For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) (16 page)

What’s more, I have failed before my one true love, Miss Persephone Plumtartt. I was forced to run from her at the same time as she was under attack herself.

She could be dead, right now.

Or worse, fare for the Martian appetites.

Earlier, Sir Paul asked what sort of man I was.

At this juncture, I do not feel good about answering that question.

It is with supreme weariness that I drag myself ashore the opposite bank of my adversaries. The sensation of being desired to be eaten has shaken me. By now, my disappointed diners have given up their ravenous pursuits. I lie on the bank in a miserable state for some time. I finally stand to wipe, wring, and shake the river’s water from my sogged body. I have never experienced such weariness. Not just of body, but of spirit. I stumble from this side of the Eastern Potomac tributary in search of shelter. The suck and squirt of my squelching boots are lonely and dismal companions.

This side of the District’s area did not receive much damage. Most homes are still intact, but there is a desolate emptiness in the neighborhood. Desperate families have abandoned their precious homes before this unstoppable invasion force. I can imagine the empty houses’ windows  forming faces. They stare at me accusingly for not having defeated our enemies.

Hey, that one nice brick home shows the reflected flicker of firelight, just barely visible from a back room.

I’ll go to the door and knock.

~knock, knock~

Gosh, nobody is responding. The door handle is locked. I’ll knock again.

~knock, knock~

Hunh, ain’t nobody answering me. I reckon since the reflected light would presumably be originating from the kitchen, I’ll go around to the back of the house.

‘Knock, knock’ say my knuckles to the kitchen doorframe.

My knuckles get no response.

“Hello, anybody home?” I ask, entering the back door.

I am welcomed by the gaping maw of a cannon.

I am mesmerized by its extraordinary width and depth.

“I am human,” I reassure the steel tube, “I come in peace.”

My eyesight spirals, following the lands and grooves of the barrel down it’s circular corridor.

I am transfixed upon the tube for several eternal seconds.

Finally the large caliber pistol is withdrawn to an upward facing position of restful readiness upon its owner’s shoulder. When not seen from less than an inch away, the handgun resumes its normal and appropriate dimensions.

“Of course, dear boy, you must be one of those fools, er, that is, one of those brave defenders of our fair and noble city.”

“You had it right the first time, sir, I’m one of the fools. Um, excuse me, sir? I am about to fall out, may I please sit down?”

“Dear me, but you certainly may. By all means, young man, please sit down.”

I slump into a wooden chair. It feels like the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in. I cannot remember the last time I sat.

The gentleman, for he is obviously of a different stratum of people than me, now considers the poor form of continuing to hold a firearm upon his fellow man.

“Oh, you know how it is, you can’t be too careful.”

“Nossir.”

The weapon is awkwardly tucked into his vest.

“You wouldn’t be able to spare a bite to eat would you, sir?”

“Why dear me, where are my manners, of course young man, I am sure I have something here for you.”

My reluctant host is taller than me by an inch or two, though he still falls short of the six foot mark.  He easily tips the scale at over three hundred pounds, but where my friend Sir Paul approaches this scale-bending milestone with the chiseled physique of a Roman God, this squashy man easily gets there and far beyond in soft and pudgy form. Carefully oiled and prepared black ringlets of fashionably stylized hair surround the porcine features of his saggy face. Several times he has been distracted by his immaculate manicure to admire its perfection.

I get the impression that he does not normally share a table with the likes of me. Condescension cascades in smothering waves from his white-suited form. I’ll admit, I must appear a bedraggled rat before this well-coiffed fellow.

“Eh, henh, eh henh, er. So-
O-O-O
, did you and your fellows have a tough time of it today?”

His pretense of sincerity is so slick and practiced, it is almost convincing.

“Yessir, today and everyday. I’ve been at odds with these monsters all the way from Alabama.”

My host gets a repugnant look on his mug like he just found a fly in his cereal at the mention of my home state.

“Indeed,” he drolls. He manages to stretch the word out as long as a full-growed water moccasin in the hot sun.

“Yes, sir. My name’s Ichabod Temperance.” After a quick wipe on my pants, I extend my hand.

He looks at the presented appendage. After a short time to ponder his options, he finally, limply, shakes my hand with the light touch of a thumb and two fingers. I think he might be concerned that some of my uncouth Alabama characteristics will somehow contaminate him like a case of the cooties.

“And you have the privilege of meeting Senator Beauregard Schiester Deipauckette’s very own personal secretary, Leechton Munitrough III.” Arching one eyebrow in an ever increasing trajectory, his wide lips come together to form a tiny bow. “You have heard of me, I’m sure.”

“Nossir, I ain’t never did, sir.”

The noble countenance once again gains the look of having tasted something unpleasantly tart, perhaps.

“The unfortunate circumstances of your background to blame, no doubt.”

“Yessir.”

“You claim to have had some experience with these beings, eh?” I can see the machinations of his furtive mind behind his tiny eyes as he tries to figure out a way to make the most of this meager resource he has found. That meager resource of course would be me. “Tell me, what are they like?”

“Well, sir, they proved themselves to be a bad lot from right off the bat. Every chance they get, they have snatched folks up and gobbled ‘em down and gone lickety split. Ain’t nothing we’ve been able to do to try an’ stop ‘em has worked. I’ve personally witnessed the most heroic displays of courage I could ever hope to see in our precious world’s defense. City after city has done all they could to fight these monsters. Our military has been brave to the point of foolhardiness, but to no avail. Tonight, I was a part of what may have been Mankind’s last chance of resistance.”

A heavy, stone fills my chest.

Up until now, I have been able to maintain my composure, but having to speak the words aloud, does me in.

“We . . . failed.”

Unable to control myself, the wrack of one great sob shakes my body. My bottom lip quivers uncontrollably.

“I failed.”

Another wrack of unbearable misery convulses my weary shell. My sorry, traitorous lights fill to overflowing with sadness and shame.

“I failed my country.”

The breath stealing stone in my chest is now painfully heaving itself up and down. My neck muscles swell and my throat constricts in an effort to contain the rock of remorse.

“I failed my friends, who are, even now, probably slain by the horrors.”

No longer able to show a semblance of dignity, I am choking with the tearful sorrow.

“Have my dear friends been eaten?”

Unable to restrain myself I release my tortured burden.

“I failed Persephone!”

This I wail with my last shred of dignity. The melancholy I carried since making the riverside has now fully consumed me. Wracking sobs heave my wretched body without mercy. It is a long few minutes before I regain my sensibilities.

I dig about my person in a haphazard manner looking for a rag to use as a handkerchief. My eyes are so full of hot, salty tears that it is difficult to locate the rag that is right there in my pocket for me to grasp. I can tell my face is soaking wet with tears and snot. I find the wet and dirty rag, wiping my face, eyes, and blowing my running nose before looking back to Mr. Munitrough.

He has a look of perfect distaste and disgust on his face and in his manner. No one has ever looked upon me in such obvious disdain and discomfort. Mr. Munitrough is being defiled just by being in my wretched presence. I think he wishes I was a cockroach that he could just stamp out of his knowledge.

I cannot blame him. I am disgusted with me too. I wish he would just go ahead and stamp me out of my misery.

“I knew it was going to happen,” Mr. Munitrough speaks to me at a steeply downward slope. “I said so all along. It’s not my fault you people wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Sigh...” he sighs.

“I realized immediately that this was a superior race and that terms would need to be negotiated. To a man of my intellectual preponderousness, it has been obvious all along. All this fighting that you and people like you have done is postpone the inevitable. You have actually weakened our position at the bargaining table.”

“Sigh...” he sighs again.

“But, what’s done is done. We cannot go back and ‘unfight’ all this ridiculous resistance nonsense that our rabble have been up to. No sense in crying over spilled milk, as they say. We must move the proceedings along. The next order of business is to open a method of dialogue, so that the natural order of things may be institutionalized.”

“I’m not sure what that natural order is, sir.”

“Why, isn’t it obvious? Even to someone such as you, I should think that the writing is clearly emblazoned upon the wall for all to see.”

“What’s that, sir? I am unable to read that writing. The unfortunate circumstances of my background, remember?”

“Why, the Martians are the new masters of planet Earth, silly boy. Resistance has proven to be frightfully futile, wouldn’t you say?  The sooner you come to grips with that unalterable fact, the better off you’ll be.”

“But aren’t we obligated to offer some sort of fight for our planet’s sovereignty?”

“Of course, Isaiah.”

“Ichabod.”

“Whatever. You have just now said though, that you have seen with your own eyes, the very best resistance that Mankind has been able to muster, and it has fallen short of the mark. Facts are facts, young man, and the sooner you can get that through the vacant skull that occupies the space above your red neck the better.”

“Yes-” I feel as if I am having to swallow a very big, bitter pill. A large, impassable lump lodges squarely in my throat. Perhaps he is right. These Martian critters have whooped our tail, but good. “-sir.”

“The thing to do now is to schedule a meeting. I believe we shall enjoy a swearing in ceremony of sorts to welcome the new administration. There are a thousand things to which we must attend. Get your rest, Isaac.”

“Ichabod.”

“Whatever. You shall take me to meet the new governors in the morning.”

Despite my complete exhaustion, I do not feel I get much in the way of sleep. Lots of worries trouble my scattered thoughts.

In contrast, the accompanying snores of Mr. Munitrough denote a happy and contented slumber.

---

“Will this here boat work for ya, Mr. Munitrough, sir?”

“Well, it’s better than any of the other boats you have found, I suppose that it will have to suffice.”

“Here you go, I’ll hold her steady as you get in, sir.”

“I shall have to sit here upon this uncushioned bench then, eh?”

“Yessir, but I’ll get you rowed across as fast as I can.”

“As I am this planet’s most illustrious representative, ambassador, and public servant, I should hope you would!”

Yessir!”

“Let me explain how things are going to be. Though these new tenants of our governing halls give the appearance of tyrants, you may just think of them as a fresh branch of government. In some ways, they might actually act to lower the tax burden upon the average citizen. As for their hemo based appetites, that too, may just be seen as a new tax. There is always a certain amount of surplus population. If not from the ranks of our poverty stricken, we could certainly select from condemned prisoners for the feeding of our superiors. I do not foresee any trouble in the adjustment. People will adapt. That, you see, is the strength of our species. It is our intellect. We are smart enough to know how and when to control this planet, and when to relinquish its bountiful resources. Not to worry dear, uh, boy, we shall easily find the right sort of hors’ d’oeuvres for our esteemed guests.”

“Gosh.”

“There is always a place in the bureaucracy of any government for the likes of a man of my caliber, attributes and talents. It might fall upon me to select who shall make the best decisions for Mankind going forward from this day. Why the trick is, you see, to never let a crisis go to waste. To be in the right place, at the right time, you see, that’s the ticket! There is opportunity here for those of keen intellect and the boldness of spirit to seize the initiative when providence sees fit to drop it in our laps. Great Scott, there is no limit to the advancements I could make from this merger! I could end up with an entire continent under my control and supervision! Let’s see, what would we call such a thing? Ha! Of course! My subjects shall dwell within the Munitrough Dynasty! Finally, the proper glorification that I always dreamed of and knew that I so richly deserve! You did well to fall under my protection, Izzy.”

“Ichabod.”