“That was when I met Sir Paul Whitmore,” Valuria smiles, looking to the handsome giant.
“Yes,” Sir Paul gives a small snort of amused agreement with the slight woman. “I believe it was a momentous occasion when the small-mindedness of that overly large production brought you and me into contact. Forsooth, as you may follow the trend, my origins parallel those of my lovely friends. I was in a troupe of actors in a small playhouse. My generous size and self-assured presence helped me to land many good roles, and I eagerly studied at the side of my more experienced cast-mates. My friends encouraged me to pursue a career in the theater and I did so with all my heart.”
“That was the state I was in when the ‘Comet’ passed. Veteran actors that I was studying under were now amazed at my performances. I could memorize lines without trying. It seemed I was already the person involved. My varied characterizations would completely embody me. Word spread of my enhanced talent. Soon, a major production company had come to me for work. This was where I met Miss Valuria Englehart. Though it was a great experience to perform in front of large, money-paying audiences, in my heart, I knew that I was holding back. I thirsted for challenging roles to play. Valuria and I decided to leave the production company and strike out on our own. A wagon and a few planks are all that is required to be able to travel and put on shows of our own design.”
“The WickeThimble Traveling Players were born. Sir Paul is a one-man cast. He can play any role with amazing credibility.”
“Would you care to give a small demonstration, good sir?” Valuria asks.
“I should be delighted!” our actor proclaims, leaping to his feat. “What is it you would like to see?”
“Uh, I ain’t really too sure of what to expect, Sir.”
“I say, I find myself at a loss for suggestion.”
Clarabelle calls out, “Show them Abe Lincoln.”
Suddenly, Paul no longer seems to be standing there. Our former president looks out from where he stands. I instinctively salute the great man before I remember that it is an impostor.
“Show us happy,” says Valuria.
“My word, Sir Paul’s face is as the beaming Sun in its joyous state. His engaging happiness is a radiance of joy.”
“Show us anger,” calls out Clarabelle.
In a terrifying display, Paul’s face and bearing take on all the attributes of that emotional state. [More than that, he somehow becomes anger - the very living embodiment of the emotion.] We are all relieved when he concludes this portrayal.
“Do Persephone,” cheers Valuria.
Somehow, Sir Paul is able to soften his features. His bearing slightly shifts, and in a clear, feminine, aristocratic British accent, this remarkable resemblance to my dearest sweetheart replies, “My dear Mr. Temperance, just how long must I wait for you to get up your courage to further our amorous relationship, eh hem? Indeed, this intolerable state cannot exist much longer before I must fling myself at the irresistible Sir Paul.”
“Oh, please don’t, Miss Plumtartt,” I cry, before I realize that I just fell for Sir Paul’s incredible theatrical prowess.
Everyone laughs uproariously at my faux pas. I feel my face flush with embarrassment at my friends’ good-natured merriment, and I can’t help but laugh myself, also.
“How charming!” Miss Plumtartt cries. “Can you perform a portrayal of our Mr. Bolt?”
Sir Paul’s eyebrows are held in such a way that they appear repositioned. I could almost swear that his ears elongate and grow furrier. Sir Paul’s lower face implies that it is actually a snouty muzzle. I do not know how he does it, but somehow, Sir Paul is able to give off the impression that he is actually a small little dog, looking at us with a frank and open expression.
We all give a small round of applause on this one.
“But our dear Miss Englehart does not give herself credit.” Sir Paul sweeps a hand towards our little Valuria. “Her costuming creations are a wonder in themselves, you see, for she works a magic into them. Behold!”
Pulling a robe-like piece of wardrobe seemingly from out of thin air, Sir Paul easily wraps himself in its fabrics.
He wears the raiments of Henry VIII. Donning a wig and hat, he speaks as the infamous king.
“Wheh-erh, ahre my slip-ahz. I requires more mutton. And wheh-arh, is my Queen? Catherine? Anne? Jane? Anne? Catherine? Katharine? Wheh-erh, ahre you my love?” inquires the massive monarch.
Sir Paul takes a step and turns, and as he does, his costume changes with him. Here now stands Anne of Cleves! For in an incredible display, the garment, wig and hat have transformed into those of the Queen. She answers her husband.
“Your Queen ist here vhere she alvays eez mein Lor-duh. I uhlvays have zee double helpings uhv zee mutton for youze, mein leibchein.”
“Incredible! I exclaim. “What on Earth was that! I cannot believe my eyes!”
“Well,” Valuria scrunches up her shoulders in momentary delight. “Sir Paul’s acting ability allows him to play many roles. He needed a costumer who was on par with his skill as an actor. Somehow, I got the idea of working in tiny gears and levers embedded in the material and structured in such a way as to bring about a shift in position. A small shift can create a large illusion, if worked out correctly. The lay of the fabric combined with clever turnstiles, provides a range of options. Our two skill sets have foregone traditional theatrical productions, in order to focus on our own fulfillment and gratification.”
“At first though, we were able to make a fine living at it,” Valuria tells in her bright and happy way. “We had a mildly successful run on a riverboat tour along the Missouri River. We played at Sioux City, Omaha, and Kansas City.” Miss Englehart’s expression changes. The excitement and merriment drop from her voice as she continues. “But that was also when the trouble started.” Our Valuria looks down, suddenly unsure of herself.
“To be honest,” Sir Paul cuts in, “your costumes were a big hit. There were, of course, a few small-minded people who thought we were employing some sort of witchcraft. Very often people would faint, or even run away. Most audiences realize that the fantastic costuming is one fabulous facet of our troupe, and come for that aspect alone, perhaps. Verily, though, on the whole, it was my admittedly adept ability to reach out and affect our audiences by means of a moving theatrical performance, that has damaged our reputation.”
“Tut, tut, Sir Paul.” Clarabelle tries to console the sorrowful thespian. “You are just a gifted actor, that’s all.”
“We are a dedicated troupe, Sir Paul.” Valuria looks to the talented gentleman. “We share equally in our fortunes.”
“I should have known after that disastrous performance in Fargo, that I should tone it down, just an iota.” Sir Paul laments. “You see, after a particularly touching performance, my heavy mood of tragedy took the community. The deep melancholy that my character exhibited dispirited the township to such a degree, that even the cows picked up on the sad mood and did not produce milk for a week.”
“Then there was Fieldsburgen, famous for her tool building industry.” Valuria throws in wistfully. “We thought we could make an adjustment and put on a comedy to counter-act the effects of the sadder show. The comedy was a great success! Alas, it was too much so. Employees were too tickled to return to work. When they did, all they could do was relive the uproarious antics of Sir Paul’s performances. The factory lost several days worth of work and we were in hot water over that little stunt for some time.”
“Oh, but please, Sir Paul!” pleads Miss Nightingale. “Do not hold yourself to blame for the riots of Springdale. A light-hearted romance was thought to be safe fare. Who could have predicted the out-pouring of feminine attraction to you? The way those women were throwing themselves upon you was quite unseemly. You see, I had joined this little band by now. Valuria, instantly recognizing my place in her tiny troupe, welcomed me aboard at my first audition. But as to the tragic events in Springdale, and that poor city’s affected womanhood, … it was, .
.. terrifying to behold, the way the ladies fought each other to get near him. Sir Paul was nearly buried alive beneath hastily-thrown women’s undergarments. I had never seen such a display! The desperation with which these women sought Sir Paul’s affections was unnerving.”
Sir Paul hangs his head.
“It was not your fault!” Clarabelle strongly insists. “The tramplings and crush of feminine humanity in the post-performal riots could not be controlled. You are not to blame.”
Sir Paul raises his head. “I do take a small solace knowing that a sizable group of girls, realizing that a relationship with me was not going to be, decided to enter into the sisterhood, preferring life as a nun, rather than settling for a lesser man than I.”
“It’s always good to look at the bright side of things.” I add to Sir Paul’s summation knowingly.
“Outside of Miss Nightingale’s sonic cannon canceling capabilities,” Valuria ventures, “I am unable to see how these ‘Revelatory Comet’ influenced talents are going to help us fight our inhuman foes.”
“We’ll see, Miss Englehart, Ma’am. Things sometimes work out in an unforeseen manner.”
“Like my super-sonic cannon canceling singing abilities!”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Nightingale, Ma’am!”
---
“We are ever chasing these fiends and never catching them, Mr. Temperance. Always Northward and too fast for our pursuit is our elusive and dangerous foe.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Do you happen to know the name of this river to our right, Mr. Temperance?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, That there’s the Potomac River. I know what lies ahead and I ain’t liking the direction this adventure is taking.”
“I say, look there, in the distance, a great battle is engaged.”
“Yes, Ma’am, it sure is! We’re coming up on it pretty quick.”
“Great Heavens, what an uproar! This city is putting up a far greater defense than any we have seen! There is a constant thunder in the air from the continuous explosions! Though in protected positions, many cannon and mortar positions are still found out by the hated beam. These explode with heartbreaking rapidity, Mr. Temperance.”
“Yes, Ma’am. The river is filled with makeshift barges, functioning as firing platforms. These are pouring shot into their enemies as fast as possible. This district is fighting for its very survival with every ounce of fight it can muster.”
“I say, such a spirited engagement I have never seen! The volume of ammunition and cannon shot is incredible. The two towers take an incredible punishment, but are well prepared for battle. They fight with aggressive determination to own this city.”
One of the walking towers takes an especially stout lick, unintentionally swinging a lavender beam in our direction!
“Roof!”
“Miss Plumtartt!”
“Mr. Temperance!”
I grab Bolt from my left, and push Miss Plumtartt out ahead of me as we tumble from our moving vehicle. The lavender beam passes over us just as I am kicking away from the three-wheeled ‘Charlie’. I lie upon both Bolt and Miss Plumtartt in an effort to protect them from the exploding tank of the ornate boiler. Scalding hot water from her burst reservoir rains in blistering droplets. The ostentatious ‘Elkins/Charles’ three-wheeled steamer is a fiery inferno of molten metal.
Sir Paul follows our example and abandons his steam tractor a hair’s breadth before the deadly purple beam. The tractor instantly ignites. This in turn sets our friends’ gypsy Conestoga alight. Our lady friends each give a short scream of alarm and exit through the rear.
“Come on, Sir Paul, I’ll help you detach the wagon!”
“Good, now let’s tend to the flames licking at the front of our wagon.”
“We weren’t carrying much in the three-wheeler, and your wagon is largely unharmed, but I reckon we’ll have to proceed on foot, y’all.”
“Oh, wait, I can’t leave my sewing materials behind!”
“Other than Valuria’s large bag of sewing kit, I don’t see that we need to tote much gear.”
“Then let us not dally. To the fray, my friends!”
“Here is a catapult crew where Sir Paul and I can lend a hand.”
“I shall once again lend my guidance in ordnance guidance.”
“Valuria! Bolt! Come help me with these horses!”
“Oh blast, it’s too late. The war-towers have reached the Potomac.”
“The mortar barges have no defense at that range! The heavy rafts are systematically being destroyed! One after another, crews flee the exploding munitions of their craft.”
“Behold, the ignoble sods now tepidly tread their clawed toes into the water. With hesitant steps, the thrice legged machines wade across the Potomac River.”
“It looks as if nothing will stop the wading giants, you guys!”
“Hello, what’s this? A visual susurration of hope runs through a midst of people watching from a better vantage point than we possess.”
“Yes, Ma’am, it looks like they can see something coming on the river. There it is, one of the latest types of ironclad warships. A speedy dreadnought, in the ‘Clemens’ class, is on a suicidal, collision course with the machines! Hurtling through the waters at remarkable speed, the ship is driven forward in the modern style of twin, rear mounted ‘propellers’. She means to ram them!”
“Right, Icky, it looks like the last of her crew is abandoning the ship just as the lavender beams are swung upon it! It is bursting into flame but too late! The Hellish ship holds its momentum and course!”
“Oh, Clarabelle, the clumsy Martians are trying to flee the onrushing blazing barbecue battleboat, but the searing ship steadily bears down upon them in fiery defiance!”
“What fiery tricks do yonder play? The infernal vessel of Earth’s retribution collides with one tower, toppling it into its cursed mate. This contact is coupled with a tremendous explosion of munitions aboard the American warship.”
“One ship is under water, y’all!”
“I say, so too, is the second tower on the verge of losing its battle of balance and fall into the water!”
“But looky there, Miss Plumtartt, the remaining tower is struggling to remain standing. With tentacles swinging wildly, attempting to keep its balance, the tower stumbles back from the point of collision.”
“Oh, pooh, now the tipsy tower has regained its balance!It’s stepping forward to find its fallen mate.”
“The monster in the drink is floundering about without much luck of regaining his feet. The standing tower now moves to render assistance to it’s fallen companion.”
“Here come some more ships y’all! They’re gonna try the same maneuver as their brave counterpart!”
“Oh, oh, oh, it is a race for the far shore, the one walking tower, assisting its crawling companion, against the assembled flotilla, determined to stop the walking invasion.”
“Yes, Valuria, and it looks as if one ship may get them! They are almost ashore but it looks as if the ship will ram the monsters. Yes! It has toppled them both, knocking them under water, but too late; the two tentacled terrors are able to crawl upon the opposing shore.”
“Come on, y’all, let’s hurry and get across!”
“I say, there is no lack of abandoned boats, and the wreckage of battle has now been swept away. Let us hurry in our crossing!”
“Ha, ha! They may have made it ashore, but they have not found relief! On land, they receive no respite. Shot and rock assault the intruders from every side. The invaders are down and we have no intention of letting them get up!”
“Oh, but we must hurry, Clarabelle, for they will get up, I am afraid. Oh, yes, look; they rise, even now!”
“They are changing out their ray producing weapons for their sonic cannons!”
“Oh dear, they have begun their auditory path of destruction! Concealed weapons batteries are pulverized in the sonic attacks! The horrible monsters exact a terrib
le toll on the sacred soil of this hallowed ground. The concentrated sonic energies of the Martian cannons are working in destructive harmony. Buildings and defensive emplacements explode under the vengeful vibrations.”
“Here we are at shore! Out of the way, you guys, I gotta get out there and stop those cannons!”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Clarabelle, Ma’am!”
“Oh, oh, oh! Our Clarabelle runs before the machines and has assumed her proper pose to deliver her death note.”
*{{{{AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!}}}}}*
*{{{{ - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - !!!}}}}*
“The sonic cannons have once again been negated, Miss Plumtartt! In a battle of aural control, Miss Nightingale is able to defy these inter-planetary fiends. A cone of silence renders the assaultors impotent. This defiant city of white stone is again able to resist her trespassers.”
“Quite so, Mr. Temperance, for shot and stone currently pound the predators in a pummeling of projectile pugilism.”
“One mechanized beast is beaten down to his knees! Now the other one is going down! They hold their tentacles up in a feeble defense, but hardened hearts do not soften at their pitiful attempt to ward off our righteous retribution.”
For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) Page 11
