A World of InTemperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 2) (17 page)

One of zee gurls playfully pushes me through zee door as I open it. It’s Wilhelmina. She playfully pushes me down on zee bed. Using her silk stockings, she playfully ties mein hands to zee posts.

Gretchen has done zee same to James, only vith zee chair.

“You girls are lots of fun!”

The two gurls exchange a look. The warm, playful, passion that they had so recently shared, noticeably cools.

“Rough! Rough!” barks Fred.

Gretchen tosses Wilhelmina a length of wire. It has a large ring woven into either end.

“Vos ist los, Wilhelmina?”

“Relax, Wolfgang. This will be over in a minute.”

“Nein! There has been some mistake! Mein name eest Barney!”

“Sorry, Lover.”

Wilhelmina, she wraps the garrote around mein neck!

“Roight! I’ve heard of this! Erotic Asph...
Urgh!
”

I cannot breathe! I feel the back up of blood ringing in mein ears!

Wilhelmina, a substantial gurl, puts all her strength and weight into her task of ending mein party.

Spots, black und white, swim before mein eyes.

I struggle but am unable to dislodge the traitorous wench!

I hear a tiny, whirring sound, somewhere beyond the struggle between the bound men and the unbound women. A busy grinding note is persistently at work, until it is finally noticed by the murderous vomens.

“What’s that noise?” Asks Wilhelmina.

“I don’t know...
woah!
” replies Gretchen as she falls to the floor.

Fred, from my vantage point on zee bed, slowly, oddly, falls after her.

Wilhelmina releases her strangulation efforts upon me to combat the seemingly partially freed Fred.

I was just on the verge of losing consciousness, but now I recover quickly.

Vhile zee vile vomens cavort vith their loving victim, I concentrate all mein energies on mein own task.

~r-r-rip!~

Mein silken restraints upon mein right hand are overcome. The ladies’ hosiery, though very strong when bound in several layers, was not meant to bind Wolfgang Metzger!

I pull myself off the left side of zee bed. I am still bound vith mein left hand and cannot reach to help mein friend. I alternate between reaching for Fred and trying to unbind myself.

“Barney! Help!”

“I'm trying, Fred!”

I pull, and at the same time kick the bed over on its side and force my way to Fred.

Fred still has his hands and one foot bound. His one free limb has a small buzzsaw attached to it, facing backwards, above his heel. The chair bound boy bravely keeps zee beauties at bay vith zee small spinning blade, awkwardly attached to his ankle.

I push the over turned bed into zee gurls, trying to pin them behind it.

“That’s it Wo... I mean, Barney!” encourages Ja... I mean, Fred.

I manage to catch one. Wilhelmina. Gretchen is able to keep from being trapped in a fluff und brass cage.

I hold Wilhelmina behind zee bed und watch Gretchen attack Fred.

“Barney! Help!”

“I can’t help you without releasing Wilhelmina!”

The one-legged man confined to the three-legged stool is too dangerous for our own good.

No one vants to get near that whining, whirring, buzzsaw on the back of James’ foot, and it is impossible to predict what direction it will fling next.

Not Gretchen: she did not bargain for the dangerous spinning blade on her victim’s leg.

Not me, as he occasionally, and clumsily, though I do give him some credit, accidentally, flings it in mein direction.

Und not him, as he has already almost cut off his own other leg a couple of times.

Fred has his back to me, fending off Gretchen with his bladed appendage. I step to him, unavoidably releasing Wilhelmina. I stomp in the back of Fred’s chair, dropping Fred on his Australian butt. The chair breaks into many pieces, as its prisoner enjoys much more freedom, though he does create a picture of being strangely accessorized, with bits of chair dangling about his person.

Wilhelmina leaps on mein back, clawing at mein face. I reach back with mein free hand and fling her forward over mein shoulder. Without releasing her, I pull her back unto an embrace of my own, one that encompasses her neck, cutting off blood supply to her head. She struggles briefly, and then goes still. I check to make sure I just make her go sleepy time, short, not sleepy time, long.

We box in Gretchen. She sees the futility of her position and opts for returning to her considerable feminine charms as a means of effecting an escape.

“Come on, boys. Can’t we just go back to being friends?” she holds up her hands in surrender, eyes pleading, mouth weakly smiling.

“Hold her, Barney.”

I swiftly insinuate the sexy assassin into a locked position. In a nice display of balance and flexibility, Fred raises his leg-mounted blade. He holds the spinning blade close to Gretchen’s face.

“You can’t make me talk. I am loyal unto death!”

“Loyal to whom, Fraulein?”

“I’ll never tell!” With that, Gretchen bites down hard on a hollow tooth. The scent of poisons fills the air.

“Hah! There! I took poison and you’ll never make me talk!”

“Whoa there little Sheeba! Krikey! You took a poison capsule to protect your masters?”

“Yes!”

“That’s loyalty, all right. I bet they get a chuckle every time one of you lot enjoy those delicious treats.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look at it from their side. No need to issue the last paycheck. The cessation of benefits will increase the outfit’s bottom line very nicely.”

“But I gave my life for those jerks!”

“What jerks?”

“The Sin-dicate!”

“The Syndicate?”

“No, The Sin-dicate.”

“That’s what I said. Syndicate.”

“No, you’re not inflecting correctly.
~yawn~
Are you getting sleepy?”

“No, but I think you are my little EskiMota Hari.”

Gretchen begins to snore.

“Vill she die?”

“No. I think it’s another little joke from upstairs. The poison often degrades over time, more often than not, failing to kill the suicidal patron.”

“Next time Fred, please to allow me to select the Gentleman’s Clubbe.”

P.O.V. DeeDee Gauzot

That impossible Plumtartt girl. She is the sly one, I am thinking. Oh, how she cornered me with her incessant interrogations! Inquisition á la Plumtartt! This is an outrage! I am incensed! I could easily indulge a bit of bloodwork. I must prioritize, and put the fate of the world before my loathing of PersephoBeast Plumtartt.

“Are you ladies ready?”

“I say, almost, Abigail. I do have a few more items to secure, if I may. How are you coming, Mademoiselle Gauzot, eh hem?”

“Oh! I am ready when you are, my lovely Mademoiselle Persephone! I am the chicken of Spring, I think, oui! Well, perhaps not a chicken, but a small and mobile bird, oui, for I travel, light, too!”

“I say, it is a good thing our Mademoiselle Gauzot travels lightly, eh hem?”

Oh! That blasted woman! She infuriates me! I have made one concession after another. Still this British Nouveau Aristocrat always gets her way! I have cast my beautiful wardrobe behind us, not unlike a trail of breadcrumbs from some children’s Fairy Tale in a storybook forest. How it pains me to part with such lovelies.

“Oh, oui! I am thinking this, too. We have indulged my lovely Persephone with a baggage train le grande, but alas, this is no longer possible.”

“I say, that is unfortunate. We shall have to figure some manner of carrying my cello.”

I can contain myself no longer!

“Cello?
Cello!
Your cello must accompany us further, Mademoiselle? Is it not enough that I have long ago thrown aside many wonderful creations in an effort to support our merry little band? No, no, no, DeeDee, now you must carry this British pseudo aristocrat’s musical instrument, too! No!It is too much for you to ask of us to carry your blasted cello, as we continue our journey into a frozen and devastating oblivion! No, Mademoiselle! I have not lost my temper in years! Perhaps many years! I always slay the offending party before I have to endure a moment of duress! But
you
, Mademoiselle! You ask too much, I think, too!”

“I say, Mademoiselle, I was going to ask for some assistance with my hat boxes, as well.”

“Oh! It is the hat boxes too! This is a pretty fancy hat I think. I shall have a look at this wonderful chapeau that Princess Plumtartt clings to so fervently.”

Here is her hat box collection. I snatch one up. No, I get the separated shoulder for my efforts, almost, I think. This is a heavy hat to be sure, even for my considerable strength.

Looking at Plumtartt and GoldenBear, I think they both appear to have eaten a piece of cake behind my back.

“Oui. I think I must have a look at this hat for sure, no?”

Effeminate accouterments of pretty, floral patterned fabrics and ribbons adorn and/or, maybe, disguise the heavy leather construction. I disengage the strong straps that securely hold the incredibly heavy parcel.

I am unsure of what I am looking at within. A round, dark green metal can, perhaps, eighteen inches in diameter. It appears to be a cannister of specialized purpose.

My lady friends might be snickering at me.

“Am I correct in my evaluations, Persephone? Is this a munitions drum of some kind? These are not like any rifle round Mademoiselle has ever seen. No, the cartridges have a singular green glow about them, oui?”

She is looking like zee cat that ate the canary I think!

“Come to think of it, I have never heard you play the cello, too!”

I heft the musical instrument case.

It is inordinately heavy.

I open the lid.

It takes a moment or two for the varied and numerous barrels, glowing tubes, mechanisms, and general contraptions to make sense in my eyes.

I believe that I look upon a firearm of incredible power. A ring of twelve, heavy rifle barrels are each coupled to tubes of phosphorescent green liquid that I cannot identify.

For the first time in many a long year, I feel my face go slack with awe.

“Very well, Persephone, I am in full agreement! You never know when we might need to hear a bit of music!”

*~~~*

“The trudging through snow, this is not Mademoiselle’s cup of tea. Mariage Freres Noel French, it eez not, no?”

“I say, how very cunning for our Abigail to guide us so surely to shelter and assistance, on this alien, icy landscape, eh hem?”

“I have a knack for that sort of thing. We were indeed fortunate to encounter an enclave of Eskimos.”

“Oui, and how gracious of them to welcome us into their charming, icy beehive!”

“I say, dome construction is an art I hold in high regard. This igloo village is a wonder in itself, eh hem?”

“These dresses have seen better days, ladies. I think it is time for a change.”

“I say, Miss GoldenBear, are you suggesting, what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Persephone, DeeDee; we are hundreds of miles from any sign of civilization. There is no need to stand on social customs or norms in this environment. Especially under these circumstances. Before leaving Winniedepuh, Wolfgang took us out to do some shopping at various specialty salons. We all built our own unique adventure outfits. Now is the appropriate time to gear up.”

“Oh, oui, now is the time I think. No? Oui! Let us each take our adventure gear outfits into privately assigned igloos and change before traveling further.”

Oh! I am excited! This is a whole new style of clothes for me. Truly, this is an adventure more to the liking of Mademoiselle, oui!

I hurriedly slip into my new outfit. Oh! The caress of sensual fabrics and finely crafted tailoring thrill me. I exit from my refrigerated changing parlor to better survey my newest wardrobe excursion.

Stepping outside, I encounter a hint of Alaskan winter sunlight. The distant sun is barely able to push her radiations this far into the northern latitudes from her hiding place beyond the southern horizon. The weakened refection is no more than a tingle on my face.

A self examination is required.

Extra sturdy ankle boots adorn my petite feet. Fashionable, oui, but of a heavier construction than I normally would go in for, I think.

Hosiery is worn with a mind to warmth, not the intimacy of private titillations.

A short jacket protects my shoulders. A wonderful purple it is, and it is so hard to find a shade of purple that I am happy with! This enjoys a heavy lavender and maroon embroidery. I wear a silk blouse with a cameo at my neck. My dear Wolfgang designed the cameo for me. It is actually a representation of me, Mademoiselle DeeDee Gauzot caught in a delightful silhouette! Oui!

I confess, the tiny little hat I wear is a nod to the modern fashions, but Mademoiselle must have her idiosyncrasies! Oui!

How I adore the bustle skirts! I feel completely undressed without a bustle to protect my posterior charms. However, the skirts, they are proving less and less practical as we continue our journeys, I think. The Mademoiselle makes her bravest sacrifice of all!

Wolfgang and I have recently traveled through the Orient. We made a stop in the recently opened to trade country of Nippon. We saw many fascinating wonders! One thing that sticks with Mademoiselle is the sight of their brave Samurai Warriors! They would sometimes appear in voluminous, skirted and pleated pants called Hakamas. I borrow this design and have my tailor create a dress that combines several fashion aspects.

A lovely shimmering emerald satin hides the heavier, almost canvas material these rugged skirts possess. Velvet highlights and Alaskan woodland motifs décor the two “legs” of the deceptive skirted pants with intricate embroideries. Velvet flocking protects me on the inside, too! I do require the comfort! Oui!

A tasteful, conservative bustle protects my most delicate feature.

“Good morning, Miss GoldenBear! Oh my goodness! You are absolutely stunning, my dear! Oui!”

Headfirst, the Indian beauty emerges from her tee-pee of the ice.

Sometimes, Mademoiselle forgets just how tall this woman is!

As her knee-high boots find their footing, a living Totem pole arises. Free of her civilized restraints, her frame expands in welcome release. She stretches her large framed body outward in a blossom of physical enjoyment, right to the outreached points of her fingertips.

Smiling, she shakes her thick black hair out behind and looks up into the gray skies with an inner glow that provides its own enlight-ment.

With a wide stance, she throws her head forward, flinging her onyx locks in an arcing parabola, and then immediately whipping them back, catching them up in her hands to gather a tail behind her head. In a way, this manner of securing her thick black hair is reminiscent of our horses’ tails.

Tucked into the flapped-down top of her boots, go her black leather pants. The supple hide firmly embraces her powerful legs. A zig-zag pattern of lacing details the outside seam. The diamond shaped inseam of a lighter skinned animal contrasts within her thighs.

She wears a leather vest, matching in the color and style of the pants. With the similar stitching and two-tone contrasting shades, this form fitting vest inspires the shape of an hourglass. The vest is just a tiny bit strained. Abigail is a full-figured girl and can use the support.

A simple blouse is all that is necessary to protect this hearty child from the harsh elements.

Before me stands a woman that was only hinted at before. So great a girl has been hidden! Her hips and bosom radiate magnificence. With her shoulders squared, and head held high, she is the very picture of confidence. I am thrilled to have this woman as a comrade in arms.

“Come along now, Mademoiselle Persephone, we are ready for you, I think.”

But the Mademoiselle is wrong.

I am not ready.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight that emerged from that igloo cocoon.

For the second time in as many days, I am struck with the awe.

Despite the restrictions of my kind, I feel the blood drain from my bloodless face, and blanche at the impossibility before me.

It takes all my self-control not to turn and flee this monstrous vision de horror!

“What
is
that!” I scream!

Hatched from its icy hive, the creature presents itself hindquarters, first. Rearing back upon its inhuman haunches, the abomination pauses in a reptilian crouch, before rising.

Thickly soled boots, with an extraordinary amount of straps and buckles insinuate themselves all the way past her knees by several inches. A foot of indecent, black hosiery en-wrapped thigh is scandalously exposed before eventually making it to the bottom of the shameless girl’s hem.

This hemline
barely
covers her femininity! Generously studded black leather tightly conforms to her, admittedly, shapely waist in what
she
must imagine passes for a skirt.

I knew Miss Plumtartt required support for her ample bosom, but this, I think, is ridiculous!

Such a corset Mademoiselle is not familiar with, though I have known of their existence.

Constructed of heavy black leather, the undergarment gone wrong swarms with buckles and straps to ensure a secure and firm fit.

This medieval nightmare features an open front, for the display of her grande décolletage.

I am so happy she bothered to wear a blouse! We are fortunate she wears anything at all, I think!

“What could be what?” the animal replies.

“This outfit, if one can call it such, is not one with which Mademoiselle wishes to be seen.”

“Mademoiselle, you have not been made aware, I am afraid. You see, I am a practitioner of a physical and mental art and discipline. Recent experiences led me to gain a remarkable amount of training in the Auriental Warring styles. A Gung Foo, is my form of practice. I find that the minimal hemline, though admittedly immodest, does allow for a free range of motion in hand to hand combat.”

“And zee outrageous corset, Madame?”

~sniff~
“I require support across the duodenum.”

“Persephone’s, er, instrument, and hats won’t be a problem, anymore. I have secured us a new manner of transport.”

“I say, look at all the handsome men! How marvelous!Between our adventurous togges, and this quaint modus of transport, this is really starting to feel like an adventure!”

“Oh! Oui! I agree, too! Boys, boys, boys! This is what I like, oui, oui!”

“I thought the same thing, as soon as I laid eyes on them. One look into that sea of beautiful blue eyes and I knew I had to have them.
~sigh.~
Boys?”

A dozen pair of loving male eyes turn to Abigail with expectation.

“Mush!”

“Oh, I say, rather, hear, hear,
mush
, then lads, as it were, yes, quite so, and most emphatically,
mush, mush
, eh hem?”

“Oh, oui, oui, it is the ‘Mush!’ for my boys too, I think!”

The eager and hearty teams of huskies charge ahead in a fury of barking exuberance, pulling their sleighs of heroic heroines.