Nightingale
A soft breeze carried the echo of retreating swallows over the haze of conversation and commerce which quietly spoke the name Tilligte, wherein could be found a head of blunt red hair buried in the labyrinth of pages bound by a lavish casing of purple and white. A pair of ears perked upwards, surveying an otherwise silent room for the melody of footsteps slowly approaching from the adjacent corridor. Slipping the read underneath her pillow just as the door opened with a homely squeal, she sat up with a warm smile as her partner gingerly entered.
"You have returned much earlier than usual, have you not?" she yawned, keeping a loose eye on him as he shut the door.
"I have," he replied, dusting off his weathered jacket and turning to face her, "though I'm surprised to find you awake."
"How is that?" she muffled, toying in and about the thick wool sheets wherein she lay.
"I assumed you enjoyed all the extra sleep you got whenever I was out and about," he explained, resting his eyes while scratching his scraggly bangs overhanging a light smile.
"I do," she insisted, poking her head out and meeting his gray gaze with a stern glare.
"How is today different then?" He asked, giving her an insightful smirk. She paused, her overcast head receding as she peered over at her pillow.
"I could ask you the same," she deflected, shutting her eyes and turning to the side, "it'd be cruel of me to merely suppose that the merchants of Tilligte do not know half as much of commerce as even you, would it not?" She turned back to face him, letting out a faint giggle.
"You might as well, considering I haven't met with any of them yet," he returned, pondering with a stroke of the fuzz which glazed his upward pointed chin. Her condescending smile became a muse of disappointed confusion.
"If this is one of your approaches of profit I fail to see the appeal," she murmured, falling back into her mattress which gave a rough sigh to her firm disposition.
"If only," he said, taking a seat atop his own mattress which lay silently stalwart and carefully made up in perfect contrast to the unrecognizable mess just to its opposite, "no, the shops simply aren't open today."
"But it is not a day of worship," she replied, burying her face into her pillow, "Nor a holiday,"
"Not a holiday, no," he began, looking out across the room at the hustle and bustle of a nearby stretch of city, "but something's got them out and about, perhaps some kind of ambiguous celebration." A once down trodden pair of unimpressed ears perked upward.
"Celebration?" she asked, sitting up to face a renewed source of interest, resting atop outstretched arms to lean inwards.
"Could be," he began, placing a hand upon his chin, "I seldom travel through this area, even less through this town in particular, I suppose it wouldn't be too surprising if-" He stopped. The bed laid empty and the door wide open.
"Why must you bore me with your dithering?" her voice echoed, furthering down the hallway, "I wish to celebrate!"
"You don't even know if that's the case, or even the occasion for that matter!" he insisted, throwing on his jacket and trudging after her.
"I am Holo the Wise Wolf," she declared, digging a pointed finger into his chest as he caught up to her, "I do not require such knowledge to indulge in food and drink." He paused.
"God help me," he sighed, grasping the forehead beneath his bangs as she merrily skipped down the nearby stairs.
Holo and her merchant partner had been to many a town and country in the while they had traveled together. As such, nothing about the square which Tilligte had to offer its inhabitants, even at a time of joyous recognition, came as a particular surprise. Shops and warehouses of all walks of life, each of them adorned with a familiar theme of dark wood and sturdy construction which complimented the cold atmosphere of their surroundings lined a stone walk plaza, accompanied by a water feature which could only be described as modest at best, and filled to the brim with small cloth huts which, on any other day, would each house a single merchant of unique trade. In their place could be found a wise wolf inhaling roasted meats washed down with lethal quantities of beer and wine opposite to an unimpressed merchant whose wallet gave off the deaf weep of emptiness.
"Don't think that just because we agreed to keep travelling with each other means my wagon is a free ride now," he explained, his hands folded across an anxious mouth, "you still need to earn your food." Holo grinned, taking another great swig.
"I'd be disappointed if falling in love with me took your mind off of your money so easily," she replied, shooting him a smirk before gouging another chop of mutton.
"I'm serious," he insisted, strengthening his poise, "if you want to keep eating like this I'd appreciate it if you kept hold of your financial perspective with each meal."
"Your lack of faith concerns me, Lawrence" Holo glared, wiping her mouth of uneaten bits, "Have I not always returned your investments in both good time as well as quantity?" He stuttered, unable to deny.
"You have," he admitted, leaning back into his seat, "however, now that we're even I need to make sure we don't over extend ourselves again."
"I'd rather not worry about it for both our sakes, so I'm going to be keeping a tight track of our expenses," he continued, finding it difficult not to cringe as she downed another pitcher, "specifically, yours."
"By all means," Holo replied, eyeing anything that wasn't him while simultaneously extending her arm, hollow pitcher in hand, out over the table and in his face signaling for another, "let me know if it becomes too much of a bother and I'll depart." A sly eye fell upon him as he slowly reached for the pitcher in defeat; the anticipated response.
"Excuse me, miss," belched the flamboyant voice of an approaching tavern hand carrying an overflowing carafe of ale, "another drink for the lady, courtesy of the gentleman opposite the room." Looking over through the current of patrons, whether in their minds or out, their eyes befell a black bear fur coat as tall as the man who wore it, his silky black bangs casting a faint shadow upon his violet irises which gave a quick looking up and down before his slightly ajar lips became an inviting while noticeably lewd smile.
"Perhaps I need not waste your money after all," she smirked, looking over at Lawrence, caught up in himself and festering from competition, before taking to the gentleman's generous treat.
"Forgive me," she began again having finished her drink, catching Lawrence's attention once more, "I believe that I, in my enthusiasm, rudely disallowed you from enlightening me on the cause of these peoples' celebration, did I not?" Another deflection, though he was more than happy to ease himself and proceed.
"It is not a celebration which has these people scattered," A light yet stern voice interrupted. Looking over at its source, the two of them watched as the very same man who had treated Holo pulled in a nearby chair and sat himself adjacent to his recipient.
"Then perhaps you care to clarify, mister…?" Holo's partner returned, his brow twitching at the uninvited arrival while slightly inclined to embellish a possible associate.
"Ah yes, forgive me of my wretched manners," the man said, all the while his eyes on Holo, "Krupp Gibson, at your service, I frequently travel these lands searching for any profit I can." He was quite pleased with himself.
"Kraft Lawrence," he introduced, extending a lightly cupped hand, "I'm a travelling merchant myself."
"Small world," Krupp commented, his eyesight refusing to shift, "and by what do I have the honor to call your gorgeous companion?"
"I am Holo," she smiled, lifting her hand, "a pleasure."
"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Holo," Krupp replied, taking her hand into his own and giving it a gentle kiss before noticing his gift of drink to be no more, "Barkeep, another!"
"How thoughtful," Holo mused, much to Krupp's delight.
"I aim to please," He replied, inching himself closer with his grin of unimaginable intention until the keep set down yet another pitcher of ale to add to the already impressive collection. Turning around to hand him a pence in payment, Krupp paused to see him facing Lawrence, who had already given a coin of his own.
"I believe you were in the middle of an explanation," he said, sitting back glazed with a smug competitiveness.
"Very well," Krupp began, leaning back into his own seat and crossing his hands about his confident expression, "If you must know, the citizens of Tilligte, and indeed many of her neighboring towns, have closed their doors on this day in protest."
"Of what exactly?" Lawrence winced, fearful of the devastating potential of civilian uprising. Krupp sighed.
"The sultan-kingdom of Issen has begun restricting trade over their territory to the east," he explained, maintaining his composure.
"My God, the entire spice market is bound to collapse," Lawrence awed, his conscience a fury of weighting and speculation as to how to appropriately approach such a happening. Krupp nodded in grim concurrence.
"And it doesn't end there," he began again, his tone seeming only to grow less hopeful, "somehow; the Voc van Bruuz Trading Company was able to anticipate this action and not only bought up the remaining supply to sell when the price jumps, but also secured a monopoly on Black Pepper production as well." Lawrence could only keep silent.
"I fail to see by what means this should arouse our concern," Holo said having grown tired of merely listening.
"Well, you see-" Krupp began.
"Because pepper and spice carry a potent effect on the collective market," Lawrence interrupted, though his conscience remained elsewhere, "Each of the conglomerate markets which make up the collective are divided still into their individual component markets which, in our case, would be the spice component of the food conglomerate." Holo listened, as attentive as ever of her partner's lectures.
"These component markets carry an influence which cascades throughout the neighbor components, destabilize one for whatever reason and the neighbors experience a relative reaction," Lawrence continued, "Unfortunately, the component market in question not only experiences erratic instability on a regular basis, but also provides a unique bolstering effect for the food conglomerate as well; whenever the spice market is in good standing food prices drop, however, the opposite is also true; even a slight correction has the potential of widespread famine."
"So the shopkeepers protest to prevent this?" Holo asked, every bit of this conversation holding foremost in her mind.
"Not exactly," Krupp said, switching glances between the two of them, "Considering the circumstances, famine is basically inevitable, and surely such a disturbing truth would be most disconcerting for the masses who barely escape malnutrition as it is, but this particular demonstration has another motive behind it." Holo and Lawrence stood silent and still, waiting for his reasoning.
"Shortly after receiving their long sought after monopoly, Voc van Bruuz Trading began imposing ludicrous tax levies on both individual sale, as well as non-organizational shipment of said cargo," Krupp continued.
"Exclude any right minded freelance merchant from handling their product while simultaneously over-taxing it for consumption," Lawrence awed, struck back by the insidious nature of such a plot, though none the less impressed.
"It is a very clever maneuver, is it not?" Holo suggested as she finished her second gift of drink.
"I agree," Lawrence replied, his fist in a harmonic clench as uncertainty dripped from his forehead, "and that's precisely what frightens me."
"You are most adorable when challenged, Lawrence," Holo smiled, a swivel beginning to form in her pose as her cheeks became a faint red, "and what of you, Mr. Gibson; how do you intend to face such a calamity?" Krupp gathered himself into a smug grin.
"Me?" he replied, removing himself from the seat and turning towards the exit, "I'm closing up shop; gonna sell everything expendable, take to the road with haste, and stay there."
"Hm, perhaps we will fare better thanks to your information," Lawrence said, getting up from his own chair to bid him farewell.
"Anything for someone of such stature and beauty as you," Krupp mused, Holo's hands firmly within his own as he gazed into her, "I pray that fate will bring us together once more someday; adieu." Without another word or glance at either of them, the man named Krupp seemed to slither himself through the dense crowd which surrounded them and out of the tavern. Having learned so much of their circumstance, and yet so little about the man who conveyed it to them, Holo and Lawrence could only exchange glances between each other and the direction in which he had departed before merely smiling with an occasional scoff of laughter.
"That man from earlier today was most charming, was he not?" Holo said, her arms wrapped around Lawrence's bicep as he guided the two of them into their room, still and dark from the young moon, which flooded with the illumination of a hand candle upon opening the door.
"You're drunk," Lawrence replied, an understatement of the day's intake as he sat her down onto her bed.
"I think you find him intimidating," Holo teased, falling back into the mattress with a faint thud.
"Krupp? Not a chance," Lawrence lied as he turned to face his own bed.
"That is too bad," Holo replied, curling herself up into her sheets, "I find it very attractive when you are jealous." Lawrence turned back and could only smile.
"Well," he began, Holo's ear perking as she looked his way, "maybe just a little bit." Meeting his gentle gaze, Holo smiled and sat herself back up.
"So," she began, challenging him with a playful glare, "do you think he is telling the truth?" Lawrence paused; a valid question.
"Uncertain," he replied, his hand on his chin as he took a seat on her bed, "Most merchants, myself included, rarely deal in such an unstable trade as that of pepper and spice, so I don't see how he'd be able to make a significant profit by scaring us away from the market unless he or his employer are looking to buy up the supply themselves."
"That would make his story true, would it not?" Holo followed.
"It would," Lawrence nodded, "still, something about it as a whole simply doesn't quite add up; the prospective return is lost in far too much critical context."
"But?" Holo said, her speech elongated into an exasperated muse as she brought her head up to his, resting it on his shoulder.
"To disregard his story too quickly would mean passing up any opportunity to properly prepare, or even make a profit, should it turn out to be true," Lawrence explained, his eyes closed and his body stiff to assure his deepness of thought, "assuming that it's even possible, I can't even begin to assess how to correctly approach the situation until we know precisely in what way it works; I suppose all we can do for now is wait and see." Holo smiled and laid her cheek on his shoulder, glad to see the part of him that she loved alive and ablaze.
"You will find a way," she soothed, wrapping her arms around him as she took in every bit of his scent, her ever potent ears listening for the pounding in his chest, "I have faith in you, Lawrence."
"Glad I'm not the only one," Lawrenced teased as he took her into his own arms, nose to nose, staring deep into her pools of burgundy. Time seemed still as they sampled each other, each of them waiting for the other to respond. Holo leaped forward.
It was nowhere near satisfying as he seemed to awake from some kind of brevity of conscience, but it would have to be enough. She had already descended into the sheets and at least pretended to fall asleep. Slowly ascending from her mattress, cautious not to make too much noise, he navigated the rickety hardwood to the bed opposite hers and silently undressed it. Placing his jacket atop the sheets just so to adequately cover himself, he slid himself in, his mind still on edge at the day's events. Sleep was anything but certain as he lie awake, lost in his mind. He was more than happy to trade humility and a reserve of pressure for an incentive of the frightening sort, especially if he could feel the soft skin of its petit hand and join its warm lips with his own. Still, the worry of two was enough to keep him adjusting to the difference of light between the moon peeking in through the window and the darkness which clouded the corners, that is, until his eyes befell the harmonic motion of his mythical companion, by this point sound asleep. With a sigh of relief, he became still. If she could sleep, so could he.