For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) (20 page)

“And what has you in such deep and foreboding contemplations, Icky?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Clarabelle, Ma’am. I was just thinking of how soldier-like we have become during our campaign. My normally happy friends all looked so glum and grim sitting in this rain dripping little tent. Of course, you have done a terrific job of breaking up that moodiness, Miss Nightingale, Ma’am.”

“Can’t abide gloominess, Icky. We will not put up with such an awful state within a visual proximity of the WickeThimble Traveling Players. I think there’s something about that in our charter, isn’t there, Valuria?”

“Ha, ha, well, if not, we might see to adding what phrases are necessary, Clarabelle. Oh, but Ichabod, surely you could not envision me as a hardened combat soldier?”

“Not at this time, since you have woken back up to your normal perky and positive persona, Miss Englehart, Ma’am, but a moment ago, you might have passed for a Roman Centurion after a hard day’s work.”

“Ho, ho! I certainly cannot see myself as such a rough and grim character, Ichabod. This would be a role beyond my meager acting abilities.”

“Ha, ha,
acting;
a splendid idea! I insist on playing Caesar! Friends, Romans, Martianmen, lend me your three ears.”

“Yes! However, I absolutely refuse to play a dirty old soldier. I prefer to play with them. I should very much like to play Helen of Troy, I think.”

“Ha, ha, ha! Oh, yes, how wonderful! Of course, I shall make your costumes. Ha, ha,
Oh!”

“I say, Miss Englehart? You have stopped in mid-laugh, my dear.”

“Hey there, Miss Valuria, Ma’am, you sure do got a faraway look.”

“Uh, oh, Sir Paul. She’s got the look. Her eyes have grown as large as saucers.”

“Oh!”

“Look, Miss Plumtartt! Miss Valuria’s eyes are rolling back and forth madly. She nods her head and appears to be getting herself worked up into quite a state. Is she having some sort of fit?”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!
Yes! I think I can do it!”

“Verily, m’lady, in truth I say that I can practically see sparks leaping from your eyeballs with unrestrained ingenuity. What is it that brings out the devil in one as angelic such as you?”

“I can do it!”

“I say, do what, Valuria, my dear?”

“I can make it!”

“Oh, I guess I can play along on this game, then. Make what, Valuria?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you had all realized at the same time I did what the answer to our problems is.”

“Gosh, Miss Valuria, you got the look of a content, but sparkly, little owl, but I’ll bite. What is the answer to all our problems, Miss Englehart?”

Valuria looks around at us all excitedly before answering. With a big gulp of air she manages to happily proclaim our salvation.

“A horse!”

She eagerly nods her head expectantly.

“Er, we’re not nearly as thrilled as you are with this little answer, Valuria.”

“A horse!”

“A horse, Ma’am?”

“A
Trojan
Horse!”

...   ? ? ?   ...

“What is your plan, Valuria?”

“The plan is the same as it has been all along. We need to get our Ichabod aboard one of those craft so that he can use it to wreak havoc on our enemies. I think I might have come up with a way to accomplish that mission. I think we can use the Achaeans’ method. We sneak him aboard right under their three-nostriled noses.

“What sort of horse did you have in mind, Ma’am?”

“You shall sneak aboard one of their ships dressed as a Martian!”

“Tee, hee! That’s funny, Ma’am! Ha, ha!”

“Ho, ho! How amusing! Yes, quite, rather, I say.”

“Um, Miss Plumtartt? I notice that Clarabelle and Sir Paul are not laughing.”

“Aye, she has the skill.”

“Ho, ho, that is a merry distraction but it is quite impossible to create a costume that could fool a real Martian up close. Eh hem, er, isn’t it?”

Clarabelle is now the one to appear very grim.

“She has the skill.”

“Y’all can’t be serious. It could never work!”

Clarabelle wears an unsure expression. A worried look has found its way onto her carefree features.

“You don’t know our Valuria. Once an idea takes a hold, it is difficult to stop. Instigating the process of ‘Production’ with Valuria locks in a series of mental train switches that cannot be derailed. I think we are too late; we’ve lost her.”

“Gosh, look at her, Miss Plumtartt. Valuria is in another world. Her eyes flash, as they look into the distance of her mind here within the tiny tent. Her lips are mumbling figures incoherently. Her nimble fingers already stitch imaginary fabrics in the air before her of their own volition.”

“Ah, come on, y’all, it would take far more than a clever costume to fool this lot! It would take the world’s greatest actor.”

...

The line hangs in the air.

   ...

    “As it happens...”

        -  Sir Paul gives me a dirty look -

              “...he is available.”

“The rain has stopped, but the Martians ain’t hardly come out of their war-machines. Looks like they’re bogged down in the mud up to their walkers’ knees.”

“The flying war-craft made a feeble attempt at getting airbourne, but have long ceased their efforts.”

“I’m glad that you and I got a chance to see them dance in the sunlight, instead of around that crazy campsite of theirs.”

“Yes, the opportunity to study our role models in a better light was of immense assistance.”

“Yessir, this time I watched them with an eye to learning their mannerisms rather than morbid curiosity.”

“Ah, here is Valuria coming to meet us as we make our return.”

“What ho, gentlemen! How did your excursion of scrutinization go?”

“Howdy, Miss Valuria, Ma’am. We sure enough got an eyefull of them otherworldly dancers. We successfully made a stealthy reconnoiter to observe their offbeat routines.”

“Splendid, gentlemen. I am happy to report that I am very happy with my results to date. Now then, I need to make some measurements, gentlemen.”

“Very well, m’lady.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Valuria, Ma’am.”

“When do you think you shall have the costumes ready, Valuria?”

“With luck, tomorrow afternoon. Oh, and by the way, it’s ‘costume’, not ‘costumes’.”

“Burbity-burb! Eh-hem, pardon me. Oh, I say, Valuria, may I ask you to step aside to enjoy a confidential conversation with me please?”

“Of course, Sir Paul. Please do not do yourself an injury with those fervent and meaningful jerks of your head; I’m coming.”

I do not meant to eavesdrop, but I cannot help but overhear Sir Paul’s attempt at whispered communication. Words and phrases, vehemently hissed, come to me, things such as ‘amateur’, ‘untrained’, and ‘not good for the business’. Valuria does not speak, but rather lets Sir Paul vent his frustration. After a minute I hear a belated, ‘very well.’

“Ha, ha! Ichabod, it looks as though you and I shall be working together. Wonderful! Splendid! I
do
so relish the concept of working with, … er, um, fresh! Yes, that’s it, fresh talent such as yourself.”

“Thank you, Sir Paul. It’s a big honor for me, you know.”

“I know. Valuria, am I to understand you correctly that we are to share a suit?”

“Well, of course, Sir Paul. Now Ichabod, hold your legs together while I make this measurement.”

“I don’t understand. I’ve never held my legs together for trouser measurements before, Miss Englehart, Ma’am.”

“This measurement is for a single leg, Ichabod.”

“I still don’t understand, Ma’am.”

“Have you ever seen two people fill out a horse costume, Ichabod? One in front and one in back, right? That is what I have in mind for you and Sir Paul.”

“Ma’am?”

“You, Ichabod, shall operate the third leg and arm.”

“How come I don’t get to be in front?”

“I
knew
it! Amateurs! I
told
you! Allow the concession stand operator on stage with the headlining act and the next thing you know, he wants the lead! I knew it! I told you!”

“I’m sorry, Sir Paul! I’ll drive the caboose, Sir.”

“Very well, it’s not the first time I’ve had to carry some greenhorn hack around the stage on my back. Though, in the past, it has been in a rhetorical sense.”

“There we are, that should just about be right. It will take me awhile to work out the mechanical operations of the eyes and mouth. I think I can give it a lot of really convincing expression! In the meantime, I have finished the legs. Ichabod, here is a prosthetic third arm to practice with until the costume is fully prepared. Getting into this thing might prove tricky. You will need to face each other back to back, so to speak.”

Sir Paul arches a skeptical brow.

“We are expected to walk in this thing while lashed together back to back?”

Miss Englehart arches a single brow in return.

“There is no other way, gentlemen.”

I wish I could do that! I can wiggle my nose in three different ways, but that dang ol’ arched single eyebrow is the most effective facial affectation one could ever hope to master. These actor types! They sure enough take the cake!

“Verily, before entering upon this enterprise, I should like to peruse your technique, Ichabod. Let’s see you ‘hop’, please. Ew. No, you must do it with your knees tucked together, boy. Right, right. No, it’s not very dignified, is it? Keep going. That’s getting better, I suppose. All right, that’s enough. You may stop hopping, now. Hmm. We shall attempt a rhythm. A three count, if you please. One, two, … Ichabod. That was your cue. Let’s try it again, shall we? One, two, ... Again, Ichabod, you missed your cue. It’s a matter of timing. You must be synchronous with me. One, two, ...That’s too slow, Ichabod. Again! One, two, ... almost! Once more! One! Two! Hop! Yes! Again! Hop! One! Two! Hop! That’s! It! Hop! Good! Boy! Hop! One! Two! Hop! One! Two! Hop! Keep! Going! Hop! Head! Up! Hop! Ba-! Lance! Hop! Pre-! Sense! Hop! Knees! Together! Hop! Head! Up! Hop! One! Two! Hop! Now! Slower! Hop. .  One. . Two. . Hop. . One. . Two. . Hop. . One. . Two. . Hop. . And. . You. . Hop. . May. . Rest. Yes, perhaps there is just a grain of hope in this wayward lamb. Maybe if I had more time to prepare this inexperienced would-be actor. However, I suppose we are not afforded such luxuries at this time.”

“Please, Sir Paul, I’ll do my best, honest.”

“Hah! Blast it! I’m a sporting man. Let’s give it a go! I’ll get in first. There we are, now you, Ichabod.”

“Yessir. Um, I think we need to link arms, so I can raise my legs and put them in the single leg.”

“Hm. Very well.”

“Okay, I’m in, Sir Paul. Let’s pull the suspenders up.”

“Not a bad fit! Now make sure all the straps are firmly secured!”

“Yessir!”

“Now we must assume a deep, wide stance. With our knees at an unusual angle, we come out as an even tripod. I understand now why we must be back to back, as that allows us to bend our knees in the appropriate manner.”

“Yessir.”

“I am forced to perform in a permanent eighteen inch bent stance, to assume the correct height of our character. Fortunately, I am able to lean back on you to relieve the strain.”

“Oogh, yessir.”

“Can we start with something simple, Sir Paul? How about we just try walking, at first.”

“Right, Ichabod. Just follow my lead. Left, ...”

“You said, ‘right.’”

“Curse you! Left!”

“Right!”

“No! I step left!”

“Right!”

“No! I step left and right and then you follow rear, right?”

“Left! I mean, rear! I mean, yessir!”

“Right, Now! Begin! Left! Right! ...”

“Rear! Ooof! Hey! Which way are we going?”

“Blast you, you damnable amateur! I am leading! Now, follow my lead!”

“Yessir!”

“And. Left, right,”

“Rear!”

“Good. And.”

“Rear!”

“That’s. It.”

“Rear!”

“Two. Three.”

“Rear!”

“Don’t. Shout.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s. Okay.”

“Thanks.”

“Now. Then.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s. Turn”

“‘Kay.”

“Left. Turn.”

“Whose?”

“Blast! It!”

“Hunh?”

“I’m! Leading!”

“Right!”

“No! Me!”

“Yes!”

“Left! Turn.”

“Right.”

“I’M! LEADING!”

“sorry.”

“FOLLOW! ME!”

“stop.”

“WHAT? WHAT?”

“shouting.”

“I’M! NAUGHTTE!”

“what?”

“SHOU-! TING!”

“eep.”

“Straight. Ahead.”

“Rear.”

“That’s. It.”

“Thanks.”

“Right. Turn.”

“Engage!”

“Yes! Good!”

“Thanks.”

“Stop. Now.”

“Aye!”

“Wonderful, gentlemen! You do seem to be getting the hang of it, I think.”

“Thanks, Miss Valuria!”

“Now, before you try your hand at the dance choreography, I suggest you give the arm movements a try. As the third arm is attached to the top of our model’s head, Ichabod, you shall need to operate the prosthetic with your left arm extended directly up and over your own head.”

“Shouldn’t I be operating it with my right, since I am right handed?”

“No, you will need the coordination of your right hand to control the facial features of our impostor.”

“But, I’ll be facing the wrong way!”

“A mirror will be provided so that you may enjoy a forward view over Sir Paul’s left shoulder.”

“Oh.”

“So, a simple clapping routine, then, eh, gentlemen? I believe one of the techniques employed by the creatures is to hold one of two pairs of hands together to form a surface for the third hand to clap against.”

“Okay, I’m holding the complicated prosthetic arm straight, up. I can tell that this is going to get uncomfortable very fast. Almost as fast as having to hop around backwards with my legs bound together.”

“Slip your fingers and thumb through the ringlets of control, Ichabod. You should be able to work out the mechanics of having two elbows and three fingers. I mean, two fingers and a thumb.”

“Ready, Sir Paul?”

“Ready, Ichabod!”

“I’m following your lead, sir.”

“Of course, you are!”

“Yessir! Sorry! What I meant was, ...”

“Silence, boy.”

“        ”

“Good. Now, then. I shall clap twice, and will then present my hands held together for the donation of your manual contribution.”

“        ”

“Ichabod?”

“        ”

“You may speak, now.”

“Yessir. Ready, sir.”

“Good. I shall now begin.”

Clap. Clap.

Clap.

“Very good, Ichabod. That was perfect timing. However, the target of impact should, in fact, be my hands,
AND NAUGHTTE MY BEAUTIFUL FACE!!!”

“Eek! Yessir! Sorry, Sir Paul!”

“Rrrrr....”

“Gulp!”

“Very well. Let us proceed with caution.”

Clap. Clap.

Clap.

“Perfect, Ichabod. So, let’s keep the rhythm going.”

Clap. Clap.

Clap.

etc.

“It. Was. My. Ob. Ser. Va. Tion. Sir. Paul. That. It. Was. Not. Al. Ways. The. Top. Hand. That. Would. Coun. Ter. The. Bot. Tom. Two. In. Fact. They. Would. Ro. Tate. Their. Or. Der. In. Such. A. Way. That. The. Coun. Ter. Ing. Sin. Gle. Hand. Would. Move. In. A. Se. Quen. Tial. Fi. R. Ing. Or. Der. In. A Coun. Ter. Clock. Wise. Mo. Tion.”

“In. Deed. Ich. A. Bod. The. Pat. Tern. Did. Seem. To. Move. In. A. Pe. Cu. Liar. Man. Ner. The. Ac. Tion. Would. Be. To. Fol. Low. Thus. Ly. As. One. Would. En. Dea. Vor. To. Clap. The. Left. Part. Ner. Twice. And. Then. Com. Bine. With. That. Same. Hand. To. Pre. Sent. A. Com. Bin. Ed. Sur. Face. For. The. Hand. On. The. Left. Al. Low. Ing. A Sin. Gle. Clap. From. The. Fel. Low. On. The. Right. Then. Twice. With. The. Limb. On. The. Right. And. Once. Com. Bin. Ed. With. That. Hand. To. Clap. The. Chap. On. The. Left. At. This. Junc. Ture. We. Shall. Be. Gin. A. Gain. Ha. Ving. Cir. Cum. Na. Vi. Ga. Ted. Our. Lit. Tle. Cir. Cle.”

“Right!”

“Blast! It! Ich! A! Bod! I! AM! LEAD! ING!”

“Sor! Ry!”

“Be. Gin. Ning. Ro. Ta. Tion. Now!”

Our rhythm holds as the pattern of movement enters our choreography. Once we get the hang of that, we change the direction of our rotation. Soon, we can change directions and speed or slow our pattern as desired.

“My word, gentlemen! We are thrilled at your progress.”
~batt, batt, batt~

“Golly, thanks, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. All of the hard work is repaid with that smile.”

“How sweet, Mr. Temperance, but for the nonce, Miss Nightingale and I would like to assist you in your dexterous escapades.”

“Oh, with what joy do I revisit my fond memories of childhood with this charming exercise so reminiscent of my happy youth.” Clarabelle trills in her magical way. She cannot resist a few bouncy toe flutterings. Surrounding troopers are an appreciative audience. Miss Nightingale is able to project her beams of irrepressible good humor to encompass these young men whom she has come to call, ‘her lads’. “I shall portray Sir Paul’s role in this routine, and Persephone shall perform Ichabod’s. We shall think of it as the old game of ‘Patty-Cake’. Persephone and I shall now perform it in the traditional manner.”