A World of InTemperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 2) (6 page)

“I would like to know just what your training is, too!”

Our Australian trespasser grins at us from his position on the floor. “I am on a very sensitive mission, I am. I am an agent of Her Royal Majesty’s Secret Service and unless you are all part of the diabolical agenda I was sent here to stop, I would suggest that we pool our resources and I recruit you to help me.”

“Okay, I’ll start us off. Just on our own observations, and experiences, as private, but concerned citizens, Miss Plumtartt, our friend Miss GoldenBear and I cannot help but see shifts in the behaviors of the animal kingdoms, and in the supernatural realms. We thought we'd just poke around a little and see what was up.”

“Perhaps you would have us watching for madmen with insatiable thirsts for power on a reckless pursuit of world domination?” queries Miss Altamont. “Is this the sort of thing for which we should be on the watch and to report? Something along the lines we witnessed with the charming Colonel? Their minions, building unethical weapons that cannot be controlled? That sort of thing, maybe?”

“Yes!” exclaims the implacable spy. “That is the sort of thing exactly!”

“Concerning the illegal arms merchant that we have recently bid adieu,” smiles Madame Pâte à Glacer, “it is a happier place without him and we worry not about his departure. So it is with me, and, I think, this assembled company, too!”

“I normally refrain from over stepping my boundaries as concerns judging my fellow human being,” adds Miss Plumtartt, “but of that awful man I say good riddance to bad rubbish!”

Her exquisite eyebrows narrow to focus upon Mr. Murray, “However, you, Mr. Secret Agent Man, were sneaking about a lady’s boudoir in the middle of the night. Would you care to explain?”

Metzger emits a low growl.

“Easy there big guy,” says a compliant captee, “I’ll talk.”

“Hold onto this for me, Icky.”

Mr. Murray hands me a small, very short range Voltage Disruptor. It’s not powerful enough to kill a man, but strong enough to curl his whiskers, and knock him senseless for a time. It’s a very interesting little device, actually.

“My government has been aware of these same abnormalities of which you speak. Confirmation of these come in all the time, but as a matter of fact, it is you, Miss Persephone Plumtartt, that is the focus of my mission. Your recent encounter with a gent in Los Angelos has come to my attention. He is a San Moniquan national, reputed to be a very powerful VooDoo priest of the worst kind, known as Sku Le Biz’zare. He had been a known part of an ever-growing international syndicate bent on gaining supremacy over the entire Earth. Their network comprises a web of global control by the most heinous minds that have ever lived. You were observed in connection with this man and seen removing an object from his possession. This object could be a vital clue that may help lead to the unraveling of the nefarious plots that threaten the liberty of every sapient creature on the planet.”

“I say, do you mean this horrid little packet?”

“Hey, that’s the same little black leather pouch that the horrible Sku LeBiz’zare had held aloft, just before his attempted spell was cut off by Reverend Dolomite’s timely interference back in Los Angelos!”

“Just a moment, I would ask, please!” exclaims Madame Pâte à Glacer. “I am no expert, but growing up in the Mississippi Delta, one is surrounded by VooDoo culture. I may be able to supply some small amount of zee insight. Oui?”

She steps forward to scrutinize the menacing mystic’s memento.

“Mon Dieu! This Sku LeBiz’zare is a serious foe, indeed. A man of great ashe. The packet – do not touch it! - contains unholy graveyard dirt and other abominable ingredients. Sku LeBiz’zare is, without doubt, a bokor, who serves Baron Samedi, head of the Gede. This packet, a voye lamò, will summon spirits to possess his victim, eventually leading to their death.”

“Who was curse the meant for?” Mr. Murray asks.

“It appeared to be for a clergyman, a Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite. However, when we interfered with his plans, Sku LeBiz’zare was gonna use it on me and my pals. The words of the sorcerer had me believe the spell could have been more far reaching than that. For all we know, all of Southern California was the intended victim.”

Madame Pâte à Glacer nods her head in assent. She is silent for a moment, a grim but determined expression on her face.

“I shall take it to a priest who can dispose of it safely.” She withdraws a white cloth from her handbag, indicating Miss GoldenBear to place the foul object into the cloth.

“Will you be safe, Ma’am?”

“Very little in this world is assured, Mr. Temperance, especially safety, but I am not without resources of my own.” She puts the cloth into her bag with obvious distaste.  There is a tight set to Madame Pâte à Glacer’s face, now as implacable as a marble statue.

“I would add this, Agent Murray,” contributes Miss Plumtartt. “On recent travels, Mr. Temperance, Miss GoldenBear and I always had the feeling that the source of our troubles lay in a northerly direction. This dead Colonel, likewise, had a northern pursuit. I am in agreement upon the suggestion of consolidating our resources and making a go of it in a unified effort.”

“I would surely appreciate your joining my little arctic safari, Persephone, or am I joining yours?”

“How about that, Miss Plumtartt, our little force has grown by one. Now it’s me, you, Miss GoldenBear, Bolt the dog, and this Australian Secret Agent, James Murray.”

“I shall accompany Madame Pâte à Glacer on her errand.”

“Oh, merci, Mademoiselle Wilma Altamont! Would you care to accompany me on further travels while these young people go on their little adventures?”

“I would be delighted, Madame.”

“That’s swell. I guess this is goodbye, Mademoiselle Gauzot; it sure has been nice  seeing you again. Sorry about the unpleasantness on the train, and again tonight with your manservant Mr. Metzger. I am sure he will be fine.”

“Oh, oui! Monsieur Temperance, Wolfgang will be fine. He is of the stout constitution, no?”

Wolfgang does not appear to be the worse for wear. He has recovered from the electrical shock, but he still has anger in his eyes for James.

James winks, smiles, and gives Wolfgang a thumbs up.

“But there is some mistake though I think, too! I have my own little secrets, yes? My own little DeeDee agenda, oui!”

“I don’t follow your meaning, Mademoiselle.”

“Well, I would say that you are mistaken in that I am prepared to leave our little party. No, no, Monsieur, it is my intention to contribute, too!”

“You are certainly a fine and brave little beauty, Mademoiselle, but I do not know if this is the time and place for your gumptionatol heroine routine.”

“Ha ha! Merci! Your concern James, is duly noted, and appreciated, but I tell you true when I say there is more to Mademoiselle than meets the eye, no?”

“Hmmm,” muses Miss Plumtartt.

We reconvene in the morning and make our plans.

James has a bit of freight aboard the train that he must deal with.

The three ladies conclude that their wonderfully fashioned dresses may need to be replaced with more functional apparel in the near future. Velvet and satin materials trimmed in flowery embroidered highlights, though very becoming, are not of the most practical nature if one is asked to deal with an unknown foe. Wolfgang Metzger readily agrees to take the ladies shopping that they may kit themselves out for our journey into the frozen tundra, should the need for more adventuresome clothing be needed. Mademoiselle Gauzot, who has to be so careful with her delicate complexion, is able to move about in the weak winter radiation of the far north with no more protection than a heavy parasol and rose spectacles.

“Bolt, you and I have been tasked with securing our means of transportation. We have been fortunate to have rail travel this far north at this time of year.”

“Roof!”

“Oh, look what we have found, Bolt, this livery stable has sleighs! Wow, Santa would be proud to pilot one of these babies! We’ll hire out two big sleighs with four horses each!”

“Roof!”

“Well, that didn’t take long. Everybody else is out shopping and whatnot. Let’s just you and me go for a little sightseeing walk, okay?”

“Roof!”

My canine companion and I amble about this little town of Winniedepuh. Despite the snow and ice, this is still a very busy place. Hustle and bustle seems to be the order all around the world.

This ol’ world of ours gets smaller every day. Even in the wilds of the Yukon, there is still an example of folks from around the world, and of every economic representation. Tradesmen share the streets with the rich and elegant. An obviously very wealthy ol’ girl is on a shopping spree herself. She carries a fluff ball in her arms. I think it is a dog, but it is the most over-coiffed pup I have ever seen. She is followed by a train of retainers, each weighed down by her majesty’s purchases. A milk wagon contends with a coal wain for access to the hotel. Freight wagons, and foot traffic compete with mounted horsemen for rights of way. Every now and again, a stagecoach will come charging down the street and everybody has to hop out of the way.

“Look over there, Bolt, that milkman has an interesting employee.”

Bolt looks to where I have pointed toward the milk wagon. It is making a delivery and the heavyset driver does not have to get out of his seat. (He is really heavyset, and getting up and down from his wagon might be difficult.) His partner has climbed down and is making his way to the back of the wagon.

It is a clockwork man! He is a rare bird, even in great metropolitan areas, but he’s really out of place in this relatively rural setting. He is made up of an astounding collection of gearing that control innumerable rods. These articulate limbs and hands in an amazing approximation of an organic person. His gyros might require an adjustment as he appears a little unsteady on his feet. He awkwardly makes his way to the back of the wagon as his employer lights a large cigar.

The clockwork man is really something to behold, and I have never had such a good view of one before. He methodically and carefully gathers his bottles of wholesome, dairy goodness, and eases his stack off the back of the wagon. I think he is aware of his gyroscopic malfunctions, and is trying to compensate with exaggerated caution.

“FiFi! Come back!” squeals the wealthy matron.

Tho old girl shoppers canine companion has leaped from her arms and run directly out into the street! The yapping little dot-brained pooch is continually, and miraculously, being missed by the oblivious traffic. Horses clop by the little dog, missing it with their heavy hooves by inches.

~Crash!~
(We hear the shattering glass of a dozen milk bottles.)

The clockwork man has dropped his load of milk bottles and is running out into the street. It is more of a series of spastic jerks, lunges, and catches, than actual running. In fact, it is almost painful to watch. However, the mechanical creature, after getting bounced off of a wagon, somehow is able to fall upon the wayward dog, just as a stagecoach comes barreling through. The dog is cradled by the machine’s torso, arms and legs, tucked into a fetal position. A team of six horses bounce all over the poor fellow, followed by the coach itself, the wagon bouncing high and hard from the tumbling tin obstacle.

“FiFi!”

All traffic is at an awkward standstill. Loud, angry drivers demand for the road to be cleared. The wealthy but careless dog owner sweeps into the street to retrieve her lucky pup.

“FiFi! You naughty little doggie! You scared your Mommy! Yes, you did!”

She scolds the dog as she continues on her way without a glance at the agent of her dog’s salvation.

The stagecoach driver examines his horses and wagon. Everything seems to have survived well enough.

Not so much the tin man.

He has not moved since being run over. Steam rises from his torso. He is still in a pathetic, fetal position in the street.

His owner has by now climbed down from his perch, and made his way to the scene.

“Stupid piece of junk. That spilled milk is going to take up my profits. Those bottles don’t grow on trees, either. I should have done this days ago.”

He reaches down and grasps a lever in the center of the man’s back. My word! He means to pull the device’s mainspring!

I quickly step up and stay the delivery driver’s elbow, just as he is about to wreck the mechanical man.

“Oh, wait a second, mister!”

The sour milkman turns upon me.

“Please don’t wreck this machine, he was trying to do something good.”

“Beat it, runt.”

Oh, gosh, I know this type. This man has enjoyed having the clockwork assistant to bully around, and sees me as a replacement whipping boy.

An ugly smirk twists his features into a picture of disgust and contempt.

“Back off, you mouse, this don’t concern you.”

He reaches for the mainspring again.

I stay his hand again.

He whips around and snatches me up by the collar.

Bolt growls.

“You little pipsqueak! I ain’t happy right now, but I am about to make myself feel better by stomping you into the pavement. You and your little dog, too.”