A Study in Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 4) (3 page)

That is fortunate; otherwise, a giant blade of steel would have passed between my ears as it cleaved my head a’twain.

A tremendous, broad-bladed scimitar smashes into the carriage where my head was innocently awaiting.

Who is trying to give me a cranial bifurcation?

From here on the ground I can see he wears the split-toed moccasins of an Auriental secret assassin. He complements this with the voluminous pants one might associate with the Arabian Peninsula, the shirt of the buccaneer and the war paint of the American Indian. It is an India Indian head-dress that adorns his head. This is a wound up pile of shiny yellow cloth. I think it is referred to as a “Ture-bahn.”

At this moment, he is trying to free his big Eastern weapon from where it has become stuck in the woodwork of our rented Landau.

This boy tried to kill me! I better do something!

My uppercut starts from the cobbles and does not end until it is well past the point of contact with my fashion flaunting friend’s chin.

“Ow!”

Punching baggy pants did not stop his mate from kicking me in the ear. As I am spun away from the carriage by the blow I see that my first intruder has several mates. They are all dressed in the same manner as the first, or at least to a certain extent. One wears the over the knee boots of some idealized fantasy pyrate below his Nipponese armor and Cherokee Indian head dress. Their chum has his head wrapped in black cloth but for a thin strip of exposure along the eye line.

“Hear, hear! Behave yourself, you rascal!” insists my doorman friend as he clobbers one Bucca-neenja with a stout clout.

“Shaddap, you old coot!”
~punch!~

I try to cover up and roll with the punches and kicks that rain down upon me.

“I say, that is uncalled for, you ruffians! It’s the business end of my parasol for you, you costumed bandits! Take
that!
And
that!
Here’s one for...
glulgh!
”

Another of the bandits has entered from the opposite side of the carriage and roughly forces a folded handkerchief over Miss Plumtartt’s face. I surmise that hanky is soaked in chloroform because Miss Plumtartt’s long-lashed eyes immediately begin a furious fluttering and then close altogether as she slumps and is pulled back into the buggy.

Another devilish dervish has mounted to the box.

With a hysterical war cry, “Yee! Yip! Yip! Yip!” he callously flings the poor cabman from his perch, “Aieee!..Unh!” and takes up the reins. The fresh chauffeur whips the brace of horses that rear up in fear and panic and then break into an immediate gallop. The ruthless kidnap gang, one with a parting kick in the face to me, quickly board their stolen carriage and fly away down High Holbern, headed into London’s fashionable Western districts.

They haven’t got far before I am up and making pursuit. They’ve got Pers... I mean, they’ve got Miss Plumtartt!

“Golly, I ain’t never gonna catch those frightened horses on foot. I got to procure me some alternative transport, pronto!”

There, across the street, I think I spy what I require. A Hansom cab driver is just finishing the rewinding process for the spring of his mechanical horse. He has just completed the last few clicks of a final rotation on the winding peg and is in the process of removing the shaft of this long key from the upper intersection of the creature’s hind quarters.

The cabbie is facing away as I tip him out of the traces.

“Sorry mister, I gotta commandeer your wagon!”

Lowering the tail and disengaging the safety lock, I  pull the release lever on the fresh-wound spring.

I always wanted to try driving one of these, but not under these circumstances.

“You dirty little American punk, what do you think you’re doing?”

“As a guest in y’all’s country, I hate to be unfriendly but this is an emergency; therefore I am going to brandish this pistol at you in a threatening manner, sir.”

Climbing up on the driver’s platform behind the cart, I take up the reins and work out the mechanics of engagement. Two hand levers present themselves with linkage traveling down and under the cab to either side of my spring-loaded Palomino. The one on my right extends down into the coachman’s platform through a metal plate. This plate has channels fashioned in the shape of a capital ‘H’. At this time, the rod that extends through is in the center beam. I’m thinking the opposite handle controls the spring’s ‘grip’, so I push this lever forward and then follow by maneuvering the right side lever to the left and forward into the top of the ‘H’’s high left position. Easing my left hand ‘grip’ back, I allow the mechanics to accept the engagement of the springs. The horse accepts the command and moves into a walk.

Clink. . Clonk. . Clink. . Clonk. . Clink. . Clonk. .

“C’mon Bessie, pick it up a little. We’re in a hurry,”

My pleas of a faster pace fall on deaf, brass ears.

The dastards are getting away with Miss Plumtartt! I need to quickly work out the controls of this engineered equine.

Perhaps a pull directly downward upon the ratio engagement lever in conjunction with the left lever will encourage the golden girl into a trot.

Clink-Clonk-Clink-Clonk-Clink-Clonk-Clink-Clonk

That’s a little better, but I need a lot more.

So far my mechanical instincts are working pretty well. My next move will be to push the spring’s ‘holder’ that clutches the sliding engagement mechanism with my left while I shove the spring engagement ratio rod forward halfway, across the bar and then forward again to the top of the ‘H’’s high right quadrant.

With the engagement of this mechanism, the cadence of my steed takes on a three part synchronization and a dramatic increase in speed.

Clinkety-Clonk! Clinkety-Clonk! Clinkety-Clonk!

Now that my friend Flicker is moving with a purpose, I concentrate on how to control her directions. The regular pull of the reins to the left and right seems to do the trick.

We’re making better time, but it ain’t enough by a long shot. I have one more stage of increasing my pace to work through. I hope I can control this brass beauty. We are already moving faster than the rest of London’s traffic and it is all I can do to control this clockwork charger, but I gotta do, what I gotta do.

I engage the next acceleration level. TinBiscuit achieves full gallop stage.

Clinkety!-Clonkety! Clinkety!-Clonkety!

Clinkety!-Clonkety! Clinkety!-Clonkety!

~CRISH! CRASH! CRUSH!~

“Sorry, y’all! Oh, Iron Horsie, you’re a handful. I’m a visitor here and I shouldn’t oughtta be wrecking all these carriages and carts with the wheels and axles of this here fancy two-wheeler!”

I fight to keep this steel stallion from smashing my fellow London traffickers, but I ain’t having much luck in this regard. Other carriages seem to be standing still as I fly past, with Scout’s hooves kicking up sparks from her steel moccasins’ fleeting contact with the London cobblestones. Women scream, “Eek!” and men look on disapprovingly “Burbity!” as blue helmeted bobbies blow their whistles
~Tweet!~
and shake their truncheons at my reckless passage.

Now I can see the pirate infested kidnap carriage! Uh, oh, they see me too. Now they are increasing their speed.

~SMASH!~

“Oh my Goodness, I sure am sorry, y’all! These dang ol’ axles are gonna get me and some innocent bystander killed!”

{
!
} {I think I’ve got an idea!}

I wonder if I would do any better if I abandoned the cab and rode the horse itself?

“Wish me luck, Miss Daisy, I am ditching the wagon and jumping off of it and onto you. Here I come! Unh! I made it, girl! I’m gonna kick the linkages loose from either side of your flanks. I reckon controlling your speed might be a touch more difficult, now, but I ain’t worried none about slowing down.”

I draw my Bowie knife and cut the traces loose that bind this horse to its burden. The Hansom takes a terrible tumble as it is freed from behind us and I now ride Silver bare back.

“The bridle is all that remains of your garments, Beetlebaum. It’ll have to do for keeping me aboard and controlling you, you mighty, mechanical mare. Giddy-ap, you galloping, geared gadget. Good grief, piloting you is like trying to ride a charging rhinoceros. Get out of the way y’all! Oh! Sorry! Hey, you all, watch out!
Eep!
Sorry, everybody!”

“Attagirl, Piccadilly Passion, we’re gaining on the fiends! I can now make an accurate assessment of our adversaries. I can see two of the banshees up front, perched upon the box in control of that calamitous carriage. Two more villains cling to the back luggage boards and there is presumably a fifth member of these insidious criminals inside the compartment with the delicate Miss Plumtartt at his cruel mercies.”

“Uh oh, it looks like the fellows on the back want to dissuade our efforts. The rogue wearing a black silk sash about the top half of his face, the disguise coming down over his nose and leaving the rest of the face open except for two eye holes that have been cut to allow for vision; he’s putting a short tube to his mouth. His body language indicates that he has taken in a great breath of air and is forcefully expelling it into the tube. Look out!”

~tink!~

“Oh my Goodness! Trigger, are you okay? There is a tiny dart stuck in your ear! The dread pirate robber’s partner is reaching into a wide sash that is tightly bound around his waist. He has retrieved something that I cannot see. He draws his right hand back across his body, turning his right shoulder to us. Now he is violently flinging his arm toward us in a backhand manner.”

I get a momentary flash of silver as several steel objects are hurled in my direction and immediately hug Horsie’s neck to gain cover on the opposite side

~sss-zing!~ ~t
i
nk!~ ~sss-ziing!~

“Ouch! Something stung my arm, but did not stick. It just grazed me. Oh, darn those rascals! Looks like they got you in your forelocks with a chunk of steel, Mr. Horsie. This implement is approximately three and a half inches across, flat, and fashioned into the shape of a multi-pointed sun, or star. The weight and razor sharp points allow it to be flung, and thus used as a throwing weapon.”

“You can’t shake me that easy, Mr. Indian Ninja driver! I’m getting better at riding this spring stallion. Your last minute course correction attempt ain’t gonna shake me from pursuit. I am becoming more adept at the handling of my chevalier and have the advantage in maneuverability. No matter what you fiends try, I am stuck on you like a hungry hawk on a chubby squirrel.”

The maddened marauders lead us up New Oxford Street. The buildings and homes become steadily more fancy as we progress. Our progression comes to a swift conclusion as we are met by the unavoidable obstacle of the entire roadway being in an upheaval due to subterranean railway construction.

My carriage driving counterpart pulls his team of horses hard to the right while simultaneously engaging the brake. The carriage impossibly turns sideways, going into an uncontrollable slide as the insane driver whoops in crazed exuberance. They smash sideways into a pile of unearthed cobbles and dirt.

I am jealous. His stunt was actually the product of some rather admirable driving skills. I have no such luck with my little pony. I neutralize the drive, pull in the reins, and do everything I can to get Petunia to sit down. With sparks flying in all directions from her fiercely resisting hooves of her locked out front legs, and cobble riding rear end, Man o’ Woe and I inexorably slide towards the open ditch until we are unavoidably flung off and out into open space.

With her four spring driven legs madly scrambling at the all too thin air, the flying mechanical wonder horse gives an inhorsian
‘neigh!’
in a chilling whinny of terror before slamming into the freshly laid, wide rail tracks far below. This difficult landing is followed by an explosion of innumerable springs, gears, shafts, rods and a gazillion other pieces.

K
R
R
RAAA
S
S
SH
H
H!!
!
!

SPROINGITY! SPROINGITY! SPROINGITY! SPROINGITY!

KERG
-
SPROING!!!

“Golly, that was an incredible feat of engineering I just wrecked. I feel terrible about the destruction of the incredible horse, but there is no time to worry about her; I have to save Miss Plumtartt!”

“I reckon I need to make a decision.
Do I pull myself up, where I have miraculously made it to the other side of the subway ditch by kicking off of the horse in mid-flight, or should I drop from where I cling so fervently at an unknown height onto an unknown surface? I can hear my enemies, even now, escaping with their abductive booty into the northern darknesses of the underground train tunnel.”

“Hey! I’m in luck! I only fell about twelve or fifteen feet before landing on relatively safe rubble to bring myself to a halt still several inches from facial impalement upon the protruding metal reinforcements into which I tumble.”

“I wish I had my ‘Green Beauties’. Those amazing goggles that allow vision in the dark sure would come in handy, right about now. I reckon I’ll just borry this here safety lantern from the subterranean railroad jobsite. Um, I reckon I might oughtta arm myself with this here shovel, too.”