A new deal.

Henry takes the children under his wing and guides them away from the coalitions head quarters, as he understands it. After twenty minutes of walking and several miles he stops in fort of a simple hall, no more than a teashop. Looking about he notices that the school of children has dwindled to four little faces, four little urchins, one of whom is his friend Sam.

“Well this looks as good a place as any son.” Henry squints at the sign, The Evermore Tea House, a run down facade and several cracked windows indicate that it’s an appropriate venue for this rag–tag lot.

“Good enough for what gov’?” the child asks.

“Why a feed my lad, lets go in shall we.”

Entering the humble premises they look around, several simple folk, with crooked grins and a wealth of foreheads adorn the tables. A comely lass serves tea from a yellowed and tarnished serving tray, her teeth mirror the taint on the tray while her blouse spills her wears for all to see.

Henry guides the kids to a corner table and waits for the waitress, “Sam what brought you back to help me?”

“Your hip pocket gov’.” the child says while eyeing a collection of day old breads on the countertop.

Looking rather foolish for asking the question Henry responds with a simple nod, his cheeks turning crimson.

“Well it’s a good thing too.” He quickly says, “For I have a little more work for you and your compatriots, if you’ll take it?”

“Any of us will work for a quid gov’.” the boy says while his gang nods in agreement.

“Good, I have something special for you to do, but first we should eat.” Blasting a whistle through his lips he calls the waitress over, she obliges with a sideways look and sardonic smile, the bent, yellowed teeth pushing the look into revulsion.

………

Tom and Alfred dash through the streets, every now and then darting their gaze backwards to see if they’re being followed, thankfully it would seem the large fellow is to remain asleep for some time.

Wending their way back they manage to find the main thoroughfare, a cobbled street with vendors lining the road and a clear, open carriageway through the throng. Many hundreds of people walk and browse the sidewalk, the array of fashion enough to dazzle the eyes.

Attempting to blend in with the crowd Tom and Alfred take a moment in the mouth of the alley to straighten their tops and dust off their trousers.

“If it weren’t for this unsightly gash in my trousers we might fit in quite nicely.” Tom says while flipping the tear back and forth.

“Never mind that, we’d best find Henry, who knows what trouble his gotten himself into.”

Tom nods and steps into the street followed closely by Alfred, both men putting on airs, trying to cover their state of disrepair. The attempt quickly becomes futile as they discover a layer of scum and filth dotted here and there through the street; every corner or hollow, alleyway or doorway holds solitary figures with cups outstretched for a nickel.

Lifting their collars, to help elevate them from the bottom layer, the men proceed through the mass of people. After a good long while and much toing and froing they track down the building where Gestalt is being held.

Stopping suddenly Tom notices that although all hell seemed to have erupted here not thirty minutes ago the scene seems calm and pleasant, people walk casually up and down the road and carriages and wagons go about their business.

“It would seem our little escapade went unnoticed by the general populace Alfred.”

“In this day and age friend, with all the strange goings on I’m not surprised.” Shielding his eyes with his hand Alfred looks about, “Now do you see our troublesome friend anywhere?”

“Not a sign.” Tom follows his friend’s lead.

After scanning the scene the men briskly walk to the open alleyway where they hid a little while ago.

“I see two possibilities.” Alfred says breaking the silence, “he has either raced back to my place as discussed, or he’s been captured.”

“Well we can’t help the latter so we may as well head home.” Tom says after a moments thought.

Turing on their heals the men start to leave the alley, after several steps Tom catches his toe of a piece of stone, the edges rough and broken, a simple wave like design inscribed down one side, the thing clearly a cornice or some other such construction.

Picking it up to leave a white smear on the road he inspects the fragment, “What do you suppose this is doing here?”

“Waste material lad, the cities full of it.”

“But not this much!” He says while pointing out hundreds of white portions dotting the street.

“Quite so, I wonder what it means.”

“Me too.”

⚅⚀thoughts