* * *

A cursory look around Gringen revealed a few things to Valeri. First, the Black Hand was not as influential as it had been during his time here, and numerous other organizations were competing for power.

People could not live alone, of course. They had no choice but to form communities, so every city was bound to have organizations of one sort or another. Those who banded together by trade called themselves some guild or other, while those who gathered according to their place of origin called themselves a brotherhood.

When such organizations reached a balance, peace followed naturally. Without that balance, peace remained a distant prospect. Gringen seemed to be lacking that balance at present. Between internal disputes and turf wars with other organizations, the whole place felt, quite simply, unsettled.

At the heart of the fractures that had formed instead of a balance was Duke Sven’s embargo. When necessities and other supplies ran short, goodwill inevitably followed. And that embargo had come about almost entirely because of one man: Creed, otherwise known as the Ballsack Opener.

Creed controlled the city’s southern trade. He inflated the price of everything he could lay his hands on and engaged in river piracy besides. River pirates were difficult to suppress. On land, knights could have been dispatched to wipe them out, but dealing with men who operated on water was another matter entirely. Moreover, Gringen belonged to the margraviate of Dunbria, making it difficult for Duke Sven to cross the border to police them. So he had taken the straightforward approach and banned trade altogether.

In the end, both sides lost out, but one had no trouble putting food on the table while the other was suffering terribly. The reason Gringen continued to hold out was that Creed did not care whether other people suffered or died. That was why Valeri now saw so many people slumped listlessly along the streets.

“This isn’t selling as well as I expected,” Arne said. He had set out a few sacks of salt on a street leading into the city from the warehouse. Judging by the state of the people, they did not look as though they had any money. In truth, it was not merely selling poorly. They had sold nothing at all, despite having been here for three days.

“It’s not that they have plenty and don’t need it. Anyone can see they’re desperate. It’s not that they won’t buy it—they can’t. Someone’s probably keeping them in line behind the scenes. They’re afraid of reprisals.” Valeri spoke as his eyes followed a child passing by.

“Keeping them in line? Who? The Ballsack Opener?”

“Probably.”

“What a nasty bastard...”

The people of Gringen looked so weak because they lacked salt. Food was scarce as well, to the point that some people were starving to death, but the Ballsack Opener paid no heed.

“Is he trying to buy the salt cheap himself?” Arne offered his own guess. Perhaps spending time with Valeri had sharpened his eye somewhat.

“Could be that, could be caution, could be both.”

“Shall I look into another way?” Yorik asked. He was sprinkling salt on a grilled frog as he ate. Grilled frog was something of a local specialty in Gringen, which had earned its people the derogatory name “frog-eaters.”

“No. I have a way.” As he spoke, Valeri beckoned to the child he had been watching. The child was barefoot, with streaks of grime running down a filthy face. At first the child seemed wary, but when Valeri kept beckoning, approached with hesitant steps.

“Take this home and have it with your mother.” Valeri placed a handful of pure white salt in the child’s hands. Startled, the child replied with a trace of concern.

“I don’t have a mother.”

“Then have it yourself.” No sooner had he finished speaking than the child dashed away without so much as a thank-you.

Salt was truly worth its weight in gold in Gringen now. In practice, it had become a luxury rather than a necessity, beyond the reach of ordinary people who were not wealthy merchants. So when Valeri gave some away to a random child, the watching eyes all around them changed, just as expected. If nothing else, salt could even serve as currency.

Valeri beckoned to another child. Having seen what had happened, this one already wore a hopeful expression before he even raised his hand. The child came over without hesitation, and Valeri handed over another fistful of salt.

“Th-thanks! Thanks!” It was not a perfectly formed expression of gratitude, but this child bowed several times before leaving.

“You’re just giving it away?” asked Arne, who had been watching in silence.

“Yes. Let’s give away a whole sack or so.”

“Why?”

“He’s a man who feeds his own greed regardless of how others suffer. How greedy do you think that makes him? The thing about people like that is, they feel robbed even when something isn’t theirs.”

The words struck Arne like a bolt of lightning. Was Valeri really a genius?

Once two children had received free salt, children from all over the neighborhood swarmed around Valeri in an instant. He gave every one of them a handful. In a sense, he might as well have been handing out money. Soon he could no longer keep up alone, and Arne and Yorik had to help distribute salt to the children. Before long, adults came to them as well.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! If you’ve already had some, piss off!” Yorik bellowed as the crowd packed the area and threw it into chaos. Frankly, he was proving very useful whenever a situation called for foul language.

At any rate, almost an entire sack of salt was gone in no time. That was when it happened.

“Hey, you fucking bastards! Clear out!”

This time, it was not Yorik swearing. Someone had shouted from beyond the crowd. At that single cry, the people fled en masse, their faces full of fear. It was much like cockroaches vanishing into hiding in an instant. The street fell quiet.

The newcomers were unmistakably thugs. The knife scars on their faces and the backs of their hands suggested they had led rough lives. One of them slowly swaggered toward Valeri’s group with his head cocked. His face was covered in scars, and his nose turned up so far that his nostrils were visible from straight ahead. He glanced down at the salt, then back at Valeri, and spoke.

“Who said you could do business here?”

“We weren’t doing business. We were just giving it away,” Valeri replied. The man glared menacingly at Valeri, Arne, and Yorik in turn before addressing Valeri again.

“I’m Ged the Snub-Nosed, and I serve Lord Creed the Terrible. You’ve heard of me, haven’t you?”

At the name Creed, Valeri and Arne both inwardly thought that they had done it. As an aside, Creed disliked being called the Ballsack Opener, and so styled himself Creed the Terrible.

Valeri betrayed none of his thoughts and replied indifferently, “No.”

“You little...”

Ged the Snub-Nosed fixed Valeri with an intense glare. Valeri showed not the slightest trace of fear or unease. In any case, the difference in their looks was so great that watching them face each other was almost embarrassing. One might even have said it made Ged look pitiful.

When Valeri showed no sign of being cowed, Ged spoke again. “It’s not fake, is it? Mind if I check whether it’s real?”

Did he think they were giving people fake salt? Valeri found the notion absurd, but jerked his chin toward the sack, inviting him to taste it. The man put a little salt on his fingertip, brought it to his nose, and promptly snorted it.

“Snrrk! Gah!”

Naturally, his face contorted in pain. The incomprehensible act left Valeri, Arne, and even Yorik momentarily bewildered. Then Ged said, “It really is salt...”

“Er, couldn’t you have tasted it with your mouth?” Arne could not contain his curiosity.

“How do I know it isn’t poison? If I taste it and it’s poison, are you trying to get me killed? Do you take me for an idiot?”

“Huh?” Arne could not even begin to work out where that reasoning had gone wrong. He was left speechless.

“Sniff! Hrrmph! So, how much per sack?” Ged asked, blowing hard through his nose to ease the stinging inside it.

“Ten gold coins. We take gemstones too. Top quality only.”

“You were handing it out for free a moment ago, and now you want ten gold from us. Should I take that to mean you think we’re worth fuck-all?”

“If you like.”

Ged twisted his mouth in displeasure before speaking. “One day. Wait just one day. I’ll give you an answer tomorrow. Stop handing it out to people.”

“Fine.”

At Valeri’s answer, he backed off for the time being, leaving a warning as he went. “We know the duke and his third young lord don’t get along. Watch how far you push it, before you’re truly fucked. Ptooey.”

It was a threat that they could do something to the third young lord, the man behind the salt venture. Whether they actually intended to, merely could, or were simply bluffing was of no concern.

After they had disappeared completely from sight, Yorik spoke. “You know, I... enjoyed that.”

Valeri and Arne turned to him, wondering what had gotten into him now. He continued, “Giving people salt, I mean. It felt strangely good.”

“... It did for me too,” Arne agreed. Valeri said nothing. He simply closed up shop for the day and carried the remaining salt into the warehouse.

It was best not to wander a city at night. This went beyond common sense; it was something you did if you wanted to live. Even among cities, Gringen was particularly dangerous. If you walked its streets at night and only lost your possessions, you were lucky. If you were murdered and your body dumped in the marsh, you would remain silent forever, with no one to know your story.

If you fell victim to a crime, where could you turn? Who would find the culprit and bring them to justice? Those living in the countryside might be able to appeal to their lord for justice, but even then, matters rarely proceeded smoothly.

Thus, people had no choice but to protect themselves. If their own strength was insufficient, they borrowed that of their family, and if even that was not enough, they borrowed the strength of an organization to carry out justice. They sought out those who had harmed or killed their fathers, mothers, nieces, nephews, siblings, or fellow members, and repaid them in kind.

Justice meant rightful vengeance, and only those with the power to enact it could achieve justice. Such was the world: might stood closer to justice than truth did.

No wind stirred through Gringen that night. Amid the stillness, figures stood at alley corners with the black night wrapped around them like cloaks, their eyes gleaming warily. Running footsteps, a hurried shout cut off by a hand over a mouth, crashing and yelling inside a home—those were the only sounds that came from near and far in place of the wind.

Through it all, someone who belonged to no organization walked the night streets. It was Valeri. Though alone, he moved naturally, without a trace of tension, like a shark swimming through a dark sea.

Valeri had ventured out at night because he had seen a Black Hand sign. It was a request for a meeting.

As he approached an underpass that was notably darker than its surroundings, someone emerged from its wall as though a black shadow had broken away. The figure was entirely obscured by darkness, like a shadow itself given human form.

“Didn’t I tell you to come during the day if you wanted something?” Valeri asked. The black shadow answered. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, it was not a voice he recognized.

“You always have people with you. I wanted to meet you alone and in private. Forgive me.”

“So why did you want to see me?”

“First, we have long known that His Grace the duke is a seasoned man, but we had no idea his intelligence network was so extensive. That was an oversight on our part.”

Apparently, they believed every careless word Valeri had spouted at Pale. Frankly, they could hardly do otherwise.

“There are things we know about each other, and things we do not. You spoke first of what you know about us, so now we shall tell you what we know. First, you came here not to sell salt, but to eliminate Creed. Second, you do not wish that fact to become known.”

“So what? Are you going to interfere?”

“No, no... I am saying we can cooperate. We too have long sought to eliminate Creed. We are offering to help.”

“Put simply, it sounds like you want me to deal with Creed so you can reap the benefits.”

“To be frank, yes.”

“I don’t know if you realize this, but we can just go home.” In other words, they were the ones in a hurry, not Valeri. This was no bluff. It was the truth.

The person beneath the underpass tossed something toward him. Though the night concealed it from view, Valeri identified it in an instant and caught it. It was a leather pouch the size of a fist, apparently filled with hard little pieces. Most likely gemstones.

“Payment for twenty sacks of salt. I have included a generous amount above their original price. Realistically, unless you intend to settle here, you cannot reap the benefits after Creed’s death, can you? A clever man like you must understand that. And in addition, I shall give you one valuable piece of information.”

Valeri worked the pouch in his hand, its contents clinking together. “What is it?”

“It was the second young lord who sent kidnappers after Winslow’s heir. Of course, he acted with the duke’s permission, but he handled everything from planning to execution. He has long been responsible for policy toward Winslow.”

Valeri’s expression did not change. He knew this was a ploy: offer valuable information and watch to see whether it unsettled the other person emotionally. It was a particularly cunning Black Hand method of probing for weaknesses. Once they found one, threats and enticements would follow with relentless persistence.

Knowing this, Valeri found it rather amusing, and a genuine sneer escaped him. “What does that have to do with me?”

“... Perhaps we could cooperate further in the future. We could provide information that would help establish the third young lord as the heir.”

When Valeri remained unshaken, it was the other man who lost his footing instead. His voice did not tremble, but his attempt to bring Knut into the discussion on a mere guess showed that he had no idea what Valeri wanted or feared.

“Forget that. Where is Creed hiding?”

“... He is hiding in the marsh. He has more than ten hideouts, so even we have difficulty pinpointing his location.”

“So drawing him out is the answer after all. What help can you offer me, then?”

Valeri pressed the issue as though the other man were of no use to him whatsoever. To negotiate, each side needed leverage over the other, or something the other wanted. At present, the Black Hand possessed neither a weakness of Valeri’s to exploit nor anything he wanted.

Though the shadows concealed any outward sign, the man beneath the underpass felt stripped naked. This was a first for him.

“... Creed is currently furious because you gave away salt. Your tactic worked. There will be an attack at dawn tomorrow.”

They had asked for a day earlier, but apparently intended to try their hand before that time was up. Valeri had anticipated an attack to some extent, but he had not known exactly when it would come, so this information was quite useful.

“Good. That will do. We can make contact again if necessary. Next time we meet, don’t put on airs and talk as though you know everything. It’s not even funny.”

Valeri gave the pouch of gemstones a shake and walked away. For the time being, it meant he accepted their cooperation in eliminating Creed, at least.

“...”

Valeri’s footsteps receded until he rounded a corner and disappeared. Then several more people emerged from the darkness beneath the underpass.

“What was that? He’s no ordinary boy.”

“Could he be lying about his age?”

“He’s tall, but judging by his face, two or three years is the most he could be hiding. His age doesn’t mean much.”

“He’s from Winslow, excellent with a blade, observant, capable of planning and execution, and above all, bold enough to give away salt as a strategy. Is there any way he could have learned all of that on his own, without someone teaching him?”

One of them listed what they knew about Valeri, and together they tried to find a common thread that would tell them what sort of person he was. Yet possessing even one of those abilities at fourteen would have been difficult to comprehend. With all of them together, he was impossible to make sense of.

Based on the few facts available, they arrived at the most logical, rational conclusion they could.

“Earl Æthelred is no ordinary man.”

“He may be far more frightening than the duke.”

Earl Æthelred was indeed capable, but their deductions were, for the most part, entirely wrong.