was 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.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | 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 was 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.
| 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.
If he could learn something about the flow of coin in this village, he might be able to do some business here, he thought to himself.
In any case, there weren't any other merchants here, which by itself was a state Lawrence liked.
He couldn't help but grin at himself. Here he was on a journey that had nothing to do with business, yet his mind drifted there all the same.
Just then, from outside the window, came the sound of a door creaking open.
The sound stood out clearly in the quiet morning. Lawrence looked through a crack in the window. It was none other than Evan.
But he was not entering the church as before—he was leaving it.
From his hand dangled a bundle of some kind, perhaps a meal.
As before, Evan looked around carefully, then trotted away from the church.
After he'd gone a slight distance, he turned and waved to Elsa. When Lawrence looked over at Elsa, he saw her smile and wave back in response—she couldn't have looked more different from when she had dealt with Lawrence.
Lawrence found himself feeling a bit envious.
He watched Evan recede into the distance.
I see, he thought to himself, finally realizing why Evan was angry over the dispute between the church Elsa managed and the one in Enberch.
But Lawrence was a merchant; his vision was hardly so narrow as to regard what he'd seen as nothing more than an amusing scene.
What his eyes captured was nothing less than an understanding of what people stood to gain.
"I know where we're going today."
"Mm?" Holo popped her head out from under the blankets, looking at Lawrence curiously.
"It's your home we're searching for, and yet why am I the one working so hard?"
Holo did not immediately answer, instead flicking her ears rapidly as she sneezed and then rubbing her nose. "'Tis because I am that important, nay?"
Lawrence could only sigh at her shameless answer. "Would it kill you to spare me such talk from time to time?"
"You're such a merchant."
"Large profit requires large purchases. Nothing comes of buying small."
"Hmph. What about your small courage, eh?"
It was a good comeback; Lawrence had no response.
Lawrence closed his eyes, at which Holo chuckled and then continued. "It's harder for you to move when I am with you, is it not? This is a small village, and eyes follow us wherever we go."
Lawrence couldn't manage so much as an "oh."
"If I could take action, I would—but all I would do is go to that impudent girl at the church and tear her throat out. Please, go and find the location of the abbey, truly. I may seem lazy, but I want nothing more than to go there and hear what the monk has to say."
"Understood," said Lawrence to calm the flames of Holo's emotions, which burned like a sheaf of straw set ablaze.
Though she was sometimes utterly transparent with her feelings, other times she concealed her passions beneath a veil of apathy.
She was a troublesome companion, but nonetheless, her words were right on the mark. It was because she was important to Lawrence that he did all this.
"I'll be back by midday at the latest," said Lawrence.
"Bring me a souvenir," came Holo's muffled voice from beneath the blankets. Lawrence's only reply was his usual rueful grin.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | 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.
If he could learn something about the flow of coin in this village, he might be able to do some business here, he thought to himself.
In any case, there weren't any other merchants here, which by itself was a state Lawrence liked.
He couldn't help but grin at himself. Here he was on a journey that had nothing to do with business, yet his mind drifted there all the same.
Just then, from outside the window, came the sound of a door creaking open.
The sound stood out clearly in the quiet morning. Lawrence looked through a crack in the window. It was none other than Evan.
But he was not entering the church as before—he was leaving it.
From his hand dangled a bundle of some kind, perhaps a meal.
As before, Evan looked around carefully, then trotted away from the church.
After he'd gone a slight distance, he turned and waved to Elsa. When Lawrence looked over at Elsa, he saw her smile and wave back in response—she couldn't have looked more different from when she had dealt with Lawrence.
Lawrence found himself feeling a bit envious.
He watched Evan recede into the distance.
I see, he thought to himself, finally realizing why Evan was angry over the dispute between the church Elsa managed and the one in Enberch.
But Lawrence was a merchant; his vision was hardly so narrow as to regard what he'd seen as nothing more than an amusing scene.
What his eyes captured was nothing less than an understanding of what people stood to gain.
"I know where we're going today."
"Mm?" Holo popped her head out from under the blankets, looking at Lawrence curiously.
"It's your home we're searching for, and yet why am I the one working so hard?"
Holo did not immediately answer, instead flicking her ears rapidly as she sneezed and then rubbing her nose. "'Tis because I am that important, nay?"
Lawrence could only sigh at her shameless answer. "Would it kill you to spare me such talk from time to time?"
"You're such a merchant."
"Large profit requires large purchases. Nothing comes of buying small."
"Hmph. What about your small courage, eh?"
It was a good comeback; Lawrence had no response.
Lawrence closed his eyes, at which Holo chuckled and then continued. "It's harder for you to move when I am with you, is it not? This is a small village, and eyes follow us wherever we go."
Lawrence couldn't manage so much as an "oh."
"If I could take action, I would—but all I would do is go to that impudent girl at the church and tear her throat out. Please, go and find the location of the abbey, truly. I may seem lazy, but I want nothing more than to go there and hear what the monk has to say."
"Understood," said Lawrence to calm the flames of Holo's emotions, which burned like a sheaf of straw set ablaze.
Though she was sometimes utterly transparent with her feelings, other times she concealed her passions beneath a veil of apathy.
She was a troublesome companion, but nonetheless, her words were right on the mark. It was because she was important to Lawrence that he did all this.
"I'll be back by midday at the latest," said Lawrence.
"Bring me a souvenir," came Holo's muffled voice from beneath the blankets. Lawrence's only reply was his usual rueful grin.
| Even without farmwork to do, people began to rise once the sun was up. Here and there were villagers tending to their vegetable patches or taking care of their pigs or chickens.
While yesterday he was greeted with only suspicion, a few people now looked at Lawrence with smiles. The night of revelry seemed to have had some effect.
A few others couldn't manage a smile, owing to their hangovers.
But in any case, it seemed he had been more or less accepted as a traveler, which came as a relief.
The increased recognition would make it harder to move, though.
Holo's impression had been correct. While Lawrence was impressed at her insight, he also felt a twinge of jealousy.
His destination, as he mulled such thoughts over, was naturally Evan's water mill, where he planned to ask about Elsa.
Lawrence was not Holo. As such, he had no intention of trying to discover the nature of Evan and Elsa's relationship.
But in order to win over the touchy, reclusive Elsa, it would be faster for Lawrence to speak with Evan, who seemed to have a better understanding of her circumstances.
As he walked down the path he had driven his wagon over the previous day, Lawrence nodded a greeting to a man who was plucking weeds from a field just outside the village.
Lawrence didn't have any memory of the man, but apparently he had been in the bar last night as he smiled and returned the greeting.
"On foot, eh? Where're you headed?" the man asked. It was a reasonable question.
"I was thinking of having some wheat ground."
"Oh, the mill, eh? Careful you don't get cheated!"
It was probably a common joke when going to the miller's to have wheat ground. Lawrence smiled by way of reply and continued on to the mill.
A merchant was hardly ever trusted by anyone, save another merchant. Yet there were occupations that were still worse off.
While Lawrence himself had no questions about the God of the Church, who claimed that all trades and occupations were equal, he remembered that the people of Tereo had no love for the servants of that God.
The world simply didn't go as one might wish. It was filled with hardship.
With the harvest over, the wheat fields he passed as he walked the path between the hill and the stream were rather desolate, but soon the millhouse came into view.
Evan seemed to hear the merchant's footsteps as he approached and popped his head out of the entrance. "Ah, Master Lawrence!"
He seemed cheerful as ever, though being called "master" after having met the lad only a day earlier irritated Lawrence.
Lawrence raised the sack of wheat and spoke. "Have you a mortar free at the moment?"
"Eh? I do, but...are you leaving already?"
Lawrence handed the sack over to Evan, shaking his head.
It was reasonable to assume that if a traveler was having his wheat ground, he was making preparations to leave.
"No, I'll be in Tereo for a time yet," said Lawrence.
"Ah, you must! Just wait a moment, then. I'll grind this into flour that will rise beautifully, you'll see."
It occurred to Lawrence that Evan might be trying to butter him up in order to win a chance at leaving the village. Evan seemed to give a short sigh of relief as he went back into the millhouse.
Lawrence followed him in and was immediately surprised.
Despite its dingy exterior, the inside of the mill was clean and well kept with three grand millstones.
"This is quite a mill," said Lawrence.
"Isn't it? It may not look like much on the outside, but I grind all the wheat in Tereo," said Evan proudly as he connected the shaft that turned the mortar wheel to the shaft coming from the waterwheel.
He then extended a thin pole out the window, undoing the rope that prevented the waterwheel from turning.
Immediately the wheel creaked to life, moving the stone with a deep rumbling sound.
Checking that everything was moving as it should, Evan poured Lawrence's wheat into a hole at the top of the mortar.
Now all they had to do was wait for the flour to collect at the plate underneath the stone.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Even without farmwork to do, people began to rise once the sun was up. Here and there were villagers tending to their vegetable patches or taking care of their pigs or chickens.
While yesterday he was greeted with only suspicion, a few people now looked at Lawrence with smiles. The night of revelry seemed to have had some effect.
A few others couldn't manage a smile, owing to their hangovers.
But in any case, it seemed he had been more or less accepted as a traveler, which came as a relief.
The increased recognition would make it harder to move, though.
Holo's impression had been correct. While Lawrence was impressed at her insight, he also felt a twinge of jealousy.
His destination, as he mulled such thoughts over, was naturally Evan's water mill, where he planned to ask about Elsa.
Lawrence was not Holo. As such, he had no intention of trying to discover the nature of Evan and Elsa's relationship.
But in order to win over the touchy, reclusive Elsa, it would be faster for Lawrence to speak with Evan, who seemed to have a better understanding of her circumstances.
As he walked down the path he had driven his wagon over the previous day, Lawrence nodded a greeting to a man who was plucking weeds from a field just outside the village.
Lawrence didn't have any memory of the man, but apparently he had been in the bar last night as he smiled and returned the greeting.
"On foot, eh? Where're you headed?" the man asked. It was a reasonable question.
"I was thinking of having some wheat ground."
"Oh, the mill, eh? Careful you don't get cheated!"
It was probably a common joke when going to the miller's to have wheat ground. Lawrence smiled by way of reply and continued on to the mill.
A merchant was hardly ever trusted by anyone, save another merchant. Yet there were occupations that were still worse off.
While Lawrence himself had no questions about the God of the Church, who claimed that all trades and occupations were equal, he remembered that the people of Tereo had no love for the servants of that God.
The world simply didn't go as one might wish. It was filled with hardship.
With the harvest over, the wheat fields he passed as he walked the path between the hill and the stream were rather desolate, but soon the millhouse came into view.
Evan seemed to hear the merchant's footsteps as he approached and popped his head out of the entrance. "Ah, Master Lawrence!"
He seemed cheerful as ever, though being called "master" after having met the lad only a day earlier irritated Lawrence.
Lawrence raised the sack of wheat and spoke. "Have you a mortar free at the moment?"
"Eh? I do, but...are you leaving already?"
Lawrence handed the sack over to Evan, shaking his head.
It was reasonable to assume that if a traveler was having his wheat ground, he was making preparations to leave.
"No, I'll be in Tereo for a time yet," said Lawrence.
"Ah, you must! Just wait a moment, then. I'll grind this into flour that will rise beautifully, you'll see."
It occurred to Lawrence that Evan might be trying to butter him up in order to win a chance at leaving the village. Evan seemed to give a short sigh of relief as he went back into the millhouse.
Lawrence followed him in and was immediately surprised.
Despite its dingy exterior, the inside of the mill was clean and well kept with three grand millstones.
"This is quite a mill," said Lawrence.
"Isn't it? It may not look like much on the outside, but I grind all the wheat in Tereo," said Evan proudly as he connected the shaft that turned the mortar wheel to the shaft coming from the waterwheel.
He then extended a thin pole out the window, undoing the rope that prevented the waterwheel from turning.
Immediately the wheel creaked to life, moving the stone with a deep rumbling sound.
Checking that everything was moving as it should, Evan poured Lawrence's wheat into a hole at the top of the mortar.
Now all they had to do was wait for the flour to collect at the plate underneath the stone.
| "That's quite cheap."
"Cheap? And here I was worried you'd find it too high."
In places with heavy taxes, Lawrence wouldn't have been surprised at Evan's figure being tripled.
But perhaps three ryut seemed high to someone unfamiliar with the market.
"The villagers are a tightfisted lot when it comes to grinding. But if I don't collect in full, I'm the one to bear the elder's ire."
Lawrence laughed. "That's true no matter where you go."
"Were you a miller, too, once?"
"No, but I once did work as a tax collector. It was for the butcher tax on meat. Things like how much tax they owed for slaughtering one pig, you see."
"Huh, so that is how it's done, eh?"
"Cleaning meat and bones taints the river and creates a lot of garbage, so it's taxed in order to pay for the cleanup—but of course nobody wants to pay."
Taxation rights were auctioned off to the highest bidder by town officials. The bid went directly into the town's coffers, and the winner could then go collect taxes at will. The more tax one could collect, the greater the profit—but if the tax collector wasn't successful, he risked great loss.
Lawrence had done this twice when he was starting out as a merchant.
The effort collecting took and the money it yielded were totally out of proportion, he found.
"In the end, I would have to cry and beg to get people to pay. It was awful," he said.
Evan laughed. "I surely understand!"
Lawrence knew that this story of shared hardship would go far toward winning Evan's trust.
Well, now, he thought to himself as he laughed with Evan.
"Incidentally, you did say that all of Tereo's grain is ground here, yes?"
"Yes, it's true. There was a big harvest this year, so it's hardly my fault it took so long to grind, yet they yell at me constantly!"
Lawrence couldn't help but imagine Evan staying up all night, tending the mortar.
But Evan laughed at the memory of it, apparently happy, then continued. "What, then—have you changed your mind since yesterday? Are you planning to do wheat business in Tereo?"
"Hm? Oh well, depending on circumstances..."
"I'd counsel you to give it up," said Evan flatly.
"Merchants are particularly bad at giving up."
"Ha, spoken like a true merchant! But you need only go to the elder to understand. It's been decided that the village must sell all its grain to Enberch." As he spoke, Evan checked the progress of the mortar, carefully brushing the flour into the stone plate with a boar hair brush.
"Ah, is Tereo part of Enberch's fief, then?" If that was true, it would make the leisurely lives of the villagers even harder to explain.
Unsurprisingly, Evan looked up and spoke proudly. "We're their equals. They buy our wheat; we buy other things from them. What's more, when we buy wine or clothing from Enberch, we pay no taxes. Impressive, isn't it?"
When he passed through Enberch, Lawrence had seen that it was a town of some size.
The term poor might have been too harsh for Tereo, but the village certainly didn't seem up to the task of confronting Enberch.
It was impressive indeed, then, for such a small village to conduct commerce with such favorable terms.
"What I heard at the tavern was that Enberch levies heavy taxes on Tereo, though."
Evan chuckled. "That's ancient history. Want to know why?" He folded his arms like a boastful child. It was more amusing than irritating.
"I'd love to," said Lawrence, opening his palms in invitation.
Evan suddenly unfolded his arms and ducked his head. "Uh, sorry. I don't know myself," he said bashfully. "B-but still—," he hastened to add. "I know who's responsible for making it this way!"
In that instant, Lawrence felt something he'd not felt in a long time—the pleasure of being one step ahead of another. "Father Franz, wasn't it?"
"Ah! Er—how did you know?"
"Call it merchant's intuition."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "That's quite cheap."
"Cheap? And here I was worried you'd find it too high."
In places with heavy taxes, Lawrence wouldn't have been surprised at Evan's figure being tripled.
But perhaps three ryut seemed high to someone unfamiliar with the market.
"The villagers are a tightfisted lot when it comes to grinding. But if I don't collect in full, I'm the one to bear the elder's ire."
Lawrence laughed. "That's true no matter where you go."
"Were you a miller, too, once?"
"No, but I once did work as a tax collector. It was for the butcher tax on meat. Things like how much tax they owed for slaughtering one pig, you see."
"Huh, so that is how it's done, eh?"
"Cleaning meat and bones taints the river and creates a lot of garbage, so it's taxed in order to pay for the cleanup—but of course nobody wants to pay."
Taxation rights were auctioned off to the highest bidder by town officials. The bid went directly into the town's coffers, and the winner could then go collect taxes at will. The more tax one could collect, the greater the profit—but if the tax collector wasn't successful, he risked great loss.
Lawrence had done this twice when he was starting out as a merchant.
The effort collecting took and the money it yielded were totally out of proportion, he found.
"In the end, I would have to cry and beg to get people to pay. It was awful," he said.
Evan laughed. "I surely understand!"
Lawrence knew that this story of shared hardship would go far toward winning Evan's trust.
Well, now, he thought to himself as he laughed with Evan.
"Incidentally, you did say that all of Tereo's grain is ground here, yes?"
"Yes, it's true. There was a big harvest this year, so it's hardly my fault it took so long to grind, yet they yell at me constantly!"
Lawrence couldn't help but imagine Evan staying up all night, tending the mortar.
But Evan laughed at the memory of it, apparently happy, then continued. "What, then—have you changed your mind since yesterday? Are you planning to do wheat business in Tereo?"
"Hm? Oh well, depending on circumstances..."
"I'd counsel you to give it up," said Evan flatly.
"Merchants are particularly bad at giving up."
"Ha, spoken like a true merchant! But you need only go to the elder to understand. It's been decided that the village must sell all its grain to Enberch." As he spoke, Evan checked the progress of the mortar, carefully brushing the flour into the stone plate with a boar hair brush.
"Ah, is Tereo part of Enberch's fief, then?" If that was true, it would make the leisurely lives of the villagers even harder to explain.
Unsurprisingly, Evan looked up and spoke proudly. "We're their equals. They buy our wheat; we buy other things from them. What's more, when we buy wine or clothing from Enberch, we pay no taxes. Impressive, isn't it?"
When he passed through Enberch, Lawrence had seen that it was a town of some size.
The term poor might have been too harsh for Tereo, but the village certainly didn't seem up to the task of confronting Enberch.
It was impressive indeed, then, for such a small village to conduct commerce with such favorable terms.
"What I heard at the tavern was that Enberch levies heavy taxes on Tereo, though."
Evan chuckled. "That's ancient history. Want to know why?" He folded his arms like a boastful child. It was more amusing than irritating.
"I'd love to," said Lawrence, opening his palms in invitation.
Evan suddenly unfolded his arms and ducked his head. "Uh, sorry. I don't know myself," he said bashfully. "B-but still—," he hastened to add. "I know who's responsible for making it this way!"
In that instant, Lawrence felt something he'd not felt in a long time—the pleasure of being one step ahead of another. "Father Franz, wasn't it?"
"Ah! Er—how did you know?"
"Call it merchant's intuition."
| "A-amazing. You're a man to be reckoned with, Mr. Lawrence."
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Is my wheat done?"
"Oh, er—yes. Just a moment."
Lawrence smiled slightly at Evan's haste, then sighed to himself.
It could be dangerous to stay in Tereo for too long.
He had seen from time to time places like this village and its neighbor Enberch.
"Ah, yes. It will indeed be three ryut. But since there's nobody here, if you'll keep mum about it, you don't have to—"
"No, I'll pay. A miller's got to be honest, don't you think?"
Evan held a measuring container with the newly ground wheat flour in it. He smiled helplessly and accepted the three blackened silver coins Lawrence offered. "Make sure you sift it well before you make bread with it," he said.
"I shall. By the way—," began Lawrence. Evan had already begun tending to the mortar now that its work was finished. "Do the church services here always begin so early?"
Lawrence expected surprise from Evan, but the boy was only curious as he turned around. "Hm?" He then seemed to understand the implication behind the question and smiled. "No, hardly. It's not bad in the summer, but I'm sure you'll agree it's far too cold to sleep in the millhouse in the winter. I sleep in the church."
Lawrence had already inferred as much, so it was easy for him to affect a natural "Ah, I see." He continued. "Still, you seem to be quite close to Miss Elsa."
"Hm? Ah, well, ha-ha-ha..."
If you mix pride, happiness, and embarrassment, add a bit of water, and knead until soft, you would wind up with something like Evan's expression at that moment.
Such a recipe would certainly rise well when baked in the fires of jealousy.
"When we visited the church yesterday to ask for directions, we were treated with no small amount of disdain. She simply wouldn't listen to anything I said. Yet this morning, she seemed as kind and gentle as the Holy Mother. Quite a surprise."
Evan laughed nervously. "Well, Elsa's quite short-tempered for someone as timid as she is. Her shyness makes her like a wild rat when she first meets someone. If she really wants to follow in Father Franz's footsteps, she'll have to stop." He disconnected the waterwheel from the mortar and adroitly refastened the rigging to the waterwheel.
His smooth, competent movements combined with the words he spoke made Evan seem older than his years.
"But still," he continued, "it's been some time since she's been in such high spirits. I suppose your timing was bad. By yesterday evening, she was quite happy. Still...it's odd. Why didn't she mention you had visited? That girl usually tells me how many sneezes she's had that day."
While Lawrence knew that Evan was only making idle conversation, he really had no interest in this.
But if he wanted to get closer to Elsa, he needed to get Evan on board.
"Surely it's because in the end, I'm also a man," he said.
Evan was stunned silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. Finally he managed, "So she was worried I would get the wrong idea! That silly girl!"
Lawrence looked at Evan and realized that he had much to learn from the lad despite his younger age.
Problems of this sort were more complicated even than business.
"But what would've made her so cheerful after being so irritable?"
Evan's face darkened. "Why do you ask?"
"My own companion's moods change more often than the mountain weather," said Lawrence with a shrug.
Evan paused, recalling Holo from his memory. He ultimately seemed to accept Lawrence's statement.
He flashed a sympathetic smile. "It must be quite rough going."
"It surely is."
"Sadly I don't know how much I can explain. It's simply that in Elsa's case, a persistent problem has calmed down."
"Meaning?"
"Well—," Evan began but then cut himself off. "I was told not to talk about it to people from outside the village. If you simply must know, perhaps you might ask the elder..."
"Ah, no, if you can't talk about it, that's fine."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "A-amazing. You're a man to be reckoned with, Mr. Lawrence."
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Is my wheat done?"
"Oh, er—yes. Just a moment."
Lawrence smiled slightly at Evan's haste, then sighed to himself.
It could be dangerous to stay in Tereo for too long.
He had seen from time to time places like this village and its neighbor Enberch.
"Ah, yes. It will indeed be three ryut. But since there's nobody here, if you'll keep mum about it, you don't have to—"
"No, I'll pay. A miller's got to be honest, don't you think?"
Evan held a measuring container with the newly ground wheat flour in it. He smiled helplessly and accepted the three blackened silver coins Lawrence offered. "Make sure you sift it well before you make bread with it," he said.
"I shall. By the way—," began Lawrence. Evan had already begun tending to the mortar now that its work was finished. "Do the church services here always begin so early?"
Lawrence expected surprise from Evan, but the boy was only curious as he turned around. "Hm?" He then seemed to understand the implication behind the question and smiled. "No, hardly. It's not bad in the summer, but I'm sure you'll agree it's far too cold to sleep in the millhouse in the winter. I sleep in the church."
Lawrence had already inferred as much, so it was easy for him to affect a natural "Ah, I see." He continued. "Still, you seem to be quite close to Miss Elsa."
"Hm? Ah, well, ha-ha-ha..."
If you mix pride, happiness, and embarrassment, add a bit of water, and knead until soft, you would wind up with something like Evan's expression at that moment.
Such a recipe would certainly rise well when baked in the fires of jealousy.
"When we visited the church yesterday to ask for directions, we were treated with no small amount of disdain. She simply wouldn't listen to anything I said. Yet this morning, she seemed as kind and gentle as the Holy Mother. Quite a surprise."
Evan laughed nervously. "Well, Elsa's quite short-tempered for someone as timid as she is. Her shyness makes her like a wild rat when she first meets someone. If she really wants to follow in Father Franz's footsteps, she'll have to stop." He disconnected the waterwheel from the mortar and adroitly refastened the rigging to the waterwheel.
His smooth, competent movements combined with the words he spoke made Evan seem older than his years.
"But still," he continued, "it's been some time since she's been in such high spirits. I suppose your timing was bad. By yesterday evening, she was quite happy. Still...it's odd. Why didn't she mention you had visited? That girl usually tells me how many sneezes she's had that day."
While Lawrence knew that Evan was only making idle conversation, he really had no interest in this.
But if he wanted to get closer to Elsa, he needed to get Evan on board.
"Surely it's because in the end, I'm also a man," he said.
Evan was stunned silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. Finally he managed, "So she was worried I would get the wrong idea! That silly girl!"
Lawrence looked at Evan and realized that he had much to learn from the lad despite his younger age.
Problems of this sort were more complicated even than business.
"But what would've made her so cheerful after being so irritable?"
Evan's face darkened. "Why do you ask?"
"My own companion's moods change more often than the mountain weather," said Lawrence with a shrug.
Evan paused, recalling Holo from his memory. He ultimately seemed to accept Lawrence's statement.
He flashed a sympathetic smile. "It must be quite rough going."
"It surely is."
"Sadly I don't know how much I can explain. It's simply that in Elsa's case, a persistent problem has calmed down."
"Meaning?"
"Well—," Evan began but then cut himself off. "I was told not to talk about it to people from outside the village. If you simply must know, perhaps you might ask the elder..."
"Ah, no, if you can't talk about it, that's fine."
| He had already gathered more than enough information.
But Evan seemed now to be worried he'd somehow aggrieved Lawrence. His face was suddenly apprehensive. He cast about for something to say. "Ah, but—I can say that if you go now, she'll probably talk to you. She's really not a bad person!"
Given that even the village elder had pretended ignorance of the abbey, Lawrence doubted the problem would be so simple. But it would a good opportunity to go and talk to Elsa once more.
In any case, he now had a plan.
Assuming his predictions were correct, it would work.
"Well then," he said. "I suppose I'll go talk with her again."
"I think you should."
Deciding that there was nothing further to be gained here, Lawrence said, "I'll be off, then," and turned to leave.
"U-um, Mr. Lawrence!" Evan called out hastily.
"Hm?"
"Is...is it hard being a traveling merchant?"
Deep in Evan's uneasy eyes there was a determination.
Lawrence could not bring himself to snicker at the boy. "There's no job in the world that's not hard. But...yes, it's quite nice at the moment."
Lawrence admitted to himself that it was nice in a completely different way since he'd met Holo.
"I see...I guess you're right. Well, thank you!"
Though being a miller required honesty, there was a difference between honesty and artlessness.
If Evan became a merchant, he would probably be quite popular, but actually turning a profit would take hard work, Lawrence knew.
Naturally he said none of this, simply raising the leather sack of freshly ground flour by way of thanks as he left the mill.
He ambled up the path that ran by the stream, deep in thought.
Evan claimed that Elsa would tell him even the number of sneezes she'd had in a day. The statement had left a strangely deep impression on Lawrence.
He could imagine Holo reporting the number of sighs she'd breathed in a day to convey her countless hardships and grudges.
What was the difference?
Then again, a stoic and lovable Holo would be downright eerie. Since she herself was not present, Lawrence couldn't help but laugh at the very idea.
Upon returning to the village square, Lawrence saw a few stands now open—not enough to be called a proper marketplace, but there were more than a few villagers gathered.
Yet it seemed that the gathering was less about purchasing things and more about making affable small talk as the day began. There was none of the tense atmosphere that came with people straining to buy as cheaply as possible and selling as dearly as they could.
To hear Evan tell it, Enberch purchased all of Tereo's wheat at a fixed price, and the people of Tereo could buy Enberch's goods tax free.
It was hard to believe, but if that was true, it would explain the leisurely lives that Tereo's citizens seemed to lead.
Villages were often subordinate to nearby towns, the villagers themselves trapped by the need to work day in and day out simply to afford the wine, food, clothing, and livestock that was necessary for everyday life, but that they were unable to produce themselves.
Such a village would sell its crops to a town and use the money to purchase what the villagers needed.
But in order to buy the various goods that had been brought to the town, they needed coin. The only way to raise cash was to sell their wheat to the town merchants, converting it to money, then to use the funds to buy goods from those same merchants.
The issue was that while the villagers needed money, the town merchants did not necessarily need the village's wheat.
The power imbalance meant that the town could force the villagers to sell cheaply, then set the prices of their own goods high with things like tariffs.
The more dire a village's financial situation, the more easily a town could take advantage of it.
Eventually the villagers would be forced to borrow money, and with no hope of repaying it, they would effectively become slaves, forced to send all their produce to the town.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He had already gathered more than enough information.
But Evan seemed now to be worried he'd somehow aggrieved Lawrence. His face was suddenly apprehensive. He cast about for something to say. "Ah, but—I can say that if you go now, she'll probably talk to you. She's really not a bad person!"
Given that even the village elder had pretended ignorance of the abbey, Lawrence doubted the problem would be so simple. But it would a good opportunity to go and talk to Elsa once more.
In any case, he now had a plan.
Assuming his predictions were correct, it would work.
"Well then," he said. "I suppose I'll go talk with her again."
"I think you should."
Deciding that there was nothing further to be gained here, Lawrence said, "I'll be off, then," and turned to leave.
"U-um, Mr. Lawrence!" Evan called out hastily.
"Hm?"
"Is...is it hard being a traveling merchant?"
Deep in Evan's uneasy eyes there was a determination.
Lawrence could not bring himself to snicker at the boy. "There's no job in the world that's not hard. But...yes, it's quite nice at the moment."
Lawrence admitted to himself that it was nice in a completely different way since he'd met Holo.
"I see...I guess you're right. Well, thank you!"
Though being a miller required honesty, there was a difference between honesty and artlessness.
If Evan became a merchant, he would probably be quite popular, but actually turning a profit would take hard work, Lawrence knew.
Naturally he said none of this, simply raising the leather sack of freshly ground flour by way of thanks as he left the mill.
He ambled up the path that ran by the stream, deep in thought.
Evan claimed that Elsa would tell him even the number of sneezes she'd had in a day. The statement had left a strangely deep impression on Lawrence.
He could imagine Holo reporting the number of sighs she'd breathed in a day to convey her countless hardships and grudges.
What was the difference?
Then again, a stoic and lovable Holo would be downright eerie. Since she herself was not present, Lawrence couldn't help but laugh at the very idea.
Upon returning to the village square, Lawrence saw a few stands now open—not enough to be called a proper marketplace, but there were more than a few villagers gathered.
Yet it seemed that the gathering was less about purchasing things and more about making affable small talk as the day began. There was none of the tense atmosphere that came with people straining to buy as cheaply as possible and selling as dearly as they could.
To hear Evan tell it, Enberch purchased all of Tereo's wheat at a fixed price, and the people of Tereo could buy Enberch's goods tax free.
It was hard to believe, but if that was true, it would explain the leisurely lives that Tereo's citizens seemed to lead.
Villages were often subordinate to nearby towns, the villagers themselves trapped by the need to work day in and day out simply to afford the wine, food, clothing, and livestock that was necessary for everyday life, but that they were unable to produce themselves.
Such a village would sell its crops to a town and use the money to purchase what the villagers needed.
But in order to buy the various goods that had been brought to the town, they needed coin. The only way to raise cash was to sell their wheat to the town merchants, converting it to money, then to use the funds to buy goods from those same merchants.
The issue was that while the villagers needed money, the town merchants did not necessarily need the village's wheat.
The power imbalance meant that the town could force the villagers to sell cheaply, then set the prices of their own goods high with things like tariffs.
The more dire a village's financial situation, the more easily a town could take advantage of it.
Eventually the villagers would be forced to borrow money, and with no hope of repaying it, they would effectively become slaves, forced to send all their produce to the town.
| But naturally, once a village had secured a source of money, it would be able to again resist the town's influence, putting the town in a bad place. At that point, the arguments would become constant, endlessly repeated over this or that privilege—yet Tereo seemed free from any such fighting.
While he didn't know how Tereo had avoided such a situation, Lawrence did have a sense of the problems and risks it faced as a result.
After buying some dried figs at a stand with a master who seemed to think that merely being open was enough, Lawrence returned to the inn.
When he got there, Holo was asleep on the bed, entirely free from the cares of the world. Lawrence laughed soundlessly.
She opened her eyes eventually as Lawrence rustled about in the room. Once her face finally emerged from underneath the blankets, the first word out of her mouth was "Food."
Since he hadn't been certain how long it would take them to get this far, Lawrence had been extremely thrifty with their provisions while they traveled. He decided they should finish off these first.
"There was this much cheese left? I only restrained myself because you said it wouldn't last," said Holo.
"Who said you could eat all of it? Half of that is mine."
As soon as he picked up the cheese and cut it in half with a knife, Holo glared at him, her grudge obvious. "Did you not make a tidy profit in the last town?"
"Did I not explain to you that we've used it all already?"
In point of fact, he'd paid off his remaining liabilities in Kumersun as well as a town nearby in one fell swoop.
He did this partially as a precaution against their search for Yoitsu taking too much time—which could cause him to miss a payment deadline—and also because carrying too much cash was simply foolhardy.
Some money still remained after that, which he'd left with a trading company. A company's power lay in its cash reserves. Of course, Lawrence was earning interest on that balance, but Holo didn't need to know that.
"You only need to tell me once—I understand that. What I mean is, you made money, but I received nothing."
It pained Lawrence to hear this.
The business in Kumersun got out of hand because of Lawrence's misunderstanding, but Holo had received nothing for her trouble.
However, if he showed weakness now, the wolf's grip would only tighten.
"How can you say something so shameless after eating and drinking so much?"
"In that case, shall we do a careful comparison of the coin you made and how much I've cost?"
Hit where it hurt, Lawrence looked away.
"You made quite a tidy sum with the rocks I bought from that bird woman, you did. Not to mention—"
"Fine, fine!"
With her ears able to discern any lie, Holo was worse than any tax collector.
If Lawrence struggled any further, it would only deepen the wound.
He gave up, thrusting the entirety of the cheese at Holo.
She chuckled. "Why, thank you."
"You're welcome."
It was surely rare to be thanked yet to remain as annoyed as Lawrence was.
"Ah, so are your inquiries proceeding?" asked Holo.
"More or less."
"More or less? So you've found half the directions we need?"
Lawrence smiled. What he'd said could be interpreted that way, he had to admit. He thought for a moment, then replied, "If I'd gone to the church, I thought I'd get the same cold shoulder we got yesterday. So I went to see Evan at the millhouse."
"Ah, going after the person whose relationship with the girl is not uncomplicated. 'Tis wiser than I'd expect from you."
"...Yes, well." Lawrence cleared his throat and got to the point. "Would you give up going to the abbey?"
Holo froze. "...And the reason would be?"
"There's something strange about this village. It feels dangerous to me."
Holo was expressionless. She chewed a piece of rye bread on which she'd spread some cheese. "So you're not willing to risk danger to look for my home, then?"
So that's how it's going to be, Lawrence thought, clenching his jaw. "That's not—wait, you're doing that on purpose."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | But naturally, once a village had secured a source of money, it would be able to again resist the town's influence, putting the town in a bad place. At that point, the arguments would become constant, endlessly repeated over this or that privilege—yet Tereo seemed free from any such fighting.
While he didn't know how Tereo had avoided such a situation, Lawrence did have a sense of the problems and risks it faced as a result.
After buying some dried figs at a stand with a master who seemed to think that merely being open was enough, Lawrence returned to the inn.
When he got there, Holo was asleep on the bed, entirely free from the cares of the world. Lawrence laughed soundlessly.
She opened her eyes eventually as Lawrence rustled about in the room. Once her face finally emerged from underneath the blankets, the first word out of her mouth was "Food."
Since he hadn't been certain how long it would take them to get this far, Lawrence had been extremely thrifty with their provisions while they traveled. He decided they should finish off these first.
"There was this much cheese left? I only restrained myself because you said it wouldn't last," said Holo.
"Who said you could eat all of it? Half of that is mine."
As soon as he picked up the cheese and cut it in half with a knife, Holo glared at him, her grudge obvious. "Did you not make a tidy profit in the last town?"
"Did I not explain to you that we've used it all already?"
In point of fact, he'd paid off his remaining liabilities in Kumersun as well as a town nearby in one fell swoop.
He did this partially as a precaution against their search for Yoitsu taking too much time—which could cause him to miss a payment deadline—and also because carrying too much cash was simply foolhardy.
Some money still remained after that, which he'd left with a trading company. A company's power lay in its cash reserves. Of course, Lawrence was earning interest on that balance, but Holo didn't need to know that.
"You only need to tell me once—I understand that. What I mean is, you made money, but I received nothing."
It pained Lawrence to hear this.
The business in Kumersun got out of hand because of Lawrence's misunderstanding, but Holo had received nothing for her trouble.
However, if he showed weakness now, the wolf's grip would only tighten.
"How can you say something so shameless after eating and drinking so much?"
"In that case, shall we do a careful comparison of the coin you made and how much I've cost?"
Hit where it hurt, Lawrence looked away.
"You made quite a tidy sum with the rocks I bought from that bird woman, you did. Not to mention—"
"Fine, fine!"
With her ears able to discern any lie, Holo was worse than any tax collector.
If Lawrence struggled any further, it would only deepen the wound.
He gave up, thrusting the entirety of the cheese at Holo.
She chuckled. "Why, thank you."
"You're welcome."
It was surely rare to be thanked yet to remain as annoyed as Lawrence was.
"Ah, so are your inquiries proceeding?" asked Holo.
"More or less."
"More or less? So you've found half the directions we need?"
Lawrence smiled. What he'd said could be interpreted that way, he had to admit. He thought for a moment, then replied, "If I'd gone to the church, I thought I'd get the same cold shoulder we got yesterday. So I went to see Evan at the millhouse."
"Ah, going after the person whose relationship with the girl is not uncomplicated. 'Tis wiser than I'd expect from you."
"...Yes, well." Lawrence cleared his throat and got to the point. "Would you give up going to the abbey?"
Holo froze. "...And the reason would be?"
"There's something strange about this village. It feels dangerous to me."
Holo was expressionless. She chewed a piece of rye bread on which she'd spread some cheese. "So you're not willing to risk danger to look for my home, then?"
So that's how it's going to be, Lawrence thought, clenching his jaw. "That's not—wait, you're doing that on purpose."
| It was hard to know how many words she'd swallowed along with the bread, but her face made her displeasure clear enough.
Lawrence essentially understood her desire to reach the abbey and ask her questions as quickly as she could, but perhaps those desires were stronger than he realized.
But what little information he'd gathered in the village, along with the experience he had accrued as a merchant who had seen many other towns and villages, led him to believe that it would be dangerous to keep searching for the abbey's location while in Tereo.
After all—
"If I'm right, I think the abbey we're looking for is Tereo's church."
There was no change in Holo's expression, save for the tufts of her ears standing up bottlebrush straight.
"I'm going to go through my reasoning point by point. Are you ready?"
Holo fingered an ear tuft, then nodded slightly.
"First, Elsa obviously knows where the abbey is but is pretending ignorance. If she's hiding that information, it means that for whatever reason, she can't talk about Church affairs. Also, when I went to the elder's house yesterday asking the same question, he also seemed to know—and also pretended not to."
Holo closed her eyes and nodded.
"Next, of all the buildings in the village, only the village elder's house is grander than the church. Yet if you'll think back to the conversations in the tavern yesterday, you'll see that the Church doesn't command much respect here. The villagers worship the local snake spirit that's protected them for ages—not the God of the Church."
"Still," said Holo, "did they not speak of Father Franz as someone who'd done the village good?"
"They did. The elder said the same thing. So it's clear that Father Franz did something to benefit the village—but it wasn't saving them by preaching the word of God, which means he did something that materially benefited them. And I found out what that was just a while ago, talking to Evan."
Holo was prodding a piece of bread with her finger. She cocked her head.
"Essentially, he created a contract between Tereo and Enberch that is disproportionately favorable to Tereo. That's why everybody in the village can be so idle now that the wheat harvest is over. They don't have any financial worries. And it was none other than Father Franz who made their lives what they are by negotiating a frankly unbelievably favorable contract with Enberch."
"Mm."
"So the dispute between Tereo and the Church in Enberch that Evan mentioned when we were first coming into town must be about this. Generally, internal Church disputes happen over who will take over vacated priesthood or bishop posts, trouble with the donation of lands, or arguments over religious doctrine. At first I assumed that the trouble was over Elsa—being so young and a woman—taking charge of the church. But even if that's the reason on the face of it, the true cause is something else."
Elsa wished above all else to inherit Father Franz's position, a man in traveling clothes had appeared at the elder's house while Lawrence was visiting, and Evan said that Elsa's troubles had lifted the previous day.
Based on the map of relationships that Lawrence knew all too well, he came to understand the situation quickly.
"Enberch would want to destroy the relationship that currently exists between itself and Tereo. I don't know how or when Father Franz managed to execute the contract, but I'm sure that Enberch wants it as dead as Father Franz is now. The fastest way would be by sheer force of arms, but unfortunately Tereo also has a church. We can assume that the reason Enberch didn't resort to force long ago is because Tereo's church has supporters. So what to do? They need the village's church to disappear."
The messenger that had arrived at the elder's house the previous day might have brought a document from some distant church that recognized Elsa as Father Franz's successor or a letter from some nobleman promising support.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It was hard to know how many words she'd swallowed along with the bread, but her face made her displeasure clear enough.
Lawrence essentially understood her desire to reach the abbey and ask her questions as quickly as she could, but perhaps those desires were stronger than he realized.
But what little information he'd gathered in the village, along with the experience he had accrued as a merchant who had seen many other towns and villages, led him to believe that it would be dangerous to keep searching for the abbey's location while in Tereo.
After all—
"If I'm right, I think the abbey we're looking for is Tereo's church."
There was no change in Holo's expression, save for the tufts of her ears standing up bottlebrush straight.
"I'm going to go through my reasoning point by point. Are you ready?"
Holo fingered an ear tuft, then nodded slightly.
"First, Elsa obviously knows where the abbey is but is pretending ignorance. If she's hiding that information, it means that for whatever reason, she can't talk about Church affairs. Also, when I went to the elder's house yesterday asking the same question, he also seemed to know—and also pretended not to."
Holo closed her eyes and nodded.
"Next, of all the buildings in the village, only the village elder's house is grander than the church. Yet if you'll think back to the conversations in the tavern yesterday, you'll see that the Church doesn't command much respect here. The villagers worship the local snake spirit that's protected them for ages—not the God of the Church."
"Still," said Holo, "did they not speak of Father Franz as someone who'd done the village good?"
"They did. The elder said the same thing. So it's clear that Father Franz did something to benefit the village—but it wasn't saving them by preaching the word of God, which means he did something that materially benefited them. And I found out what that was just a while ago, talking to Evan."
Holo was prodding a piece of bread with her finger. She cocked her head.
"Essentially, he created a contract between Tereo and Enberch that is disproportionately favorable to Tereo. That's why everybody in the village can be so idle now that the wheat harvest is over. They don't have any financial worries. And it was none other than Father Franz who made their lives what they are by negotiating a frankly unbelievably favorable contract with Enberch."
"Mm."
"So the dispute between Tereo and the Church in Enberch that Evan mentioned when we were first coming into town must be about this. Generally, internal Church disputes happen over who will take over vacated priesthood or bishop posts, trouble with the donation of lands, or arguments over religious doctrine. At first I assumed that the trouble was over Elsa—being so young and a woman—taking charge of the church. But even if that's the reason on the face of it, the true cause is something else."
Elsa wished above all else to inherit Father Franz's position, a man in traveling clothes had appeared at the elder's house while Lawrence was visiting, and Evan said that Elsa's troubles had lifted the previous day.
Based on the map of relationships that Lawrence knew all too well, he came to understand the situation quickly.
"Enberch would want to destroy the relationship that currently exists between itself and Tereo. I don't know how or when Father Franz managed to execute the contract, but I'm sure that Enberch wants it as dead as Father Franz is now. The fastest way would be by sheer force of arms, but unfortunately Tereo also has a church. We can assume that the reason Enberch didn't resort to force long ago is because Tereo's church has supporters. So what to do? They need the village's church to disappear."
The messenger that had arrived at the elder's house the previous day might have brought a document from some distant church that recognized Elsa as Father Franz's successor or a letter from some nobleman promising support.
| "The villagers here make no secret that they worship a pagan spirit. If it was to be recognized as a pagan village proper, Enberch would have the excuse it needs to attack."
"If it was so simple as knowing how to get to the abbey, there'd be no need to lie about it," said Holo. "But if the abbey is in the village, they must hide it."
Lawrence nodded and made his suggestion again. "So can we not abandon this? Given the situation, the abbey's existence would be a perfect excuse for Enberch to attack, which means the people of Tereo will continue to hide it from us. And if, as I suspect, the abbey is the church, then the monk we've been looking for is Father Franz. His knowledge of the old pagan tales may have been buried with him. There's no point in stirring up trouble when there's nothing to be gained from it."
Additionally, Lawrence and Holo had no way of proving they were unconnected to Enberch.
Most theologians were unwilling to accept the statement "I am not a demon" as proof that one was not, in fact, a demon.
"What's more, this involves pagan spirits. If this goes badly, we could be branded as heretics, and we would be in real trouble."
Holo sighed, scratching at the base of her ears. It seemed like she was having difficulty reaching the place that itched.
She appeared to understand that the situation facing them was grave, but she was unwilling to give up so easily.
Lawrence cleared his throat and tried again. "I understand that you want to gather information about your home, but I think there's danger here that we should avoid. As far as the location of Yoitsu goes, the information we gathered in Kumersun should be more than enough. And it's not as though you've lost your memory. We won't have to go far to—"
"Listen, you—," Holo interrupted suddenly, then snapped her mouth shut as if she'd forgotten what to say.
"Holo, hear me out."
Hearing Lawrence call her name, Holo's lip twisted slightly.
"So I don't misunderstand again, I want you to tell me clearly. Just what are you hoping to learn from these pagan tales?"
Holo looked away.
Lawrence didn't want his questions to sound like an interrogation, so he carefully modulated his tone as he spoke. "Do you want to know more about the bear spirit that...er, destroyed your home?"
Still looking askance, Holo did not respond.
"Or is it...something to do with your friends?"
These were the only possibilities Lawrence could think of.
For Holo to be so stubborn, it had to be one of those two things.
Maybe it was both.
"And if it is, what would you do?" Holo's eyes were piercing and cold.
They were not the eyes of the proud wolf stalking its prey.
They were the eyes of a cornered animal that would attack all who dared approach.
Lawrence chose his words carefully. They came to him with surprising speed.
"Depending on circumstances, there are some risks I will take."
In other words, the potential gain had to balance out the risk.
If Holo truly needed information about the hated bear spirit that had destroyed her home or about the fates of her old friends, Lawrence would not be unwilling to help.
Despite her youthful appearance, Holo was no child, and Lawrence expected that she could evaluate her own emotions and make logical decisions. If she did so and still asked for Lawrence's help, he was prepared to respect her decision and to take the risks that she asked.
Holo suddenly relaxed her tensed shoulders and uncrossed her legs. "Fine, then." She continued. "It is fine. You hardly need prepare yourself for an outburst from me."
Of course, Lawrence knew better than to take Holo's words at their face value.
"Hark now—given my way, I would want to slap that insolent girl in the face and make her tell me everything, given what you've said. Also, I simply wish to know all I can about Yoitsu. Would you not likewise want to hear tell of your home?"
Lawrence nodded his agreement. Holo returned his nod, looking satisfied.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "The villagers here make no secret that they worship a pagan spirit. If it was to be recognized as a pagan village proper, Enberch would have the excuse it needs to attack."
"If it was so simple as knowing how to get to the abbey, there'd be no need to lie about it," said Holo. "But if the abbey is in the village, they must hide it."
Lawrence nodded and made his suggestion again. "So can we not abandon this? Given the situation, the abbey's existence would be a perfect excuse for Enberch to attack, which means the people of Tereo will continue to hide it from us. And if, as I suspect, the abbey is the church, then the monk we've been looking for is Father Franz. His knowledge of the old pagan tales may have been buried with him. There's no point in stirring up trouble when there's nothing to be gained from it."
Additionally, Lawrence and Holo had no way of proving they were unconnected to Enberch.
Most theologians were unwilling to accept the statement "I am not a demon" as proof that one was not, in fact, a demon.
"What's more, this involves pagan spirits. If this goes badly, we could be branded as heretics, and we would be in real trouble."
Holo sighed, scratching at the base of her ears. It seemed like she was having difficulty reaching the place that itched.
She appeared to understand that the situation facing them was grave, but she was unwilling to give up so easily.
Lawrence cleared his throat and tried again. "I understand that you want to gather information about your home, but I think there's danger here that we should avoid. As far as the location of Yoitsu goes, the information we gathered in Kumersun should be more than enough. And it's not as though you've lost your memory. We won't have to go far to—"
"Listen, you—," Holo interrupted suddenly, then snapped her mouth shut as if she'd forgotten what to say.
"Holo, hear me out."
Hearing Lawrence call her name, Holo's lip twisted slightly.
"So I don't misunderstand again, I want you to tell me clearly. Just what are you hoping to learn from these pagan tales?"
Holo looked away.
Lawrence didn't want his questions to sound like an interrogation, so he carefully modulated his tone as he spoke. "Do you want to know more about the bear spirit that...er, destroyed your home?"
Still looking askance, Holo did not respond.
"Or is it...something to do with your friends?"
These were the only possibilities Lawrence could think of.
For Holo to be so stubborn, it had to be one of those two things.
Maybe it was both.
"And if it is, what would you do?" Holo's eyes were piercing and cold.
They were not the eyes of the proud wolf stalking its prey.
They were the eyes of a cornered animal that would attack all who dared approach.
Lawrence chose his words carefully. They came to him with surprising speed.
"Depending on circumstances, there are some risks I will take."
In other words, the potential gain had to balance out the risk.
If Holo truly needed information about the hated bear spirit that had destroyed her home or about the fates of her old friends, Lawrence would not be unwilling to help.
Despite her youthful appearance, Holo was no child, and Lawrence expected that she could evaluate her own emotions and make logical decisions. If she did so and still asked for Lawrence's help, he was prepared to respect her decision and to take the risks that she asked.
Holo suddenly relaxed her tensed shoulders and uncrossed her legs. "Fine, then." She continued. "It is fine. You hardly need prepare yourself for an outburst from me."
Of course, Lawrence knew better than to take Holo's words at their face value.
"Hark now—given my way, I would want to slap that insolent girl in the face and make her tell me everything, given what you've said. Also, I simply wish to know all I can about Yoitsu. Would you not likewise want to hear tell of your home?"
Lawrence nodded his agreement. Holo returned his nod, looking satisfied.
| "Ah, yes."
"Then we need not risk this."
Despite Holo's statement, Lawrence remained uneasy.
While he had been the one that suggested abandoning their inquiries, he was willing to support her decision.
Hearing her accede so readily made him wonder if she was lying.
He said nothing as he thought about this. Holo sat on the edge of the bed, placing her feet on the floor.
"Why do you suppose I do not speak of my hometown to you?" she asked.
Lawrence couldn't help showing his surprise at the question.
Holo smiled faintly, though it did not seem as if she was making fun of him. "Now and again I remember things about my hometown, things I wish to boast of. Memories I wish to tell you. But I do not, because you are always so considerate—as you are being just now. I know that to complain that you are too kind is the height of selfishness. But it is a bit difficult for me." As she spoke, she plucked at the fur of her tail. "Honestly, if you were simply a more perceptive male, I would not have to say such embarrassing things."
"I'm...I'm sorry."
Holo giggled. "Still, being softhearted is one of your few good points...It's just a bit frightening for me."
She stood up from the bed, turning her back to Lawrence.
Her tail, thick with its winter fur, swept back and forth quietly. She hugged herself, arms around her shoulders, then looked back at Lawrence. "Here I am, lonely and helpless, yet you do not leap to devour me. Truly you are a frightening male."
Lawrence shrugged slightly under Holo's gaze, which seemed to challenge him. "One must be careful. Some fruits are more sour than they look."
Holo's arms dropped to her sides, and she turned back around to face Lawrence, smiling. "Ah, 'tis true, they can be unbearably sour. But," she said, slowly approaching him, her smile unwavering, "are you saying I'm not sweet?"
What's sweet about someone who does things like this? Lawrence thought to himself. He nodded immediately, as if to say, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
"Oh, ho, you've some nerve." Holo grinned.
"Some things need to be bitter to be tasty—ale, say," Lawrence quickly added.
Holo's eyes widened in apparent surprise before she quickly closed them, as if she'd slipped up and made a mistake. Her tail wagged as she said, "Hmph. Children shouldn't drink liquor."
"Oh, indeed—we can't have them getting hungover."
Holo pouted intentionally and thumped her fist against Lawrence's chest.
Leaving her hand there, she lowered her gaze.
It felt somehow like they were acting in some kind of silly play.
Lawrence took her hand gently. "Will you really give this up?" he asked slowly.
Anyone with a mind as keen as Holo's would have already quickly separated what was reasonable from what was not.
But just as the spirits could not be understood through reason alone, emotions were not easily controlled.
It was several moments before Holo replied.
"Asking me in such a way...is hardly fair," she said quietly, gripping Lawrence's shirt. "If I can learn anything about Yoitsu, my friends, or that awful bear spirit, then I want to know it. What we learned from the bird woman in Kumersun was far from enough. It was like feeling thirst yet having but a few drops of water to quench it," murmured Holo weakly.
Being very careful now that he had understood the true nature of this conversation, Lawrence replied, "What do you want to do?"
Holo nodded once. "Might I...ask this of you?"
Her words gave off the sense that if he was to embrace her, her body would be soft and yielding.
Lawrence took a deep breath and replied, "Leave it to me."
Holo was still looking down. Her tail wagged a single time.
Though he was not sure how much of her current state was genuine, it was still enough to make him think the risk was worth the potential gain. He couldn't help wondering if he was drunk.
Suddenly Holo looked up to reveal a dauntless smile. "Actually, I've got an idea."
"Oh? Do tell."
"Well, about that..."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Ah, yes."
"Then we need not risk this."
Despite Holo's statement, Lawrence remained uneasy.
While he had been the one that suggested abandoning their inquiries, he was willing to support her decision.
Hearing her accede so readily made him wonder if she was lying.
He said nothing as he thought about this. Holo sat on the edge of the bed, placing her feet on the floor.
"Why do you suppose I do not speak of my hometown to you?" she asked.
Lawrence couldn't help showing his surprise at the question.
Holo smiled faintly, though it did not seem as if she was making fun of him. "Now and again I remember things about my hometown, things I wish to boast of. Memories I wish to tell you. But I do not, because you are always so considerate—as you are being just now. I know that to complain that you are too kind is the height of selfishness. But it is a bit difficult for me." As she spoke, she plucked at the fur of her tail. "Honestly, if you were simply a more perceptive male, I would not have to say such embarrassing things."
"I'm...I'm sorry."
Holo giggled. "Still, being softhearted is one of your few good points...It's just a bit frightening for me."
She stood up from the bed, turning her back to Lawrence.
Her tail, thick with its winter fur, swept back and forth quietly. She hugged herself, arms around her shoulders, then looked back at Lawrence. "Here I am, lonely and helpless, yet you do not leap to devour me. Truly you are a frightening male."
Lawrence shrugged slightly under Holo's gaze, which seemed to challenge him. "One must be careful. Some fruits are more sour than they look."
Holo's arms dropped to her sides, and she turned back around to face Lawrence, smiling. "Ah, 'tis true, they can be unbearably sour. But," she said, slowly approaching him, her smile unwavering, "are you saying I'm not sweet?"
What's sweet about someone who does things like this? Lawrence thought to himself. He nodded immediately, as if to say, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
"Oh, ho, you've some nerve." Holo grinned.
"Some things need to be bitter to be tasty—ale, say," Lawrence quickly added.
Holo's eyes widened in apparent surprise before she quickly closed them, as if she'd slipped up and made a mistake. Her tail wagged as she said, "Hmph. Children shouldn't drink liquor."
"Oh, indeed—we can't have them getting hungover."
Holo pouted intentionally and thumped her fist against Lawrence's chest.
Leaving her hand there, she lowered her gaze.
It felt somehow like they were acting in some kind of silly play.
Lawrence took her hand gently. "Will you really give this up?" he asked slowly.
Anyone with a mind as keen as Holo's would have already quickly separated what was reasonable from what was not.
But just as the spirits could not be understood through reason alone, emotions were not easily controlled.
It was several moments before Holo replied.
"Asking me in such a way...is hardly fair," she said quietly, gripping Lawrence's shirt. "If I can learn anything about Yoitsu, my friends, or that awful bear spirit, then I want to know it. What we learned from the bird woman in Kumersun was far from enough. It was like feeling thirst yet having but a few drops of water to quench it," murmured Holo weakly.
Being very careful now that he had understood the true nature of this conversation, Lawrence replied, "What do you want to do?"
Holo nodded once. "Might I...ask this of you?"
Her words gave off the sense that if he was to embrace her, her body would be soft and yielding.
Lawrence took a deep breath and replied, "Leave it to me."
Holo was still looking down. Her tail wagged a single time.
Though he was not sure how much of her current state was genuine, it was still enough to make him think the risk was worth the potential gain. He couldn't help wondering if he was drunk.
Suddenly Holo looked up to reveal a dauntless smile. "Actually, I've got an idea."
"Oh? Do tell."
"Well, about that..."
| "We won't get anywhere being circumspect. And did I not just now ask if I could ask this of you? Did I not just ask if you would take a risk for me?"
"Still—"
Holo grinned, baring her fangs slightly. "'Leave it to me,' you said. It made me very happy."
Written contracts were composed with detailed descriptions so there was no room for interpretation.
But verbal contracts were dangerous because not only could there be arguments over what had or had not been said, but also it was hard to tell whether or not one had left room for interpretation.
Not to mention that Lawrence's opponent here was a centuries-old, self-proclaimed wisewolf.
He had utterly let his guard down, all along believing that he held the initiative.
"I have to grab your reins every once in a while, after all," said Holo, amused.
He had only answered so gallantly because it seemed like she was depending on him.
Lawrence felt pathetic for having even dreamed such a situation existed.
"Of course, if it doesn't go well, I'll leave things to you. So—," she said, smoothly taking his hand. "Right now I wish only to grab your hand."
Lawrence slumped.
He couldn't have brushed her hand away even if he'd wanted to.
"Right, then! Let us eat and go forth!"
Lawrence's reply was brief but entirely unambiguous.
***
In truth, if Father Franz had also been Louis Lana Schtinghilt, the abbot that Lawrence and Holo were seeking, then there was a good possibility that volumes and papers containing stories of the pagan gods were still in the church.
Naturally, if the situation was as Lawrence surmised, it was likely that Elsa would not take even the slightest risk and would disclose nothing about the abbey.
But the more important something was, the more likely it had been recorded, and the harder someone worked on something, the more difficult it would be to simply burn that work to ash.
In all likelihood, the documentation of the pagan gods remained within the church.
The problem was getting to this work.
"Pardon, is anyone there?" Just like they had the previous day, Lawrence and Holo called at the church's front door.
However, unlike the previous day, they had not come unprepared.
"...What business have you?"
It had been but a day, so Lawrence did not know whether Elsa would be willing to open the door, but that at least seemed not to be a problem.
Yesterday she had been palpably irritated. Today her face was dark and cloudy with displeasure.
Seeing how much Elsa seemed to hate them, Lawrence found himself paradoxically fond of her.
Lawrence gave an easy smile. "My apologies for yesterday. I heard from Mr. Evan that you've been facing a difficult situation."
She seemed to perk up a bit at the mention of Evan's name, glancing through the only slightly open door at Lawrence, then Holo, then the travel-ready wagon behind them before looking back at Lawrence.
He noticed that the displeasure on her face had lessened.
"...I gather you've come to ask about the abbey again?"
"No, no. As far as that goes, I've already inquired with the elder, who also said he knew nothing of it. It is possible that the information I got in Kumersun was mistaken. The source was a bit eccentric, truth be told."
"I see."
Though Elsa may have thought she had succeeded in her deception, a merchant's eyes were keener than that.
"Thus, though it be a bit earlier than we expected, we'll be moving on to the next town. As such, we've come to pray for safe travels."
"...If that is the case..." Though she seemed suspicious yet, Elsa slowly opened the door. "Come in," she said, inviting them to enter.
The door closed with a thud once Holo followed Lawrence into the church. They were both dressed in traveling clothes with Lawrence even carrying a knapsack over his shoulder.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "We won't get anywhere being circumspect. And did I not just now ask if I could ask this of you? Did I not just ask if you would take a risk for me?"
"Still—"
Holo grinned, baring her fangs slightly. "'Leave it to me,' you said. It made me very happy."
Written contracts were composed with detailed descriptions so there was no room for interpretation.
But verbal contracts were dangerous because not only could there be arguments over what had or had not been said, but also it was hard to tell whether or not one had left room for interpretation.
Not to mention that Lawrence's opponent here was a centuries-old, self-proclaimed wisewolf.
He had utterly let his guard down, all along believing that he held the initiative.
"I have to grab your reins every once in a while, after all," said Holo, amused.
He had only answered so gallantly because it seemed like she was depending on him.
Lawrence felt pathetic for having even dreamed such a situation existed.
"Of course, if it doesn't go well, I'll leave things to you. So—," she said, smoothly taking his hand. "Right now I wish only to grab your hand."
Lawrence slumped.
He couldn't have brushed her hand away even if he'd wanted to.
"Right, then! Let us eat and go forth!"
Lawrence's reply was brief but entirely unambiguous.
***
In truth, if Father Franz had also been Louis Lana Schtinghilt, the abbot that Lawrence and Holo were seeking, then there was a good possibility that volumes and papers containing stories of the pagan gods were still in the church.
Naturally, if the situation was as Lawrence surmised, it was likely that Elsa would not take even the slightest risk and would disclose nothing about the abbey.
But the more important something was, the more likely it had been recorded, and the harder someone worked on something, the more difficult it would be to simply burn that work to ash.
In all likelihood, the documentation of the pagan gods remained within the church.
The problem was getting to this work.
"Pardon, is anyone there?" Just like they had the previous day, Lawrence and Holo called at the church's front door.
However, unlike the previous day, they had not come unprepared.
"...What business have you?"
It had been but a day, so Lawrence did not know whether Elsa would be willing to open the door, but that at least seemed not to be a problem.
Yesterday she had been palpably irritated. Today her face was dark and cloudy with displeasure.
Seeing how much Elsa seemed to hate them, Lawrence found himself paradoxically fond of her.
Lawrence gave an easy smile. "My apologies for yesterday. I heard from Mr. Evan that you've been facing a difficult situation."
She seemed to perk up a bit at the mention of Evan's name, glancing through the only slightly open door at Lawrence, then Holo, then the travel-ready wagon behind them before looking back at Lawrence.
He noticed that the displeasure on her face had lessened.
"...I gather you've come to ask about the abbey again?"
"No, no. As far as that goes, I've already inquired with the elder, who also said he knew nothing of it. It is possible that the information I got in Kumersun was mistaken. The source was a bit eccentric, truth be told."
"I see."
Though Elsa may have thought she had succeeded in her deception, a merchant's eyes were keener than that.
"Thus, though it be a bit earlier than we expected, we'll be moving on to the next town. As such, we've come to pray for safe travels."
"...If that is the case..." Though she seemed suspicious yet, Elsa slowly opened the door. "Come in," she said, inviting them to enter.
The door closed with a thud once Holo followed Lawrence into the church. They were both dressed in traveling clothes with Lawrence even carrying a knapsack over his shoulder.
| Elsa pulled up her cassock and walked around the two, opening the door to the sanctuary. "This way, please."
Upon entering, Holo and Lawrence found the sanctuary to have considerable grandeur.
At the front stood an altar and an image of the Holy Mother with light shining down from windows installed at the level of the second floor.
The high ceiling and lack of any chairs added to the feeling of spaciousness.
The stones of the floor were tightly joined. Even the greediest merchant would have had trouble prying them free to sell off.
The floor leading from the sanctuary door to the altar was slightly discolored from the feet that had treaded that path so often.
Lawrence followed Elsa as they made their way in and saw that the floor directly in front of the altar had been slightly worn down.
"Father Franz—," Lawrence started.
"Hm?"
"He must have been a man of great faith."
Elsa was momentarily surprised, but then she noticed where Lawrence was looking.
"Ah...yes, you're right. I'd...I'd never noticed until you pointed it out."
This was the first smile from Elsa that Lawrence had ever seen, and though it was small, it had a tenderness to it that seemed to suit a girl of the Church.
It struck Lawrence all the more, given how severe she had been at their first meeting.
The fact that he would soon cause that smile to disappear filled him with regret, as though he was extinguishing a flame that had been difficult to light.
"Then let us pray. Are you prepared?"
"Ah, before we start," said Lawrence, putting down his knapsack, removing his coat, and taking a step toward Elsa. "I must give my confession."
The unexpected request gave Elsa pause, but after a moment, she answered, "Er, well, in that case, there's another room—"
"No, I will give it here, before God."
Lawrence was adamant as he approached Elsa, and she did not quail, merely nodding. "Very well," she said with a quiet incline of her head, every inch the devout priest.
It seemed that Elsa's desire to inherit Father Franz's position was not solely for the village's benefit.
She saw Holo quietly retreat to the rear of the sanctuary, and then putting her hands together and bowing her head, she recited a prayer.
When she lifted her face again, she was a loyal servant of God.
"Confess your sins, for God is always forgiving to those who are honest."
Lawrence took a deep breath. He was just as likely to mock God as he was to pray, but here in the middle of the sanctuary, he couldn't help but feel a certain trepidation.
He exhaled slowly, then knelt down on the floor. "I have told a lie."
"What kind of lie?"
"I have been deceptive for my own gain."
"You have confessed your sin before God. Now have you the courage to tell the truth?"
Lawrence raised his head. "I have."
"Though God knows all, he still wishes to hear you speak your transgressions. Do not be afraid. God is always merciful to those whose faith is good."
Lawrence closed his eyes. "I lied today."
"In what way?"
"I tricked someone using a false pretense."
Elsa paused for a moment, then spoke. "For what reason?"
"There was something I had to know, and in order to learn it, I lied to get close to the source of that knowledge."
"...To whom did you lie...?"
Lawrence looked up and answered, "To you, Miss Elsa."
She was obviously stunned.
"I have now confessed my lie before God, and I have told the truth." Lawrence stood. He was a full head taller than Elsa. "I am seeking Diendran Abbey, and I have come to ask you its location."
Elsa bit her lip. Though her eyes were filled with hatred, she lacked the resolve of their first encounter, the strength to turn away any request.
There was a reason Lawrence had delivered his confession here.
He had to trap Elsa, whose faith was plainly deep, here—here before God.
"No," Lawrence corrected himself. "I have lied again. I have not come here to ask the location."
Confusion spread over Elsa's face like oil over water.
"I have come to ask whether this is Diendran Abbey."
***
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Elsa pulled up her cassock and walked around the two, opening the door to the sanctuary. "This way, please."
Upon entering, Holo and Lawrence found the sanctuary to have considerable grandeur.
At the front stood an altar and an image of the Holy Mother with light shining down from windows installed at the level of the second floor.
The high ceiling and lack of any chairs added to the feeling of spaciousness.
The stones of the floor were tightly joined. Even the greediest merchant would have had trouble prying them free to sell off.
The floor leading from the sanctuary door to the altar was slightly discolored from the feet that had treaded that path so often.
Lawrence followed Elsa as they made their way in and saw that the floor directly in front of the altar had been slightly worn down.
"Father Franz—," Lawrence started.
"Hm?"
"He must have been a man of great faith."
Elsa was momentarily surprised, but then she noticed where Lawrence was looking.
"Ah...yes, you're right. I'd...I'd never noticed until you pointed it out."
This was the first smile from Elsa that Lawrence had ever seen, and though it was small, it had a tenderness to it that seemed to suit a girl of the Church.
It struck Lawrence all the more, given how severe she had been at their first meeting.
The fact that he would soon cause that smile to disappear filled him with regret, as though he was extinguishing a flame that had been difficult to light.
"Then let us pray. Are you prepared?"
"Ah, before we start," said Lawrence, putting down his knapsack, removing his coat, and taking a step toward Elsa. "I must give my confession."
The unexpected request gave Elsa pause, but after a moment, she answered, "Er, well, in that case, there's another room—"
"No, I will give it here, before God."
Lawrence was adamant as he approached Elsa, and she did not quail, merely nodding. "Very well," she said with a quiet incline of her head, every inch the devout priest.
It seemed that Elsa's desire to inherit Father Franz's position was not solely for the village's benefit.
She saw Holo quietly retreat to the rear of the sanctuary, and then putting her hands together and bowing her head, she recited a prayer.
When she lifted her face again, she was a loyal servant of God.
"Confess your sins, for God is always forgiving to those who are honest."
Lawrence took a deep breath. He was just as likely to mock God as he was to pray, but here in the middle of the sanctuary, he couldn't help but feel a certain trepidation.
He exhaled slowly, then knelt down on the floor. "I have told a lie."
"What kind of lie?"
"I have been deceptive for my own gain."
"You have confessed your sin before God. Now have you the courage to tell the truth?"
Lawrence raised his head. "I have."
"Though God knows all, he still wishes to hear you speak your transgressions. Do not be afraid. God is always merciful to those whose faith is good."
Lawrence closed his eyes. "I lied today."
"In what way?"
"I tricked someone using a false pretense."
Elsa paused for a moment, then spoke. "For what reason?"
"There was something I had to know, and in order to learn it, I lied to get close to the source of that knowledge."
"...To whom did you lie...?"
Lawrence looked up and answered, "To you, Miss Elsa."
She was obviously stunned.
"I have now confessed my lie before God, and I have told the truth." Lawrence stood. He was a full head taller than Elsa. "I am seeking Diendran Abbey, and I have come to ask you its location."
Elsa bit her lip. Though her eyes were filled with hatred, she lacked the resolve of their first encounter, the strength to turn away any request.
There was a reason Lawrence had delivered his confession here.
He had to trap Elsa, whose faith was plainly deep, here—here before God.
"No," Lawrence corrected himself. "I have lied again. I have not come here to ask the location."
Confusion spread over Elsa's face like oil over water.
"I have come to ask whether this is Diendran Abbey."
***
| She stood before God.
Here, of all places, she could not lie.
"Miss Elsa, this is Diendran Abbey, and Father Franz was also Louis Lana Schtinghilt. Do I not speak the truth?"
On the verge of tears, Elsa looked away, as though she childishly believed that as long as she did not shake her head, her response was not a lie.
But her reaction was as good as a confirmation.
"Miss Elsa, we simply wish to know the contents of the pagan tales that Father Franz collected. It is not for business and certainly has nothing to do with Enberch."
Elsa gave a short gasp, then snapped her mouth shut so as not to let anything escape.
"Am I wrong in thinking that the reason you wish to keep the fact that this is Diendran Abbey a secret is because Father Franz's collected records are here?"
A drop of sweat trickled down slowly from Elsa's temple.
It was as good as an admission.
Lawrence casually closed his fist, signaling Holo.
"What you're worried about, Miss Elsa, is Enberch learning of Father Franz's activities, correct? All we want is to see his writings. We want to see them badly enough that we're willing to employ these upsetting methods."
Elsa opened her mouth almost involuntarily. "Wh-who...who are you?"
Lawrence did not answer immediately, simply looking at Elsa.
Elsa, who planned to bear the burdens of the church upon her slender frame, looked back at him uncertainly.
And then—
"Who are we? That is a question to which it is difficult to give a satisfying answer," interjected Holo.
Elsa suddenly looked over at Holo, as if only just realizing that she was present.
"There is a reason, though, why we—no, why I am forcing this issue."
"...What...what reason?" managed Elsa, her voice choked as she seemed on the verge of breaking into tears.
Holo nodded. "This reason."
Proving that they were not lackeys sent from Enberch was as difficult as trying to prove they were not demons.
But just as an angel might show its wings to prove that it was, at least, not a demon, there was a way for Holo and Lawrence to prove that whoever they were, they were not from Enberch.
Holo pulled her hood off, revealing her ears and tail.
"They are quite real. Would you care to touch them?"
Elsa's head drooped forward. For a moment, Lawrence thought she was nodding, her hands clutched to her heart.
"Ugh—"
But then with a strange groan, Elsa fainted dead away.
After placing Elsa on the simple bed, Lawrence sighed.
He had thought that being moderately threatening would be effective, but evidently they'd gone too far.
Elsa had fainted but would probably awaken soon.
Lawrence found his eyes wandering around the room.
Though the Church certainly extolled the virtues of frugality, this room was so bare and empty that Lawrence found himself wondering if Elsa truly lived in it.
Turning right upon entering the church led to a living room with a fireplace. At the far corner of the room was a hall that ran parallel to the sanctuary, leading up to a staircase to the second floor.
The bed was on the second floor, and Lawrence had carried her up the stairs and laid her on the bed. The only other objects in the room were a desk and a chair, an open book of scripture and exegesis, and a few letters. The only decoration was a loop of braided straw on one wall.
There were two second-floor rooms; the other bedroom seemed to be used for storage.
Though he was not intentionally looking around, Lawrence could tell at a glance that the room did not contain any of Father Franz's writings.
The storeroom contained various items used by the church throughout the year—fabric with ceremonial embroidery, candlesticks, swords, and shields. They were all covered in dust, as though they had not been used in a very long time.
Lawrence closed the storeroom's door. He heard the sound of light footsteps coming up the stairs, and when he turned to look, he saw it was Holo.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | She stood before God.
Here, of all places, she could not lie.
"Miss Elsa, this is Diendran Abbey, and Father Franz was also Louis Lana Schtinghilt. Do I not speak the truth?"
On the verge of tears, Elsa looked away, as though she childishly believed that as long as she did not shake her head, her response was not a lie.
But her reaction was as good as a confirmation.
"Miss Elsa, we simply wish to know the contents of the pagan tales that Father Franz collected. It is not for business and certainly has nothing to do with Enberch."
Elsa gave a short gasp, then snapped her mouth shut so as not to let anything escape.
"Am I wrong in thinking that the reason you wish to keep the fact that this is Diendran Abbey a secret is because Father Franz's collected records are here?"
A drop of sweat trickled down slowly from Elsa's temple.
It was as good as an admission.
Lawrence casually closed his fist, signaling Holo.
"What you're worried about, Miss Elsa, is Enberch learning of Father Franz's activities, correct? All we want is to see his writings. We want to see them badly enough that we're willing to employ these upsetting methods."
Elsa opened her mouth almost involuntarily. "Wh-who...who are you?"
Lawrence did not answer immediately, simply looking at Elsa.
Elsa, who planned to bear the burdens of the church upon her slender frame, looked back at him uncertainly.
And then—
"Who are we? That is a question to which it is difficult to give a satisfying answer," interjected Holo.
Elsa suddenly looked over at Holo, as if only just realizing that she was present.
"There is a reason, though, why we—no, why I am forcing this issue."
"...What...what reason?" managed Elsa, her voice choked as she seemed on the verge of breaking into tears.
Holo nodded. "This reason."
Proving that they were not lackeys sent from Enberch was as difficult as trying to prove they were not demons.
But just as an angel might show its wings to prove that it was, at least, not a demon, there was a way for Holo and Lawrence to prove that whoever they were, they were not from Enberch.
Holo pulled her hood off, revealing her ears and tail.
"They are quite real. Would you care to touch them?"
Elsa's head drooped forward. For a moment, Lawrence thought she was nodding, her hands clutched to her heart.
"Ugh—"
But then with a strange groan, Elsa fainted dead away.
After placing Elsa on the simple bed, Lawrence sighed.
He had thought that being moderately threatening would be effective, but evidently they'd gone too far.
Elsa had fainted but would probably awaken soon.
Lawrence found his eyes wandering around the room.
Though the Church certainly extolled the virtues of frugality, this room was so bare and empty that Lawrence found himself wondering if Elsa truly lived in it.
Turning right upon entering the church led to a living room with a fireplace. At the far corner of the room was a hall that ran parallel to the sanctuary, leading up to a staircase to the second floor.
The bed was on the second floor, and Lawrence had carried her up the stairs and laid her on the bed. The only other objects in the room were a desk and a chair, an open book of scripture and exegesis, and a few letters. The only decoration was a loop of braided straw on one wall.
There were two second-floor rooms; the other bedroom seemed to be used for storage.
Though he was not intentionally looking around, Lawrence could tell at a glance that the room did not contain any of Father Franz's writings.
The storeroom contained various items used by the church throughout the year—fabric with ceremonial embroidery, candlesticks, swords, and shields. They were all covered in dust, as though they had not been used in a very long time.
Lawrence closed the storeroom's door. He heard the sound of light footsteps coming up the stairs, and when he turned to look, he saw it was Holo.
| The vague displeasure on her face was probably not overconcern for the still-unconscious Elsa, but rather because she had failed to find any of Father Franz's writings.
"I suppose it will be quickest to ask, after all. If they are hidden, we'll never find them," she admitted.
"You can't sniff them out?" said Lawrence without thinking, but Holo only smiled at him, and he hastily added, "Sorry!"
"So, is she yet asleep? I hardly expected her to be so frail."
"I don't know if that's it. I'm starting to wonder if her circumstances are more difficult than I'd imagined."
He knew he shouldn't, but Lawrence couldn't help reading the letters that were on her desk. Once he finished, he had a much better understanding of the things Elsa had done to stave off Enberch's intervention.
She had claimed to other churches that like Enberch, Tereo followed the orthodox faith and had sought the support of a nearby feudal lord in order to prevent Enberch from attacking.
But looking at the lord's response, Lawrence noticed that he seemed to give his support more out of a debt to Father Franz than out of any trust Elsa had won on her own.
There were also letters from large dioceses that even Lawrence had heard of.
On the whole, everything was as Lawrence had guessed.
It was not hard to imagine the days when Elsa would have been frantically anticipating the letter's arrival. Even Lawrence, an outsider, could imagine the awful suspense she must have felt.
Nonetheless, he had to guess that her greatest hardship lay somewhere else entirely.
The dust-covered artifacts in the storeroom told a tale all too clear.
Though she was holding off Enberch—with the elder's assistance—it seemed doubtful that any of the villagers felt any gratitude.
It was certainly true that they regarded the church with a measure of disdain.
"...Mm."
As Lawrence was thinking on it, he heard a small sound coming from the bed.
It seemed Elsa was awake.
Lawrence raised his hand to stop Holo, who looked ready to pounce like a wolf that has heard a hare's footsteps. He cleared his throat softly. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Elsa did not jerk herself upright, but simply opened her eyes slowly. Her expression was complicated, as though she was unsure whether to feel surprised, frightened, or angry. She seemed to settle on a vaguely troubled look.
She nodded her head slightly. "Are you not going to tie me up?"
They were bold words.
"If it seemed like you were going to call for someone, I was prepared for that. I have rope in my knapsack."
"And if I should call out now?"
Elsa looked away from Lawrence to Holo—Holo whose wish to know the location of the old tales had brought them here.
"That would benefit neither you nor us," said Lawrence.
Elsa looked back at Lawrence, closing her eyes. He noticed her long eyelashes.
Despite her stoicism, she was still a young woman.
"What I saw...," she began, trying to sit up. Lawrence extended his hand to help her, but she waved it off. "I'm fine."
She looked at Holo with neither malice nor fear, as though looking at heavy clouds that were finally beginning to shed rain. "What I saw was not a dream, was it?"
"'Twould be better for us if you were to think of it as such," said Holo.
"It is said that demons trick humans through dreams."
Though he could tell that Holo was not being entirely serious, Lawrence was less sure about Elsa.
He looked at Holo; her annoyed expression suggested that she was at least partly in earnest.
The tension between the two had more to do with conflicting personalities, Lawrence guessed, than it did with the fact that one was a devout member of the Church while the other was a spirit of the harvest.
"So long as we reach our goal, we will disappear like a dream and trouble you no further. I ask you again: Will you show us the writings of Father Franz?" asked Lawrence, coming between the two.
"I...I still cannot be sure that you were not sent from Enberch. But if that is indeed the case...what is your goal?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The vague displeasure on her face was probably not overconcern for the still-unconscious Elsa, but rather because she had failed to find any of Father Franz's writings.
"I suppose it will be quickest to ask, after all. If they are hidden, we'll never find them," she admitted.
"You can't sniff them out?" said Lawrence without thinking, but Holo only smiled at him, and he hastily added, "Sorry!"
"So, is she yet asleep? I hardly expected her to be so frail."
"I don't know if that's it. I'm starting to wonder if her circumstances are more difficult than I'd imagined."
He knew he shouldn't, but Lawrence couldn't help reading the letters that were on her desk. Once he finished, he had a much better understanding of the things Elsa had done to stave off Enberch's intervention.
She had claimed to other churches that like Enberch, Tereo followed the orthodox faith and had sought the support of a nearby feudal lord in order to prevent Enberch from attacking.
But looking at the lord's response, Lawrence noticed that he seemed to give his support more out of a debt to Father Franz than out of any trust Elsa had won on her own.
There were also letters from large dioceses that even Lawrence had heard of.
On the whole, everything was as Lawrence had guessed.
It was not hard to imagine the days when Elsa would have been frantically anticipating the letter's arrival. Even Lawrence, an outsider, could imagine the awful suspense she must have felt.
Nonetheless, he had to guess that her greatest hardship lay somewhere else entirely.
The dust-covered artifacts in the storeroom told a tale all too clear.
Though she was holding off Enberch—with the elder's assistance—it seemed doubtful that any of the villagers felt any gratitude.
It was certainly true that they regarded the church with a measure of disdain.
"...Mm."
As Lawrence was thinking on it, he heard a small sound coming from the bed.
It seemed Elsa was awake.
Lawrence raised his hand to stop Holo, who looked ready to pounce like a wolf that has heard a hare's footsteps. He cleared his throat softly. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Elsa did not jerk herself upright, but simply opened her eyes slowly. Her expression was complicated, as though she was unsure whether to feel surprised, frightened, or angry. She seemed to settle on a vaguely troubled look.
She nodded her head slightly. "Are you not going to tie me up?"
They were bold words.
"If it seemed like you were going to call for someone, I was prepared for that. I have rope in my knapsack."
"And if I should call out now?"
Elsa looked away from Lawrence to Holo—Holo whose wish to know the location of the old tales had brought them here.
"That would benefit neither you nor us," said Lawrence.
Elsa looked back at Lawrence, closing her eyes. He noticed her long eyelashes.
Despite her stoicism, she was still a young woman.
"What I saw...," she began, trying to sit up. Lawrence extended his hand to help her, but she waved it off. "I'm fine."
She looked at Holo with neither malice nor fear, as though looking at heavy clouds that were finally beginning to shed rain. "What I saw was not a dream, was it?"
"'Twould be better for us if you were to think of it as such," said Holo.
"It is said that demons trick humans through dreams."
Though he could tell that Holo was not being entirely serious, Lawrence was less sure about Elsa.
He looked at Holo; her annoyed expression suggested that she was at least partly in earnest.
The tension between the two had more to do with conflicting personalities, Lawrence guessed, than it did with the fact that one was a devout member of the Church while the other was a spirit of the harvest.
"So long as we reach our goal, we will disappear like a dream and trouble you no further. I ask you again: Will you show us the writings of Father Franz?" asked Lawrence, coming between the two.
"I...I still cannot be sure that you were not sent from Enberch. But if that is indeed the case...what is your goal?"
| "I wish to return to my home," she said.
"Your home...?"
"But ages have passed since I was there. I have forgotten the way, and I know not if my old friends are well. Indeed, I cannot even be sure it still exists," explained Holo plainly. "What would you do if you learned there might be someone who knew something of your home?"
Even someone who had spent a lifetime in the same village would want to know how that village was viewed by others.
It was all the more true for people who had left their homes.
Elsa was silent for some time, and Holo did not press her.
Her downcast eyes made it clear that she was deep in thought.
Despite her youth, it was obvious that she was no maiden who blithely floated through life, picking flowers and singing songs.
When Lawrence had claimed to want to confess his sins, he could tell that her solemnity was no affectation.
Though she may have fainted upon first seeing Holo's inhuman nature, Lawrence felt she was smart enough to make the best decision given the situation.
Elsa put her hand to her chest and recited a prayer, then looked up. "I am a servant of God," she said, continuing before Lawrence or Holo could interrupt. "But at the same time, I am Father Franz's successor." She got off the bed, smoothing the wrinkles in her cassock, then clearing her throat. "I do not believe that you have been possessed by a demon, because Father Franz always said there was no such thing."
Lawrence was more than a little surprised at Elsa's statement, but Holo's expression seemed to say that as long as she could see the records, all was well.
Eventually Holo seemed to become aware of Elsa's willingness to give in, and though her face remained serious, the tip of her tail wagged restlessly.
"Please come with me. I will show you."
For a moment Lawrence wondered if she had only said this to escape, but Holo followed without question, so evidently there was no need to worry.
Once they came to the living room on the first floor, Elsa lightly touched the brick wall next to the fireplace with her fingers.
Then coming to a particular stone, she slowly pulled it free.
Having pulled it out like a drawer, Elsa turned the brick over, and a slender golden key fell into her hand.
From behind, her form was every bit the stoic girl she was.
She lit a candle and put it on a stand, then turned to Lawrence and Holo.
"Let us go," she said quietly, then walked down the hallway that continued deeper into the church.
The church was deeper than Lawrence had guessed.
Unlike the sanctuary, clean and well used thanks to constant prayer, the state of the hallway could hardly be complimented.
The candlesticks on the walls were covered with cobwebs, and little pieces of stone that had crumbled off from the walls crunched constantly underfoot.
"Here we are," said Elsa, stopping. The direction she pointed in was probably directly behind the sanctuary.
There on a pedestal was a statue of the Holy Mother roughly as large as a young child. The Holy Mother held her hands together in prayer and faced the entrance to the church.
The space behind the sanctuary was the holiest place in the church.
Saintly remains or bones—so-called "holy relics"—and other items important to the Church were stored here.
It was the standard place for the Church to keep precious things, and so to use it to store writings on pagan stories took a good deal of nerve.
"May God forgive us," murmured Elsa. She took the brass key in her hand and inserted it into a small hole at the base of the statue.
The tiny keyhole was not easy to spot in the gloom. Elsa turned the key with some force, and from within the statue came the distinct sound of something unlocking.
"In his will, Father Franz said that the statue could be removed from the pedestal...but I have never seen it opened."
"Understood," said Lawrence with a nod.
As soon as he approached the statue, Elsa backed away, worry in her eyes.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I wish to return to my home," she said.
"Your home...?"
"But ages have passed since I was there. I have forgotten the way, and I know not if my old friends are well. Indeed, I cannot even be sure it still exists," explained Holo plainly. "What would you do if you learned there might be someone who knew something of your home?"
Even someone who had spent a lifetime in the same village would want to know how that village was viewed by others.
It was all the more true for people who had left their homes.
Elsa was silent for some time, and Holo did not press her.
Her downcast eyes made it clear that she was deep in thought.
Despite her youth, it was obvious that she was no maiden who blithely floated through life, picking flowers and singing songs.
When Lawrence had claimed to want to confess his sins, he could tell that her solemnity was no affectation.
Though she may have fainted upon first seeing Holo's inhuman nature, Lawrence felt she was smart enough to make the best decision given the situation.
Elsa put her hand to her chest and recited a prayer, then looked up. "I am a servant of God," she said, continuing before Lawrence or Holo could interrupt. "But at the same time, I am Father Franz's successor." She got off the bed, smoothing the wrinkles in her cassock, then clearing her throat. "I do not believe that you have been possessed by a demon, because Father Franz always said there was no such thing."
Lawrence was more than a little surprised at Elsa's statement, but Holo's expression seemed to say that as long as she could see the records, all was well.
Eventually Holo seemed to become aware of Elsa's willingness to give in, and though her face remained serious, the tip of her tail wagged restlessly.
"Please come with me. I will show you."
For a moment Lawrence wondered if she had only said this to escape, but Holo followed without question, so evidently there was no need to worry.
Once they came to the living room on the first floor, Elsa lightly touched the brick wall next to the fireplace with her fingers.
Then coming to a particular stone, she slowly pulled it free.
Having pulled it out like a drawer, Elsa turned the brick over, and a slender golden key fell into her hand.
From behind, her form was every bit the stoic girl she was.
She lit a candle and put it on a stand, then turned to Lawrence and Holo.
"Let us go," she said quietly, then walked down the hallway that continued deeper into the church.
The church was deeper than Lawrence had guessed.
Unlike the sanctuary, clean and well used thanks to constant prayer, the state of the hallway could hardly be complimented.
The candlesticks on the walls were covered with cobwebs, and little pieces of stone that had crumbled off from the walls crunched constantly underfoot.
"Here we are," said Elsa, stopping. The direction she pointed in was probably directly behind the sanctuary.
There on a pedestal was a statue of the Holy Mother roughly as large as a young child. The Holy Mother held her hands together in prayer and faced the entrance to the church.
The space behind the sanctuary was the holiest place in the church.
Saintly remains or bones—so-called "holy relics"—and other items important to the Church were stored here.
It was the standard place for the Church to keep precious things, and so to use it to store writings on pagan stories took a good deal of nerve.
"May God forgive us," murmured Elsa. She took the brass key in her hand and inserted it into a small hole at the base of the statue.
The tiny keyhole was not easy to spot in the gloom. Elsa turned the key with some force, and from within the statue came the distinct sound of something unlocking.
"In his will, Father Franz said that the statue could be removed from the pedestal...but I have never seen it opened."
"Understood," said Lawrence with a nod.
As soon as he approached the statue, Elsa backed away, worry in her eyes.
| Evidently it was hollow.
"Oof!...There." Lawrence set the statue down beside the wall, taking care that it didn't fall over.
Elsa looked at the space left by the statue, hesitating for a moment, but under Holo's insistent gaze, she approached it again.
She turned the key in the opposite direction and removed it, this time inserting it into a small hole in the floor some distance away from the pedestal and turning it twice clockwise.
"Now...we should be able to lift the pedestal and stone free from the floor," Elsa said, still crouching. Holo looked at Lawrence.
Offering any opposition now would bring her sincere ire down upon him, so he sighed and prepared himself. But at that moment, he glimpsed her making an uneasy expression.
She had made a similar expression before, only to then tease Lawrence by saying, "So you like to see me this way?" Thus he could not be sure whether or not she was truly concerned, but the possibility of it was enough to give him renewed vigor.
"It seems like the only place to take hold of it...is the pedestal. Something like this—"
Not knowing exactly how to open the floor, Lawrence looked it over, then planted his feet and took hold of the pedestal. Given the way the seams of the floor stones went, it appeared that the stone nearest the church entrance would lift.
"Hng!" Lawrence braced himself and pulled up. There was an unpleasant grinding sound, like sand in a millstone—but sure enough, the pedestal lifted, along with the floor stones.
Keeping his position, he shifted his grip and lifted with all his might.
Stone ground against stone, and rusted metal creaked as the floor lifted up, revealing a dark cellar.
It did not appear to be very deep; at the foot of the stone stairs was something that looked like a bookcase.
"Shall we go in?"
"...I will go first," said Elsa.
It seemed that at the very least, Elsa had no intention of letting Lawrence and Holo enter first and then closing the door behind them.
And in any case, having come this far, there was no point in hesitation.
"Understood. The air seems a bit stale, so be careful," said Lawrence.
Elsa nodded, and then holding the candle in one hand, she made her way carefully down the steep steps.
Two or three steps past the point where her head was just beneath the floor, Elsa stopped to place the candle in a hollow carved in the wall. She then proceeded.
Lawrence had worried that she planned to set fire to the contents of the room, but apparently he could relax on that count.
"You seem still more suspicious than I," said Holo, perhaps having noticed his concern.
Elsa returned shortly.
In her hands she carried a sealed letter along with a bundle of parchment.
She was half crawling back up the steps, so Lawrence extended a hand to help her.
"...Thank you. I apologize for the wait."
"Not at all. Are those...?" asked Lawrence.
"Letters," answered Elsa briefly. "The books within are what you seek, I believe."
"May we take them out to read them?" asked Lawrence.
"I would ask you to read them within the church." It was a reasonable answer.
"I shall enter, then," said Holo, quickly descending the stairs and entering the cellar. She was soon out of sight.
Though he didn't follow Holo down, it wasn't because Lawrence wanted to watch over Elsa.
"I know it's late to be saying this, but I know that we forced you into this. I thank you and offer my apologies," said Lawrence to Elsa, who stared vaguely down into the cellar entrance.
"Yes, you did indeed force me," said Elsa.
Lawrence had no words in the face of her glare.
"Still...still, I think Father Franz would have been pleased."
"Eh?"
"He was fond of saying, 'The stories I collect are no mere fairy tales.'" Elsa's grip on the letter she held tightened.
Those letters had probably been left behind by the late Father.
"This is my first time entering this cellar as well. I did not expect there to be so many books. If you plan to read them all, you may wish to make new arrangements at the inn."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Evidently it was hollow.
"Oof!...There." Lawrence set the statue down beside the wall, taking care that it didn't fall over.
Elsa looked at the space left by the statue, hesitating for a moment, but under Holo's insistent gaze, she approached it again.
She turned the key in the opposite direction and removed it, this time inserting it into a small hole in the floor some distance away from the pedestal and turning it twice clockwise.
"Now...we should be able to lift the pedestal and stone free from the floor," Elsa said, still crouching. Holo looked at Lawrence.
Offering any opposition now would bring her sincere ire down upon him, so he sighed and prepared himself. But at that moment, he glimpsed her making an uneasy expression.
She had made a similar expression before, only to then tease Lawrence by saying, "So you like to see me this way?" Thus he could not be sure whether or not she was truly concerned, but the possibility of it was enough to give him renewed vigor.
"It seems like the only place to take hold of it...is the pedestal. Something like this—"
Not knowing exactly how to open the floor, Lawrence looked it over, then planted his feet and took hold of the pedestal. Given the way the seams of the floor stones went, it appeared that the stone nearest the church entrance would lift.
"Hng!" Lawrence braced himself and pulled up. There was an unpleasant grinding sound, like sand in a millstone—but sure enough, the pedestal lifted, along with the floor stones.
Keeping his position, he shifted his grip and lifted with all his might.
Stone ground against stone, and rusted metal creaked as the floor lifted up, revealing a dark cellar.
It did not appear to be very deep; at the foot of the stone stairs was something that looked like a bookcase.
"Shall we go in?"
"...I will go first," said Elsa.
It seemed that at the very least, Elsa had no intention of letting Lawrence and Holo enter first and then closing the door behind them.
And in any case, having come this far, there was no point in hesitation.
"Understood. The air seems a bit stale, so be careful," said Lawrence.
Elsa nodded, and then holding the candle in one hand, she made her way carefully down the steep steps.
Two or three steps past the point where her head was just beneath the floor, Elsa stopped to place the candle in a hollow carved in the wall. She then proceeded.
Lawrence had worried that she planned to set fire to the contents of the room, but apparently he could relax on that count.
"You seem still more suspicious than I," said Holo, perhaps having noticed his concern.
Elsa returned shortly.
In her hands she carried a sealed letter along with a bundle of parchment.
She was half crawling back up the steps, so Lawrence extended a hand to help her.
"...Thank you. I apologize for the wait."
"Not at all. Are those...?" asked Lawrence.
"Letters," answered Elsa briefly. "The books within are what you seek, I believe."
"May we take them out to read them?" asked Lawrence.
"I would ask you to read them within the church." It was a reasonable answer.
"I shall enter, then," said Holo, quickly descending the stairs and entering the cellar. She was soon out of sight.
Though he didn't follow Holo down, it wasn't because Lawrence wanted to watch over Elsa.
"I know it's late to be saying this, but I know that we forced you into this. I thank you and offer my apologies," said Lawrence to Elsa, who stared vaguely down into the cellar entrance.
"Yes, you did indeed force me," said Elsa.
Lawrence had no words in the face of her glare.
"Still...still, I think Father Franz would have been pleased."
"Eh?"
"He was fond of saying, 'The stories I collect are no mere fairy tales.'" Elsa's grip on the letter she held tightened.
Those letters had probably been left behind by the late Father.
"This is my first time entering this cellar as well. I did not expect there to be so many books. If you plan to read them all, you may wish to make new arrangements at the inn."
| They had of course also settled their account with the inn.
"Ah, but you might call someone else while we go," said Lawrence.
He hadn't been entirely joking, but Elsa in any case seemed unamused. "I serve this church. It is my intention to embrace the true faith. I would never lay such a trap," she said, smoothing her tightly bound hair and shooting Lawrence a stern glance, even sharper than the ones he had received upon first meeting her. "Even in the sanctuary, I did not tell a lie."
It was true that her silence then did not constitute a lie.
Yet in spite of her resolve and the keenness of her gaze, her childlike insistence on this point reminded Lawrence of a certain someone else he knew.
So he merely nodded and agreed. "I was the one who set a trap. However, had I not done so, you would never have agreed to my request."
"I shall remember never to let my guard down around a merchant," said Elsa with a sigh.
Holo came staggering back up the stairs, carrying a heavy volume with her. "Hey—you—"
Lawrence hurried to help Holo, who seemed unable to bear the weight of the book and looked as though she might topple over backward. He grabbed her arms, helping her support the book.
The magnificent tome was bound in leather and reinforced at the corners with iron.
"Whew. This is certainly not something one simply wanders about with. May I read it here?" asked Holo.
"I do not mind, but please extinguish the candle when you are finished. This church is not wealthy, after all."
"Hmph," said Holo, looking at Lawrence.
Since none of the villagers attended services, there were no tithes.
It was easy to assume that Elsa spoke not out of malice or spite but simply because that was the truth.
Lawrence opened his coin purse, taking out some money—his thanks for having his confession heard and for having troubled her so.
"I have heard that if a merchant wishes to rise to the kingdom of heaven, he must lighten his coin purse," he said.
***
He offered three silver coins.
They would be enough to buy a roomful of candles.
"God's blessing be on you," said Elsa, taking the coins, then turning and walking away.
Lawrence guessed that if she was willing to accept the coins, she must not consider them tainted.
"So what do you think? Can you read it yourself?" he asked Holo.
"I can. I am lucky on that count. I owe it to my exemplary conduct."
She had gall to make jokes like that in a church.
"And which god is it that blesses people with luck according to their righteousness?"
"If you want to know, you'd best get me an offering."
Lawrence felt sure that if he was to turn and look at the statue of the Holy Mother leaning against the wall, a bitter smile would have been on her face.
Once they returned to the inn and secured their room again—after enduring some teasing from the laughing innkeeper—Lawrence pondered what he would do next.
They had gotten Elsa to reveal her secret and discovered Father Franz's books. So far, so good.
Though Holo had revealed her ears and tail, as long as Enberch continued to watch for a chance to strike, Elsa could not reveal the truth.
Lawrence admitted to himself that it was possible Elsa would tell the truth of Holo's nature to the villagers in order to goad them into action, saying she was a servant of evil come to bring calamity upon the village.
But as to the question of whether she had anything to gain from such an action, the answer was an obvious "no."
Though Elsa had fainted upon first seeing Holo's ears, ever since she'd awoken, she had regarded Holo with neither fear nor loathing.
Truthfully she probably saved her loathing for Lawrence.
All that being the case, the next problem would be the people surrounding Elsa—Sem the village elder and Evan. If they were to learn of Holo's nature, there was no telling what would happen.
There were a considerable number of books to read in the cellar. Holo and Lawrence would need some time to go through all of them.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | They had of course also settled their account with the inn.
"Ah, but you might call someone else while we go," said Lawrence.
He hadn't been entirely joking, but Elsa in any case seemed unamused. "I serve this church. It is my intention to embrace the true faith. I would never lay such a trap," she said, smoothing her tightly bound hair and shooting Lawrence a stern glance, even sharper than the ones he had received upon first meeting her. "Even in the sanctuary, I did not tell a lie."
It was true that her silence then did not constitute a lie.
Yet in spite of her resolve and the keenness of her gaze, her childlike insistence on this point reminded Lawrence of a certain someone else he knew.
So he merely nodded and agreed. "I was the one who set a trap. However, had I not done so, you would never have agreed to my request."
"I shall remember never to let my guard down around a merchant," said Elsa with a sigh.
Holo came staggering back up the stairs, carrying a heavy volume with her. "Hey—you—"
Lawrence hurried to help Holo, who seemed unable to bear the weight of the book and looked as though she might topple over backward. He grabbed her arms, helping her support the book.
The magnificent tome was bound in leather and reinforced at the corners with iron.
"Whew. This is certainly not something one simply wanders about with. May I read it here?" asked Holo.
"I do not mind, but please extinguish the candle when you are finished. This church is not wealthy, after all."
"Hmph," said Holo, looking at Lawrence.
Since none of the villagers attended services, there were no tithes.
It was easy to assume that Elsa spoke not out of malice or spite but simply because that was the truth.
Lawrence opened his coin purse, taking out some money—his thanks for having his confession heard and for having troubled her so.
"I have heard that if a merchant wishes to rise to the kingdom of heaven, he must lighten his coin purse," he said.
***
He offered three silver coins.
They would be enough to buy a roomful of candles.
"God's blessing be on you," said Elsa, taking the coins, then turning and walking away.
Lawrence guessed that if she was willing to accept the coins, she must not consider them tainted.
"So what do you think? Can you read it yourself?" he asked Holo.
"I can. I am lucky on that count. I owe it to my exemplary conduct."
She had gall to make jokes like that in a church.
"And which god is it that blesses people with luck according to their righteousness?"
"If you want to know, you'd best get me an offering."
Lawrence felt sure that if he was to turn and look at the statue of the Holy Mother leaning against the wall, a bitter smile would have been on her face.
Once they returned to the inn and secured their room again—after enduring some teasing from the laughing innkeeper—Lawrence pondered what he would do next.
They had gotten Elsa to reveal her secret and discovered Father Franz's books. So far, so good.
Though Holo had revealed her ears and tail, as long as Enberch continued to watch for a chance to strike, Elsa could not reveal the truth.
Lawrence admitted to himself that it was possible Elsa would tell the truth of Holo's nature to the villagers in order to goad them into action, saying she was a servant of evil come to bring calamity upon the village.
But as to the question of whether she had anything to gain from such an action, the answer was an obvious "no."
Though Elsa had fainted upon first seeing Holo's ears, ever since she'd awoken, she had regarded Holo with neither fear nor loathing.
Truthfully she probably saved her loathing for Lawrence.
All that being the case, the next problem would be the people surrounding Elsa—Sem the village elder and Evan. If they were to learn of Holo's nature, there was no telling what would happen.
There were a considerable number of books to read in the cellar. Holo and Lawrence would need some time to go through all of them.
| Though she had accused him of being paranoid, he felt that he had not been suspicious enough.
But there was no guarantee that taking this or that action wouldn't rouse a sleeping snake, so to speak.
He returned to the church, thinking that in any case they needed to come up with some kind of pretense for why they were spending time there.
He found Elsa reading letters at a desk that looked far too big for her in the living room, which was every bit as painfully simple as her bedroom. She did not look as though she had secretly informed the villagers and was merely waiting for his return to spring the trap.
When he had knocked on the church's front door, there'd been no response, so he took the liberty of coming in. There was little reaction from her when he entered the living room.
Elsa merely glanced at Lawrence, saying nothing.
He couldn't very well just walk by her into the back of the church without saying anything.
"Are you sure you don't want to keep an eye on us? We might steal the books, you know," he said jokingly.
"If you planned to do that, there would be no reason not to tie me up," she shot back correctly.
Evidently Holo was not the only tough girl in the world.
"And if you were from Enberch, you'd already be speeding back to the town on a fast horse."
"Ah, but is that really true? There's nothing to say you wouldn't set fire to the books in the cellar. If the books were ash within the time it takes to get to Enberch and back, there'd be no proof."
The exchange was both light banter and irritated conversation.
Elsa sighed and looked at Lawrence. "So long as you do not plan to bring calamity upon the village, I have not the slightest intention of raising a fuss. Though it's true that your companion has no business being in a church, I..."
She trailed off, closing her eyes as if not wanting to see a question that had no answer.
"All we wish to do is learn more of the northlands. Your suspicion is completely understandable."
"No," said Elsa, her voice unexpectedly firm.
Having done so, she seemed to realize she hadn't prepared for words that would follow this denial.
It was only after letting out a deep sigh that she was able to continue. "No...if the question is whether I feel suspicion, I admit I do. If it were possible, I wish that I could consult with someone else. But...my problem is of a larger..."
"You wish to know if my companion is truly what she claims to be?"
Elsa's face froze as though she had swallowed a needle. "There is that as well, yes..."
She looked down, the only remaining hint of her steadfast nature being her ramrod-straight spine.
She seemed unable to continue.
Lawrence then asked, "And what else?"
Elsa did not reply.
Lawrence's livelihood was negotiating with people.
When a person withdrew, he knew when to pursue and when to wait for that person to open up again.
This was undoubtedly the former.
"I cannot take your confession, but I may be able to give you some advice. However..."
Elsa peered at him as though from within a deep cave.
"...However, you will only be able to get sincere answers on things outside of business," Lawrence finished with a smile. He felt that just for a moment, Elsa also smiled.
"No," she said, "the question I have may well be best asked of a person like you. Might I ask you, then?"
When asking a favor, it is a very difficult thing to avoid seeming servile and to also preserve one's dignity without appearing high-handed.
Yet Elsa managed it.
She was the image of the clergy.
"I cannot guarantee that any answer I give will be satisfying."
Elsa nodded and spoke slowly, as if to be sure of every word she said. "If...if the stories collected in the books in the cellar are not false..."
"Yes...?"
"Does that mean the God we believe in is false?"
***
It was a simple question but an extremely serious one at the same time.
The God of the Church was omnipotent, omniscient; there were none but him.
His existence was incompatible with the many gods of the pagan tradition.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Though she had accused him of being paranoid, he felt that he had not been suspicious enough.
But there was no guarantee that taking this or that action wouldn't rouse a sleeping snake, so to speak.
He returned to the church, thinking that in any case they needed to come up with some kind of pretense for why they were spending time there.
He found Elsa reading letters at a desk that looked far too big for her in the living room, which was every bit as painfully simple as her bedroom. She did not look as though she had secretly informed the villagers and was merely waiting for his return to spring the trap.
When he had knocked on the church's front door, there'd been no response, so he took the liberty of coming in. There was little reaction from her when he entered the living room.
Elsa merely glanced at Lawrence, saying nothing.
He couldn't very well just walk by her into the back of the church without saying anything.
"Are you sure you don't want to keep an eye on us? We might steal the books, you know," he said jokingly.
"If you planned to do that, there would be no reason not to tie me up," she shot back correctly.
Evidently Holo was not the only tough girl in the world.
"And if you were from Enberch, you'd already be speeding back to the town on a fast horse."
"Ah, but is that really true? There's nothing to say you wouldn't set fire to the books in the cellar. If the books were ash within the time it takes to get to Enberch and back, there'd be no proof."
The exchange was both light banter and irritated conversation.
Elsa sighed and looked at Lawrence. "So long as you do not plan to bring calamity upon the village, I have not the slightest intention of raising a fuss. Though it's true that your companion has no business being in a church, I..."
She trailed off, closing her eyes as if not wanting to see a question that had no answer.
"All we wish to do is learn more of the northlands. Your suspicion is completely understandable."
"No," said Elsa, her voice unexpectedly firm.
Having done so, she seemed to realize she hadn't prepared for words that would follow this denial.
It was only after letting out a deep sigh that she was able to continue. "No...if the question is whether I feel suspicion, I admit I do. If it were possible, I wish that I could consult with someone else. But...my problem is of a larger..."
"You wish to know if my companion is truly what she claims to be?"
Elsa's face froze as though she had swallowed a needle. "There is that as well, yes..."
She looked down, the only remaining hint of her steadfast nature being her ramrod-straight spine.
She seemed unable to continue.
Lawrence then asked, "And what else?"
Elsa did not reply.
Lawrence's livelihood was negotiating with people.
When a person withdrew, he knew when to pursue and when to wait for that person to open up again.
This was undoubtedly the former.
"I cannot take your confession, but I may be able to give you some advice. However..."
Elsa peered at him as though from within a deep cave.
"...However, you will only be able to get sincere answers on things outside of business," Lawrence finished with a smile. He felt that just for a moment, Elsa also smiled.
"No," she said, "the question I have may well be best asked of a person like you. Might I ask you, then?"
When asking a favor, it is a very difficult thing to avoid seeming servile and to also preserve one's dignity without appearing high-handed.
Yet Elsa managed it.
She was the image of the clergy.
"I cannot guarantee that any answer I give will be satisfying."
Elsa nodded and spoke slowly, as if to be sure of every word she said. "If...if the stories collected in the books in the cellar are not false..."
"Yes...?"
"Does that mean the God we believe in is false?"
***
It was a simple question but an extremely serious one at the same time.
The God of the Church was omnipotent, omniscient; there were none but him.
His existence was incompatible with the many gods of the pagan tradition.
| If so, her tragic worries were not hard to understand.
It seemed the adoptive father she'd loved and respected so had not spoken to her about a great many things.
Perhaps he had thought they were not relevant to Elsa, that such matters didn't concern her—or perhaps he'd meant her to ponder them on her own. There was no way to know.
But to Elsa, who had no one with whom she could discuss her worries, they were a heavy burden indeed.
No matter how heavy the load, it could be carried as long as it was placed firmly on one's back. However, all it took was a small disturbance for the whole load to come falling apart.
As soon as Elsa began to speak, her words became rapid, as though she could not hold them back if she wanted to.
"Is it because my faith is lacking? I know not. I have not the courage to rebuke the two of you, scriptures and holy water in hand. Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing—no, what it is at all, I do not—"
"My companion—," Lawrence interjected before Elsa could corner herself with her own words. "My companion, though her true form is a giant wolf, does not wish to be called a god nor worshipped as one."
Elsa listened quietly, desperately, a lost soul hoping for salvation.
"I am, as you see, nothing more than a merchant of no special birth. I know little of the teachings of God. I cannot tell you what is right and what is wrong," said Lawrence, very much aware that Holo was probably eavesdropping on the conversation. "But I do not believe that Father Franz was mistaken."
"Why...why do you believe that?"
Lawrence nodded thoughtfully, taking a moment to prepare his opinions.
It was possible that he was totally off the mark. Indeed, that possibility might have been the larger one.
But he felt a strange certainty that he understood Father Franz's point of view.
Just as he was about to speak again, Lawrence was interrupted by the sound of a knock at the church's door.
"...That will be Elder Sem. I imagine he is here to ask about you and your companion." She seemed to be able to tell who was at the door by the sound of the knocking; perhaps this came from a need to tell whether the noise was someone from Enberch.
Wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, she stood, then glanced toward the interior of the church. "If you find yourself unable to trust me, you can get out there through an exit near the stove by the hallway. If you trust me—"
"I trust you. I don't know whether I can trust Sem."
Elsa neither shook her head nor nodded. "Then please stay in the back of the church," she said. "I will explain that I've been asking you about the news from the churches of other lands. It is not really a lie..."
"I understand. I'll be happy to share my experiences," answered Lawrence with a smile. He was about to do as he was told and hide away in the back of the church when he noticed that Elsa had returned to her usual stoic self.
He asked himself in that moment if she would betray him. The answer came, No, she would not.
Though Lawrence did not trust in God, he did trust in those who did.
He decided he did not mind such ironies.
Lawrence walked down the dimly lit hallway. Eventually he saw the vague flicker of candlelight from around a corner.
There was no way Holo had not overheard his exchange with Elsa, so he prepared himself for whatever expression might await him as he rounded the corner.
There was Holo sitting cross-legged with an open book in her lap. She lifted her face to him, displeasure written all over it.
"Am I so very malicious, then?"
"...You're inventing cause for offense," said Lawrence, shrugging.
Holo snorted. "Your trepidation was plain as day; I could hear it in your footsteps."
"Merchants only read minds, not feet."
"...That was awful," Holo pronounced of Lawrence's joke. "Still, you were quite considerate to the girl."
Lawrence both expected and did not expect this subject to come up.
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