A World of InTemperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 2) (9 page)

“No, no, my Wolfgang! I agree with Miss Plumtartt, too!”

“Roight! I should stay with the ladies, then.”

“Oh, but Miss Plumtartt, I don’t want to separate from you!”

“I have every confidence in your abilities, Mr. Temperance. I only ask that you extend me the same courtesy.”

“Oh, gosh, yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. Um, you’ll be careful though, right?”

“Of course, Mr. Temperance, you know how cautious I am in my actions.”

“No, Ma’am. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Now, now, no disapproving looks, Mr. Temperance.”

“No Ma’am.” My features assume a Sphinx face.

Mademoiselle Gauzot and Miss Plumtartt exchange a glance, that looks like it carries some kind of meaning.

The three ladies hike the hems of their dresses off the snow covered factory grounds and disappear around a corner.

“I hope those girls know what they’re doing, Mr. Metzger.”

“Ja, Ichabod.”

“Here’s a big heavy, metal door. Oh, wash me underoos, it doesn’t have a handle to pull it open.”

“Then push, Herr Murray.”

“Brilliant, Wolfie!”

“Oh my Goodness, it’s a factory like the other, but it’s building giant killer automatons like Leadefoote!”

“Ja, clockwork men building more clockworks men: insidious.”

“Ha, ha! They’ve got long, funny, curly tails like piggie wiggies!”

“Nossir, James, I’m thinking these gear-men are powered by electricity! Them ain’t piggly wiggly tails at all. I’m thinking they are copper wires that have been carefully insulated that they may safely conduct power via their ‘lectric tethers. Look at the arcs of sparks popping off of ‘em! They look like they got holiday sparklers in every joint! It looks like electric giants are being used to build the steam-powered models.”

“Personally, I am happy to be constructed as a spring-driven device. By the way, your spring-winding is much appreciated, Ichabod.”

“No problem, Mr. Cogito. That ain’t the only difference, neither. These fellers differ in other ways. You are built in the approximation of a common man, whereas these claw-handed, weapon platforms are real romper stompers!”

“Ja, neither dark, nor cold, nor bullet’s flight will stop these brutes from their appointed conquest.”

“Let’s go, Icksy-bub, there are thousands of LeadeFoote  kill-automatons in various stages of construction and assembly on the factory floor, and a few score outside looking for us. Let’s just blow it up real quick like we did at the last one, eh?”

“I would if I could, Mr. Murray, but I ain’t got no raw, explosive material at this here location, sir.”

“Hurry and come up with something, Ichabod, I vant to get the ladies out of danger.”

“Yessir, me too.”

“Well, what about me? Don’t you want me out of danger, too?”

“Be quiet, James and let Ichabod think.”

“This big, heavy barn is built stout, y’all! I bet she’s two hundred yards long and eighty, wide. I think they built her  right across this poor old river. That rise in the middle of the factory must be the river’s sluice. That cylindrical machine the size of a small cottage sticking out the side must be the dynamo. A row of steel columns runs down the middle of the hall, from end to end, supporting the roof. I wonder if we could drop the roof somehow? Are there any extra, giant steel girders laying around anywhere’s?”

“Nein, Ichabod.”

“Uh, maybe if we found some really heavy duty chain, we could affix it to one column, loop it around another, and then improvise a turnstile on a piece of the many busy bits of machineries at work? I betcha we could crank a weight bearing column over and cause these folks a big headache!”

“It would take a really good diversion to complete all those flying monkey shines.”

“Ja, and not only that, I think the damage would be minimal, mein friend.”

“Uh, maybe if we got two columns down...”

“Shhh! Here comes a clock-head!”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Sorry Cogito, mate, it’s just a figure of speech!”

“Shh!”

“Whirrjk. Humans. Processing. Processing. Probability. Unauthorized. Unauthorized. Intruders! Intruders! Alert! Alerrgh!”

“Good thinking, James, I would never have thought to shove a rag in his mouth!”

“Ha, gotcha big boy! Sliding a pipe between your back and elbow has trapped your arm! How do like them apples, I push it through further and now I’ve caught your other arm!”

“Ragmouth is unable to dislodge his gag. I postulate his arms do not articulate in that manner.”

“Hold the pipe on the other end, Mr. Cogito, he’s trying to get to that brass ring at the end of the alarm bell rope!”

“Ja, I have some chain! I will bind his feet!”

“Don’t let him ring that bell, y’all!”

“Ach, he swishes his metal fanny back and forth to propel himself closer to the bell.”

“Oh my Goodness, he’s almost got it! He’s got it! Don’t let him shake that arm!”

tink!

A little chirp escapes the alarm bell.

“We are accruing unwanted attention, gentlemen. I cannot overstate the importance of not allowing this creature to further shake that arm.”

tink!

“I’ll handle this, me trusty voltage disruptor hasn’t let me down yet!”

“No, James. no!”

“Don’t worry Ickster, this baby’ll fry every relay in his head. All right, me lovely, get ready for,
nap time!
”

KRACK!-KACK!-KACK!-KACK!

RINGITY-DINGITY! RINGITY-DINGITY!

(alarmus, bellus)

“Stop it, James!”

RINGITY-DINGITY! RINGITY-DINGITY!

“I can’t! It’s stuck!

The Voltage Disruptor is caught in an electrical link with the clockwork man. Rags is tightened into a rigid spasm, which is causing him to ring the alarm bell at an alarming rate.

RINGITY-DINGITY! RINGITY-DINGITY!

“Is that why you told me not to do it?”

“No, this is why.”

Ragmouth shudders violently, flinging us aside, and spitting out his gag.

“
Eee-
Aye
-rRoark
!!!”

Roars the erstwhile captive monster, previously known as Ragmouth.

KILL!KILL!KILL!KILL!KILL!KILL!

“I was thinking that there voltage disruptor might get him all riled up. I reckon that I may have been correct in that prognostication.”

“Vamoose, mein friends, I am thinking the LeadeFoote ist now the DeathFeet!”

“Wolfie’s right, boys, let’s vamice!”

“It is my observation that the more we run about this maze of manufacture, the more clockwork pursuit we entail.”

“How about a diversion, James?”

“Good idea Icky, you get their attention while I sneak away!”

“Run this way, mein friends!”

“Now let’s cut back this way, y’all.”

“Roight, I would like to go on the record as stating that I think it is a deplorable thing to manufacture automatons capable of killing a human.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Oops, sorry, Cogito! They should not kill sentient clockwork men, either.”

“Roof!”

“Oops, sorry, Bolt. They should not killl good little doggies, either, mate.”

“Let’s climb up on top of this machinery, y’all!”

“They are still coming after us!”

“Woah, we sure are high up in the air, y’all. Hey, I think I can see out into the complexes courtyard through one of the few, tiny little windows, placed way up high in the factory wall. Oh my Goodness, there’s Miss Plumtartt, Miss DeeDee and Miss Abigail! They have been taken captive! They are being taken away in the tread-milled, ski-steered, snow-carriage!”

P.O.V. Persephone

“Hold it right there, Ladies.”

I freeze in place. DeeDee similarly comes to a standstill and we turn as one.

Abigail has us stopped, just as soon as we pass from view of our gentlemen comrades after our cliff climbing exercise. In an uncharacteristic action, she straightens to her very respectable height, and physically imposes her presence on me and Mademoiselle Gauzot. Her size and bearing are not to be trifled with. Narrowing her eyes, the beautiful Indian guide encourages us to be candid.

“I saw a look pass between you two a minute ago. A smirk just barely crossed through your eyes when we said we were going to split off from the men, the same smirk you two are trying to hide from me right now. Come on, spill. I would, strongly appreciate there not being secrets among us girls.”

“I say, no offense to our gentlemen friends, as they really are such dear boys in their naïve ways; however, I have the impression that they cannot help but attempt to shield us in their chivalric idiom. Moreover, I am afraid that it sometimes allows us to become complacent in their care. It has been obvious to Mademoiselle Gauzot and myself, and now so to you, Miss GoldenBear, that we shall be more free in our actions without the restraint of gallant interference. So too will it grant them the freedom to operate without concerning themselves with our safety,”

“Thank you, Persephone, I appreciate your candor and agree with your assessment. My esteem grows, ladies.”

“Merci beaucoup!”

“I am ever so grateful.”

“This large house looks like it is used to accommodate the muckity-mucks. I’m sure I can break-in through a door or window.”

“Please do not bother yourself, my dear. I say, with these simple rake-and-pull lockpick tools that I keep about my person for the odd emergency, we shall gain entry with a bit more stealth, eh hem?”

“Oui, well-done, Mademoiselle Persephone. Ah, no one is about in these back rooms. I hear the busy noises of a kitchen staff, but it is not the chef’s and the culinary tastes of our deadly foes we are in search of, oui? No! Let us continue our brave investigations in these plush living areas.”

“I say, neither of the large living areas with their forest devouring fireplaces nor dining rooms have shared an iota of actionable data.”

“How about this, Persephone? Here’s the library.”

“I say, I have always enjoyed success while conducting investigations within libraries. Such places are ubiquitously notorious for their valued contents.”

“Oh, ladies, I hear a hurried approach. Oui, be sharp, we have been found!”

A set of double doors bursts open and half a dozen troopers rush in, rifles at the ready.

“There you are! We were afraid you girls wouldn’t make it. There seems to have been some trouble down the road at the other secret factory, er, that is, I mean, cannery. It was thought that you had been held up by the unpleasantness. Hurry, come along now, you girls have been hired to entertain some important men.”

“Oui, here we are, my officious little fellow with spectacles before his tiny eyes. I think we get here before you have zee trouble? Oui, we are your entertainment for this evening! I hope you like to have the fun! We are some fun girls and we like to have the party! Ha, ha! So, where is zee birthday boy? Oui! Oui!”

“Oh! I say! A party, eh, good show!” I quickly catch onto Mademoiselle’s game. Miss GoldenBear appears to be a little slower to catch on and about to do something rash. I give her a firm elbow to the ribs, combined with a ferocious winking and pulling head gestures. “Good show, eh, Miss GoldenBear? I say, party, party, as it were, yes.”

“Good show? Get ready, I think we can take...ooph! Hunh, why’d you? Oh, I get it. Uh, yeah, party, sure, that’s why I came to this place tonight; a, uh, party.”

Mademoiselle cradles the bespectacled man’s bald head. “And what,” ~
smooch, smooch, on his blushing forehead~
is your name, my little hostie wostie?”

“
Tee hee!
My name is Howard C. Goodwinkle, but I am afraid that I am not your host; that would be Mr. ThrascheWright.”

“Three beautiful girls for one lucky man! He must be French! Oui! But no, his name is not French. What did you say this man was, and who does he do?”

“Millicent Pernicious ThrascheWright is his name. He’s a big canner.”

“Oh! Canning! How interesting! One canner, three girls. Big fun! Oui! Oui!”

“Weh-ell, there will be three gentlemen. Along with Mr. ThrascheWright, are two very important men. A military big-wig, and a, um, and a, ah, priest. Yeah, that’s it, and a priest.”

“Oh! The Mademoiselle DeeDee likes zee man in zee uniform! Oui! But I think the priest, he eez not so much fun? No?”

We ‘ladies’ are escorted upstairs. The distinctive crack of one billiard ball striking another can be distinguished at a distance, before loud, angry male voices can be heard.

Howard C. Goodwinkle hesitates at the door. There is a heated argument within, and he is loath to interrupt his superiors.

Our DeeDee sweeps past Howard C. GoodWinkle, and throws open the doors.

“Bonjour! Party time! The girls are here, oui! Where eez my Birthday Boy? Is it schoo, my magnificent, and gargantuan, Man of Industry? Oh! You are so beeg! So much for DeeDee to love! And, oh! A soldier! Zee uniform! It makes DeeDee zee romantic girl! I tell you, too! Oui! And who is this? A priest? If you are a Man of the cloth, then why do you wear the leather frock? Maybe you have some dark and wonderful fetish? No? You want to tell DeeDee, yes? Oui! Girls! Come join zee party! Persephone, why don’t you loosen Monsieur Thraschy Wrighty’s tie, oui? Abigail, I know you just love zee man in zee uniform too, oui, oui!

“What is this? Who are these girls?” hisses the leather frock priest, Lord Bar’Bazaul, “Did you plan this, ThrascheWright? Is this just another checkmark in today’s list of your failures and incompetences?”

“Oh! Well. Burbityburb. Let’s not be hasty, what, what, spoils of war and all that, don’t you know. Burbityburb. Right.”

“You see! Zee Commodore, he agrees with DeeDee! Too!

“That’s Field Marshall,” the diminutive military man burbles from beneath the massive moustachio that any walrus would give his left rear flipper to own.

“Of course, my Admiral, too!”

“We were in the middle of something!” fumes the angry Lord Bar’Bazaul. His heated anger threatens to melt his eyebrow wax and wilt his lip whiskers.

“Er, well, I think we can continue. These silly girls won’t comprehend what we’re talking about.”

“That eez, unless you talk about zee party, oui! Eezn’t zat right, girls?”

“Oh. Oh I see. It’s my turn, then is it? Rather, I say, that is, perhaps I should say, party, party! Hear, hear, as it were.”

“Oh! Oui! You are zee wild one I think for sure, Persephone! A tiger, no? Persephone eez zee wild animal, Mr ThrascheWright. I hope she does not give you a beeg bite! Hee hee! Oui!”

Miss GoldenBear joins the Field Marshall.

“This is more like it.” says a voice from deep behind the gray nose bush and eyebrow shrubbery. “Sit down, young lady.”

“I am sitting down,” replies Miss GoldenBear.

“Yes. Harumph. Back to what you were going on about, Thrashgummy.”

“Yes, Field Marshall. As concerns the ‘accident’ from earlier, there’s no evidence to suggest it was anything but an accident. Before you go sending in any bad reports on me, just remember that the only witness to tonight’s activities was conveniently kil... disposed of, by none other than Lord Bar'Bazaul himself. If you want to send in a negative report, go ahead, just make sure you place the blame appropriately.”

“You worm! I stand ready to make the world grovel, and you would threaten me?”

“The world may grovel before you, Lord Bar’Bazaul, but not Millicent Pernicious ThrascheWri-ulllgh!”

The leather-robed sorcerer moves with remarkable quickness, snatching the arms executive by the windpipe.

“Do not threaten that which stands ready to devour you!”

“Burbityburb! Gentlemen, please!” from the voice of reason, deep within the recesses of the Field Marshall’s over-sized uniform. “I realize the factory was a complete loss, but did any of the germsss... er, bug bombs survive?”

“Only what was shipped to Europe last week, and the wagon that barely survived tonight’s accident. It is headed for Winniedepuh, then Kuetinpeenk, and that one wagon has enough bad news on it to give every fleet surrounding the Pacific an ample sample.”

“What about my mechanized armies? Once all the old-fashioned, human troops are replaced with units that know how to take orders, we’ll really get things done. Harumph.”

“All units are scheduled for on time delivery, General. Oops. I mean Field Marshal.”

Millicent Pernicious ThrascheWright’s jowly face gains a trace of firmness. “I guess things are in your hands now, at your double secret, ‘Location X’, Lord Bar’Bazaul.”

In another building, on the sprawling, fortress factory grounds, a bell is ringing.

Ding!-Ding!-Ding!-Ding!-Ding!-Ding!-Ding!-Ding!

“What is that infernal ringing? Is that some sort of summons to general quarters? Is this facility under attack? Burbityburb.”

“Just a drill, Colonel. I mean, Field Marshal. Gotta keep the boys on their toes, what, what.”

“I should think a clockwork soldier would not need to be drilled in staying on his toes, Mr. ThrascheWright. Harumph!”

“Hisss!” Hisses Lord Bar’Bazaul. “Field Marshal! This might be just the time to spring a surprise inspection on ‘Location X’. If you would be so kind as to accompany me,” he holds a door open for the Field Marshall.

“Oh! Merci Beaucoup! Ladies! Let’s not dally! Too!”

With supreme effort, I help Millicent Pernicious ThrascheWright to his over-burdened feet. I just manage to slip out of reach as the executive looks for more assistance.

“All right my little battle booty, you’re coming with me.” says the Field Marshal, grabbing Miss GoldenBear by the wrist and pulling her along after. He very nearly yanks himself off his feet and onto his bony butt.

“Oh, yeah.”

Abigail remembers to be coquettish, even managing to prance a bit as she is dragged off, the spoils of war.