A Study in Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 4)

by Ichabod Temperance

  “A violent little thunderstorm blew up out o’ nowhere and attacked the museum. That was soon after the other accident. There seems to be a bit of excitement all about the city tonoight, suh. Kind of a coincidence that they should both ‘appen so’s close to’s one uhnuvvuh.”

  I am not one to go in for coincidence.

  “Yes, Lukey. One might say that it is a funny little co-winky-dink, as it were. So, I think I am relatively up to speed as concerns the museum; can you tell me more of the other incident?”

  “Oh, yes, suh. There was a gang of quinty-quinty tufters gone an’ started a stampede on ‘aih ’olburn tonoight. A band of pirates commandeered a carriage and led a sprung up ‘orse on a cobbie-cracker. The dreadnoughts wracked half the flower carts on New Oxfuhd.”

  “Pirates you say, Lukey?”

  “Yes, suh! You can asks me mates. ‘ey, lads. Come over ‘ere an’ tell dis gennleman wha’ ye seen on New Oxfuhd tonoight. It was a bloodthusty band of pirates, roight Morey?”

  Morey Arty wipes his nose and shakes his head. “Naw, Lukey, it was a tribe of ‘a’-patchee Norffe Amerwican Injuns, wudn’t it, Augie?”

  Augie MillChuck screws his face up in concerted concentration. “No, no, fellas, ’twas deadly dervishes from distant desert digges, ain’t dat roight, Tommy Tonguh?”

  “Skooblat-bluogh-blah. That is, Oi thoughts dey wuz Auwiental see-kwet assassins.”

  “That is a rather varied description, boys. You say this dangerous swarm came up New Oxford from High Holbern, eh? What happened when they hit the subway construction?”

  “Dey kwashed.”

  “Indeed, come along boys, show me what ‘appened, er, happened.”

  My quartet of street scamps escorts me to the place where indeed there has been some sort of transportational disaster. Fresh scrapes gouged into the street mark where the clockwork horse slid at an outrageous speed before plunging into the ditch to its explosive demise. Signs of a crashed carriage are in a berm of upheaved soil from the ditch. The entire area is littered with remnants of the exploded clockwork device of considerable size, corroborating the boys’ tale.

  “Was it another pirate/indian/poonjabi/ninja upon the mechanical horse?”

  “Oh, ‘e were’nt near as interestin’ as de udders. Oi didn’t even notice ‘im too much. Anybody else?”

  Negative headshakes indicate that the horse rider was of no consequence.

  “‘ey! Wait a minute. Didn’t Toiney snag ‘is ‘at when the fellow fwew into de ditch?”

  “No! It was me wot snagged ‘is duhby,” wails Morey. “Toiney tooked it from me.”

  “His hat you say. Well boys, I just might be interested in that hat.”

  “Wud dere be a wewahd involved in its wecovuhwee?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  “Roight! Spwead out boys. Foind Toiney Thames!”

  In a short few minutes my confederates produce their lucky scavenger. Tiny reveals himself to be a rotund young man in a battered black derby.

  “It’s moi hat! Oi stoles it from Morey Arty fair and square!”

  “Of course you did, my new chum. I shall be happy to recompense you handsomely for the sale of your chapeau. I’ll give you a half guinea for it right now if it is truly from the nondescript jockey of the mishap.”

  “Oh, it is all right, mistuh. It flew off his head just as the horsie slid into the ditch, honest.”

  My skill at reading the tell tale signs of deception tell me that this grubby early teen is indeed being truthful.

  “Then here you are, Tiny. And a shilling each for the rest of you for your invaluable assistance. Please allow me to call upon you again in the future.”

  “Oh, thank you, suh. God bwess!”

  The filthy but happy street urchins scamper away, eager to spend their unexpected loot. That money was difficult to come by, but I am hoping that its purchase will save me from a stupefying evening and point me to more interesting environs for my gray cells to graze.

  Lukey and his cohorts have proven themselves useful where the official force has not. Perhaps I shall come up with an endearing phrase with which to refer to my own unofficial and irregular branch of London’s Police auxiliary.

  I carry my prize into the light for a better perusal.

  The only possessions of a man more telling of his personality, traits, and personal habits than his hat are his watch and footwear. This hat already has many striking details that transfer great information of its true owner. The style is one which was en vogue a few years back. As this hat was sold as new well since that time it puts me in mind of those scandalous shops of our city that prey upon the unwary tourista, conniving to get a top dollar rate on post fashionable styles from an innocent and naïve visitor. This is normally incurred on the great many unwashed and nouveau riche of our American cousins. The hat size is indicative of a man of moderate intelligence. This hat has received many wounds, yet still the owner clings to it. Though it is of a fine quality, the repairs outstrip the cost of a new hat. This obviously has a strong personal sentiment attached to it. I detect the scents of a hair pomade. I suspect that the frugal sensibilities of the wearer do not match the product. My deduction is that there is a feminine influence upon this male wearer. If I am correct in identifying the hair product, then my hypothesis leads me to think that this is a British female of olde money. There is evidence of a type of burn on the bowler I do not know. Its scent is totally alien to me. Here is a tiny repair done on one section of the hat that predates the scorching. Incredibly, the repair has been done in the Tibetan manner of sewing and with Llama hair thread! Another sign of abuse, if I am correct, would show that this derby has spent time in such high atmospheres of low pressures that this environment has acted to warp the hat’s brim. Another scorching is again of a burn unidentifiable to me! I have made an extensive study of this sort and it is incredible that I am unable to properly identify the source of the burns and incendiaries that would have produced these wounds. Time and time again, this fellow has retrieved his hat after many bizarre ordeals. What sort of beast am I dealing with? Moreover, where am I to locate this lead on tonight’s adventures?

  My first inclination is to check the hotels frequented by the more frugal American visitor to our shores, but when I couple the hat to the pomade, I reconsider. The English woman I think would want to board at more luxurious apartments.

  The hat’s owner thought enough of the covering to obligingly have his name embossed upon the lining. With this final piece of information I decide to begin my inquires in the vicinity of Westminster and St. James. I am at my third hotel lobby desk asking if this gentleman is in residence when the clerk of the Queen’s Hotel happily replies in the affirmative, and with a joyful expression of surprise, he points to the doors and announces, “Why, there he is now, sir.”

  I turn to see a most bedraggled couple. The woman’s bright pastel yellow dress is soiled, creased, and bears the marks of much mishandling. They stagger into the lobby’s opulent luxury, the woman holding to the hatless chap for support. The female is striking in her beauty. So much so that it is a little hard to understand why she is in the company of the homely little fellow with her. The fellow is at least as dirty if not more so than the female, but due to the nature of contrast, the filth shows more on her. I recognize that dirt from the subway excavation. I have no doubt that the intended targets are within my grasp.

  I walk straight to them both and introduce myself, adding:

  “Mr. Ichabod Temperance, I presume.”

  Chapter Three.

  The Problem of

  the Plastered Bust.

  I am still a bit dizzy as Mr. Temperance helps to guide me through the doors of the Queen’s Hotel. The chloroform my abductors used has left me in possession of a temple-crushing headache. In combination with my energy blast expenditure, I feel myself to be in a drained and listless state. After this evening’s adventures, I wish for nothing more than to be able to collapse into bed to rejuvenate m
y depleted reserves. Perhaps I shall wake to find this has all been some midsummer’s nightmare.

  We have only just entered the lobby, when we are swiftly approached by a tall, thin young man with a high, wide, and protruding forehead. His keen observance and focus of attention are singularly intense. He holds a familiar item before him as he introduces himself and speaks my friend’s name.

  “Hey mister, you got my hat!” Mr. Temperance happily ejaculates with joy and surprise. “Dang, that sure is swell!” he continues to gush. “Thanks a lot!”

  “Since you already know my friend’s name, then allow me to introduce myself. My name is Persephone Plumtartt. May I ask how you come to be in possession of Mr. Temperance’s hat?”

  “I purchased it from a young fellow that had found it in the street. From the details I read in its wear, tear and general features, I was able to deduce where its owner might be renting rooms. The amazing conditions under which the hat was lost intrigue me. If I may be so bold, if you are in a difficult position, I pride myself in the untangling of thorny-natured dilemmas. I suggest that you share your adventuresome circumstances with me as I suspect that I may be able to be of the greatest service to you.”

  “I gotta pretty good feeling about this gentleman, Miss Plumtartt. That was a mighty neighborly thing to return me my hat, and a clever thing as well. Maybe we can trust him to help us.”

  “Indeed, there is something about the fierce intelligence that so clearly emanates from this intent, though scholarly, and vivacious fellow. Mr. Temperance, you often speak of trusting to your gut instincts. At this time, I am very clear on what you mean by this sentiment as I too have an intuition of wanting to trust in this man’s support. Very well, I shall lay our story before this stranger in the hopes that we are gaining a valuable ally.”

  “You honour me, Madame.”

  “I was abducted earlier this evening by a gang of ruffians that used an anesthetic to ease their labors in that regard. The procurement happened outside the Royal Baboon on upper High Holbern. My detailed knowledge fails me at this point owing to my deprivation of consciousness. As I am still in the recovery mode from the ordeal, perhaps my companion will assist us. Mr. Temperance, would you like to fill in the details for our curious new friend?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. You see, what happened was, a gang of middle eastern pirate Indians in sneaky pajama boots, if they didn’t have those wader style buccaneer footwear, up and snatched Miss Plumtartt from right in front of the Baboon just as pretty as you please. I was forced to borry a tin horse to stay after ‘em. We came to a sudden stop at that boll weevil train ditch. It didn’t take long to track where these rowdies had ‘em a hidey-hole dug in the side of the tunnel. It musta run on about two hundred feet due East before it stopped and took a turn straight up. I tell you what, I sure ‘nough felt like a prairie dog sticking my head up out of that museum floor like a gopher. I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently that’s where we was. It didn’t take long to find and free Miss Plumtartt from a gang of eight people altogether. I think it was seven men and one woman.”

  “Describe them, Temperance. Give me detailed data upon which to feed.”

  “Yessir, I’ll try. The five thugs that made off with Miss Plumtartt originally were all dressed as Auriental secret assassins from Arabia by way of the Cherokee Nation on a pirate ship. The other three were waiting at the museum for the first group, I think. I didn’t get a good look at any of them except that I think the two men might have been kinda tall, and the last I am pretty sure was female. They were wearing big hooded cloaks that hid their appearances completely and the acoustics of the museum distorted their voices.”

  “This is an eclectic group without doubt. The city grows with more Bohemian fetishes every day, but I must admit your friends do have an interesting flair for fashion, Temperance.”

  “There’s no accounting for taste, sir, but now that I think about it, I wonder if those weren’t their real clothes. Maybe they were trying to throw us off the track of discovering their true identities by wearing a clever disguise.”

  “I had considered that possibility,” our consultant concurs bemusedly.

  Mr. Temperance waggles his eyebrows at me in a show of pride at having received agreement with this clever man in his assessment of the kidnappers’ attire.

  “I understand that there was some sort of lightning show?” asks the data devouring deducer.

  “Yessir, that came right after their diabolical plan involving Miss Plumtartt fizzled. When that didn’t work out, the Priestess magically brought an ancient stone crocodile to life and sicked it on us. Miss Plumtartt flashed her shiny red orbs at the monster and he heaved to. If you don’t believe us, check out that library back there. There’s ’sploded gator meat all over that learned institution.”

  “At this juncture I shall accept your outrageous account as true. Please continue. How did you effect your escape from the locked museum?”

  “Well, after we offed the giant crocodile, I could tell Miss Plumtartt was gettin’ tired. We just went ahead and ducked back out the way we came in so as to give Miss Plumtartt a break from police interrogation.”

  “I see, then you are unable to continue the pursuit tonight?” our eager detective asks.

  “Heck, I sure would like to get them boys off the streets, and it’s best to stay on a trail while it’s still fresh, but of course, it’s up to Miss Plumtartt, whether or not she wants to mount a midnight manhunt in this majestic metropolis.”

  “In truth, anger rejuvenates my spiritual power cells. I am not happy about being kidnapped. If there is a chance that we can catch the miscreants that are capable of such a dastardly deed, then I say lead on.”

  “Capital, Madame!”

  “Attagirl, Miss Plumtartt! I’d rather bring this nefarious gang to heel than eat my weight in chocolate.”

  “Let us make haste as I am eager for a hunt and it is imperative that we begin at once.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am!”

  “I do have one request though, gentlemen, if I may? As I did not leave the hotel with a thought to scrambling through hastily dug tunnels, the footwear that I chose is rather lightweight. As we just checked in today, I dropped off my favorite riding boots to be polished. They should be directly at hand.”

  “Of course, Madame.”

  “Yoo, hoo, oh, bellboy? Please retrieve my riding boots and do hurry, as we are in a decided hurry.”

  “Yes, mum!”

  The lad flies away on his errand. Moments later, I see him reappear to pass a message to his superior. This message I visually track through the rising chain of hospitality in a wave of negative head pans until at last, the head clerk himself brings the bad news.

  “Miss Plumtartt, I am very embarrassed to inform you that one of your boots is missing. I do not know how such a thing could have happened. This hotel prides itself in the security of our guests’ items. Our search continues, but as it is, only one boot remains where there should be two.”

  “I say, that is disappointing, yes, quite, rather.”

  “Hmmm, it could be very telling, too.” Our new friend the sleuth pulls his brows together in concerned thought at this news.

  “Does that mean we oughtta be on the lookout for a one-legged lady horserider, y’all?”

  “Perhaps, Mr. Temperance. C’est la vie. I shall endure with the shoes I have, gentlemen. Let us be on our way. The trail grows cold. Now that we are on our way, maybe our privately hired investigator could offer a little background information on himself, eh hem?”

  “I exist to explain the inexplicable. Give me problems, mysteries and conundrums. This is the spice of life; that which stimulates the little gray cells. I discovered at an early age my powers of observation were beyond the ordinary. My older brother was obsessed in this regard and saw to it that I was as well. Artists run in my family and I seek to hone my skills in the same manner as an artist in any other field. Instead of pain
t, music, dance or sculpture, my artistic endeavors lie in reasoning and scientific deduction.”

  “Kinda like how you were able to return my hat to me!”

  “Precisely, old man.”

  I receive another prideful eyebrow waggle from Mr. Temperance.

  Before we quite arrive at the subway ditch of misfortune, our detective friend that we are consulting has our driver stop the coach. The last thirty yards Mr. Temperance and I follow along slowly behind this inquisitive fellow as he makes a brief examination of the grounds. After achieving a certain amount of satisfaction, the gentleman offers us a terse explanation.

  “I approached this ditch from the other side previously. The upheaval of dirt offered a number of two-toed footprints that corroborate your story in that regard. There are also many witnesses that saw the abductors and their strange garb. This side of the ditch is vacant of soft two-toed, or heavy soled buccaneer boots. My time at this position must have been before you exited the tunnel, and on this side of the ditch. The conclusion is that our party of eight, and their burden of stone, did not in fact exit from here but must have ventured further North. Come, I know where the next broken street is that they are sure to have exited.”

  “Our carriage has carried us to the next site of subway line construction, counselor/investigator.”

  “Thank you, Temperance. Hah, it did not take long to rediscover their trail, eh, for here are the devils’ hoofed, split-toe footprints, along with multiple pairs of thick soled buccaneer boots and several sets of sandaled feet.”

  “Gentlemen, if I may direct your attention, I could not help but overhear those cabbies mention something along the lines of an unlikely pirate sighting. Oh, I say, yoo, hoo, you two cabmen. Might I have a word with you, eh hem?”

  “Yes, Madam, how may we help?”

  “I apologize for eavesdropping, but would you share your story with myself and my friends, please?”