The Measure of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 6)

by Ichabod Temperance

“Oh, Mikey, you’re as robust of a barn mouse as I’ve ever seen. I’ve never seen a mouse negotiate the inside of a wall like you, Mikey Mouse. You’ve had the run of this rum factory your whole life.”

  “Thanks, Mini, you’re a real wedge of cheese, you are. Hey, look there. It looks like a zombie has dropped a short length of copper tubing into one of the cane juice vats. That’s kind of interesting, it looks as if the pipe plunged in on its end. The thick, sticky raw sugar goo is holding it straight up.”

  “Yeah, Mikey, I see it. Wait, this is a different one from the one you are looking at. Squeak! Mikey! There are two of them!”

  “Squeak! Mini! A gruesome form is slowly rising up out of the vat! The green slimed monster is hideous! It gropes about, trying to make sense of its surroundings! Squeak! I can’t stand to look at the horrible thing! Let’s get back to the cabins with the flesh eating zombies where it’s safe!”

  * scurry scurry, sniff,sniff, scurry scurry *

  * scurry scurry, sniff,sniff, scurry scurry *

  Oh, my word, this does not rank among my most dignified moments, I must say. It takes all my strength to raise one sugar gooed arm to my face. As I dig my fingers through the three to four inches of thick, gooey, sugar cane gloop in which I am enveloped, I am able to clear several pounds from my face. Several more swipes of my fingernails conveys the sensation that the small oval of my facial features are now clear of enough of the heavy materi’el, that I can look about for that awful hussie, the Froust creature.

  “Ah, there is the tell-tale sign of a copper tube projecting from the caramelized surface of our sugar cane juice vat. I shall reach out with my own tube and give a gentle tap to sound the all clear signal.”

  bloo-oo-oo-oopuh

  “Bloimey, thank goodness that’s ovuh. Ugh, this has been the most degwading and humiliating experience of me loife.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Shaddap, you’se. Assumin’s dat is you’se, Prunefartt, buried somewhere there within that green sugar cocoon.”

  “It is I, Persephone Plumtartt, Miss Froust. Let us extricate ourselves from this sticky situation, eh?”

  “Uh! Oye can’t hardly move ‘cause o’ this boindin’, glueish, paste!”

  “Ah-unh! Indeed, ah-unh! The going is difficult, Ah-unh! But we must wade to the side of this vat, Ah-unh! And climb, Ah-unh! Free!”

  “Uh, uh! Oye can’t make it!”

  “Ah, unh! Just a few more inches, Miss Froust, we can do it!”

  “Uh, uh!”

  “Ah, unh!”

  “Uh, uh! The, wim! Oye got it!”

  “Ah-unh! Success! I too have achieved a firm handgrip upon the vat’s rim! With some effort, I think we shall be able to pull ourselves from this tenacious taffy.”

  “Oof. Oye’m wearing about a hundred pounds o’ sugar, candy face.”

  “I too, bear the burden of approximately five stone in excess sweetness.”

  “Oye can scrapes it off me skin for the most part, but it ain’t comin’ outta these dwesses nor our hair.”

  “You are correct, Miss Froust. Our current state is unacceptable. This is a common occurrence for me, yet may come as a novel concept to you, Miss Froust, but I suggest that we both bathe.”

  “Vewy funny, Pwincess, but Oye don’t think shower facilities are a part of this factory’s desoign.”

  “Nor do I think a conventional bath will suffice. I think a solvent of some kind is called for in this shampoo and laundry.”

  “Wotcha thinkin’?”

  “Let us submerge ourselves in those barrels of rum. The alcohol will make quick work of the sugar without damaging us or our clothing.”

  “’ey, that’s not such a bad oidea there, Gweentartt.”

  “Just a quick dip to cleanse our skin. To dally would invite alcohol poisoning. There, now we can launder our dresses quickly by hand and then by leaning back to dip our hair in the barrels, we enjoy a pyrate’s shampoo and a rum rinse.”

  “Hey, eat your heart out Cleopatra, your baths of milk ain’t got nuttin’ on us!”

  “Ah, that’s better. I feel quite invigorated, in fact!”

  “Yeah, me too’s. Wot now?”

  “The mission calls. We must make our way to the plantation’s main building. It is my conjecture that it lies in a central location. It is my fervent hope that we shall find both our enemies and our allies there.”

  “Are you gonna call us a cab?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes, Miss Froust, I am. I see that this facility is being operated by a bare bones contingent of zombie labour, as opposed to our initial arrival where we were witness to a much larger populace of employees.”

  “Yeah, an’ because there are so few of them, they are singularly focused on their duties, and have not looked up at us at all.”

  “Ah, here we have a small wagon, used to transport cane stalk. Now if we only had a horse or pony with which to pull it. I must confess, during our time on the island, I have not seen so much as a single donkey or burro since visiting the villages of Le Seggheweighe and São Vinaigrette.”

  “’course not, Tarttplum, this oisland runs on the labour of the zombies, roight? If we want our wagon pulled, we’re gonna hafta hitch a couple o’ these zombie buhds in the traces.”

  “I’m not at all sure that I am completely comfortable with that stratagem, Miss Froust.”

  “Desperate times calls for desperate measures, little Missy. Here, these poor blokes is compwetewy obwivious to our activities. Observe, if you will, how Oye just walk up behind dis fully absorbed zombie as he remains focused on his task of feeding chopped up cane stalks into the winguh. See ’ow he don’t even notice that Oye have taken control of one o’ his hands. He blithely continues his labours wiff his free hand. Meanwhoiles, Oye am boindin’ ’is captuh’ed w’ist wi’ff this bit o’ twoine. Oye now takes the other arm and twists it ups behoind his back, roight? Now Oye can ties the two w’isties togevvuh!”

  “I say, good show. Your method works with the clock like efficiency of Big Ben.”

  “Let’s get these boys hitched up to this wagon. So far their limited mental acuity has not processed what we are doing. In their acutely focused attentions, they are still trying to feed the cane w’inguh.”

  “There we are, very good. A brace of zombie monsters are now affixed to our gay little cart. Let’s see, eh, hem. Yoo, hoo? Gentlemen? We are ready for you to start our journey! Trot, trot. Walk, walk. Oh, I see. No, my good sirs, this will not do at all. We wish you to walk forward, thus pulling our wagon. The fact that you two fellows are twisted around and are actively trying to bite Miss Froust and me is not what we had in mind at all. I say, rather!”

  “’ey! These boys is pushing our cart, not pulling. They keep walking back at us to try to eat us.”

  “Good thing that we are just out of range of their lunging and biting attempts eh? I am so happy that their hands are affixed behind their backs and that the cart traces are holding firm.”

  “’ey, Stuffy Stephy, Oye think you just invented the wevuhse gear.”

  “Yes, I say, being propelled backwards is not my first choice in handling this coach but one must make adjustments at times for the fickle fate of fortune. If we must allow our wagon to be pushed, rather than pulled, then such is our lot. Though I must say, the awkward zig-zag course induced is most difficult to steer. Quite so, yes, rather.”

  “Cor, bloimey! Wiff dese cane stalks towering high ovuh our heads, and these many dirt road intersections, Oye’m already lost! We’ll nevvuh get out o’ ’ere!”

  “Not to worry Miss Froust. I believe a small amount of rudimentary nocturnal navigation by means of getting a reading on the stars shall see us through. Yes, the North star is our constant, Miss Froust. I believe our destination, lies directly beneath.”

  ---

  “Hey! Oye sees loights up ahead! Oye betcha that’s the Manah House!”

  “Of course, Miss Froust. There was never any doubt, really. This ma
y be the time to abandon our charming pony cart and continue on foot, eh hem? I propose we make a surreptitious entry for as far as we can.”

  “Well, yeah, obviouswy toots, but Oye don’t wanna go in empty handed. Let’s sneak into the barn an’ purloin some weaponries, roight?”

  “Armaments of some kind, eh? Yes, perhaps that is a wise consideration, Miss Froust.”

  “We’ll just tippy toe up to the barn and slip insoide, eh? Hah, the barn door is open. No reason to lock doors around ’ere, Oye don’t guess. Let’s see, what ’ave we got? Cor! Oye don’t believe me oiyes! Machetes, lots and lots of machetes, Miss Sourtartt. Hangin’ on little hooks, row after row of the nasty blades lie waitin’ for us. There’s a whole stack of ’em ovuh ’ere, too! Of course, they need all these machetes for harvesting the sugar cane, roight? We ain’t ’urtin’ for weapons, now, Missy! Two each will do noicely, but we may as well carry a few spare, ’cause ya never know in circumstances as this, when you may want an endless supply of machetes.”

  “Mmm-nnn-yes, but no. I really do not relish the concept of becoming involved in some horrific shower of blood, gore, and what have you. I say, no, this is not particularly my milieu, if you will, or perhaps I should just say, not my cup of tea, you see.”

  “Oye takes your point. Though Oye could easily envision both o’ us wiff a machete in each hand, falling upon those poor, slower moving devils. Loikes two o’ Hades own berserker she devils we would be! Valhallan vixens of living female fury! Dr-r-r-renched in the blood of our devilish foes, we would dispatch limbs and decapitate the ’eads o’ our ’apless victims in a wave of cwimson...”

  “Yes! Thank you, Miss Froust, for detailing exactly what I did not want to conjure in my mind’s imagination.”

  “Hunh? Oh, roight. Let’s not get carried away wiff the fillin’ of our moinds wiff excessive carnage, eh?”

  “Hmm. Oh! Yes! I say! This is just the ticket!”

  “Hunh? Wot’s dat thingy then?”

  “A flail, Miss Froust. A device used in threshing grains from their stalks.”

  “Funny looking thingy, just a stick wiffa nuthuh little stick tied to the end of it.”

  “Yes, it is a very simple tool, Madame. There are quite a number of them here representing a variety in lengths and weights. This one particular model is chief among them. An eight foot staff is the main component of our stave. The short cord affixed to one end dangles an eighteen inch length of a heavier piece of wood. By holding one end of the rod I can manage an extraordinary amount of control over the shorter bit of wood through the medium of its three inch tether. Observe, for as I maneuver the staff, I in turn, gain a control over the attached stick. By means of rod regulation I can quickly twirl the bound baton, first in an underhand motion to spin the striker with an upward trajectory, and now in an overhand motion to facilitate a downward strike from our corded club. Figure eights are easy to perform and mesmerize the uninitiated, but have little striking power. The true potential of the device is achieved by swinging the main stave in an arcing parabola. This adds a fearsome velocity to our end piece. Observe.”

  THWACK!!!

  “Cor! You broke the floor boards wiff dat stroike!”

  “Yes, quite so.”

  “Hunh, ya knows, when Oye was a wee gel, Oye was fascinated wiff Robin Hood. Oye was inspired by the bit where Robin and Little John have their quarterstaff duel for passage ovuh the wittle cweek. Oye played around wiff the artful use of a staff quite a bit when Oye was young and developed some expertise. Oye thinks a rod has always felt good in me hands.”

  “Yes, quite, to be sure. I say, here is a matched brace of much shorter sugar cane flails. I shall keep these tucked into my bodice behind my back as secondary weapons and use this long handled thresher as my primary.”

  “Do you think you can use that thing in a combative manner, missus?”

  “Do you see that machete with the broken handle on that wall?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The sickle on the opposite wall?”

  “Unhunh.”

  “The hoe, the bucket, that leaning shovel, and that pulley hook that I have now given a push to get it swinging?”

  “Yeah, wot you got in moind, eh?”

  “Watch.”

  THWACK!THWACK!THWACK!THWACK!THWACK!PAH-TING!

  “Gweat Gah-wopin’ Goosebewwies! ’ow’d ewe dew dat!?!”

  “I am a practitioner of a Chinese martial art discipline known as ‘Gung Foo’. Fortune has forced many in some Auriental countries to learn the use of farm tools as fighting weapons, due to the outlawing of bladed armament. Providence has seen fit that I was honoured with the privilege of learning these techniques. Many clever minds over the years have learned how to use simple farm tools in a defensive manner. Their skills have been honed to a razor’s edge. My instructors generously passed this knowledge on to me and to further generations.”

  “Roight! Well then, me dangerous Knoight, Sir Pooftartt, let’s go see what sort of mischief we can get up to.”

  ~***~

  “I say, Miss Froust, I am so happy we opted for a surreptitious entrance. This estate gives every appearance of being in a high state of preparedness, eh, what?”

  “Oye’ll say. Every lamp of the house is blazing! That structure loights up the yards around the building for over a hundred feet! There must be seventy or eighty machete wielding zombies stumbling about with orders to chop us up into little sloices on soight.”

  “On the good side, I estimate that only half that number await us within. Shall we?”

  “Oh, ’ow did Oye gets into dis? Woi do these things always ’appen to me? Sigh. Oh, veh-wy well, let’s go get her accompwished, eh?”

  “Quite so.”

  THWUD! THWUD! THWUD!

  floomp. floomp. floomp.

  “Those sickening thwuds, so weminiscent of a ripe melon’s thump, are apparently very effective as they were followed by the collapsing cadaver heavily hitting the ground like a sack of zombie manure. I better follow suit and bring my quarterstaff to bear before these blokes wealwize dey is under attack. Oh, Agatha Grasshoppers, ’ere goes nuffin’!”

  WHACKITY!

  WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

  “eerrnnh!”

  THWUD! THWUD! THWUD!

  floomp. floomp. floomp.

  WHACKITY!

  WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

  “eerrnnh! eerrnnh! eerrnnh!”

  “I believe we have lost the element of surprise, Miss Froust. Let us press our way to the main entrance.”

  “Roight!”

  THWUD! THWOCK! BREAK! SHATTER!

  WHACK! CRACK! KER-SMACK! KLACK!

  “eerrnnh! eerrnnh! eerrnnh!”

  “Please mind that you do not inadvertently step into the radius of my thresher’s flail, Miss Froust.”

  THWUDDITY-THWUDDITY

  THWUDDITY-THWUDDITY

  DUP-DUP-DUP-DUP-DUP-THWUD!

  “Good, we’ve gained the porch. There’s too many coming out the front door. Let’s go in through the window.”

  “A capital plan. Please allow me to dismiss the intervening glass partition.”

  KER-PiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiSSSSHHHH!

  “Oye’m in! C’mon, PoofPoof, shake a leg!”

  “I shall dispatch just a few more foes with my long handled flail before I drop it aside and step over the window’s smashed transom. I shall now draw and wield the matched set of my shorter, one-handed stalk thresher flails that I had stashed in the laces of my bodice.”

  “Let’s fight our way into this next parlour, Princess.”

  “Splendid, Miss Froust, though alas, no, this room is devoid of our quarry. Let us pummel our way into the next room, shall we?”

  “Oh, drat. Perhaps when we have conquered the many monsters in this room, we shall find our quarry and our friends in the next chamber, eh, hem?”

  “Nope, not in here either.”

  “Fourth time’s the charm?”

  “Let’s foind out.”

&
nbsp; “Ah, there you are! Kit, Mr. O’Hagan, and Mr. Temperance. I had a feeling you were in need of our help.”

  “Miss Plumtartt! Look out! Run for your life! This room is full of man and woman eating cannibal corpses!”

  “Eh, hem, yes, I am well aware of the many flesh eating undead infesting this spacious abode. I suggest you avert your eyes, Mr. Temperance. This zombie population reduction exercise is not going to be pretty.”

  THWUDUH-THWACKUH

  THWUDUH-THWACHUH

  THWUDDITY-THWUDDITY-THWUD!

  floompity, floomp, floomp, floomp

  “You may open your eyes now, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Did you just dispense with these many zombies in that space of time that was just a few seconds in length?”

  “Aye, she did! Well done lass. Now be a good girl and free our hands before reanimated reinforcements arrive.”

  “Of course, Officer O’Hagan.”

  “There, our rescue party is made whole again. What is the next stage of the operation? Do we have any actionable intelligence?”

  “Only this, Persephone Darling. This Sku Le’Bizarre chap has already moved out in his high speed ‘DoomBuggy’. His destination, the volcanoe, Mount Tempestia, or, as our nemesis insists on referring to it as ‘Queen Tempestia’. He still has the rather large policeman, Constable Smith, in his thrall. Correspondingly, Smith the bobby has the Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite restrained under his domineering grip. Our hypothesis is that Sku Le’Bizarre has a diabolical plan involving Dolomite as a catalyst for catastrophe. Something along the lines of a ‘Great Awakening’ of our planet’s slumbering dead masses.”

  “Let’s get a move on y’all and fight our way outta here. Well, truthfully, as we make our way out of the house, it looks like the girls did not leave very many zombies unimpaired. I think we can just avoid the ones that are still mobile. That big ol’ volcanoe is easy to see at any time. Especially the way it lights the sky with its fiery orange emissions. We shouldn’t have any trouble makin’ our way there.”

  “I say, look there, I believe I saw a sparkle of light on a dirt roadway.”

  “Yeah, ewe did. It came from the volcanoe’s blazing illumination refwectin’ from the glistenin’ bald head of that figure stumblin’ down that dirt road towards us. Careful, me pretties, it moight be anothuh zombie!”