A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1) (22 page)

Breathing heavily as I stand above the smoking remains of my would-be assassin, defiance blooms in my soul to cast off my despair. A ringing clarity floods through my emboldened spirit.

“That’s for Mr. Temperance, and what’s more, there shall be further displays of violent vengeance visited upon your vile brothers.”

- - -

“Aloha, Persephone.”

My island friends place leis around my neck and wish me safe travels. I embrace them, thankful for their companionship and the realization that even in a world rife with danger and sorrow, there are such simple and wholesome joys as friendship. Now, however, I must return to the tasks set before me, and act as Mr. Temperance would do.

I mean to move in as a direct line as possible.

This ship is bound for Edo, on the east coast of the recently opened-to-trade country, Nippon.

After an uneventful journey I arrive to a country beset by monsters. The only defense these people have is flame. They have come up with novel devices for the projecting and dispersing of fire to combat their monsters; however, the creatures continually grow in strength, night by night.

I share with the Nipponese leaders my experience with these horrors. The detailed notes of weapon construction that I had secured along with the orb in my endlessly useful bustle are now proving to be of provident worth.

There is a new fiend on this Monster Island.

She is a deadly adversary who wastes no time in useless regret or mere intellectual speculation. This threat is a being wholly devoted to the defeat of her enemies.

This creature is Hades’ Queen; the Queen of Death.

Those who would enslave our fair dimension: beware the Bringer of Destruction.

Her name is Persephone Plumtartt.

- - -

“Don’t let it get away!”

These men do not know my words, but they can very well take my meaning.

A murderous, gargantuan myriapod tries to escape. It is cut down by flame and emerald sword.

We mean to drive straight across the island. I say, for such a short amount of time, we are rather well kitted out.

These gentlemen love their thin, curved, and single edged swords.

As I have come to expect, however, their folded steel implements have proven to be ineffective against these  horrors. The new ecto-resin blades in the hands of these fearless samurai flash a green light of demon destruction.

Spears of ectoplasmic material are formed in the peculiar fashion of this island people.

Fearless female warriors exhibit an uncanny speed and accuracy with their unusual Nipponese bow and arrow. The latter, of course, are tipped with ectoplasmic arrowheads.

A hastily constructed Voltage Disruptor is also a part of our growing armory!

With their own ingenious fire-casting implements adding to our arsenal, we are a formidable force.

Our enemies come to us.

I think they know I am here.

As always, they are drawn to me, but when they come near, they are confronted by my steadily growing contingent of brave warriors.

We are proving to be more than a match for whatever our enemies can throw against us.

We march across the island.

My warriors grow more heartened with each successive victory.

With jubilation, we slay our horrid opponents, until the fourth night after my arrival.

Earth tremors violently throttle the land.

Where we stand, or attempt to stand, facing a broad valley, we see the mountain across from our position begin to show cracks opening from top to bottom. An orange/red glow shows through the widening fissures that have been reluctantly rent in the surface running up and down the towering mount. The light of molten lava illuminates the night sky.

This volcano does not erupt with liquid rock; rather, it is a worm the size of Yorkshire that pours forth.

The brave soldiers futilely fight the strangely green tinged black silhouette with courage, but to no avail. It comes for me. I gather all my anger and resolve, and I force the energy source within me to ignite.

Electricity crackles up and down my form. I feel the energies form into a ball at my fingertips. A crimson sphere, perhaps a yard in diameter, briefly materializes before my palm before flashing away to the hideous giant worm.

The crimson missile explodes with a massive red light, engulfing the mountainous monster’s head.

The horrid worm is wholly cast into colossal nothingness.

The army cheers.

I collapse.

- - -

We march into Kawanazawa, a victorious army.

Word has spread of our victories.

The harbor city welcomes us in a shower of cherry blossoms. I ride a magnificent stallion, at the head of, and as the leader of, a substantial army. This army, that started as less than two hundred men and women, now has grown to thousands, and continues to grow with ever-swelling numbers.

A ship from China is waiting for us in the harbor.

“Greetings from Monster Island!”

The Chinese delegation is there to meet me, as their Wu had foretold my arrival. They are amazed at the procession I ride in upon, and are confirmed in mind that I am fated in my path.

I leave the reclamation of Nippon to its able commanders, and depart Kawanazawa for Tianjin, a coastal Chinese city.

It is a very different scene in this city.

Tianjin proves to be a somber community struggling to survive against insurmountable enemies. As in Edo, they have only fire to fight with when we arrive, but they lack in the profound technological advancements the Nipponese people have made. The Chinese do, however, have a vast army waiting for us.

The Chinese citizenry are armed to the best of their abilities. Like the Nipponese, they have had to learn to fight without the aid of steel weaponry. Wooden staves and clubs are wielded instead of metal implements. I remember Monsieur Bin-Jamin’s remarks about the monsters’ inability to interact with our metals; it is as if their atomic structure passes through such elements.

This is a moment for which my singular background and upbringing have prepared me. The Plumtartt laboratories and manufacturing facilities have provided a lifetime of experience for me to prepare my armies. With all the knowledge I possess of manufacture, I set the Chinese factories to work. My organizational skills are on par with anyone’s, I dare say. The detailed notes I have kept of Mr. Temperance’s amazing devices, and those of others we have encountered, provide the basis of a wide-ranging and effective arsenal.

Mr. Temperance...

Though I refuse to allow myself to indulge in any more sorrow, I still cannot help but grieve.

That was really something of a man. He had such resolve! I witnessed him survive the unsurvivable time and time again. I think the Leviathan that destroyed the
Victoria
would have continued its attack to find me had not Mr. Temperance fought the Beast and driven it under.

If only he had survived the attack on the undersea beast.

...

Could he have survived that suicidal assault?

...

I feel a tiny spark, deep in my soul.

Perhaps it is from his old-fashioned tinder box.

I make a new resolution.

“I shall keep hope alive, Mr. Temperance.”

...

“Ichabod.”

- - -

“We march in three days.”

It has been two days since we arrived in Peking from Tianjin. The Pekingese are expecting me. Again, the Wu of this Province predicted my coming, confirming in mind to all, the legitimacy of my place to lead the immense and swiftly swelling forces.

Production of our devices begins immediately, on a large scale.

Concurrently, we begin the training of the armies. These able soldiers must learn to fight diabolical monsters, instead of their fellow man.

I send for the Russian Ambassadors. I inform them of my requirements.

They balk at my request. I insist. They agree.

I send for the Indian Ambassadors. I inform them of my requirements.

They balk at my request. I insist. They agree.

A contingent of priests have come to see me. They do not look like any priests that I have ever seen, with their orange robes and shaven pates. They say that I am to receive their guidance and training in hand-to-hand combat as well as in learning to draw power from the Earth to fuel and control my ‘crimson spheres'. I am skeptical of these fellows at first, but they soon win my confidence.

I say, there might be something to this priestly business.

- - -

Dispatch: The generals must adapt. I will allow one day of rest and manufacture, combined with three days’ hard march. That schedule will change in two cycles.

Dispatch: Where is the Siberian shipment?

Dispatch: Our Shaolin advisers suggest an open area for “advanced training.” See that their needs are met.

Dispatch: The pachyderms must be at the Zhing Pass at their appointed time. Coordination with Disruptor units is vital.

Dispatch: General Rijon’s division is falling behind. Find the problem.

Dispatch: Route the dynamos through India, as that will end up being shorter logistically. They can rendezvous with their units in the field.

Dispatch: Query: Have any creatures been captured alive for examination?

Dispatch: Keep working on the ‘Eyes’. I appreciate the difficulties of manufacture, but these devices are of the greatest importance.

Dispatch: All armies need to prepare for nightly battles. Ancient creatures that have laid buried and dormant for Millennia awaken at our approach. Consider the combat with these creatures to be a part of your soldiers’ training for greater battles ahead.

Dispatch: Our forces are succumbing to psychic attack. There appear to be no defenses to these crippling assaults other than a determined attack to break the concentration of the larger, more psychically inclined worms.

Dispatch: All armies, from Divisional, down to Battalion and squad levels, must work in coordinated teams. Voltage Disruptors cannot recharge fast enough to hold back a determined legion of foes. Plasmo-Gasmic Discharging battalions must work to protect the Disruptors. Commanders must integrate their disparate troops and instill in them the need to work as cohesive units.

Dispatch: My training with the Chinese priests must continue as we march. If necessary, build a traveling platform for my “Gung Fu” practice.

Dispatch: The Disruptors are of three different sizes: small, medium, and large. Attack different sized monsters with appropriately sized weapon.

Dispatch: All Commanders. We are not getting enough usable ectoplasm for manufacturing purposes. Please discipline your troops to allow their bladed contingents to kill enough creatures to stockpile our Discharging brigades.

Dispatch: Does any Commander have any suggestions as to how to combat the psychic assaults?

Dispatch: ...

- - -

Dispatch: Has the high-output Plasmo-Gasmic Dicharge Device mobile manufacturing caravan begun operation? I want those guns!

Dispatch: All Commanders. We have been visited by a group of Tibetan monks. Their leader is a Holy Man of sorts, a Lama. He claims that his monks, though normally not warlike, are prepared to travel with our units to protect against the psychic assault threat.

Dispatch: Where are my corset designers? I require strengthening across the duodenum. In addendum, bring me a selection of battle-gear footwear from which to choose.

Dispatch: We received word that the Siberians are making the pachyderms nervous. I suggest routing the cats by the Southern pass.

Dispatch: Have General Li slow down his battalions. I appreciate that he and his forces are eager, but we shall need all our armies to converge in coordination.

Dispatch: All commanders: Maintain a semaphore connection between forces. Imperative that your mobile “Eye” units locate our final destination.

Dispatch: Congratulations are in order for all armies. All units are making splendid time. Morale is high and varied brigades are working in a synchronized perfection. All signs point to a critical conflict soon at hand. Have your armies ready. The consequences of this final battle cannot be over-stated.

Dispatch: ...

Ichabod.

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This sure is a long fall.

I think that the Kra-ken's roaring, stinking breath is acting to slow my descent.

I bounce from rubbery walls.

Rubbery puckery sucker cup pods pluck and suck.

I continue my downward plunge, as one with the wreckage of the Victoria.

“Uh, oh.”

I catch sight of the mouth.

I should say beak.

It’s more like a circle of layered beaks, actually, but twisty. The orifice is about a dozen beaks around and a dozen deep, working in a grinding, mechanical unison. I am inexorably being tumbled toward this horrible intake sphincter.

The beaks and mouth are huge.

I am being thrown into them.

I will certainly be crushed and ground into goo!

I draw my Plamo-Gasmic Discharge Device.

{{{BUH-WHOOMP-
POW!!!
}}}

{BOOMZKIDY!!!}

(exploding beaks)

I tumble through a hole of destroyed beaks in the damaged, beak filled mouth tunnel and pass within.

- - -

“Ow.”

This ain’t none too comfortable at all.

For the most part, the best course of action seems to be to just wrap myself up in a ball and roll with the punches.

I am underwater.

I pull on the G.I.L.L.s.

There! At least now, I can breathe.

Strange, the walls of this aquatic esophagus are glowing. As I get sloshed and squirted along, at least I can see what is going on.

Being able to see and breathe does a lot for my morale.

Eventually, the food conveyor belt I am riding slows down. I think I am in the monster’s stomach.

The stomach’s gastric juices are making my boots sizzle.

It’s time to go.

I use the emerald blade to cut my way out.

Once clear of the burning acids, I can now get to business.

I gotta distract this fella from Miss Plumtartt.

I draw the P.G.D.D. and push it back into the acidic stomach.

~BUH-
WHOOMP
-
POW!!!~

BRRRZZZSS-SS-SSK!!! BRUH-BAH-KUH
RRRUUHHMMMMM
ZZ-ZZ-ZZ!!!

. . .

“Uhb...”

Where am I?

Why am I underwater?

Oh, yeah, the
Victoria
was attacked and now I'm in the monster. I think I may have been knocked unconscious by that explosion. Yeah, I’m thinkin’ maybe I was.

There seems to be a lot of damage to the creature. I do not think I have slain the Beast, but I hope I have taken his attention away from Miss Plumtartt. I don’t think I can risk another ecto-plasmic discharge, though. I would like to survive this ordeal and tell Miss Plumtartt about it, and another detonation would very likely prove terminal for me.

I am not averse to hard work. That’s good, ‘cause I got my work cut out for me... literally.

Cutting through these rubbery walls ain’t easy. They are thick. One thick walled compartment just leads to another. Each ‘cell’ is be composed of sea water.

This is a long, slow process. After a while, I realize that I have lost track of time. Have I drifted to sleep? I allow my instinctual sense of direction guide me.

Cut.

Cut.

Cut.

These cells are different; they have a different texture.

These are more stringy and ropey.

Nerves, maybe?

This seems to be a major gathering of the monster’s nervous system.

Time for some heavy pruning.

- - -

“Struck a nerve, did I?”

The behemoth gives a mighty twinge.

I can sense panic in the beast. The feeling of being slowly thrown about conveys a sensation of movement. I  think that it is trying to run, but this luminous leviathan cannot escape me.

I cut into the next set of walls and cells until I find another nerve bundle. After a couple of dozen slashes, I move on.

I repeat the process, resting occasionally.

More and more, I can tell that it is a war of attrition, and I intend to win. I had me a good meal back on the
Victoria
. I should be good to go for a couple of days.

How long have I been cutting?

How long have I been in here?

How long until I am free?

I cannot tell, but I know the monster is failing.

Hey, I have reached a wall with an altogether different texture to it. It is especially difficult to cut, very fibrous and resistant, and thick.

Hacking my way through this tough hide is a long, time-consuming, ordeal.

But then, I strike... water!

I am newly enthused and invigorated!

I excitedly tear at the tenacious tissue until I can wriggle through.

I am free!

The Great Beast slips into the depths, happy to be free of his Alabamic invader, and I from him.

- - -

Fish: I smell fish.

Sunlight: I feel Sunlight on my face.

Movement: I sense the rocking of a boat.

I open my eyes. The face of an old Chinese man is about two inches from my nose. He lets loose with a lot of angry words in a language I don’t understand.

“Yessir.”

That gets me some more lingo linguini.

“Nossir.”

He gives up on me with a snort of disgust, and goes back to the work of running his boat.

I think I must have gotten tangled in his nets.

I think he was debating whether to throw me back or not.

I don’t think he has made his mind up yet.

I reckon he has decided to ignore me.

We eventually make it back to his fishing village.

The first thing I do is eat. After much food, I am able to ascertain that I am in the Philippines.

The first order of business is to locate Miss Plumtartt.

I manage to work my way through the jungle by hiring on as a porter. From island to island in the huge group, I steadily make my way by hiring on as a deckhand. Finally I reach the capital, Manila. What a grand city! Such elegance in architecture and such industrious, busy peoples!

I am enthralled by the lovely surroundings, until I pass a newspaper stand.

Dozens of headlines scream at me:

“S.S. VICTORIA LOST!!!”

“ALL HANDS DEAD!!!”

“WORST DISASTER IN HISTORY!”

“TRAGIC MYSTERY!”

“NOT A SINGLE SURVIVOR!”

I am stunned and dumbfounded.

I feel as if drain plugs have been opened in my heels, and all my insides have just poured away into the pit of despair opening beneath me.

A couple of those headlines are wrong, for there is a survivor.

- - -

“Hey, Joe! You no sit there. Hey, Joe, you gotta move!”

Apparently I have fallen to my knees. I get up, and shuffle along.

I am in a trance.

The
Victoria
, lost.

All those wonderful people, dead.

Why is it that I live?

Instead of...

...her.

...

Miss Plumtartt.

…

She is the one who
was supposed to live!

I cannot get my mind around it.

I cannot believe it.

She cannot be dead.

“She can’t be ... dead.”

...

“Miss . . . Plum . . . tartt?”

...

I am finding it difficult to breathe. My lungs have turned to lead and are jumping up and down in my chest.

My neck swells up tight.

My throat clenches shut.

Manila fades away into a distant grayness behind a mounting wall of water building in my eyes.

I find myself wrapped in a cocoon of silence, focused inward, only on my terrible loss.

A shell of sound rejection encases me in an enclosed egg of solitude.

I am powerless to stop a loss of my composure.

I cannot prevent a devastating, emotional, display.

I don’t know what to do.

The water works open at full blast.

...

~The reader is asked to look away.~

...

…

…

- - -

Eventually, I come to a stop. I wipe up my tear and snot soaked face.

What am I gonna do?