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

Input:
Lawrence noticed Holo look over at Arold, probably at the sound he had just made.
"I suppose the town's old wisdom only exists as written word now," said Arold, aghast at the realization as he continued to gaze somewhere far away, stroking his beard.
Lawrence could tell that, beneath her robes, Holo's body twitched in surprise.
There was no one who had direct knowledge of her. Holo herself was that forgotten wisdom.
Lawrence immediately forgot the thrill he had felt only a moment ago and wordlessly put his hand on Holo's back. "So that means we've no course but to go to Mr. Rigolo and have him show us the chronicles?"
"I suppose so...The months and years weather even stone buildings, to say nothing of the writings of men. 'Tis a dreadful thing..." Arold shook his head, closing his eyes and falling silent.
The old man had been a recluse when Lawrence had first met him, and it seemed that tendency had only deepened with time.
Lawrence couldn't help but wonder whether it was the ever-clearer sound of death's approach that drove this.
Deciding that further conversation would only bring trouble, Lawrence finished his remaining wine in a single draught, and inviting Holo to go ahead of him, he went outside.
In a sudden turnabout from the previous day, the street was busy, and the sun that shone down from Lawrence's left was bright enough to make him briefly dizzy.
He stood there on the still slick cobblestone street and looked at Holo.
She seemed dejected.
"Shall we find something to eat?" Even Lawrence thought that was roughly the worst thing he could have said, but things were so difficult at the moment that everything was turned inside out.
Beneath her hood, Holo gave a long-suffering sigh, then smiled. "You ought to build your vocabulary," she said, pulling on Lawrence's hand.
Apparently it was premature to worry that she was going to start something here in the crowds.
Just as Lawrence was pulled away, the door to the inn opened once again.
***
It was the stranger from before that emerged.
The man was the very image of a busy traveler, but when he looked at Lawrence and Holo, he froze, visibly surprised.
"...Pardon" was all he said in a high, hoarse voice after a moment and then immediately melted into the crowd.
Lawrence looked at Holo just to be sure that her ears and tail weren't visible. She cocked her head slightly.
"Seemed a bit surprised to see me," said Holo.
"Surely he doesn't suspect you're not human."
"I did not get that sense from her. Perhaps she was merely taken aback by my comeliness."
"Surely not," replied a smiling Lawrence to Holo, whose chest was thrust out with exaggerated pride. "Wait," he added. "She?"
"Hmm?"
"That was a woman?"
The well-traveled look and hoarse voice of the stranger had made him assume otherwise, but Holo could hardly be wrong about such things.
Lawrence looked in the direction in which she had disappeared and wondered what a female traveling merchant could possibly be trading in when he felt another tug at his hand.
"What exactly makes you think it is acceptable to be standing beside me and staring thus at another female?"
"Must you be so direct? A more roundabout complaint would be far more charming."
"You're such a dunce you'd never catch on unless I spoke plainly," Holo shot back without flinching, scorn in her voice.
Given their earlier conversation, it was sad indeed that Lawrence was unable to refute her.
"So, what shall we do next?" Lawrence asked, putting an end to the foolish exchange. They needed to plan their day.
"Will it be difficult to meet that man—whatever was his name?"
"Rigolo or some such. If he's the secretary of the council, it may well be difficult, though that may depend on exactly what the council is doing...," said Lawrence, scratching his just-tidied beard.
Holo took a step forward. "'Tis clear enough from your face that you're desperate to know what that meeting is about."

Output:
"So we'll instead loaf about town until the meeting is adjourned, I expect?"
Lawrence smiled. "The wisewolf's powers of observation are keen indeed. I'm dying to know what's going on with this town. Not just that, I—"
"You want to turn it into profit."
Lawrence slumped. Holo cocked her head at him and smiled.
"Whatever it is, it's serious enough that they're passing out these wooden plaques. Something interesting must be happening," said Lawrence, taking the foreign merchant registration plaque out of his back pocket.
"Still, though, a warning—," said Holo.
"Hmm?"
"Try to restrain yourself."
Holo's words were hard to laugh off ruefully since so far they had been through kidnappings, chased through sewers, faced bankruptcy, and most recently, caught up in a giant feud.
"I will," he answered, whereupon the wisewolf that had been so lovely up until a few moments ago turned suddenly angry.
"I wonder about that," she said.
In the face of her sudden suspicion, Lawrence had but one recourse.
He took her hand and used every ounce of his bargaining charm. "Shall we see the sights of the town, then?"
The effect of his kissing her hand on the stairs a moment earlier seemed to be wearing thin. Either that or it had just reversed itself.
Still, Holo seemed to give him a passing mark. Sniffing, she stood next to Lawrence. "I suppose so."
"Understood, milady."
Lawrence reflected that if his self from half a year earlier could see him now, he would be terrified.
"So what sights are there to see? It's changed so much that in truth I hardly remember ever coming here."
"Let's go to the docks. I hear it's only recently that ships have become so important. It won't be as large as seaside docks, but I daresay, it's still a highlight."
He held Holo's hand tighter and began to walk.
Who was it that said walking with another was slow and bothersome? As he walked in step with Holo next to him, Lawrence thought about this and smiled.
***
"Well, I suppose this is how it goes," Lawrence murmured.
"Hmm?" Holo looked over at him, her face half hidden by the cup from which she drank.
"Nothing. Don't spill that."
"Mmm."
Holo drained her cup of Lenos's famously strong ale, then picked up a slightly charred shellfish.
The clams that were taken from the river that flowed past Lenos, the Roam, were about the size of Holo's hand. A delicacy famous in the town was made by taking the soft clam meat, mixing it with bread crumbs, and then serving it on the shell. Served with mustard seed, it was hard to imagine a finer accompaniment to a good ale.
Holo had uttered a cry of delight at seeing the many river scows anchored along the curve of the port, but her heart was soon stolen by the delicious scents that wafted from the food vendors, who had their stalls set up to feed the hungry passengers either beginning or ending their voyages.
They sat at a table constructed from old wooden crates; in front of Holo were three servings of clams, plus the two ales she had already drained.
Lawrence endured a nasty look from Holo when he ordered mulled wine, not unlike what Arold had been drinking earlier.
With this tartness, all he needed now was time to properly enjoy the wine.
"Still, at a glance it doesn't look like there's any particular problem with the town," said Lawrence.
Crates as big as a man were being unloaded from the scows and pried open by groups of merchants, who immediately began dickering over their contents, whatever they might have been.
A port of this size handled a staggering amount of goods. And even without the port, it was clear at a glance that a town like this would demand a massive concentration of materials.


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

Input:
"So we'll instead loaf about town until the meeting is adjourned, I expect?"
Lawrence smiled. "The wisewolf's powers of observation are keen indeed. I'm dying to know what's going on with this town. Not just that, I—"
"You want to turn it into profit."
Lawrence slumped. Holo cocked her head at him and smiled.
"Whatever it is, it's serious enough that they're passing out these wooden plaques. Something interesting must be happening," said Lawrence, taking the foreign merchant registration plaque out of his back pocket.
"Still, though, a warning—," said Holo.
"Hmm?"
"Try to restrain yourself."
Holo's words were hard to laugh off ruefully since so far they had been through kidnappings, chased through sewers, faced bankruptcy, and most recently, caught up in a giant feud.
"I will," he answered, whereupon the wisewolf that had been so lovely up until a few moments ago turned suddenly angry.
"I wonder about that," she said.
In the face of her sudden suspicion, Lawrence had but one recourse.
He took her hand and used every ounce of his bargaining charm. "Shall we see the sights of the town, then?"
The effect of his kissing her hand on the stairs a moment earlier seemed to be wearing thin. Either that or it had just reversed itself.
Still, Holo seemed to give him a passing mark. Sniffing, she stood next to Lawrence. "I suppose so."
"Understood, milady."
Lawrence reflected that if his self from half a year earlier could see him now, he would be terrified.
"So what sights are there to see? It's changed so much that in truth I hardly remember ever coming here."
"Let's go to the docks. I hear it's only recently that ships have become so important. It won't be as large as seaside docks, but I daresay, it's still a highlight."
He held Holo's hand tighter and began to walk.
Who was it that said walking with another was slow and bothersome? As he walked in step with Holo next to him, Lawrence thought about this and smiled.
***
"Well, I suppose this is how it goes," Lawrence murmured.
"Hmm?" Holo looked over at him, her face half hidden by the cup from which she drank.
"Nothing. Don't spill that."
"Mmm."
Holo drained her cup of Lenos's famously strong ale, then picked up a slightly charred shellfish.
The clams that were taken from the river that flowed past Lenos, the Roam, were about the size of Holo's hand. A delicacy famous in the town was made by taking the soft clam meat, mixing it with bread crumbs, and then serving it on the shell. Served with mustard seed, it was hard to imagine a finer accompaniment to a good ale.
Holo had uttered a cry of delight at seeing the many river scows anchored along the curve of the port, but her heart was soon stolen by the delicious scents that wafted from the food vendors, who had their stalls set up to feed the hungry passengers either beginning or ending their voyages.
They sat at a table constructed from old wooden crates; in front of Holo were three servings of clams, plus the two ales she had already drained.
Lawrence endured a nasty look from Holo when he ordered mulled wine, not unlike what Arold had been drinking earlier.
With this tartness, all he needed now was time to properly enjoy the wine.
"Still, at a glance it doesn't look like there's any particular problem with the town," said Lawrence.
Crates as big as a man were being unloaded from the scows and pried open by groups of merchants, who immediately began dickering over their contents, whatever they might have been.
A port of this size handled a staggering amount of goods. And even without the port, it was clear at a glance that a town like this would demand a massive concentration of materials.

Output:
Also, the simple fact that the town was a port meant that shipbuilders and their tools were a brisk trade as were ships themselves. Only an omniscient deity could hope to grasp the amounts and varieties of goods involved.
Looking at the overwhelming liveliness and energy of this motley port town, any subtle, small problems would be immediately lost in the jumble.
Using a knife she had borrowed from Lawrence, Holo deftly scooped the minced clam out of its shell and popped it into her mouth, scanning their surroundings upon hearing Lawrence's words. She then took a drink of ale. "From far away, the forest can seem calm, even when two wolf packs are in a fierce battle for territory within it."
"Even with your eyes and ears, you cannot tell that from afar?"
Holo did not immediately answer, instead looking down with exaggerated gravity and twitching her ears beneath her hood.
Normally Lawrence would have grown impatient with Holo, who would have then teased him, but today he had his tart mulled wine. He sipped it and waited for her response.
"Can you see over there?" she asked after a time, pointing with the knife she held to a man surrounded by some kind of steam. The man leaned against a large, waist-high bucket, which had been filled to heaping with finely crushed rock. He was thickly muscled, and it was not hard to imagine him as a pirate.
He scowled, and the object of that scowl was a slim merchant holding a bundle of what might have been sheepskins.
Lawrence nodded in response to Holo's question.
"The man's angry," she said seriously.
"Oh?"
"It seems the tax on the ship's cargo was too high, and he does not want to hand over the goods at the original price. Something about a head price?"
"A hostage tax. Because ships heading up the river are essentially hostages of the landlord that owns that section of the river."
"Mm. In any case, the skinny fellow's reply is this: 'The town's in crisis because the military did not hold its northern campaign this year.' He's saying they should be grateful to get any money at all."
Every winter, the Church funded a great military campaign into the northlands as a way of displaying its power, but a shadow had fallen over the relationship between the Church and the nation of Ploania, through which its campaign passed, so this year's incursion had been canceled. As a consequence, Lawrence had once been driven to the brink of bankruptcy.
Lawrence looked at Holo a bit surprised. She continued to listen carefully, head bowed and eyes shut.
Then Lawrence looked back at the two men. Even from this distance, he could see the merchant give what seemed to be his final word on the subject to the sailor.
"'In that case, you and those furs can just wait on the outcome of the meeting,'" said Holo, opening her eyes.
Was it too far-fetched to consider if he was merely standing on Holo's shoulders? Lawrence wondered.
"There are many conversations like this one. I'd say...four. Taxes are too high. Northern campaign. Town imports—and so on." Holo scraped the meat out of a clam as she spoke. The more meat accumulated on the blade of the knife, the more her attention turned to it.
By the time she finally brought the pile of meat to her mouth, the blade might as well have been the whole of creation as far as she was concerned.
"Now that you mention it...I reckon there's no way a town founded on distribution wouldn't feel the effects of a canceled northern campaign. That's how I got into trouble back in Ruvinheigen. But what's the relationship between that and the encampment of merchants outside the town?" mused Lawrence.
If conditions in the town were abnormal, then abnormal business opportunities would follow.
Lawrence was lost in deep thought until Holo gave a vulgar burp and pounded on the table.
"You want seconds?"


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

Input:
Also, the simple fact that the town was a port meant that shipbuilders and their tools were a brisk trade as were ships themselves. Only an omniscient deity could hope to grasp the amounts and varieties of goods involved.
Looking at the overwhelming liveliness and energy of this motley port town, any subtle, small problems would be immediately lost in the jumble.
Using a knife she had borrowed from Lawrence, Holo deftly scooped the minced clam out of its shell and popped it into her mouth, scanning their surroundings upon hearing Lawrence's words. She then took a drink of ale. "From far away, the forest can seem calm, even when two wolf packs are in a fierce battle for territory within it."
"Even with your eyes and ears, you cannot tell that from afar?"
Holo did not immediately answer, instead looking down with exaggerated gravity and twitching her ears beneath her hood.
Normally Lawrence would have grown impatient with Holo, who would have then teased him, but today he had his tart mulled wine. He sipped it and waited for her response.
"Can you see over there?" she asked after a time, pointing with the knife she held to a man surrounded by some kind of steam. The man leaned against a large, waist-high bucket, which had been filled to heaping with finely crushed rock. He was thickly muscled, and it was not hard to imagine him as a pirate.
He scowled, and the object of that scowl was a slim merchant holding a bundle of what might have been sheepskins.
Lawrence nodded in response to Holo's question.
"The man's angry," she said seriously.
"Oh?"
"It seems the tax on the ship's cargo was too high, and he does not want to hand over the goods at the original price. Something about a head price?"
"A hostage tax. Because ships heading up the river are essentially hostages of the landlord that owns that section of the river."
"Mm. In any case, the skinny fellow's reply is this: 'The town's in crisis because the military did not hold its northern campaign this year.' He's saying they should be grateful to get any money at all."
Every winter, the Church funded a great military campaign into the northlands as a way of displaying its power, but a shadow had fallen over the relationship between the Church and the nation of Ploania, through which its campaign passed, so this year's incursion had been canceled. As a consequence, Lawrence had once been driven to the brink of bankruptcy.
Lawrence looked at Holo a bit surprised. She continued to listen carefully, head bowed and eyes shut.
Then Lawrence looked back at the two men. Even from this distance, he could see the merchant give what seemed to be his final word on the subject to the sailor.
"'In that case, you and those furs can just wait on the outcome of the meeting,'" said Holo, opening her eyes.
Was it too far-fetched to consider if he was merely standing on Holo's shoulders? Lawrence wondered.
"There are many conversations like this one. I'd say...four. Taxes are too high. Northern campaign. Town imports—and so on." Holo scraped the meat out of a clam as she spoke. The more meat accumulated on the blade of the knife, the more her attention turned to it.
By the time she finally brought the pile of meat to her mouth, the blade might as well have been the whole of creation as far as she was concerned.
"Now that you mention it...I reckon there's no way a town founded on distribution wouldn't feel the effects of a canceled northern campaign. That's how I got into trouble back in Ruvinheigen. But what's the relationship between that and the encampment of merchants outside the town?" mused Lawrence.
If conditions in the town were abnormal, then abnormal business opportunities would follow.
Lawrence was lost in deep thought until Holo gave a vulgar burp and pounded on the table.
"You want seconds?"

Output:
He hailed the shopkeeper and ordered again, at which Holo gave a satisfied smile, cocking her head.
"I daresay the wine you just ordered was more for your sake than my own."
"Mm?"
"I become drunk on liquor, but your liquor is something different entirely." Her pleased face had a slight flush to it.
Evidently she had noticed that though Lawrence would generally have hesitated and furrowed his brow, this time he'd ordered her another round without any trouble at all.
"Aye, but it takes coin to buy liquor, while becoming drunk on the business possibilities right in front of your eyes is free."
"And you're surely thinking that if I'll stop my howling or even deign to assist you, a drink or two would be a small price to pay, are you not?"
She was a girl-sized giant.
Lawrence expressed his capitulation to Holo, who had a fleck of ale foam at the corner of her mouth.
"Ah, though 'tis amusing to watch you puzzle things over, I'll sit here drinking and watch from the side," said Holo.
When the order of wine and crackling, hot-from-the-fire clams came back, Lawrence handed a few worn-out copper ryut coins to the shopkeeper, looking steadily at Holo. "I imagine I should glance at you every so often to make sure you haven't disappeared?"
He passed the full cup of ale to Holo who smiled. "...Not bad."
Holo was a tough grader, so Lawrence took this as a compliment. "Why, thank you," he said sagely.
A bit before midday, Lawrence wound up walking around Lenos by himself.
Holo found herself surprised by the degree to which the travel fatigue that still lingered exaggerated the effects of the alcohol. She could get to her feet easily enough, but she was so sleepy, there was nothing for it.
Lawrence saw her back to the inn, simultaneously at a loss and slightly amused.
Part of Holo hated the idea of Lawrence sticking his nose into whatever was going on in this town. Looking back at their experiences so far, Lawrence couldn't really disagree with her, but if he looked even further back, to experiences before his time with Holo, it became even more difficult to sit still.
Thus, it was rather convenient to now be able to wander around the town as he pleased.
Not that he had any particularly close acquaintances here.
After a moment of agonizing over it, Lawrence ultimately decided to head for a tavern with which he'd once done business.
It was an establishment with the strange name of The Beast and Fish Tail. A large bronze sign cast in the shape of a rodent hung from the eaves. The curious, clever creature it depicted built dams across rivers and had a mammal's body—except for its wide, flat tail and webbed, paddlelike rear feet, which had caused the Church to declare it a fish.
Thus, despite the delicious, savory smell of cooking meat that wafted out of the tavern, it attracted a not-insignificant number of clergy. No matter how much "fish" they ate, no one could criticize them.
While the tavern's ability to serve this rare meat made it popular in the evenings, at this hour, not yet midday, even the Beast and Fish Tail was mostly empty. There were no customers, only a shopgirl sitting at a table in the corner, mending her apron.
"Are you open?" Lawrence asked from the entrance.
A piece of thread held in the corner of her mouth, the red-haired girl lifted her apron to examine her work, smiling playfully. "I just patched a hole. Have a look?" said the fetching lass in reply.
"I'll pass. You know what they say, 'eyes like daggers' and all. If I look too closely, I'm liable to open holes anew."
The girl put her needle away in a sewing box, then stood and tied on the newly mended apron, shaking her head playfully. "So the reason my apron wears thin is from customers staring at it rather than me?"
No doubt the girl dealt with many a drunken patron.
But as a merchant, Lawrence couldn't very well lose this little duel of wits.


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

Input:
He hailed the shopkeeper and ordered again, at which Holo gave a satisfied smile, cocking her head.
"I daresay the wine you just ordered was more for your sake than my own."
"Mm?"
"I become drunk on liquor, but your liquor is something different entirely." Her pleased face had a slight flush to it.
Evidently she had noticed that though Lawrence would generally have hesitated and furrowed his brow, this time he'd ordered her another round without any trouble at all.
"Aye, but it takes coin to buy liquor, while becoming drunk on the business possibilities right in front of your eyes is free."
"And you're surely thinking that if I'll stop my howling or even deign to assist you, a drink or two would be a small price to pay, are you not?"
She was a girl-sized giant.
Lawrence expressed his capitulation to Holo, who had a fleck of ale foam at the corner of her mouth.
"Ah, though 'tis amusing to watch you puzzle things over, I'll sit here drinking and watch from the side," said Holo.
When the order of wine and crackling, hot-from-the-fire clams came back, Lawrence handed a few worn-out copper ryut coins to the shopkeeper, looking steadily at Holo. "I imagine I should glance at you every so often to make sure you haven't disappeared?"
He passed the full cup of ale to Holo who smiled. "...Not bad."
Holo was a tough grader, so Lawrence took this as a compliment. "Why, thank you," he said sagely.
A bit before midday, Lawrence wound up walking around Lenos by himself.
Holo found herself surprised by the degree to which the travel fatigue that still lingered exaggerated the effects of the alcohol. She could get to her feet easily enough, but she was so sleepy, there was nothing for it.
Lawrence saw her back to the inn, simultaneously at a loss and slightly amused.
Part of Holo hated the idea of Lawrence sticking his nose into whatever was going on in this town. Looking back at their experiences so far, Lawrence couldn't really disagree with her, but if he looked even further back, to experiences before his time with Holo, it became even more difficult to sit still.
Thus, it was rather convenient to now be able to wander around the town as he pleased.
Not that he had any particularly close acquaintances here.
After a moment of agonizing over it, Lawrence ultimately decided to head for a tavern with which he'd once done business.
It was an establishment with the strange name of The Beast and Fish Tail. A large bronze sign cast in the shape of a rodent hung from the eaves. The curious, clever creature it depicted built dams across rivers and had a mammal's body—except for its wide, flat tail and webbed, paddlelike rear feet, which had caused the Church to declare it a fish.
Thus, despite the delicious, savory smell of cooking meat that wafted out of the tavern, it attracted a not-insignificant number of clergy. No matter how much "fish" they ate, no one could criticize them.
While the tavern's ability to serve this rare meat made it popular in the evenings, at this hour, not yet midday, even the Beast and Fish Tail was mostly empty. There were no customers, only a shopgirl sitting at a table in the corner, mending her apron.
"Are you open?" Lawrence asked from the entrance.
A piece of thread held in the corner of her mouth, the red-haired girl lifted her apron to examine her work, smiling playfully. "I just patched a hole. Have a look?" said the fetching lass in reply.
"I'll pass. You know what they say, 'eyes like daggers' and all. If I look too closely, I'm liable to open holes anew."
The girl put her needle away in a sewing box, then stood and tied on the newly mended apron, shaking her head playfully. "So the reason my apron wears thin is from customers staring at it rather than me?"
No doubt the girl dealt with many a drunken patron.
But as a merchant, Lawrence couldn't very well lose this little duel of wits.

Output:
"Oh? That's a shame. That might let me sniff out suspicious customers a bit more easily," said the girl ruefully as she finished cinching up her apron.
Lawrence slumped, defeated. He had to give the girl credit.
She giggled. "I guess it's true that out-of-town customers really are different. So what'll it be? Wine? A meal?"
"Two orders of fish tail. Wrapped, please."
A momentary look of worry passed over the girl's face, probably because of the sounds of clattering pots that issued from the kitchen.
They were most likely preparing the lunches to serve the rush of workers that would soon be coming from the docks.
"I'm not in a hurry," said Lawrence.
"Perhaps some wine, then?"
In other words, was he willing to wait?
Lawrence smiled at the girl's business acumen, then nodded.
"We've barley and grape wine, as well as pear."
"Pear wine at this time of year?"
Fruit wine spoiled quickly.
"For some reason, it never went bad in storage. Oops—," said the girl, covering her mouth in an exaggerated fashion.
The tavern had always been jam-packed when Lawrence had visited before, so he'd never had a proper conversation with this girl, but now it was easy to see that the tavern owed the comely lass much of its success.
"Pear, then."
"Coming right up! Just a moment if you please." She disappeared into the back of the tavern, her skirt—which was a dark, ashen red that made it impossible to know its original color—fluttering behind her.
A clever, cheerful barmaid like her in a port town such as this might wind up the wife of the second son of a successful merchant with many ships to his name.
Or she might turn a cold shoulder to any rich man or pretty lad that came courting, instead falling for a completely normal merchant that happened into the tavern.
When it came to knowing where a purchased commodity should be taken, Lawrence had some idea, but this sort of thing was outside his area of expertise. If he asked Holo, she probably could have told him the truth, but that was somehow frustrating.
"Here you are. The rest will take a bit of time, but that will give you a chance to ask any questions you might have."
She really was a clever girl.
If he could get her to talk to Holo, it would be a magnificent display.
"Merchants coming in here at this time of day really only have one thing on their minds. If it is something I can answer, I'll be more than happy to," said the girl.
"I'll pay first."
Lawrence put two dark copper coins down before taking the cup of pear wine.
In this tavern, one copper was enough for two or three cups.
The girl's face was now the very image of a tavern barmaid. "And?"
"Ah, yes, well, it's nothing serious. The town seems a bit different from usual. Suppose I was to ask about the encampment of merchants just outside the walls."
Given the generosity of the tip, the girl probably expected to be asked for inside information on one of the trading companies. She seemed relieved to hear Lawrence's actual question.
"Oh, them. They all deal in furs or fur-related products."
"Furs?"
"Quite. About half of them have come from afar to buy up furs. The other half deal in the materials needed for tanning and treating furs and skins. Let's see..."
"Lime and alum?"
They were the most common materials needed for tanning work. Pigeon droppings strangely were also used. If the skins were to be dyed, many more goods would be needed.
"That sounds right, yes."
Lawrence thought back to Arold's words.
There was no question that the Council of Fifty's meeting had something to do with the fur trade.
"And you wanted to know why all those merchants are camped out there, right? Well, right now, all the leaders of the town are meeting to decide whether or not to sell furs to them. In the meantime, buying and selling furs is forbidden. So naturally, the craftsmen don't know whether there's any point in buying any of the supplies they need for tanning, so—that's where we are right now."


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

Input:
"Oh? That's a shame. That might let me sniff out suspicious customers a bit more easily," said the girl ruefully as she finished cinching up her apron.
Lawrence slumped, defeated. He had to give the girl credit.
She giggled. "I guess it's true that out-of-town customers really are different. So what'll it be? Wine? A meal?"
"Two orders of fish tail. Wrapped, please."
A momentary look of worry passed over the girl's face, probably because of the sounds of clattering pots that issued from the kitchen.
They were most likely preparing the lunches to serve the rush of workers that would soon be coming from the docks.
"I'm not in a hurry," said Lawrence.
"Perhaps some wine, then?"
In other words, was he willing to wait?
Lawrence smiled at the girl's business acumen, then nodded.
"We've barley and grape wine, as well as pear."
"Pear wine at this time of year?"
Fruit wine spoiled quickly.
"For some reason, it never went bad in storage. Oops—," said the girl, covering her mouth in an exaggerated fashion.
The tavern had always been jam-packed when Lawrence had visited before, so he'd never had a proper conversation with this girl, but now it was easy to see that the tavern owed the comely lass much of its success.
"Pear, then."
"Coming right up! Just a moment if you please." She disappeared into the back of the tavern, her skirt—which was a dark, ashen red that made it impossible to know its original color—fluttering behind her.
A clever, cheerful barmaid like her in a port town such as this might wind up the wife of the second son of a successful merchant with many ships to his name.
Or she might turn a cold shoulder to any rich man or pretty lad that came courting, instead falling for a completely normal merchant that happened into the tavern.
When it came to knowing where a purchased commodity should be taken, Lawrence had some idea, but this sort of thing was outside his area of expertise. If he asked Holo, she probably could have told him the truth, but that was somehow frustrating.
"Here you are. The rest will take a bit of time, but that will give you a chance to ask any questions you might have."
She really was a clever girl.
If he could get her to talk to Holo, it would be a magnificent display.
"Merchants coming in here at this time of day really only have one thing on their minds. If it is something I can answer, I'll be more than happy to," said the girl.
"I'll pay first."
Lawrence put two dark copper coins down before taking the cup of pear wine.
In this tavern, one copper was enough for two or three cups.
The girl's face was now the very image of a tavern barmaid. "And?"
"Ah, yes, well, it's nothing serious. The town seems a bit different from usual. Suppose I was to ask about the encampment of merchants just outside the walls."
Given the generosity of the tip, the girl probably expected to be asked for inside information on one of the trading companies. She seemed relieved to hear Lawrence's actual question.
"Oh, them. They all deal in furs or fur-related products."
"Furs?"
"Quite. About half of them have come from afar to buy up furs. The other half deal in the materials needed for tanning and treating furs and skins. Let's see..."
"Lime and alum?"
They were the most common materials needed for tanning work. Pigeon droppings strangely were also used. If the skins were to be dyed, many more goods would be needed.
"That sounds right, yes."
Lawrence thought back to Arold's words.
There was no question that the Council of Fifty's meeting had something to do with the fur trade.
"And you wanted to know why all those merchants are camped out there, right? Well, right now, all the leaders of the town are meeting to decide whether or not to sell furs to them. In the meantime, buying and selling furs is forbidden. So naturally, the craftsmen don't know whether there's any point in buying any of the supplies they need for tanning, so—that's where we are right now."

Output:
"So what caused this?" asked Lawrence, forgetting about his pear wine entirely.
"That thing, you know—where lots of people come through in the wintertime."
"The northern campaign."
"Right, that. It was canceled, so they say none of the usual people are coming through to buy leather clothes. Usually there would be a lot more people in this city this time of year."
When people came, so, too, came coin. Furs from the north were especially popular in the south, so they made excellent souvenirs.
But why then was there a meeting discussing whether to prohibit fur trade entirely?
Were the merchants camped in front of the town not there to purchase furs? Even without the normal boom in leather clothing sales that came with the northern campaign, shouldn't they sell to what buyers had come?
He needed more information.
"I understand that the usual people that come through to buy leather clothing aren't around this year, but shouldn't they still sell to the merchants outside of town?" Lawrence asked.
The girl looked at the untouched cup of pear wine in Lawrence's hand and with a smile gestured for him to drink.
She had an instinctual understanding of how to incite a man.
If he tried to resist, she would either become irritated or flirt emptily with him.
He meekly put the cup to his lips, at which point the girl smiled as if to say, Good answer. "Knights and mercenaries, they're free with their coin. But the merchants that come to town are as miserly as they come." She played idly with the two copper coins that Lawrence had set down. "I've been given things, overly frilly dresses like some nobleman's daughter would wear, really expensive ones. But..."
"Oh," Lawrence mouthed. When he was out drinking with Holo, his head had been dulled by the wine. "I see now. Before it's made into clothing, skins are surprisingly cheap. But once they're made into clothing, they won't sell—the money coming into the town will drop," he said.
The girl smiled beatifically like a saint with a humble supplicant before her, as if to say, "Well done."
With this, Lawrence could see the basic situation.
However, before he could take a step back and confirm all the details, the girl suddenly leaned forward across the table.
Softly clutching one of the copper coins to her breast, her expression shifted. "So far, you could hear this from any floozy in any tavern in town," she said, her words turning a bit vulgar as she looked at him through upturned eyes, chin tucked down. Lawrence tried to look at her, but her posture naturally drew his gaze to her slender, shapely collarbones.
The lass certainly understood how to press an intoxicated patron.
Lawrence reminded himself that this was about business.
"One must treat generous customers properly, after all," said the girl. "Let's keep what I'm about to tell you between the two of us, shall we?"
Lawrence nodded, pretending to be entirely taken in by the girl's actions.
"There's an eight- or nine-tenths chance that the merchants outside town will be banned from buying furs, though I'm sure the craftsmen and fur brokers will be angry."
"How do you know this?" Lawrence asked.
The girl only closed her mouth enticingly.
Lawrence's intuition told him that the girl's source of information was solid. It was likely that a member of the Council of Fifty was also a patron of the tavern, but she, of course, could not say so.
She did not even explain this fact since her statement had been nothing more than her talking to herself, and its veracity was impossible to gauge.
In a way, she might have been testing Lawrence, as otherwise she would hardly be letting slip such vital information.
"I'm a simple barmaid, so I care little for the price of furs, but merchants like you enjoy such things with your ale, do you not?"
"Aye, enough that we sometimes drink too much," said Lawrence with his best merchant's smile.


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

Input:
"So what caused this?" asked Lawrence, forgetting about his pear wine entirely.
"That thing, you know—where lots of people come through in the wintertime."
"The northern campaign."
"Right, that. It was canceled, so they say none of the usual people are coming through to buy leather clothes. Usually there would be a lot more people in this city this time of year."
When people came, so, too, came coin. Furs from the north were especially popular in the south, so they made excellent souvenirs.
But why then was there a meeting discussing whether to prohibit fur trade entirely?
Were the merchants camped in front of the town not there to purchase furs? Even without the normal boom in leather clothing sales that came with the northern campaign, shouldn't they sell to what buyers had come?
He needed more information.
"I understand that the usual people that come through to buy leather clothing aren't around this year, but shouldn't they still sell to the merchants outside of town?" Lawrence asked.
The girl looked at the untouched cup of pear wine in Lawrence's hand and with a smile gestured for him to drink.
She had an instinctual understanding of how to incite a man.
If he tried to resist, she would either become irritated or flirt emptily with him.
He meekly put the cup to his lips, at which point the girl smiled as if to say, Good answer. "Knights and mercenaries, they're free with their coin. But the merchants that come to town are as miserly as they come." She played idly with the two copper coins that Lawrence had set down. "I've been given things, overly frilly dresses like some nobleman's daughter would wear, really expensive ones. But..."
"Oh," Lawrence mouthed. When he was out drinking with Holo, his head had been dulled by the wine. "I see now. Before it's made into clothing, skins are surprisingly cheap. But once they're made into clothing, they won't sell—the money coming into the town will drop," he said.
The girl smiled beatifically like a saint with a humble supplicant before her, as if to say, "Well done."
With this, Lawrence could see the basic situation.
However, before he could take a step back and confirm all the details, the girl suddenly leaned forward across the table.
Softly clutching one of the copper coins to her breast, her expression shifted. "So far, you could hear this from any floozy in any tavern in town," she said, her words turning a bit vulgar as she looked at him through upturned eyes, chin tucked down. Lawrence tried to look at her, but her posture naturally drew his gaze to her slender, shapely collarbones.
The lass certainly understood how to press an intoxicated patron.
Lawrence reminded himself that this was about business.
"One must treat generous customers properly, after all," said the girl. "Let's keep what I'm about to tell you between the two of us, shall we?"
Lawrence nodded, pretending to be entirely taken in by the girl's actions.
"There's an eight- or nine-tenths chance that the merchants outside town will be banned from buying furs, though I'm sure the craftsmen and fur brokers will be angry."
"How do you know this?" Lawrence asked.
The girl only closed her mouth enticingly.
Lawrence's intuition told him that the girl's source of information was solid. It was likely that a member of the Council of Fifty was also a patron of the tavern, but she, of course, could not say so.
She did not even explain this fact since her statement had been nothing more than her talking to herself, and its veracity was impossible to gauge.
In a way, she might have been testing Lawrence, as otherwise she would hardly be letting slip such vital information.
"I'm a simple barmaid, so I care little for the price of furs, but merchants like you enjoy such things with your ale, do you not?"
"Aye, enough that we sometimes drink too much," said Lawrence with his best merchant's smile.

Output:
"Well, I've drunk my wine, so I'm sure I'll feel it soon."
The girl opened her eyes.
The smile was on her lips, but it did not reach her eyes.
Lawrence was about to open his mouth to speak, but a voice from the kitchen called for the girl.
"Ah, it seems your food is ready," she said, standing from the chair and returning to the barmaid she'd been when Lawrence had first entered the tavern. "By the way, sir—," she said, looking over her shoulder before leaving the table.
"Yes?"
"Do you have a wife?"
Lawrence was taken momentarily aback at the unexpected question, but perhaps thanks to Holo constantly springing traps upon him, he was able to recover and reply. "My coin purse's strings are not tied. However...my reins are firmly held," he answered.
The girl grinned widely as though she were talking to a friend. "My but that's frustrating. I'm sure she's a fine person, too."
She seemed to have some pride in her ability to cajole her drunken male customers.
And even Lawrence might well have been drawn in easily had he not met Holo—or had he been a bit drunker.
But if he was to say so, it would be like rubbing salt in the poor girl's wounded pride.
"If you've the chance, do bring her by the tavern," she said.
"Aye," said Lawrence, and he mostly meant it.
A conversation between this girl and Holo would be a thing to see, though as a bystander, he might get sucked into something terrible.
"Wait just a moment, then. I'll go get your food."
"My thanks."
The girl headed back into the kitchen, her skirt fluttering again behind her.
Lawrence watched her go as he brought the cup of pear wine to his lips.
Even other people could tell, he realized, that Holo was very important to him.
Holding the hot, cloth-wrapped package of tail meat, Lawrence headed down the broad avenue that ran along the docks to take another look at the boats moored there.
With the new information from the barmaid, the scows did indeed seem a bit different.
Looking closely, Lawrence could see how straw or hempen cloth had been used to cover the goods piled high on the boats' decks, and many of the boats themselves were tied fast to the wharves, as though they did not expect to leave anytime soon. Some of them, of course, were merely passing the winter in town, but the number seemed a bit high for that to be the only explanation. At a wild guess, those were the boats that were carrying either furs or the materials needed to process furs.
The volume of fur transactions in Lenos was large enough that it was called the city of lumber and fur.
Being a mere traveling merchant, Lawrence could not easily estimate the total amount of fur traded in the town, but if a fur merchant were to buy up a single chest-high barrel of squirrel pelts, that could easily come to 3,500, even 4,000 furs. The fact that such barrels were constantly rolling through the city made him feel practically faint.
What kind of profound impact would freezing the fur trade have on the town?
But he could understand Lenos's efforts to try to collect as much tax as they could, and the fact was that foreign merchants who bought only raw furs instead of clothing left many town craftsmen by the wayside. It was common knowledge that in any business, crafted, processed items made from raw materials had much better profit margins.
Nevertheless, with the northern campaigns canceled, the lack of travelers from the south meant there was absolutely no guarantee that there would be any way to turn such goods into coin.
Setting aside the quality of the furs and the quality of the tanning, there was any number of towns whose clothing craftsmanship was superior to Lenos's. To take the clothing that would normally have flown off the shelves as souvenirs and instead pay the shipping costs involved in exporting it to some other town would involve significant difficulty.


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

Input:
"Well, I've drunk my wine, so I'm sure I'll feel it soon."
The girl opened her eyes.
The smile was on her lips, but it did not reach her eyes.
Lawrence was about to open his mouth to speak, but a voice from the kitchen called for the girl.
"Ah, it seems your food is ready," she said, standing from the chair and returning to the barmaid she'd been when Lawrence had first entered the tavern. "By the way, sir—," she said, looking over her shoulder before leaving the table.
"Yes?"
"Do you have a wife?"
Lawrence was taken momentarily aback at the unexpected question, but perhaps thanks to Holo constantly springing traps upon him, he was able to recover and reply. "My coin purse's strings are not tied. However...my reins are firmly held," he answered.
The girl grinned widely as though she were talking to a friend. "My but that's frustrating. I'm sure she's a fine person, too."
She seemed to have some pride in her ability to cajole her drunken male customers.
And even Lawrence might well have been drawn in easily had he not met Holo—or had he been a bit drunker.
But if he was to say so, it would be like rubbing salt in the poor girl's wounded pride.
"If you've the chance, do bring her by the tavern," she said.
"Aye," said Lawrence, and he mostly meant it.
A conversation between this girl and Holo would be a thing to see, though as a bystander, he might get sucked into something terrible.
"Wait just a moment, then. I'll go get your food."
"My thanks."
The girl headed back into the kitchen, her skirt fluttering again behind her.
Lawrence watched her go as he brought the cup of pear wine to his lips.
Even other people could tell, he realized, that Holo was very important to him.
Holding the hot, cloth-wrapped package of tail meat, Lawrence headed down the broad avenue that ran along the docks to take another look at the boats moored there.
With the new information from the barmaid, the scows did indeed seem a bit different.
Looking closely, Lawrence could see how straw or hempen cloth had been used to cover the goods piled high on the boats' decks, and many of the boats themselves were tied fast to the wharves, as though they did not expect to leave anytime soon. Some of them, of course, were merely passing the winter in town, but the number seemed a bit high for that to be the only explanation. At a wild guess, those were the boats that were carrying either furs or the materials needed to process furs.
The volume of fur transactions in Lenos was large enough that it was called the city of lumber and fur.
Being a mere traveling merchant, Lawrence could not easily estimate the total amount of fur traded in the town, but if a fur merchant were to buy up a single chest-high barrel of squirrel pelts, that could easily come to 3,500, even 4,000 furs. The fact that such barrels were constantly rolling through the city made him feel practically faint.
What kind of profound impact would freezing the fur trade have on the town?
But he could understand Lenos's efforts to try to collect as much tax as they could, and the fact was that foreign merchants who bought only raw furs instead of clothing left many town craftsmen by the wayside. It was common knowledge that in any business, crafted, processed items made from raw materials had much better profit margins.
Nevertheless, with the northern campaigns canceled, the lack of travelers from the south meant there was absolutely no guarantee that there would be any way to turn such goods into coin.
Setting aside the quality of the furs and the quality of the tanning, there was any number of towns whose clothing craftsmanship was superior to Lenos's. To take the clothing that would normally have flown off the shelves as souvenirs and instead pay the shipping costs involved in exporting it to some other town would involve significant difficulty.

Output:
At least that way they'd be able to get some coin for the furs. The reason so many merchants gathered in Lenos was because of the high quality furs that came through the town. Such furs would command a fair price.
But the barmaid had said that the Council of Fifty was going to prohibit fur purchasing.
Which left only a few possibilities.
To begin with, it was odd that the merchants were camped outside of the town.
Merchants would happily drive someone else to ruin if they had decided that it would bring a profit, so it was unimaginable that a large group of them would simply assemble and wait patiently.
There was clearly some other authority at work here.
But whether it was the giant tailor's guild headquartered in a town famous for its sartorial products far across the western sea or some dizzyingly massive company trying to monopolize the fur trade, Lawrence did not know.
Whatever the thing was, it wielded tremendous power.
And the minds that ran Lenos knew it, Lawrence determined, as he passed through the entrance of the docks and into the hustle and bustle.
The merchants outside the town were no doubt making their case.
"You'll be in a tough spot if you don't sell your furs," they would say. "Shall we buy them up for you? Though that alone will not avail you forever. Shall we come next year and the year after that?"
If Lenos swallowed this, it would become nothing more than a place where furs were gathered, then passed along. And once that happened, the consolidation of fur itself would eventually be taken over by some outsider and removed from the town.
However, the reason the townspeople didn't simply turn the merchants away wasn't just because of the craftsmen's opposition.
This problem didn't stop with the town; it would engulf the landed nobility to which the town was connected as well. When an economic problem turned political, the amount of money it took to solve it would jump by three, sometimes four digits.
This was a battle between titans, where the expectations of individual merchants were utterly meaningless.
Lawrence scratched his beard.
"The coin involved must be incredible," he said to himself. He hadn't talked to himself in quite some time, and it felt good, like taking off shoes that had been worn for a week straight.
The bigger the amount of money in play, the bigger the leftovers might be.
And a merchant's alchemy allowed him to turn the complicated relationships between goods and people into a spring from which money would gush forth.
He pictured a sheet of yellowed parchment in his mind.
On it he drew sketch after sketch of the fur situation, and gradually the page became a treasure map.
So where was the treasure?
When he put the question to himself, licking his lips, his left hand reached the door of the inn room and opened it.
***
He had almost no memory of when he'd come all the way back to the inn, but that was not why he fell silent.
Holo, perhaps refreshed after a nap, had been grooming her tail, but she now hid it behind her back as she regarded him.
"...What's the matter?" asked Lawrence suddenly, after weathering a purposefully cautious look from an evidently now-sober Holo.
"I shan't abide it," she said.
"Huh?"
"I shan't abide my tail being sold," said Holo, letting a bit of her tail show from behind her, like a shy maiden peeking out from behind a tree, before she concealed it again.
Lawrence naturally understood.
His face had been consumed by his merchant self.
"I'm no hunter," he with a smile and a shrug as he entered the room, closing the door behind him and walking over to the desk.
"Oh no? You looked as though you were ready to sell anything you possibly could." Holo's glance fell but once upon the package Lawrence held, then came back to his face.
"Yes, well, I'm a merchant. I buy from one person to sell to another. It's a basic principle."


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

Input:
At least that way they'd be able to get some coin for the furs. The reason so many merchants gathered in Lenos was because of the high quality furs that came through the town. Such furs would command a fair price.
But the barmaid had said that the Council of Fifty was going to prohibit fur purchasing.
Which left only a few possibilities.
To begin with, it was odd that the merchants were camped outside of the town.
Merchants would happily drive someone else to ruin if they had decided that it would bring a profit, so it was unimaginable that a large group of them would simply assemble and wait patiently.
There was clearly some other authority at work here.
But whether it was the giant tailor's guild headquartered in a town famous for its sartorial products far across the western sea or some dizzyingly massive company trying to monopolize the fur trade, Lawrence did not know.
Whatever the thing was, it wielded tremendous power.
And the minds that ran Lenos knew it, Lawrence determined, as he passed through the entrance of the docks and into the hustle and bustle.
The merchants outside the town were no doubt making their case.
"You'll be in a tough spot if you don't sell your furs," they would say. "Shall we buy them up for you? Though that alone will not avail you forever. Shall we come next year and the year after that?"
If Lenos swallowed this, it would become nothing more than a place where furs were gathered, then passed along. And once that happened, the consolidation of fur itself would eventually be taken over by some outsider and removed from the town.
However, the reason the townspeople didn't simply turn the merchants away wasn't just because of the craftsmen's opposition.
This problem didn't stop with the town; it would engulf the landed nobility to which the town was connected as well. When an economic problem turned political, the amount of money it took to solve it would jump by three, sometimes four digits.
This was a battle between titans, where the expectations of individual merchants were utterly meaningless.
Lawrence scratched his beard.
"The coin involved must be incredible," he said to himself. He hadn't talked to himself in quite some time, and it felt good, like taking off shoes that had been worn for a week straight.
The bigger the amount of money in play, the bigger the leftovers might be.
And a merchant's alchemy allowed him to turn the complicated relationships between goods and people into a spring from which money would gush forth.
He pictured a sheet of yellowed parchment in his mind.
On it he drew sketch after sketch of the fur situation, and gradually the page became a treasure map.
So where was the treasure?
When he put the question to himself, licking his lips, his left hand reached the door of the inn room and opened it.
***
He had almost no memory of when he'd come all the way back to the inn, but that was not why he fell silent.
Holo, perhaps refreshed after a nap, had been grooming her tail, but she now hid it behind her back as she regarded him.
"...What's the matter?" asked Lawrence suddenly, after weathering a purposefully cautious look from an evidently now-sober Holo.
"I shan't abide it," she said.
"Huh?"
"I shan't abide my tail being sold," said Holo, letting a bit of her tail show from behind her, like a shy maiden peeking out from behind a tree, before she concealed it again.
Lawrence naturally understood.
His face had been consumed by his merchant self.
"I'm no hunter," he with a smile and a shrug as he entered the room, closing the door behind him and walking over to the desk.
"Oh no? You looked as though you were ready to sell anything you possibly could." Holo's glance fell but once upon the package Lawrence held, then came back to his face.
"Yes, well, I'm a merchant. I buy from one person to sell to another. It's a basic principle."

Output:
In their place was only avarice.
"So no, I will not be taking your tail from you. Though when summer comes, should you decide to shear some of your fur off, I'll happily collect and sell that," said Lawrence as he leaned against the desk.
Still sitting on the bed, Holo childishly stuck her tongue out at him before taking her tail in her hands again.
For Lawrence's part, he had no interest in seeing Holo's tail sans fur.
"Hmph. So what is that?" asked Holo, looking at the package Lawrence held in one hand as she nibbled at her tail.
"This? This is...indeed. If you can guess from scent alone what part of what animal this is from, I'll buy you as much of your favorite foods for dinner as you want."
"Oh ho." Holo's eyes flashed.
"I think there's some garlic in there...but you should be fine."
Lawrence came away from the desk and gave Holo the package, whereupon her expression turned immediately serious, and she sniffed the wrapped food carefully, looking for all the world like a wolf. This was nothing so rare in and of itself, but her manner was so charming that Lawrence couldn't help but stare.
Holo seemed to notice his gaze. She suddenly looked up at him, scowling.
She was comfortable being nude in front of him, but apparently this was a stare she could not abide.
Lawrence supposed that everyone had his or her idiosyncrasies. He obediently began to turn around but then stopped short.
"I'm sure no proud wisewolf would be thinking of sneaking a look inside the package while my back is turned," he said.
Holo's expression did not change, but the tip of her tail gave a sudden twitch.
Evidently he'd hit the bull's-eye.
He had to be careful; she had senses beyond those of ordinary humans.
Holo gave a theatrical sigh, then turned away, her mouth in a pout that Lawrence was sure had a tinge of guilt to it.
"So have you figured it out?"
"Patience," she said irritably, then sniffed the package again. Lawrence discreetly averted his eyes.
Presently the sound of a girl sniffing back tears echoed uncomfortably through the room.
Lawrence deliberately turned his attention to the clamor that filtered in through the room's window. It was a fine day, so sunlight also found its way through the window.
It was indeed cold, but having a room with a window was still a fine thing.
A warm, windowless room would have made Lawrence feel like he was hibernating in a cellar somewhere. Holo's judgment had been excellent.
"Well, now."
At the sound of her voice, Lawrence turned both his attention and his gaze back to Holo. "Have you figured it out?"
"Quite."
There were, of course, any number of animals whose meat was cooked and served. It was easy enough to tell them apart from their taste and texture, but what about by scent alone? Especially if it was something so rare and odd as the tail meat from a flat-tailed rodent. Even if Holo knew of the existence of such a creature, the odds of her having eaten it were low.
Perhaps it was a bit mean-spirited, but Lawrence had offered her the freedom to eat whatever she liked for dinner in exchange.
"So what's the answer?" he asked, whereupon Holo regarded him with an angrier face than her positive answer had led him to expect.
"I must say it seems a bit unfair, given the conditions you proposed."
Lawrence shrugged. It seemed she didn't really know the answer after all.
"You should have said so in the first place," he said.
"I suppose so..." Holo gazed vaguely at the floor as though thinking something over.
It had been a simple bet, so even the clever Holo had no room to maneuver with her typical quibbles. The simplest contracts were always the strongest.
"So the answer?" Lawrence asked again. Holo's face suddenly showed total defeat. Though it was mean-spirited of him to think so, he couldn't help feeling but that he wanted to see this face a bit more often.
But it was only for a moment; just as that thought crossed Lawrence's mind, Holo's expression shifted to one of triumph.


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

Input:
In their place was only avarice.
"So no, I will not be taking your tail from you. Though when summer comes, should you decide to shear some of your fur off, I'll happily collect and sell that," said Lawrence as he leaned against the desk.
Still sitting on the bed, Holo childishly stuck her tongue out at him before taking her tail in her hands again.
For Lawrence's part, he had no interest in seeing Holo's tail sans fur.
"Hmph. So what is that?" asked Holo, looking at the package Lawrence held in one hand as she nibbled at her tail.
"This? This is...indeed. If you can guess from scent alone what part of what animal this is from, I'll buy you as much of your favorite foods for dinner as you want."
"Oh ho." Holo's eyes flashed.
"I think there's some garlic in there...but you should be fine."
Lawrence came away from the desk and gave Holo the package, whereupon her expression turned immediately serious, and she sniffed the wrapped food carefully, looking for all the world like a wolf. This was nothing so rare in and of itself, but her manner was so charming that Lawrence couldn't help but stare.
Holo seemed to notice his gaze. She suddenly looked up at him, scowling.
She was comfortable being nude in front of him, but apparently this was a stare she could not abide.
Lawrence supposed that everyone had his or her idiosyncrasies. He obediently began to turn around but then stopped short.
"I'm sure no proud wisewolf would be thinking of sneaking a look inside the package while my back is turned," he said.
Holo's expression did not change, but the tip of her tail gave a sudden twitch.
Evidently he'd hit the bull's-eye.
He had to be careful; she had senses beyond those of ordinary humans.
Holo gave a theatrical sigh, then turned away, her mouth in a pout that Lawrence was sure had a tinge of guilt to it.
"So have you figured it out?"
"Patience," she said irritably, then sniffed the package again. Lawrence discreetly averted his eyes.
Presently the sound of a girl sniffing back tears echoed uncomfortably through the room.
Lawrence deliberately turned his attention to the clamor that filtered in through the room's window. It was a fine day, so sunlight also found its way through the window.
It was indeed cold, but having a room with a window was still a fine thing.
A warm, windowless room would have made Lawrence feel like he was hibernating in a cellar somewhere. Holo's judgment had been excellent.
"Well, now."
At the sound of her voice, Lawrence turned both his attention and his gaze back to Holo. "Have you figured it out?"
"Quite."
There were, of course, any number of animals whose meat was cooked and served. It was easy enough to tell them apart from their taste and texture, but what about by scent alone? Especially if it was something so rare and odd as the tail meat from a flat-tailed rodent. Even if Holo knew of the existence of such a creature, the odds of her having eaten it were low.
Perhaps it was a bit mean-spirited, but Lawrence had offered her the freedom to eat whatever she liked for dinner in exchange.
"So what's the answer?" he asked, whereupon Holo regarded him with an angrier face than her positive answer had led him to expect.
"I must say it seems a bit unfair, given the conditions you proposed."
Lawrence shrugged. It seemed she didn't really know the answer after all.
"You should have said so in the first place," he said.
"I suppose so..." Holo gazed vaguely at the floor as though thinking something over.
It had been a simple bet, so even the clever Holo had no room to maneuver with her typical quibbles. The simplest contracts were always the strongest.
"So the answer?" Lawrence asked again. Holo's face suddenly showed total defeat. Though it was mean-spirited of him to think so, he couldn't help feeling but that he wanted to see this face a bit more often.
But it was only for a moment; just as that thought crossed Lawrence's mind, Holo's expression shifted to one of triumph.

Output:
Lawrence had no words.
He was stunned.
"I told you it seemed a bit unfair," said Holo with a malicious giggle as she began to open the package.
"Y-you knew?"
"If you'd accused me of opening the package and sneaking a look, I was thinking of ordering so much food for dinner you'd break down in tears, but I suppose I shall show mercy."
The food within the cloth wrapping had been carefully rolled in strips of bark and tied with fine tendrils; it would be nearly impossible to peek inside without disturbing the contents.
And in any case, looking at the finished meal did not make the original form any easier to guess. Holo must have somehow been familiar with it.
"I'm a wisewolf, don't you forget it. There's nothing in this world I don't know," she said, flashing her fangs.
It was an obvious exaggeration, but her conviction was so strong that it was hard to dismiss.
As she undid the tendrils and removed the tree bark, steam rose up from the food. Holo narrowed her eyes in pleasure, wagging her tail.
"It's not quite accurate to say I knew," said Holo, mimicking Lawrence's tone. The meat had been cut into small slices, and as they were, there really was no way to discern their origin. Holo picked up one of the pieces, tilted her head back, and slowly lowered the bite into her open mouth. She closed her mouth and her eyes and chewed languorously.
It must have been delicious.
Yet there was something different about her manner.
"Mmph...yes, indeed," said Holo. Instead of her usual, hurried devouring of her food, which gave one the impression that she was worried it might be taken from her at any moment, Holo ate slowly, savoring the flavor as though it made her remember something. "The master of this inn said something like this, did he not?" she continued, licking the oil from her fingers and looking at Lawrence. "The months and years weather even stone buildings."
"To say nothing of memories," finished Lawrence
Holo nodded, satisfied. She then gave a small sigh and looked at the window, squinting a bit at the brightness. "Do you know what lingers longest in memory?"
Another strange question.
Was it a person's name? Numbers, figures? Images of one's home?
These notions appeared one after another in Lawrence's mind, but Holo's answer was completely different.
"'Tis scent, you know, that stays longer than all else."
Lawrence cocked his head in confusion.
"We forget things we've seen and heard so easily, but scents alone remain clear and distinct." Holo looked at the food and smiled.
Her smile was what seemed so upsettingly out of place to Lawrence; it was soft, almost nostalgic.
"I had no memory of this town," she continued. "To be quite honest, it was a bit worrisome."
"You weren't sure whether you really had ever come here?"
Holo nodded, and she seemed entirely truthful.
Now that he thought about it, Lawrence felt like he finally understood why Holo had been so constantly playful.
"But this food—I remember it vividly. It's such a strange creature after all, so even in the past, it was considered special. They'd put each one caught on a spit and roast them magnificently."
Holding the food in her hands like it was a favorite kitten sleeping on her lap, she looked up.
"I wondered if that's what you brought back, but when I smelled it, I nearly cried from the memories—and that was the turning point."
"So you did this on purpose?"
Now that he thought about it, the idea of Holo actually doing something so shallow as to sneak a look inside the package while his back was turned seemed a bit strange.
And when he looked away again, perhaps she had been crying a bit.
"Are you saying I'm the sort who would take advantage of another's goodwill?"
"You take advantage of me all the time," shot back Lawrence, and he saw Holo flashing her usual fanged grin.
"So then," said Holo, beckoning to Lawrence.
Harboring a bit of suspicion, he approached her guardedly until she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him in close.
"I shan't forget this scent, either."


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

Input:
Lawrence had no words.
He was stunned.
"I told you it seemed a bit unfair," said Holo with a malicious giggle as she began to open the package.
"Y-you knew?"
"If you'd accused me of opening the package and sneaking a look, I was thinking of ordering so much food for dinner you'd break down in tears, but I suppose I shall show mercy."
The food within the cloth wrapping had been carefully rolled in strips of bark and tied with fine tendrils; it would be nearly impossible to peek inside without disturbing the contents.
And in any case, looking at the finished meal did not make the original form any easier to guess. Holo must have somehow been familiar with it.
"I'm a wisewolf, don't you forget it. There's nothing in this world I don't know," she said, flashing her fangs.
It was an obvious exaggeration, but her conviction was so strong that it was hard to dismiss.
As she undid the tendrils and removed the tree bark, steam rose up from the food. Holo narrowed her eyes in pleasure, wagging her tail.
"It's not quite accurate to say I knew," said Holo, mimicking Lawrence's tone. The meat had been cut into small slices, and as they were, there really was no way to discern their origin. Holo picked up one of the pieces, tilted her head back, and slowly lowered the bite into her open mouth. She closed her mouth and her eyes and chewed languorously.
It must have been delicious.
Yet there was something different about her manner.
"Mmph...yes, indeed," said Holo. Instead of her usual, hurried devouring of her food, which gave one the impression that she was worried it might be taken from her at any moment, Holo ate slowly, savoring the flavor as though it made her remember something. "The master of this inn said something like this, did he not?" she continued, licking the oil from her fingers and looking at Lawrence. "The months and years weather even stone buildings."
"To say nothing of memories," finished Lawrence
Holo nodded, satisfied. She then gave a small sigh and looked at the window, squinting a bit at the brightness. "Do you know what lingers longest in memory?"
Another strange question.
Was it a person's name? Numbers, figures? Images of one's home?
These notions appeared one after another in Lawrence's mind, but Holo's answer was completely different.
"'Tis scent, you know, that stays longer than all else."
Lawrence cocked his head in confusion.
"We forget things we've seen and heard so easily, but scents alone remain clear and distinct." Holo looked at the food and smiled.
Her smile was what seemed so upsettingly out of place to Lawrence; it was soft, almost nostalgic.
"I had no memory of this town," she continued. "To be quite honest, it was a bit worrisome."
"You weren't sure whether you really had ever come here?"
Holo nodded, and she seemed entirely truthful.
Now that he thought about it, Lawrence felt like he finally understood why Holo had been so constantly playful.
"But this food—I remember it vividly. It's such a strange creature after all, so even in the past, it was considered special. They'd put each one caught on a spit and roast them magnificently."
Holding the food in her hands like it was a favorite kitten sleeping on her lap, she looked up.
"I wondered if that's what you brought back, but when I smelled it, I nearly cried from the memories—and that was the turning point."
"So you did this on purpose?"
Now that he thought about it, the idea of Holo actually doing something so shallow as to sneak a look inside the package while his back was turned seemed a bit strange.
And when he looked away again, perhaps she had been crying a bit.
"Are you saying I'm the sort who would take advantage of another's goodwill?"
"You take advantage of me all the time," shot back Lawrence, and he saw Holo flashing her usual fanged grin.
"So then," said Holo, beckoning to Lawrence.
Harboring a bit of suspicion, he approached her guardedly until she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him in close.
"I shan't forget this scent, either."

Output:
But Lawrence found he could not manage his usual comeback as Holo had buried her face in his chest, unmoving.
She was no mere traveling companion.
He could look at her ears and tail and work his own form of mind reading on her.
"Nor will I," he replied, and with a soft sigh, he stroked her head with his hand.
Holo rubbed the corners of her eyes on his clothing and smiled awkwardly. "You sound a dunce when you say it so. I'll not forget that, either."
Lawrence gave a forced smile. "Sorry."
Holo smiled, rubbed her nose, then smiled again—and was back to her old self. "So it seems I have indeed visited this town."
"Then there must be legends of you left here."
He didn't add "in books somewhere," but Holo would certainly notice and appreciate his consideration.
On the other hand, if he didn't take such care, it would be impossible to avoid accidentally stepping on her tail.
"So then, what news did you manage to hear tell of?" asked Holo, like a mother asking her child to boast about some new knowledge he had acquired.
She never stayed frail for long.
"This time around is going to be a lot of fun," began Lawrence. Holo listened closely as she ate the tail meat.
In the end, they had two reasons to meet Rigolo, the town chronicler and secretary for the Council of Fifty.
The first was to ask if any legends of Holo remained and to have him show them the records where such legends might be found. The second was to discover the particulars of how the town came to be in the situation it presently faced.
The latter reason was purely a result of Lawrence's occupational sickness, and given the precedent set on their travels thus far, Holo listened to his explanation but was none too pleased.
In point of fact, if Lawrence had been asked whether it was really necessary to risk the danger involved in performing the financial alchemy it would take to suck money through the cracks in the current conflict, the answer was no—it was not. Given the profit he had managed to make in the pagan town of Kumersun, so long as he continued to quietly ply his trade for a while longer, the day when he would be able to open his own shop was not so very far off. In which case, he would do better to use his time frugally, carrying his goods and turning his profits, rather than to risk sticking his neck out in dangerous speculation. In the long term, spending his time in town quietly and carefully making business connections would be much better for Lawrence's future profits.
Not being a merchant, Holo didn't use terms like future profits, but her gist was the same: You're not short on money, so relax.
Simply standing there in the room was cold, so as they talked, Holo crawled into her bed and eventually started dozing off. Lawrence sat down on her bed as they spoke, and Holo had—with no particular intent—slowly grasped his hand in hers.
Having sat there on the bed and passed the time quietly talking, Lawrence had to admit that Holo was absolutely right. The fact was, though, that no traveling merchant was so easygoing as to idle away his time in a town, particularly not while they were mid-journey.
He wanted her to understand that, but it was probably impossible.
It was perhaps fortunate, however, that Lawrence couldn't do anything immediately.
Given the situation in Lenos, none of the members of the Council of Fifty, including Rigolo, would casually meet with a foreign merchant.
Since the affair centered around the fur trade that was the town's lifeblood, meeting with a merchant of unknown background would be deeply suspicious and tantamount to societal suicide. No, Lawrence would not be able to see a council member.
Which meant that if he wanted to engage one, he would need a mediator.
Yet when Lawrence rethought the question of whether that would really be necessary, it was hard to convince himself of it. And if he were to force the issue and make a bad impression, they would never see the records of Holo.


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

Input:
But Lawrence found he could not manage his usual comeback as Holo had buried her face in his chest, unmoving.
She was no mere traveling companion.
He could look at her ears and tail and work his own form of mind reading on her.
"Nor will I," he replied, and with a soft sigh, he stroked her head with his hand.
Holo rubbed the corners of her eyes on his clothing and smiled awkwardly. "You sound a dunce when you say it so. I'll not forget that, either."
Lawrence gave a forced smile. "Sorry."
Holo smiled, rubbed her nose, then smiled again—and was back to her old self. "So it seems I have indeed visited this town."
"Then there must be legends of you left here."
He didn't add "in books somewhere," but Holo would certainly notice and appreciate his consideration.
On the other hand, if he didn't take such care, it would be impossible to avoid accidentally stepping on her tail.
"So then, what news did you manage to hear tell of?" asked Holo, like a mother asking her child to boast about some new knowledge he had acquired.
She never stayed frail for long.
"This time around is going to be a lot of fun," began Lawrence. Holo listened closely as she ate the tail meat.
In the end, they had two reasons to meet Rigolo, the town chronicler and secretary for the Council of Fifty.
The first was to ask if any legends of Holo remained and to have him show them the records where such legends might be found. The second was to discover the particulars of how the town came to be in the situation it presently faced.
The latter reason was purely a result of Lawrence's occupational sickness, and given the precedent set on their travels thus far, Holo listened to his explanation but was none too pleased.
In point of fact, if Lawrence had been asked whether it was really necessary to risk the danger involved in performing the financial alchemy it would take to suck money through the cracks in the current conflict, the answer was no—it was not. Given the profit he had managed to make in the pagan town of Kumersun, so long as he continued to quietly ply his trade for a while longer, the day when he would be able to open his own shop was not so very far off. In which case, he would do better to use his time frugally, carrying his goods and turning his profits, rather than to risk sticking his neck out in dangerous speculation. In the long term, spending his time in town quietly and carefully making business connections would be much better for Lawrence's future profits.
Not being a merchant, Holo didn't use terms like future profits, but her gist was the same: You're not short on money, so relax.
Simply standing there in the room was cold, so as they talked, Holo crawled into her bed and eventually started dozing off. Lawrence sat down on her bed as they spoke, and Holo had—with no particular intent—slowly grasped his hand in hers.
Having sat there on the bed and passed the time quietly talking, Lawrence had to admit that Holo was absolutely right. The fact was, though, that no traveling merchant was so easygoing as to idle away his time in a town, particularly not while they were mid-journey.
He wanted her to understand that, but it was probably impossible.
It was perhaps fortunate, however, that Lawrence couldn't do anything immediately.
Given the situation in Lenos, none of the members of the Council of Fifty, including Rigolo, would casually meet with a foreign merchant.
Since the affair centered around the fur trade that was the town's lifeblood, meeting with a merchant of unknown background would be deeply suspicious and tantamount to societal suicide. No, Lawrence would not be able to see a council member.
Which meant that if he wanted to engage one, he would need a mediator.
Yet when Lawrence rethought the question of whether that would really be necessary, it was hard to convince himself of it. And if he were to force the issue and make a bad impression, they would never see the records of Holo.

Output:
When she was hungry, she ate, and when she was tired, she slept.
Indeed, she was as free as any beast, and those who spent their days constantly toiling to keep their bellies full had dreamed of such a life at least once.
Lawrence couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of the life Holo took for granted. He extracted his hand from hers and lightly brushed her polished porcelain cheek with the back of his index finger. Once she had fallen asleep, even a tap wouldn't wake her. At Lawrence's touch, her expression clenched in irritation, but her eyes stayed closed as she buried her face in the blanket.
It was a quiet, happy moment. Nothing happened save for the passage of time itself, but this was one of the things Lawrence wished for when he drove his cart alone. The merchant knew this for a near certainty, and yet in the bottom of his heart, he felt a distinct impatience, a feeling that he was wasting this time.
He couldn't help feeling that if he wasn't making money or collecting information for his business, he was sustaining a loss he would never be able to recover.
The merchant's spirit is a flame that never goes out, his master had said, but that flame might very well have been hellfire, charring his flesh.
When one was alone, the flame provided warmth, but with two...with two, he felt it was too hot.
Holo's smile especially was very warm.
The world did not go as one wanted it to.
Lawrence stood up from the bed and paced around the room.
If he wasn't going to get involved in the happenings of Lenos, then he at least wanted to understand the details for his own enlightenment.
The best way to do that would be to meet directly with a member of the Council of Fifty, and in order to get unbiased information, a witness who didn't represent any particular interested party would be still more desirable.
It was the chronicler and secretary Rigolo who best fit that description.
But no council member would have any interest in meeting with an outsider.
The problem began to seem intractable.
Lawrence would have to take a different approach, but at the moment his sole source of information was the barmaid. Widening this to include more information from the town merchants would involve significant effort.
There was certainly any number of people using this machination or that to collect information, and Lawrence sincerely doubted that his own intellect and tactics would be enough to give him any advantage over the rest. Who knew how high the price for that information might rise given the scope of the demand?
Had it been a town where Lawrence had some old acquaintance, he might have been able to get nearer the essence of things and to make something happen. If it was goods you wanted, money could buy anything, but for information, you had to have trust.
In the face of this fascinating situation, Lawrence would just have to watch and wait.
Feeling like a frustrated dog pacing back and forth in a room while eyeing a piece of meat he could see through a tiny crack in the wall, Lawrence finally heaved a sigh.
He felt as if he was moving further and further away from the merchant he wished to be.
Even worse, the logic and prudence he should have long ago developed seemed to be gone. It was as though he had regressed to that period when he had just come of age; his head full of ridiculous get-rich-quick schemes.
His feet were restless.
He repeated the problem to himself, glancing at Holo.
Was it because this cheeky wolf girl was constantly pulling the rug out from under him?
It seemed possible.
He enjoyed talking with Holo too much.
That's why he had begun neglecting other things.
***
Lawrence stroked his beard, murmuring to himself that shifting the blame might not be a bad idea.
It was a wasted opportunity, but the fur problem would have to wait.
Which meant that the next action would be to seek out information that would set them on the road to Nyohhira, still farther north from Lenos.


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

Input:
When she was hungry, she ate, and when she was tired, she slept.
Indeed, she was as free as any beast, and those who spent their days constantly toiling to keep their bellies full had dreamed of such a life at least once.
Lawrence couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of the life Holo took for granted. He extracted his hand from hers and lightly brushed her polished porcelain cheek with the back of his index finger. Once she had fallen asleep, even a tap wouldn't wake her. At Lawrence's touch, her expression clenched in irritation, but her eyes stayed closed as she buried her face in the blanket.
It was a quiet, happy moment. Nothing happened save for the passage of time itself, but this was one of the things Lawrence wished for when he drove his cart alone. The merchant knew this for a near certainty, and yet in the bottom of his heart, he felt a distinct impatience, a feeling that he was wasting this time.
He couldn't help feeling that if he wasn't making money or collecting information for his business, he was sustaining a loss he would never be able to recover.
The merchant's spirit is a flame that never goes out, his master had said, but that flame might very well have been hellfire, charring his flesh.
When one was alone, the flame provided warmth, but with two...with two, he felt it was too hot.
Holo's smile especially was very warm.
The world did not go as one wanted it to.
Lawrence stood up from the bed and paced around the room.
If he wasn't going to get involved in the happenings of Lenos, then he at least wanted to understand the details for his own enlightenment.
The best way to do that would be to meet directly with a member of the Council of Fifty, and in order to get unbiased information, a witness who didn't represent any particular interested party would be still more desirable.
It was the chronicler and secretary Rigolo who best fit that description.
But no council member would have any interest in meeting with an outsider.
The problem began to seem intractable.
Lawrence would have to take a different approach, but at the moment his sole source of information was the barmaid. Widening this to include more information from the town merchants would involve significant effort.
There was certainly any number of people using this machination or that to collect information, and Lawrence sincerely doubted that his own intellect and tactics would be enough to give him any advantage over the rest. Who knew how high the price for that information might rise given the scope of the demand?
Had it been a town where Lawrence had some old acquaintance, he might have been able to get nearer the essence of things and to make something happen. If it was goods you wanted, money could buy anything, but for information, you had to have trust.
In the face of this fascinating situation, Lawrence would just have to watch and wait.
Feeling like a frustrated dog pacing back and forth in a room while eyeing a piece of meat he could see through a tiny crack in the wall, Lawrence finally heaved a sigh.
He felt as if he was moving further and further away from the merchant he wished to be.
Even worse, the logic and prudence he should have long ago developed seemed to be gone. It was as though he had regressed to that period when he had just come of age; his head full of ridiculous get-rich-quick schemes.
His feet were restless.
He repeated the problem to himself, glancing at Holo.
Was it because this cheeky wolf girl was constantly pulling the rug out from under him?
It seemed possible.
He enjoyed talking with Holo too much.
That's why he had begun neglecting other things.
***
Lawrence stroked his beard, murmuring to himself that shifting the blame might not be a bad idea.
It was a wasted opportunity, but the fur problem would have to wait.
Which meant that the next action would be to seek out information that would set them on the road to Nyohhira, still farther north from Lenos.

Output:
Information on furs...can be collected after that, Lawrence told himself as he left the room.
Lawrence came down to the first floor where there was a rustling sound coming from the corner of the clutter-filled room.
There was neither lock nor lookout, but a good number of merchants still used this storehouse, it seemed.
The rate was not too high, and some used it as a relay for their peddling while others stored goods when their price fluctuated with the season. Lawrence would not have been surprised to learn that the odd smuggler or thief kept items there, too.
Though he heard the sound of someone tampering with goods in the storehouse, the person was in shadow, and Lawrence could not tell who it was. But Arold the innkeeper did not appear to think for one moment that one of his guests was opening someone else's luggage. He only poured a bit of water on the fire, which had grown slightly too strong.
"A road to the north?"
While Arold had reacted to Lawrence's question about chroniclers this morning as though a child had asked him a difficult theological question, he seemed to be much more used to this sort of inquiry.
He nodded slightly, as if to say, "Well, in that case," then paying the flame no heed, he cleared his throat and spoke.
"Not much snow this year. I don't know where you're headed, but I don't reckon it'll be too hard."
"I'm making for Nyohhira, as it happens."
Arold's left eyebrow went up, and the sharp blue eyes buried in the deep folds of his eyelids glittered.
Behind his merchant's smile, Lawrence flinched a bit, and Arold continued, brushing a bit of ash that had flown up when he poured water on the coals a moment earlier.
"Heading all the way into pagan country, eh?...Well, I suppose that's merchants for you, carrying money bags over their shoulder and heading off anywhere."
"Aye, and we throw them away on our deathbeds," Lawrence said, trying to lighten things up with the devout Arold, but the innkeeper only gave a derisive snort.
"So why bother earning it in the first place? Gaining it only to throw it away..."
It was something that many merchants pondered themselves.
But Lawrence had heard an interesting answer to this question. "You don't ask the same question when you clean a room, do you?"
If money was trash, then profit was the collection of trash.
A famous merchant in a southern country had repented on his deathbed, saying that collecting and throwing away the money that polluted the world God had given man was the ultimate virtue.
The clergy heard these words and were moved, but the merchants hid their uncertain smiles behind their wine cups—because the more successful one became, the less one's assets were concrete things, and the more they were numbers on certificates and entries in ledgers.
Thus if these written ledger entries and figures polluted the world, then the written teachings of God were no better, and so the irony was that those scriptures, too, should be thrown away for the betterment of the world—such was the view of most merchants.
Lawrence felt much the same way. He felt bad for Holo, but he would take the business of a successful merchant over prayers to gods that never answered any day.
"Heh," Arold chuckled. "Fair enough," he said in an uncommonly amused tone. His mood had improved.
He seemed more cheered by the irony behind Lawrence's words than by the words themselves.
"Are you leaving soon? I seem to recall you giving me a good amount of coin for your stay..."
"No, I expect to wait until the Council of Fifty has finished their meeting."
"...I see. You wanted to see Rigolo. You asked about a chronicler this morning, as I recall. That's a word I've not heard in some time. Hardly anyone looks to the past these days...," said Arold, narrowing his eyes as he stared off into space.
Perhaps the old man was looking back on his life thus far.