Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Our host goes by the name, at least here in the ‘sphere, Denise.
She has only one rule: make it six sentences. No more. No Less.
Previously, on the Whitechapel Interlude…
Anselm dreamed of growing up to be an adventurer or, failing that, a scholar; (he had the type of mind that could track and reconcile the incongruities of two such paths). Sarah accepted the future that put her in a household, either as the wife or, failing that, a key member of the domestic staff; (she had the spirit to make the former possible, yet the strength to not be crushed by the latter). Both found the Order of Lilith. Though, one might argue, not unsuccessfully, each was called. Both enjoyed the opportunity to pass through whichever door they truly desired.
Prompt word:
TRAIN
Professor Egmont returned home to Chiltern Court by way of the service entrance at the rear of the building as the sun, which, failing to overcome the nighttime’s most stalwart ally, the endless fog, settled for throwing shards of daylight at rooftops; the leather satchel he carried gave off muffled clinking sounds, steel-on-cloth whispers, crying out alarm to unsuspecting stone and marble as the sculptor searched for the ultimate medium.
Count St. Loreto roamed the corridors of his stone and loneliness home, the sun already two hours into it’s silent curse; he couldn’t recall why he handed over the mechanism devoid of one, critical part, however, a lifetime measured in kingdoms and histories instilled within him confidence and trust in his instincts and so, when the omission was discovered upon Reverend Mother Schader’s return to Eibigen, she exacted his promise to hand over the part to her emissaries.
Brother Abbott worked the soup kitchen like a novitiate, ladling the soup and handing out days-old bread to the endless line of the hungry and desperate of Whitechapel, the jumble of sound that filled the kitchen at midmorning was a mealtime grace of fear with a touch of awe; this was a combination that would have made any fire-and-brimstone preacher or missionary hoping to instill a fear of God in the members of a heathen tribe, turn green with jealously.
“Bucharest! Last stop before Istanbul; the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits thanks you for the pleasure of being of service”, the conductor stood as proudly as a retired Pionniers de La Légion Etrangère, minus the polished axe; his announcement commanded the attention of all twenty-seven passengers who shared the train car with Anselm and Sarah.
Anselm stood and did his best not to show how excited he was to be on a special mission to Romania, on behalf of the Order.
Sarah appeared asleep or in a state of meditation, gazing out the window at the Dâmboviţa River flowing towards the city center as if draining the life from the surrounding farmlands; something of an absentminded intensity caused her young companion to hesitate before touching her shoulder, as the final mode of conveyance, a horse-drawn carriage, stood impatiently in front of the station, a impromptu time machine offering safe passage from the modern city to the final leg of their journey.
About clarkscottroger
you really get so much in these sixes.
thanks, Paul
I like the description of the sun going through the sky as a “curse”. I wonder what that critical part was in the mechanism.
thx, Frank
…I was wondering the same thing!
lol
guess we’ll just have to keep reading and find out (though, knowing Count Cyrus St.Loreto as well as I do, I’m pretty sure he had a purpose in in forgetfullness
I like your attention to detail.
thanks, Larry
(that is the fun part, the detail… don’t want to say how many hours I spend on google streetview, walking up and down streets in places I’ll never go, just to catch a feel for the place or the days I spend ‘day-dreaming’* the story)
*yeah, don’t tell anyone, but most of the time I run whatever I have as a daydream (only while driving or otherwise no running the risk of looking absent-minded) and picture everything, on the lookout for something new and unexpected…and I rely heavily on the characters themselves to tell me what happens next… ya know?
It feels like every word is polished to show off its brilliance.
Thank you, M
I’m there, descending from the train… what adventures lie ahead for the intrepid emissaries? A horse-drawn carriage has all the hallmarks of something dark and gothic!
Ain’t that one of the solid of meme… train station (steam preferably) carriages for the land journey up into rural mountain villages
I like the sounds Egmont’s satchel make – true, those old cases seem to possess their own voices when being transported about. Nice detail.
Could picture Count St. Loreto shuffling around his cold home, while the sun ran its course outside. And his memory and instincts, maybe like other creatures who live long lives (elephants, tortoises, the Arctic whale, the Greenland shark, the immortal jellyfish) “a lifetime measured in kingdoms and histories instilled within him confidence and trust in his instincts” … sych agood line that.
The horse and carriage waiting at the train journey end signals perhaps a deliciously dark turn.
(Hint: sometimes it’s necessary of a time traveler to give the boulder the final nudge. Not sure why or how the murders in Whitechapel are critical to our Professor, but, it’s too late now.)
Count Cyrus St. Loreto is one of my favorite characters. Possibly supernatural, totally charimatic a psychopath with impeccable taste, the ability to pronounce chianti properly and a lifespan as alluded to… he is in one of my WIP’s set in contemporary times, owner of a multinational. What a surprise.
lol
Excellent set up for the next installment. All the major players present, mood…setting.
I’m curious as to the Count’s reasoning for the withholding – but then he is master “manipulator”. The dynamic between he and Rev. Mother Schader is somewhat curious. He deferred to her by returning the missing part. But did he really?
Let’s jump down to Sarah and her “companion”! Much “fun” in store as we watch her, Anselm – hell, everyone realize she’s not herself these days, lol