Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Denise is the host.
The Rule is: Six(7) sentences per story, without fail, though unreliable narration is permissible.
This is a ‘Whitechapel Interlude‘ week. In our last installment, Mother Schader was meeting a shady man on a dark night in front of a black church in a middle-European city renowned for it’s capacity for keeping secrets. While, back in Whitechapel, Brother Abbott is trying to educate his students to a level of awareness that might offer the slightest improvement to their odds of survival in a war that will never be declared.
This week’s prompt:
GEAR
“How may I be of assistance, Frau…” the hint of a smile added a note of cynical amusement to the honorific; Cyrus St. Loreto’s voice embodied the suave sophistication of an educated upper class gentleman.
Mother Schader gestured her guide away, the frightened man gratefully fleeing towards the anemic light of the plaza, “I’ll spare both of us the needless, if not hypocritical, indulgence in social niceties; it has come to the attention of my Order that something new has entered the world, an agent of chaos the likes of which we’ve never seen.”
Stepping out of the darkness, the man stared at the woman, “I’m hard pressed to imagine how my involvement might be beneficial, which is not to say I don’t appreciate how you people have kept the sons of Adam in such healthy, plentiful and… available supply to my kind; given how you have troubled me in my city, I might suggest you be careful…”
Without the slightest evidence of physical motion, or even the hint of sound from clothing pushing aside the air, Hedwig Schader was suddenly standing behind, and whisper-close to the imposing man; his reaction spoke volumes, as the white of his eyes grew to accommodate night-dilating irises…the instinctual response of any animal confronted with an overwhelming threat.
“Be careful with that famous appetite, ‘Count’ St Loreto, we allow you to live here relatively freely in the interest of genetic diversity only,” Resuming her position facing the dark man, the shadows conspired to mask any proof of extraordinary ability, “We may yet require those services you are uniquely able to provide, however. do not lose sight of who is the wolf and who is the shepherd.”
(Whitechapel, London)
“Do not succumb to the conceit of feeling less than,” Brother Abbott’s voice echoed of sacrifice and suffering, finished on a note of pride, “A clockwork is, at it’s heart, a celebration of the manifest value of the smallest, most intricate of gears;” sitting next to Sarah, I felt the echoes of our nights, initially discordant as individual notes competed with each other to form the melody, finally establishing a harmony, surely the most fundamental gift from the Creator, requiring only one have the faith to allow the music of two create a new song.