Chapter 6
(Plot 5)Calufray made his way slowly, but deftly, down the slick rock-face into the outskirts of Tin Obeliskdale. He was drenched, of course, for the freshwater falls fell on him the entire way, but at least he had arrived safe and sound.
The windows and sign-poles of the small settlement hung with enchanted banners that featured a moving crest—a quill swooping in a signing motion beside a red “X.” This, Calufray recalled, was the symbol of the deity of Tin Obeliskdale, Opasha, the god of fair dealings. The halflings of the settlement preferred to treat every aspect of life as a contract, whether social or business, spoken or written. This led to every citizen having a prescribed routine that they were obliged to follow.
For example, everyone within a house woke at staggered intervals, prepared and ate meals at staggered intervals, and even used the facilities at staggered intervals. “Better to go and not need to than need to and not go,” was a common saying. All of this was seen as proper protocol and part of the unspoken social agreement of living in the settlement, and resulted in making Obeliskdale quite orderly and efficient.
Calufray watched the dance of routine operate like clockwork around him: a homemaker would shake a dusty rug out of the 2nd-storey window just as a formally-dressed notary would walk underneath, the cloud settling just as the notary passed, avoiding them entirely. Ten steps behind was the notary’s assistant, perfectly synched with the cloud to avoid any unpleasant dusting of professional attire.
As he passed, Calufray supposed that someone in that home had just signed a contract, and always did at this time, on this day of the week. How did he know? He looked around and confirmed: everyone in view had a small tightly-cinched drawstring pouch attached to their waist. But these bags did not hold money, Calufray knew.
The making of contracts was so pervasive that each citizen with any sense carried with them a small pouch of absorbent dust that would be laid down on the fresh signatures of a contract and then blown away, often to the nasal irritation of outsiders unused to this practice. It was said among visitors that one could not sneeze in Obeliskdale without a room full of halflings mumbling “done and dusted,” as was the custom after signing a contract and blowing the drying dust away.
Remembering his customs upon arriving in Obeliskdale, Calufray walked in the “visitor’s lane” on the shop-side of the walking paths, where anyone could walk either direction and go as fast or slow as they pleased. The faster lane, reserved for citizens, went only one direction, and always at the same brisk pace. The benefit of order was self-evident; those in the "citizen's lane" regularly arrived at their destinations before schedule while those in the visitor's lane were frequently late.
After a dozen minutes or so, Calufray had reacclimatized to the rhythm of the settlement and joined the citizens in the faster lane. In very little time he entered the tin obelisk, where Allira’s office was.
“I greet you, citizen,” said Calufray in the Obeliskdale fashion.
“And in return, I greet you,” the receptionist casually replied, and then waited to be spoken to.
“I submit my request to meet with the manager today,” Calufray said carefully, trying hard to remember what the right phrasing was. The receptionist nodded as he said the words to show that he was speaking accurately. “As immediately as she is available, please.”
“I have received your request,” the receptionist smiled, and hadn’t even looked down at the book on the desk before stating: “She is available at this moment. Do you accept this time?”
“I do,” Calufray affirmed. The receptionist had him sign the obligatory terms and conditions agreement upon entry (which he didn’t read), and Calufray was climbing the up-staircase before the receptionist could say “done and dusted.”
As he approached Allira’s office, Calufray could hear a high, hoarse voice coming from the other side of the door:
“Thank you for your time, Manager. I think our arrangement will be most fruitful for all parties involved.” The door opened, and Calufray dashed behind a wall sconce that succeeded in only partially obscuring his face, but nothing else.
Closing the door gently behind him was Nizhoni. His voice snapped taut immediately. “Calufray!?” Not knowing what else to do, Calufray jumped out in front of the down-staircase and spread his body wide. “You couldn’t have gotten here ahead of me,” Nizhoni reasoned. “I took Master Folger’s ship directly here—it’s the fastest ship in the fleet!”
“What are you doing here?” Calufray barked accusingly. It was then that he caught sight of a bound stack of parchment in Nizhoni’s hand. It bore two signatures at the bottom in freshly-dusted ink and a prominent hand-drawn likeness of the Wonderful Pitcher. Calufray’s blood boiled—it was as if no time had passed since Nizhoni had had him banished from Cadfelham. “What did you do!?”
Calufray didn’t let Nizhoni reply before charging past him and barreling through the door into Allira’s office. The door slammed open, smashing the glass out of a decorative case behind it.
The room was a large triangle with the door at one point and the walls emerging at 45 degree angles to either side. The opposing edge of the triangular floor met the bottom edge of the window, another triangle, the topmost point of which was also the topmost point of the tin obelisk itself. The window was made of thick glass and afforded Calufray a view of Obeliskdale and the yawning mouth in the side of the island that opened the underground to the light of the mid-afternoon sky. He saw in the distance—like a thin, waving ribbon in the sunlight—the freshwater falls that marked his entrance to the settlement.
A high-backed chair behind the manager’s desk faced mostly away, toward the wide, angled window that formed one of the four faces of the tip of the tin obelisk. Calufray couldn’t see who was in the chair—Allira, Calufray suspected—but the Pitcher was being held aloft by a thin column of water as if for inspection.
All of this arrived at Calufray’s senses in but a moment; he still felt the rush of adrenaline that accompanied his forceful entry to the manager’s office.
“M-manager,” a halfing attendant stammered to the other side of the door, “y-your next ap-pointment has arrived.” And the attendant timidly slipped out of the open door.
At the sound of Calufray’s uncouth entrance, the manager’s chair began to swivel. Not waiting for any further formalities, Calufray lunged forward, snatched the Pitcher from the column of water and turned to bolt from the room.
“Calufray, what are you doing!?” Nizhoni shouted as Calufray rushed past. “You’ll ruin everything, again!”
The halfling attendant was almost a flight down the staircase when Calufray began bounding down after him. The attendant’s eyes widened as Calufray’s body nearly fell on him. By the time Nizhoni reached the attendant, the poor soul was curled up in a ball in one corner of the landing and sniveling.
“Calufray!” Nizhoni shouted from above, and Calufray stuck his head out over the railing to see the twin spiral staircases, both up and down, swirling around each other. Nizhoni’s face was looking down at him from one floor up. It immediately disappeared, and Calufray knew Nizhoni would be right behind him.
Calufray had just reached the next landing when he heard a crack! and Nizhoni’s body slammed into him with the force of a wrecking ball. Nizhoni’s whip snapped under his weight and he and Calufray went tumbling down the stairs.
Instinctively, Calufray cradled the Pitcher and wished to be in the ocean once again. With the speed of thought, a rush of seawater gushed from the Pitcher like a spout, throwing Nizhoni back up the down-staircase and into the wall. The water continued to flood the stairs, filling the space faster than gravity could pull it away. Calufray pointed it ahead of him and rode the wave downward, half-sliding, half-tumbling all the way to the street level.
“I greet—” But before the receptionist could finish, Calufray had slid past on the wave of water that came pouring out of the Pitcher. The receptionist was promptly washed away from the desk along with the reception book and the stack of that day’s terms and conditions agreements.
Outside the tin obelisk, Calufray ran. He never looked behind him, but blasted his way through the denizens of Obeliskdale with a constant spout of water from the Pitcher. His eyes caught sight of the sun-lit ribbon in the distance that was the freshwater falls. If he made haste, he thought, he might have time to climb up to the natural springs before Nizhoni could catch up.
As if on cue, Calufray heard the zip of whirling metal fly past his ear. Up ahead, a shuriken lodged itself in a sign-pole, directly next to one of Opasha's banners. The first was followed immediately by another, which tore straight through the banner and broke the glass of a window somewhere beyond. The crowds gasped and scattered, pandemonium prevailing where order was only moments before.
Glancing behind, Calufray saw that Nizhoni was still chasing him, but losing ground on account of his flippered feet. When he saw that he had no hope of catching Calufray on foot, he changed direction, dashing between two buildings.
Calufray swore. The docks was that direction; Nizhoni was going to race him back to Cadfelham.
At the sheer water-drenched wall, Calufray redoubled his efforts, climbing just faster than safety would dictate. Something told him that he had to make it to the natural spring as quickly as he could. He had to hope that the magical eagle would be there. He needed to believe that he could make it back to Cadfelham before Nizhoni did.
Though he could not have said why.
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