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

by Ichabod Temperance

“Naturally, boy.”

  “Yessir, well, it might be good if you could deflate your chest some. Unh hunh, and uh, lower your chin some. Good. No, everything just swelled back up again.”

  “A tricky wicket, all this play, eh, Ichabod?”

  “Yessir. Maybe you could try stooping your shoulders.”

  “How is that?”

  “No, I can’t tell any difference. They still appear able to bear the weight of a nation. Can you slouch?”

  “I am slouching.”

  “No you ain’t.”

  “Blast it, I tell you I am! I shall strike thee down, lo, that I may braketh thine spine if thou canst see that I sloucheth!”

  “Hien! Hien! Hien! Yessir! Sorry, my King! I beg your pardon, Sire, but if you will look down to notice, you are all puffed up bigger than life again.”

  “Ah, yes, so I am. Deucedly difficult business all this peasantry, don’t you know?”

  “Yessir. Um, Sire?”

  “Sir Ichabod?”

  “Um, you know, we can’t be using our real names. Remember my mentioning that we need to assume false identities?”

  “How very odd, to naughtte be addressed by the noble name of ‘Arthur’. Nor ‘King’, nor ‘your Majesty’ or, ‘Sire’ either, for that matter! I say, this is amusing. Dost thou have any suggestions for an appropriate monikerfor me, thy Highness?”

  “Hmm, how about, Bobby?”

  “No.”

  “Jimmy?”

  “No.”

  “Steve?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any suggestions for me?”

  “Felcher.”

  “No.”

  “Groutte.”

  “No.”

  “Doug.”

  “No. What would you like to be called, Sire?”

  “Rodney.”

  “No.”

  “Wolfgang.”

  “No.”

  “Bruce.”

  “No.”

  “What name wouldst thee give thyself, Sir Ichabod?”

  “Theodore.”

  “No.”

  “Roger.”

  “No.”

  “Dwayne.”

  “No.”

  “Please, lemme be Dwayne.”

  “No, but I want the other name.”

  “Hunh?”

  “I shall be, ‘Lemmy’.”

  “With your hair all shaggy, and that funny mustache that runs into your sideburns, you kind of look like a ‘Lemmy’.”

  “You are a natural bottom-feeder Ichabod. No offense, but there are times that you remind me of the prawn that inhabit our river’s floor.”

  “You mean like a craw-daddy?”

  “I suppose, but what to call you? Crawface? Prawnboy? No, something else, I should think. Ah, yes, you’re like one of those slippery little beasts one finds in the Thames. Oh, what is the thing called? It’s a baitfish.”

  “Do you mean a squid?”

  “Ha! Yes! That’s it, you remind me of a nasty little squid! I shall call thee Squiddley.”

  “Hunh?”

  “Let us go and converse with our fellow countrymen. Let them meet, Lemmy and Squiddley.”

  “Gee, Lemmy, it sure is a long way through this forest. I hope we find a house soon, I’m getting some kind of hungry, I tell you what.”

  “Verily, Squiddley, forsooth methinks our stomachs conspire against us. Harken to their famished speech as they call to each other in low rumbles. Would that we had a Camelot feast at our disposal, eh boy?”

  “Yessir. Hey did you hear that? I mean, didst thou harken that? I heard me a rustlin’.”

  “Aye, let us investigate this disturbance.”

  “Oh, it’s a baby deer! It is tangled up in some vines and can’t get free.”

  “Ah, it is a fortunate thing.”

  “Oh no, please, Sire, I mean, please, Mr. Lemmy, sir, don’t kill this child of the forest!”

  “Naughtte to worry, Squiddley, though I am hungry enough to consume this entire animal, it t’would be poor form should I do so. I prefer to free the animal. Let him grow into a large stag. May he sire many more proud deer to fill my forests before I slay him to supp my table. Then he will be a worthy meal for a king.”

  “Wow.”

  “Rise little fawn. Let my royal tear refresh thee. Your King has set thee free.”

  “Gee.”

  “I am King to all England. The people, the animals, and the land itself are all my subjects and I love them all.”

  “Gosh.”

  “Which is why the penalty for poaching is death.”

  “Oh. Hey, looks like we may be approaching a dirty little village. Let’s see if we can find one of them there, what you call, ‘public’ houses.”

  “Splendid, Sir Ichabod!”

  “Sire! Oops! I mean, Lemmy, be careful! My name is Squiddley, remember?”

  “Hm? Oh, yes, the Lemmy and Squiddley incognito nonsense, eh? I know, I know. Ah, here we are, this looks to be the spot. Let us step within.”

  “Slouch, Lemmy! Keep your eyes down!”

  “What’s this? Why do you all sit? I didn’t know people sat!”

  “Howdy, y’all, I mean, prithee, no, I mean, merry, we are but two simple traveling farmers looking for simple refreshments.”

  “I shall sit here!”

  “Okay, good.”

  “Odd’s bodkins, what are you doing, Squiddley?!”

  “I was going to sit down.”

  “With me?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  “Thanks, Lemmy. Excuse me, may we have some food of whatever y’all got and a couple of tankards of whatever it is y’all are swilling down? Thanks, Ma’am.”

  “This is a miserable lot of people to be sure, Squiddley.”

  “Maybe not, Lemmy, here come a couple of nice, friendly, ladies.”

  “Evening, gents, are you lads looking for entertainment?”

  “Of course! I was growing quite bored! Let us go a’wenching!”

  “Hey, Lucy, you want the little one, or do you want me to take big and wooly over here?”

  “You take the little one please, Effyl, I can’t stands the look of him.”

  “Roight.”

  “Okay, big boy, you know I’ll have to charge extra as you are so unattractive.”

  “What? Me? Unattractive? Charge me? You would charge me for the privilege of...”

  “Hey, thanks, girls but I think we’re gonna take a pass on y’all’s services.”

  “Bah, you’re no fun, Squiddley.”

  “Nossir. I thought we were here to get a closer understanding of the common man.”

  “I would have settled for a better understanding of the common woman.”

  “Maybe we can engage some of these sullen and morose individuals in cheerful conversation.”

  “Right! Ha! Good thing it is to be an Englishman, eh, what? Jolly good life it is, putting in a full day’s work on one’s farm or trade, or what have you, toiling away at some sort of nonsense or another, eh, what, eh? Eh? Eh? What dost trouble thee all? Didst the cat, thinking thy tongue to be a mouse, snatch it from thy gaping maw? Verily, to a man, thine eyes grow as large as saucers with unbridled terror. Do horns sprout from mine head? Answer me you peasants, er, I mean, my fellow countrymen, do you naughtte love your King and country?!”

  “Oh!” “Aye!” “Yes!” “Oh, aye, sure we do!” “Yes!” “Aye!”

  “That’s better! I, Lemmy, who art a simple farmer of all the Britains, do hereby say, God Save the King!”

  “Eek!” “Aye!” Oh!” “Yes!”

  “God save us! Oops, I mean, God Save the King!”

  “There, that’s better! No silly nonsense about having to tithe too much here, or tax too much there, or, gratuitous arbitrary confiscational tribute there, in this merry pub, eh? Some might think such talk traitorous, eh what?”

  “No!” “No!” “Please spare us, no!” “No, we love to pay exorbitant
fines and penalties thus forcing us to starve and live in squalor!” “God Save the King, say we, don’t we?” Aye!, let’s all say it together!”

  “God Save the King!”

  “Have mercy on us.”

  “Good, and as we are all free men here, each at his ease to speak his mind with no worry of recrimination, dost anyone present have any grievance weighing on his soul that he may unburden his unhappy heart by sharing his troubles with his common mates? Come now, speak up! If anyone has anything to say against this country, by thunder, I would hear it spoken now!”

  “ . ”

  “What’s the matter?! Hasn’t anyone got anything to say against the King?!”

  “ ! ! ! ”

  “Ha, ha! Jolly good! Free men of England sharing their lack of cares in general camaraderie! Hear, hear!”

  “ . ”

  “Confound it I said hear, hear!”

  “Eek!” “Oh!” Right, we mean, hear, hear, right?”

  “Hear, hear! Oh God save us, hear, hear!”

  “Hark! I hear the approach of running footfalls. This may be an emergency. I command that all present be silent and let the newcomer speak uninterrupted at his entrance.”

  ~gasp!~ “Hark my friends! Please excuse my bursting upon you but we must hurry! I have seen a contingent of the Sheriff and his men! He doth rideth in this direction! He will be here soon! We must hurry and hide our meager grain supplies that we do naughtte starve next winter... Oh, I beg your pardon, I do naughtte know thee, good man. Who art thou?”

  “I am Lemmy, King of the farms. You are mistaken, young man. These are all pledged and loyal sons of the crown and would never do something so base as to hide grain from the Sheriff, merely so that they may survive the coming winter’s freeze.”

  “Baughtte everybody does it. They have to! They would die you silly twit! What kind of farmer are you?”

  “‘Kind’ of farmer? There are different types of farmers? I had never considered this. I have always thought a farmer was a farmer. If you’ve seen one filth covered little peasant toiling away in the muck then you’ve seen them all. Oh, no, I see, thou refers to the type of produce I grow, or perhaps livestock I tend. Let’s see, which should it be? Ah, I know, it’s turnips. I am a turnip farmer. Yes, from sunrise to sunset, you can find me tending my turnip groves. Tricky thing, growing turnip trees, don’t you know. It’s all a matter of knowing when to harvest and when to prune and other such nonsense, eh? That’s why I say it is better to separate the male and female plants...”

  “Eek!” “T’is a madman!” “He is raving with lunacy!” “He knows of our tax liabilities!” “We are doomed!” “We’ll be thrown into dungeons!” “Hanging!” “Locked into public stocks to suffer the cruel torments of our friends and neighbours!” “We cannot let them escape!” “Catch them!” “Kill them!” “Aye, slay these madmen at once before the Sheriff arrives!”

  “...therefore necessitating adding salt to the turnip trees’ fertilizer...”

  “Oh my Goodness, Lemmy, this here little pub of sweet, gentle, English citizens is now a mobbe of angry and desperate people with murder on their collective heart! We better slip out the back, quick!”

  “What’s this? Are there fisticuffs afoot? Sqiddley, dost thou dare infer that I should withdraw out some rear entrance like the bowel movement of a goat?! I came in through the front door, and I shall exit, through the front door, Sir Ic... er, Squiddley! Hah! A bit of rough and tumble, eh? Come Squiddley, let us to battle, engage!”

  “Yessir!”

  “Ho, ho! I bequeath this mighty strike unto thee, thou undeserving scoundrel! Ha, ha! In the name of the King, I dub thee Sir Sleepsalot!”

  “C’mon, y’all, just gimme three steps to yonder door and you all won’t see of me no more.”

  “I club thee asunder, you villain!”

  “You got a funny way of going clubbing, sir.”

  “I stiketh thee, and thou, and tho! Verily, my pugilistic peasants, I smeeteth, smiteth, and smoteth you naughty knaves!”

  “Sorry mister, I’m gonna grab a hold on you, locking your head up under my left armpit. As your buddies rush to help, I’m going to use this hold on your neck to get some boost into the air. The first feller got him a mouth full of heel. I’m gonna come back down only to bounce back up and grab buddy number two around the ears with my feets. Slinging myself over to the right sends you boys tumbling through the rustic furniture in a double peasant takeover!”

  “Come here, you young varlet that I may press thee high above mine head and hurl thy body bodily at yon body of friends whose bodies form an inviting triangle pattern. Ha! A Royal Strike!”

  “Uh, are you done smashing this place and these people to smithereens, Mr. Lemmy, sir? I hope you are learning all you want of the life of an English citizen. If it’s all right, though, can we just go on and hit the road?”

  “Certainly! Ah, a merry time in a jolly English tavern. Yes, Squiddley, this is the life for me!”

  - - -

  “So you really think that by putting more money into circulation, it in turn will generate more wealth and income for the state?”

  “Well, sir, these things work in cycles. You put too much into the aeconomy, and you’ll wash out your money’s worth, but if there ain’t no money being circulated, then that’s when things get stagnant. I’m thinking it wouldn’t hurt at this point in your countries history to get some fresh coins bouncing around. You’ll reap a tremendous harvest in the long run.”

  “I do so like being wealthy.”

  “Yessir, I reckon most folks feel the same way.”

  “Tell me more of your funny Greek governing techniques.”

  “Yessir. We call it a democracy. The citizens choose their leaders in elections.”

  “I see, rather than being born to serve a landowner, one serves the state.”

  “If you ain’t careful, something of that nature may arise.”

  “Your elections are a popularity contest, are they naughtte?”

  “Yessir, one man, one vote.”

  “The nobility’s votes count more, surely?”

  “Nossir, everybody’s vote counts the same.”

  “Certainly the King’s vote counts for more than one vote! It only stands to reason that the King’s vote should count for a hundred thousand votes of common men!”

  “Nossir, there ain’t no king.”

  “This is a realm of madness! All men of equal worth and say in government!?”

  “Yessir. It was not always that way, though. There was a time where men of a different race were only given a percentage of the vote. This was called ‘The Great Compromise’, but it really wasn’t all that great.”

  “Your world is far from Utopia, Squiddley.”

  “Yessir, but it is incumbent for folks in any time they live, to make their world a better place while they are there. We have made big steps in some ways, but are dragging our feet in others.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, take women’s rights for instance. There are many that feel women should be equal citizens under the law as men. It ain’t right to treat a woman as a piece of property as so often happens in all of history. Women want to have control over their own destiny. They want the right to vote. They...”

  “Bah-hahahahahaha! Women voting! You are a funny little man, Squiddley.”

  “It’s true! Women have the right to an education!”

  “An education! Dost thou believe the female mind capable of literacy?”

  “Yessir, I do! Not only that, but wouldn’t it be fine if there was education available to the public in general? Just imagine, every man and woman in the country, being able to read, write, and do arithmetic. Everybody could have an appreciation for art, literature, and sophisticated entertainment.”

  “Verily, thy dost boggle my mind with thy...”

  “Hold it right there, mates! Hands in the air! Give me all your money!”

  “A robber! Hey, this is highway rob
bery!”

  “Very observant little man, now hand over your money!”

  “This sort of thing is against the law. We do naughtte associate with criminals. Good evening, sir.”

  “Naughtte so fast, big boy, I said give me your money.”

  “Why on Earth would I do that?”

  “I’ll stick you, otherwise.”

  “I have no great fear of sticks.”

  “I mean I’ll stab you with this big dagger!”

  “You cannot have a dagger, it’s against the law.”

  “Baughtte I’m a highwayman, breaking the law is what I do.”

  “Baughtte that would make thee a criminal!”

  “Dawn slowly rises.”

  “Baughtte the King hath decreed these things to be illegal!”

  “Pffft. The King. Are you giving me your money or naughtte.”

  “What dost thou thinketh?”

  “All right, you asked for it, big fellow-woah! Ow! Lemme go!”

  “Lemmy go mean on thine wrist, methinks! Methinks this dagger you have dropped now belongest to me! At least, until such time as I can turn it and you, highwayman/criminal/robber, over to the proper authorities...Oh, drat, he has broken away.”

  “Hey, Lemmy, I think I see the Sheriff and his posse! Howdy Sheriff, the rascal y’all are after went thataways.”

  “You men, what mischief do thy make?”

  “We didn’t make no mischief sir, we were on the wrong end of such a predicament!”

  “Then why dost yon burly serf brandish an illegal dagger so menacingly?”

  “Verily, I brandish it naughtte, noble Sheriff. Forsooth I have only just relieved its possession of a violent criminal.”

  “I see no such criminal, only you two criminals. Take them into custody.”

  “Hey, y’all can’t do this! He’s Lemmy! I’m Squiddley! We’re headliners!”

  “Get your hands off of me! Remove these manacles and shackles at once!”

  “I can see the big one is going to be trouble. Gag him and let’s get these vermin to the slave market.”

  Chapter 15

  The Hanging

  “Hear ye, hear ye, step this way! Londonderry’s finest slave market is open for business! No-one has a selection of fresh slaves as desirable as Insane Saul! Buy all your slaves from Saul, he’s Insane!”