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

Input:
But he had overlooked something important.
Each time he delivered a letter, he had been made to wait outside the room for some period of time.
And during that time, what had he seen?
Had anyone else brought a single letter to the room?
After being made to wait a fair amount of time, Lawrence was finally given his reply. He was able to look around with eyes as clear as the skies after a storm. When the old man opened the door, he caught again a glimpse of the room, scattered with letters as usual.
But then he thought about things.
What need was there to scatter them around like that after reading them? And if there was a reason to do that, what was it?
Lawrence tucked Eve's reply into his breast pocket and hurried out of the inn.
This exchange had had inscrutable aspects right from the start. The oddest was Eve's childish insistence that she simply had to monopolize all the profit. And yet the words he had exchanged with her and the general mood of the place made it seem like it was reasonable to say such a ridiculous thing.
It wasn't as though she had always been a merchant and ready to jump into this world of ready betrayal—Lawrence could imagine the hardships she'd weathered in getting to this place. It would hardly be surprising if she chose to walk the evil path of betrayal if she thought it would lead to her world without suffering.
It wouldn't be surprising, but where was the need? Choosing the path that allowed her to hurt others simply because she was also in pain was a mere excuse.
But what if it really was all an act?
Lawrence's mind raced, and the blood rushed from his head. Sometimes waiting led to greater gain, but sometimes quick action brought the largest profit. And this deal most likely fell into the latter category. Once an agreement was reached at the meeting, Kieman's turnabout plan would no longer be viable.
If Eve wasn't working for her own profit, but instead for someone else's, that would explain why her replies were taking so long.
She was trying to buy time.
In more or less any town, there were men like Kieman, who would always attempt to outwit their rivals given half a chance. How could the elders, who had gained all their experience on that very same road, fail to be reminded of their own youthful days?
Were they using Eve as a tool to thwart Kieman's mad plan?
Letting him waste his time with an idle partner, the elders would skillfully avoid the spearpoint of this unavoidably intergenerational conflict.
It was all starting to make sense.
The letters scattered unnaturally all over the floor.
And the existence of so many letters, despite Lawrence never once seeing anyone carrying them.
And Eve never once giving the impression that she would waver in the face of any difficulty.
Lawrence delivered the letter to the messenger. As the man turned to hurry back and finish the delivery, Lawrence grabbed his shoulder and spoke.
"A message for Mr. Kieman."
The messenger frowned, but Lawrence didn't care and continued.
"There is a possibility that the wolf is a decoy."
That much of a hint would be more than enough for a man like Kieman to understand.
It was even possible that Chief Jeeta had set a trap in order to teach the upstart a lesson. After all, given that Kieman had no qualms playing Lawrence as a pawn, it would hardly be surprising if the powers above him would take a similar opportunity to legally crush a troublesome subordinate.
But if it came to that, Lawrence would suffer, too, and whether or not he could borrow Holo's power to escape, his place in the guild would be gone.
The messenger only made a pained face at Lawrence's desperate words and ran off without replying. He had probably been ordered not to accept anything other than letters from Lawrence, in order to prevent Lawrence from making any decisions on his own.
But the situation required immediate action.

Output:
Lawrence waited anxiously in the tavern.
Since Kieman's replies had been so much quicker than Eve's, this was the first time Lawrence had felt impatient at having to wait for one. And really, it didn't seem as though he had to wait so very long—yet he couldn't help thinking, Finally! to himself upon the return of the messenger.
The messenger brought the same thing he had brought before—just a letter.
"Please deliver this."
***
Lawrence was stunned into silence, and for a moment he didn't know what to say. "Did you not tell him?" he said, grabbing the man by his shoulders.
The man looked aside, his mouth closed.
He hadn't told him.
But rather than become angry, Lawrence felt only urgency. "I'm not saying this for no reason. And I know why your orders are so strict. But they're not all-knowing gods, and no human can draw a picture of a town they've never been to. They say seeing is believing, and that's the truth. There's still time. You have to tell them—"
"Enough!" said the small man, who was so perfectly suited to his job. His voice was low and thick.
Lawrence released his shoulders in spite of himself. This wasn't the voice of someone who walked the straight and narrow path.
His pronunciation had a whiff of blood and dirt to it.
It was hardly surprising that Kieman would employ a former criminal.
"We just have to do as we're told, you and me."
For the first time, Lawrence understood the meaning of the word loyalty—a word that had no place in the world of the traveling merchant.
It was a foolish concept, and there were countless stories where it caused the death of many a knight and mercenary. Merchants were among the few people who were supposed to be able to avoid such problems using logic and reasoning.
Unafraid, Lawrence replied, "Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes there are things you have to be there to see. It's the duty of the people on the bottom to fix those mistakes, isn't it?"
The messenger frowned at Lawrence's words and looked down. Surely even this loyal man would regret that loyalty if it caused his master's death.
Lawrence had to convince him. He had to.
The moment he found the nerve to continue, the man looked up and pretended to spit. "You forget yourself, merchant. We're just tools. We don't think. Arms and legs don't have their own heads. Do you get that?"
The man's quiet voice was nonetheless rough, the harsh tone of someone well used to threatening others from the shadows. But that wasn't what stole Lawrence's breath.
It was the man's words that stopped Lawrence dead.
"If you understand, then take this letter. I have orders from the boss. And so do you," said the man, slapping Lawrence's shoulder, then running off as though trying to regain wasted time.
Not a single person nearby betrayed any evidence of having noticed their exchange—the conversation had seemed brief and unimportant, and indeed it was unimportant.
Lawrence was Kieman's tool. That much was certain, and as such, thinking about the situation or coming to conclusions was not his duty.
He knew that, and he knew he had to tolerate this until the right chance came. But as a lonely, independent traveling merchant, he had his pride, so such tolerance was terrible to endure.
Though he knew he was insignificant, he couldn't admit to himself he was a mere cog.
Though small, he had his own name, he had his own thoughts, and he was a merchant who could take his own actions. The more he thought about it, the more agonizing it became to deny himself this way.
He knew he was just a small part of a complicated machine. But the reality of that felt like a physical blow to his head. But then, the moment after the flames of rage welled up within his chest and he felt nearly compelled to cry out from it, he suddenly understood—he understood the reason why Eve insisted on acting so childishly selfish, why despite the situation that presented itself to her, she still wanted to keep all the profit.


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

Input:
Lawrence waited anxiously in the tavern.
Since Kieman's replies had been so much quicker than Eve's, this was the first time Lawrence had felt impatient at having to wait for one. And really, it didn't seem as though he had to wait so very long—yet he couldn't help thinking, Finally! to himself upon the return of the messenger.
The messenger brought the same thing he had brought before—just a letter.
"Please deliver this."
***
Lawrence was stunned into silence, and for a moment he didn't know what to say. "Did you not tell him?" he said, grabbing the man by his shoulders.
The man looked aside, his mouth closed.
He hadn't told him.
But rather than become angry, Lawrence felt only urgency. "I'm not saying this for no reason. And I know why your orders are so strict. But they're not all-knowing gods, and no human can draw a picture of a town they've never been to. They say seeing is believing, and that's the truth. There's still time. You have to tell them—"
"Enough!" said the small man, who was so perfectly suited to his job. His voice was low and thick.
Lawrence released his shoulders in spite of himself. This wasn't the voice of someone who walked the straight and narrow path.
His pronunciation had a whiff of blood and dirt to it.
It was hardly surprising that Kieman would employ a former criminal.
"We just have to do as we're told, you and me."
For the first time, Lawrence understood the meaning of the word loyalty—a word that had no place in the world of the traveling merchant.
It was a foolish concept, and there were countless stories where it caused the death of many a knight and mercenary. Merchants were among the few people who were supposed to be able to avoid such problems using logic and reasoning.
Unafraid, Lawrence replied, "Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes there are things you have to be there to see. It's the duty of the people on the bottom to fix those mistakes, isn't it?"
The messenger frowned at Lawrence's words and looked down. Surely even this loyal man would regret that loyalty if it caused his master's death.
Lawrence had to convince him. He had to.
The moment he found the nerve to continue, the man looked up and pretended to spit. "You forget yourself, merchant. We're just tools. We don't think. Arms and legs don't have their own heads. Do you get that?"
The man's quiet voice was nonetheless rough, the harsh tone of someone well used to threatening others from the shadows. But that wasn't what stole Lawrence's breath.
It was the man's words that stopped Lawrence dead.
"If you understand, then take this letter. I have orders from the boss. And so do you," said the man, slapping Lawrence's shoulder, then running off as though trying to regain wasted time.
Not a single person nearby betrayed any evidence of having noticed their exchange—the conversation had seemed brief and unimportant, and indeed it was unimportant.
Lawrence was Kieman's tool. That much was certain, and as such, thinking about the situation or coming to conclusions was not his duty.
He knew that, and he knew he had to tolerate this until the right chance came. But as a lonely, independent traveling merchant, he had his pride, so such tolerance was terrible to endure.
Though he knew he was insignificant, he couldn't admit to himself he was a mere cog.
Though small, he had his own name, he had his own thoughts, and he was a merchant who could take his own actions. The more he thought about it, the more agonizing it became to deny himself this way.
He knew he was just a small part of a complicated machine. But the reality of that felt like a physical blow to his head. But then, the moment after the flames of rage welled up within his chest and he felt nearly compelled to cry out from it, he suddenly understood—he understood the reason why Eve insisted on acting so childishly selfish, why despite the situation that presented itself to her, she still wanted to keep all the profit.

Output:
Lawrence was certain of that.
If this was a trap, he might as well raise his hand and surrender on the spot.
There was no logic to Lawrence's conviction; it was entirely emotional.
When he arrived at Eve's room again, for some reason he was allowed inside and found himself staring her right in the face.
It was possible to know a person's plans from the actions they took and from the expressions they wore.
Eve had an elbow on her desk and a pleasant, innocent smile on her face.
"You seem pleased," said Lawrence.
But the wolves that lived along the Roam River did not smile with their faces.
Lawrence produced the letter from his breast pocket and spoke. "You truly are planning to keep all the profit from the narwhal, aren't you?"
Eve's smile vanished, and the corners of her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It seemed like a sort of frown.
But for a wolf who could laugh the whole world off, it was the perfect smile.
Her family had been sold for money, her fate tossed to the winds, and she had to use everything she had just to swim through a sea of sulfur and acid. And all the while she had no doubt been used in other ways, too.
When she was recognized by others, was it because she was the head of the Bolan family, or was it simply because she was a beautiful woman? There was certainly no one who would say her name with any sort of affection or familiarity.
Perhaps that was the real reason why she no longer used the name "Fleur Bolan." If those around her could see her only as a tool to be used, then she would create a mask to protect her true self.
Even if it was a sentimental notion, Lawrence guessed it wasn't far from the truth.
Eve looked over the paper Lawrence gave her and slowly closed her eyes. She then smiled slightly and spoke.
"You're really not cut out to be a merchant."
"And I doubt you're cut out to be a wolf."
The abbreviated conversation seemed like something between a priest and his God.
Eve turned her gaze to the fireplace and narrowed her eyes before continuing. "I had planned to survive, no matter who I had to use to do so, but it seems I won't be able to ignore reality for much longer." She put her finger to the left corner of her mouth, as though she were about to make a joke. "When the trouble in this city first started, the furs I'd put most of my worth into were confiscated. Arold, who'd fled Lenos with me, was arrested. Under circumstances like these, I haven't the courage to be a wolf any longer."
It was clear that the northerners were having a difficult negotiation. When cornered, people would try to shift the threat to those weaker than them. It seemed all too likely, Lawrence thought to himself.
Eve had probably been thus used all along. But this time they were making a mistake, for her forbearance was reaching its limit.
"My name has always been a convenient tool. Only my grandfather and a few eccentrics have ever called me by it. Of them, probably the only one still alive is Arold."
Lawrence couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to live one's entire life as a tool, valuable only so long as one was useful. It made him feel as though people were both more complicated than he had guessed, yet also simpler.
With but a few signs, a person who had lived a life he could scarcely imagine would be able to know exactly which hill she had reached.
Lawrence slowly spoke. "So you're saying that you wish to be called by your name?"
The hill was a lonely one and surrounded by enemies.
"...When you put it so plainly, it's embarrassing. No, please don't be angry. I'm happy. I'm pleased we're friendly enough now we don't have to fight with knives and hatchets. I'm surprised myself, truly. I had thought it wouldn't be so very difficult to manipulate you. You're an awfully soft touch, after all. And yet..."
There were many details in Eve's rapid banter that Lawrence didn't want to forgive, but to merchants the tongue could bring both riches and calamity.


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

Input:
Lawrence was certain of that.
If this was a trap, he might as well raise his hand and surrender on the spot.
There was no logic to Lawrence's conviction; it was entirely emotional.
When he arrived at Eve's room again, for some reason he was allowed inside and found himself staring her right in the face.
It was possible to know a person's plans from the actions they took and from the expressions they wore.
Eve had an elbow on her desk and a pleasant, innocent smile on her face.
"You seem pleased," said Lawrence.
But the wolves that lived along the Roam River did not smile with their faces.
Lawrence produced the letter from his breast pocket and spoke. "You truly are planning to keep all the profit from the narwhal, aren't you?"
Eve's smile vanished, and the corners of her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It seemed like a sort of frown.
But for a wolf who could laugh the whole world off, it was the perfect smile.
Her family had been sold for money, her fate tossed to the winds, and she had to use everything she had just to swim through a sea of sulfur and acid. And all the while she had no doubt been used in other ways, too.
When she was recognized by others, was it because she was the head of the Bolan family, or was it simply because she was a beautiful woman? There was certainly no one who would say her name with any sort of affection or familiarity.
Perhaps that was the real reason why she no longer used the name "Fleur Bolan." If those around her could see her only as a tool to be used, then she would create a mask to protect her true self.
Even if it was a sentimental notion, Lawrence guessed it wasn't far from the truth.
Eve looked over the paper Lawrence gave her and slowly closed her eyes. She then smiled slightly and spoke.
"You're really not cut out to be a merchant."
"And I doubt you're cut out to be a wolf."
The abbreviated conversation seemed like something between a priest and his God.
Eve turned her gaze to the fireplace and narrowed her eyes before continuing. "I had planned to survive, no matter who I had to use to do so, but it seems I won't be able to ignore reality for much longer." She put her finger to the left corner of her mouth, as though she were about to make a joke. "When the trouble in this city first started, the furs I'd put most of my worth into were confiscated. Arold, who'd fled Lenos with me, was arrested. Under circumstances like these, I haven't the courage to be a wolf any longer."
It was clear that the northerners were having a difficult negotiation. When cornered, people would try to shift the threat to those weaker than them. It seemed all too likely, Lawrence thought to himself.
Eve had probably been thus used all along. But this time they were making a mistake, for her forbearance was reaching its limit.
"My name has always been a convenient tool. Only my grandfather and a few eccentrics have ever called me by it. Of them, probably the only one still alive is Arold."
Lawrence couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to live one's entire life as a tool, valuable only so long as one was useful. It made him feel as though people were both more complicated than he had guessed, yet also simpler.
With but a few signs, a person who had lived a life he could scarcely imagine would be able to know exactly which hill she had reached.
Lawrence slowly spoke. "So you're saying that you wish to be called by your name?"
The hill was a lonely one and surrounded by enemies.
"...When you put it so plainly, it's embarrassing. No, please don't be angry. I'm happy. I'm pleased we're friendly enough now we don't have to fight with knives and hatchets. I'm surprised myself, truly. I had thought it wouldn't be so very difficult to manipulate you. You're an awfully soft touch, after all. And yet..."
There were many details in Eve's rapid banter that Lawrence didn't want to forgive, but to merchants the tongue could bring both riches and calamity.

Output:
"But I couldn't stand you not knowing. Of course, I won't mind if you don't believe me."
Lawrence didn't know how to answer. It seemed like no matter how he replied, Eve would wind up being hurt.
"When this is all over, I'm leaving this rotten place. So in the end...," she said, smiling an amazing smile.
Lawrence wanted to keep the memory of how beautiful he found this in his heart forever.
"In the end, you're going to make sure they say your name. Is that it?"
Eve's lips curled. Just like a wolf's. Her fangs bared, she smiled a sad smile. "That's right. In the end, I'm going to betray them magnificently, and I shall make them call my name."
Lawrence could only reply in the soft tones of someone seeing a knight off to a battlefield where he would surely die. "Even if they cry out 'Eve Bolan' in rage?"
"Even so." In that moment, Eve's face was back to the woman he knew. "Now then, let me ask this of Kraft Lawrence, who so kindly calls me by name."
Kings speak to only a few chosen people within their palaces, but not because they have been chosen by God to govern nations with only a few words. It is because they, too, are mere humans and can trust only those close to them.
When she had first met Col, Eve told him that it was a kind of fate to be liked by others. And this was surely what she meant.
"Will you betray them with me?"
Eve had a painful-looking bruise at the corner of her mouth, and in that moment her face was worthy of the wolf.
***
Lawrence waited in the tavern after passing Eve's message to Kieman's messenger. The reply was late in coming.
There were fewer merchants in the tavern, and the place was much less lively than it had been. Looking over those who remained, Lawrence reckoned they were all merchants who had been given similar duties to his own, and when he happened to meet their eyes, they would look away uncomfortably.
It was late afternoon, with sunset not far off, but going by the chatter of the already red-faced and drunken merchants, the meeting's conclusion was nearly solidified, the day's negotiations having come to an end.
Evidently the outcome was the most straightforward, boring one possible—the northern landlords would give up on recapturing the narwhal, and the southerners would compensate them with an appropriate amount of money.
Given that the southerners could use their immense wealth to buy out the northern fishermen, thereby gaining possession of the narwhal, the northerners would then have no choice but to compromise.
If they wanted to get it back, their only options were to take it by force of arms or to purchase it—either of which would be extremely expensive.
If the town was plunged into war, it wouldn't simply be a matter of business; the only ones who stood to gain anything were people in other towns. The people of Kerube would all lose. And they simply didn't have the money to purchase the narwhal outright.
It was easy to feel sympathetic for the northerners, who would be unarmed if the unreasonable happened and fighting actually broke out. But unreasonable situations were like pebbles scattered across the road. If you stumbled and fell on one, hardly anyone would help you back to your feet.
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
The messenger finally arrived with the reply as the pungent smells of wine and meat were beginning to seep into Lawrence's body. Lawrence hadn't looked at Eve's last message to Kieman, but he could tell this missive was a significant one.
The reply he'd just been handed was sealed with red wax.
"This is the last one, but you must bring her response."
It would have been easy to assume the small-framed messenger was faint of heart, but in truth he was the kind of man who might well be carrying a poisoned dagger in his breast pocket. Lawrence was well aware that his saying "must" wasn't simply for emphasis.
The seal to the letter was to ensure that Eve need not doubt its contents. Whatever it was, it contained Kieman's final conclusion.
"Understood. I will."


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

Input:
"But I couldn't stand you not knowing. Of course, I won't mind if you don't believe me."
Lawrence didn't know how to answer. It seemed like no matter how he replied, Eve would wind up being hurt.
"When this is all over, I'm leaving this rotten place. So in the end...," she said, smiling an amazing smile.
Lawrence wanted to keep the memory of how beautiful he found this in his heart forever.
"In the end, you're going to make sure they say your name. Is that it?"
Eve's lips curled. Just like a wolf's. Her fangs bared, she smiled a sad smile. "That's right. In the end, I'm going to betray them magnificently, and I shall make them call my name."
Lawrence could only reply in the soft tones of someone seeing a knight off to a battlefield where he would surely die. "Even if they cry out 'Eve Bolan' in rage?"
"Even so." In that moment, Eve's face was back to the woman he knew. "Now then, let me ask this of Kraft Lawrence, who so kindly calls me by name."
Kings speak to only a few chosen people within their palaces, but not because they have been chosen by God to govern nations with only a few words. It is because they, too, are mere humans and can trust only those close to them.
When she had first met Col, Eve told him that it was a kind of fate to be liked by others. And this was surely what she meant.
"Will you betray them with me?"
Eve had a painful-looking bruise at the corner of her mouth, and in that moment her face was worthy of the wolf.
***
Lawrence waited in the tavern after passing Eve's message to Kieman's messenger. The reply was late in coming.
There were fewer merchants in the tavern, and the place was much less lively than it had been. Looking over those who remained, Lawrence reckoned they were all merchants who had been given similar duties to his own, and when he happened to meet their eyes, they would look away uncomfortably.
It was late afternoon, with sunset not far off, but going by the chatter of the already red-faced and drunken merchants, the meeting's conclusion was nearly solidified, the day's negotiations having come to an end.
Evidently the outcome was the most straightforward, boring one possible—the northern landlords would give up on recapturing the narwhal, and the southerners would compensate them with an appropriate amount of money.
Given that the southerners could use their immense wealth to buy out the northern fishermen, thereby gaining possession of the narwhal, the northerners would then have no choice but to compromise.
If they wanted to get it back, their only options were to take it by force of arms or to purchase it—either of which would be extremely expensive.
If the town was plunged into war, it wouldn't simply be a matter of business; the only ones who stood to gain anything were people in other towns. The people of Kerube would all lose. And they simply didn't have the money to purchase the narwhal outright.
It was easy to feel sympathetic for the northerners, who would be unarmed if the unreasonable happened and fighting actually broke out. But unreasonable situations were like pebbles scattered across the road. If you stumbled and fell on one, hardly anyone would help you back to your feet.
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
The messenger finally arrived with the reply as the pungent smells of wine and meat were beginning to seep into Lawrence's body. Lawrence hadn't looked at Eve's last message to Kieman, but he could tell this missive was a significant one.
The reply he'd just been handed was sealed with red wax.
"This is the last one, but you must bring her response."
It would have been easy to assume the small-framed messenger was faint of heart, but in truth he was the kind of man who might well be carrying a poisoned dagger in his breast pocket. Lawrence was well aware that his saying "must" wasn't simply for emphasis.
The seal to the letter was to ensure that Eve need not doubt its contents. Whatever it was, it contained Kieman's final conclusion.
"Understood. I will."

Output:
The man gave a satisfied nod at Lawrence's reply. Lawrence started walking, and the man watched him go. With this meeting concluded, his job must have been finished.
Or maybe, Lawrence wondered to himself as he headed out again into the ever-crowded streets, looking up at the sky, the only clear thing he could see.
Maybe they doubted him.
For some reason the idea made Lawrence smile.
"Early tomorrow morning, we'll make a show of formally bringing the narwhal out. On the river we'll exchange the narwhal and the ship it's on for the deed of land. After that, get lost. Signed, Lud Kieman."
Lawrence was sure that last sentence was a joke. Once Eve had finished reading the letter aloud, she didn't hesitate to hand it over. It showed just what she had read, with Kieman's signature at the bottom.
If Eve was to take this to a trading house, Kieman's position would quickly become a bad one. That he had seen fit to give her such a document meant that he had decided it was safe to do so.
There was no telling what that meant.
He couldn't possibly have decided to unconditionally trust Eve, so he had to have some sort of contingency ready if she decided to publicly expose him.
"It's a simple, naive exchange. What do you think?"
"If things go poorly, we can always capsize the boat to obscure the truth, so it doesn't seem like such a very bad idea."
The plan didn't differ much from what Holo had proposed to Lawrence, and Eve raised an eyebrow at it. "I see," she murmured, amused. "So perhaps I should write something like this, eh?"
As she spoke, she playfully wrote with her pen upon a sheet of parchment. It was hardly the sort of paper a mere merchant would scribble upon for fun. It was more suited to having the wisdom of God recorded upon it by a grim-faced monk in a stone monastery somewhere, but Eve's handwriting was as beautiful as any monk's.
"Understood. I, Eve Bolan, shall ride upon the boat for the exchange. Aboard your boat shall be the creature of legend, as well as—"
She looked at Lawrence.
"—Kraft Lawrence."
Lawrence didn't respond to this, but Eve did not seem to care.
She smoothly signed the letter and casually tossed it over to the old man who was still stirring the wax. Once sealed and tied with a strand of horsehair, it was ready.
And now Lawrence would have to be on the boat for the exchange.
"I haven't given you my response."
From behind him, on the other side of the door, Lawrence heard the faint sound of the two guards laughing.
He'd heard that they had been spared their death sentences by Eve. Amazingly, she had gained their trust by telling them her plans and convincing them to cooperate. All to get Lawrence to stand here as he was.
Rough looking though they might be, they were no fools.
"Response? You say the strangest things sometimes. Of what value are words to liar merchants like us?" said Eve, amused.
Lawrence could not hide his wry smile. Of course, facial expressions held no great meaning for merchants. He held his smile, making no other movements.
"Trading is a dangerous business. Only God can see the mind of another, but God has no desires. Only humans stained by their greed, trade, and nothing is more dangerous than trusting the greedy. I've written my reply to Kieman, and you'll take it to him. As far as the outcome goes, we might pray or threaten, but all we can do is wait. I've played my whole hand. So all I can do is give you this letter."
Taking the letter from the old man, she immediately thrust it at Lawrence. How easily she turned it over—it was not an overstatement to say the letter would decide her very fate. It seemed less out of courage than a sheer lack of value for her own life.
If things went poorly, her worth would vanish, and anything so worthless was likewise useless.
Lawrence took the letter and remembered the words of a famous, reckless hero.


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

Input:
The man gave a satisfied nod at Lawrence's reply. Lawrence started walking, and the man watched him go. With this meeting concluded, his job must have been finished.
Or maybe, Lawrence wondered to himself as he headed out again into the ever-crowded streets, looking up at the sky, the only clear thing he could see.
Maybe they doubted him.
For some reason the idea made Lawrence smile.
"Early tomorrow morning, we'll make a show of formally bringing the narwhal out. On the river we'll exchange the narwhal and the ship it's on for the deed of land. After that, get lost. Signed, Lud Kieman."
Lawrence was sure that last sentence was a joke. Once Eve had finished reading the letter aloud, she didn't hesitate to hand it over. It showed just what she had read, with Kieman's signature at the bottom.
If Eve was to take this to a trading house, Kieman's position would quickly become a bad one. That he had seen fit to give her such a document meant that he had decided it was safe to do so.
There was no telling what that meant.
He couldn't possibly have decided to unconditionally trust Eve, so he had to have some sort of contingency ready if she decided to publicly expose him.
"It's a simple, naive exchange. What do you think?"
"If things go poorly, we can always capsize the boat to obscure the truth, so it doesn't seem like such a very bad idea."
The plan didn't differ much from what Holo had proposed to Lawrence, and Eve raised an eyebrow at it. "I see," she murmured, amused. "So perhaps I should write something like this, eh?"
As she spoke, she playfully wrote with her pen upon a sheet of parchment. It was hardly the sort of paper a mere merchant would scribble upon for fun. It was more suited to having the wisdom of God recorded upon it by a grim-faced monk in a stone monastery somewhere, but Eve's handwriting was as beautiful as any monk's.
"Understood. I, Eve Bolan, shall ride upon the boat for the exchange. Aboard your boat shall be the creature of legend, as well as—"
She looked at Lawrence.
"—Kraft Lawrence."
Lawrence didn't respond to this, but Eve did not seem to care.
She smoothly signed the letter and casually tossed it over to the old man who was still stirring the wax. Once sealed and tied with a strand of horsehair, it was ready.
And now Lawrence would have to be on the boat for the exchange.
"I haven't given you my response."
From behind him, on the other side of the door, Lawrence heard the faint sound of the two guards laughing.
He'd heard that they had been spared their death sentences by Eve. Amazingly, she had gained their trust by telling them her plans and convincing them to cooperate. All to get Lawrence to stand here as he was.
Rough looking though they might be, they were no fools.
"Response? You say the strangest things sometimes. Of what value are words to liar merchants like us?" said Eve, amused.
Lawrence could not hide his wry smile. Of course, facial expressions held no great meaning for merchants. He held his smile, making no other movements.
"Trading is a dangerous business. Only God can see the mind of another, but God has no desires. Only humans stained by their greed, trade, and nothing is more dangerous than trusting the greedy. I've written my reply to Kieman, and you'll take it to him. As far as the outcome goes, we might pray or threaten, but all we can do is wait. I've played my whole hand. So all I can do is give you this letter."
Taking the letter from the old man, she immediately thrust it at Lawrence. How easily she turned it over—it was not an overstatement to say the letter would decide her very fate. It seemed less out of courage than a sheer lack of value for her own life.
If things went poorly, her worth would vanish, and anything so worthless was likewise useless.
Lawrence took the letter and remembered the words of a famous, reckless hero.

Output:
She paused, placed the hand with which she'd given Lawrence the letter on her desk, looked down, and took a deep breath. She had to be nervous.
She continued, stressing her words.
"So when next we meet, it will be upon that lonely river amid the morning mists."
As the wolf of the Roam River, Eve did indeed share some qualities with Holo.
Lawrence took in the sight of her hand on the desk. It was as though she wanted to be held, but couldn't let that show—as though she wanted to trust in others, but couldn't bring herself to.
"May I ask one thing?" Lawrence asked, which made Eve's hand twitch slightly.
"What?"
"I have my companions."
If Lawrence betrayed his guild during the exchange on the river, then he and Eve would have to move the narwhal to another boat, and from there head out to the open ocean. But that would leave Holo and Col on land, which complicated things.
That had to be one of the reasons Kieman had chosen this simple plan. Holo and Col functioned as hostages.
Her expression unchanging, Eve removed her hand from the desk. "Yes, and I have Arold."
The name pierced Lawrence's heart.
"I've given you my reply. Go," Eve finished, looking irritated and waving Lawrence off dismissively.
Lawrence got the feeling that if he contradicted her, she would start yelling.
And I have Arold.
Eve's words were heavy with implication. If they could be trusted, Arold was one of the few things she held dearer than money.
Of course, Lawrence was aware of the power of Holo's true form, so there was nothing to fear. She could certainly keep them safe and save Arold, too
The problem was Eve's readiness to invite danger. She knew nothing of Holo's power.
She trusted Arold enough to bring him along with the fur from Lenos and even pay his travel expenses, but now she was prepared to leave him behind.
Lawrence wanted to imagine that this was because she now trusted him even more than Arold, but he knew how foolish such a notion was.
It made far more sense to assume that Eve was simply prepared to abandon everything for her own profit, as though she had sworn to turn everything she touched into gold.
Unfortunately, as in the old legend, the fool who wished to turn everything into gold was unable to eat, and thus starved to death.
That was what Lawrence found so shocking about her words. He asked himself whether he could so easily toss her aside were she to choose a path from which he could see no salvation.
If she could discard Arold, then she could just as easily kill Lawrence on the boat or betray him again later.
And if he could imagine that she'd be laughing afterward, that would have been one thing. But he didn't think she would laugh.
Do I feel sympathy for her? Lawrence asked himself and could not answer.
Was this just empty speculation? The likelihood was very high.
But there was little in the world that didn't amount to speculation. There were even those who doubted the existence of God.
So what should he do?
How could he grasp his own profit in one hand while holding on to Eve's hand with the other? Lawrence agonized over the question as he gave the letter to the messenger in the tavern.
"...Thanks for all your hard work. The boss'll tell you the rest once you're back at the inn," said the messenger, giving Lawrence a pat on the shoulder before leaving. There hadn't even been time to wonder what sort of misunderstanding might have taken place.
The meeting seemed to have ended without much evidence of trouble, and when Lawrence wandered around the spring of gold, he saw many groups of people conversing excitedly. A bonfire had been lit in anticipation of nightfall, and soldiers stood proudly around the meeting table, trying to look as though they were guarding a holy throne.
Suffice it to say it was a feast of money, power, and honor.
And yet the participants were a small-minded, miserable lot. Perhaps there was a reason why God was said not to care for merchants.


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

Input:
She paused, placed the hand with which she'd given Lawrence the letter on her desk, looked down, and took a deep breath. She had to be nervous.
She continued, stressing her words.
"So when next we meet, it will be upon that lonely river amid the morning mists."
As the wolf of the Roam River, Eve did indeed share some qualities with Holo.
Lawrence took in the sight of her hand on the desk. It was as though she wanted to be held, but couldn't let that show—as though she wanted to trust in others, but couldn't bring herself to.
"May I ask one thing?" Lawrence asked, which made Eve's hand twitch slightly.
"What?"
"I have my companions."
If Lawrence betrayed his guild during the exchange on the river, then he and Eve would have to move the narwhal to another boat, and from there head out to the open ocean. But that would leave Holo and Col on land, which complicated things.
That had to be one of the reasons Kieman had chosen this simple plan. Holo and Col functioned as hostages.
Her expression unchanging, Eve removed her hand from the desk. "Yes, and I have Arold."
The name pierced Lawrence's heart.
"I've given you my reply. Go," Eve finished, looking irritated and waving Lawrence off dismissively.
Lawrence got the feeling that if he contradicted her, she would start yelling.
And I have Arold.
Eve's words were heavy with implication. If they could be trusted, Arold was one of the few things she held dearer than money.
Of course, Lawrence was aware of the power of Holo's true form, so there was nothing to fear. She could certainly keep them safe and save Arold, too
The problem was Eve's readiness to invite danger. She knew nothing of Holo's power.
She trusted Arold enough to bring him along with the fur from Lenos and even pay his travel expenses, but now she was prepared to leave him behind.
Lawrence wanted to imagine that this was because she now trusted him even more than Arold, but he knew how foolish such a notion was.
It made far more sense to assume that Eve was simply prepared to abandon everything for her own profit, as though she had sworn to turn everything she touched into gold.
Unfortunately, as in the old legend, the fool who wished to turn everything into gold was unable to eat, and thus starved to death.
That was what Lawrence found so shocking about her words. He asked himself whether he could so easily toss her aside were she to choose a path from which he could see no salvation.
If she could discard Arold, then she could just as easily kill Lawrence on the boat or betray him again later.
And if he could imagine that she'd be laughing afterward, that would have been one thing. But he didn't think she would laugh.
Do I feel sympathy for her? Lawrence asked himself and could not answer.
Was this just empty speculation? The likelihood was very high.
But there was little in the world that didn't amount to speculation. There were even those who doubted the existence of God.
So what should he do?
How could he grasp his own profit in one hand while holding on to Eve's hand with the other? Lawrence agonized over the question as he gave the letter to the messenger in the tavern.
"...Thanks for all your hard work. The boss'll tell you the rest once you're back at the inn," said the messenger, giving Lawrence a pat on the shoulder before leaving. There hadn't even been time to wonder what sort of misunderstanding might have taken place.
The meeting seemed to have ended without much evidence of trouble, and when Lawrence wandered around the spring of gold, he saw many groups of people conversing excitedly. A bonfire had been lit in anticipation of nightfall, and soldiers stood proudly around the meeting table, trying to look as though they were guarding a holy throne.
Suffice it to say it was a feast of money, power, and honor.
And yet the participants were a small-minded, miserable lot. Perhaps there was a reason why God was said not to care for merchants.

Output:
Lawrence had thought trading and the earning of money to be a more elegant, noble pursuit.
He watched the lamplights of the town flicker to life one by one as he swayed in the ferry from the delta to the south side of the river.
Eve certainly wouldn't back down now, nor would Kieman have proposed a careless plan. What his side would fear most would be losing the narwhal in exchange for a fake deed. That would be an even more disastrous outcome than his plan being revealed.
And if Lawrence pulled out, the situation would not be improved. The plan was like kneaded bread that had risen and been put in the oven. All they could do was wait for it to bake.
Lawrence's options were either to pray or to run. There was nothing else. If persuading either Eve or Kieman was impossible, then what could he do to ensure a good outcome?
The ferry reached the docks, and Lawrence blended into the crowd and came ashore. Most of the people were merchants watching the meeting on the delta, and they chattered freely and happily.
Lawrence found it intensely irritating, but he knew the crowd wasn't the real problem.
And yet he felt a nauseous desire to scream and rail, like he had been chasing a cloud he couldn't possibly grasp.
A drunken merchant stumbled into him. Lawrence clenched his fists and was about to fly at the man when something else caught his eye.
"Hey...don'cha go bumpin' inta me...," slurred the drunken man with suspicious eyes, but he was literally out of Lawrence's sight.
Because past him—
Amid the throng of people disembarking from the steady stream of boats that arrived at the docks was a figure he knew well. She faced him, and from under the scarf that was wrapped around her head, she looked at him with eyes he'd never seen before.
"Hey, are you listenin' ta—"
"Excuse me." His gaze never wavering from the figure, Lawrence pressed a tarnished silver coin into the drunken man's hand, then started walking.
What he didn't understand was why she would be here on the south side of town now that the meeting was over.
And something about the way she was just standing there made her seem cornered.
What had happened? Lawrence wasn't even sure whether to ask, but she settled the question for him.
"Things have gone bad." From beneath the scarf, her husky voice was downright hoarse. "It's too late for me...but I wanted to at least..."
***
Eve staggered as though her last strength had given out. Lawrence held her up but then immediately pulled back. This was no joke.
She was eerily light, and her body was hot.
Beneath her scarf, her breathing was shallow and an oily sweat had broken out on her forehead. In her right hand she held tight to a single piece of parchment.
"What happened?"
Eve was mostly supported by Lawrence now, and she bit her lip and looked at him desperately.
Whatever had happened, it wasn't good.
He looked at her right hand and the parchment it held. It had to be regarding something important.
"We stick out too much here. We should find an alley somewhere—" Lawrence said to Eve and started to pull her along.
Just then, the church bell rang high and loud, and the people coming and going around the docks all stopped, and each of them looked at the church bell tower, before joining their hands and offering prayers.
Ding-dong. The bell continued to toll as Lawrence helped Eve through the crowds. It must have been God's will.
Coming out of the crowd, it didn't take long for them to find an alley to duck into. The precise moment they stopped, the bell's ringing ended, with naught but its echoes lingering on—as though God's protection over them had ended right then.
"Where are you going?"
It wasn't impossible. This was a crowded port.
The meeting had just ended, and people were leaving the delta.
But it couldn't be a coincidence, given that right next to Kieman was that little messenger. If he had eyes sharp enough to deliver his master's messages no matter how wild the crowds, he could certainly spot Eve.


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

Input:
Lawrence had thought trading and the earning of money to be a more elegant, noble pursuit.
He watched the lamplights of the town flicker to life one by one as he swayed in the ferry from the delta to the south side of the river.
Eve certainly wouldn't back down now, nor would Kieman have proposed a careless plan. What his side would fear most would be losing the narwhal in exchange for a fake deed. That would be an even more disastrous outcome than his plan being revealed.
And if Lawrence pulled out, the situation would not be improved. The plan was like kneaded bread that had risen and been put in the oven. All they could do was wait for it to bake.
Lawrence's options were either to pray or to run. There was nothing else. If persuading either Eve or Kieman was impossible, then what could he do to ensure a good outcome?
The ferry reached the docks, and Lawrence blended into the crowd and came ashore. Most of the people were merchants watching the meeting on the delta, and they chattered freely and happily.
Lawrence found it intensely irritating, but he knew the crowd wasn't the real problem.
And yet he felt a nauseous desire to scream and rail, like he had been chasing a cloud he couldn't possibly grasp.
A drunken merchant stumbled into him. Lawrence clenched his fists and was about to fly at the man when something else caught his eye.
"Hey...don'cha go bumpin' inta me...," slurred the drunken man with suspicious eyes, but he was literally out of Lawrence's sight.
Because past him—
Amid the throng of people disembarking from the steady stream of boats that arrived at the docks was a figure he knew well. She faced him, and from under the scarf that was wrapped around her head, she looked at him with eyes he'd never seen before.
"Hey, are you listenin' ta—"
"Excuse me." His gaze never wavering from the figure, Lawrence pressed a tarnished silver coin into the drunken man's hand, then started walking.
What he didn't understand was why she would be here on the south side of town now that the meeting was over.
And something about the way she was just standing there made her seem cornered.
What had happened? Lawrence wasn't even sure whether to ask, but she settled the question for him.
"Things have gone bad." From beneath the scarf, her husky voice was downright hoarse. "It's too late for me...but I wanted to at least..."
***
Eve staggered as though her last strength had given out. Lawrence held her up but then immediately pulled back. This was no joke.
She was eerily light, and her body was hot.
Beneath her scarf, her breathing was shallow and an oily sweat had broken out on her forehead. In her right hand she held tight to a single piece of parchment.
"What happened?"
Eve was mostly supported by Lawrence now, and she bit her lip and looked at him desperately.
Whatever had happened, it wasn't good.
He looked at her right hand and the parchment it held. It had to be regarding something important.
"We stick out too much here. We should find an alley somewhere—" Lawrence said to Eve and started to pull her along.
Just then, the church bell rang high and loud, and the people coming and going around the docks all stopped, and each of them looked at the church bell tower, before joining their hands and offering prayers.
Ding-dong. The bell continued to toll as Lawrence helped Eve through the crowds. It must have been God's will.
Coming out of the crowd, it didn't take long for them to find an alley to duck into. The precise moment they stopped, the bell's ringing ended, with naught but its echoes lingering on—as though God's protection over them had ended right then.
"Where are you going?"
It wasn't impossible. This was a crowded port.
The meeting had just ended, and people were leaving the delta.
But it couldn't be a coincidence, given that right next to Kieman was that little messenger. If he had eyes sharp enough to deliver his master's messages no matter how wild the crowds, he could certainly spot Eve.

Output:
It wouldn't be possible to escape with Eve.
"Given the state my friend's in, I was taking her to the inn."
"Is that so?" Kieman smiled, as though they really were just making idle chitchat. But the messenger—along with another man who seemed to be a subordinate—took a quiet step forward. "How truly fortunate for us to encounter you here."
Lawrence moved to protect Eve, and the two approaching men shifted.
Being attacked by bandits was hardly uncommon. And both humans and beasts would change their stances just before attacking.
So what should I do? Lawrence asked himself.
It wasn't in his best interest to let Kieman know he'd allied himself with Eve, and in any case Kieman might not have realized that himself yet. In which case, he could bet on that chance and hand her over.
That was certainly possible, but could he really do it? Now that she was sweating and weak and seemed desperate to tell him something? Could he abandon her, even as she flinched at Kieman's words?"
"No, I—"
"...You do indeed seem to be carrying a letter. May I assume the sender is Ted Reynolds?"
Eve shook her head weakly.
Kieman's tone had changed from that of a merchant to something like a coy nobleman's. But Lawrence's mind was on other matters.
A letter from Reynolds?
"Well, we'll hear all about it. Although we don't have terribly much time." As he spoke, Kieman gave a light wave of his hand, and the two men pulled Eve away from Lawrence with ease.
Lawrence reached out to her without thinking, almost reflexively, but froze when the small messenger pointed a dagger at his side.
"The wolf tried to set us up. Quite thoroughly, I should add." Sometimes a smile revealed anger. When a long-distance merchant like Kieman smiled like that, what would the fate be of those hauled off by his henchmen?
Kieman looked at Eve as she was taken away and spoke as though addressing a worthy adversary. "The possibility had occurred to me, of course, but the method—my goodness."
"You're wrong...I had no intention of selling the narwhal to Reynolds—"
Kidnappers had strange ways of restraining people. Eve was plainly trying to free herself from their grasp, but a passerby would see only a drunkard who needed help to stand. Her mouth was covered, but her eyes flicked to and fro wildly.
Eve was dragged off by the two men, and just before they vanished into the crowds, Kieman spoke to Lawrence. "Mr. Lawrence, if you speak of this to anyone else, you'll regret it."
It was a first-rate joke on Kieman's part, but his next words were terrifyingly cold.
"I'm quite desperate myself, you see."
Then, as though following after Eve, who had melted into the crowds and been washed away, Kieman disappeared into the throng.
Lawrence realized the messenger was no longer holding a knife to his ribs. He had been left alone.
For a while he was unable to move, the afterimage of what he had just witnessed burned into his mind.
From within the horrible writhing organism that was the crowd, a hand had reached out, compelled by a single desperate hope.
And Lawrence had been unable to reach it.
A hundred coins could sink beneath the waves in a single moment.
So in this whirlpool of goods like the narwhal, whose value truly defied imagination, where would one misstep land him? Surely a priest would go pale at the thought of the place.
And Eve had already made a misstep.
After crossing so many dangerous bridges, she had finally lost her footing.
Kieman's words echoed in his ears. "...If you speak of this to anyone else, you'll regret it. I'm quite desperate myself, you see."
Their plan had utterly failed somewhere. Ted Reynolds's name had come up, and Eve said she had no intention of selling him the narwhal.


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

Input:
It wouldn't be possible to escape with Eve.
"Given the state my friend's in, I was taking her to the inn."
"Is that so?" Kieman smiled, as though they really were just making idle chitchat. But the messenger—along with another man who seemed to be a subordinate—took a quiet step forward. "How truly fortunate for us to encounter you here."
Lawrence moved to protect Eve, and the two approaching men shifted.
Being attacked by bandits was hardly uncommon. And both humans and beasts would change their stances just before attacking.
So what should I do? Lawrence asked himself.
It wasn't in his best interest to let Kieman know he'd allied himself with Eve, and in any case Kieman might not have realized that himself yet. In which case, he could bet on that chance and hand her over.
That was certainly possible, but could he really do it? Now that she was sweating and weak and seemed desperate to tell him something? Could he abandon her, even as she flinched at Kieman's words?"
"No, I—"
"...You do indeed seem to be carrying a letter. May I assume the sender is Ted Reynolds?"
Eve shook her head weakly.
Kieman's tone had changed from that of a merchant to something like a coy nobleman's. But Lawrence's mind was on other matters.
A letter from Reynolds?
"Well, we'll hear all about it. Although we don't have terribly much time." As he spoke, Kieman gave a light wave of his hand, and the two men pulled Eve away from Lawrence with ease.
Lawrence reached out to her without thinking, almost reflexively, but froze when the small messenger pointed a dagger at his side.
"The wolf tried to set us up. Quite thoroughly, I should add." Sometimes a smile revealed anger. When a long-distance merchant like Kieman smiled like that, what would the fate be of those hauled off by his henchmen?
Kieman looked at Eve as she was taken away and spoke as though addressing a worthy adversary. "The possibility had occurred to me, of course, but the method—my goodness."
"You're wrong...I had no intention of selling the narwhal to Reynolds—"
Kidnappers had strange ways of restraining people. Eve was plainly trying to free herself from their grasp, but a passerby would see only a drunkard who needed help to stand. Her mouth was covered, but her eyes flicked to and fro wildly.
Eve was dragged off by the two men, and just before they vanished into the crowds, Kieman spoke to Lawrence. "Mr. Lawrence, if you speak of this to anyone else, you'll regret it."
It was a first-rate joke on Kieman's part, but his next words were terrifyingly cold.
"I'm quite desperate myself, you see."
Then, as though following after Eve, who had melted into the crowds and been washed away, Kieman disappeared into the throng.
Lawrence realized the messenger was no longer holding a knife to his ribs. He had been left alone.
For a while he was unable to move, the afterimage of what he had just witnessed burned into his mind.
From within the horrible writhing organism that was the crowd, a hand had reached out, compelled by a single desperate hope.
And Lawrence had been unable to reach it.
A hundred coins could sink beneath the waves in a single moment.
So in this whirlpool of goods like the narwhal, whose value truly defied imagination, where would one misstep land him? Surely a priest would go pale at the thought of the place.
And Eve had already made a misstep.
After crossing so many dangerous bridges, she had finally lost her footing.
Kieman's words echoed in his ears. "...If you speak of this to anyone else, you'll regret it. I'm quite desperate myself, you see."
Their plan had utterly failed somewhere. Ted Reynolds's name had come up, and Eve said she had no intention of selling him the narwhal.

Output:
Lawrence sighed, then felt suddenly nauseated. He hurriedly ducked into the alley into which he had tried to bring Eve before emptying the contents of his stomach.
It wasn't the feeling of powerlessness that he couldn't stand—it was this unbelievable sense of self-loathing.
Lawrence had been relieved.
He had been so relieved that Kieman hadn't taken him away.
He was so sure he could prove his strength to Holo and defeat Kieman, and then after his exchanges with Eve, he had believed there was still a chance to somehow recover the situation.
And now this.
If he'd felt powerless, there would at least have been some chance to recover. Merchants were always chasing what they didn't have, after all.
Lawrence continued to heave long after there was nothing left to come up. Finally he spat.
He'd been able to save Holo and escape many dangerous situations. If that had merely given him a false sense of superiority that would have been one thing, but now that his thin skin was torn away, it revealed his insides to be even more rotten than before.
His vision was blurry, and it wasn't only because of the vomiting.
Eve's actions hadn't made sense.
Reynolds's letter had led to the collapse of their plan, but she'd come to the south side to warn him, regardless of the danger it posed to her.
Which meant Eve hadn't been thinking of him as a mere pawn. Perhaps when she'd asked him to join her in her betrayal, she had been trying to gain something else, something besides the narwhal.
And in spite of all that, he'd been relieved that Eve was the only one taken away.
He was no courageous protagonist. What better proof of that could there possibly be?
"Shit!" Lawrence cursed and slammed his fist into the wall.
If this had been only a question of profit or loss, he could have accepted it or given up on it. But that no longer held true when a person was involved. It was true that the wagon-borne life of a traveling merchant had been very lonely, but having to worry only about one's self was worth something, he understood.
The truth was, even traveling merchants could settle down in a town they visited if they really wanted to. The reason he hadn't—the reason he couldn't—was because he knew he was a coward and too kind for his own good.
The life of a traveling merchant was one of constant meetings and partings. How could they be satisfied with the goods in front of them when the next town might have better goods?
It was true that he had such thoughts, but it was also true that he'd put quite a sum of money into the high-priced item known as Holo.
But that didn't mean that he cared about nothing as long as Holo was safe.
The traveling merchant's curse was a kind of excuse. One couldn't measure the value of human relationships with money. If everything could be decided with money, then he wouldn't have found himself so torn between Eve and Kieman, because the amount of money involved with the narwhal made his lifetime earnings look piddling by comparison.
Thus by thinking of his relationships with others as being more valuable than money, he could keep them at arms' length, like a precious flower of great price.
But just as his cart could hold only so much, the same was true of his heart. And he knew how much that was.
Lawrence straightened, his fist still against the stone wall, and he looked up at the purple sky, wiping his tears away.
Things were so much simpler when Holo was with him.
New things were always getting in the cart, pushing even precious things aside. That was a perfectly healthy state of affairs for those curious figures called merchants, but without the ironclad will of a monk, normal people could hardly handle it.
And yet now that his cart was so full and he constantly had to be careful not to leave anything important behind, his travels were far more enjoyable than when he'd been a single, lonely merchant. He no longer plied the roads alone, with only the rear end of his horse to stare at.


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

Input:
Lawrence sighed, then felt suddenly nauseated. He hurriedly ducked into the alley into which he had tried to bring Eve before emptying the contents of his stomach.
It wasn't the feeling of powerlessness that he couldn't stand—it was this unbelievable sense of self-loathing.
Lawrence had been relieved.
He had been so relieved that Kieman hadn't taken him away.
He was so sure he could prove his strength to Holo and defeat Kieman, and then after his exchanges with Eve, he had believed there was still a chance to somehow recover the situation.
And now this.
If he'd felt powerless, there would at least have been some chance to recover. Merchants were always chasing what they didn't have, after all.
Lawrence continued to heave long after there was nothing left to come up. Finally he spat.
He'd been able to save Holo and escape many dangerous situations. If that had merely given him a false sense of superiority that would have been one thing, but now that his thin skin was torn away, it revealed his insides to be even more rotten than before.
His vision was blurry, and it wasn't only because of the vomiting.
Eve's actions hadn't made sense.
Reynolds's letter had led to the collapse of their plan, but she'd come to the south side to warn him, regardless of the danger it posed to her.
Which meant Eve hadn't been thinking of him as a mere pawn. Perhaps when she'd asked him to join her in her betrayal, she had been trying to gain something else, something besides the narwhal.
And in spite of all that, he'd been relieved that Eve was the only one taken away.
He was no courageous protagonist. What better proof of that could there possibly be?
"Shit!" Lawrence cursed and slammed his fist into the wall.
If this had been only a question of profit or loss, he could have accepted it or given up on it. But that no longer held true when a person was involved. It was true that the wagon-borne life of a traveling merchant had been very lonely, but having to worry only about one's self was worth something, he understood.
The truth was, even traveling merchants could settle down in a town they visited if they really wanted to. The reason he hadn't—the reason he couldn't—was because he knew he was a coward and too kind for his own good.
The life of a traveling merchant was one of constant meetings and partings. How could they be satisfied with the goods in front of them when the next town might have better goods?
It was true that he had such thoughts, but it was also true that he'd put quite a sum of money into the high-priced item known as Holo.
But that didn't mean that he cared about nothing as long as Holo was safe.
The traveling merchant's curse was a kind of excuse. One couldn't measure the value of human relationships with money. If everything could be decided with money, then he wouldn't have found himself so torn between Eve and Kieman, because the amount of money involved with the narwhal made his lifetime earnings look piddling by comparison.
Thus by thinking of his relationships with others as being more valuable than money, he could keep them at arms' length, like a precious flower of great price.
But just as his cart could hold only so much, the same was true of his heart. And he knew how much that was.
Lawrence straightened, his fist still against the stone wall, and he looked up at the purple sky, wiping his tears away.
Things were so much simpler when Holo was with him.
New things were always getting in the cart, pushing even precious things aside. That was a perfectly healthy state of affairs for those curious figures called merchants, but without the ironclad will of a monk, normal people could hardly handle it.
And yet now that his cart was so full and he constantly had to be careful not to leave anything important behind, his travels were far more enjoyable than when he'd been a single, lonely merchant. He no longer plied the roads alone, with only the rear end of his horse to stare at.

Output:
A traveling merchant always brought his cargo to the next town, though he might have to crawl through the mud to do it.
He wouldn't leave any cargo behind.
"So, then," Lawrence murmured, forcing his frozen mind into motion.
He had to admit that he'd been lucky to see Eve taken before his very eyes. If they were resorting to such violence, then they had to be genuinely cornered and hadn't been able to come up with a subtler, more complicated plot.
Even being unused to making long-term plans, maneuvering people behind the scenes, and avoiding those dangers he could anticipate, Lawrence was quite good at buying and selling goods right in front of him.
There was a chance he could win.
"There has to be," Lawrence murmured to himself.
Something he could see, something visible only to him as an outside observer watching the flow of goods in the marketplace.
And he wasn't alone.
Lawrence didn't bother wondering when she had arrived or why she was there. He knew perfectly well that she wouldn't have been able to just sit in the inn, and when one didn't know what was happening, the most basic approach was to go someplace with a lot of people and listen very closely—and for that purpose, the port was the best place.
And his traveling companion had ears of unparalleled sensitivity.
With her wolf ears capable of hearing a pin drop half a world away, she stood a short distance from him, leaning against the wall, her arms folded in displeasure.
She had probably seen everything. And even if she hadn't, it would be easy for her to guess what had happened.
Lawrence gave a pained smile and shrugged, as though acting like his usual self would be some sort of charm.
"Should you need wisdom, I'll lend it," said Holo, her small chin the only thing visible beneath her hood.
"That's fine."
"I do wonder just how many times you'll borrow my wisdom to save another female, though."
Lawrence wondered if she was being so straightforward because there wasn't time for their normal roundabout banter. Or perhaps her patience had simply run out.
He smiled naturally and replied, "Yet you're the only one I travel with."
Holo did not answer, but with a little hop pushed herself away from the wall, cracking her neck audibly. It was clear that she was tired of these ticklish conversations as well, though if he were to say so she would probably bite his head clean off.
"I sent Col to follow them."
"What did you find out at the port?"
"I know not. But before you came ashore, I did see a group of people turning angry. I'd set myself up on the third floor of the baker's shop over there. 'Twas so easy to see, it was to laugh."
Which meant that Kieman and Eve weren't the only group who felt pressed into open action. In a current this strong, Kieman's smuggling ship could be affected as well.
Before being taken away, Eve had said she had no intention of selling the narwhal to Reynolds. That suggested that the letter she held had been an approach from him. If there was more to this than a secret agreement between Eve and Kieman, what would happen if a wider perspective were taken?
Reynolds was on the side of the northern landlords, which meant that there was a limited number of possibilities.
Was Reynolds both openly and secretly trying to buy the narwhal?
"I imagine that's probably because the northerners are trying to find a way to buy the narwhal."
"Hmm..."
"But if that were all, Kieman would have panicked, and Eve wouldn't have taken the risk of coming to see me. Something totally outside of their expectations must have happened to cause this."
Holo took Lawrence's hand and began to walk. "'Tis a shabby town, this is. It doesn't seem to have much coin."
"That's right. And Reynolds is supposed to be at the center of this."
Reynolds might be able to use box-packing tricks to make a little money, but it wouldn't get him any great wealth.
"If he doesn't have it, he would have to borrow."


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

Input:
A traveling merchant always brought his cargo to the next town, though he might have to crawl through the mud to do it.
He wouldn't leave any cargo behind.
"So, then," Lawrence murmured, forcing his frozen mind into motion.
He had to admit that he'd been lucky to see Eve taken before his very eyes. If they were resorting to such violence, then they had to be genuinely cornered and hadn't been able to come up with a subtler, more complicated plot.
Even being unused to making long-term plans, maneuvering people behind the scenes, and avoiding those dangers he could anticipate, Lawrence was quite good at buying and selling goods right in front of him.
There was a chance he could win.
"There has to be," Lawrence murmured to himself.
Something he could see, something visible only to him as an outside observer watching the flow of goods in the marketplace.
And he wasn't alone.
Lawrence didn't bother wondering when she had arrived or why she was there. He knew perfectly well that she wouldn't have been able to just sit in the inn, and when one didn't know what was happening, the most basic approach was to go someplace with a lot of people and listen very closely—and for that purpose, the port was the best place.
And his traveling companion had ears of unparalleled sensitivity.
With her wolf ears capable of hearing a pin drop half a world away, she stood a short distance from him, leaning against the wall, her arms folded in displeasure.
She had probably seen everything. And even if she hadn't, it would be easy for her to guess what had happened.
Lawrence gave a pained smile and shrugged, as though acting like his usual self would be some sort of charm.
"Should you need wisdom, I'll lend it," said Holo, her small chin the only thing visible beneath her hood.
"That's fine."
"I do wonder just how many times you'll borrow my wisdom to save another female, though."
Lawrence wondered if she was being so straightforward because there wasn't time for their normal roundabout banter. Or perhaps her patience had simply run out.
He smiled naturally and replied, "Yet you're the only one I travel with."
Holo did not answer, but with a little hop pushed herself away from the wall, cracking her neck audibly. It was clear that she was tired of these ticklish conversations as well, though if he were to say so she would probably bite his head clean off.
"I sent Col to follow them."
"What did you find out at the port?"
"I know not. But before you came ashore, I did see a group of people turning angry. I'd set myself up on the third floor of the baker's shop over there. 'Twas so easy to see, it was to laugh."
Which meant that Kieman and Eve weren't the only group who felt pressed into open action. In a current this strong, Kieman's smuggling ship could be affected as well.
Before being taken away, Eve had said she had no intention of selling the narwhal to Reynolds. That suggested that the letter she held had been an approach from him. If there was more to this than a secret agreement between Eve and Kieman, what would happen if a wider perspective were taken?
Reynolds was on the side of the northern landlords, which meant that there was a limited number of possibilities.
Was Reynolds both openly and secretly trying to buy the narwhal?
"I imagine that's probably because the northerners are trying to find a way to buy the narwhal."
"Hmm..."
"But if that were all, Kieman would have panicked, and Eve wouldn't have taken the risk of coming to see me. Something totally outside of their expectations must have happened to cause this."
Holo took Lawrence's hand and began to walk. "'Tis a shabby town, this is. It doesn't seem to have much coin."
"That's right. And Reynolds is supposed to be at the center of this."
Reynolds might be able to use box-packing tricks to make a little money, but it wouldn't get him any great wealth.
"If he doesn't have it, he would have to borrow."

Output:
From under her hood, Holo finally showed her eyes. Lawrence could see the faint remnants left over from her previously furrowed brow. If she had seen the entire sequence of events, from when he arrived on shore to his meeting with Eve, to their encounter with Kieman and what happened after, she had probably been frowning the entire time.
Just as Holo did for Col, Lawrence knew that once this was all over, he would have to do something to erase those creases.
"Money and power are close partners. If the narwhal trade is connected to someone wealthy and powerful, the matter becomes much more complicated. Do you see?"
Through the ages it was ever thus.
Holo sneered, as though warning Lawrence not to test her. "...If the food you ordered never arrives, you have but to demand your money returned."
Her mind was as quick as ever.
Lawrence recalled the sight of Eve being dragged away by force. That had happened because things could no longer be settled by record of profit and loss in a ledger.
"If their meal doesn't arrive, it's their practice to demand compensation in money or blood. Which means...if this speculation is correct, there's only one place Kieman would take Eve."
He would fight power with power.
Reynolds had come to Eve asking to buy the narwhal because he'd suspected the secret agreement she had with Kieman. Which meant there was no telling how much power was poised to strike at Kieman.
When the time came, having one or two thugs around Kieman wasn't going to help him.
Lawrence pulled on Holo's hand and started walking in the opposite direction. Holo had probably arranged to meet up with Col somewhere, but if Lawrence was right, he knew exactly where that was.
On they went, through the throngs, and before long they arrived.
The number of guards had increased since they'd been there the previous day.
"The church?" Holo murmured, but then her eyes were immediately drawn to something, and there at the end of her gaze was the surprised face of Col.
"Uh, er, why are you here?" Col asked, having covered himself in a ratty coat to pose as a beggar boy.
Lawrence was now sure his guess was right.
"Kieman's in there, eh? Well, if I'm going to save her I'm going to have to get in and speak to him face-to-face. So how do you think we should attack?" said Lawrence.
Holo showed her fangs and smiled.
"What's your business?"
As they walked up the stone steps and arrived at the entrance of the church, two guards crossed their spears to bar the way.
Lawrence had brought Holo and Col (who had changed his clothes) along with him and smiled. "We have business with Lud Kieman of the Rowen Trade Guild."
Those were God's gift, the magic words, but there was no guarantee that the same God still sat on the throne. Unlike the previous day, one of the dour-faced soldiers opened the door and went inside, while the other remained behind, his spear pointed unhesitatingly at Lawrence.
The plan Holo had proposed was simplicity itself, and the only unusual thing about it was that Col, not Holo, would be at Lawrence's side.
"...Inside," said the soldier, who had gone into the church, once he reemerged.
Lawrence smiled at the soldiers when they briefly pulled their spears aside and slipped through the only slightly opened door. Once Col followed him, the door was closed, and they were again greeted with spears.
***
Forward, they meant.
Lawrence started walking, and motivated by spearpoint, they continued on through the hall that encircled the sanctuary.
The church's interior was so quiet it was eerie, and he felt like he could hear even the candles' flames. The ceiling was high and the carvings on the wall were intricate, each one beautiful. But each one of them was an otherworldly demon designed to convey the fear and terror of the world, which seemed like some sort of omen.
Midway through the hallway, the soldiers ordered them to stop in front of a door.


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

Input:
From under her hood, Holo finally showed her eyes. Lawrence could see the faint remnants left over from her previously furrowed brow. If she had seen the entire sequence of events, from when he arrived on shore to his meeting with Eve, to their encounter with Kieman and what happened after, she had probably been frowning the entire time.
Just as Holo did for Col, Lawrence knew that once this was all over, he would have to do something to erase those creases.
"Money and power are close partners. If the narwhal trade is connected to someone wealthy and powerful, the matter becomes much more complicated. Do you see?"
Through the ages it was ever thus.
Holo sneered, as though warning Lawrence not to test her. "...If the food you ordered never arrives, you have but to demand your money returned."
Her mind was as quick as ever.
Lawrence recalled the sight of Eve being dragged away by force. That had happened because things could no longer be settled by record of profit and loss in a ledger.
"If their meal doesn't arrive, it's their practice to demand compensation in money or blood. Which means...if this speculation is correct, there's only one place Kieman would take Eve."
He would fight power with power.
Reynolds had come to Eve asking to buy the narwhal because he'd suspected the secret agreement she had with Kieman. Which meant there was no telling how much power was poised to strike at Kieman.
When the time came, having one or two thugs around Kieman wasn't going to help him.
Lawrence pulled on Holo's hand and started walking in the opposite direction. Holo had probably arranged to meet up with Col somewhere, but if Lawrence was right, he knew exactly where that was.
On they went, through the throngs, and before long they arrived.
The number of guards had increased since they'd been there the previous day.
"The church?" Holo murmured, but then her eyes were immediately drawn to something, and there at the end of her gaze was the surprised face of Col.
"Uh, er, why are you here?" Col asked, having covered himself in a ratty coat to pose as a beggar boy.
Lawrence was now sure his guess was right.
"Kieman's in there, eh? Well, if I'm going to save her I'm going to have to get in and speak to him face-to-face. So how do you think we should attack?" said Lawrence.
Holo showed her fangs and smiled.
"What's your business?"
As they walked up the stone steps and arrived at the entrance of the church, two guards crossed their spears to bar the way.
Lawrence had brought Holo and Col (who had changed his clothes) along with him and smiled. "We have business with Lud Kieman of the Rowen Trade Guild."
Those were God's gift, the magic words, but there was no guarantee that the same God still sat on the throne. Unlike the previous day, one of the dour-faced soldiers opened the door and went inside, while the other remained behind, his spear pointed unhesitatingly at Lawrence.
The plan Holo had proposed was simplicity itself, and the only unusual thing about it was that Col, not Holo, would be at Lawrence's side.
"...Inside," said the soldier, who had gone into the church, once he reemerged.
Lawrence smiled at the soldiers when they briefly pulled their spears aside and slipped through the only slightly opened door. Once Col followed him, the door was closed, and they were again greeted with spears.
***
Forward, they meant.
Lawrence started walking, and motivated by spearpoint, they continued on through the hall that encircled the sanctuary.
The church's interior was so quiet it was eerie, and he felt like he could hear even the candles' flames. The ceiling was high and the carvings on the wall were intricate, each one beautiful. But each one of them was an otherworldly demon designed to convey the fear and terror of the world, which seemed like some sort of omen.
Midway through the hallway, the soldiers ordered them to stop in front of a door.

Output:
There appeared the face of Kieman's messenger. Looking Lawrence over, he was clearly not pleased.
"I would speak with Mr. Kieman." Lawrence flashed his finest smile.
He was well aware that this would be dismissed as empty merchants' charm, so his goal was to irritate the man. For Holo's simple plan, this was the most effective approach.
"Do you not get that you were deliberately spared?"
Threats were best employed suddenly, like a snake striking from the brush. Lawrence was prepared, his counterattack ready.
"We merchants love to snatch chestnuts from the fire, after all."
The instant Lawrence answered, the man reddened and reached for Lawrence's collar. But Lawrence knew he was coming and was thus unsurprised.
As the man came at him, Lawrence stepped back and took the opportunity to grab his opponent by the collar, hauling him back out of the room. "And do you not understand that I am here deliberately to negotiate?"
Lawrence's smile was unmoved. The soldier hastily tried to separate them, but just then another voice echoed out.
"Is there a problem?"
At this Lawrence immediately released the man's collar, and the other man did likewise.
Kieman's calm, elegant voice was irritatingly well suited to the majestic atmosphere of the church. And yet his hair was slightly mussed as he stood in the entrance to the room.
"I'd like to speak with my acquaintance."
"That's very direct of you. Do you think I will allow that?"
Kieman's messenger stood next to him, his dark eyes staring at Lawrence.
Next to Lawrence, Col straightened himself and stood tall. Lawrence didn't know whether that was in response to the messenger's posturing or not, but it gave him a bit of courage nonetheless.
"I don't expect it will be easy, no."
"How about this? I haven't the luxury of wasting time on you. Fortunately, this church has many other rooms." He looked at Lawrence with cold eyes. He had the advantage of numbers.
But that he was resorting to threats proved he was out of room to maneuver.
"Of course you do. But I'm surprised you would assume I came here unprepared."
"Oh?"
"No, perhaps I should put it this way—I truly thought you spared me because it would be too much trouble to bring me in."
Kieman's handsome face wrinkled in a frown.
Lawrence continued rapidly. "Miss Eve tried all sorts of things to bring me over to her side. She even helped me ensure my own safety. For example—" He coughed deliberately. "She sold me several parchments with your signature on them."
Kieman's messenger started to move, but Kieman stopped him. His lips curled into an unpleasant half smile. "I notice your companion isn't that girl."
"She's the quicker one, after all. And even a girl can carry a few papers in her breast pocket."
***
If his dealings with Eve were exposed, Kieman would suffer. Regardless of what actions he took, given the volatility of the situation, there was no telling whether they would be effective or not.
He surely didn't want to risk further danger. And what harm could come of letting Lawrence meet with Eve? Little, he would no doubt conclude.
"Understood." At these words, Kieman's messenger looked up at his master's face. "Escort them in."
The faithful messenger chewed his lip in frustration but did as he was told with admirable loyalty. He shot Lawrence a resentful look, but Lawrence knew that it was the masterless stray that was to be feared, not the trained guard dog.
"If you've anything I need, I'll pay you a fair price for it." Kieman was a merchant, after all. Lawrence looked at him over his shoulder and nodded with a smile.
"This way." The messenger led them to a staircase that led underground from the hallway into what might have been a vault, or perhaps a dungeon from the days when this had been at the front lines of the wars with the pagans.
As they descended the dark, damp stairs, they encountered an iron door. The messenger knocked in a strange rhythm, and the door was unlocked from the inside.
"Don't even consider trying to escape."


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

Input:
There appeared the face of Kieman's messenger. Looking Lawrence over, he was clearly not pleased.
"I would speak with Mr. Kieman." Lawrence flashed his finest smile.
He was well aware that this would be dismissed as empty merchants' charm, so his goal was to irritate the man. For Holo's simple plan, this was the most effective approach.
"Do you not get that you were deliberately spared?"
Threats were best employed suddenly, like a snake striking from the brush. Lawrence was prepared, his counterattack ready.
"We merchants love to snatch chestnuts from the fire, after all."
The instant Lawrence answered, the man reddened and reached for Lawrence's collar. But Lawrence knew he was coming and was thus unsurprised.
As the man came at him, Lawrence stepped back and took the opportunity to grab his opponent by the collar, hauling him back out of the room. "And do you not understand that I am here deliberately to negotiate?"
Lawrence's smile was unmoved. The soldier hastily tried to separate them, but just then another voice echoed out.
"Is there a problem?"
At this Lawrence immediately released the man's collar, and the other man did likewise.
Kieman's calm, elegant voice was irritatingly well suited to the majestic atmosphere of the church. And yet his hair was slightly mussed as he stood in the entrance to the room.
"I'd like to speak with my acquaintance."
"That's very direct of you. Do you think I will allow that?"
Kieman's messenger stood next to him, his dark eyes staring at Lawrence.
Next to Lawrence, Col straightened himself and stood tall. Lawrence didn't know whether that was in response to the messenger's posturing or not, but it gave him a bit of courage nonetheless.
"I don't expect it will be easy, no."
"How about this? I haven't the luxury of wasting time on you. Fortunately, this church has many other rooms." He looked at Lawrence with cold eyes. He had the advantage of numbers.
But that he was resorting to threats proved he was out of room to maneuver.
"Of course you do. But I'm surprised you would assume I came here unprepared."
"Oh?"
"No, perhaps I should put it this way—I truly thought you spared me because it would be too much trouble to bring me in."
Kieman's handsome face wrinkled in a frown.
Lawrence continued rapidly. "Miss Eve tried all sorts of things to bring me over to her side. She even helped me ensure my own safety. For example—" He coughed deliberately. "She sold me several parchments with your signature on them."
Kieman's messenger started to move, but Kieman stopped him. His lips curled into an unpleasant half smile. "I notice your companion isn't that girl."
"She's the quicker one, after all. And even a girl can carry a few papers in her breast pocket."
***
If his dealings with Eve were exposed, Kieman would suffer. Regardless of what actions he took, given the volatility of the situation, there was no telling whether they would be effective or not.
He surely didn't want to risk further danger. And what harm could come of letting Lawrence meet with Eve? Little, he would no doubt conclude.
"Understood." At these words, Kieman's messenger looked up at his master's face. "Escort them in."
The faithful messenger chewed his lip in frustration but did as he was told with admirable loyalty. He shot Lawrence a resentful look, but Lawrence knew that it was the masterless stray that was to be feared, not the trained guard dog.
"If you've anything I need, I'll pay you a fair price for it." Kieman was a merchant, after all. Lawrence looked at him over his shoulder and nodded with a smile.
"This way." The messenger led them to a staircase that led underground from the hallway into what might have been a vault, or perhaps a dungeon from the days when this had been at the front lines of the wars with the pagans.
As they descended the dark, damp stairs, they encountered an iron door. The messenger knocked in a strange rhythm, and the door was unlocked from the inside.
"Don't even consider trying to escape."

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