A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1) (3 page)

Ichabod

“I’m feelin’ as perky as a white-tailed doe in February, mister!”

“Indeed.”

“I always wanted one of these! A genuine London derby hat! Ain’t she a beaut?”

“Quite so, sir.”

“I didn’t wanna to stand out as a foreigner anymore than I gotta, so I thought I’d develop me a little camouflage.”

“Sir?”

“Well, with this here Derby, I’m buying from you in this  here haberdashery, I feel like I blend right in with the everyday Londoner!”

“No comment, sir.”

“Sophisticated English society, here I come!”

I reckon I oughtta catch up with what’s going on in the world.

Several papers’ exclamatory headlines catch my eye.

The Britannic Observer

S.S. TRIUMPH
SETS ATLANTIC  CROSSING RECORD!

“Sol Furnace-driven marvel conquers the Atlantic.”

“Great Britain’s place as the leading shipbuilder in the world is secured as the
S.S. Triumph
shatters the Atlantic crossing record.”

Amazing! I was just on that ship, and a part of her historic crossings.

The Evening Comet

PARLIAMENT CONSIDERS SAPIENCY DECREE

“The ‘Animal Sapience Alliance’ pushes forward with bill to allow rights to animals able to prove an elevation in intelligence to the courts.”

“Humanists vow to fight for the dominance of Man over Beast.”

How about that! I had not thought about how the Revelatory Comet might affect animals. I’m not sure how I will react if I ever meet a talking horse. The idea intrigues me, for I have always had a fondness for, and a talent with, handling animals.

The London Sun

PLUMTARTT SCANDAL THREATENS NATIONAL SECURITY

“Howdy, mister, I’m gonna purchase this paper.”

Not only is this article written by my client, with whom I have an appointment, but it concerns the family Plumtartt, with whom I have a working relationship.

Story by: Sir Henry Stanley

“The proud name of Plumtartt, which has brought so much fame and recognition to our country, has now fallen into a pit of shame, and wallows in disgrace. After the recent, untimely death of Professor Plumtartt, eminent scientist responsible for developing the great “Sol Furnace,” the entire estate, including the prestigious Plumtartt Factory and  Plumtartt Shipyards, have fallen to his unfortunately demented daughter, Miss Persephone Plumtartt. In an exclusive interview, she reveals a belief in “Evil Forces” at large in the country. She believes that they are the nexus of “ghost” attacks in the areas around the factories. In the ridiculous story she relates, her father was stymied in his efforts to capture the Sun’s energy. He turned to arcane methodology, combined with the latest in scientific application. The Plumtartt girl claims to have been at her father’s side throughout the process, until he entered this occult avenue. Upon entering her father’s inner sanctum of experimentation, she interrupted a grand process, an ‘Evocation’. A violent explosion ensued. Miss Plumtartt claims to have been ‘bathed in an elemental beam’, that wrought a change within the psychotic female.

In the past two weeks, several more deaths have followed upon the heels of her father. Now, the girl claims to be attacked by hideous monsters. She related that last night, a microscopic creature, an amoeba, miraculously grown to the size of a haystack, attacked her home. She even claims to believe the accident she suffered in her father’s laboratory gave her the ability to combat the giant jellyfish.

This reporter reveals that it was all I could do to keep from shouting with laughter in the face of this deluded girl. That, however, is where the amusement stops. She has since closed the vital Plumtartt factory and shipyard. Only two passenger ships have been completed, the
Triumph
, and the
Victoria
. Miss Plumtartt attributes several recent deaths at these locations to these same ‘Evil Forces’ summoned by her Father. Four battleships are in the middle of construction, and she has stopped their progress just because a few clumsy workmen have managed to get themselves killed. The hysterical girl needs to realize that accidents are a part of business and construction. Our nation’s pride and dignity are at the whimsy of this dangerously unbalanced woman, who obviously is not up to the rigors of industrial command decision. Plumtartt Factory, in the middle of constructing more Sol Furnaces, is likewise shut down.

These institutions are of National concern. The critical nature of these ships is what will propel Great Britain on to rule the Seas for years to come. One delusional débutante is standing in the way of World commerce and progress.

It is this reporter’s sincere conviction that the only prudent course is that Miss Persephone Plumtartt be locked up in Bedlam Asylum, for the public good and strategic safety of England.”

Persephone

Oh! What I fool I have been to trust that traitorous reporter. He has made me a laughing stock! Worse, he places our country in danger, not to mention my own freedom.

Sir Henry Stanley has brought shame and ruin down upon the good name of Plumtartt, with my unwitting assistance.

I cannot allow myself to to be concerned with my own personal misfortunes. There is something larger at stake, and I am even further behind in my efforts to awaken my unsuspecting countrymen to the danger that creeps among us.

My eyes are drawn to other papers. ‘Ghost’ attacks continue around the country. Horribly dessicated corpses, followed by terrible stories of violent attacks by invisible creatures. Many suspect that local constabularies are attempting to keep the stories quiet, as not to start a panic.

My worst fears are realized.

Evil runs rampant through the nation, while my fellow countrymen obstinately remain reluctant to come to grips with the menace that threatens us. I am helpless to stem the tide of danger inexorably rising around the unseeing eyes of my country.

Ichabod

I am excited about and eager to keep my appointment.

A meeting with Sir Henry Stanley! What a fine fellow he must be!

With my ‘Green Beauties’ safely ensconced atop my new Derby, I faithfully keep my appointment at the wonderful Strand Hotel.

Let’s see, I am supposed to meet Sir Henry Stanley here in the dining hall of the hotel. Oh, I think that loud, drunken fellow over yonder is the famous explorer.

“Boy, you there, the little chappie with my goggles. Bring them to me.”

“Yessir. Howdy Sir Stanley, it sure is an honour to meet...”

“Yes, it is. Do they work?”

“Oh, yessir, they work just fi...”

“Waiter, I suspect that this drink was mixed with a house brand and not the brand I ordered! Bring me a fresh drink at once!”

“Yes, Sir Stanley!”

“Get it right this time you limp fop or you’ll be waiting tables on the other side of the river!”

“Yes, Sir Stanley!”

“Was your drink really that bad, sir?”

“Ha, ha! Nah, of course, not, but it never hurts to keep the staff on their toes, eh? Plus I gets me a free drink! Ha, ha!”

“Oh.”

“Here is a fresh steak for you, Sir Stanley, I hope it is prepared to your specifications, Sir.”

“Hmmm, let’s see.”
nyum, nyum
“Close but not quite, you chorusboy reject. Send it back and try again!”

“Yes, Sir Henry!”

“Ha, ha!”

“That looked like a decent steak to me, Sir Henry.”

“But the more I send them back, the better they get! Ha, ha!”

“Oh.”

“Gimme my goggles, Temporary.”

“Temperance.”

“Whatever.”

“If I may ask, Sir, what is your intention for these goggles?

A leering grin spreads across his red, flushed face.

“As you know, I am famous throughout the world for my daring exploits in the dark continent. Those goggles are for my next African excursion. The jungles of the wild lands are not for the faint of heart. It takes an iron fist to conduct a continent spanning safari and rigid discipline. You have to let the Darkies know that a
White
man has taken charge. Ha, ha!”

I don’t like talk like that.

“You have to let the natives know who is the master. With my marksman skills, I dominate everywhere I travel. Elephant, tiger, and lion; I destroy all before me. The Darkies have certainly learned to fear my approach. Like some great white God, if I can find you in the sights of my rifle, then you belong to me.” A bit of drool appears at the corner of the superior safarian’s mouth. “With these goggles, that allow sight in dark conditions, I shall rule the night, as well as the day!”

Oh, Goodness, this horrid man intends to use my wondrous invention for indecent purposes! Subjugation of the African populace is not what I had intended for my device. This man callously murders defenseless folks without a second thought. I think that a switch in conversation is necessary because I think I’m getting upset.

“I read your interview with Miss Plumtartt, sir. That poor girl. I have heard nice things about her and how clever she is at the running of the Plumtartt assets. I don’t think she would have closed the factories unless she was sure there was a serious problem. Do you think she is getting a fair shake from your article?”

Spraying our table with spittle Sir Henry explodes into guffaws of mean-spirited laughter.

“That hysterical little high bred wench? Ho, ho, if only you could have seen how easily I manipulated that buxom bird. I can trick a little twist like that into doing my bidding any time I want. This is a man’s world, boy. Even a silly little American twit like you should be able to see the folly of halting production at a vital industrial resource such as the Plumtartt facilities. That high breasted pigeon’s letting her inferior feminine intellect interfere with what’s good for the country.”

Sir Henry is growing more repugnant. A loose lipped, and scornful smirk twists his face and his eyes glaze over in distant fantasy. I can tell by looking at him that he is envisioning Miss Plumtartt in his mind. He gives me the impression of enjoying an inappropriate imagination.

“Mmmm, Persephone...”

I wish he did not have that smug look on his face.

“That little chick is off her rocker; still, she is a comely little quail...”

~!!!~
I was brought up to be courteous to a lady.

“A rooster in the henhouse is what she’s wanting.”

~!!!~
I think I’m getting upset.

“Yeah, I think I’m just the man to straighten that little twist.”

~!!!~
“That’s enough, Sir.”

“What an uppity little quim like that needs is a bit of the Ol’...”

That is as far as Sir Henry gets before my fist plows deeply into his smugness.

I done already popped Sir Henry before I know what I have done.

“That ain’t no way to talk about a lady, Sir Henry!”

I am forcibly escorted from the premises by several quick moving restaurant personnel. Before they get me out the door, I add:

“I choose to default on the commission, Sir! I’m keeping my goggles!”

Persephone

A bellboy of the Queen’s Hotel brings me today's newspapers from across the lobby.

With this fresh information, and what I have already learned about the ghost attacks, I attempt to find a pattern to the perils troubling our nation.

“Unh!” I am seized by a horrible sense of revulsion, just like last night.

It is the same loathsome sensation as in the laboratory and in the attack on Plumtartt Manor.

How can this be? This is the heart of a major metropolis! Surely the horrors that pursued me in the quiet countryside of Elderberry Pond are completely out of place in this modern city! I have never known an evocation to summon something on this order. It cannot be the result of Father’s conjuration, or can it?

There is a disturbance outside the front doors of the hotel. I hear a commotion and sounds of struggle. Now, there is shouting. The staff of the Queen’s Hotel hurry to ascertain the trouble. A bellboy ducks back in to relate: “Old Tom’s having a fit!”

Indeed, the distinguished old doorman, who was so charming on my way in a few minutes ago, is in some sort of trouble. I cannot see well from my vantage point, yet from what I can discern, the struggle grows in intensity. The copper and crystal of the entrance is only allowing a shadowy impression of the action outside, but it seems that the old fellow is fighting his fellow employees.

“My word!” I exclaim at the next sight I behold.

In an unnatural display of strength, the old doorman grasps, and raises one of the bellboys above his head, and bodily throws the poor lad crashing through the ornate front doors!

The dangerous doorman enters the wrecked portal directly behind his improvised missile, but this is not the same man who greeted me so charmingly in the minutes prior.

Something alien is in possession of the wretched fellow’s body.

With the orbs rolled back he looks upon me with sightless eyes.

“Eee-
Aye
-rRoark!”

The enraged entryman screeches, and lurches towards me, like a clockwork automaton whose brain gears have lost their ratio.

With certain knowledge that the possessed doorman intends to kill me, I fly from the lobby. The terrible, wrath-filled intelligence controlling Old Tom’s body is in a determined pursuit. I run straight through the palatial dining room and into the kitchen. Behind me, I hear the turmoil caused by the gentlemanly greeter’s reckless chase trailing at my heels. There is a relentless uproar of anger, amidst the screams and bellows of outrage surrounding my pursuer wreaking unchecked havoc at my heels. His hands are as claws, slashing into wreckage table, chair, and dinnerware. I am just able to elude his grasping fingers, as I push through the confines of the kitchen and out the back door into an alley. Heedless of any direction, I blindly run, bursting out into a busy thoroughfare.

Miraculously, I am not run down by horse or carriage in my headlong flight.

I risk a look back.

The stricken doorman has stopped. A heartrending howl is torn from the poor man, the first human sound he has made since being ridden by the foul spirit.

He shakes. He rises...??? ...

A green miasma issues from his mouth, as the depleted body falls, the thick smoke coalescing into a form I can hardly fathom.

An unthinkable creature that has no place in our world, forms.

Countless legs stretch into existence, and two bubbles expand, blinking open into a pair of bulbous eyes. Crammed with thousands of insectile visual receptors, these fill with life as the unthinkable abomination falls to the street, and comes for me.