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Kraft Lawrence shivered as he crossed the threshold of the inn, the warmer air from inside slowly bringing feeling back to his frosted limbs. He quickly closed the door behind him before dramatically stomping his boots against the floor, attempting to dislodge as much of the crusted snow as he could manage. He was determined to prevent the inclement weather from encroaching upon this establishment to the best of his ability, as it had suddenly become his only refuge from a large, unexpected snow storm.
His parcels, thankfully, were safe—only a light dusting of freshly fallen powder had managed to make its way upon them. The same could not be said for the rest of the merchant, however; the remainder of his body was covered in a thick layer of snow, which had begun to seep slowly into the fabric of his jacket in the sudden warmth.
He sighed in dismay, placing the parcels on a nearby table and slowly burshing himself dry. He would have to buy thicker clothing for himself and Holo much sooner than he’d anticipated. Part of him had hoped they could make it to the next town before needing to purchase thicker winter gear, but if his trusty jacket was already beginning to soak through, His companion must be putting up with far worse.
Just how snowy was her home, anyway?
Having defrosted himself to the best of his ability, he reclaimed his parcels and began to walk upstairs, stopping briefly to nod at the innkeeper as he passed. The owner simply grunted once in acknowledgment before returning to some papers scattered on the counter before him.
Still dripping a faint trail of melted snow behind him, Lawrence crested the stairs and made for his room: left side, furthest to the back, just beside the small window. He began to shiver as he drifted further down the hallway—the warmth from the hearth in the common area struggled to reach the furthest ends of the building. Juggling both parcels in one arm, he carefully managed to open the wooden door, sliding quickly into the room soon after.
The room he’d rented for the two of them was quite sparse, even by the standards of their journey thus far. In terms of comforts, there were only a simple wooden chair and desk, atop which a flickering candle continued to burn. He placed both his parcels there before turning his attention to the room’s single bed, placed in the corner beside him.
It took him another moment to even recognize it as a bed, as the entirety of his warm-weather clothing was piled atop it—clothing he really should have sold by now. Together, they formed a huge mound in the center of the bed—one which began to slowly undulate in anticipation as he approached it.
Lawrence addressed the mound with a look of amusement on his face. “Here I thought you were too sickened by the cold weather to come out with me.”
“And a most terrible sickness it was,” replied a soft, muffled voice from deep within the depths of the mound. “Thankfully for me, I have also discovered that such an ailment can be cured with a surplus of warm blankets. Even when I am struck ill, I cannot contain my mercantile intellect.”
The merchant simply rolled his eyes as he pulled back the layers of cloth, revealing a pouting, orange-haired face beneath. “Even the most successful of merchants understand that they can’t afford to stay holed up in bed all day,” he admonished.
“Well, I can hardly be blamed for that,” Holo replied dismissively. “You see, some fool had the strange notion that we should purchase our cold-weather clothing only after the weather had become too cold to bear.”
“Oh, a fool am I?” Lawrence replied with bemusement.
“I did not claim the fool was you, but if the epithet fits, then who am I to object?” The wolf punctuated her remark by grabbing the blankets from her companion’s hand, once again submerging herself within the warm cocoon.
“In that case, you probably shouldn’t trust this fool’s choice of a good meal,” he replied dejectedly. “I suppose I’ll have to eat both of these myself, just to spare you the disgrace.”
There was a great rustling beneath the mound, and within a moment, Holo’s frowning face emerged from the opposite end of the pile, eyes fixated on her companion. “As long as he did not attempt the folly of cooking it himself, I see no way even a fool of your caliber could fail to bring me a satisfactory meal.”
“Oh? And here I thought the Wise Wolf of Yoitsu would have a more discerning taste.”
Holo stared at him for a moment, her face turning to a frown. “…Your wit has become sharper,” she eventually conceded. “You have made it so that if I agree you are indeed a fool, then I won’t receive my dinner. But should I actually want to eat tonight, then I’d have to concede that I am the fool myself.”
Lawrence took a small bow. “I did learn from the best, after all.”
The wolf huffed in resignation. “Fine, you win this round.”
The merchant just smiled as he offered one of the parcels to his companion. “I do hope this herring will be to your liking.”
“We shall soon see,” Holo replied, a single hand emerging from beneath the mound to grab the proffered dinner. Sustenance in hand, the entirety of her person quickly retreated back within the pile.
“It won’t be as warm as when I got it,” Lawrence cautioned her. “There’s no way to avoid that with this weather. But it’s at least better than the hard bread we would get here at the inn.”
The mass of blankets wriggled happily in response.
He simply shook his head at he sat down at the desk, opening his own parcel to eat his portion of the meal. The fish itself wasn’t much to speak of, but it was far better than the food they’d been eating on the road for the past few days, and he was happy for it.
The room was fortunately graced with a single window, which looked out onto the frosted streets of the town below. The snow had begun to fall more thickly, and Lawrence began to fear for just how long they’d be stuck in this town. Even with the long-haired horses, it was going to be rough going through weather like this.
After a few minutes longer, there was another shuffling from the pile of blankets as Holo ejected the discarded packaging from her meal. “It was adequate,” she admitted, her voice once again distant and muffled.
“So glad this fool could please you,” the merchant replied, grabbing the paper for proper disposal.
“And should this fool want to continue to place himself within my good graces,” she continued, “he might next consider how to procure me some alcohol.”
“Unfortunately, we’re probably going to have to stay in tonight,” he replied. “The snow’s coming down even harder, and it looks like it’s set to get much colder than it already is this evening. Without proper winter clothing, it’ll be difficult for us to do much of anything out there—aside from getting ourselves in more trouble.”
The wolf’s face reappeared once more, her expression saddened. “Then whatever shall we do to pass the time this evening?” she asked.
“Well, whatever it is, we’ll have to stay in to do it.” Lawrence casually approached the bed, lifting up the mound of blankets on one side. “And move over a bit under there, would you? I need to get in as well.”
Holo’s face suddenly turned bright red, and she stumbled over her next few words. “I… You… Kraft Lawrence, that is awfully forward of you!”
He responded with a soft chuckle. “What would you have of me? After all, you are the one who suggested we get a room with a single bed in order to ‘save money.’ And that’s not to mention that you’ve since claimed every bit of warm fabric we own that isn’t currently on my body.”
“Oh, truly, this must be some kind of curse,” she bemoaned. “Your thriftiness has infected me so heavily that I can no longer make sensible decisions!”
“I’m not so sure about that,” the merchant countered. “You see, if you let me underneath there with you, then you get not only the extra heat from my body, but also the extra layer of my jacket on top as well. Your overall warmth will be increased.”
“Yes, but I’d then have to share that warmth with you.”
“Even the best merchants will bring in a partner if it means increasing their overall profit.”
The wolf sighed in resignation, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I must be going soft if that’s all it takes to convince me,” she grumbled. Slowly, she began sliding her slender body toward the far side of the bed, soon disappearing beneath its depths. “Well, hurry up and get in. The longer you dally out there, the more opportunities this precious warmth has to escape me.”
And with no further argument, Lawrence slid gently into the bed beside her.
The difference was immediate. The deep-seated coldness that had permeated his extremities was ushered away, and in its place was the soothing, almost intoxicating warmth of the bed. Aside from his head, which remained outside the mound of blankets, the merchant’s entire body was ensconced in fabric.
“Well?” Holo’s muffled voice spoke up from beside him. “Are you going to share your body heat or not?”
“What’s that?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “I can’t quite hear you.”
There was another shuffling as Holo’s head emerged beside his own. “I asked you, do you intend to share your warmth or keep it all to yourself?”
Instead of replying, the merchant simply wrapped his arms around the wolf, pulling her so close to his body that her head rested gently against his chest. “Well, if you insist,” he added coyly.
Holo’s ears jumped in surprise, though they quickly laid back down as she curled into Lawrence’s grasp. “I’m… still unused to this,” she muttered quietly.
“Would you like me stop?” he asked, one hand gently stroking her back for reassurance.
“…No, I think I do want to stay here,” she eventually admitted. “But part of me will always worry about whether or not this was the right decision.”
Lawrence replied by gently nuzzling the top of her head, causing her ears to twitch slightly. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy with your decision.”
“It’s just scary to think about,” she mumbled softly. “Allowing myself to grow attached to some fool, knowing he will die well before I will…” Her ears drooped slightly in sadness. “I do not wish to be lonely again.”
“Well, think about it this way,” the merchant said, gently pulling back to look directly into his companion’s eyes. “Would you rather regret having tried something, or regret not knowing what might have been?”
The wolf pondered his words for several moments before suddenly turning over on her side, now facing away from her companion.
“Did I… say something out of line?” he asked in concern.
“No, but your questions are difficult, and I prefer not to think of them just now,” she admitted. “I figured that, if I offered you the warmth of my tail, it would be a fair trade for your silence.”
“Would you still like me to hold you?” he asked cautiously.
She didn’t respond verbally, only nodding slightly. Once more, Lawrence pulled Holo closer, her back now against his chest. He wrapped his arms gently around her waist, and his head rested gently atop hers. His vision was obscured by a pair of tall, pointed ears, but he could live with that—the warmth of her tail as it laid across his legs more than made up for any inconvenience.
For a short while, the two simply laid in each others’ arms, simply enjoying the company they hadn’t dared dream of just months ago. And when the wolf’s breathing would occasionally betray her silent worries, the merchant would simply hold her even tighter.
Things would be difficult, but that wasn’t a reason not to try. And if this lowly merchant could ease this wise wolf’s loneliness, even for a short while, then it was worth all the trouble in the world.
***
“Lawrence, I’m bored,” the wolf pouted. “Tell me a story.”
“All right,” he replied, rousing himself from a state of half-slumber. “What kind of story would you like?”
“I don’t care. Just something to… take my mind off of things.”
The merchant thought for a few moments before a suitable tale sprung to mind. “All right, then; I’ve got a good story for you. Did I ever tell you about the market collapse for pagan icons?”
Holo shuffled around slightly in her position, causing him to groan as the warmth of her tail left his legs. “I have not heard this story before,” she said, now facing him directly. “Tell me.”
“Tail…” he mumbled dejectedly.
“You’ll get it back if I find your story suitably amusing,” she promised.
Lawrence let out a deep sigh, but eventually acquiesced. “All right, all right. I know when I’m beat. So, this was something I learned about when I was still a young merchant—scarcely older than Amati, actually. It’s about a town called Roasart.”
The wolf’s brow furrowed as she thought. “I’m not familiar with such a town.”
“It’s further south than I’ve ever traveled with you,” he explained, “and probably just far enough from Pasloe that most folks there wouldn’t have heard of it.”
“What made this town so special?” Holo asked. “Given the subject of your tale, I can only assume they had a pagan god of their own.”
“Why, yes they did,” Lawrence replied. “His name was Mizaru.”
“What a strange name,” the wolf replied, a look of concentration upon her face.
“Not a friend of yours, I take it?”
“It’s not a name I remember coming across, no.” Her face frowned slightly. “Should I know of him?”
“Nah, probably not. As legend told it, he came from a land quite distant to the east. He settled in Roasart more or less on a whim.”
Holo thought intently. “I… hate to admit this, but I know little of the world outside of where we have traveled together. Are there many lands beyond Trenni and Ploania?”
“Why, yes,” the merchant replied. “It’s not incredibly common knowledge, but a scholar once told me that the earth beneath us is actually part of an unfathomably huge sphere, and we live our lives on but a small portion of it.”
“That’s absurd,” she spat with confidence. “If that was the case, what would prevent you from falling off if you went too far?”
“I’m not entirely certain,” he admitted, racking his brain. “But it’s the kind of thing that sailors can verify. Apparently, it effects naval navigation quite dramatically.”
A small frown appeared on the wolf’s face as she considered this new information. “Well… that’s rather sad, is it not?”
“How do you figure?”
Holo paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “If what you say is true, then we live our entire lives on but a small fraction of an unimaginable whole. There would be no way to see it all across a god’s lifetime, let alone that of a man. It’s unbearably heartbreaking, contemplating how much there is to the world we will never experience for ourselves.”
“I don’t see it that way at all,” Lawrence replied confidently.
“Oh? And what would a fool of you know of such worldliness?”
“Well, even on just this small patch of earth we live on, there are almost far too many things to see and do for a single lifetime,” the merchant mused. “The fact that we can’t seem to travel another town in peace would attest to that.”
“I suppose that is true…”
“I guess it’s just a comfort to me—knowing that no matter how far we go, there will always be something new to explore, another adventure waiting to be had, right up until the day I die.”
The wolf’s expression darkened.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that…”
“Just carry on with your story,” she interrupted, “and pray that I find it sufficiently amusing to look past your thoughtlessness.”
Lawrence sighed deeply, regaining his composure before continuing. “Right, sorry. Where was I…?”
After trailing off for a moment, he finally remembered the story he’d been in the middle of sharing.
“Ah, yes! So, Roasart had their local pagan deity named Mizaru, and icons of him were incredibly popular among the pious population.”
“And what’s so unusual about that?” Holo asked.
“What made them unusual was how popular they became outside of Roasart,” he continued. “Even among non-believers, they were known for their strange beauty, and they’d often fetch high prices among collectors of art and curios. But the only way those collectors could get them—real ones, anyway—was to buy them directly in Roasart.”
“Why couldn’t they be made anywhere else?” the wolf inquired. “If there was that high a demand for them, surely there must have been a push to industrialize their production.”
“Well, that’s actually part of their value,” Lawrence explained. “Genuine icons were the only ones that had any value to collectors, and they were produced solely by the insular religious coven that contained the heads of the local pagan faith.”
“That seems quite inconvenient.”
“It’s not, as long as your sole purpose is to provide icons for a small community. But that same scarcity is what gave them such incredible value to collectors—value that, over time, began to far outstrip their use for religious worship.”
“You mean to say that they became worth more as simple art pieces than as fetishes?”
“Something like that, yeah.” The merchant paused for a moment in recollection. “It took a handful of years, but after a while, it got to the point that the pious couldn’t actually buy them any more. The icons being created were being sold almost as soon as they were finished, and those were often re-sold almost as quickly.”
“I’m surprised there weren’t any imitators,” Holo commented. “That seems like an opportunity ripe for the taking.”
“Oh, but there were. Plenty of zealous artisans tried to capitalize on the mania by producing forgeries. And while they would often pass a cursory inspection from an unknowing buyer, as soon as they were outed as a fake, the forgeries lost all their value. If one happened to work its way onto the secondhand market alongside the genuine, it often wouldn’t be discovered until much further down their line—and at that point, it became impossible to trace it back to the guilty party.”
“This seems almost absurd,” the wolf remarked. “How could anyone guarantee their icons were genuine in such a market?”
“Well, normally, the answer would be to buy directly from the coven,” Lawrence explained. “But because those icons were being bought out before they could reach the open market, purchasing them that way just wasn’t feasible for most people.”
Holo frowned. “From the confident glare on your silly face, I can only assume you’re about to explain the ingenious way they solved this problem.”
He simply laughed in reply. “You can tell that easily, huh? I won’t keep you waiting, then. Their bright idea was that the coven would track of all the genuine articles they produced on a single, public ledger.”
“I’m… not sure I follow.”
“Let me explain how it worked. Each of the genuine icons they created would come with a series of markings on their base denoting the order they were made in. Genuine markings followed a pattern that was known only to the coven themselves, making them incredibly difficult to replicate. So, to ensure that their buyers knew their icons were the real deal, they created a public ledger that listed each of the icons they had produced, alongside the name of their current owner at that moment. That way, if a worried merchant had any qualms about the provenance of his icon, he could just look it up in the ledger and discover its history. If it didn’t match what the seller had told him, then he knew it was a fake, and could trace it back to its source.”
“A single record of the ownership history for each icon, recorded in a manner that anyone could look at it whenever they desired. Do I have that right?”
Lawrence nodded. “That’s exactly it. So now, if a merchant wanted to sell an icon that was already tracked on the ledger, they had to go to the coven to have the transaction listed as well. If they didn’t, there would be a suspicious gap in that particular icon’s history, and the merchant would be suspected of being a fraud.”
Holo took a few moments to ponder this system. “This all actually seems like a pretty ingenious solution,” she admitted. “Perfect knowledge of the ownership history of any item would quash any discussions of forgery.”
“You would think so,” Lawrence replied.
She frowned. “Your face once again tells me that you’re about to explain some kind of problem with this system.”
“Am I really that predictable?” he mumbled. “Anyway, perfect knowledge does come with a price attached to it. Think about what they’d actually done for a moment. The market for trading these icons was huge, but now, the only way merchants could could convince their buyers that they were selling genuine articles was to have those transactions reflected on the ledger.”
“Right, so, any time they made a transaction, they’d have to go visit the coven to have it listed there.”
“Correct. But also, if you were sold an icon and were uncertain of its provenance, what would you need to do?”
“You’d have to go reference the ledger, naturally.”
“Naturally. If it’s not public, after all, then it has no actual value as proof.”
“Stop teasing me, Lawrence,” she replied, batting at his chest gently. “What is the catch?”
“Well, you’re the Wise Wolf of Yoitsu, are you not?” he retorted. “Why don’t you tell me where things went wrong?”
Holo paused to consider the scenario, and within a few moments, her expression suddenly lightened. “If the demand for these icons was as huge as you say, the sheer volume of them being moved each day would seem to be too large for a single ledger. It would slow business to a crawl, and merchants would have to wait in line if they wanted their icons to retain any value.”
“That’s exactly right,” the merchant commended her, gently stroking the wolf’s hair between her ears. “While it ensured everyone knew the exact history of their icons, it became prohibitively difficult to actually get on the ledger.”
Holo frowned at Lawrence’s patronizing gesture, but did not object. “Well, couldn’t they just make a copy then?”
“That’s what they tried, actually,” the merchant continued, retracting his hand. “The coven created several parallel ledgers and entrusted them to respected institutions, allowing them to officially conduct business with their icons. At the end of each business day, they would gather each of the ledgers and reconcile them against each other, updating each of them to reflect the same information and correcting any errors.”
“That sounds like a ridiculous amount of upkeep.”
He shrugged as much as the piled blankets would allow. “Not if you’re a scribe being paid incredibly well. And for the coven, the money made by ensuring the market was secure was worth their time and investment.”
“So, did this system finally solve the problems the merchants had?” Holo asked.
“It actually did, for a bit,” he continued. “But after a while, merchants came to be frustrated with that system as well.”
“And what was their problem now?”
“It had to do with the icons themselves, actually,” Lawrence explained. “They are not small things. They’re carved, wooden statuettes, about the size of my forearm when completed.” He poked his arm out from beneath the sheets to demonstrate, the cold causing him to immediately regret his decision. “They were also incredibly delicate and fragile—handled poorly, and they were liable to break.”
“And a broken icon was worthless, I take it?”
“To collectors, anyway,” he said, quickly retracting his arm. “Worshipers would probably still use them, I imagine.”
The wolf sighed, a displeased look crossing her face. “And I imagine you’re about to explain to me how they solved that problem as well.”
“Well, think about what it is that most of the merchants actually cared about. It wasn’t the icons themselves, but the profit that could be made by reselling them. And the people they were sold to would often sell them again in the future. Having to handle the same icon that many times was a lot of work, and each time it changed hands was an opportunity for it to break.”
“So what did they do instead?”
“It’s actually pretty ingenious. Since there was already a ledger making every transaction perfectly transparent, and the ledger itself was what merchants actually checked when trading the icons, the coven reasoned that the only thing that actually mattered was the spot on the ledger—not the icons themselves.”
Holo’s face contorted in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Instead of handing out the icons to new buyers,” Lawrence explained, “the coven instead began to simply issue tokens—one corresponding to each icon they made. The icons would be safely stored in a warehouse they owned until they were actually purchased by someone who wanted to collect it, and at that point, the buyer could turn in their token to receive the icon it represented.”
“So… the merchants could sell with the knowledge that their purchases were genuine,” the wolf reasoned, “and those who wanted the actual icons were free to retrieve them?”
“That’s about the scope of it, yes.”
“What a strange system they’ve devised,” she remarked, her expression astounded. “It seems like so much work to go through over simply trading a small item.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“For all it’s complexity, I can’t immediately place any flaws with it,” she reasoned. “However, given that you already gave away the ending to this story, I know there must be something here I cannot see.”
“You weren't the only one who couldn't see it,” he assured her. “The tokens actually worked so well that speculation on the icons became far too easy. Prices and rates of sale were driven ever higher, to the point that the market could no longer sustain itself. That was when the whole system began to fail.”
“Did the market crash, causing the icons to lose their value?”
“Not quite,” Lawrence corrected. “Turns out, they collapsed the market for parchment instead. In order to be useful, the ledger had to contain the complete history for every icon, and as time went on, that ledger became only longer and longer. Even with a team of dedicated scribes, the ledger required an incredible amount of raw materials to maintain—and given that they’d driven up the demand for parchment by buying so much of it themselves, the coven soon found they couldn’t afford to buy the amount they needed anymore.”
“What happened at that point?” Holo asked curiously.
“There was only one thing they could do: the coven had to announce that they would no longer maintain the ledger—and that they would be destroying the ones currently in use to re-purpose their parchment. A panic ensued, and merchants tried to accuse the sect of stealing their wares from them.”
“How come? Didn’t they still have their tokens?”
“Well, sure,” the merchant admitted. “But without the ledger to tell everyone who owned what, tokens were the only thing they had—tokens that pointed to a spot on a ledger that no longer existed.”
The wolf took some time to ponder this state of affairs. “Well, what became of the icons themselves, then?”
“Without any way to know for sure which one belonged to whom, fights broke out over the actual product. In a fit of spite, a disgruntled buyer who had suffered a huge loss in the endeavor wound up burning the entire warehouse down.”
“That’s horrible!” Holo exclaimed.
“It was. And the few icons that managed to survive have since become rare collectors items. Now, they’re simply sold directly from person to person—no ledger involved.”
“Doesn’t that increase the risk of fraud, then?”
“Well, in the strictest sense, I guess it might,” Lawrence admitted. “But then again, merchants have found better ways to guarantee transactions and proof of ownership since then. The cost of the icons even went down a bit, now that they couldn’t be speculated on as easily. Now the whole story is held up as a cautionary tale for merchants who think they’re being clever.”
The wolf hummed lightly to herself as she pondered the story. “It seems quite similar to what happened with the pyrite back in Kumersun.”
“It’s definitely similar,” the merchant replied, “but there is one major difference. It may not have had the same perceived value, but at the end of the crash, everyone still had the actual product they purchased. In Roasart, most folks didn’t even have that—just a bunch of useless tokens, standing for nothing and devoid of inherent value.”
“That sounds awful.”
“And that’s exactly why it’s a cautionary tale,” Lawrence said. He then regarded his partner with a gentle smile. “Well? Was my story sufficiently entertaining for you?”
His partner seemed concerned, her eyes focused in thought. “I still have one more question for you.”
“All right,” he replied. “What is it?”
“What, exactly, did these icons look like?” she asked. “They must have been quite beautiful to generate such unbridled fervor.”
“Well, they quite simple things, really,” the merchant explained. “Just carvings of Mizaru in his traditional pose—sitting cross-legged, with hands covering his eyes.”
“And what about that is traditional?” the wolf prodded.
Lawrence attempted to shrug, but his gesture was restrained by the mound of blankets that still laid above him. “I couldn’t tell you. I saw one for myself once, but he just looked kind of bored to me.”
Holo thought for a moment longer. “Oh, I just realized that I never asked you what kind of creature Mizaru happened to be.”
“I’m not sure you’d recognize him,” the merchant replied. “He was of a kind you probably wouldn’t encounter this far north.”
“Try me.”
“All right. Have you ever heard of an ‘ape’ before?”
The wolf’s expression became distant as she searched her memory. “I can’t say that I have.”
“They’re large, bipedal creatures. They look almost like humans, except they have hair all over their bodies, and their faces are quite strange compared to our own. They also tend to climb trees and…”
Lawrence’s explanation was interrupted by the soft sound of snoring. He looked down to see his companion had finally fallen asleep in his arms, her head laid softly against his chest.
“Well, I hope it was a good story, at least.”
And as he pulled her closer to him, he too fell into a deep, comfortable sleep.
***
“What do you mean the roads are impassable?”
“It seems as if we’ll be stuck here another day,” Lawrence lamented.
“I think you mean I will be stuck here another day,” Holo corrected him. “Who do you think will be going out to purchase me food, Lawrence?”
“I can’t imagine many businesses are open in this weather, but…”
“And what on earth will we do to pass the time?” she continued. “Surely you can’t have another story that fascinating within that foolish head of yours.
The merchant considered her question for a few seconds. “Well, Holo, tell me this: have you ever heard of a pyramid before?”