For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3)
Page 18
“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.”
The two girls face each other. I feel as if I am getting a close up view of a binary star, such is the dazzling beauty of these ladies. Each is so crushingly gorgeous
in her own way, that it is hard to follow Miss Nightingale’s words. There is a rushing in my ears and Miss Plumtartt is pointedly snapping her fingers at me.
“Mr. Temperance, please keep your mind on the business at hand.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I’ll start us, Persephone, and don’t feel bad, Icky. I often have that effect on the lads.”
“Patty-cake,”
“Patty-cake.”
“Baker, man.”
“Bake me a cake,”
“As fast as you can.”
“Having performed the accompanying hand movements in our little demonstration for you, we ladies shall position ourselves with Clarabelle in front of Sir Paul and I shall work with Mr. Temperance. Please pass me your prosthetic arm, Mr. Temperance.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Let us give it a go gentlemen, shall we?”
~chorus~
“Patty-cake,”
“Patty-cake.”
“Baker, man.”
“Bake me a cake,”
“As fast as you can.”
“Splendid, gentlemen! Good show! I say! Hear, hear!”
“Not too shabby, boys. Now, Persephone and I have enjoyed, as many girls do, the joys of playing this and similar games with our sisters in school. Here, however, we must give our traditional rhyme a twist and change it from ‘two’ time, to ‘three’.”
“Patty-cake-patty.”
“Cake-Baker-man.”
“Bake me a.”
“Cake as fast.”
“As you can.”
“Subsequent hand movements shall be as follows. Tops to lefts as rights clap each other. Rights to lefts as tops clap each other. Tops to rights as lefts clap each other, and so on. Got it? Good! Begin.”
~clap, clap, clap~
~clap, clap, clap~
~clap, clap, clap~
~clap, clap, clap~
~clap, clap, clap~
“I say, I am quite amazed to find that we do indeed, have it! Miss Nightingale and I shall assist you gentlemen as you march about and work in the different beats.”
“Good, we’ll need your help with the various accompanying ritualistic hand motions.”
“Oh my goodness, y’all. The choreography of our feet for the many dances is maddening and makes no sense. Combined with the ridiculous hand movements and clapping and brain melting counting demands, I feel as if my brains have turned to liquid jelly running out of my ears.”
“You must persevere, Mr. Temperance.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Hunh, the funny thing is, iambic pentameter is one of the easier rhythms of the monsters to learn. It’s strangely familiar somehow…”
Hoppity-hoppity-hop.
Hop-hoppity-hoppity-hop.
Hop, hop. Hop, hop.
Hop, hop. Hop, hop.
Hop-hoppity-hoppity-hop!
“By My Sweet Knickers, I think you’ve got it, lads! I believe the ‘Revelatory Comet’s’ influence upon us lasses and you lads, has given us the ability to master the three legged steps, the six armed clapping routines, and the off kilter asymmetrical rhythms.”
“Wonderful, everybody! You are all doing so well! I am so proud of you!”
“Eek! Look out, Miss Valuria! There’s a Martian trying to eat you!”
“No, Ichabod, don’t be silly. This is the head to your costume. Here you are, I’ll help you put it on. As I place it over your heads, you’ll note that Sir Paul shall gain his vision through the costume’s nostrils, and Ichabod, your ability to see will come from the promised mirror strategically placed for your convenience that allows you to see over Sir Paul’s shoulder and out of the mouth. The third arm extends through the top of the head. Ichabod, if you would please hold it up and feed it through the hole… That’s it, and if you would be so good as to grasp the handle that should be below your chin with your right hand, Ichabod. Yes, that’s right. You will find that the ringlets will allow you to have great control over the monster’s eyes, mouth, and overall facial expression. I shall hold a mirror for your inspection.”
“Okay, Miss Valuria, Ma’am, I’m grasping the five ringlets with the appropriate fingers and thumb. Now I’m looking into the mirror, over my shoulder, through the monster’s mouth, and back at myself via another mirror to see what kind of scary faces I can make with the terrific costume. Yikes! That is really scary! Am I really giving it all that movement?”
“Yes, Ichabod. That is totally you controlling the creature’s features. You will see how the eyebrows are controlled by your first three fingers. Nostril flares come by way of the pinky control ring. Your thumb operates the mouth. The features can be distorted and moved by pulling, pushing, and twisting the handle as a whole.”
“All right, Ichabod. Now you must correspond your facial maneuvers with my singing talents. Are you up to the challenge, boy?”
“Yessir!”
“Stand by, for away we go...”
“Gringle Kronk!”
“Kringle Gronk!”
“Grarg-a-donk-a-donk-a-donk!”
“How was that, ladies? Was he able to follow my expertly delivered vocal alliterations with any semblance of having been constructed by me?”
“He was not too bad, Sir Paul. Here, Valuria. Hold that mirror up so that Sir Paul can see how Ichabod is making him look. Have a go at another one, Sir Paul.”
“Grargle Jauck!”
“Grargle Spauck!”
“Grargle-a-cauck!-a-cauck!-a-cauck!”
“Blast you, Temperance! This is acting! You must learn to emote! Don’t be so damnably shy! You are commanded to be bold in your delivery! Try it again!”
“Smeagle fleag!”
“Fleagle smeag!”
“Smeagle-fleag!-a-fleag!-a-fleag!”
“Hmm. Passable. But passable is not good enough! Let me see, how did another of their songs go? Oh yes, I remember now. Ready? begin.”
“Kitka bitt!”
“Bitka kitt!”
“Kitka, kitka, bitt! bitt! bitt!”
“Bitt! Bitt! Bitt!”
“Bitt! Bitt! Bitt!”
“By Jove, I must give you and your enthusiasm credit, dear boy. You have made great strides today. ‘Greatness knows itself’ saith the Bard, and I graciously admit being the bearer of an inordinate amount of performing arts skills. Obviously some of my own incalculable talent has strayed to this molting cur. By the Beard of Shakespeare’s Ghost, this will be the performance of a lifetime!”
---
“You must listen closely to the beats and voices. When possible, mark their choreography to better be able to emulate your Martian brothers.”
“They ain’t my brothers.”
“Yes, they are, Ichabod! You must think, Martian. You must feel, Martian. You must be, Martian.”
“Gee, being an actor is tougher than I thought.”
“Valuria thinks that with a couple of days’ worth of practice, we might be ready to attempt our caper.”
“Is it me, or do the savages sound more grumpy tonight?”
“I was going to comment on the same thing, They are rather surly in their festivities.”
“Gosh, I think they’re getting hungry. . . . Y’all’s silence conveys that you agree with me.”
---
“Ever since this morning when the Martian camp pulled out, this spider/worm contraption has been dragging itself along over smooshed forest, as is its way, but the walkers and the fliers took off and have not been seen again, since.”
“The troopers are reminding us not to fall behind. That crawler is moving faster. We are having to trot to keep up, now.”
“Those walkers and fliers were not wasting time. Hey Icky, any idea where they got off to?”
“Well, Miss Clarabelle, the next big city in that direction is Baltimore. At the speed they were moving, they could have been there and possibly back, by now. Well hey, looky yonder, there they are. Uh, oh, each machine has its tentacles extended... Oh no.”
“
Do not look my friends; t’is not a happy sight. Each tentacle clutches a struggling victim in its steely grasp. These poor people are deposited unceremoniously into the crawler’s bloated abdomen.”
We are saddened and disheartened by this terrible tragedy.
“I hate to say it folks, but it looks like we need to step up our timetable. I propose that Sir Paul and I need to go in tonight.”
My friends nod in silent agreement.
The Sicilian Slice.
MARTIAN GO HOME! YOU-AH NO GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS!
By Gamsy Longlegetti
So! You thinka you gots it bad, hunh? No! Stupido! You should be in Paris. Oh, those bigga machines they make-ah me the very angries. You betcha! The way they havva wrecked the Louvre, and the Arc de Triumphe. Bah! The majestic city is inna the pitiful little rubbles. It’ta makas me wants to make with the boo hooin’ I can tells you. Butta it’s a the strangest of the things. Yousa knowsa the contraptioni? The whatsis that is as if it issa chronologically displaced and temporally anomalous from a future not yet arrived? The toy tower thingy? Oh! The Eiffel Tower. Thissa they dont’ta destroys. Thissa they’za takes apart with the dismantleinga, henh?
My reporterette senses, they are making with the tingling, yes? So! I myself havva crawled throughah the steaming piles of ashe to bringa the eyewitness reporta! Do they builda the statue to their horrible likeness? No! Do they make somethinga nice? No! Do they make somethinga big and scary and looksa very dangerous? Yes! Like-ah the buggie, but not so cute. Itsa gotta too many legses. Too many grabbsie clawsies I thinks too. I thinks this reporterette has a seen enough and am now scrambling away before I end up as the main course in this Martian’s idea of fine cuisine!
The Marvelous Melbourne Shuffle
MARTIANS COMMANDEER SHIPPING!
By Priscilla Perkibitz.
Krikey! In spite of the courageous goolarongs of our brave diggers and cut lunch commandos, the lovely couple on our windswept beach, in particular the interplanetary bunyip from the Great Aussie Find All and the Cock-eyed Canetoad outta the banana bender bayou have tringered the rourous. He don’t wanta wetto the sandle holders the yellow git.
For further insight, we now visit Australia’s favorite son, her flower of manhood, Super Secret Agent James Murray:
Krikey! It’s a fair binny we’ll be up to our nudderberries in troubaworryfears at days end. The three legged mechanical hoons will soon be ready for nooner snackers. It’s London to a brick that our own lovely Adelaide is where they intend to slake that awful quafful. But just between you and me my little jiggly journo, tall, strikingly handsome and brilliant over here has a cogzital. Me lads are working hard to help lay a traps for our extra-terran touries.”