A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1)

by Ichabod Temperance

  I resolutely do not allow the wondrous feminine charms of Miss Plumtartt’s prettiness distract me from her fact finding researches.

  “Why, Mr. Temperance, have the abominations chosen these areas? What do they have in common with England and Graz? If the sole aim of these fiends is to find and kill me, or take the scroll, why are they now in the Americas? What is the connection?”

  - - -

  With our fresh kit of clothes and supplies, Miss Plumtartt and I set out across the American Southwest territories.

  I should be ashamed of myself. The pride and joy I feel with my new invention at my side is almost sinful. I can't help it, though, especially with the curious looks that it and my green ammunition cartridges on display in the loops of my holster receive.

  With Miss Plumtartt smartly set out in a fresh, new pink dress, bustle, and parasol, we depart our Texan island on the Galveston-Red River Rail Road. It is a heady feeling to be seen with the beautiful Miss Plumtartt. I’m not sure which I am more proud to be seen with, Miss Plumtartt or the fancy new weapon. Naw, I guess it’s Miss Plumtartt.

  It is a short ride to the mainland, and in Houston, we change lines onto the Greater Mid-Texas Concern. This express line takes us to Austin City. I am happy to get Miss Plumtartt out of this crazy city: it is a wild place!

  Continually traveling North through Texas from one train line to another, it is at Chambers Creek that we begin a gradual ascent. This quickly turns to dizzying heights as we enter the first foothills of the Rockies. We skirt Caddo Peak, the train clinging to the hillsides. Vertical drops of hundreds of feet, fall from directly out our windows.

  Once we are clear of the mountains, we make good time on the Grand Continental Western.

  We cross the Rios Pecos at Independence Springs, and then rattle on to El Paso, via the Marco Pass. We continue West, across the wide, Mesilla Valley on the Southern Pacific Railway. This is the grand opening of this line, connecting the country from coast to coast, on the southern end of the Rockies. We are taking part in an exciting, historical event!

  This opening of the second trans-continental railway line of America will save us hundreds of miles of train travel north to the ill-fated Donner Pass. Otherwise, we would need to proceed by stagecoach, across dangerous Indian territories.

  Unfortunately, when we attempt to purchase tickets on this historic opening, an ill-tempered ticket lady tells me ‘there ain’t no tickets to be had.’ I inform Miss Plumtartt and she decides to take the procurement of passage into her own hands. An aura of command that I did not know resided within Miss Plumtartt billows up from a depth of concealment. With a proprietary composure, she sweeps past the ticket ladies, going over their heads to their supervisor. It sounds like she is using a much softer tone of voice with the young man that is the manager. Now it looks like he is able to make the proper arrangements for Miss Plumtartt. I don’t think he noticed me. People don’t notice me much, no how, but especially when I’m around Miss Plumtartt. That Miss Plumtartt! If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was flirtin’ with that boy to get us fixed up. I have a feeling she just had to batt them pretty peepers of hers once or twice to hitch us up a pair of tickets.

  Aboard the Sunset Limited, we are diverted most charmingly by a handsome man of the cloth, the Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite. He is a strongly built, coloured gentleman with a shaven head, and dressed in a clergyman’s black frock. We enjoy this leg of our journey due in great part to our meeting this wonderful fellow.

  “I say, Reverend Dolomite, you are quite the raconteur, and you give our spirits a much needed lift! I must say, I suspect that you are one shepherd who would attend to the needs of your flock most assiduously.”

  “You are a perceptive woman, Persephone. I would be honored if you were to visit me in my new habitat, for I intend to build a church in Los Angelos. I would even allow you to bring Itchy-bod along.”

  Reverend Dolomite’s loud and enthusiastic stories are accompanied by frequent injections of an exclamatory “Yes!” (pronounced, ah-eee-yeh-ess-ahhh) to punctuate his enthralling tales.

  We disembark our train in Tanner, Arizona, to stretch and walk about while the train takes on fuel and water. I am just ruminating upon our fortunate smooth sailing so far - a foolish curse of our luck - when Miss Plumtartt touches the side of her head and appears to suffer from a pain there.

  “I find myself in some distress, Mr. Temperance. A headache of quite monumental proportions has seated itself in the front of my brain. I am becoming as vaporish as my elderly Aunt Matilda with her ubiquitous sal volatile.”

  Miss Plumtartt tries to bravely laugh off her discomfort, but I sense it is very troubling to her.

  Miss Plumtartt gives a start with a sharp intake of breath. Looking out to the desert stretching off into infinity to our North, a disturbing blankness of expression comes over her fair features.

  “Did you hear that, Mr. Temperance?”

  “Ma’am? No, Ma’am, I didn’t hear nothing.”

  “I am sure I heard a voice call to me.”

  “Miss Plumtartt? Ma’am? Are you feeling all right?”

  Miss Plumtartt gives another sharp inhalation of breath.

  “There it is again.”

  “I didn’t hear nothing, Ma’am.”

  She does not hear me.

  “Ma’am? Miss Plumtartt?”

  Miss Plumtartt stares out into the desert, North of Tanner.

  I move directly into her field of vision.

  “Hello? Miss Plumtartt? Are you sure you’re feelin’ okay?”

  The train whistle gives a brisk double toot to signal its imminent departure. Miss Plumtartt does not hear the signal. The girl is mesmerized, unable to hear the train whistle or anything else around her.

  “Please Ma’am, wake up, Miss Plumtartt. The train’s pulling out and we need to be on it.”

  Miss Plumtartt walks to the shimmering desert.

  The train engineer sees what’s up. He sounds his steam whistle with emphasis and rings the train’s bell.

  Reverend Dolomite calls us to return.

  Miss Plumtartt walks straight out into the unforgiving wastes.

  I am powerless to dissuade her.

  Dropping her parasol, she uncharacteristically shuffles onto the burning sands.

  I have no choice but to pick up her parasol and follow the entranced girl. Unheard pleads fail in coaxing her to stop.

  Several minutes later, about a mile behind us, I hear the train leave.

  Miss Plumtartt and I are walking into desolation.

  - - -

  “Miss Plumtartt, please stop. This is, I beg your pardon, Ma’am, ... intolerable!”

  The Tanner Station has long since passed from view. Dusk is upon us and we are still walking straight out into the desert.

  Miss Plumtartt is in a trance-like state. She stumbles forward without a look to, or care for, her surroundings. She stares straight ahead, and walks steadily onward.

  Fortunately, it is a clear night. The Moon and stars light our way.

  Even I start to tire. I know Miss Plumtartt is long past exhaustion, yet somehow she pushes herself on.

  I see something. Directly ahead of us is a spark of light. This must be the poor girl’s destination. Picking her up, I carry Miss Plumtartt forward. She slips into unconsciousness in my arms.

  I approach a small camp fire. A solitary man is waiting.

  I carefully place Miss Plumtartt on the ground.

  An Indian is the the campfire’s only companion. Even though he is sitting down, I can tell he is a man of immense size. He calmly observes me without a flicker of movement. Sharp black eyes from a wizened, though inscrutable, face survey me.

  Several long moments pass.

  I decide to break the ice.

  “Good evening, sir. I do hope that we are not intruding upon you. My name is Ichabod Temperance. My resting companion is Miss Plumtartt. It would seem that she finds herself compelled to maintain a rendezvous with yo
u this evening. May we be of service?”

  His features remain impassive. Nothing can crack that wooden countenance. However, a spark, way down deep in those black eyes, betrays a trace of humour.

  “I too, felt compelled,” says the imposing Native. “I am Chief Running Blind. My spirit would not rest without giving this girl my guidance.”

  Miss Plumtartt stirs. She looks to the big Chief.

  “Child of destiny, you must complete a great quest. You require instructions to complete your tasks.”

  “What are my instructions?” manages Miss Plumtartt.

  “I cannot tell you, because I do not know. You must go and seek them on your own.”

  “How do I do that?” asks the exhausted woman.

  “You must go on a spirit quest.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Drink this,” says the wizened shaman.

  - - -

  It’s been about ten minutes since we drank the elixir the big Indian presented. Miss Plumtartt had already taken a big gulp of the juice before I could stop her.

  Big Chief Running Blind says that if I want to go with her, then I must drink the horrible muck as well. I don’t think I’ve got a choice. I take a big gulp of the rancid tasting, foul smelling brew.

  “What happens next?”

  “You will go on a journey.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t worry about going anywhere, the journey will come to you.”

  The stars are restless. They are gettin’ all squirmy. They twinkle and wane more vividly. They don’t want to stay put like they oughtta. They forego their normal positioning to chase one another about.

  The Indian is gone.

  The desert stretches out into infinity. So too, does my consciousness.

  The land turns black and perfectly laid cartographer’s lines stretch out in all directions, mapping a plain, plane. The glowing grid on the featureless landscape is bordered in a white horizon, and complemented by odd, dancing, geometric constructions.

  There is a large fox.

  A huge rabbit towers over Miss Plumtartt.

  More enormous creatures sit quietly around us.

  Wolf, hawk, gopher, and lion.

  We look into the fire.

  YOU MUST COMPLETE YOUR TASKS

  No one speaks. No one has spoken. The words simply, ‘are.’

  TALISMAN

  FIND IT

  IN YOUR WORLD

  YET

  NOT OF YOUR WORLD

  ORB OF PROTECTION

  MUST FIND

  DO NOT FAIL

  DARKNESS COMES

  Chapter 30 - Dreams.

  Persephone.

  I...

  must...

  go...

  to...

  him...

  I...

  must...

  must...

  go...

  ...

  ...

  fire...

  the man I seek...

  magic potion... drink...

  acrid, bitter, viscous...

  I

  descend...

  not into darkness..

  into some place grey and featureless, except for...

  Spirits of our world...

  They speak to me...

  They burden me...

  yes.

  The Talisman.

  In our world, yet not of our world...

  of our world...

  yet,...

  not in our world...

  ….

  We must...

  obtain it...

  or all …

  will fall to the darkness.

  - - -

  My head feels as if it is being crushed beneath the keel of a Plumtartt manufactured dreadnought.

  Where am I?

  “Here ya go, Miss Plumtartt, try and drink a little water, Ma’am.”

  The lids of my eyes do not want to cooperate with my instructions to part. I am forced to open my eyes manually. I am blinded by the Sun’s glare, but I force myself through the thick, hazy curtains of consciousness to gain my bearings. I am recumbent in the arms of a worried Mr. Temperance.

  A seemingly endless yellow expanse rolls before me. A sea of sand.

  Oh. Yes. The desert. The dream.

  That was not a dream!

  Mr. Temperance is giving me a drink of water. I try not to sputter and waste the precious liquid. He is covered with tiny particles of sand, even in his eyelashes. To the east, the sun has risen a little less than halfway to its zenith position, yet already, the elements oppress mercilessly.

  “I fear we have missed our train, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I’ve gotta pretty fair sense of what direction to travel. With any luck, we oughta find some train tracks that’ll lead us to somewhere’s.”

  I can only follow, maintaining a facade of stoic resolution, as we wander interminably.

  Eventually, we do indeed find the train tracks.

  Out of the sand’s bright mirror of that oppressive, swollen sun, the light of the settled surrounding rays is a blinding haze. Perhaps that is why I look without seeing, pass without comprehension, as in a daze we continue our trek. It is some time before I come to realize that Mr. Temperance is carrying me.

  A soothing coolness envelops my face. I open my eyes to darkness and rough texture. A cool, wet towel covers my face. I weakly pull this aside to find myself in a hotel’s furnished room. Mr. Temperance has delivered me to civilization’s care. An exhausted Mr. Temperance sits in a chair, having fallen asleep in a no doubt uncomfortable position as he attempted to watch over me before succumbing to the irresistible pull of sleep.

  Only the slightest moan escapes my lips, but it is enough to have the poor man bolt upright and leap to my side.

  “Miss Plumtartt! Are you all right?” His pleading eyes reveal many hours of worry.

  “Yes, Mr. Temperance, I do believe that I am.”

  He lets out a genuine gush of relief.

  “Gee whiz, I sure am glad to hear that, Ma’am.”

  “I think you may have the liberty of some rest yourself, sir.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  With that he removes his tweed jacket, and sets it on the chair. Then he discards the pistol belt, containing the remarkable pistol and its mysterious ammunition. These are placed on the bureau, next to his derby hat.

  “May I remove my boots, Ma’am?”

  “Socks and all, Mr. Temperance. Please feel free to strip your feet to the skin. I shall not faint, I assure you.”

  With feet disrobed, he rolls his jacket into a tube and uses it as a pillow as he stretches out on the floor across the doorway.

  “Are you sure you will be all right there, Mr. Temperance?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. If anybody tries to come into the room, they gotta get over me. Good night, Miss Plumtartt.”

  And with the closing of his eyes the tired boy is immediately fast asleep.

  We arise in a few hours to resume our journey. A premonition of danger’s return hurries us along.

  My companion obtains seating for us on the next conveyance West; our destination is the small town in California that Reverend Dolomite mentioned. With a couple of additional train changes, we are finally on our way into Los Angelos (this little town in California has sprung up, now that the railroad is open).

  ‘The City of Angels,’ is it? Mr. Temperance and I are speaking of how we are both looking forward to seeing the West Coast, when I involuntarily burst out with a small cry.

  A familiar dread sense of loathing spasms through my frame.

  A thud passes through the train as something heavy makes an unscheduled boarding. This is followed by two more substantial thuds in quick succession. The train continues to sway along its swift travels, with the additional passengers joining our trip.

  It is not one of this city’s Angels that tears through the wood at the rear of the train car; rather, ‘tis a phosphorescent Demon, out of Dante
’s Inferno.

  Chapter 31 - Error and Trial.

  Ichabod

  “Up and at ‘em, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, let’s hustle you towards the front of the train. Maybe I can uncouple the train cars...”

  Errrk

  “Mr. Temperance, the rear door...”

  Krash!

  “Ain’t it peculiar how these fellas can move through the metal hinges, hardware, and handle of the door, but it’s the wood that gives the monster resistance?”

  “Pity it could not resist a bit more, yes? I say, given its enormous size and strength, the monster is quite capable of tearing through the barrier with little to no effort, eh hem?”

  “No Ma’am.”

  “I might have said this brute is rather like the Native American Indian myth of Sasquatch, but this aberration, standing upon its hind legs, is more reptilian. Moreover, it has an extra set of arms and salivates extraordinary amounts of drool from its immense and gaping maw.”

  Bigmouth spots Miss Plumtartt.

  Eee-Aye-rRoark!

  I am a bundle of conflicting emotions:

  -Repulsed by the horrible monster.

  -Terrified that it could reach and harm Miss Plumtartt.

  and,

  -Curious as to whether this device I have crafted and have so much hope and pride in will actually work.

  BUH-WHOOMP. POW!!!

  BOOOOOM!!!

  Four sounds have been created by the dangerous handgun. The first and second stages of the charging process are followed by the discharge of the weapon, and then, finally, happily, the devastating explosion of the horrible monster. In a blinding flash of green tinged white light and a deafening retort, the monster and the round of electrified resin detonate as one, disintegrating the entire rear of the train car.

  With the blast of the exploding monster having taken out the back of our train car, the rest of the subsequent cars are connected to the front and engine by a thread. The back wall of our train car, and a bit of the next, except for the metal framing, are completely atomized and dispersed in the winds of this speeding train.

  Looking through the hole to the roof of the following railcar, two more horrible devils appear and look down at me.

  One jumps across to our car. It lands on the roof and runs to the front of the cab, over our heads.