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

by Ichabod Temperance

  The Sydney Kydney

  By Sheila Jigglesworth.

  AUSSIE BUMS IN ASTRAL BARBIE!

  Krikey! A bloomin’ trice o’ asteroidal wombat-driving coddels, bloody well dunglegangered the herdlew. Golleroonging the East end of the continent, West of Collarenebri and Goondiwindi, a roo’s spit from Cunnamulla, smack in the middle of the Queensland Desert. The dingus’s mate ate grit in the redundantly named Great Sandy Desert, near the appropriately named Lake Disappointment. Seems the third craft belly-flopped onto the Gold Coasts ‘Koala Ken’s Golf Resort and Amusement Paradise’. This tourist eyesore is now happily smooshed. The binnlewump bounced three more times across New South Wales before coming to a splashdown in the Great Australian Bight. The water-lubbed iron crustacean waller-peeped to drag itself out of the drink and onto Kangaroo Island off the coast of lovely Adelaide.

  In a ‘Tassie Lassie’ exclusive, I press my ample journo charms upon the tall, blond hunky hero of South Australia to gain this prized and rare interview with highly placed top-secret government official, Secret Agent James Murray, whom I quote as saying, “Zoinks! Oi mean, Krikey! With me Diggers outta Walla Walla on the bing-hop, the Gnarlings quewed the randy sops. Triddie me scuppers! The Canetoad has been on a direct courso for the bathing beauto since the jumpers. ‘Kangaroo Jack’ out there on the island has had his knickers bum-creased since crawling up out of the Bight. Looks like he forgot his cozzles and is apprehensive about taking a dip in the nuddies. Our outback bunyip from the Great Sandy Dee has had a real kugibip of a walkabout. Lots o’ chummy bushmates to kreagle his ‘nadgers, but the bets are that he too is headed for South Australia to hugabouts his Martiamates.”

  The Unconventional Genevan

  By the ‘Scandinavian Scrutinizer,’ Miss Wilhelmina Strongenloin.

  EUROPE’S ARMIES POWERLESS TO STOP ALIEN INVADERS!

  Vith zee impaction of zeez three inter-planetary projectile modules, comes the quickly retaliatizing response. Blast them to sphincklesteens do our mighty forces pharflutin. Alas, our pharflutin eez kaputzik. From their hated craterz duze arize our dreaded foe. From Poland, between Wrocaw, on the Olga River, and the Sudetic Mountain Range, is our first Titan. Just East of the Rhine River, between Dusseldorf and Cologne comes our second unvanted wisitor. The third tranzgressor defiles our tiny but beloved little country of Andorra, sweetly nestled between Spain and France, snug in the bosom of the Pyrenees. This is a wild and uncharted area of the world, and the exact location of zee impacticality is still unknown.

  World renowned adventurer/scientist and notoriously sophisticated Professor Marcus Gilman is quoted. “Zeez Inter-planetary pests are proveenck to be of unuzual tenacity. Nevah zee less, zee greatest minds on zee continent are even now, devizing a method of destroyink our enemies. Or at least, I hope so.”

  ---

  “Is it just me, Mr. Temperance, or do our new-found friends display an inordinate amount of skill and fortitude?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I was rather struck by their amazing talent. Ain’t it lucky for us to be able to combine forces with such formidable allies?”

  “Rather, hear, hear!”

  “The WickeThimble Players are making better time since getting a steam tractor in trade for that old stubborn ass.”

  “Mr. Temperance!”

  “I meant Horatio, Ma’am.”

  “Of course, Mr. Temperance. I say, the stormy weather that had passed through in earlier days has left a clean and bright day of travel in its wake. The clear, crisp, morning air renews my spirits for further adventures, don’t you agree, Mr. Temperance?’ ~batt, batt, batt~

  “uhb, uh, I mean, yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, I feel sure we’re gonna lick these ruffians in the end. What with this gleaming, shiny, and arguably ostentatious, red three-wheeler leading the way, I just know everything is gonna turn out all right.”

  “If I may say, your morale and enthusiasm are contagious, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Thanks, Miss Plumtart. May I confide a suspicion with you?”

  “You may trust in me any way you see fit, sir. Pray tell, what troubles your noble brow?”

  “Well, I strongly suspect that our friends have been influenced by the ‘Revelatory Comet’s’ passing, just as you and I have, Ma’am. Sir Paul is such a bigger than life personality, and he has an uncanny charm about him.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Temperance. You and I are of the same mind on this matter. Of course, that display of vocal prowess that Miss Nightingale shared with us was undoubtedly indicative of a power superhuman that has been wrought in the girl.”

  “What’s more, I believe there is more to this Miss Englehart as well. She hides a cunning intelligence behind her mousy persona.”

  “Indeed, I will bear this in mind for further analysis. I note the wake of destruction we follow has taken us on a Northern turn.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. It looks like the communities are clearing out in advance of the twins of terror.”

  “I must say, I am impressed with the many patriotic citizens we meet along the way. In support of our defiance, we have been fed and lodged along our journeys. Our steam propulsion is continually energized by generous donations of coal.”

  “I thought we had the devils in North Carolina. The city of Charlotte was in the path of the monsters and did all she could to prepare, but the gigantic walkers are able to evade any obstacle. Not only that, but the Martians have adjusted their tactics, too. Standing out of range from Charlotte’s guns, they deploy their metal-melting, fire-inducing purple rays. Once these have been fully utilized, the weapon systems are swapped for the aural cannon. Charlotte was very nearly destroyed, many of her finest structures pummeled into dust before we arrived to help.”

  “Nonetheless, we did arrive to position ourselves so as to allow Clarabelle Nightingale’s incomparable voice to negate the sonic assault and allow the city to renew her vigorous defense. We drove off the attackers, but I believe they are becoming more determined, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, maybe they’re getting hungry.”

  “Eh hem, yes, perhaps you are correct. I must say, though, we maintain a resolute pursuit. Our modern conveyances, combined with traveling on the latest roadways, allow us to maintain the incredible sustained speeds of twenty to twenty-five miles traveled in any given hour of our course, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Temperance?”

  “Yes Ma’am, but our adversaries are able to achieve even greater speeds than ours.”

  “I say, Virginia’s scenic, panoramic mountaintops’ views are marred by the rising smoke of Earthly victims, for fire always precedes us in the monster’s wake of destruction. Sometimes the blazes are raging, sometimes merely smoldering; but always, fire is a constant part of the wanton destruction.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, but ain’t it touching how freely people help us along the way? When folks see our determination to do what we can to defeat these terrible enemies, they often are very generous in supplying food and shelter.”

  “Yet, tonight, in a particularly remote wilderness of Virginia, our little party is forced to make bivouac on the rolling hillside, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, this is a lonesome area, to be sure. Let’s get back to the others.”

  A quiet time of reflection falls over me and my companions.

  A thick silence has crept into our midst.

  Staring into the fire, everyone is lost in their own private reveries.

  “A most serendipitous occurrence it is, our all coming together,” Miss Plumtartt suddenly bursts out, breaking the dark spell with her bright, clear, British tones. “For though we have all been reticent in speaking of such things, I cannot help but feel that we are all hiding little secrets from one another.”

  Everyone perks up at Miss Plumtartt’s unexpected statement. The travelmates cast about at one another in sudden, possible, suspicion.

  “Yes, it is obvious to me that all peoples around this campfire tonight share a secret, common bond!” continues my En
glish girl in her strangely accusatory intonation.

  “Miss Plumtartt!” I start, but she cuts me off in mid-protest.

  “No, Mr. Temperance, I intend to get all things plainly on the table. I suggest that everyone present is an affectee of the ‘Revelatory Comet’s’ passing.”

  Furtive glances flit about the fireside.

  “I suggest we make our way around the campfire, each owning up to his or her own backstory, as it were,” continues the lovely aristocrat, “and I shall start. From my generational home of Plumtartt Manor in Elderberry Pond, Crimpenmestylenshire, I was raised in a world of scientific exploration. My father was the renowned scientist Professor Henry Plumtartt. He was affected by the Comet’s passing as was I. His research, however, took a misguided short-cut in its quest for sustainable fusion-based power. An accident with resulting explosion bathed me in an elemental beam that has given me a certain amount of power over and sensitivity to those things supernatural. Under the right set of circumstances, I have even exhibited the ability to cast red-hued spheres of light that produce catastrophic results for our enemies. Our enemies at this time of Earth’s peril are, though, not of an occult background, rendering much of my ‘powers’ such that they are, practically nil.”

  “Mr. Temperance, would you like to proceed?”

  Clearing my throat, I sit up and take the hand-off.

  “Yes, Ma’am, I come from Alabama and I have an inclination towards things mechanical. I think I already possessed a tendency for tinkering and invention when the ‘Revelatory Comet’ made its influential pass through our solar system. My conjecture postulates that I was affected to a degree that has greatly enhanced that knack of the mechanical. It was an invention of mine that allowed me to meet my fair Miss Plumtartt.”

  Why do I blush at that comment?

  “Twas the hand of fate that brought Miss Plumtartt and me together, for in truth, we have been happenstance stricken and adventure prone ever since. I must admit, this metal melting beam of our foe has rendered much of my own expertise, likewise almost non-existent. Though we live in an age of invention at a pace never before seen, these are still predicated upon the use of metals which are now denied us.”

  I pet the gentle and loving Mr. Bolt on the head.

  “Some of you may have noticed an unusual amount of intelligence and empathy with our little dog Mr. Bolt. Miss Plumtartt and I are of the mind that he too, has been affected by the Revelatory Comet. She and I believe that many animals have kept a certain amount of psychic ability that we as humans, over the course of evolution, have lost. Bolt here, would appear to have an incredible amount of psychic control.”

  “Bolt? Would you care to give a little demonstration?”

  The little dog, as usual, is following the conversation. Though I do not think he really understands my words, he clearly is able to take my meaning, either by intonation, body gestures, or reading my mind.

  Bolt looks around the campfire at his companions.

  My skin is itchy. It is as if my body hair is grown in very thickly. In fact, it feels as if I am covered in hair. No! It feels as if I am covered in fur!

  “Verily, what is this sorcery! I say unto you, my quest companions, my flesh squirms beneath the sensation of a wiry pelt!”

  “Me too!” squeaks Valuria. “I feel as if I am wearing terrier pajamas!”

  Bolt wags his tail and we all jump up to look behind ourselves for the phantom appendage.

  Then I experience getting bit. It is a tiny, but sharp, bite.

  “Bolt! Do you have a flea, buddy?”

  The little dog gives a whimper, poor little guy.

  I notice a few of my friends wanting to scratch at the bite of a flea upon their person that I know is not there. In fact, they are even attempting to scratch at the flea bite with their hind legs, I mean, rear legs. I mean, their feet.

  “Oh! I shall go next, then, shall I?” Clarabelle Nightingale excitedly exclaims. She is practically blazing with enthusiasm. Great heaps of curly Titian hair appear to burst into flame with her inner fire.

  “I appreciate your candor and your wonderful tales,” Clarabelle casts a questioning glance over at Bolt. “Though I am still feeling as if I am covered over in itchy fur, and my right leg has an almost uncontrollable urge to scratch behind my right ear utilizing my toes as digging implements.”

  Beaming from ear to ear, Clarabelle warms into her story.

  “I suppose it’s been about seven years now since the ‘Revelatory Comet’. I was seventeen at the time. Before that, singing had always been a part of my life. I pretty much grew up in the church choir, often being selected for solo parts. In school, I would eagerly pursue any sort of singing chance that was available. In any school performance or production, I was always there, and usually earned a satisfying and challenging role.”

  “However, with the Comet’s passing, I immediately knew that I could do far more with my voice than I had ever realized. I could conjure an image of the structures and harmonies. The wavelengths of the auditory vibrations were visualized in my mind as if by magic. Soon, I could selectively vibrate an object, just by the placement of my pitch. I can shatter glass and crystal. I can even select the particular target in mind, as opposed to endangering all fragile objects, but it was not these parlour tricks that helped me to gain fame. It was my admittedly enhanced singing skills that brought me much fame and attention. I was getting some good bookings, but alas, I allowed my own need to show off get me in trouble. It started with a single crystal from the grand chandelier of the Paris opera house. I thought it would be a nice touch, to burst a single crystal at the peak of my aria. It worked! It was so fantastically dramatic! The whole house caught their breath. Several ladies let out a whelp of surprise and fear. Though several people were gouged by descending shards of crystal, no one complained. In fact, it was such a thrilling moment, that those wounded were honoured to be a part of that incredible experience. They thanked me profusely for selecting the one particular crystal that would strike them. Others were miffed at me for not having been selected to have deadly shards of lead crystal rain down upon them.”

  “The kind managers of the opera house were very happy with me. I apologized, insisting that I had gotten carried away by being able to perform in such a magnificent palace as their opera house, and that I was very sorry for any property damage done. The two gentlemen exchanged a queer look. They then informed me that, though for the briefest of moments, the two men were outraged at my callous impropriety. However, the occupant of a particular box seat, a gentleman of the most mysterious connections with the theater, let it be known that he was happy with the performance. It is said that the box is always reserved for him on the opening night of all the proud opera house’s shows. Because this gentleman has so much influence in the theater for some reason, they decided to let the issue drop. My protector even sent me a dozen roses, but mysteriously, his card only read, ‘P’.”

  “Well, I thought to meself, Clarabelle, if one little crystal worked well for a bit of notoriety, maybe I’ll just turn it on just a wee bit more next time.”

  “Oh, if I could only go back and do it again.”

  “You see, our next show was in Lichtenstein, at the famous GuberGraüberz Hall. Some of the grandest crowned heads of Europe were in attendance. Prince Pimpzle Pauper, Duchess Poutsy Illtempertz, and even Queen Glarezalotte were there.”

  “Word had spread of my performance in Paris and there was much excitement for another historic moment to be made. As I grew closer to the crescendo, I could feel the anticipation growing in the audience. I could make out parasols and umbrellas being brought to hand in readiness of a glass shower.”

  At the fireside, Clarabelle drops her head in a moment of embarrassment. She then looks back up, much of her previous enthusiasm dampened.

  “I was really in the moment. I knew that I was not going to disappoint my audience.”

  “As I hit my final, ultimate note, I held it in a moment of extended
bliss. I may have heard the chandelier shattering, but in truth, I was caught up in the musical ecstasy.”

  “Eventually, I remember to end the note. Opening my eyes, I am shocked at the damage done. Not only has any glass or crystal in the house shattered, it has mercifully been powderized back into sand. Even opera glasses and monocles, and there are a lot of monocles in Lichtenstein.”

  “The entire audience has been blasted up against the back wall. Along with the seating, and it was bolted down.”

  “But I think it was how I was able to peel the gold leaf from the balcony and surrounding ornate parapets that really made a lasting impression.”

  “A few of the more sporting vocal enthusiasts provided a polite smattering of applause, but these brave aficionados were quickly shot down with a venomous look by Queen Glarezalotte. Her wig had been knocked asunder, her skirts thrown over her head, and several patrons, along with a few members of the orchestra, had landed atop of her royal highness during the furor of the performance.”

  “‘Off with her head!’ the angry woman shrieked! I was very nearly executed on the spot. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed long enough to rush me out of the wrecked Hall.”

  “In a majestic rage, Queen Glarezalotte banished me from the kingdom and did everything she could to have me black-balled throughout the World.”

  Several tongue snicks against the roofs of several mouths around the campfire click in sympathy. A few ‘Mmm. mmm, mmm’s,’ too.

  But as is her wont, Clarabelle quickly brightens back up. Her irrepressible exuberance absolutely refuses to be repressed. “That’s all right,” she assures us, “for it was by leaving those snotty stages that I found my good friend, Valuria Englehart, and her WickeThimble Traveling Players.”

  “Well, girl, it’s your turn, I thinks,” the singer tells the seamstress.

  “Oh, well!” Valuria gives a little gasp as she readies herself to tell her story. “Nothing as exciting as you wonderful people, I’m sure. I am, as I am sure I appear, a simple seamstress. And such was I at the time of the Revelatory Comet’s passing. As you may guess, my simple skills expanded exponentially that fateful summer. I quickly was able to secure a place of employment in the finest dress shop in New York. I can put together the most intricate pattern of dress imaginable with the greatest of ease. I do not mean to brag, but what I had struggled with before, would practically flow from my fingers almost without thought or effort. Pleats and pintucks soon held no challenge for me. Despite the lovely position I held in the dressmaking world, I decided to follow an old dream of mine. The theater has always held a certain allure to me. I am far too shy to actually perform before people, but I dearly wish to be a part of the magic. My skills brought me to the largest producer of plays on New York’s Broadway. The production was thrilled with my talents; however, I found that I did not like the restriction of being able to make costumes only for the roles necessary. I knew that I was capable of even greater costuming creations, but I needed the impetus of need to bring that about.”