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

by Ichabod Temperance

  “‘Vote’, m’lord?”

  “Y’all ain’t got no vote, hunh? Well, I reckon voting is where you get your say in picking your leaders.”

  “Ho, ho! What a concept, m’lord! We are to choose who is our Governor?”

  “Yes, that’s it precisely!”

  “Prithee, how is this fanciful play accomplished?”

  “We have elections, where the person that gets the majority of votes is picked as our leader.”

  “Thy whimsy knows no bounds, m’lord. The things thee says to entertain me tickle me canoogles. What merry tales you tell! Ho, ho!”

  “It’s true! Even a person like me could be elected to lead a large and powerful country!”

  “Ahhhhh-hahahahahahahahahaaha!”

  “Aw, c’mon.”

  “Ohhhhh-hohohohohohohohohohoho!”

  “All right, I reckon the idea is pretty silly. What I meant was, a regular feller or gal could be elected. They do not need to be born of a noble family. Being a citizen is enough.”

  “A commoner that holds more power than nobility? Thy jests art truly of hilarious portent, good Knight.”

  “Well, if that’s so silly, then how do you all do it?”

  “There is Royalty, and then there are the Common. This is a Holy decree. It is the way of things, m’lord. How dost thee doubt what thou can see and have always known and have always known to be, forsooth?”

  “How did Arthur come to be King?”

  “He pulled Excalibur from the stone.”

  “Hunh?”

  “The land of Britain itself, magically caused three spiritual women to be formed. These Holy Faeries forged a physical manifestation indicating a birthright to rule. This was the blade, ‘Excalibur’. Fashioned as a sturdy broadsword, this is the source of England’s power! One spiritual woman was chosen to be responsible for the sword. She came to be known as ‘The Lady of the Lake’ as she lives underwater in the brooks, lakes and ponds, of the nation. In a land constantly at war, one great Knight of battle finally gained sway over all the Britons. This great warrior, through the crucible of endless battle, proved to be worthy of Monarchy. The ‘Lady of the Lake’ saw that the sword be queathed upon Uther Pendragon. Alas, Uther’s bloodlust in battle was equally matched by his womanlust in victory. The precarious truce Uther had built quickly fell to his inability of keeping his greaves on. The great Uther soon found himself cut off from his men and in mortal danger. In a last act of his fading life, the indomitable Uther plunged Excalibur, England’s Sword of Power, into a large rock. Impressing his will upon the thing in doing so, somehow, Uther imparted a form of magic himself upon the sword for he cast a spell that no-one may pull the sword from the stone but the one true King. For many years afterwards, many brave and noble Knights fought and competed for the right to attempt a go at the sword. Countless Knights made the attempt but it was naughtte until Arthur, quite by accident actually, pulled upon Excalibut and the sword came free of the stone at last. Arthur is widely considered the greatest King in history. Perhaps the greatest king for all of history.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Does that naughtte seemeth a proper ascension to the throne, m’lord?”

  “Water pixies that make magic swords and then randomly choose murderous madmen who then go and shove the thing into a rock until some clod with a good grip yanks it out to decide a ruler? It could end up going to a vandal minded jerk with a chisel and hammer. Maybe a little lube and the right touch was all you needed to pull this sticker out of the ground. It could have gone to anybody! That is a basis for ruling a mighty country?”

  “Arthur has proven to be a good king. As far as we are concerned, the stone trick worked.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Oh, well, sure, why not? I like our elected democracy, but more often than not, we end up with a bunch of forked-tongued crooks. Besides, y’all’s country’s basis of governing makes for a much more romantic tale.”

  “Thank you, m’lord.”

  “I reckon that ol’ Uther must have had an inkling that he had a son somewhere, somehow.”

  “I am sure that Uther was confident that the wide casting of his seed would bear fruit and a true king arise therefrom.”

  “Hey looky there, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am, I see a tent up ahead. It is tall and silky, striped in luxuriant deep purple, green and gold. A long thin little banner waves atop.”

  “I sayeth, m’lord, but that animal tethered to the side is like none I have ever seen! It stands far taller than any horse! Like that of a dragon, its long neck extends far from its hairy body to rise high in the air to look down at us. Eek! It just spat at us! Merry, t’is a good thing that its foul spittle struck thee and naughtte I! Eee gads, what a monster! The horrible thing is hunch-backed! Its grotesque deformation climbs to tower over us!”

  “Aw, don’t you worry none, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am, this here feller ain’t gonna hurt you. He is actually gentle and sweet if you treat him right. I think this feller didn’t like all the noise, steam, and smoke coming off our little Miss Beemer. I love animals. If I didn’t have this dang ol’ armour on, I’d go over and pet him to say hello. I’ve only heard of these creatures, I ain’t never met one in real life before.”

  “What is it!?”

  “A camel, Ma’am. Let’s stop in and say hello.”

  “Eh hem, I sayeth, I agree. Prithee, bring this cart to a halt and let us meet this noble personage that travels by such a strange steed.”

  ~clankety-clankety-clank~

  “Howdy, anybody home?”

  “My supernatural senses detect the arrival of unexpected trespassers. Visitors stand, at my en-trance.”

  “Hey, that was pretty good demonstration of supernatural powers! May we come in?”

  “Who dares to disturb me, from my mystic trance?”

  “I am a Knight of King Arthur’s Round Table, sir. I have my official, Court approved lovely quest-wench with me.”

  “Enter, Sahib.”

  “Thanks, sir-woah! You are a tall feller, ain’t you? You must be on the North side of six and a half feet! The fact that you are very thin and wear close fitting clothes of indefinable Eastern origin only magnifies your amazing height! Not to mention the big, silky, paisley turban with ridiculous, big fake ruby stuck in the middle what makes it where you appear as a good seven footer!”

  “To me you shall bibble babble naughtte. State thy name, little Knight.”

  “Let’s not be rude to the lady, sir, this is Miss Stephanie Tartt O’Plum. My name is Ichabod...”

  “Ichabod! Ee-you art he who art known as the man Ichabod?

  “You ain’t got to say it like that, mister. You act like you got a mouthful of overly tart lemon taffy. What kind of a handle do they hang on you back home?”

  “I am a famous magician the world over! From the forbidden steppes of the Tibetan Plateau I come. It was there I was brought up in the most secret magical temples. I am born to practice the dark arts. Traveling the planet, honing the nuances in the nether-craft, my journeys have carried me through India, Persia, Tahjikistan, Wahkawahkastan, Guacamolistan, Fringedmoccastan, Livingstonleystan, Oliverlaurelhardystan. I crave ever more knowledge and power, for my ambitions have no limit! I am the ‘See-er’. The Swami to the Stars! I am the man with the all seeing eye! I am Mischa Mauer! I am, Mischa the Great!”

  “Well ain’t that something? A traveling world famous magician! Could you do a trick for us?”

  “I do naughtte do tricks! I perform inexplicable feats of supernatural miasmorphia!”

  “Gee, like what, for instance?”

  “I can do anything! I see, all! I know, all! Future knowledge is at your beckoning, … for a nominal fee, of course.”

  “Yessir, of course.”

  “Merely to defray expenses, you understand.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Camels do naughte grow on trees, my friend.”

  “Nossir.”

  “Nor are they cheap for upkeep.”

 
“Nossir.”

  “Nor the Cockatoo that has landed on your head, nor the chimpanzee that is giving a thorough olfactory inspection of your female.”

  “I’d prefer it if you addressed Miss Stephanie as Miss Stephanie.”

  “Of course, oh great magician of Camelot, I will call it anything you want.”

  “Did you say that you were an expert at predicting future events?”

  “Not prediction! Fact! I see what will be.”

  “Even far into the future?”

  “Yes! The Great Mischa sees all!”

  “Hah, well that’s where I’ve got you, mister! You see, I’m from the far off distant future! I come from over a thousand years from now! There is no way you can see that far into the future! Go on, take a shot. I’ll tell you how far off you get.”

  “The Great Mischa is never wrong!”

  “Then let her rip you rural Russian, fish egg dip!”

  “First let us be comfortable. I shall even allow the woman to sit with us. Relax on these piles of pillows and let the thick incense bring tranquility to thy thoughts. I now place this huge sphere of ancient crystal on this central pillow. As I weave my hands around the crystal ball, you may see shapes swirling in its depths.”

  “Will we be able to see the future, there?”

  “No! Only I can see distinctly into the crystal! To you, it is only indistinguishable swirls!”

  “But I’m paying for it!”

  “No!”

  “Awww.”

  “Where was I? Oh yes, I must weave my long fingers about the marbled sphere in a complicated spell.”

  Come to me, words that rhyme,

  from this rube, separate his dimes,

  as his jaw is dripping slime,

  send my vision across time!

  “Ah, yes, the patterns become clear.”

  “What do you see, Swami?”

  “I see a device. It has an inexplicable ability to grant the owner the knowledge of time itself!”

  “Hey, that’s right! You are describing a clock, or even a watch! Go on, Mischa!”

  “I see a device that can capture a single image, as that of the most detailed artist in an instant!”

  “Hey, you are right again, Mr. Mischa! You are describing the dry collodion plate, photographic process!”

  “I see many of these images run together one after another in a rapid process that recreates the illusion motion!”

  “Gosh, I have heard of inventors moving in that direction, Mr. Mischa, sir. This is fascinating! Go on, you crazy Swam-bat, you!”

  “I see man being able to communicate with other men in distant lands.”

  “This is uncanny! You are describing the telegraph and telephone!”

  “I see man developing a medium in which great amounts of information can be stored, and then easily assessed.”

  “Yessir. That medium must be our invention of paper, then printing.”

  “Segments of these informational bundles are known as files.”

  “Yessir. Big ol’ steel file cabinets, each one filled with file after file, brimming with paper that is full of all sorts of information so that its general knowledge can be shared, I reckon.”

  “These will be in a digital format.”

  “Oh, I get it, you must be talking about libraries. Yessir, they are just full of all sorts of good useful information, all at your fingertips thanks to the Dewey Decimal System.”

  “Digital.”

  “Whatever.”

  “All of these devices; timepiece, photography and sound recreation; the ability to photograph, and watch, then send around the world, moving pictures; to talk with one another and access an endless sea of information in an instant will all be contained in a single device that will fit in the palm of man and will be unencumbered by wired tether.”

  “Wuh? Wuh! Wuh-HAH-hahahahahahahaha!”

  “I tell you, what I say is true!”

  “Bah-hahahahahahahaha!”

  “Stop laughing! These things will come to be!”

  “Hoo, hoo! Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Mischa, sir, you were doing pretty good for a minute there, but then you went all silly with the whimsical magic stuff.”

  “But what I say is true, I tell you!”

  “Ho, ho! Ain’t he a hoot, Miss Stephanie?”

  “Tee, hee! Oh, dear, I am so sorry, oh Great Mischa, I am completely unable to contain the mirth of such silly notions! Tee, hee! Laughter bubbles up and I am powerless to detour its merry enchantment! Tee, hee! Really, your fanciful notions are charming baughtte come now, what folly! Tee, hee!”

  “Stop laughing! Both of you! I refuse the scorn of an imbecile! I will suffer no woman to mock me! I cannot stand it! You will both be silent!”

  “Ho, ho!”

  “Tee, hee!”

  ~squawk!~ “Ha, ha!” ~squawk!~

  “No, not the Haugghibier, the Cockatoo!”

  “Ree, ree, ree! Ha, ha, ha! Ree, ree, ree!”

  “No! I cannot be laughed at by my own chimpanzee!”

  “Ho, ho!” “Tee, hee!”~squawk!~“Ha, ha!” “Ree, ree, ree!”

  “Be quiet, all of you! Do naughtte laugh at me! You, the little ape...”

  “You mean me?”

  “No, The other little ape! I cannaughtte allow thee to continue! Come here! I will smite thy hairy head!”

  ~Smite! Smite! Smite!~

  “Hien! Hien! Hien!”

  “Oh no! Mr. Mischa! Please stop spanking your monkey!”

  “Shut-up! Do naughtte dare to interfere!”

  “I’ll protect you little buddy!”

  “Bah! Get out of the way! I shall slay that little beast! Bah, I shall kick any vulnerable area I can find on you, you pathetic excuse of a Knight, until you release that chimp you protect by balling your armoured body around it!”

  ~Kick! Kick!-* *~

  “Cease thy kicks on Ichabod’s vulnerables!”

  “Bah, the quest-wench! How dare you lay hands on me!”

  ~back-slap!~

  “Oh, I am struck!”

  “Persephone!”

  ~punch!~

  “Oh my Goodness, are you all right, Ma’am?!”

  “Eh hem, methinks I shall recover from the Great Mischa’s backhand slap, long before the Great Mischa recovers from the punch of Sir Ichabod.”

  Chapter 12

  The Ogre

  chug-chug-chug-chug-chug-chug-chug-chug

  “If they follow us all the way back to Camelot, can we keep ‘em?”

  “Methinks the camel, bird, and chimp have already made that decision, Sir Ichabod.”

  “Yay!”

  “Sir Ichabod?”

  “Yes, Ma’am?”

  “Who is Persephone?”

  “Eep! How do you know that name?!”

  “When the Great Mischa struck me, you called out this name with passion as you offered defense from the ungallant magician.”

  “Oops, I’m sorry. I reckon I lost my head for a moment. ‘Persephone’ refers to Miss Persephone Plumtartt.”

  “I see, eh hem. Oh, I sayeth, Sir Ichabod, take a care!”

  “Hunh? What’s the matter?”

  “The end of our quest draws near! We are in the lands of the ogre!”

  “You mean the giant, three headed ogre that I am tasked to slay?”

  “Aye! Stop your infernal steam-coach. I will lightly traipse ahead and verify our destination in a discreet manner.”

  ~gulp!~

  “Oh my Goodness, there she goes. Now she is creeping along as she approaches a stand of bushes at the ridgeline. Now she is crawling on hand and knee. Oh golly, Miss Stephanie is peeking through a shrubbery. She just snatched back like she saw the ogre! Oh no! She is motioning for me to follow suit. Oh, I wish this suit weren’t so clanky. It ain’t worth a darn for sneaking up on somebody. Oh, now she wants me to get down and crawl forward. Oh, dang, I ain’t liking this a bit.”

  “Take care, Sir Ichabod, yon lies the castle of the ogre!”

/>   “Do I really have to go through with this?”

  “Yes! Thirteen damsels languish under a horrible enchantment! You must save them! It is your Holy Quest, Sir Ichabod!”

  “Well, if I gotta, I gotta, I reckon. I’ll just lift this stupid visor and take a peek. Hunh. All I’ve got to show for my surreptitious reconnoitering is a run down little pig farm.”

  “Nay, t’is an enchantment! You are really looking upon a grand castle!”

  “Uh, hunh. Um, that man and his two young sons?”

  “T’is the ogre!”

  “Gotcha. You wait for me with Miss Beemer, and I’ll be along with your imprisoned damsels in just a jiffy.”

  “Bless you, my good, brave Sir Knight! God Bless thee on thy sacred and noble quest, Sir Ichabod!”

  “Thanks, Ma’am. Let’s see, I’ll just clamber my way down this other side of the hill. There we go, that wasn’t so bad. Um, howdy y’all, please don’t be alarmed at my over-sized armour. I was wondering if you would be interested in parting with a portion of your livestock? Yessir, I was wanting about twelve, no, thirteen good hogs, please. Here you go, here’s a small fortune in spare change for the piggies. You all have a nice day, now, you hear?”

  Chapter 13

  Hail, the Conquering Hero

  “All hail our returning hero! Let us all sing his praises!”

  Oh, Ichabod!

  He can do,

  what no-one else can!

  Oh, Ichabod!

  It is he,

  who art the man!

  Let every bell be rung!

  Singing out from every tongue!

  Join our chorus, let it be sung!

  Or we’ll throw you in a heap of dung!

  Oh, Ichabod! Ichabod!

  “Ha! Wherefore ist the Quest-Wench?”

  “Forsooth, here I am, oh beloved monarch of our glorious England! I, Stephanie Tartt O’Plum, art here in these gathered masses of thine adoring subjects! What wouldst thou have of me, oh gracious majesty that is our noble Liege, King Arthur? Ask of me what thy will, my King! Let it be done!”

  “I would have thee tell me the deeds of Sir Ichabod! I ask my loyal subjects that pack this merry hall and pile up on the Round Table, wouldst thee all care to hear the tale of our own good Knight, our own Sir Ichabod?!”