For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3)
Page 17
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Clarabelle, Ma’am. It’s the dangdest monster tango you ever did see. Bending and standing, stretching and shaking, and of course, lots of stomping to accompany the macabre festivity. Around and round they frolic in their awful carrying on like a bunch of preparatory school students on a beach vacation.”
“I hear hand claps along with the stomping, Ichabod.”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Valuria, Ma’am. They got the funniest, three-handed manner of clapping along with the dancing, if you can call it that. Not always, but at certain points, they break into complicated, three handed clapping patterns, individually, in pairs, and in groups of threes. The intricate choreography is almost impossible to fathom.”
“Harken there, my friends, listen! There is a new element to join the rapscallions’ rhythms.”
Bah-duh-dump!
Bah-duh-dump!
Bah-duh-dumpa-dumpa-dump!
Bah-duh-dump!
Bah-duh-dump!
Bah-duh-dumpa-dumpa-dump!
“That’s a drum! Its pounding, booming, throb, pulsates across our dark valley.”
“My conjecture is that the fiends hath found a new use for the cow’s leather hide.”
“Oh, my, the deepest dread fills my heart with the relentless beats of the bass percussions.”
Bah-duh-dump!
Bah-duh-dump!
Bah-duh-dumpa-dumpa-dump!
Bah-duh-dump!
Bah-duh-dump!
Bah-duh-dumpa-dumpa-dump!
“I think we are witness to an alien ritual, y’all. Perhaps this very drumbeat impassions the souls of these creatures back on their home planet of Mars.”
“I say, their singing does leave something to be desired, eh hem? The snap and snarl of their choir has a jarring edge in its accompaniment. Yes, quite.”
“Are those animal noises, y’all, or are they speaking a language?”
“Oh! Most certainly a language. There are many indices of this to be the case.”
“Yes, I concur, most vociferously. I am particularly adept at languages. Yea, though these voices travel to me from afar, I must emphatically say unto thee, young Ichabod, these voices speak a language. Their horrible tongue lifts up in a song of terror, for I think I am close to being able to decipher its awful lyrics. With respect to our ladies, I shall forego the translation, here.”
“Gee!”
“Let us listen all the more closely to the rhythms of the drums, the cadence of the stamps, the beat of the clapping, and the frightening intonations of the words in song.”
“Gringle kronk!”
“Kringle gronk!”
“Gringle kronk-a-donk-a-donk!”
“These beings have traveled across unfathomable distances to sing us their song.”
“Hey, listen, a new rhythmic sensation is sweeping the nation.”
Buh-dump. Buh-dump. Dump.
Buh-dump. Buh-dump. Dump.
Dump! Dump! Dump!
Dump! Dump! Dump!
Bumpity-dumpity-bumpity-dumpity-dump!
“Yes, I remember this one from our assault to capture the elusive craft. Let’s see, how did it go? Oh, yes. Left foot stomp, then the right foot would stamp. They then repeat, with the third foot to follow.”
“You really are very good at working out steps and choreography Sir Paul.”
“Thank you, Valuria. Let’s see, I shall mimic their steps this way.”
“Left, right, left, right, and then rear. Sweeping my hand downward behind me shall have to suffice to indicate the stomping rear foot.”
“Left, right, left, right, rear.”
“Rear! Rear! Rear!”
“Rear! Rear! Rear!”
“Tappity-dancity-tappity-dancity-tappity-dancity-stomp! with the rear foot!”
“I say, with Sir Paul’s talented performance, we are so much better able to visualize the awful dance of our hungry invaders, eh hem?”
“Oooo, listen to their horrible song that accompanies this chaotic choir.”
“Gnarf, gnish. Gnarf, gnish. Gnash.”
“Gnish, gnash. Gnish, gnash. Gnarf.”
“Gnarf! Gnarf! Gnarf!”
“Gnash! Gnash! Gnash!”
“Gnarfity-gnarfity-gnarfity-gnarfity-gnish!”
“To my mind, they sound like somebody stomping around on top of a bunch of dry branches. If the cracking of wood could bark in a vicious manner as it was breaking, I think is the sound they would most remind me of.”
“Gnarf, gnish. Gnarf, gnish. Gnash.”
“Gnish, gnash. Gnish, gnash. Gnarf.”
“Gnarf! Gnarf! Gnarf!”
“Gnash! Gnash! Gnash!”
“Gnarfity-gnarfity-gnarfity-gnarfity-gnish!”
“Eek! Dang, Sir Paul, you just scared us all half out of our wits!”
“To hear those voices at a distance is one thing, but to hear it this close and unexpectedly is truly unnerving!”
“Forsooth, didst even frighten me to a degree having the hated voice so near at hand.”
“Do you know what the words mean, Sir Paul?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I take by your tone that you are encouraging me to leave it at that.”
“Yes.”
“Hey, the drum pattern has changed again.”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Boom. Boom.
Boom. Boom.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Oh! We know this one, Miss Plumtartt. We were witness to this little Martian three-step boogie back in Birmingham, under Sloss Furnaces. I’ll stand and improvise the third leg like Sir Paul. Let’s see, how did that little dance go?”
“Left, right, rear.”
“Left, right, rear.”
“Left, right.”
“Left, right.”
“Rear! Rear! Rear!”
“Well done, Mr. Temperance, and if I am not mistaken, it is a familiar refrain that drifts to us from out of the darkness, eh hem?”
“Sneaf! Snarf! Snoe!”
“Sneaf! Snarf! Snum!”
“Sneaf! Snarf!”
“Snerf! Snoof!”
“Arum! Arum! Arum!”
“How about these lyrics? Can you translate these, Sir Paul?”
“Aye, I can tell you their meaning, delicate Clarabelle, but you will wish I had naughtte.”
“Thank you, Sir Paul. On behalf of the ladies, I’d appreciate it if you did not disclose the nature of their evil poetics.”
“As you wish.”
“Hey, I think it’s gonna rain! Raindrops are already falling on our heads. Let’s hurry and get the tents set up.”
“I say, the Martians clearly do not like the rain, or in the least, are not used to it. With many unhappy noises and voices they stop their merry making and climb back into their varied craft.”
“Gosh, as soon as those Martians stopped their merry-making, everything got all quiet. Now there is just the peaceful patter of the falling rain.”
---
“I say, this tent is not altogether waterproof, eh hem?”
“No Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. Seems no matter where I sit, a drip manges to find me. The troopers are reporting no activity from the Martian camp. I think the Martians have decided to just stay in this morning.”
“It is a rather glum, gray, and grim morning.”
It sure is. We are normally an upbeat and spirited group, but the wet, miserable condition of our present circumstances make that an increasingly difficult part of our past life to hold onto. My comrades’ faces have become hardened, not unlike those Confederate veterans from Tuscaloosa. It is so odd to see a grim countenance on such kind and considerate folks.
“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 c
ourse, 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.”
Chapter Fourteen · Rehearsal
“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! Amateur
s! 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.”