Extraordinary Circumstances: 1 The League of Red-Eyed Gentlemen

Extraordinary Circumstances

  Episode One: The League of Red-eyed Gentlemen

  Stephen B5 Jones

  Copyright 2016 by Stephen Jones.

  All rights reserved.

  Hanich the Prayer

  The Kitchen

  The League of Red-eyed Gentlemen

  Miss Sonya’s Teapot Shop

  The Ghost Thief

  Hanich the Prayer

  Hanich Argus did not like to pray. Of all the activities in the world it was his least favorite. He had so many other things to do, and it was high time for him to start. He wasn’t one to study in dank rooms at the school, or suffer under the indignation of one of the sisters at Sunday meeting. Hanich was a young man who needed to be outside, to make his hands filthy with work and to be under the sky from the early dawn to the first evening star.

  Unfortunately he was rarely granted permission to be outside of their large house sitting on three full acres. He was not allowed near the trees at all. He wasn’t allowed to play in the spacious grass yard. He certainly was not allowed to work in the vegetable garden, with its ten rows of vegetables and one row of popcorn, or even the flower garden.

  His mother could not see how imperative such things were to the well-being of the world. She told Hanich he was too small, that he did not have the constitution for any manner of strenuous activity. He had been given an extraordinary mind, she said, one which noticed every detail. He was created for better things than simple manual labor.

  Elder Dan had been impressed when he’d asked the class to memorize the first chapter of John, and Hanich had asked if he intended for them to remember all fifty-one verses. Hanich sometimes remembered the oddest details. At first Elder Dan thought he was cheating somehow when Hanich knew the numbers of verses for every chapter in John. He felt much better when the young man could not duplicate his uncanny knowledge for the chapters in Matthew. Hanich had yet to read those. He also could not, unfortunately, remember many of the particulars in the content of the book of John. It would have spared him a lot of study time.

  Hanich’s mother stood over him as he read books he did not want to read, she worked to keep him from any meaningful activity, and she made him pray.

  She did not actually force him to pray, not as such. Hanich would be sent to his room three times in a day, and when he emerged his mother would ask him whether he had been in study and prayer.

  Hanich did not like to lie to his mother, and he hated her look of disappointment when he did not live up to her scholarly expectations. With a mind to the grand scheme of things he chose prayer as the lesser of evils and managed through it, as distasteful as it might be.

  He did not, however, pray with the flowery words like they used at Sunday meeting. Hanich did not intend to make a career of speaking the right words to God, and therefore should not be expected to use anything other than common words when speaking to the maker and caretaker of the universe. He was sure God understood.

  It was a chilled fall day, but the wind was quiet and the sun was shining. His brothers were outside, setting the front yard in order, his sister tended to the flower garden, planting bulbs before the first freeze so they could bloom in the upcoming spring. Hanich was in the upper floor sitting at his desk, looking through his window, trying to figure what he should pray.

  “God,” Hanich finally said. “I’m thirteen years old, almost fourteen. I’m nearly too old to be an apprentice. I would very much like to be put to work. I would like to do something which helps people, and I think I would enjoy being tired at the end of the day. I know it’s not possible. But as Elder Simon said last week at Sunday meeting, you enjoy doing impossible things.”

  For a moment Hanich thought he was done, and that he would have to rest for the remaining half hour before he could go back downstairs, where his mother would ask him to sit. But then another thought occurred to him, and since he was already supposed to be praying, he decided it would not hurt to say a bit more.

  “If Elder Simon is right,” he continued. “Then you should really enjoy doing this, because it’s the most impossible thing I can think of.”

  Hanich settled back down at his desk, and took one of the books off the pile which continuously grew there. If he could tell his mother he had prayed some and read some, she would be even more pleased. He opened the book, and adjusted its distance from him so that the letters were only a little fuzzy and set himself to reading, but after a moment he looked up, spying himself in the mirror.

  “What if He answers?” Hanich asked himself.

  The Kitchen

  It was five days later, on a Thursday. Morning rain fell from the nearby grey sky as a man and a boy disembarked from the horse drawn trolley on a corner of the city where few ever approached. It was called the Academia. Once there had been a University of some reputation there. It was certainly not a place to walk through, for it was the last section of the city before the gentle slopes turned to steep rocky hills. Every road worthy of remark circled around the area or went in some other direction.

  The handful of industrial buildings were short, the tallest was four stories, and older than most. The stones used to build them were worn by the sun and wind. The paint on the frameworks and eves on most of the buildings were cracked if not missing, and the glass of the windows was dull and misty.

  It rained quite often in the fall, and the days grew colder with every dark evening. Hanich had just left home, and for the first time in his life had no plans to return for anything more than a visit. It was an important moment in his life. Not even the dreary weather could dampen his enthusiasm.

  They walked half a block to a well-lit building on the corner. The hand-crafted sign read “Comfort for People in Extraordinary Circumstances.” The wood was darkened on the sign and the outer walls, but in better repair than most of the surrounding buildings. In much smaller lettering at the bottom of the sign was the message, “Alster Scrimm, pres…” The rest of the last word had been worn away. As to whether the sign once said “president” or “presiding” or some other word prefaced with “pres-”, one would be obligated to hazard a guess.

  It was a shop of sorts, two floors high; the lower floor being for the business residing therein, and the upper floor looked to be filled with rooms for storage or living space. There were three gables on the front side. Because of the rain and its attendant fog, Hanich could not see to the top of the roof.

  The building was situated at the corner of the streets Felicity and Studious, just beyond a street called Knowing which seemed to be a main thoroughfare. The streets had been given names designed to encourage young scholars to be at their best.

  Elder Dan, who had accompanied Hanich, instructed him to stand at the corner while he stepped within to speak to the man in charge. He found an overhang to avoid being soaked all the more as he waited.

  He had wanted to seek out an apprenticeship since he had turned ten years old, but rumor about him said he was sickly and an insufferable know it all. It was unfair and untrue; Hanich was small for his age, and could not see well due to a round of childhood illnesses, but he was not sickly. His mother had started hinting about how Hanich would make a good cleric. Hanich had begun to believe it might be his only option.

  However, Dan, an elder, had approached his mother after Sunday meeting and proposed a place where Hanich could learn a trade, one, he said, well suited to the young man. Hanich, who was not supposed to be listening at all, had taken that moment to retreat from the landing of the steps. Afterwards he had regretted not waiting
long enough to hear the particulars.

  “Enter boy,” Elder Dan said as he opened the door to him. “You must make a good impression. We will not be allowed a second chance.”

  The man in the shop was older, half his hair missing, and half of what remained was shaded grey. He wore round glasses, but the lenses were not overly thick. As he walked around the desk he walked with a controlled limp which told of misadventures in younger days. Hanich noted the gleam in his eyes which revealed a glimmer of wit, and what he hoped was kindness.

  “Mr. Scrimm,” Elder Dan said. “This is Hanich Argus. He is of a good family and a kindly mother, and he is ready to learn a trade.”

  Mr. Scrimm considered him from top to bottom, never once uttering a sound as Elder Dan waited less than patiently for his verdict. It almost seemed like Mr. Scrimm was aware of Elder Dan’s impatience, and was not inclined to acquiesce to it.

  “Hanich,” Mr. Scrimm finally said. “I understand you are one to pay attention to detail?”

  “I believe I do sir,” Hanich answered.

  “Good,” Mr. Scrimm said. “How many buttons would I find on the sleeve of Elder Dan’s jacket?”

  “That would be three, sir,” Hanich said. He stopped for a moment, but then continued. “...on his left arm, and two