Messages

Two: The Message

"This is Spifa," I inform Twilla as we enter through the elaborate city gates. The many spirals and flourishes of the gate seem to be made of cast iron, yet plated in gold. The metal
shines in the mid-morning sunshine, creating the illusion that they were crafted of solid sunlight.

The gate was a sort of reflection of the city: there is gold plating everywhere and the city was definitely constructed with the intent to inspire awe. The buildings of the city within the walls are made primarily of light beige stucco, but all the trim is gold. Around the windows, on the scalloped trim at the edge of the roof, and covering the doors. All gold. And all blinding in the late afternoon sun.

"We can admire it while walking to the delivery site," I say, grabbing the back of Twila's grubby Messenger tunic when she stops in the middle of the road to take in the grand splendor of the city's face.

Reed gives me the death stare from his vantage point a few feet away on the grassy strip that lines the dirt road. I respond by yet again drawing my index finger across my throat.

He sighs, clearly tired of my sticking to the rules like glue.

I tilt my head, presenting an unspoken challenge- do you dare break them?

We head through the winding, hilly streets of Spifa, ever growing nearer to our destination, the town hall. As soon as we catch a glimpse of it, Twila gasps, just as she did when we first caught sight of the city. The town hall is expansive, and seems to have been built before the rest of the city. Or, rather, a portion of it seems to have been built before the city. While the entirety of Spifa is uniform with it's gold and stucco, the town hall itself is not even close to homogeneous.

Originally, I assume, it was a white brick farmhouse. Sandwiching the farmhouse, are the kind of structures you might expect for a town hall. The facades of these portions of the building have large, white marble steps and columns. Both the farmhouse and the columned structures are perfectly, pristinely white. However, there are many towers protruding in seemingly random places from the other parts of the building that are the same beige and gold of the rest of the city. They resemble the Victorian turrets of some of the buildings of our home town. Finally, there are colorful sheds added onto the ground floor of the town hall. They appear to have been constructed very quickly, at last the minute, likely temporary structures placed there purely out of necessity. Even taking into account its somewhat eccentric appearance, the town hall easily manages to be just as glorious as the rest of the city, if not more.
Twila, Reed and I enter through beat-up door of the farmhouse. Reed and I know our ways well around the building, for this is a location we have delivered Messages to quite often. Reed gravitates to the front of our little group, grasping the envelope we are delivering, striding purposefully toward the Board Room. The members of the Board advise the King in heading the entire city, and surrounding counties, of Spifa. As we near the Board Room, I begin to hear the murmur of of a Board meeting. We draw closer and closer, and eventually I can make out what is being said.
"Grofen has wronged us one too many times," says the deep voice I recognize as King Duffett.

"Yes, yes but-" the nasal drawl of Board member Slinf began to counter.

"But? But was a thing of years ago. A thing of a different time. A time before they stole my daughter! We can no longer make any exceptions. We can no longer avoid it! Now is the time for war!" King Duffett asserts.

The other members of the Board mumbled in agreement, as Board member Slinf gave in.

"Fine. But remember, bringing a country to war is no small feet. We must be exceedingly strategic and cautious."

"Of course. This is a war I intend to win," King Duffett continues, and I can hear what sound awful like a fist pounding on the table to accompany his words.

The conversation seems to have ceased. Twila begins to stroll into the Board Room, but Reed grabs the back collar of her tunic, just as I had earlier that day.

"We should wait. If we go in now, they might think we were listening," he whispers, just barely loud enough for it to be audible to me, at two feet away.

"Why? We did hear it," Twila whispers back, slightly too loudly in my (and apparently Reed's) opinion.

He touches his index finger to his lips, in the widely known shushing gesture and then mouths: "We'll explain later." He seems to wilt against the wall, and I can see that the stress of a big delivery like this one, and, now, of knowing about an impending war before anyone else, is getting to him. I can see him shaking. Not in the way that you might expect. No, his fingers, as they clutch the Message, are completely still. His collar bones are, however, moving faster than the wings of a humming bird that just inhaled a quart of caffeine. I have to stifle a giggle.

I lock his eyes. I nod slowly and encouragingly, the message behind it being: "We'll be fine. She can be quiet. Everything will be okay." He exhales slowly, pulling his hand downward, grasping the air in a calming gesture, trying to collect himself.

I let my shoulders rest on the wall right next to where Reed is leaning. My head falls back against the wall with an almost audible thud.

"And so we wait," I whisper, barely loud enough for Twila and Reed to hear. Twilla has fallen into place to my left, and with her and Reed on either side of me, despite everything, I am as happy as a clam. As happy as I have ever been.

After a minute or so, the conversation in the Board room has shifted far from the war. Reed straightens and heads into the Board Room, with Twila and I trailing after.

"A Message for Your Majesty," Reed says, handing the manila envelope to the king and bowing respectfully. "Good Sirs." Reed nods to With a wave of his ring-laden hand, the King dismisses us from the room. Reed bows low as Twila and I curtsy, and we walk slowly out of the room, all the while facing the king. As I leave, I glimpse the flash of a jewel adorned letter opener as King Duffet slips it out of the depths of his jacket, and begin to free the Message from its envelope. Just as we reach the door to the city streets, I hear him holler: "This is the last straw!"

The Message was from Grofen. Look out, world. Here comes war.