Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Lawrence pushed the door open himself and entered the room. Col followed him, and by the time the door closed behind them, Lawrence had a sense of the individuals in and the circumstances of the room.
Lit by flickering candlelight and sitting on a tuft of hay was Eve, like some sort of captured princess. She grinned as though having heard some great joke. After a few moments, she seemed to regain her composure. The huge smile had surely been her own way of hiding her embarrassment.
"I've come to talk with you."
"And what...joke would you care to hear?"
Lawrence turned his dagger over to the guard, who checked to make sure neither he nor Col were carrying any weapons. Meanwhile Lawrence looked openly around the room, which indeed seemed to be a cellar of some kind. There were goods stacked here and there, with the open places in the floor covered by blankets or hay. Both food and water had been left, and Eve's hands weren't bound.
He had prepared himself for worse circumstances, so on that count he was genuinely relieved.
Eve was in fine shape. But whips and clubs weren't the only ways of making someone talk.
"The first thing a merchant does in a new town is gather information."
"Indeed. I'm surprised he let you in...Ah, the boy's with you. I see." Eve had gained enough practical wisdom to guess how Lawrence had gotten in. "Flowers won't be enough of a gift to give that girl now that you've made her wait alone for your return."
"...I got a fist in the face the last time."
"Ha-ha. She's a stout one, it's true."
Such conversation would have made for a lovely idle day had it been taking place under sun-dappled eaves. Unfortunately, there was a guard watching them with a sword at his belt. Outside the door was the messenger, and it was even possible that Kieman himself was listening in.
"Well, I'm just relieved you haven't been reduced to tearing your bread into small pieces to eat it."
"Hmph. Kieman doesn't have the nerve to hurt me. Reynolds is dirt-poor, so he must've found some rich northern backer. And around here, there are only a few rich men. And they've no idea how I'm connected to this. About all they can do is yell at me."
There was no doubt her ire was directed at the sword-armed guard.
But given Eve's style, if he were truly beneath her contempt, she wouldn't even bother insulting him, so she was probably being considerate of him for having brought her food and water.
"I've told all this to Kieman, but Reynolds's letter might as well have pulled the ladder out from under me. If he's trying to use my agreement with Kieman to control me...it's because I'm useful."
Her tone of voice hadn't changed, but the mood had. Lawrence could swear he heard Col gulp.
"So it's true that he has a wealthy, powerful backer?"
"Kieman suspects as much, but look at Reynolds's situation—he's the most successful trader on the north side, and that's all he can manage. It's hard to think of a familiar figure who has such money. Of course, it's possible that Reynolds is using someone's knowledge to make a purchase order without actually having the money."
"What's his goal?"
Eve grinned a toothy grin. "To take money from people like us, who are caught up in a secret narwhal deal."
Lawrence found himself smiling; Eve was the one who'd taught him that there were people in the world who could think of anything.
"By saying, 'If you don't want us interfering in your carefully arranged, once-in-a-lifetime gamble, pay up.'"
"The northerners are fighting a losing battle. It's hardly surprising some of them are starting to suggest they grab what profit can be had. There are probably others who are mad enough to try to convince the people around them of that, and if they push it, it'll work. They'll panic and pay. Of course, we're probably the only ones bold enough to just sell off the narwhal itself."

Output:
If it was all going to go up in smoke, Kieman might as well pay off Reynolds and try to back out of the purchase, rather than lose everything.
"Of course, given that Kieman's holding me here, that means the odds that Reynolds placed a buy order despite not having any money are low. Kieman fears me being taken in by the northerners more than anything else, so him keeping me here means he's decided Reynolds does have a powerful backer. And as for me...that's why I came to see you, since there were too many clues along those lines."
Eve was former nobility from the kingdom of Winfiel, a half-day's journey across the channel. To make a chart of all the powerful figures she had once been connected to, it would turn the parchment black with ink.
Such figures couldn't act without good cause, but once they had such cause, they could accomplish nearly anything. A secret deal for the narwhal would be an easy target.
Moreover, if they made Eve out as the villain, they could boost their profits and kill two birds with one stone. It would no longer be a question of whether she would survive the tumult—she might not even be recognizable as a human by then.
Taking the narwhal and escaping to the south was probably Eve's greatest wish.
"I didn't think it would come to this," said Eve helplessly, resting her elbow on a rolled-up blanket and leaning back. "If you've figured out this much, you should be able to learn the rest by watching the town for a few days. But whether Reynolds has the money or not or has managed to somehow raise it, this will probably be the last time we meet."
Her sudden talkativeness must have been a reaction to the broken tension. But now she was either tired or simply satisfied with her words, as she covered her eyes and yawned.
She still gave off a somehow unflappable, regal aura. The only reason it didn't seem genuinely divine to Lawrence was because of the short statement she uttered next.
"They're all quite skilled here. I'll be happy if I can die without much pain."
Col cried out a bit, and Eve looked up at him with a little smile.
"D-do you mean they'll destroy the evidence?"
"I've got a mouth, after all."
How many people in the world could shrug so casually as they said such things?
Lawrence began to say something, but Eve smiled like a young maiden and continued. "And in the end, you went along with my childish selfishness. Such fun..."
She turned aside, her eyes fixed on some far-off point. Her profile was truly lovely.
"No matter how terrible the feast, if the last dish is tasty, then it wasn't for naught," she said.
Lawrence felt a pang in his heart, but not out of pity for Eve.
That reasoning was precisely why he had decided to continue traveling with Holo. As long as he could keep laughing with her, that was all that mattered.
But if he could ignore everything else, then he wouldn't be standing in this very situation.
"What can I do to save you?" Lawrence asked. The guard standing next to him was shocked, but not as much as Eve herself.
"Is he serious?" said Eve, looking not at Lawrence but at the guard.
"...I've no idea. Unfortunately, I'm no merchant."
If things went poorly, she would lose her head and he would be the one chopping it off, but there they were, talking like old friends.
"But I can say one thing..."
"You don't have to. He already knows," said Eve, interrupting the guard.
The man looked at Eve for a few moments, then did as he was told and kept silent.
Lawrence did indeed know what he was going to say.
Complete despair brought with it a certain calm. But if a single ray of hope pierced that calm, it could bring with it unbearable suffering.
"If there's a chance for my salvation, it can be only this," said Eve, her expression calm, but not because she had a heart of iron. "That Reynolds has raised the money on his own," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm tired of talking. I haven't slept in two days."


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
If it was all going to go up in smoke, Kieman might as well pay off Reynolds and try to back out of the purchase, rather than lose everything.
"Of course, given that Kieman's holding me here, that means the odds that Reynolds placed a buy order despite not having any money are low. Kieman fears me being taken in by the northerners more than anything else, so him keeping me here means he's decided Reynolds does have a powerful backer. And as for me...that's why I came to see you, since there were too many clues along those lines."
Eve was former nobility from the kingdom of Winfiel, a half-day's journey across the channel. To make a chart of all the powerful figures she had once been connected to, it would turn the parchment black with ink.
Such figures couldn't act without good cause, but once they had such cause, they could accomplish nearly anything. A secret deal for the narwhal would be an easy target.
Moreover, if they made Eve out as the villain, they could boost their profits and kill two birds with one stone. It would no longer be a question of whether she would survive the tumult—she might not even be recognizable as a human by then.
Taking the narwhal and escaping to the south was probably Eve's greatest wish.
"I didn't think it would come to this," said Eve helplessly, resting her elbow on a rolled-up blanket and leaning back. "If you've figured out this much, you should be able to learn the rest by watching the town for a few days. But whether Reynolds has the money or not or has managed to somehow raise it, this will probably be the last time we meet."
Her sudden talkativeness must have been a reaction to the broken tension. But now she was either tired or simply satisfied with her words, as she covered her eyes and yawned.
She still gave off a somehow unflappable, regal aura. The only reason it didn't seem genuinely divine to Lawrence was because of the short statement she uttered next.
"They're all quite skilled here. I'll be happy if I can die without much pain."
Col cried out a bit, and Eve looked up at him with a little smile.
"D-do you mean they'll destroy the evidence?"
"I've got a mouth, after all."
How many people in the world could shrug so casually as they said such things?
Lawrence began to say something, but Eve smiled like a young maiden and continued. "And in the end, you went along with my childish selfishness. Such fun..."
She turned aside, her eyes fixed on some far-off point. Her profile was truly lovely.
"No matter how terrible the feast, if the last dish is tasty, then it wasn't for naught," she said.
Lawrence felt a pang in his heart, but not out of pity for Eve.
That reasoning was precisely why he had decided to continue traveling with Holo. As long as he could keep laughing with her, that was all that mattered.
But if he could ignore everything else, then he wouldn't be standing in this very situation.
"What can I do to save you?" Lawrence asked. The guard standing next to him was shocked, but not as much as Eve herself.
"Is he serious?" said Eve, looking not at Lawrence but at the guard.
"...I've no idea. Unfortunately, I'm no merchant."
If things went poorly, she would lose her head and he would be the one chopping it off, but there they were, talking like old friends.
"But I can say one thing..."
"You don't have to. He already knows," said Eve, interrupting the guard.
The man looked at Eve for a few moments, then did as he was told and kept silent.
Lawrence did indeed know what he was going to say.
Complete despair brought with it a certain calm. But if a single ray of hope pierced that calm, it could bring with it unbearable suffering.
"If there's a chance for my salvation, it can be only this," said Eve, her expression calm, but not because she had a heart of iron. "That Reynolds has raised the money on his own," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm tired of talking. I haven't slept in two days."

Output:
And yet she lay down, as though she truly intended to sleep. She didn't seem to want to talk anymore, and Lawrence had heard enough.
Whether the guard was one of Kieman's men or had been newly hired, he seemed to have a strong sense of professionalism, and with a quick nod, he patted Lawrence down.
As Lawrence was receiving his dagger from the man, Col stared hard at Lawrence, either unable or unwilling to understand the exchange they had just had.
Lawrence put his hand on the boy's head and said nothing.
Then, as they left the room, he turned and left Eve with one final statement.
"Sleep well."
Eve raised her hand casually in response, but the gesture was strangely memorable.
When they emerged from underground, Lawrence and Col met with the messenger's glare. He had probably heard their entire conversation and would report everything to Kieman, but Lawrence doubted any of it would be of any use to him.
Both Eve and Lawrence were merchants, and nothing was less trustworthy than the words of merchants.
Merchants did not need words to convey their true intentions.
"Did you have a worthwhile conversation?" Kieman asked upon their return to his room, where he did not look up from the parchment over which he leaned. His cheek had traces of ink on it.
"Oh, indeed. Miss Eve is quite a conversationalist."
Kieman signed the paper with swiftness that was audible, then passed it off to his underling and turned to the next one. The missives surely ranged from information collection to negotiations, to threats and pleas.
The larger the scale of something, the vaster its power. But that was nothing to the havoc that could be wreaked when it changed direction.
"Will the trade I mediated be canceled?"
Kieman was at the utter limits of his ability as he read letters and prepared their replies, but his activity ceased at Lawrence's question. The question seemed to require him to use his head a bit.
"Suppose you lock a baker away in your own shop, but then you go to his to buy bread. Would you consider that a problem of theology?"
"So long as there are money and goods, you don't need another person there to conduct business."
"That's true, but we must discover whether there is actually bread waiting to bought. We can always let the baker return to his bakery, but by that point there's no way to be sure he doesn't hold a grudge. We heard he'd bought poison from another shop, you see, so in a panic we locked him away, and..."
"And you'll know whether the poison was bought to kill mice or mixed in with the bread only when you actually eat it."
Kieman's hand scratched over the parchment again, and he finally looked up at Lawrence. "Or when the mice die."
He had locked up a dangerous individual in order to keep a difficult situation from getting worse. That was the sort of idea that only Kieman, who controlled so many people, could come up with.
He couldn't try to torture the truth out of Eve, because depending on the circumstances, injuring her could mean danger for him. But in complicated situations, even Holo would agree that eliminating the source of the problem was the right choice.
"In any case, the wolf seems to like you, so do please mind your own safety. You seem to have taken certain precautions at least." He seemed to be wryly making reference to the threats Lawrence had made in order to see Eve.
He wondered what sort of face Kieman would make if he learned that Holo did not actually have possession of any inconvenient documents. The notion made him smile. "Thank you for your consideration," he answered.
"Now then, if you'll show our guests out," said Kieman to his messenger, ending the conversation and setting his pen into motion once more.
The man bowed politely and took Lawrence and Col back to the front entrance. All entering guests had to visibly leave. If the numbers didn't match up, it meant without question that something strange was happening.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
And yet she lay down, as though she truly intended to sleep. She didn't seem to want to talk anymore, and Lawrence had heard enough.
Whether the guard was one of Kieman's men or had been newly hired, he seemed to have a strong sense of professionalism, and with a quick nod, he patted Lawrence down.
As Lawrence was receiving his dagger from the man, Col stared hard at Lawrence, either unable or unwilling to understand the exchange they had just had.
Lawrence put his hand on the boy's head and said nothing.
Then, as they left the room, he turned and left Eve with one final statement.
"Sleep well."
Eve raised her hand casually in response, but the gesture was strangely memorable.
When they emerged from underground, Lawrence and Col met with the messenger's glare. He had probably heard their entire conversation and would report everything to Kieman, but Lawrence doubted any of it would be of any use to him.
Both Eve and Lawrence were merchants, and nothing was less trustworthy than the words of merchants.
Merchants did not need words to convey their true intentions.
"Did you have a worthwhile conversation?" Kieman asked upon their return to his room, where he did not look up from the parchment over which he leaned. His cheek had traces of ink on it.
"Oh, indeed. Miss Eve is quite a conversationalist."
Kieman signed the paper with swiftness that was audible, then passed it off to his underling and turned to the next one. The missives surely ranged from information collection to negotiations, to threats and pleas.
The larger the scale of something, the vaster its power. But that was nothing to the havoc that could be wreaked when it changed direction.
"Will the trade I mediated be canceled?"
Kieman was at the utter limits of his ability as he read letters and prepared their replies, but his activity ceased at Lawrence's question. The question seemed to require him to use his head a bit.
"Suppose you lock a baker away in your own shop, but then you go to his to buy bread. Would you consider that a problem of theology?"
"So long as there are money and goods, you don't need another person there to conduct business."
"That's true, but we must discover whether there is actually bread waiting to bought. We can always let the baker return to his bakery, but by that point there's no way to be sure he doesn't hold a grudge. We heard he'd bought poison from another shop, you see, so in a panic we locked him away, and..."
"And you'll know whether the poison was bought to kill mice or mixed in with the bread only when you actually eat it."
Kieman's hand scratched over the parchment again, and he finally looked up at Lawrence. "Or when the mice die."
He had locked up a dangerous individual in order to keep a difficult situation from getting worse. That was the sort of idea that only Kieman, who controlled so many people, could come up with.
He couldn't try to torture the truth out of Eve, because depending on the circumstances, injuring her could mean danger for him. But in complicated situations, even Holo would agree that eliminating the source of the problem was the right choice.
"In any case, the wolf seems to like you, so do please mind your own safety. You seem to have taken certain precautions at least." He seemed to be wryly making reference to the threats Lawrence had made in order to see Eve.
He wondered what sort of face Kieman would make if he learned that Holo did not actually have possession of any inconvenient documents. The notion made him smile. "Thank you for your consideration," he answered.
"Now then, if you'll show our guests out," said Kieman to his messenger, ending the conversation and setting his pen into motion once more.
The man bowed politely and took Lawrence and Col back to the front entrance. All entering guests had to visibly leave. If the numbers didn't match up, it meant without question that something strange was happening.

Output:
The two guards each looked furtively at Lawrence out of the corners of their eyes.
Lawrence made a show of straightening his collar. "Thank you for your fine work."
After putting the church behind them, Lawrence and Col did not return to the inn, instead making for a corner on a street in the smithing district, where blacksmiths made daggers and horseshoes. The shop there produced forty or fifty daggers per week, and even in towns some distance away, it was common to see blades with its name upon them.
Lawrence and Col entered the shop without a word. Lawrence was deep in thought, and Col seemed not to want to speak.
For travelers without money, death was unfortunately a common occurrence—from sickness, hunger, age, or even accidental injury. Whatever the reason, it was not rare for them to embark on the final, eternal journey.
And yet Col's hardened face told of his inability to accept that such a journey awaited Eve.
"Does it anger you?" Lawrence asked, which made Col hesitate, then shake his head—but after a few moments, he nodded.
"It's only because of Holo's and my selfishness that you're in this situation. No one will blame you if you leave." Lawrence explained the danger they were inviting.
But this time Col shook his head decisively. "If closing my eyes would make unfair things disappear, I would do that."
He represented a third point of view, different from either Lawrence's or Holo's.
Lawrence nodded and faced forward, and Col did likewise. And yet the boy still seemed to have trouble confronting reality.
"Miss Eve, she...she can still be saved, can't she?"
Many merchants loved to count their chickens before they hatched, but found it still difficult to make hasty promises. "At the very least, that's what I'm hoping and working for."
Lawrence wouldn't be surprised if his words sounded like a dodge, but they contained many shades of meaning.
Eve had said there was only one way for her to survive, and that was for Reynolds to gather sufficient funds to buy the narwhal outright, either for himself or for the northerners.
In that situation alone the deal would collapse into a simple exchange of goods, and like a burglar frightened into sudden silence by a sound, Kieman would gradually begin the work of cleaning up afterward.
But that path was not lit by as much as a single lamp, and the way through was cloaked in darkness.
The state of Reynolds's shop was the proof of that, and one didn't have to be from Kerube to guess at the condition of his coin purse.
The odds were one in a thousand. Maybe one in ten thousand.
"So his scheme with the copper coin boxes...it won't be enough?
Col had been the one to discover Reynolds's manipulation of the crates carrying the copper coins shipped down the Roam River. The number he received was different from the number he shipped—he sent out more than he received.
"About all we can imagine there is that he's avoiding paying taxes on the number of boxes he imports. It won't be enough to buy the narwhal."
***
Col looked down, as though stewing in a sea of thought.
Lawrence knew that fixating on one thing to the exclusion of all others was a bad habit of his, so when he saw such a perfect example of that very same trait right in front of him, it made it harder to correct.
"It's important to think hard about these things, but..."
"Huh?"
"First we have to protect ourselves. That's the predicament we're in now."
Lawrence nudged Col forward, urging him on, and once Col understood, he started running.
The boy was too honest. If Lawrence had explained everything to him, his trepidation at coming to this place would have been all too obvious.
For a craft district, the streets in the blacksmiths' quarter were quite wide, and being frequently used to transport heavy materials, their paving was of good quality. In the twisting, crowded streets elsewhere, locals could navigate much more quickly. But on fine pavement and easily traveled streets, it was travelers themselves who were swifter.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
The two guards each looked furtively at Lawrence out of the corners of their eyes.
Lawrence made a show of straightening his collar. "Thank you for your fine work."
After putting the church behind them, Lawrence and Col did not return to the inn, instead making for a corner on a street in the smithing district, where blacksmiths made daggers and horseshoes. The shop there produced forty or fifty daggers per week, and even in towns some distance away, it was common to see blades with its name upon them.
Lawrence and Col entered the shop without a word. Lawrence was deep in thought, and Col seemed not to want to speak.
For travelers without money, death was unfortunately a common occurrence—from sickness, hunger, age, or even accidental injury. Whatever the reason, it was not rare for them to embark on the final, eternal journey.
And yet Col's hardened face told of his inability to accept that such a journey awaited Eve.
"Does it anger you?" Lawrence asked, which made Col hesitate, then shake his head—but after a few moments, he nodded.
"It's only because of Holo's and my selfishness that you're in this situation. No one will blame you if you leave." Lawrence explained the danger they were inviting.
But this time Col shook his head decisively. "If closing my eyes would make unfair things disappear, I would do that."
He represented a third point of view, different from either Lawrence's or Holo's.
Lawrence nodded and faced forward, and Col did likewise. And yet the boy still seemed to have trouble confronting reality.
"Miss Eve, she...she can still be saved, can't she?"
Many merchants loved to count their chickens before they hatched, but found it still difficult to make hasty promises. "At the very least, that's what I'm hoping and working for."
Lawrence wouldn't be surprised if his words sounded like a dodge, but they contained many shades of meaning.
Eve had said there was only one way for her to survive, and that was for Reynolds to gather sufficient funds to buy the narwhal outright, either for himself or for the northerners.
In that situation alone the deal would collapse into a simple exchange of goods, and like a burglar frightened into sudden silence by a sound, Kieman would gradually begin the work of cleaning up afterward.
But that path was not lit by as much as a single lamp, and the way through was cloaked in darkness.
The state of Reynolds's shop was the proof of that, and one didn't have to be from Kerube to guess at the condition of his coin purse.
The odds were one in a thousand. Maybe one in ten thousand.
"So his scheme with the copper coin boxes...it won't be enough?
Col had been the one to discover Reynolds's manipulation of the crates carrying the copper coins shipped down the Roam River. The number he received was different from the number he shipped—he sent out more than he received.
"About all we can imagine there is that he's avoiding paying taxes on the number of boxes he imports. It won't be enough to buy the narwhal."
***
Col looked down, as though stewing in a sea of thought.
Lawrence knew that fixating on one thing to the exclusion of all others was a bad habit of his, so when he saw such a perfect example of that very same trait right in front of him, it made it harder to correct.
"It's important to think hard about these things, but..."
"Huh?"
"First we have to protect ourselves. That's the predicament we're in now."
Lawrence nudged Col forward, urging him on, and once Col understood, he started running.
The boy was too honest. If Lawrence had explained everything to him, his trepidation at coming to this place would have been all too obvious.
For a craft district, the streets in the blacksmiths' quarter were quite wide, and being frequently used to transport heavy materials, their paving was of good quality. In the twisting, crowded streets elsewhere, locals could navigate much more quickly. But on fine pavement and easily traveled streets, it was travelers themselves who were swifter.

Output:
"Wait! You bastards!"
It was common enough to see a merchant chasing after a thief—but quite rare to see a thug chasing after a merchant.
The smiths making knives, spoons, files and nails, spoons, and bowls looked up from their polishing and hammering in curiosity.
A kidnapping could hardly take place while others watched.
By the time Lawrence and Col dashed out of the smithing district, exhaling white puffs of breath, their pursuers were suddenly nowhere to be seen.
But that didn't mean they had given up. They were surely using their knowledge of the town to circle around and head Lawrence off.
Col looked up at Lawrence like a loyal sheepdog waiting for a command, but of course, he also anticipated what was coming.
"Soon, I'd think."
And just as Lawrence spoke, a short, thin beggar appeared from an alley ahead of them.
"Ah—"
No sooner did Col utter the sound than he and Lawrence ran after the beggar. Saying nothing, the beggar disappeared back into the alley.
Unlike the streets they had just been on, these were complicated and twisty and fairly difficult to navigate for those unfamiliar with them. The beggar made good, easy speed, and Lawrence and Col were pressed just keeping up.
They seemed to follow forever, and just as Lawrence began to break a sweat, the beggar stopped and looked back at them.
"'Tis far enough, aye?" Holo's breath was short, but under the ragged coat she'd borrowed from Col, her face was happy. No doubt such chases got her wolf's blood rushing. "So I take it you were able to see the vixen?"
"She seemed better than I'd guessed."
"My, my. Still—" said Holo, peering at Col, who had taken back his coat and promptly covered his head with it. "When you say she was well, was she like this one here?"
A tangled knot that was impossible to untie could cause problems, and there was no telling what its threads might be connected to. It made sense to simply dispose of it.
Holo pinched Col's right cheek, and he smiled.
"She was tenacious yet somehow upstanding, I'll bet."
"...You don't seem to hate Eve as much as you claim to."
At these words, Holo grinned meaningfully, and she gestured to the north with her chin. "'Twas a riot at the port, as though a bonfire had been kindled."
"Did someone make a move?" It was Col who asked the question, his cheek still midpinch.
Lawrence felt bad for thinking it, but having someone around who was more nervous than he was made him feel calmer. The situation was fluid, and no matter how wary they were, if they simply waited around, their chance to bring about the best outcome would vanish.
But if they saw their chance, they would have to take it. Lawrence nodded, prompting Holo to continue.
"Reynolds seemed so humble the other night, but he's quite the actor. Now he's full of boasting. The oppressed can be strong—they wish to pay back in full those who've made them suffer, after all."
"He was negotiating? With the southerners?"
"He kept railing that he was a customer, demanded to be shown what he was buying. I've no particular hatred for the people of this side, but I had to laugh at their nervousness."
Lawrence and Col shared a look. If Reynolds wanted to see the goods, it was clear where he would go next.
"Ah, I suppose your ears cannot hear them. They're three blocks away from us."
"But does that mean he's actually raised the money to buy it?" asked Lawrence.
Holo tilted her head, and despite what she was doing to him, Col's gaze was far away. Just as his face wrinkled in thought, something occurred to Lawrence.
"D-does he have the money?" Col was the first to speak up.
In the dark alley, Holo's ears swiveled as she answered. "'Twas a war of words. He demanded to see the goods, while they demanded to see the money. They were out of their seats in anger, and this Reynolds fellow matched them every time."
"Mr. Lawrence—"
"Yes, but...why? What could this mean?"


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"Wait! You bastards!"
It was common enough to see a merchant chasing after a thief—but quite rare to see a thug chasing after a merchant.
The smiths making knives, spoons, files and nails, spoons, and bowls looked up from their polishing and hammering in curiosity.
A kidnapping could hardly take place while others watched.
By the time Lawrence and Col dashed out of the smithing district, exhaling white puffs of breath, their pursuers were suddenly nowhere to be seen.
But that didn't mean they had given up. They were surely using their knowledge of the town to circle around and head Lawrence off.
Col looked up at Lawrence like a loyal sheepdog waiting for a command, but of course, he also anticipated what was coming.
"Soon, I'd think."
And just as Lawrence spoke, a short, thin beggar appeared from an alley ahead of them.
"Ah—"
No sooner did Col utter the sound than he and Lawrence ran after the beggar. Saying nothing, the beggar disappeared back into the alley.
Unlike the streets they had just been on, these were complicated and twisty and fairly difficult to navigate for those unfamiliar with them. The beggar made good, easy speed, and Lawrence and Col were pressed just keeping up.
They seemed to follow forever, and just as Lawrence began to break a sweat, the beggar stopped and looked back at them.
"'Tis far enough, aye?" Holo's breath was short, but under the ragged coat she'd borrowed from Col, her face was happy. No doubt such chases got her wolf's blood rushing. "So I take it you were able to see the vixen?"
"She seemed better than I'd guessed."
"My, my. Still—" said Holo, peering at Col, who had taken back his coat and promptly covered his head with it. "When you say she was well, was she like this one here?"
A tangled knot that was impossible to untie could cause problems, and there was no telling what its threads might be connected to. It made sense to simply dispose of it.
Holo pinched Col's right cheek, and he smiled.
"She was tenacious yet somehow upstanding, I'll bet."
"...You don't seem to hate Eve as much as you claim to."
At these words, Holo grinned meaningfully, and she gestured to the north with her chin. "'Twas a riot at the port, as though a bonfire had been kindled."
"Did someone make a move?" It was Col who asked the question, his cheek still midpinch.
Lawrence felt bad for thinking it, but having someone around who was more nervous than he was made him feel calmer. The situation was fluid, and no matter how wary they were, if they simply waited around, their chance to bring about the best outcome would vanish.
But if they saw their chance, they would have to take it. Lawrence nodded, prompting Holo to continue.
"Reynolds seemed so humble the other night, but he's quite the actor. Now he's full of boasting. The oppressed can be strong—they wish to pay back in full those who've made them suffer, after all."
"He was negotiating? With the southerners?"
"He kept railing that he was a customer, demanded to be shown what he was buying. I've no particular hatred for the people of this side, but I had to laugh at their nervousness."
Lawrence and Col shared a look. If Reynolds wanted to see the goods, it was clear where he would go next.
"Ah, I suppose your ears cannot hear them. They're three blocks away from us."
"But does that mean he's actually raised the money to buy it?" asked Lawrence.
Holo tilted her head, and despite what she was doing to him, Col's gaze was far away. Just as his face wrinkled in thought, something occurred to Lawrence.
"D-does he have the money?" Col was the first to speak up.
In the dark alley, Holo's ears swiveled as she answered. "'Twas a war of words. He demanded to see the goods, while they demanded to see the money. They were out of their seats in anger, and this Reynolds fellow matched them every time."
"Mr. Lawrence—"
"Yes, but...why? What could this mean?"

Output:
"It would be strange for him to have the coin. No matter how quickly he's been able to rally support, it still takes time to turn that into cash. So has he had it hidden away all this time?"
If so, there was no reason to wait until things had gotten so out of hand. As it was there was enough risk of someone like Kieman taking some kind of irreparable independent action.
And then there was an issue Lawrence had long considered ever since they had started chasing the wolf bones—moving a large amount of cash was like moving a giant. Someone was always sure to notice.
So how could he have collected enough money to buy the narwhal without anyone realizing it?
Lawrence was well aware of how clever town merchants could be. They watched over the ports, always careful to note who was dealing in how much goods. Goods were physical things, and physical things could be observed. Which meant that if Kieman determined that Reynolds didn't have the money that had to be the truth.
"I know not how. But 'twill be simple enough to discover the truth." Holo stretched and took a deep breath.
Her eyes narrowed, and she looked off into the distance as though she were reminiscing, although Lawrence was sure Reynolds was in that same direction.
"We know their move. They will go to the church."
"Why? How does he have the money? Whose is it?"
Kieman was at the church; so was Eve.
What sort of farce would happen when Reynolds's party arrived in force, dragging crates of money with them?
Money was money, no matter what—so the saying went—but that simply wasn't true. What kind of money it was, whose it was, its provenance—these things were all of deep importance.
Kieman and the others had to be terrified.
Already busy with destroying evidence, now their subordinates were probably fleeing with important documents like rats from a sinking ship. And when it came out that Eve was being held in the church cellar, who would be in the worst position?
Naturally that would be Kieman and Kieman's superior, Chief Jeeta.
It was impossible for Reynolds not to have realized the secret deal between Eve and Kieman. And as the backbone of the northern landlords' support, he would have learned of Eve's sudden disappearance. A bit of thought would make her location clear, at which point all he had to decide was what sort of hole to drop them all in.
Being completely on the defensive, Kieman and the rest could do nothing but run. Lawrence wondered if he had already dragged Eve out of the cellar and begun running her through the alleyways.
But Kieman wasn't the only one with spies and lookouts all over the town. And how many of those were foolish enough to overlook important figures like Kieman and Eve if they were exposed? If they were discovered escaping, excuses would be less and less effective.
This was what it meant to have one's back against the wall.
"Mr. Lawrence, at this rate, Miss Eve will—" Col cried, grabbing Lawrence's shoulder.
Kieman and his comrades were out of time. They had no way to discover whose money it was that Reynolds held. So what action could he take in order to protect himself?
The answer was simple. He'd surround himself with only those who would agree on a story with him.
There was no chance Eve would be among that group.
"I see three paths."
The transformed wolf who dwelled within wheat yet refused to be called a god narrowed her eyes at the pinprick of torchlight that lit the end of the alleyway.
"One, you can give up. Two, ask me for help. Three—"
"—Go see for ourselves."
Holo smiled an unfriendly smile. "Go...and do what?"
"Things will work out one way or another. When you're cornered, nothing's more powerful than a little misdirection. With no way to be sure of the truth one way or another, whoever makes the most irrefutable argument wins."
"If you can convince Kieman, the vixen may yet be saved."


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"It would be strange for him to have the coin. No matter how quickly he's been able to rally support, it still takes time to turn that into cash. So has he had it hidden away all this time?"
If so, there was no reason to wait until things had gotten so out of hand. As it was there was enough risk of someone like Kieman taking some kind of irreparable independent action.
And then there was an issue Lawrence had long considered ever since they had started chasing the wolf bones—moving a large amount of cash was like moving a giant. Someone was always sure to notice.
So how could he have collected enough money to buy the narwhal without anyone realizing it?
Lawrence was well aware of how clever town merchants could be. They watched over the ports, always careful to note who was dealing in how much goods. Goods were physical things, and physical things could be observed. Which meant that if Kieman determined that Reynolds didn't have the money that had to be the truth.
"I know not how. But 'twill be simple enough to discover the truth." Holo stretched and took a deep breath.
Her eyes narrowed, and she looked off into the distance as though she were reminiscing, although Lawrence was sure Reynolds was in that same direction.
"We know their move. They will go to the church."
"Why? How does he have the money? Whose is it?"
Kieman was at the church; so was Eve.
What sort of farce would happen when Reynolds's party arrived in force, dragging crates of money with them?
Money was money, no matter what—so the saying went—but that simply wasn't true. What kind of money it was, whose it was, its provenance—these things were all of deep importance.
Kieman and the others had to be terrified.
Already busy with destroying evidence, now their subordinates were probably fleeing with important documents like rats from a sinking ship. And when it came out that Eve was being held in the church cellar, who would be in the worst position?
Naturally that would be Kieman and Kieman's superior, Chief Jeeta.
It was impossible for Reynolds not to have realized the secret deal between Eve and Kieman. And as the backbone of the northern landlords' support, he would have learned of Eve's sudden disappearance. A bit of thought would make her location clear, at which point all he had to decide was what sort of hole to drop them all in.
Being completely on the defensive, Kieman and the rest could do nothing but run. Lawrence wondered if he had already dragged Eve out of the cellar and begun running her through the alleyways.
But Kieman wasn't the only one with spies and lookouts all over the town. And how many of those were foolish enough to overlook important figures like Kieman and Eve if they were exposed? If they were discovered escaping, excuses would be less and less effective.
This was what it meant to have one's back against the wall.
"Mr. Lawrence, at this rate, Miss Eve will—" Col cried, grabbing Lawrence's shoulder.
Kieman and his comrades were out of time. They had no way to discover whose money it was that Reynolds held. So what action could he take in order to protect himself?
The answer was simple. He'd surround himself with only those who would agree on a story with him.
There was no chance Eve would be among that group.
"I see three paths."
The transformed wolf who dwelled within wheat yet refused to be called a god narrowed her eyes at the pinprick of torchlight that lit the end of the alleyway.
"One, you can give up. Two, ask me for help. Three—"
"—Go see for ourselves."
Holo smiled an unfriendly smile. "Go...and do what?"
"Things will work out one way or another. When you're cornered, nothing's more powerful than a little misdirection. With no way to be sure of the truth one way or another, whoever makes the most irrefutable argument wins."
"If you can convince Kieman, the vixen may yet be saved."

Output:
"So are you sure?"
Lawrence couldn't look Col in the eyes. Growing up meant learning how to deceive one's own self above all others.
"Even if not, we have to move," said Lawrence.
"But that's—"
"Not every problem has a satisfactory solution."
At Holo's words, Col's eyes filled up with tears. "But, but then, Miss Holo, you could—"
"If you were to break into someplace with so many people, could you make sure that they were all unharmed?" Lawrence asked Holo, carefully lowering his voice.
At his question, she scratched her cheek and cocked her head. "If the building does not collapse once I smash through the stained glass, aye. Else..."
Lawrence recalled the church's great bell tower. Anything so tall, be they toy blocks or brick, sacrificed stability for height. If the building fell, even Holo might not escape safely, and many people would surely be trapped in the rubble.
That said, attacking the front entrance of the church would put them in front of countless spears.
Holo was not a god.
She was not.
"We can still run now, if we wish. There are good and bad in your pack, and not all of them are your enemies, aye?"
Betting on that possibility certainly was an option.
When Kieman's plans became public, he would certainly be considered the ringleader. Lawrence was merely a poor traveling merchant he'd used. Lawrence surely had comrades who would support him as such.
***
Wilting with despair, Col wasn't even bothering to dry his tears.
The boy had journeyed south in an attempt to save his own village. To do that would have taken not just firm resolve and strength, but also greater kindness as well.
Eve had looked at Col as though he shone, and it was that light that caused her to treat him so kindly.
"There are many options we can choose, but only one outcome can result."
"Should we not then decide the outcome we want and make our choices thereby?"
Travelers sometimes had to leave behind belongings and opportunities and even friends or injured people they encountered by the roadside. Sometimes they pulled at one's hair or clung to one's clothes.
So what of Eve?
Lawrence thought back to her strange honesty—she had said she was tired and slept, lying down right there on the spot.
He could guess at what would happen.
There were always infinite choices, but there could only ever be a single result. Dramatic turnarounds were uncommon, because the natural progression of events was a difficult force to resist.
"If Reynolds were handling shipments of gold coins..."
"Hmm?"
"...Using the method Col discovered, he could've put aside quite a lot of capital."
Lawrence had once been attacked by a pack of wolves on a snowy mountain. He and his party had had to leave a friend with a broken leg behind and escape into a woodcutter's cabin. Unable to stay quiet, they had chattered the night away, faces flushed as though they'd been drinking, yet there was no wine.
"Taxes are no more than twenty or thirty percent of the value of the goods. Still, twenty percent of a crate of gold coins is a huge amount of money. Of course, the coin counts are much stricter for gold, so he couldn't have used the same method, I don't think."
Lawrence held Col's shoulders, and with his eyes gestured for Holo to start walking. If they were going to flee, they would need to take advantage of the chaos.
"Hmm. The scheme Col noticed—'twould work better the other way, I should think."
"The other way?" Lawrence asked.
Holo stepped over a stick that was leaning against a wall. "Aye," she answered. "He brings in sixty crates, then sends along fifty-eight. If he keeps two full crates of copper coins, that's quite a bit of profit, is it not?"
"Yes, true. Or he could receive sixty and send sixty along."
"But that would just amount to breaking even, would it not?"


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"So are you sure?"
Lawrence couldn't look Col in the eyes. Growing up meant learning how to deceive one's own self above all others.
"Even if not, we have to move," said Lawrence.
"But that's—"
"Not every problem has a satisfactory solution."
At Holo's words, Col's eyes filled up with tears. "But, but then, Miss Holo, you could—"
"If you were to break into someplace with so many people, could you make sure that they were all unharmed?" Lawrence asked Holo, carefully lowering his voice.
At his question, she scratched her cheek and cocked her head. "If the building does not collapse once I smash through the stained glass, aye. Else..."
Lawrence recalled the church's great bell tower. Anything so tall, be they toy blocks or brick, sacrificed stability for height. If the building fell, even Holo might not escape safely, and many people would surely be trapped in the rubble.
That said, attacking the front entrance of the church would put them in front of countless spears.
Holo was not a god.
She was not.
"We can still run now, if we wish. There are good and bad in your pack, and not all of them are your enemies, aye?"
Betting on that possibility certainly was an option.
When Kieman's plans became public, he would certainly be considered the ringleader. Lawrence was merely a poor traveling merchant he'd used. Lawrence surely had comrades who would support him as such.
***
Wilting with despair, Col wasn't even bothering to dry his tears.
The boy had journeyed south in an attempt to save his own village. To do that would have taken not just firm resolve and strength, but also greater kindness as well.
Eve had looked at Col as though he shone, and it was that light that caused her to treat him so kindly.
"There are many options we can choose, but only one outcome can result."
"Should we not then decide the outcome we want and make our choices thereby?"
Travelers sometimes had to leave behind belongings and opportunities and even friends or injured people they encountered by the roadside. Sometimes they pulled at one's hair or clung to one's clothes.
So what of Eve?
Lawrence thought back to her strange honesty—she had said she was tired and slept, lying down right there on the spot.
He could guess at what would happen.
There were always infinite choices, but there could only ever be a single result. Dramatic turnarounds were uncommon, because the natural progression of events was a difficult force to resist.
"If Reynolds were handling shipments of gold coins..."
"Hmm?"
"...Using the method Col discovered, he could've put aside quite a lot of capital."
Lawrence had once been attacked by a pack of wolves on a snowy mountain. He and his party had had to leave a friend with a broken leg behind and escape into a woodcutter's cabin. Unable to stay quiet, they had chattered the night away, faces flushed as though they'd been drinking, yet there was no wine.
"Taxes are no more than twenty or thirty percent of the value of the goods. Still, twenty percent of a crate of gold coins is a huge amount of money. Of course, the coin counts are much stricter for gold, so he couldn't have used the same method, I don't think."
Lawrence held Col's shoulders, and with his eyes gestured for Holo to start walking. If they were going to flee, they would need to take advantage of the chaos.
"Hmm. The scheme Col noticed—'twould work better the other way, I should think."
"The other way?" Lawrence asked.
Holo stepped over a stick that was leaning against a wall. "Aye," she answered. "He brings in sixty crates, then sends along fifty-eight. If he keeps two full crates of copper coins, that's quite a bit of profit, is it not?"
"Yes, true. Or he could receive sixty and send sixty along."
"But that would just amount to breaking even, would it not?"

Output:
So how would that work? Lawrence wondered to himself.
"Huh?" Col said hastily, looking up at them.
The only reason Lawrence was not surprised by this was because he was too preoccupied with the hole he had just discovered in his reasoning.
"I just said something odd, didn't I?"
Holo looked back and forth between Col and Lawrence quizzically.
Lawrence thought back to his own words. Frantically.
Reynolds's copper coin–importing scheme would yield only a small profit. To make a large profit, he would have to hit either the Debau Company or the Winfiel kingdom with a significant loss.
"The absolute number of copper coins won't change. What changes is the number of crates, the tax, and...and?" The last word stuck in Lawrence's throat out of sheer frustration as he knew he was missing something obvious.
Col was almost gagging, as though he had a fish bone caught in his throat. By the time Lawrence realized it was Col's sheer nervousness that was stopping him from speaking, the answer exploded into his head with a flash.
"The payment! If he can't reverse the money he's trading, he just does it with the payment itself! The Debau Company wouldn't be troubled at all! Because—"
"—If the accounts all balance in the end, there's no problem. No problem at all! I wonder what instructions have come downriver to Reynolds? That would explain why he could have a huge amount of cash somewhere yet hesitate to use it! That's it!"
Everything he had seen and heard in Kerube finally connected as though by a single thread. It explained how Reynolds had been able to prepare enough money to buy the narwhal as well as all the incongruities Lawrence had felt.
The money was Reynolds's.
Even if he did have someone backing him, they were far, far away. They wouldn't have a single notion of what was happening in Kerube. By the time word reached them, everything would be over, which was exactly why Reynolds was placing his pawns in the church.
If he could gain just cause, all would be forgiven.
It wasn't amusing, but Lawrence couldn't stop the smile that spread over his face. He wasn't going to let Reynolds snatch all the profit away before his very eyes.
Everything was within his reach. And the time to grasp it was now!
"Let's go," said Lawrence and started running. "Come, what are you—" He looked over his shoulder and called out.
"I am not going," said Holo, standing and smiling.
"Now of all times? It's fine! I'm not jumping to conclusions—the reasoning is true."
Holo shook her head. "'Tis not what I mean," she said.
"So—" What? Lawrence didn't finish his sentence.
"I've no wish to see you parading about in front of other females," said Holo like a bashful maiden, sticking her tongue out as she smiled.
Where had she learned to act like that?
Lawrence could only smile, as she wanted him to.
"I suppose I can't say I'm shocked."
"Mm. You can leave me behind and run off, can't you?"
Lawrence closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Eve's words had been heavy with meaning.
Mere flowers would not be enough of a present for Holo.
"Col."
"Yes! Leave it to me!" Col's tear-streaked smile was genuine. If he had to leave Holo in someone else's care and feel security rather than jealousy, Col was the only person he had.
"Heh. I suppose 'tis not such a poor arrangement." Holo smiled and exhaled a short sigh. "Now then, you should go. They may be strutting around as though 'tis a festival day, but they'll arrive soon."
Understanding her meaning, Lawrence turned on his heel and ran, though he knew it was dangerous to turn his back on someone in an alley. He looked over his shoulder.
There were Holo and Col, waving at him.
A moment's glance was enough. Lawrence ran. He ran to the church.
Emerging from an alleyway in front of the church, Lawrence found it to be oddly busy.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
So how would that work? Lawrence wondered to himself.
"Huh?" Col said hastily, looking up at them.
The only reason Lawrence was not surprised by this was because he was too preoccupied with the hole he had just discovered in his reasoning.
"I just said something odd, didn't I?"
Holo looked back and forth between Col and Lawrence quizzically.
Lawrence thought back to his own words. Frantically.
Reynolds's copper coin–importing scheme would yield only a small profit. To make a large profit, he would have to hit either the Debau Company or the Winfiel kingdom with a significant loss.
"The absolute number of copper coins won't change. What changes is the number of crates, the tax, and...and?" The last word stuck in Lawrence's throat out of sheer frustration as he knew he was missing something obvious.
Col was almost gagging, as though he had a fish bone caught in his throat. By the time Lawrence realized it was Col's sheer nervousness that was stopping him from speaking, the answer exploded into his head with a flash.
"The payment! If he can't reverse the money he's trading, he just does it with the payment itself! The Debau Company wouldn't be troubled at all! Because—"
"—If the accounts all balance in the end, there's no problem. No problem at all! I wonder what instructions have come downriver to Reynolds? That would explain why he could have a huge amount of cash somewhere yet hesitate to use it! That's it!"
Everything he had seen and heard in Kerube finally connected as though by a single thread. It explained how Reynolds had been able to prepare enough money to buy the narwhal as well as all the incongruities Lawrence had felt.
The money was Reynolds's.
Even if he did have someone backing him, they were far, far away. They wouldn't have a single notion of what was happening in Kerube. By the time word reached them, everything would be over, which was exactly why Reynolds was placing his pawns in the church.
If he could gain just cause, all would be forgiven.
It wasn't amusing, but Lawrence couldn't stop the smile that spread over his face. He wasn't going to let Reynolds snatch all the profit away before his very eyes.
Everything was within his reach. And the time to grasp it was now!
"Let's go," said Lawrence and started running. "Come, what are you—" He looked over his shoulder and called out.
"I am not going," said Holo, standing and smiling.
"Now of all times? It's fine! I'm not jumping to conclusions—the reasoning is true."
Holo shook her head. "'Tis not what I mean," she said.
"So—" What? Lawrence didn't finish his sentence.
"I've no wish to see you parading about in front of other females," said Holo like a bashful maiden, sticking her tongue out as she smiled.
Where had she learned to act like that?
Lawrence could only smile, as she wanted him to.
"I suppose I can't say I'm shocked."
"Mm. You can leave me behind and run off, can't you?"
Lawrence closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Eve's words had been heavy with meaning.
Mere flowers would not be enough of a present for Holo.
"Col."
"Yes! Leave it to me!" Col's tear-streaked smile was genuine. If he had to leave Holo in someone else's care and feel security rather than jealousy, Col was the only person he had.
"Heh. I suppose 'tis not such a poor arrangement." Holo smiled and exhaled a short sigh. "Now then, you should go. They may be strutting around as though 'tis a festival day, but they'll arrive soon."
Understanding her meaning, Lawrence turned on his heel and ran, though he knew it was dangerous to turn his back on someone in an alley. He looked over his shoulder.
There were Holo and Col, waving at him.
A moment's glance was enough. Lawrence ran. He ran to the church.
Emerging from an alleyway in front of the church, Lawrence found it to be oddly busy.

Output:
Which meant the space in front of the church was clear, as the crowd waited for the arrival of Reynolds and his cohorts.
It was indeed the calm before the storm.
And in that calm, Lawrence walked straight up the open path and made directly for the church.
***
At first neither the guards nor the onlookers understood what was happening. They seemed to think he was some sort of formal messenger.
All eyes were on Lawrence, but no one moved, and it was only as he went to enter the church that a single guard finally shouted at him from behind.
But Lawrence did not, of course, stop.
The door was already wide-open in anticipation of Reynolds's arrival, and once within it, he turned immediately right, heading down the hallway.
Farther in he saw what he thought were letters dropped in midcarry, illuminated by the candles in the walls.
The door to Kieman's room was half-open. Lawrence pushed unhesitatingly past it and went inside, but no one was there.
Suddenly attacked by a wave of vertigo, Lawrence realized how quickly events were moving. Please let me be in time, he cried out in his mind, running to the stairs that led into the cellar.
He saw a faint light from farther down.
Someone had to be there, but the silence worried him. He started descending the stairs, hoping against hope.
Then, perhaps having heard his footsteps, a man emerged and started coming up. His clothes had blood on them, the sight of which made the hairs on Lawrence's body stand up.
"Y-you—"
The man was shorter than Lawrence and the stairs were steep, and Lawrence used both of these to their full advantage. He dug his nails into the man's face, then with a dull thud slammed his head against the wall. The man then slid to the floor.
In his hand was a silver dagger, which Lawrence hadn't noticed before.
Lawrence kept running, pushing the iron cellar door open and bounding in.
At the sight that greeted him, he shouted with all his might. "Please, stop!"
All but one flinched in surprise.
Kieman was the first to turn around, then the man who had guarded the room. Eve's head was held fast by the man's thick arms, a blank expression on her face.
Her arms were bound behind her, her legs tied; perhaps they wanted to avoid a struggle. Perhaps they had chosen not to slit her throat because of the bloody mess that would result.
"Please, wait! There's no need for this!"
The guard's eyes went to Kieman, and Lawrence could tell his grip loosened slightly.
Eve wasn't dead yet.
Just as Lawrence came to this realization, Kieman came at him, his face blank and his hair wild. "Who put you to this?! Who paid you off?! Tell me, merchant!"
Kieman's composure was gone, and when he grabbed Lawrence's collar, Lawrence saw that his thumbnail was chewed ragged. But Kieman was not his enemy, not now.
Lawrence lowered his stance and let Kieman's energy take him over, grabbing his waist and flipping him end to end.
Kieman saw the floor and ceiling trade places in an instant. "Guh—" he croaked like a frog, struggling under Lawrence's weight.
"You've got to release Eve! Immediately!" Lawrence said, straddling Kieman and holding a dagger to his throat.
The guard had no grudge with Eve but was probably not unfamiliar with the grisly business at hand. Now Lawrence just had to wait for him to decide what he would do. Lawrence never took his eyes off Kieman for a moment, and eventually the guard decided that a turnaround was impossible.
In the corner of his vision, Lawrence saw the man release Eve, raising both hands lightly.
"Is she breathing?" Lawrence asked.
"She should just be unconscious," came the answer.
It wasn't hard for someone experienced with strangulation to first render an opponent unconscious before taking his or her life. How long the flame of one's life stayed lit was up to the individual.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Which meant the space in front of the church was clear, as the crowd waited for the arrival of Reynolds and his cohorts.
It was indeed the calm before the storm.
And in that calm, Lawrence walked straight up the open path and made directly for the church.
***
At first neither the guards nor the onlookers understood what was happening. They seemed to think he was some sort of formal messenger.
All eyes were on Lawrence, but no one moved, and it was only as he went to enter the church that a single guard finally shouted at him from behind.
But Lawrence did not, of course, stop.
The door was already wide-open in anticipation of Reynolds's arrival, and once within it, he turned immediately right, heading down the hallway.
Farther in he saw what he thought were letters dropped in midcarry, illuminated by the candles in the walls.
The door to Kieman's room was half-open. Lawrence pushed unhesitatingly past it and went inside, but no one was there.
Suddenly attacked by a wave of vertigo, Lawrence realized how quickly events were moving. Please let me be in time, he cried out in his mind, running to the stairs that led into the cellar.
He saw a faint light from farther down.
Someone had to be there, but the silence worried him. He started descending the stairs, hoping against hope.
Then, perhaps having heard his footsteps, a man emerged and started coming up. His clothes had blood on them, the sight of which made the hairs on Lawrence's body stand up.
"Y-you—"
The man was shorter than Lawrence and the stairs were steep, and Lawrence used both of these to their full advantage. He dug his nails into the man's face, then with a dull thud slammed his head against the wall. The man then slid to the floor.
In his hand was a silver dagger, which Lawrence hadn't noticed before.
Lawrence kept running, pushing the iron cellar door open and bounding in.
At the sight that greeted him, he shouted with all his might. "Please, stop!"
All but one flinched in surprise.
Kieman was the first to turn around, then the man who had guarded the room. Eve's head was held fast by the man's thick arms, a blank expression on her face.
Her arms were bound behind her, her legs tied; perhaps they wanted to avoid a struggle. Perhaps they had chosen not to slit her throat because of the bloody mess that would result.
"Please, wait! There's no need for this!"
The guard's eyes went to Kieman, and Lawrence could tell his grip loosened slightly.
Eve wasn't dead yet.
Just as Lawrence came to this realization, Kieman came at him, his face blank and his hair wild. "Who put you to this?! Who paid you off?! Tell me, merchant!"
Kieman's composure was gone, and when he grabbed Lawrence's collar, Lawrence saw that his thumbnail was chewed ragged. But Kieman was not his enemy, not now.
Lawrence lowered his stance and let Kieman's energy take him over, grabbing his waist and flipping him end to end.
Kieman saw the floor and ceiling trade places in an instant. "Guh—" he croaked like a frog, struggling under Lawrence's weight.
"You've got to release Eve! Immediately!" Lawrence said, straddling Kieman and holding a dagger to his throat.
The guard had no grudge with Eve but was probably not unfamiliar with the grisly business at hand. Now Lawrence just had to wait for him to decide what he would do. Lawrence never took his eyes off Kieman for a moment, and eventually the guard decided that a turnaround was impossible.
In the corner of his vision, Lawrence saw the man release Eve, raising both hands lightly.
"Is she breathing?" Lawrence asked.
"She should just be unconscious," came the answer.
It wasn't hard for someone experienced with strangulation to first render an opponent unconscious before taking his or her life. How long the flame of one's life stayed lit was up to the individual.

Output:
"If Eve's alive, I have some welcome news for you."
"What do you mean?" The guard slapped Eve's face, and she immediately uttered a short groan.
She wasn't dead. Lawrence was genuinely surprised at how relieved he felt to know that someone who had once tried to kill him was still alive.
Kieman seemed to still be suffering, probably because he could hear the sound of a large number of people entering the church. It was only a matter of time before they were found and Eve was brought to Reynolds.
"Mr. Reynolds managed to raise the money on his own."
"That can't be!" Kieman nearly tried to jump to his feet, despite the knife at his throat—that's how shocking the news was.
And yet it was true. It was the only possibility.
"I'm a mere traveling merchant, so I've got my hands full trying to turn my own profit. My interests are opposed to Reynolds's, so I can't let him take everything."
Kieman wore a dubious expression, which wasn't surprising—he didn't understand.
Lawrence turned his gaze away from Kieman and directed it at Eve.
"...What...have you found...?"
It was Eve's hoarse voice that spoke up, as she righted herself with the guard's help. Despite having just been on the verge of death, that was her first question.
"I came here in pursuit of the wolf bones, you see."
And Lawrence told them everything he knew. Both Kieman and Eve were even more capable than Lawrence was at telling lies from truth. And then—
"Please get off me, Mr. Lawrence," said Kieman quietly, looking up at the ceiling.
Eve smiled faintly.
Lawrence did as he was requested, since both of them were merchants of higher status than him.
"Can it be done?" Lawrence sheathed his dagger as Kieman coughed and sat up, tidying his hair and straightening his collar.
"It must be. Of course—" Kieman's gaze fixed upon the person whose life he had very nearly taken, and he continued smoothly. "That is assuming she doesn't betray us."
"Well, there's a chance to make some money."
Eve opened and closed her hand, making a show of rubbing her neck.
"God's face looked sort of like the old man's. I'll have to make sure next time I see him."
"We'll just have to make enough to pay for the trip to heaven."
Once they started moving, they would work quickly. Lawrence knew he could depend on their abilities, since he still remembered how terrified he was when those same abilities were directed at him.
Eve spoke in a reverent voice, befitting someone who had come back to life in a church. "Ah, it's true, we merchants are a mad and sinful lot."
The group that entered the church was a strange one. Reynolds was at its head, followed by a series of retainers that deferentially carried small boxes, which were probably packed with gold coins.
It looked almost like a bride accompanied by her dowry, but what he'd brought into the holy sanctuary were gold coins whose shine defied the glory of God.
From their size, the boxes looked to contain perhaps one hundred coins. And there were fifteen boxes. They had been stacked ostentatiously in front of the narwhal, which in turn was in front of the altar, and before it all stood a proud, boastful Reynolds. He had placed himself where normally only a priest or bishop would stand, and in the pews for the faithful congregation the powerful southerners were assembled.
For merchants as successful as Reynolds, deals valuing thousands of gold coins were not rare. But when they were conducted by movement of physical coins, that was another matter entirely.
Merchants conducted business with verbal and written contracts because hard coin was as rare and valuable as any treasure. And when a large amount of coin was collected in one place, word would always get out. And when those coins were gold, it would always wind up recorded in the money changers' ledgers. So it was hardly surprising to see so many praying figures in the pews, faintly illuminated by the dim candlelight.
Reynolds's attack had been perfectly executed.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"If Eve's alive, I have some welcome news for you."
"What do you mean?" The guard slapped Eve's face, and she immediately uttered a short groan.
She wasn't dead. Lawrence was genuinely surprised at how relieved he felt to know that someone who had once tried to kill him was still alive.
Kieman seemed to still be suffering, probably because he could hear the sound of a large number of people entering the church. It was only a matter of time before they were found and Eve was brought to Reynolds.
"Mr. Reynolds managed to raise the money on his own."
"That can't be!" Kieman nearly tried to jump to his feet, despite the knife at his throat—that's how shocking the news was.
And yet it was true. It was the only possibility.
"I'm a mere traveling merchant, so I've got my hands full trying to turn my own profit. My interests are opposed to Reynolds's, so I can't let him take everything."
Kieman wore a dubious expression, which wasn't surprising—he didn't understand.
Lawrence turned his gaze away from Kieman and directed it at Eve.
"...What...have you found...?"
It was Eve's hoarse voice that spoke up, as she righted herself with the guard's help. Despite having just been on the verge of death, that was her first question.
"I came here in pursuit of the wolf bones, you see."
And Lawrence told them everything he knew. Both Kieman and Eve were even more capable than Lawrence was at telling lies from truth. And then—
"Please get off me, Mr. Lawrence," said Kieman quietly, looking up at the ceiling.
Eve smiled faintly.
Lawrence did as he was requested, since both of them were merchants of higher status than him.
"Can it be done?" Lawrence sheathed his dagger as Kieman coughed and sat up, tidying his hair and straightening his collar.
"It must be. Of course—" Kieman's gaze fixed upon the person whose life he had very nearly taken, and he continued smoothly. "That is assuming she doesn't betray us."
"Well, there's a chance to make some money."
Eve opened and closed her hand, making a show of rubbing her neck.
"God's face looked sort of like the old man's. I'll have to make sure next time I see him."
"We'll just have to make enough to pay for the trip to heaven."
Once they started moving, they would work quickly. Lawrence knew he could depend on their abilities, since he still remembered how terrified he was when those same abilities were directed at him.
Eve spoke in a reverent voice, befitting someone who had come back to life in a church. "Ah, it's true, we merchants are a mad and sinful lot."
The group that entered the church was a strange one. Reynolds was at its head, followed by a series of retainers that deferentially carried small boxes, which were probably packed with gold coins.
It looked almost like a bride accompanied by her dowry, but what he'd brought into the holy sanctuary were gold coins whose shine defied the glory of God.
From their size, the boxes looked to contain perhaps one hundred coins. And there were fifteen boxes. They had been stacked ostentatiously in front of the narwhal, which in turn was in front of the altar, and before it all stood a proud, boastful Reynolds. He had placed himself where normally only a priest or bishop would stand, and in the pews for the faithful congregation the powerful southerners were assembled.
For merchants as successful as Reynolds, deals valuing thousands of gold coins were not rare. But when they were conducted by movement of physical coins, that was another matter entirely.
Merchants conducted business with verbal and written contracts because hard coin was as rare and valuable as any treasure. And when a large amount of coin was collected in one place, word would always get out. And when those coins were gold, it would always wind up recorded in the money changers' ledgers. So it was hardly surprising to see so many praying figures in the pews, faintly illuminated by the dim candlelight.
Reynolds's attack had been perfectly executed.

Output:
His belly was large, his cheeks jowly. Back in his shabby little trading house, those features had made him seem equally shabby, but now they were signifiers of dignity and power. His voice carried loud and high, like a stage performer giving the performance of his life.
"As the second master of the Jean Company, I have come to record a trade that will go down in our history!"
With a splash the narwhal stirred, perhaps reacting to his voice or the tense air in the sanctuary. And then the room fell quiet, as though water had indeed been spilled upon it.
Lawrence moved away from where he had been watching the proceedings through a cracked door in the hallway and returned to the candlelit room.
Immediately after Reynolds had led his procession to the church, a man claiming to be one of Chief Jeeta's subordinates came for Kieman, but Kieman had sent him off without a moment's hesitation. Whether or not the plan succeeded, he would be held responsible, and if it did succeed, Chief Jeeta would have to stay silent.
Of course, Lawrence wasn't a bit worried. Kieman and Eve had prepared a sharp-edged weapon with which to impale Reynolds.
Lawrence wondered if there was a merchant in the world who could face their combined anger and emerge unhurt.
He thought of Reynolds, proudly strutting around the altar, and couldn't help but feel a bit bad for him.
"That's everything I can think of, I believe."
"With taxes, shipping fees, and hush money, I suppose that will about suffice. I've seen the Debau Company, and they should be able to hide something of this scale."
Between Kieman's pen dancing over parchment and tallying figures and Eve's top-to-bottom knowledge of trade routes, it was easy for them to work out the dealings of a single trading company. For a traveling merchant who went about with his cart and horse buying and selling goods as he went, it was a terrifying sight.
"Mr. Lawrence, how's the sanctuary?"
"As we expected. Reynolds is being relentless, but naturally the southerners can't respond immediately. That should give us some time."
Lawrence wasn't participating in the pair's operational planning, instead just reporting his observations. Yet mysteriously, this didn't bother him at all.
"Well, shall we move?" Kieman asked, at which Eve nodded, as did Lawrence.
The plan to monopolize the narwhal was no longer viable, but that didn't mean there still wasn't profit to be had.
Simply put, Reynolds now figured into Eve and Kieman's discussion over how to divide the proceeds from the narwhal. Of course, whether that was voluntary or compulsory was not a matter of debate.
"Here. Your last job." Eve couldn't wait for the ink to dry, so she scattered sand on the parchment before rolling it up and thrusting it at Lawrence. Her joking tone elicited an apologetic smile from Kieman.
Lawrence thought he understood why Eve herself wasn't smiling. As he took the parchment from Eve, he didn't expect her to say it out loud.
"I'd hoped to meet you on the river," she said.
"Better for me to see you off on your travels under the sun. After all, I'm the merchant you cheated."
Eve's eyes narrowed, but she said no more.
For his part, Kieman seemed to have roughly guessed from that exchange how his original plan would have played out. He grinned tiredly and shook his head.
"Now then, if you'll be so kind as to wait here." Lawrence left the pair with those words, and as he exited the room and passed through into the hallway, he got the same old glare from Kieman's messenger, who was posted there.
Evidently the blood on his clothing was from having been kicked in the nose when trying to restrain Eve. Lawrence flashed the man a merchant's smile in spite of himself, probably because he just didn't like the man very much. Satisfied with that, he headed down the corridor.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
His belly was large, his cheeks jowly. Back in his shabby little trading house, those features had made him seem equally shabby, but now they were signifiers of dignity and power. His voice carried loud and high, like a stage performer giving the performance of his life.
"As the second master of the Jean Company, I have come to record a trade that will go down in our history!"
With a splash the narwhal stirred, perhaps reacting to his voice or the tense air in the sanctuary. And then the room fell quiet, as though water had indeed been spilled upon it.
Lawrence moved away from where he had been watching the proceedings through a cracked door in the hallway and returned to the candlelit room.
Immediately after Reynolds had led his procession to the church, a man claiming to be one of Chief Jeeta's subordinates came for Kieman, but Kieman had sent him off without a moment's hesitation. Whether or not the plan succeeded, he would be held responsible, and if it did succeed, Chief Jeeta would have to stay silent.
Of course, Lawrence wasn't a bit worried. Kieman and Eve had prepared a sharp-edged weapon with which to impale Reynolds.
Lawrence wondered if there was a merchant in the world who could face their combined anger and emerge unhurt.
He thought of Reynolds, proudly strutting around the altar, and couldn't help but feel a bit bad for him.
"That's everything I can think of, I believe."
"With taxes, shipping fees, and hush money, I suppose that will about suffice. I've seen the Debau Company, and they should be able to hide something of this scale."
Between Kieman's pen dancing over parchment and tallying figures and Eve's top-to-bottom knowledge of trade routes, it was easy for them to work out the dealings of a single trading company. For a traveling merchant who went about with his cart and horse buying and selling goods as he went, it was a terrifying sight.
"Mr. Lawrence, how's the sanctuary?"
"As we expected. Reynolds is being relentless, but naturally the southerners can't respond immediately. That should give us some time."
Lawrence wasn't participating in the pair's operational planning, instead just reporting his observations. Yet mysteriously, this didn't bother him at all.
"Well, shall we move?" Kieman asked, at which Eve nodded, as did Lawrence.
The plan to monopolize the narwhal was no longer viable, but that didn't mean there still wasn't profit to be had.
Simply put, Reynolds now figured into Eve and Kieman's discussion over how to divide the proceeds from the narwhal. Of course, whether that was voluntary or compulsory was not a matter of debate.
"Here. Your last job." Eve couldn't wait for the ink to dry, so she scattered sand on the parchment before rolling it up and thrusting it at Lawrence. Her joking tone elicited an apologetic smile from Kieman.
Lawrence thought he understood why Eve herself wasn't smiling. As he took the parchment from Eve, he didn't expect her to say it out loud.
"I'd hoped to meet you on the river," she said.
"Better for me to see you off on your travels under the sun. After all, I'm the merchant you cheated."
Eve's eyes narrowed, but she said no more.
For his part, Kieman seemed to have roughly guessed from that exchange how his original plan would have played out. He grinned tiredly and shook his head.
"Now then, if you'll be so kind as to wait here." Lawrence left the pair with those words, and as he exited the room and passed through into the hallway, he got the same old glare from Kieman's messenger, who was posted there.
Evidently the blood on his clothing was from having been kicked in the nose when trying to restrain Eve. Lawrence flashed the man a merchant's smile in spite of himself, probably because he just didn't like the man very much. Satisfied with that, he headed down the corridor.

Output:
Either way, Lawrence held in his hand the letter that would overturn the ceremony that was currently taking place in the church's majestic sanctuary. He naturally walked a little taller.
Now he was the protagonist. Armed with that knowledge, he approached the guards posted at the sanctuary door and spoke with them, then strode inside with his head held high and a serious expression on his face.
A strange murmur ran through the sanctuary, and Reynolds was the only one still wearing a brave, arrogant smile.
"Mr. Reynolds," murmured Lawrence, having made his way through the crowd and now standing in front of the altar.
He was not unknown to the man.
Reynolds faced him and greeted him with exaggerated pleasure, as though meeting an old friend. "Well, well! What have we here?"
It was a fine act. Reynolds was indeed not a merchant to be trifled with.
"Yes, actually, a certain woman asked me to deliver this."
It did not take very much time for Reynolds to understand that this referred to Eve. "Oh ho." For just an instant, a look of revolting avarice flashed across his face; it was well suited to the flickering candlelight. He was surely thinking that joining his capital to hers for the sake of expedience could save him some effort.
"It seems to be a request for trade." Lawrence produced the letter from his breast pocket, which made Reynolds's grin only widen. Given the circumstances, he was obviously thinking he would be able to use her as he liked.
He excitedly opened the letter, like a young lad opening a love note.
Lawrence congratulated himself on not laughing at the face he made next.
"Given that you trade in a large volume of goods, Mr. Reynolds, she requests an inspection of your ledgers. Said inspection will be conducted by a keen-eyed representative of my trade guild."
"...Ah...er..."
"We have evidence regarding your trade in copper coins, showing that you received fifty-eight crates from the Debau Company but sent sixty to the Winfiel kingdom—though at first we assumed you were merely evading tariffs."
Sweat dripped off Reynolds's face as Lawrence murmured into his ear. It was as though Lawrence's breath was too hot, and Reynolds was a wax figurine.
"But you weren't manipulating tariffs to make a bit of coin on the side. You were cooperating with the Debau Company to shift large amounts of capital downstream."
Depending on the packing method, the number of coins in a crate could differ. Using that little trick, they could transfer the money covertly.
"You received payment for sixty crates from Winfiel, then paid Debau for fifty-eight. So long as you look at each transaction separately, they seem to add up in the ledger. But as to whether the number of coins in the crates matches the amount paid—that's not clear from the books."
Reynolds's face had gone pale, and his eyes flicked back and forth crazily.
"But if we compare imports and exports, it's clear that each time the two-crate difference remains at the Jean Company, doesn't it? And you can use that method for all sorts of things."
That was what Lawrence had said when he'd heard Col's answer to the riddle. The reason he had begun to wonder whether the trick might be seeing more use was because there were so many types of goods where it would apply.
Just as there were too many people in the world for one to believe that one was the protagonist.
"Copper ore, lead, tin, brass, and goods made from them. So long as they have a standard shape and are round, you can do this. The Roef mines are rich with metals, are they not?"
"N-no...but—"
"Are you suggesting that this is simply a secret shift of capital? I'm afraid that simply isn't so. Shall we send my people to visit the Debau Company? When I first noticed your dishonesty, the first thing I assumed was that you were trying to avoid tariffs. But taxes are important. What would happen if the Debau Company was unwilling to pay theirs?"
Reynolds's face began to twitch and jiggle like a shaking child's.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Either way, Lawrence held in his hand the letter that would overturn the ceremony that was currently taking place in the church's majestic sanctuary. He naturally walked a little taller.
Now he was the protagonist. Armed with that knowledge, he approached the guards posted at the sanctuary door and spoke with them, then strode inside with his head held high and a serious expression on his face.
A strange murmur ran through the sanctuary, and Reynolds was the only one still wearing a brave, arrogant smile.
"Mr. Reynolds," murmured Lawrence, having made his way through the crowd and now standing in front of the altar.
He was not unknown to the man.
Reynolds faced him and greeted him with exaggerated pleasure, as though meeting an old friend. "Well, well! What have we here?"
It was a fine act. Reynolds was indeed not a merchant to be trifled with.
"Yes, actually, a certain woman asked me to deliver this."
It did not take very much time for Reynolds to understand that this referred to Eve. "Oh ho." For just an instant, a look of revolting avarice flashed across his face; it was well suited to the flickering candlelight. He was surely thinking that joining his capital to hers for the sake of expedience could save him some effort.
"It seems to be a request for trade." Lawrence produced the letter from his breast pocket, which made Reynolds's grin only widen. Given the circumstances, he was obviously thinking he would be able to use her as he liked.
He excitedly opened the letter, like a young lad opening a love note.
Lawrence congratulated himself on not laughing at the face he made next.
"Given that you trade in a large volume of goods, Mr. Reynolds, she requests an inspection of your ledgers. Said inspection will be conducted by a keen-eyed representative of my trade guild."
"...Ah...er..."
"We have evidence regarding your trade in copper coins, showing that you received fifty-eight crates from the Debau Company but sent sixty to the Winfiel kingdom—though at first we assumed you were merely evading tariffs."
Sweat dripped off Reynolds's face as Lawrence murmured into his ear. It was as though Lawrence's breath was too hot, and Reynolds was a wax figurine.
"But you weren't manipulating tariffs to make a bit of coin on the side. You were cooperating with the Debau Company to shift large amounts of capital downstream."
Depending on the packing method, the number of coins in a crate could differ. Using that little trick, they could transfer the money covertly.
"You received payment for sixty crates from Winfiel, then paid Debau for fifty-eight. So long as you look at each transaction separately, they seem to add up in the ledger. But as to whether the number of coins in the crates matches the amount paid—that's not clear from the books."
Reynolds's face had gone pale, and his eyes flicked back and forth crazily.
"But if we compare imports and exports, it's clear that each time the two-crate difference remains at the Jean Company, doesn't it? And you can use that method for all sorts of things."
That was what Lawrence had said when he'd heard Col's answer to the riddle. The reason he had begun to wonder whether the trick might be seeing more use was because there were so many types of goods where it would apply.
Just as there were too many people in the world for one to believe that one was the protagonist.
"Copper ore, lead, tin, brass, and goods made from them. So long as they have a standard shape and are round, you can do this. The Roef mines are rich with metals, are they not?"
"N-no...but—"
"Are you suggesting that this is simply a secret shift of capital? I'm afraid that simply isn't so. Shall we send my people to visit the Debau Company? When I first noticed your dishonesty, the first thing I assumed was that you were trying to avoid tariffs. But taxes are important. What would happen if the Debau Company was unwilling to pay theirs?"
Reynolds's face began to twitch and jiggle like a shaking child's.

Output:
That's what nearly anyone would say had they hit upon this plan.
"Your method lets the Debau Company evade taxation, too. Each time they trade copper coin with the Jean Company, they lose two crates of coins from their books. And if there's no profit, they don't have to pay taxes. Now, then—"
Lawrence paused to clear his throat, and Reynolds took the opportunity.
"What do you want? How much? What's your goal? Tell me!" Even caught off guard, Reynolds managed to control himself well enough not to raise his voice.
Lawrence put a hand on his shoulder as though to calm him, smiled, and continued.
"I am a mere messenger. Such negotiations..." He glanced over his shoulder past the crowd in the hallway. "...Will need to be discussed with my associates there."
What was left of Reynolds's pride prevented him from collapsing to his knees on the spot. It would have been one thing if they had been the sort of merchants who could be cajoled or bribed. But the people waiting past the hallway at the entrance for Reynolds were misers who would happily commit murder.
"Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm a mere traveling merchant trying to find some wolf bones, after all," Lawrence said, turning and walking away.
As he passed Kieman and Eve, he briefly shook their hands. The two of them were quite capable of cooking Reynolds's goose—of that he had no doubt.
He walked along the corridor, passing the grim-faced merchants there.
He wasn't the hero.
He wasn't a great merchant.
He wasn't meant for a grand stage, nor did he have strings he could pull at will.
As he emerged from the church's front door, the sun was completely down, and the torches behind him cast long shadows out into the night.
When he looked back, the grand structure was given a strangely ominous majesty, being lit from below as it was by the torchlight.
He descended the stone steps, passed through the crowd gathered to watch the commotion at the church, and continued on.
It wasn't that he was particularly confident. There was simply a place he had to go. A familiar scene in a familiar building.
He entered through the door he himself had left open, climbing the creaking stairs to the third floor. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness, so the hall was a bit dark, but he could tell where the door was.
He stood in front of it and knocked twice, slowly.
A presence on the other side of the door moved, and the door was soon opened.
From the open door leaked candlelight and the smell of food. It had been a dizzying few days. Nonetheless, Lawrence smiled and spoke.
"I'm back."
Holo and Col replied, "Welcome back."
The door gently closed behind him.
***
In the end, they never quite found out what sort of absurd deal Kieman and Eve had forced down Reynolds's throat. But going by the fact that the narwhal trade between Reynolds and the southerners—which had very nearly ended in disaster—wound up concluding smoothly, he must have accepted the involvement of the Rowen Trade Guild.
Reynolds still technically purchased the narwhal, but in exchange for silence about his dishonesty and the Debau Company's tax evasion, the profits would go to the southerners via the Rowen Trade Guild.
Or something roughly along those lines.
In order to quiet the northern landlords, Eve had probably acted as a mediator and directly allotted them a share of the proceeds.
That was what Lawrence could gather from the state of the town, and he had no particular desire to know the whole truth. He'd been excused from acting as Kieman's tool as well as nearly conspiring with Eve, so it was water under the bridge.
And the next day saw them treated to a midday meal that fairly overflowed from the table. Lawrence didn't even bother to ask who had footed the bill.
"So, where is our next destination?" asked Holo as she devoured a piece of meat so tender it needed neither knife nor tooth to cut it.
The food was so decadent that Col was having difficulty swallowing.