Spice & Wolf III (4 page)

Sea snails were thought to aid longevity, whereas freshwater snails brought only stomach cramps, so they were avoided in the south, where only bivalve shellfish were eaten. The Church even forbade eating snails, claiming that evil spirits inhabited them.

However, that was more practical advice than it was the teachings of God as laid out in scripture. Lawrence himself had long ago become lost, and having arrived at a river, he resorted to eating snails. The memory of the excruciating stomach pain they caused him had made him avoid eating them ever since.

Fortunately the meals were not served in individual portions, and Holo seemed to enjoy the snails greatly.

Lawrence left all the food he couldn’t stomach to Holo.

“Hmm. So this is what shellfish tastes like, eh?” said Holo, impressed, as she ate snail after snail, pried free from their shells with a knife Lawrence lent her. For Lawrence’s part, he was digging into a salt-broiled river barracuda.

“Don’t eat too much, or you’ll get a stomachache.”

“Mm?”

“Evil spirits live in those river snails. Eat them carelessly, and you’ll regret it.”

Holo took a quick look at the snail she had just extracted from its shell, then cocked her head, and popped it into her mouth. “Just who do you think I am? It’s not just the quality of wheat I can judge.”

“Didn’t you say something about eating spicy peppers and regretting it?”

Holo seemed to take offense at the reminder.

“Even I can’t determine taste purely from appearance. They were bright red, I’ll have you know—like a perfectly ripened fruit,” said Holo as she extracted yet another snail. Occasionally she would pause to put her cup to her lips and take a drink, closing her eyes as she did so.

Since the region fell outside the Church’s baleful eye, distilled liquor—which the Church felt was dangerous—was freely sold and drunk here.

Holo’s cup was filled with a nearly transparent liquor known as burnwine.

“Shall I order you something sweeter?”

Holo shook her head wordlessly, but with her eyes so tightly shut, Lawrence was sure that if he peeked under her robe, he would find her tail fluffed out like a bottlebrush.

At length, she drained the cup, and exhaling deeply, she wiped the corners of her eyes with her sleeve.

Given what she drank (which was also known as “soul-shaking liquor”), it was good that Holo was no longer dressed as a nun. With her head covered by a triangular kerchief, she looked every inch a normal town lass.

Holo had changed clothes before dinner and come to give her regards to Amati once again. Amati’s face was so pathetic from Holo's charms that not only Lawrence, but also the innkeeper had been unable to avoid laughing.

As if to add to her burden of sins even more, Holo greeted Amati with even more grace and charm than she normally used.

However, if Amati was to see Holo’s ravenous eating and drinking, no doubt he would quickly awaken from his dreams.

Holo sniffed. “’Tis a nostalgic flavor,” she said, her eyes a bit teary, either from the liquor or the memories of her homeland.

It was true that the farther north one went, the more common such soul-shaking liquor.

“I can hardly tell any flavor at all when the liquors been so distilled,” said Lawrence.

Perhaps tired of snails, Holo reached for the baked and boiled fish, answering happily as she did so.

“One forgets the sight of something after only ten years, but the taste and the scents linger in the mind for many tens of years longer. This liquor brings back many memories. It’s not unlike the liquor of Yoitsu, you know.”

“Strong drink is common in the north. Is this all you ever drunk?” Lawrence looked from the contents of the cup to Holo's face.

“Sweeter liquor hardly suits a wisewolf of such noble stature,” she answered proudly, a bit of fish clinging to the corner of her mouth.

Of course, based on her appearance, it was sweet milk and honey that would best suit Holo, but Lawrence chuckled and agreed with her.

Surely the taste of the liquor had brought back memories of her homeland.

Holo’s happy smile could not be explained away simply by the fact of their first delicious meal in some time.

Hers was the delight of a girl who had received an unexpected gift—the first concrete evidence that they were drawing near to Yoitsu and her home.

Yet Lawrence found himself looking away.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of his gaze being noticed and of receiving the teasing that would surely follow.

The fact was that he heard Yoitsu had long since been razed to the ground; Lawrence had concealed this from Holo since the beginning of their partnership. Keeping this secret turned Holo’s happy smile into a blinding sun too painful to look at.

He couldn’t bring himself to destroy the pleasant evening meal.

To avoid Holo noticing his turmoil, Lawrence forcibly turned his thoughts to other things. He smiled at Holo, who reached for the carp stew.

“I see you’ve taken to the stew?”

“Mm. Who would have guessed that carp, boiled, would be so tasty? Another bowl, please.”

The large bowl holding the carp stew was outside Holo’s reach, so Lawrence retrieved it for her, but each time he did so, more onions appeared on his wooden plate. It seemed that even boiled, Holo couldn’t stand onions.

“Where’d you manage to eat carp? There aren’t many places that serve it.”

“Hm? I got it from the river. They’re sluggish creatures, easy to snare.”

Lawrence understood—she’d gone fishing in her wolf form.

“I’ve never had raw carp. Is it good?” he asked.

“The scales get stuck twixt my teeth, and there are too many bones. I’d seen fish swallow the smaller ones whole and so imagined them to be delicious, but in the end, they did not suit me.”

Lawrence imagined Holo’s huge form as she wolfed down a large carp headfirst.

Carp were renowned for their long life and were both revered as holy and reviled as tools of the devil by the Church. For that reason, the eating of carp was confined to the north.

To be fair, it seemed mildly ridiculous to hold the carp, with its moderate longevity, in such esteem when there were wolves like Holo wandering about.

“Human cooking is indeed good, but it’s not just that—the fish was chosen very well. That Amati lad has quite an eye.”

“For his age, yes. And that was quite a load he was moving.”

“And on the other hand, there’s you. What was it you’re hauling, again?” Holo’s eyes were suddenly cold.

“Hm? Nails. Like this table...Oh, I guess it doesn’t use them.”

“I know what nails are. I’m saying you should’ve gone for something a bit more impressive. Or are you still reeling from your failure in Ruvinheigen?”

Lawrence felt rather aggrieved by this, but it was the truth, and so he could say nothing.

He had become overenthusiastic and bought armor on margin that amounted to roughly twice his personal net worth, and as a result, he had faced bankruptcy and lifelong slavery. In addition, he had caused Holo significant trouble and humiliation.

Having been humbled, Lawrence chose to buy simple nails on his way out of Ruvinheigen, to the tune of about four hundred silver
trenni
. It was a conservative purchase that left him with quite a bit of cash on hand.

“It may not be the grandest load, but it should turn a fair profit. And it’s not as though there’s nothing attractive in my wagon.”

Holo cocked her head at Lawrence, holding a river barracuda in her mouth as though she were an alley cat.

Lawrence had come up with a nice bon mot.

He coughed slightly. “I mean, you’re riding in it as well, after all.”

It was a bit affected, but Lawrence flattered himself to think that it was a charming line nonetheless.

As he smiled, took a drink of his burnwine, and looked to Holo, he saw that she had stopped moving and seemed quite at a loss.

“...Well, I suppose that’s about all you’re capable of,” she finally said with a sigh.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to me,” said Lawrence.

“Ah, but if you treat a male too well, he’ll soon come to expect it all the time. And then you’ll hear naught but the same foolish words over and over.”

“Ugh..Lawrence couldn’t let this slight go unanswered. “Fine, then. From now on I’ll—”

“You dunce,” said Holo, cutting him off. “How precious do you think a male’s kindness is?”

“.....” Lawrence frowned and escaped into his drink, but Holo was on the hunt now.

“And all I need do for your kindness is to seem downcast, nay?”

Her innocent face accused him, and Lawrence had no response.

Holo was unfair.

He looked at her, resentful, but she only smiled pleasantly.

Having finished their first proper meal in many days, Holo and Lawrence returned to their inn, where the streets were quiet.

They had arrived in Kumersun around sunset, but the streets had been much more congested than Lawrence anticipated.

If they hadn’t encountered Amati, they certainly would have had to prevail upon the trade guild for a room and might even have wound up staying in a room at the guild house itself.

All around the city, wooden carvings and wheat dolls, whose inspiration was unclear, lined the streets, with bands and jesters flooding even the narrowest of alleyways.

The great market that took place in the large plaza in the south end of the city had its hours extended, and it bustled with an energy that befit the word
festival
. Even craftsmen who were normally not allowed to sell their wares here had stalls set up along the wide street.

Back in the inn, Lawrence opened the window to cool his body, still flushed from the strong liquor. He could yet see some shopkeepers tidying up their stalls, illuminated by moonlight.

The room that Amati had arranged for them was in one of the very finest inns in the town, one that Lawrence would never have considered staying at himself. The room was on the second floor, overlooking the wide street that ran from north to south through the center of the city, not far from the intersection with the street’s east-west counterpart. Just as Holo had hoped, it had two beds. Of course, Lawrence could not help harboring a suspicion that the two beds of the room were also due to Amati’s insistence.

It mollified Lawrence to think this, but he was still grateful for Amati’s assistance, so he abandoned that train of thought and looked out onto the street.

Everybody on the wide boulevard seemed to be staggering home.

Lawrence chuckled and looked behind him to see Holo sitting cross-legged on the bed, pouring herself another cup of wine as if she hadn’t already had enough to drink.

“Don’t come crying to me if you’re hungover tomorrow. Have you already forgotten what happened in Pazzio?”

“Mm? Oh, this is fine. Fine liquor never lingers past its welcome. And who am I to turn down its friendship?”

Now finished pouring, she happily put the cup to her lips, then ate a bit of dried trout left over from dinner.