The Measure of Temperance
ICHABOD TEMPERANCE
Copyright © 2014 Ichabod Temperance
All rights reserved.
ISBN-10: 1503183688
ISBN-13: 978-1503183681
The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance
Volume One: ‘A Matter of Temperance’
Volume Two: ‘A World of InTemperance’
Volume Three: ‘For the Love of Temperance’
Volume Four: ‘A Study in Temperance’
Volume Five: ‘In a Latitude of Temperance’
Volume Six: ‘The Measure of Temperance’
Volume Seven: ‘The Seventh Voyage of Temperance’
Volume Eight: ‘The Title of Temperance’
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue One
Prologue Two
Prologue Three:
Chapter One: A Date with Danger
Chapter Two: Mr. Kit Eppington
Chapter Three: Under the Law
Chapter Four: The Evening Follies
Chapter Five: Evening Services
Chapter Six: The Unfortunate End of Constable Keefer Smith
Chapter Seven: View from a Carriage
Chapter Eight: Icky’s been working on the Railroad
Chapter Nine: Miss me at the Station
Chapter Ten: A Loss of Temperance
Chapter Eleven: Torn Asunder
Chapter Twelve: The Luck of the Irishman
Chapter Thirteen: Death at Sea
Chapter Fourteen: The Isle of San Monique
Chapter Fifteen: Karnivalle of Despair
Chapter Sixteen: Dead Man’s Trail
Chapter Seventeen: Repulsed
Chapter Eighteen: Chateau Sku Le’Bizarre
Chapter Nineteen: Rhumme
Chapter Twenty: ZombieGram
Chapter Twenty One: Necropopodopolis
Chapter Twenty Two: Caught!
Chapter Twenty Three: Commando Farce
Chapter Twenty Four: Manor House Hootenanny
Chapter Twenty Five: A Lady’s Prerogative
Chapter Twenty Six: Pyramid Prima Donna
Chapter Twenty Seven: Reluctant Hero
Chapter Twenty Eight: Tempestuous
Chapter Twenty Nine: The Final Conflict
Epilogue:
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my many friends
upon whom I draw inspiration
in bringing life to the characters for this story.
I am excited to entertain the talents of three artists
on the cover of this book!
Wolfgang Metzger’s silhouettes,
A.L. Williams’ artwork and artistic enhancements,
and the graphic design artist for the entire series,
the ever-obstreperous Sergeant Turk,
have all combined their skills for this book’s fantastic cover!
I would be inexcusably remiss if I were to neglect the one person to whom should be sharing equally in this and all the books’ credit:
The lovely, gracious, kind, beautiful, charming, love of my life,
my muse,
Miss Persephone Plumtartt.
Prologue One
I will not endure the oppression of this dungeon another day.
The stench of too many men, sharing too little air, in too small of a confine, is an unending assault against me, my pride, and the terrible powers which I represent.
Vengeance is close at hand upon those that ruined the plans of the Sin-dicate. I should be enjoying my position as the Master of the Caribbean Isles. From the Gulf of Mexico to Venezuela, every island should be in my inescapable grasp. My VooDoo strength would be unassailable! Instead, I languish in this California jail, soiling my venerable person by sharing living space with a hundred dregs from the Los Angelos gutters.
Plans of revenge have sustained me through this ordeal.
First, I will tear the still beating heart from the worthless body of that traitorous and cowardly clergyman, Alonzo Dolomite. You will suffer for your defiance, preacher-man! More than that, I shall use your own status against you! As an ordained Holy Man, your sacrifice will hold a special value. As the foretold time approaches, I know that it is you who is destined to initiate the ‘Great Awakening’. I will drag you, Reverend Dolomite, back to the island of San Monique and cast you into the fiery pit of the volatile volcanoe ‘Queen Tempestia’!
The next ones on my bad list are the sheriffs. No, what do they call them here? The police! Oui, I shall have my revenge on the policemen, O’Hagan and Smith. The impudence of these men must be punished! I will transform the brazenly disrespectful lawmen into mindless zombies! These police officers will become slaves that will help me rebuild my VooDoo Empire. For the two gendarmes, the big one and the little one, a living death as my miserable slaves awaits them both.
Then the last two on my list of persecution.
Every day, without fail, I have fervently chanted the incantations and prevailed upon the great powers and evil spirits to bring that horrible little odd couple, the Alabama idiot and his British woman, to me that I may steal their souls and make them a part of my death army as payment for their misdeeds. These two are like me, I think, in that they too have been affected by the passing of the ‘Revelatory Comet’. It has been several years now since the passing of that fateful heavenly body. The unknown comet entered the solar system unexpectedly. Caught by the Sun’s great gravitational grip, the comet was flung back at Planet Earth as if from the hand of an angry God. This world passed harmlessly through the tail of the comet, but many of Terra’s inhabitants were affected by the near collision. Humanity was beset by a plague of genius and enlightenment. Not all of the planet’s vast populace was enhanced by the strange, white fireball from the depths of the endless voids, but quite a number of us were. Since that time, my own dark VooDoo skills and powers that were already of a considerable strength became immeasurable! Never has the Earth known a power such as I! The many hexes and charms that had kept the magical island of San Monique hidden and isolated from the outside world were easily manipulated by my new found abilities. I was well toward accomplishing many incredible deeds when the five miscreants, Dolomite, Smith, O’Hagan, Tinkerboy and the lady aristocrat foiled my plans, but tonight, I shall slay and/or zombie enslave them all!
Then I shall make my way back to my home. My island. She misses her Grande Mystique, I am thinking, oui. The island of San Monique knows that the great time of upheaval is upon us, even if the rest of the world remains in ignorance. This is the year of the ‘Great Awakening’!
The time is drawing nigh for my escape from these wretched confines! I must admit that I have displayed an uncanny genius with the collection of my needed charms and ingredients. The fools around me have no idea the mayhem I can wreak with just a few standard household items. My chosen targets that I have selected to be turned for my use will be on duty shortly. Hah, hah, hah, I shall soon be free!
“Whut’re yew so happy ’bout, Bizzarbo?”
A big white man has the nerve to address me. He stands in a circle of supportive comrades. I think the blond bulk’s name is Mahaffey.
“You’re over there snickering away, muttering yer’ heathern spells. Pipe down, Skully, we don’t wanna hear it.”
I ignore the blasphemer. I have more important concerns.
“That is yer’ name, rahght? Skully Bizzarbo?”
“You are beneath me, little mon. You would do well to keep your foolish tongue si
lent.”
“It ain’t me that’s gonna be silent, ‘Little Man’, I’ll shut you up right now.”
The defiler is foolish enough to look into my eyes. I work the hand positioning that will set my spell in motion.
“Ah! Bugs! BugsBugsBugs! They’re all over me! Get ’em off!”
The Okie’s band of oafs try to assuage their companion.
“Settle down, Mahaffey, there ain’t no bugs on yew.”
“Ah! They’re all over me! Get ’em off! No! They’re in my head! Ahhhhh!”
“If you are to speak my name, little mon, you shall do so with respect and reverence in your voice. I am the Mystique from the Island of San Monique!” I then call out my fearful name.
The tormented Mahaffey flees from my sight. His cronies cower in his wake.
Now that I am able to concentrate, I shall make contact with a feeble and easily manipulated mind, one that will readily do my bidding and assist me in my escape.
Once I am free from this jail, the World will tremble and bow down before the unstoppable machinations of, ...
… Sku Le’Bizzarre!
Prologue Two
Ohhh, why couldn’t this cigarette break last a little longer? Maybe I’ll just stretch it out into a double smoker...
“Hey, Spike. Your cigarette break is over; get back to work! This hallway is not going to mop itself.”
Oh, ‘salt and vinegar’!
“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’, Mr. Henpix.”
“Hurry up about it, Spike. There’s no time for you to loaf about smoking cigarettes, when I have just loads and loads of extra chores for you today.”
This Christopher Henpix takes the cake. I have a very carefully planned, maintenance schedule of my janitorial duties here at the city jail annex. My listless gait and imperceptible shuffle can make an hour’s chore stretch out into an entire day or more. Henpix will be lucky if I consent to mopping one hallway today. I have taken this last week to sweep it in preparation.
“I’m on to you, Spike Dodgers. You are not going to get away with any goldbricking with Christopher Henpix on the job as your supervisor! Extinguish that butt and hop to it, young man! I want the executive bathroom toilet bowl clean enough to eat from! See to it that you start there. No, wait. You’ve been procrastinating on mopping the hallways for over a week. Let nothing interfere with you before those hallways are properly and fully mopped, Spike.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Ohhh. I don’t want to do this!
There is a reason that I hate mopping so much.
Ohhh. This is the one part of this activity I do not like. To get to the mop sink, I have to pass by a line of jail cells. This is probably the primary reason that more mopping does not get done around this cut rate jail house annex.
The last few months though, the trepidation I feel is much worse than the usual fear of the dangerous criminals that dwell within these cubicle cells. There has been one jailbird present that is different than the rest. That big black man with the French accent. I don’t think he’s from France, though. Maybe he’s from a Caribbean island or something. I don’t like being where he can see me. I feel as if he can see straight through me. It’s like he can see right into my head.
Ohhh, I’m so scared! Far more than I have ever been! Why is today different? The annex is strangely quiet. It’s never quiet in the day! It is impossible for this wing to be so completely silent! Oh, I wish the slow tread of my echoing footsteps would not announce my arrival and tepid advance. Despite the silence, or maybe because of it, the air pulses with fret-filled anticipation. An icy hand of fear clutches my heart filling it with a nameless sense of dread. Freezing tentacles of terror spread throughout my body, from the cold heart clutch, seizing me in their paralyzing grip.
A sinister and mirthless laugh floats to me through the spectral silence of the tomb-like cell block. The deep, dark, French accented chuckle is laced in menace.
“Hah, hah, hah. Spike, … listen to my words.”
Run Spike run! Run, run, run! See Spike run! Come on, feet. Aren’t you listening? Why do you just sit there? I am telling you to run!
“Hah, hah, hah. Listen to me, Spike.”
I press my hands over my ears.
“Mmmmyahm, mmmyahm, mmmyahm. I’m not listening. Mmmyahm, mmmyahm, mmmyahm.”
In my peripheral vision, I can see a shadow approaching.
“* Spike *”
Augh! His voice is in my head!
My eyes are drawn to him. The strongly built black man looms from out of the darkness. His eyes do not blink. His hands hold a crude, homemade doll. I recognize the effigy.
I cannot control the words coming from my mouth.
“Y-y-y-yes, Master.”
“You will do my bidding...”
“I will do your bidding...”
“You will cast away your self will...”
“I cast away my self will...”
“You shall turn against your supervisor...”
“I shall turn against my supervisor... Oop! What? You mean Christopher Henpix? Sure! Whatcha gots in mind? Oops! I means, I shall tuhn against moi supuhvisuh...”
Prologue Three
“Perfect! I have all of my pencils in proper order. That is, of course, arranged according to length, subdivided by width. A second subsection is then characterized by numbered darkening agent. Further, a width of graphite is taken into consideration as I arrange yet again what I feel to be the best manner of storing this all important office supply. This office within a honeycombed nest of offices that oversees the management of this extensive jail annex goes through an extraordinary amount of pencils, most of them through my office.”
“Why do the guards of this city jail annex have to take bathroom breaks?! Shouldn’t they be doing that sort of thing on their own time? If they would only agree to living here at the jail, I could get much more efficient use of their time.”
“I am just about ready to give up on ever getting the prisoners to behave themselves in an orderly manner. If they would just stand straight and still, we could pack ever so many more prisoners into the holding pens.”
“Is it really so hard to find enough left handed men that we can assign them places at the lunch table so that a lefty always sits on the end of the bench’s left side? It’s for their own good!”
“Why don’t people listen to me when I rant at the top of my lungs?”
What is this? The little janitor boy, Spike Dodgers, is easing into my office.
“What are you doing, Spike? You are supposed to be mopping the hallway.”
“Uh, yeah. Hey there, Mr. Henpix. I just thought I’d drop by and uh, chat.”
“Chat? I am an important executive! I run this entire installation. I should be named warden, but it would mean a drop in pay. What are you, but a lowly janitor? My superiority demands that you find other areas to haunt, as my greatness does not wish to be sullied by your pitiful proximity. Get out and get to mopping!”
“Uh, well, I thought I could straighten up in here a little bit. Maybe dust off an extremely personal memento of some kind.”
“I am far too impersonal to clutter my surroundings with personal mementos, young man.”
“Yeah, uh, I believe that, but, uh, what about this baseball trophy? I’m sure it’s just soaked in scads of personal memories and endearing whatnots.”
“A ridiculous conjecture, Spike. That old thing is left over from the previous superintendent.”
“How’s about this here quaint souvenir ashtray fashioned into the enticing form of an exotic, dancing, south seas island girl?”
“That’s not mine. It’s a gift I bought for my uncle Charlie.”
“How about this photograph of your family on the wall?”
“That’s not my family. I picked up that picture second hand to cover a hole in the wall.”
The little delinquent seems disheartened. Who is to say that I am a callous and unfeeling automaton?
“Say there, Sp
ike, as long as you’re here, I guess I do have one little chore for you.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“You are hereby granted the privilege of cleaning out my hairbrush. The wad of hair that is accumulated in that brush has been growing for some time.”
-gag!- “Ugh, you must be joking. That is disgusting. I can’t believe you would ask another human being to do that. That is a very personal thing that is. Oop! I mean, I’d be happy to pull this nasty wad of hair from out of your nasty hairbrush. This hair that is a very personal item I should think. Thanks, Mr. Henpix, so long.”
“Capital! Just another example of my superior management skills in evidence. Let’s see, where was I? Lazy guards? No. Uncooperative stock, er, I mean clients, er, I mean prisoners? No. Oh, of course! My pencils! Let’s see, instead of being laid out from left to right, I could go right to left. Then again, maybe I could go completely experimental and run them from top to bottom, or, GUHLCQUOH!”
I am being snapped up into a straighter posture than I have forced on my twisted body in many years. My arms, legs, hands, fingers, and toes are all locked out in extreme rigidity. My throat is constricted shut as I attempt to swallow my own tongue. My head is pulled from side to side until the obstruction is cleared allowing breath again.
I am not in control of my body. I fling my desk aside and lurch for the office door. I reach for the door handle but misjudge the distance, smashing through the partial glass portal.
prrrrr-kiiiiiiishhhhh!
The staff is only partially surprised at seeing me step through the door in an explosion of glass, a bit of splintery wood, and a tangle of venetian blinds.
“Good morning, Mr. Henpix.”
“It’s another nice day at the office, Mr. Henpix.”
“You’re looking very energetic today, Mr. Henpix.”
“Motivated!”
“Inspired!”
“How are you, Mr. Henpix?”
“You feeling all right Mr. Henpix? You’re even more tightly wound than usual today, sir.”
The Measure of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 6) Page 1
