Spice & Wolf II (3 page)

Nonetheless, Lawrence assumed a purposefully blank expression as he regarded Holo.

Her eyes were fixed greedily upon the imagined food. He couldn’t help but tease her.

“Well, now, you must have quite a bit of money indeed. If you’ve got so much, perhaps you should repay me.”

Yet his opponent was a canny wisewolf. She soon discerned his motive.

Her demeanor tightened suddenly as she glared at him.

“That approach will no longer work.”

Apparently she had learned from the apple incident. Lawrence clicked his tongue in irritation, his face grim.

“You should’ve just asked nicely in the first place, then. It would’ve been so much more charming.”

“So if I ask charmingly enough, you will buy some for me, then?” asked Holo without a trace of charm.

Lawrence eased the horse forward as the line moved, answering flatly, “Of course not. You could stand to learn something from those cows and sheep—try chewing your cud, hm?”

He grinned to himself, proud of his wit—but Holo’s face went blank with anger, and without a word, there on the driver’s seat of the wagon, she stomped on his foot.

The road was nothing more than hard-packed dirt, the simple houses made of rough-hewn stone and thatched with grass.

The people of Poroson bought nothing but the barest necessities from the merchant stalls, so there were surprisingly few such stalls.

A goodly number of people moved about the town, among them merchants with carts or backs fully loaded, but the atmosphere seemed to suck up the normal town chatter like cotton, so it was oddly quiet.

It was hard to believe this quiet, simple, proud town was a nexus of foreign trade that earned dizzying amounts of money every day.

After all, missionaries whose street-corner sermons went largely ignored in other cities could count on gratefully attentive crowds here—so how was profit so effectively made?

To Lawrence, the town was nothing less than a mystery.

“’Tis a tedious place,” came Holo’s assessment of the uniquely religious town.

“You’re only saying that because there’s nothing to eat.”

“You speak as though I think of nothing else.”

“Shall we take in a sermon, then?”

Just ahead of them, a missionary preached to a crowd, one hand on a book of scripture.

The listeners were not only townspeople—there were several merchants whose prayers were normally for naught but their own profit.

Holo regarded them distastefully and sniffed.

“He’s about five hundred years too young to be preaching to me.”

“I daresay you could stand to hear a sermon on frugality.”

Toying idly with the silken sash at her waist, Holo put her hand to her mouth and yawned at Lawrence’s suggestion. “I’m a wolf yet. Sermons are complicated and difficult for us to understand,” she said shamelessly, rubbing her eyes.

“Well, as far as the teachings of the god of frugality go, they’re more persuasive here than anywhere else, I’d reckon.”

“Hm?”

“Nearly all the money made here flows to the seat of the Church northwest of here, Ruvinheigen—now there’s a place I’ve no desire to hear a sermon.”

The Church capital of Ruvinheigen was so prosperous some said its walls had turned to gold. The upper echelons of the Church Council that controlled the region had turned to commerce to support their subjugation of the heathens, and the priests and bishops of Ruvinheigen put the merchants to shame.

Lawrence wondered if that was precisely why opportunities for profit there were so absurdly plentiful.

Just then, Holo tilted her head quizzically. “Did you say Ruvinheigen?”

“What, do you know it?” Lawrence gave Holo a sidelong glance as he steered the wagon to the right once the street forked.

“Mm, I remember the name, but not as a city—it was a person’s name.”

“Ah, you’re not wrong. It’s a city now, but it was the name of a saint who led a group of crusaders against the pagans. It’s an old name—you don’t hear it much anymore.”

“Hmph. Maybe ’tis him I’m remembering.”

“Surely not.”

Lawrence laughed it off but soon realized—Holo had set out on her travels hundreds of years ago.

“He was a man with flaming red hair and a great bushy beard.. He’d hardly gotten a glance at my lovely ears and tail before he set his knights after me with spear and sword. I’d had enough, so I took my other form and kicked his knights around before sinking my teeth into that Ruvinheigen’s backside. He was rather lean and far from tasty.”

Holo sniffed proudly as she related the gallant tale. The surprised Lawrence had no response.

In the holy city of Ruvinheigen, there were records of Saint Ruvinheigen having red hair and the city itself having originally been a fortress that fought against pagan gods.

However, in his battles against the heathen deities, Saint Ruvinheigen was said to have lost his left arm. That is why on the great mural in the city cathedral he was pictured with no left arm, his ragged clothing smeared with blood, resolutely ordering his crusaders forward against the pagans, the protection of God at their backs.

Perhaps the reason Saint Ruvinheigen was always pictured in clothes so ragged he might as well be nude was because Holo had shredded them.

Her true form was that of a massive wolf, after all. It was easy to imagine her bloodying someone after a bit of sport.

I f what Holo said was true, Saint Ruvinheigen had probably been ashamed of being bitten on his rear and had omitted that bit from the story. In that case, the tale of the saint losing his left arm was pure fabrication.

Had Holo bitten the real Saint Ruvinheigen?

Hearing the story behind the history, Lawrence chuckled.

“Oh, but wait a moment—,” said Holo.

“Hm?”

“I only bit him, I’ll have you know. I did not kill him,” said Holo quickly, anticipating Lawrence’s reaction.

For a moment, Lawrence didn’t understand what she was getting at, but soon he realized.

She must have assumed he would be angry if she killed one of his fellow humans.

“You’re considerate at the strangest of times,” said Lawrence.

“’Tis important,” said Holo, her face serious enough that Lawrence capitulated without any further teasing.

“Anyway, this surely is a tedious city. The middle of the forest is livelier than this.”

“I’ll unload my pepper, pick up a new commodity, and we’ll be on our way to Ruvinheigen, so just bear it until then.”

“Is it a big town?”

“Bigger even than Pazzio—more properly a city than a town really. It’s crowded, and there are lots of shops.”

Holo’s face lit up. “With apples even?”

“Hard to say if they’ll be fresh. With winter coming, I’d think they’d be preserved.”

“...Preserved?” said Holo, dubious. In the northlands, salt was the only method of preservation, so she assumed preserved apples would also use salt.

“They use honey,” said Lawrence.

Pop
! went Holo’s ears, flicking rapidly under the hood she wore.

“Pear preserves are good, too. Also, hmm, they’re a bit rare, but I’ve seen preserved peaches. Now
those
are fine goods. They slice the peaches thin, pack them in a cask with the odd layer of almonds or figs, then fill up the spaces with honey, and seal it shut. Takes about two months for it to be ready to eat. I’ve only had it once, but it was so sweet the Church was considering banning the stuff...Hey, you’re drooling.”

Holo snapped her mouth shut as Lawrence pointed it out.

She took a nervous glance around, then looked back at Lawrence dubiously. “You...you’re toying with me, though.”

“Can’t you tell if I’m lying or not?”

Holo set her jaw, perhaps at a loss for words.

“I’m not lying, but there’s no telling whether they’ll actually have the preserves. They’re mostly for rich nobles, anyway. The stuff isn’t just lined up in a shop.”

“But if it is?”

Swish, swish
—Holo’s tail was switching back and forth beneath her robe so rapidly it almost seemed like a separate animal altogether. Her eyes were moist and blurred with overflowing anticipation.

Holo’s face was so close to Lawrence that she rested her head on his shoulder.

Her eyes were desperately serious.

“Fine, fine! I’ll buy you some!”

Holo gripped Lawrence’s arm tightly. “You have to!”

He felt that if he looked sideways at her, he’d be bitten on the spot.

“A little, though. Just a little!” Lawrence said. It was not clear if Holo was listening or not.

“That’s a promise, then! You’ve promised!”

“Okay, okay!”

“So let us hurry on, then! Hurry, now!”

“Stop grabbing me!”

Lawrence shrugged her off, but Holo’s mind had wandered elsewhere. She seemed to look off into the distance and muttered .is she nibbled on the nail of her middle finger.

“'They may sell out. Should it come to that...”

Lawrence was beginning to regret having said anything about honeyed peach preserves, but it was too late for such regrets. If he dared to suggest he had decided not to buy any after all, it seemed likely she’d tear out his throat.

It didn’t matter that honeyed peach preserves weren’t something that traveling merchants could afford.

“It’s not a question of selling out—they may not have any at all,” Lawrence said. “Just understand that.”

“We are talking about peaches and honey, sir! It beggars belief. Peaches and honey.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Still, it’s hard to give up pears,” said Holo, turning to Lawrence and looking up at him.

Lawrence’s only reply was to heave a long-suffering sigh.