The Title of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 8)

by Ichabod Temperance

  “Oh my Goodness, I better dodge out of the way before I am trampled to death by that mean horsie!” ~tumble!~ “I think that charger is battle trained. Them two is out to kill me! Out here in the field, my position is untenable!”

  “Returnest thou coward and succor thy sweet reward at my spear’s tip. Climbing yon oak tree avails thee naughtte.”

  “Eee-yow-wow-ow! That hurts! This ain’t funny no more. I was hoping I could just out climb that spear of yours but I reckon not! I surrender! Please don’t kill me!”

  “Very well, thou art mine prisoner. Prithee, climb down and walk behind me.”

  “Yessir, but if I’m your prisoner, shouldn’t I walk in front of you?”

  “You, a person of no consequence, walk before one such as I, Sir Kegger of Oblivion on Avon? Surely the staggering amount of evidence proving thee are out of thy mind never ceases in its Heavenly ascent. Walk behind, as is befitting one of your station.”

  “Yessir.”

  I reckon I better just humour this poor feller until I find the nuthouse he fell out of. I reckon his asylum’s orderlies must be out in droves searching for this boobyhatch escapee.

  Uh, oh, I see some children at play up ahead. Dang, these kids ain’t hardly got a shred a clothing between ‘em! Well, I’ll be hornswoggled, they ain’t giving a rip about this outrageous knight in shining armour and fancy dressed horse! Every one of them did a double take, accompanied by dropped jaw as they got their near nekkid peepers on me, though.

  “Hey kids, are you all’s parents anywheres nearby? Gee, I reckon not, the way y’all ran in terror at the sound of my voice.”

  “How come that haystack looks so ancient? Oh, I get it, it’s one of them there thatch roof cottages, ain’t it? Dang, there ain’t much cottage beneath all that thatch, is there?”

  Oh, okay, if that passes for a house then here come some more buildings. They, however, are accompanied by ancient dung heaps.

  “Hey, that dung heap just moved!”

  Oh, I reckon what I thought was a pile of filth, was actually an example of the local populace. It is difficult to tell the men from the women, as they are both clothed in raggedy robes and makeshift sandals. The men’s hair is long, unkempt, and hanging about their owners’ shoulders, while the womenfolk are as deeply caked in muck as to disguise whether or not they are bearded.

  “Howdy, y’all!”

  “ . . . ”

  “Um, how you all doing? Um, I reckon y’all are doing pretty wretched, judging by the years of misery imprinted on your morose faces, hunh?”

  Everybody is bowing before this boy on the horse, but he ain’t paid none of ‘em the least moment’s consideration. They all just gape at me like I got three heads.

  Ugh. Some of these folks are enjoying the dubious pleasure of iron collar jewelry. I thought I had seen the last of that sort of thing years ago, but I guess I was wrong. I didn’t know Russia was like this.

  “I reckon this is where you all play during the day until they lock y’all up at night. It almost looks like a little town. There are a few stone buildings that look as if they were built out of the biggest rocks y’all could carry. You all were sure stingy with the doors and windows on these moss covered piles. They sure do brighten the place up in contrast to the jungle of thatch and twig shacks, huts and lean to’s scattered around. Of course, nobody thought much about streets, hunh? It’s just a twisty little jumble of criss crossing paths, alleys, and muddy ruts. These however give the nekkid children a place to carouse with their porcine and canine playmates.”

  “I’m glad those kids and kidlets knew to get out of your way, Sir Kegger; you don’t seem to pay nobody no mind at all! If these pathetic peasant type looneys and their critters did not scramble out of the way, you would surely run them down without a second thought!”

  “Is that our destination up ahead? That big building that all of these paths lead to? You know, that big place adorned with crenelated battlements and waving flags. Is that gaudy facade supposed to be reminiscent of an old-timey castle? What is that place over yonder?”

  “Yon lies Camelot.”

  “Camelot? Is that the name of this nuthouse sanitarium?”

  “Looks like there are some orderlies manning the drawbridge. Two are crossing their halberds to block our path and another steps forward to challenge.”

  “Oh, who doth approach the sacred gates of Camelot?”

  “T’is I, Sir Kegger of Oblivion on Avon.”

  “Where hast thou traveled, oh noble knight?”

  “I have traveled the highways and the byways of this great land. I have done great battle with fearsome foe wherever I go. Truly, I have spread the glory of our great King across these lands.”

  “What tribute do you bring?”

  “I have this fearsome ogre that I have laid low and made prisoner that my good King may dispense with its life as may be his fancy, forsooth, prithee.”

  “Hail and well met, Sir Kegger! Sound the bugles! The Court welcomes back one of her own!”

  “Golly, you sure are popular around here, Sir Kegger! All these fancy orderlies in shining chain mail and brilliant white tunics emblazoned with a crimson lion are happy to see you! There must be a hundred of these boys turning out to hold their gilded halberds in honourary salute! Where do you all come up with those ornate plumes to top off your helmets?”

  “Gosh, how long does this bugley fanfare go on? Is that a real portcullis up there? Gaw-ly!”

  “This castle is no cheap facade; this place is the real thing! This banner bedecked inner courtyard is as colourful as a peacock’s tail! Everyone in here is decked out in the brightest coloured silks I could ever imagine!”

  “Where is my page-boy?”

  “Prithee, here I am, me Lord.”

  “Come here, Spyke.”

  “Are you kidding me? That swishy little thing is a male? But he is wearing green tights and poofy blue silk bloomers. His tunic needs to be a little longer to help protect his dignity, but how one can be dignified in a silk tunic of that colour fuschia silk is beyond me. Perhaps it’s the pink bonnet that is a step beyond my own limited comprehension skills. Is he skipping over to us, or is he prancing?”

  “Mine page, I chargest thee with this prisoner. Deliver him unto the Court.”

  “Prithee, it be done, my lord.”

  “Howdy there buddy, do you work here? At the asylum I mean. Just point me to the head shrink if he passes by.”

  “Merry but thou art struck with a strange language. How dost thou come to speake in such a low form?”

  “I reckon you must be one of the kept wards. My name is Ichabod, did I hear the crazy man on the horse call you Spyke?”

  “Prithee, for it be my name, forsooth.”

  “What’s up with all the fancy costumes, Spyke? This place looks like it just stepped out of the Middle Ages.”

  “Fair thee let, your words make no sense Ichabod.”

  “The Middle Ages, like, the twelve hundreds or something.”

  “No-sense are in your words and madness conjured by the deficit.”

  “Then what year is this supposed to be?”

  “It matters naughtte what ye want nor wish nor suppose, forsooth, simple Ichabod: it can only be 528.”

  “Hunh?”

  “Nineteenth of June, 528.”

  “England?”

  “No, we are on yon side of the moon.”

  “Hunh?”

  “Yes, yes, we are in England!”

  “In the year 528?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that is over thirteen hundred years ago!”

  “Again the ogre in the dull clothes is speaking madness. Be glad it was Sir Kegger that found you. You will probably go to prison or be executed.”

  “Prison or execution! Why would anybody do that to me and why is that a good thing?”

  “Good old Sir Kegger, he really does have a soft spot in his massive heart for lone birds in trouble.”

  “I w
as all right until I ran into him! Why is it good that he take me prisoner and then lead me off to be executed?”

  “Well, if you’re going to be killed, wouldn’t you want an expert to do it?”

  “Well yeah, I guess so.”

  “Prithee, of course thy would! Camelot boasts some of the best executioners in the land!”

  “Eek! An executioner! That’s horrible!”

  “Don’t be silly, Icky, you should always leave these things to the professional. Nice and quick. No dragging on for days in agonizing pain.”

  “Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

  “Most other knights would have just made a half-hearted attempt at your death. If you were merely mortally wounded, you wouldst suffer without need.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “But I think good Sir Kegger was just trying to save you from the church.”

  “The church! Could I claim sanctuary?”

  “Forsooth, thy comedies never ceaseth! Sanctuary! Hoo, hoo! No you silly goose, you know as well as everyone else how the church loves to torture its victims.”

  “I thought I was the victim!”

  “You are. Don’t act surprised when you are victimized.”

  “Oh.”

  “Besides, it could be a lot worse.”

  “Worse than being tortured to death by the church?”

  “Yeah, you could have been caught by a magician.”

  “A magician? You mean a guy in a shiny suit pulling rabbits out of his opry hat? What’s so scary about them?”

  “Our magicians may be of a higher calibre than you are normally associated with, Icks.”

  “What did you say today’s date was again?”

  “528, nineteenth of June.”

  “That date sounds familiar to me but I can’t quite place it.”

  “When do you believe is your correct time period, Icksi?”

  “1877.”

  “Why that’s almost 1350 years from now! I’ll be an old man by then!”

  “Can this really be the year 528? Golly, that’s a really long time ago! The ancient crusades are still almost five hunnerd years in the future!”

  “If you are from the future, then tell me about how it’s gonna be.”

  “Well, all those peasants labouring in the muck out in those fields will one day have the same rights under the law as any nobleman.”

  “Get on!”

  “It’s true. Also, the world will be proven to be round, not flat.”

  “Let in!”

  “Yessir, the Earth revolves around the sun and it is predicted, that predicated on their being able to pass the required evaluations, a few women will one day be able to vote in certain, limited elections.”

  “That’s outrageous!”

  “Yessir, the futuristic world of 1877 is a bold new world my friend. Part of that is due to the ‘Revelatory Comet.’”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m glad you asked me that, Spyke. A few years ago, thirteen hundred plus years from now, the Earth passed or passes through the tail of a sparkly comet. Well, what do you know? That enchanted comet dust lit a spark of inventive genius in many folks around the world. All kinds of wondrous contraptions have suddenly become commonplace. Inventors in my time have learned how to turn the stored energy of springs, into animating amazing clockwork mechanicals. If you boil water and capture the steam in a sealed environment, you will build up a pressure that can motivate all sorts of powerful machines. Electricity, that is, lightning that is made by Man, can be turned toward all sorts of uncanny devices.”

  “That is incredible, Ichabod.”

  “Yessir, Spyke, and more than that, I am one of the fortunate few that was stricken with the enlightening celestial fairy dust. I have quite a knack for invention and manufacture...”

  “Hold that thought, Icky, here we are at the Great Hall.”

  “Golly gee whillikers, Spyke, this room is a madhouse! I only thought I was in a loony bin before; now I know it!”

  “Make yourself calm, Ichabod, the proceedings will roll around to you eventually.”

  “There must be over a thousand people in here, not even including all the dogs and cats!”

  “The goats will be in later to clean up.”

  “Look at all the colourful satins and silks! Those ladies over there have those funny dunce caps and taffeta veils. I can tell by the rhythmic flapping of the tapestries that they hide happy couples. I ain’t never seen such a display of carousing and drinking and feasting.”

  “Camelot prides itself on unparalleled carousing.”

  “By that, I guess you mean the unabashed display of tender intimacies during a public function.”

  “These are an affectionate people.”

  “You’re right about that, Spyke.”

  “Forsooth, Ichabod, for do not the dogs make merry in the center of the Table?”

  “Yessir, in fact, all the activity seems to be centered around that great big table in the middle of the room. It ain’t like ordinary tables which are normally rectangular. No, this one is built in a very impractical circular design.”

  “The king wishes to look upon all his knights equally, therefore he hath constructed his Round Table.”

  “Is that the king over yonder? The big feller guzzling from a two gallon tankard?”

  “Aye, that be King Arthur.”

  “King Arthur! Then these must be the Knights of the Round Table!”

  “You’re a little slow there Icky, but you’re catching on.”

  “Golly, imagine that, me, Ichabod Temperance, an Alabama tinker in King Arthur’s Court.”

  “Who’s the pretty little gal sitting next to him?”

  “Our precious Queen, Guenevere.”

  “Who is the overly masculine and ridiculously good looking fellow she keeps slipping discreet glances at?”

  “Sir Launcelot, the finest knight that has ever lived.”

  “Uh, hunh. How about giving me a quick run-down on a few of the more notable characters in this little assembly, like uh, who’s that big, grumpy dude?”

  “That be Sir Gawain, forsooth.”

  “The pitiful little fellow with the hatchet beak?”

  “Sir Percival.”

  “Big and bald?”

  “The King’s step-brother, Sir Kay.”

  “Mr. Low-Forehead pissy pants?”

  “Sir Gufus.”

  “The magnanimous fellow next to him?”

  “His brother, Sir Gallant.”

  “The peculiar, evil fellow with the waxed eyebrows, occult medallions, and suspicious glances?”

  “Merlin the Magician.”

  “I see many minstrels and servants at hand, but I do not understand the need for so many ladies at hand.”

  “One never knows when a Knight will be stricken with a sudden need for carousing.”

  “Oh.”

  “Uh oh, don’t look now, Icky but it seemethest these blokes are about to break out in song.”

  “Does that happen often around here?”

  “Prithee, oh yeah.”

  Ohhhhhhhh,

  We are a handsome and deserving lot.

  Our armour is shining,

  tunics without a spot.

  Let the world go hang,

  we don’t give a rot,

  we are the noble Knights of Camelot!

  We fight senseless battles with impunity,

  We are the epitome of nobility.

  The finest examples of man you will ever see.

  What a draggeth to be you,

  Oh it’s so great to be me!

  Ohhhhhhhh,

  We are all strong men and body-able.

  Our deeds shall surely go down in fable.

  Our cupboard is always laden,

  with plenty of willing maiden,

  All the damsels love a Knight of the Round Table!

  “Finally, it looks like the the proceeding of business is about to commence.”

  “Hear me, my good Kn
ights, I, King Arthur, beseech my Knights to extol their quests and adventures. Fill this lofty hall with thy tales of great deeds! First, we shall hear from the hearty and frothy Sir Meadley.”

  “Prithee may my tale please my liege. I was tasked with a quest to free a lovely damsel from a tower prison where a giant, three-headed ogre held her captive.”

  “Yea, a noble quest for a noble knight. I well remember the circumstances surrounding that dangerous affair. Did ye slay the giant?”

  “Aye, my king, I didst knock the brute about, but enchantments had the monster come back at me again and again. In the end, I broke the creature over my knee and tore his castle down.”

  “Well done, Sir Meadley! I knew I could count on you! Were you able to free the young maiden damsel trapped within?”

  “Yes, my King, here she is.”

  “The shrubbery, you say?”

  “Yes, King Arthur, for lo, the child languishes under an enchantment.”

  “Tsk, tsk. We’ll get her over the the magic laboratory and see if anything can be done.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What of you, Sir BudKaiser? How didst thou fare with thy task?”

  “My King, mine quest being fulfilled prithee in mighty and heroic fashion, as is the idiom of this great assembly. Truly I didst go forth to rescue two beautiful princesses that had been kidnapped, yon by Eavil weetch, forsooth.”

  “Didst my fine knight fare as I may chance to hope?”

  “Aye, my superb King Arthur, for surely though she conjured a despicable host of demon knights to assault me, yea, I struck them all down to the ground that I may tarry naughtte in the release of said princesses. In doing so, so too did I bring end to the weetch so Eavil.”

  “Wert thou able to gain tribute unto this court?”

  “Aye my English liege, my King Arthur, greatest of all kings, I present to the court, these dozen prisoner demons I have captured.”

  “Your demons are a mixed lot, Sir BudKaiser. Prithee to gaze on their awful bodies. Yea, they have transformed themselves into human form!”

  “Aye, King Arthur, for when I wrenched the armour from the foul creatures, these miserable slugs were lain bare to my merciless eyes.”

  “And the weetch?”

  “Shrubberized.”

  “Throw these rascals into the dungeons! Next!”

  “Sir Kegger of Oblivion on Avon!”