Waiving the Late Fee

“Excuse me, uhm, excuse me.” The man said and approached the caravan, arms raised in the air. The members of the caravan could see that his clothes were of good quality, but also well-worn. Care had been taken to ensure that they would last many years still. His dark hair was bushy, though he had no beard. A heavy bag rested over his shoulder. The more curious members of the caravan wondered what the bag contained, but a leather flap covered the contents completely. 

“Hail and well met on the road.” The caravan leader said and stepped forward. Katrika had been the leader for nearly a decade, her robust physique always at the forefront of the caravan, both on the road and in any crisis that would befall it.

“Well met.” The man replied. His tone was measured but friendly. Katrika tried to place his accent but could not.

The man adjusted his shoulder bag. Curious caravaneers eyed the flap for any weakness, but found none. “I am Terrence Calhoon, a traveller.”

“Katrika Belloras. How can our humble caravan be of assistance on this dreary day, mister Calhool?” She asked and hooked her thumbs into her belt, as the members of her caravan knew she did when she meant business. 

Terrence indicated the landscape around them with a sweep of an arm. The war had left irrepairable scars. The craters and ravines would go with time, but the landscape had cracked in massive plates and shards that would not mend within the lifetime of anyone on Earth. The man’s ochre-coloured eyes rested on the devastation for a moment before returning to Katrika. 

“It has been many years since I passed by here. I was hoping to gain some sense of direction.” 

Katrika looked at the man. At her guess, he was at her age, if maybe a bit younger. “Well, when were you through here last? The Roasted Acorns travel through here at least every other year.” As she spoke, the experienced caravaneer looked behind her and waved at a white-haired man sitting on one of the wagons. 

The man approached as Terrence began to speak, supporting himself with a cane.

“I believe the town of Hobbens-by-the-River had just built their clocktower. I left on the day of the birth of mayor Suth’s second daughter.” Terrence nodded at the white-haired man before continuing. “You might not know the family, but a farmer named Dart had planted a new willow-tree a few days before. I don’t know the year, but those were the events of the time as I remember them.”

Katrika nodded sagely and turned to the man with white hair. “This is Nils Colbronohk, our cook. He is also an avid historian.” 

Nils shook Terrence’s hand with a smile. Nils looked younger than his white hair would indicate, though to the traveller’s eyes, the reason was clear. “I dabble, that’s all.” The young man said and put both hands on his cane. 

“I believe we all dabble in history, Mr. Colbronohk.” Terrence replied with an easy smile, studiously looking away from his inflamed scalp. 

A gust of wind picked at the shawl around Katrika’s shoulders. The stout woman looked up at the sky with a grimace. “Mr. Calhoon, I believe the wind is picking up. I think it best we continue this conversation inside one of our wagons. 

The traveller followed her gaze to the peaks that were faintly visible through the distant fog and clouds. When the storms came through this valley, they brought dangerous reminders of the war down from the mountains. “Very well. If I might ask for your hospitality during this swell, miss Belloras.”

The wagons of the caravan were pulled up into a protective circle and the draft-animals put in the wagon that served as their pen for times like these. With these matters seen to, the caravaneers retreated inside. Katrika Belloras brought the cook and the traveller to her own wagon, ushered them inside and closed the door. As they talked, the wind howled outside. Pebbles and other small objects were picked up by the rising wind and dashed against the side of the wagon. 

The inside of the wagon was lit by an electric bulb that gave off light like an oil-lantern. Urns and vases of many colours and styles decorated a high shelf, along with several other shawls and scarfs. The beds and workstations of the wagon covered one of the walls, leaving the other free for large pillows and thick rugs. Overall it presented a much warmer atmosphere than the war-scarred world outside its walls. 

“We pick up something from every town we visit.” Katrika said and indicated the urns. Terrence recognised some of them due to the materials used or the regional style, but most were unknown to him. Whether that was due to his travels going on other paths or his knowledge being outdated was hard to tell. 

“A sensible habit,” Terrence said and looked back to the other occupants of the wagon, “You never know when a village or township could be gone by the time you pass by next.”. A man he had not been introduced to lay in one of the beds, trying to sleep through the storm. 

“The sad truth. These are harsh times we live in.” Katrika replied and leaned back in the pillows. 

“But enough about that. You were looking for directions, Mr. Calhoon?” 

Terrence nodded. Katrika turned to Nils. “I trust you heard what he said before the storm picked up?”

“I did,” Nils said and ran a hand through his hair, “though I must admit, I found it perplexing.”

“How so?” Katrika said. A kettle began to boil on the table to her left and she busied herself with pouring out three cups.

Nils continued. “I am familiar with a mayor named Suth and her tenure, but that ended nearly 15 years ago. Same with the other events that you mentioned. They all precede this caravan, so the only reason we know of them is that we passed by Hobbens-by-the-River some 5 years ago, just before the township was abandoned.”

“20 years is a long time.” Katrika said and put down the steaming cups. 

Nils looked at the traveller as they drank the tea. Their age was hard to place, but he found it difficult to believe that they were that much older than himself.

“It is. It seems the land and landmarks have changed in the meantime so I am having some difficulty finding my way.” Terrence replied, warming his hands with the cup.

“What were you hoping to find?” Nils said.

“Kalom.” Terrence said after a moment.

Katrika looked between the non-plussed traveller and her exasperated historian with some confusion.

“Nils, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Katrika said, attempting to push either of her guests out of their apparent stupor.

“Did you really say Kalom?” Nils said. 

Terrence nodded. “I have business in the city.”

“Forgive me for prying in your personal affairs,” Nils said while holding his cane in a white-knuckled grip, “But what business could you possibly have in Kalom?”

“Maybe the man has family there, or is looking for them. No need to be so nosy, Nils.” Katrika said in an admonishing tone. 

Nils kept staring at their mysterious guest. “No one has family in Kalom, least not family you can just visit. Kalom was struck in the war, destroyed and abandoned.” 

“Nevertheless, I need to get to Kalom, and with the local area so changed, I am having difficulty finding my usual entrance.” Terrence said and leaned forward intently. 

“Your usual entrance? How many times have you been to the city?” Nils’ voice was full of surprise. 

Terrence was silent for a moment. Katrika could see in his eyes that the man was far away in memory. The wagon creaked and rocked in the silence as the storm outside tried to lift it away. 

“This will be the twentieth time, and with some luck, the last.” Terrence said and put a hand on the bag he still carried over his shoulder. It had not left his person even for a moment since his arrival. 

“Is this business important?” Katrika said. She was unsure of the full significance of all that had been said, but she sensed no deception from their guest.

Terrence looked away from her and down at his tea. The cup was as full as when she poured it. “To be frank, no, not anymore. But it is my duty and I intend to carry it out.”

He turned to Nils. “In the past I would enter the city via a ravine that was best seen from the Hobbens-by-the-River township.”

“Hobbens-by-the-River was severely damaged in an avalance. The mayor’s estate, the storehouse, the clocktower. All went under.” Nils said.

The young man indicated the wagon-walls around them. Outside the storm seemed to be dying down. “The survivors abandoned the town after that. The remaining houses were torn down for construction elsewhere or to build wagons like ours.”

“We can take you to the old township,” Katrika said, then added, “Though the site is dangeorus.”

“Something in the avalanche soured the land,” Nils added to answer the unspoken question, “So anyone that goes there gets sick.”

“I’ll find what I need there.” Terrence stood up and bowed to Katrika. “I would be most grateful for the assistance.”

By the time they left the comfortable interior, the storm had blown past the caravan and into the lowlands. The fog on the mountaintops had dispersed, leaving the peaks visible. The majestic sight was marred by the scars of the war that had reached even those mountain peaks. Katrika Belloras’ wagon led the caravan as it travelled. The sun dipped below the horizon as the leader called the caravan to a stop. To their east was the pile of mud and rubble that covered what remained of the township Terrence had known. 

“We can’t go any closer than this. We’re already too close, really.” Katrika said and, in a loud bellow, instructed the caravan to not let their animals graze here.

Terrence climbed down from the wagon and looked Katrika in the eye. “Thank you for the help, I can go the rest of the way from here. When I see your caravan next, let it be known that I owe you all a favour.” 

“What will you do from here?” Nils said. He had been instructed to stay on the front wagon, in case his knowledge of the land was needed. 

Terrence turned around and looked at the buried town. “I will find my entrance and go to Kalom. The view from the town should provide me with the clue that I need.”

Nils stood up on the wagon-bench, steadying himself on the wagon’s roof. “But the sickness! You can’t go into the township, we told you.”

Terrence smiled at the young man. “I appreciate the concern, Mr. Colbronohk, but I will be just fine. Thank you for your assistance.” 

The stranger bowed and, checking that his shoulder bag was still secure, began walking towards the town that he had known 20 years before. 

Katrika Belloras and her caravan camped some distance further away, out of the sickening influence of the avalanche. They kept sentries posted in the night if Terrence Calhoon returned, but to no avail.

Night had fallen by the time Terrence Calhoon left the ruins of the township. His direction set, he walked steadily through the darkness without any perceptible source of light. If any had observed him, they would see the man cut a straight line from the township, through the devastated landscape and down into a left that had been left by the war. To the naked eye, there was nothing remarkable to set this ravine apart from the many others that dotted the region, but to Terrence Calhoon, it was easy to tell apart, especially from the vantage point at the top of the avalanche. The air grew colder as he descended, navigating the winding tunnels below the surface without any maps or visible markers. 

Within a few hours of entering the ravine, Terrence Calhoon stepped out of the cave mouth onto an asphalt ramp. Constructed as a highway, the devastation of the war had toppled it, creating a ramp between the bottom of the ravine and the city of Kalom. Terrence walked the city streets, following a path he had taken many times before over the decades since the end of the war. With so many ruined buildings in a questionable state, Terrence stuck to the streets. If he attempted a shortcut and a building fell on him, there would be no one to help him. After an hour of walking, Terrence arrived at his destination. 

The building was on a single story, an angular design that, in the past, had had many windows. These, along with the statues out front, had either been destroyed during the attacks on the city or in the looting and chaos that followed. A dilapidated sign above the entrance read Kalom Municipal Library. Terrence’s first expedition had been to retrieve the letters that had been lost in the looting. Every subsequent was to find and return the many books that visitors had borrowed before the fall or stolen in the aftermath. It had taken him a long time. If he cared to do the math, he had spent more of his existence as the library android on this monumental task than he had serving the library workers and visitors. He missed those days, but they were gone, never to return. With a silence that could be solemnity or simple robotic stoicness, the library android that called itself Terrence Calhoon entered the open doors of the library and walked to one of the many bookshelves. He opened the flap of his shoulder bag and took out the three books that he had brought a thousand miles. With care he placed them back on the shelf and stood back. To be sure, he checked every bookshelf against the records that he had kept from before the war. 

The city of Kalom had sunk below the earth after the attacks, and so Terrence could not see that the sun had risen on the world above. By his count, every book was present. The library was, again, complete. Walking outside, he considered locking the front door, but so many of the great windows of the library were broken that if any wished to enter, a locked door would be of no hindrance. So he sat down and thought of what he would do next. Perhaps he could join miss Belloras’ caravan, or perhaps he could travel the world, returning with items to decorate the library.

But that is a story for another time.