Unexpected visitors.

Three Germans lay all but naked on the floor of Albert and Alfred’s humble abode, a spattering of blood, broken furnishings and glass lay around their forms as if mimicking the absurdity of their plight.

The door to the home slowly clatters and groans back into place as its gently rested in the frame, several pieces of wood tumble from the lock and hinge sections. Tom boots it gently into the final resting place, the scrap ushered from the lowest point echoes around the narrow street.

On the street Tom, Henry and Albert straighten each other’s collars while itching and jostle in their newly acquired boots, the heavy leather is laced all the way to the knee over black trousers. Heavy trench coats hang like capes off their shoulders and an array of buttons fasten them across the chest of each man.

“So Tom ol’ boy where to now?”

“I think its pretty clear, we’re to go to that devil of a place they call a lair, over on the east side.”

“Oh Qui permanet in vitam intrare!” Albert utters in recognition, his eyes focusing on Toms askew collar and tie.

“Damn straight.” Henry barks back like a five star general. “I think we may need a little diversion though, what do you say?”

“What did you have in mind chap?” Tom asks while turning to proceed down the adjoining lane, his boots thumping out a rhythm.

“Lets call in the army.” Henry announces while drawing his fingers to his mouth to let out a loud and piercing whistle.

Not one minute after the blast do a plethora of urchins appear from every nook and cranny, each one bounding out of: drains, boxes, dim alleys, concealed balconies, and any other places that might harbor a runaway.

As the ensemble arrives so does the smell, like a pall of flies it wafts out of the children’s cloth, their skin and outfits betraying the smells location.

“At your service sir.” Sam says with an odd little salute.

Looking around the men quickly count up ten children ranging in age from five to fifteen, each one more bedraggled and road weary than the last. Barefooted, weathered ruffians from the lowest depths of the city, each one in position of perhaps their greatest strength; an unheeded and vast knowledge of the secret byways of the city.

“Not much of an army friend.” Albert says non-to condescending.

“They may be more useful than you give ‘em credit for,” Henry clears his throat, “you see we’re not in need of an army to invade, just one to draw a diversion.”

Looking rather pleased with himself the lead boy, Sam, looks around at his gathered troops, “That’s right sir, and you’ll not find a better bit ‘o diversion on the streets of London than a mass ‘o hungry children!” he finishes with a smile and pumping fist.

“My thoughts exactly Sam.” Tom adds, “Shall we go and create that diversion then?”

Quickly racing ahead the mass of children vanishes from sight like a swarm of black locusts, each one twisting and turning into alleyways, and drainage vents. Soon enough the street is empty, save the three men.

“Now what do we do lad?” Albert’s asks rather confused.

“We go to the den of evil and wait for their signal, if I’m not mistaken it wont take them long to set up that diversion.”

With hurried steps they continue to weave through the streets of London, their heavy footfalls preceding them at every turn. Quickly the men notice that any approaching fair quickly dodges out of their way, not one eye meets theirs as they continue; save a stray child whose quickly admonished by its parent, or the off hand look of a senile old man.

The power of the clothing becoming all too evident as they make their way towards the enemies abode.

Soon enough they come to the head of the alley directly opposite Gestalts prison, out in front of them the street has been cleared of the detritus that was previously there. Several white marks still displaying the cascade of rock and plaster that saved them not twelve hours earlier.

“What now.” Albert asks in frustration, his mouth saying more about the unexpected nature of the situation than he intends.

“I think a rousing bit of yelling’s in order.” Henry says before he breaks into a wild banshee scream that threatens to break every window in the street. His voice whipping and slashing around the narrow alley and out into the street enough to startle several walkers and some trolley wheeling vendors

Looking at Albert, Tom says with his eyes “When in Rome.” And proceeds to take up the frantic yell, a Cherokee sounding battle cry with lots of over the top hollering and whooping.

Albert quickly follows suit with both arms slashing about as if fighting off bees.

Henry darts into the street, soon followed by Tom and Albert , each man stumbling and falling over cobbles and the occasional broken path. As they emerge into the light a rain of skillfully aimed shards tumble through the air, pirouetting like dancing angels, each one catching the light and playing with it before smashing onto the road to break into a shower of white and black fragments.

Coal, plaster and brick rain down; a hail of sharp stones thunder the ground, each shot that of precision, each shot that of a skilled marksman. A life on the street has served each one well, fighting for every last scrap, having to rely on your wits and skill the only thing that separates one child’s grief from another’s success.

From every nook and cranny war cries usher; the holler of Indians, Amazons and demons from the dark all mingled into one, the kids give it their all. After all when you’ve got nothing to loose you’ve got everything to gain.

Making for the door the men dodge and skip around exploding missiles, each shot barely missing. After some close calls Henry makes the door, his face a lather of sweat and tears from the cold air.

Raising his fists he pounds on the door, his voice hoarse but still noticeably German, “Ambush, we have been ambushed!”

The other two men crowd the doorstep behind him, their fists pound on the door also, each one barking whatever German words they can remember from school or the most recent melee.

After several wild swings and coarse words the door swings inwards on a mechanical arm, the three stumble into the anteroom.

A stern woman looks up at them from the desk as the door shudders closed behind, “You three have some explaining to do.”

⚅⚀thoughts