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

by Ichabod Temperance

  “Hunh?!”

  “Close your eyes, tilt your head and kiss me you funny little man.”

  “Mmmmmmm!”

  “Holy Crusades! Verily, that there was sure ‘nough a sincere kiss of good luck, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am!”

  “Indeedeth. Survive this day, Ichabod, and there will be more where that came from.”

  “Yes, Ma’am!”

  - - -

  “Behold, my wife and Queen Guenevere, Sir Gunther and his entourage emerge from his tent’s secretive folds. Ye, gads, what a monster that man is!”

  “Yes, my husband and King, Sir Gunther is a fearsome sight! He and his devil-steed are clad in black as dark as pitch. Scarlett highlights seemeth as blood’s ooze to highlight the fearsome contours of his ghastly armours. A crimson bloom of feathers atop Gunther’s helmet seemeth a gruesome fountain of blood. The red plume mirrors Gunther’s state of mind. Smoke trails seeping from the man leave no doubt he has just been heavily hexed. This horrible vision seemeth more the God of War than Ares Himself.”

  “Oui, this is a frightful sight to be sure. The horse’s helmet sports a single forward facing horn. One might think this would convey the image of a unicorn, but in this animal’s case, in conjunction with the heavy plates of black steel, I am thinking the resemblance of the apparition is more to that of a rhinoceros.”

  “Hm! Those three magicians are a particularly unsavory laughtte, eh? The tall thin one in the turban, Mischa. Doth he naughtte appear to be swirled about by little sparks of exploding energies?”

  “Yes, my king. Methinks he is highly charged with dark magics.”

  “So too is our Merlin, eh? He does naughtte stand in a small whirlwind of little sparks as the Russian Swami does; rather, tiny discharges jumpeth from his grinning features. Oh! A tiny discharge just jumped from his fingertip, incinerating a butterfly that fluttered too close.”

  “My image of Morgana is distorted. Is that smoke, steam, or something else that shimmers the air about the sinister sorceress? Dear me, I do believe the grass is withering and dieing in a spreading circle around her as we speak!”

  “Gunther is leaving his assemblage, and galloping to the royal viewing stand for last minute instructions.”

  “Hail, King Arthur! It is I, Sir Gunther GravenHurlle! I am here as promised. I demand that my opponent be made to face me!”

  “Hail, Sir Gunther. Let us look to the tent of your foe.”

  “There he is, my King!”

  “Ye gads, is that really him? That stupid black hat he wears is unmistakable, otherwise, I don’t believe what my eyes are telling me!”

  “Oui, my King, and very bestest friend, this sight of the poor wretched Sir Ichabod is naughtte one in which my eyes can accept as true.”

  “My King, the reflection from his satin tunic almost blinds me! The weak, lavender colour is as silk! His little brown horse has no armour! Sir Ichabod has no armour and his pink hosiery is plain to see. Yea, the odd fellow goes so far as to wear pink hosiery down his arms as well! It really is unfortunate how the sleeves end in piles of ruffley frills.”

  “I’m sorry; I did naughtte even notice any of that. I was too transfixed by his green and white polka-dot pantaloons. Tell me, are they supposed to have those twin bundles of tubular quilted rolls at the inner waist seam?”

  “Let us try to take no notice, your Highness.”

  “Eh, um, er, oh, yes, hail, and well met, Sir Ichabod. Er, you did realize that you were supposed to be dressed for a joust this morning, yes?”

  “Yessir, your Highness, Mr. King Arthur sir. I am ready!”

  “Really?”

  “Nossir. Hey there, Mr. Sir Gunther, sir, this really is just a big misunderstanding. I would never call you a big sissy. If it will make you feel any better, you can call me a big sissy, and then we’ll be even, okay? I wore these here sissy britches and such to make it easier for you.”

  “Bah, thou art truly sissified, baughtte I nay will let thee off so easy! Thou shalt die, insignificant one. Sire, I beg thee, do naughtte allow this farce to continue. Do naughtte desecrate this field with the indignity of one dressed as he. This institution is insulted by his un-manly attire. Allow me to maintain the honour of this Court and slay the foul, effeminate creature here and now.”

  “Nay, stay thy hand, Sir Gunther, I have granted the right to die a noble death upon this lad. I task thee with giving him a fair contest.”

  “But what about him using all them magic tricks?!”

  “Magic is deemed fair play. Good luck to you both.”

  “Arrr, Hail, King Arthur!”

  ~gulp~ “Um yessir, hail King Arthur, y’all.”

  “There they go, back to their prospective places to begin the jousts.”

  “King Arthur, wait, I have one more preparation!”

  “Yes, Mischa?”

  “I wish to deploy, this!”

  ~gasp!~ “My King! Mischa has just thrown a sheet over Gunther and his horse that has rendered them both invisible!”

  “This I think is too far, your Majesty.”

  “No, Launcelot, Sir Ichabod knew what he was getting into.”

  “King Arthur! Sir Gunther has disappeared! Is he over there, invisible, ready to charge and run me down?”

  “Of course, you silly boy.”

  “May I make one last preparation also?”

  “Certainly, Sir Ichabod.”

  “Okey dokey, I’m gonna drop my tent to reveal an apparatus I have prepared. Do you see the six steel barrels I have arranged? They are lying on their sides and firmly affixed in position. Can you see the wires leading to this stand in the middle? You see this here wheel lying on its side, up in the air on this stand? It ain’t really a wheel. It ain’t flat all around the bottom. The thing is kind of tubey. Sort of like a sausage that has been twisted into a circle. If I were back home in my time, I would call it a ‘dough-naughtte’. Well sir, these here barrels each contain a fortune in copper wiring. There is a space inside where an iron bar rests on a spindle. The iron bar has been magnetized in such a way that when spun inside the chest, it can develop an incredible source of energy. Ol’ Ben Franklin dubbed it ‘electricity’.”

  “Yes, yes, the chests are dynamos that generate electricity. You explained all this already Ichabod. Odd’s bodkins, you can be annoying with your tedious, and inane, little explanations!”

  “Yessir! I’m sorry your Majesty and all y’all out there that are subject to my tedious explanations!”

  “I understand these engines must be given thrall. You have no steamer, no springer, no propellant, at all.”

  “Well, sir, Sire, for this particular device, I don’t need a continuous supply of juice, just one big super-surge.”

  “Oh, very well, do your thing, Ichabod.”

  “Each dynamo is accompanied by a steel jar, or, as I prefer, pot. Inside the pot is a little windmill wheel. A shaft extends from the inner wheel through the wall of the pot to a set of gears that interface with the dynamo. The placement and ratios of these gears confer higher and higher rates of speed to the turn of the consecutive cogs. By the time energies are transferred to the dynamo, the speed is really humming.”

  “Yes, yes, baughtte the motivation of your gearing, boy.”

  “Yessir. Remember how I blasted Mr. Merlin’s castle into gravel? I used a substance known as dynamite. Each of these pots is equipped with a respectable charge of the explosive. I have the dynamite pots set up in such a way that I will set off all six charges simultaneously. This will spin them dynamos lickety split for about five seconds. This sudden generation of concentrated electricity will send a huge blast of power to my horizontal dough-naughtte which will in turn, emit a pulsation of conjuration cessation and negation to sweep this delegation of aggregation.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “We’re about to find out. Fire in the hole!”

  ~BOOM!~

  ~fuh-WHOOMP! puh-puh-puh-puh-puh~

  “Your Majesty, art thou w
ell?!”

  “Yes, Launcelot, I’m all right. By my boots, did you feel that? It was as if a gentle wave pushed out from Ichabod’s position. I felt a sensation push its way through me!”

  “Oui, my King, as if an invisible wall of syrup moved across the fields.”

  “Tee, hee! Look there, Arthur, my King! Behold, it is Sir Gunther! He is visible once more! T’was no gentle wave for he, my King, forsooth, the black Knight doth be cast to the ground! The armoured war-horse has been knocked onto its haunches! Does this mean that Sir Ichabod has unhorsed, Gunther and thus won the bout?”

  “No, my Queen Guenevere, for though placed in a humiliating position and very nearly driven from his horse, Sir Gunther is technically still in the saddle. His seconds now rush forward to get horse and rider back upright.”

  “Oui, my King, Sir Gunther now recovers his composure after the concussive blow he has been struck due to his heavy magic suffusion and now wishes more than ever to engage the boy. His terrifying steed is uninjured in the assault. The horse too, wishes for revenge on this unexpected strike, I think, oui?”

  “Tee, hee! Oh, Arthur, my King, perhaps a few of Sir Gunther’s assistants should help the trio of wizardly folk to their feet from whence they have been cast so unceremoniously upon their own haunches in turn, my lord. Verily, the trio doth appeareth most consternated and bewildered from their seat on the dewed lawns.”

  “Ha! That was incredible! Sir Ichabod, what hast happened?”

  “Well, sir, Sire, I figured these folks had ‘em some kind of Tom Foolery cookin’ so I thought I’d take the steam out of their shenanigans with an ‘E.M.P.”

  “An E.M.P., Sir Ichabod?”

  “Yes, Sire,

  Ethereal

  Magicessation

  Pulse.”

  “What does this device do, or rather, what has it done?”

  “It has temporarily negated any sorcery for over a mile. The effects will wear off, but there ain’t gonna be no magic in this locality today.”

  “Rrrroar! I need no magics to defeat thee, little Knight! Release me to kill this insolent swine, my lord!”

  “Art thou ready, Sir Ichabod?”

  “Let her rip, your Lordship.”

  “Engage!”

  “They’re off, my King! With reckless abandon doth the two noble Knights charge at one another! Gunther is heavily armoured and on a titanic steed! One can almost imagine waves of hate emanating from the angry Knight. His twenty foot lance, resting across his strong shield, is aimed unerringly for Ichabod’s excuse of a heart!”

  “Oui, I cannot look. Ichabod without so much as a shield to protect him is riding his little pony into suicide. Adieu, Ichabod.”

  “Ha! How thrilling! Closer and closer they get! Both horses are running at top speed! Collision is imminent!”

  “Ichabod hast turned away at the very last second! Gunther almost toppled from his saddle when contact was naughtte made, so sure was he of his death stroke.”

  “They have turned and do charge again! Mon Dieu! Once again, the slippery little Ichabod narrowly beckons his little horse aside at the last possible moment!”

  “My King, Gunther is beside himself in rage! He screams and curses at the vexing boy. The pink and lavender clad lad would placate the determined killer, baughtte the more Ichabod attempts to sooth the angry Gunther, the more this Knight of Knevermore grows in ferocity!”

  “Ha! Gunther no longer feels bound by the rules of jousting, eh? Look there, he has drawn his sword and now chases after Ichabod. Ha! Ichabod is more easily able to maneuver about Sir Gunther than ever before! The little mare he rides is actually prancing! The little chestnut mare taunts and teases the murderous charger that Gunther rides! Heavy armour binds the great war-horse, where the smaller horse can jump about the larger horse with ease.”

  “My King, methinks Sir Ichabod now shows off, doth he naughtte? Looketh on how he makes a sudden pass behind his foe to slap the war-charger on the asses.”

  “The animal Gunther rides is equal in rage to its master! It would bite the little horse if it could! He pursues the horse recklessly...Oh! The great charger has stumbled, sending horse and rider tumbling.”

  “Yay, I won! I have unhorsed Sir Gunther! You done good, Sir Gunther, put her there, pal.”

  “Never! I shall never yield. I challenge that ruling! I contend that this be concluded as a horse error and naughtte the fault of the rider. I submit to King Arthur that I have yet to be vanquished!”

  “Ha! I’ll allow it! This shall be recorded for posterity as an error of the horse. You may remount your steed, Sir Gunther.”

  “But Sire...”

  “Now, Ichabod, I have decided.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Blast it, quit running around! Fight me, you horrible excuse of a Knight!”

  “You’re welcome to give up and concede if you want to, Sir Gunther.”

  “Rar! This is naughtte according to custom! King Arthur, make this fool fight me!”

  “Come now, Ichabod, thou must do battle with Sir Gunther.”

  “Yessir, your Highness, sir. Okey doke, Sir Gunther, you asked for it. Careful what you wish for, biggun.”

  “Launcelot, what is it the boy has? What is he doing?”

  “T’would appear to be a rope, your Majesty. He hath fashioned a hoop upon one end of this thin braid.”

  “Verily, what can the young man do with that bit of thin rope, my king?”

  “Ha! Forssoth we shall soon see, Guenevere, for Gunther is re-armed with lance and bears down on a rope armed Sir Ichabod.”

  “Oui, the boy charges straight into his opponent with daring I am thinking! He twirls his rope’s hoop above his head. I think he does this in an effort to encourage the rope to expand into an open circle. He and Sir Gunther are about to collide! Ichabod has his horse dodge across the path of Gunther to avoid his lance. Sacre Bleu! Ichabod hath cast his rope to ensnare Sir Gunther! Sir Ichabod’s horse has quickly turned to firmly entrench its hooves to the ground! Sir Ichabod braces himself along with his horse in time as the rope snaps taughtte! Sir Gunther is snatched from his saddle!”

  ~klang!~

  “Ha! Sir Gunther landed flat on his back! He rebounds high into the air to land facefirst in the turf!”

  “Has the Great Sir Gunther perished, my King?”

  “No Guenevere, I think he is only temporarily dazed from that tremendous initial impact upon Brittanica Firma. Hello, I did naughtte expect this. Sir Ichabod has dismounted and runs to Sir Gunther, no doubt to slit his throat while he has the chance.”

  “No my King, Sir Ichabod grasps a steel shod foot of Sir Gunther and pushes it towards the fallen Knight’s head. He pulls the other foot up and crosses the feet as he rapidly binds them in his rope. Sir Gunther is regaining consciousness. He struggles to make sense of his circumstance. Sir Ichabod has captured one arm and entwines it in his cord, pulling it toward the bound feet. With his one remaining free limb, Gunther attempts to right himself where he finds he has capsized. Ichabod tries to catch his arm in the rope! Sir Gunther desperately tries to keep his remaining arm at liberty and is just able to wriggle out of Ichabod’s cocoon. Ichabod is now trying to get a grasp upon one of Gunther’s fingers. Gunther clutches his fist and holds his arm close to his body in an attempt to protect it from the entangling tentacles of Octobod the Ichapus. Oops, I mean, Ichabod the octopus.”

  “Ha! Ichabodopus is pushing up on Gunther’s elbow to force access to the elusive gauntlet. He is quickly wrapping Sir Gunther’s wrist in the cord and with his newfound abundance of leverage, easily pulls this appendage to join its mates.”

  “Yes, Arthur, my King! The slender rope granted Ichabod the wherewithal to overcome Gunther’s greater size and strength to secure his last appendage. Once again, with speed and alacrity, the little fellow in pink and lavender has bested his foe.”

  “Clear! What’s my time, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am?”

  “Eleven seconds, m’lord.”
>
  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, quite sure. Eleven seconds, m’lord.”

  “Enh, I was hoping for better.”

  “Did I win?”

  “No! Tis be naughtte a proper way to treat a noble Knight! I second Sir Gunther, and I challenge Sir Ichabod!”

  “Whatever you say, Sir Brüdskowlle.”

  “Ichabod’s quest-wench, Stephanie, has hurried fresh ropes to her champion.”

  “Sir Ichabod has ensnared Sir Brüdskowlle’s horse, tumbling both horse and Knight to the ground!”

  “Oui, Sir Brüdskowlle, though, refuses to yield, even if unhorsed. The humiliated Knight pulls his sword and invites Sir Ichabod to continue combat.”

  “Ha! Ichabod has snagged Brüdi’s leg with his clever rope! He pulls Sir Brüdskowlle off his feet and now tows him behind his horse across the field.”

  “Do you surrender, Sir?”

  “Never!”

  “In that case I’ll throw this rope over this tree branch and get Daisy to haul you up in the air. I’m gonna tie the other end to the tree trunk. Whenever you think you’re ready to surrender, me and Daisy’ll skip right over and let you down. How’s that?”

  “Rarrr!”

  “I shall second these two great Knights against this upstart knave!”

  “Uh, oh, here comes Sir Piddlepants, Miss Daisy, watch out!”

  “Verily, my Liege, Sir Piddlepants makes a valiant effort baughtte he too has also succumbed to the rope of Sir Ichabod in the same manner as Sir Gunther.”

  “I’m just gonna go ahead and drag this hot-headed Knight into the crick so he can cool off. Anybody else want to have a go?”

  “We three Knights shall attack thee en masse!”

  “My King, this is unfair! Three Knights charge Ichabod together!”

  “Ha! T’is unfair indeed and unworthy of my noble Knights, yet look at our Ichabod. He does naughtte flee, rather he charges to meet this next challenge! What a show of nerve, eh Launcelot?”

  “Oui, your Highness, I can only wonder, what can he be thinking. What is this? He has pulled a device from his horses saddle. It appears to be an iron contraption. It has a handle by which Ichabod may grasp it. He holds it away from his body, straight ahead of his stiffened arm. He is aiming it at the three charging Knights.”