From the Desk of Brother Tobias

Official records hold little in the way of what happened to Sister Minor or Father Minor. To be honest I’m surprised that they had gotten any mention at all; given their social status. From what little I could gather, I surmise that after they broke they were fed to George, who in the past few years passed away and was replaced with Ronald and Sydney.

Now as for our to love birds, if I may be so bold to call them that, they had agreed to runaway together, as the reader well knows, but what might come as a surprise is that upon gaining the necessary information, Father and his Master had the note re-inserted into the dress and passed along to Sister.

Now before I go any further, I must confess that in my previous statement that I made mention of Brother being the White Wizard. This is not entirely accurate. White Wizard was Brother’s brother. He went by that name out of rebellion to the established order. He was a blight, a cancer on every decent abiding Corvian. The rebellion that he planned, that Brother backed out off, was thwarted by the just and noble army of Crow &Company. As for what happened to the two Brothers after this, I have my suspicions, though I want to check a few of my sources first, before I commit to anything. As it stands, once my research is done and committed to words, then I’ll have to disappear for a while. A few of my colleagues, ones who have been providing me with valuable information, have relayed to me that they have begun to be followed by strange men in suits and hats and are scared for their lives, reminding me that many of our other former colleagues who had asked to many questions had simply disappeared. I too have noticed these strange men and I feel that it’s only a matter of time before the Corvian government considers me too much of a nuisance to keep around.

But that is another discussion for another day, as for now it is prudent to continue with the story. Now as I previously mentioned, Sister and Brother agreed to meet at the Crowton Factory and runaway together. Some years later, some fool who considered himself a poet, penned these words, which he dubbed ‘Factory Red Panic’ no doubt from over worked imagination,

Gun bangs to the floor

As bitter acid smoke

Fills the room

Her screams penetrate

Every corner

Over taking the grinding and clanking

Of black pitted iron machines

That are continually running

Fleeing in motion

His footsteps hit the ground

In perfect pounding rhythm

Red pistol howl