A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1) Page 6

  Our plan was to go to France, but I feel as if the dynamic of the mission has changed, and that we are fleeing for our lives. It is not until this instant that my understanding has developed and I can see a larger picture. Can all of these supernatural events, the nation over, be solely designed to destroy... me? But why?

  “Oh!” This pops from my mouth without prompting from my own conscience, for I suddenly have a dreadful sensation wash through me.

  “They are here, Mr. Temperance!” I unequivocally inform my new friend.

  The horrible sensation of an unclean horror is overwhelming. I suddenly feel as if this entire area is saturated with the presence of my enemies. The disturbing presence roils up out of the Earth itself.

  How can there be such a great concentration of evil? There are so many sources of the terror materializing so quickly!

  The horse of the Hansom we are in rears up. Screaming in terror, it is in a mad panic, just as every other animal in the city is suddenly going berserk.

  I see a phosphorescent cloud bloom above the heads of a cluster of pedestrians! And now it is followed by another green miasmic cloudbloom in the streets before and behind us.

  The panicked horse of our two-wheeled conveyance bolts in a mad panic. It does not take long for the poor creature to wreck the Hansom, wedging it against a building and post.

  “Come on, Miss Plumtartt, we’re gonna make a run for it.”

  Mr. Temperance takes me by the hand and pulls me out of the trapped cab and after him. He and I make a desperate dash for the city’s channel docks.

  Mr. Temperance has engaged his goggles and scans for alien threat. There, is a creature. The loathsome bit of nastiness has an aquatic insect stylization. The nightmare moves to cut off our path. We must get past this monster to achieve the docks. Mr. Temperance stabs the horror with his emerald knife! We hurry for the wharf.

  “I see boats, mr. Temperance, we can make it!”

  “Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am!”

  “Ah!” The gushing cry bursts from my lungs unbidden.

  I am caught! A detestable tentacle has grasped my ankle!

  “Oh no you don’t!”

  Mr. Temperance slashes free. Oh no, another tentacle ensnares Mr. Temperance by the ankle. Now he is caught by the creature...

  Great Heavens, what a monster!

  A most squidlike creature fills the street opposite. Such a nightmarish creature I could have never imagined.

  Mr. Temperance is putting up a jolly good fight, until he looks at the monster. That seems to dampen his fighting spirit.

  My word, the monster is affecting Mr. Temperance in a psychic assault. Unthinkably, this misplaced massive aquatic appears to be bearing down on the young man with the crushing weight of an alien intelligence. Barrel sized obsidian eyes bore into the little American lad.

  “Break away, Mr. Temperance!”

  He does not hear me. He is caught in the horror’s thrall.

  “Mr. Temperance!” I plead. My heart jumps to see the earnest chap endangered.

  Mr. Temperance has quite given up his fight. The monster means to devour the dear boy!

  “Mr. Temperance!”

  He does not hear me!

  “Mr. Temperance! Break away!”

  He cannot hear me! I scream as loudly as I can manage.

  “Mr. Temperance!”

  Please hear me, my sweet Ichabod!

  “Ichabod!”

  He stirs!

  “Ichabod!” I hear a touch more hope in my strained voice.

  He rouses himself. He is back! That’s it.

  Fight, Ichabod!

  My Ichabod appears to awaken from a deep slumber, but quickly rallies his stuporous senses. He now fights as a man possessed. Mr. Temperance cuts first himself free from the horrible squamous appendages, catches me up into his arms and bears me to the docks; I am too weak with relief at our narrow escape to protest.

  My companion’s faculties have apparently made a sudden recovery for he is able to quickly ascertain which vessel has her steam up and is ready to embark. We unceremoniously board this Channel Launch.

  “Here ya’ go, boys.” Mr. Temperance calls, tossing me into the arms of a group of seamen on the deck of the boat.

  The captain of the vessel is not amused at our uninvited boarding of his ship.

  Before he can have his crew throw us back off, he is distracted by a commotion on the docks. The docks themselves are being wrecked. Invisible forces smash crates, boats and the piers themselves into splinters.

  Mr. Temperance passes the captain his goggles and then draws his large American pistol. With three quick but deafening retorts, he unerringly shoots the mooring cleats off our boat. I credit this decisive action for our escape.

  The captain’s face goes slack with the vision he is presented with through the goggles and then he roars at his crew to push us from the cursed dock.

  I thank providence that Mr. Temperance had the presence of mind to disengage our boat by means of firearm. Otherwise, we would have been too late, overrun by the pursuing mobbe of monsters.

  Ipswich is aswarm with our aberrant adversaries.

  The rising wind in my face makes me feel as if I am a leaf in a hurricane, no longer in control of my own life and destiny. I am blown about by terrifying forces beyond comprehension. A howling gale continues to rise about my ears. This foul wind whisks me from my English island home.

  These storms that have steadily picked up all night now blow us off the isle, just a breath ahead of our adversaries, as if the great gaping maw of an enormous beast has just missed snatching us into its abominable gullet.

  Chapter 21 - Paris.

  Ichabod

  “Our train station is just ahead, Mr. Temperance. Are you are still in possession of the scroll?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. To tell the truth, that iron box weren’t too comfortable to carry, so during the Channel crossing, I secured a short piece of lead pipe. Using steel tongs, I removed the hated relic from its chest. With a second pair of tongs I rolled the dreadful artifact up tight and shove it into the pipe. I cinched a cap down tight on either end to keep it safe.”

  “Well done Mr. Temperance, though I must add, it does grant the thing the appearance of some mad anarchist’s improvised incendiary device.”

  “Listen to that wind howl around the train car. That wind has followed us to the continent. Let me go first so I can assist you to the platfor...woah! Hey, the wind nearly snatched up my prized derby hat!”

  “I say, disembarking the Grandiose Côte Express onto the platform of Gare Montparnasse, has an eerie familiarity to disembarking the train in Ipswich, the last night. So too is Paris caught in the supernatural panic.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. There’s so much electricity in the air, I can taste copper in my mouth.”

  “Mr. Temperance, listen to those newsboys hawking their papers.”

  “MONSTRES CONFIRMÉS”

  “LA MORTE VERTE”

  “TERREURS EN ANGLETERRE”

  “Let us brook no delay making for our destination, Mr. Temperance. The brief respite of peace we enjoyed during our Channel crossing and train trip could very well be concluded. I feel a sense of urgency, pushing upon us.”

  Traveling by hired coach to the Northern parts of Paris, Miss Plumtartt directs us to a clubbe on the Rive Droite.

  “Gee whiz, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, this sure is a swanky place you have brought us. Hang on a second while I knock the mud off my boots. I don’t want to make a bad impression on your friend.”

  “Mademoiselle Plumtartt! Bonjour! What an honour it is to have you at the Da’ath Clubbe!”

  “Merci, beaucoup!”

  “Your servant may enter through the kitchen to await you.”

  “No, no, Mr. Temperance is my guest and will accompany me.”

  “But...”

  “Come along, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Gee, these stairs leading up to th
e lobby sure are deep and sumptuous, ain’t they, Miss Plumtartt? I feel like I’m sinking into three inches of red velvet sponge cake with every step.”

  “This is one of the finest clubbes in Paris, Mr. Temperance. Here, one will find no expense has been spared in creating the most plush of environments.”

  “This is a hoighty-toighty establishment all right. You could get a good sized herd of high society occultists in here.”

  “Mademoiselle Plumtartt, Persephone, darling, what a delight to have you in the Clubbe tonight, my dear!”

  Miss Plumtartt is approached by a tall, dashing, good looking young coloured gentleman. He gives a courtly bow and a chivalrous kiss to Miss Plumtartt’s hand.

  Dang! I wish I was all sophisticated like that!

  “Trevor Aeon, my dear, how wonderful to see you my dear! It has been too long! I am, however, on urgent business. Please tell me, is Monsieur Stanislas de Guaita in the residence tonight?”

  “Oui, Mademoiselle, as a matter of fact, he is. I shall escort you to him and your friend may wait for you in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, but Trevor, dear. I should really like for Mr. Temperance to accompany me.”

  The handsome, mahogany features attempt to refrain from assuming a sour expression.

  “I really shouldn’t, but I shall relent and allow him to remain here that he may enjoy the atmosphere of our comfortable lobby.”

  Miss Plumtartt raises a questioning eyebrow.

  “Persephone, darling. You know that if it were up to me, I would not hesitate. Any friend of yours, normally, would be openly welcomed. We do, however, have certain standards that must be enforced. I am sure your friend would not mind waiting.”

  “But Trevor, my dear, it is up to you. You are in charge.”

  “Oh, my. But Persephone, just look at the dreadful little specimen.”

  The cultured gentleman sweeps a hand up and down to encompass and indicate me.

  “He is clearly not ‘Da’ath Clubbe’ material.”

  “Mr. Temperance is not applying for membership, Trevor, and we shall only be here for a short while.”

  Trevor casts a dubious and despairing examinatory eye over me again.

  “Oh, I am sorry, Persephone, but I just cannot allow it.”

  Miss Plumtartt touches the touchy manager on the sleeve and batts her lengthy lashes.

  “Oh, Trevor, darling, please?” ~batt, batt, batt~

  “Very well,” Trevor relents with a weary sigh.

  Those eye lashes of Miss Plumtartt are hard to resist. They could probably gain entrance to the Bank of England vault.

  Mr. Aeon’s dark features darken further as I am perused from head to foot once more.

  “You will be silent and well-mannered, young man. Am I understood?”

  “Yessir, I’ll be good, Mr. Trevor, sir.”

  “That’s Aeon.”

  “Yessir, Mr. Aye-yawn, sir. Y’all ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me none, I promise. You all won’t even know I’m around; why, it’s not in my nature to be any more noisy than a churchmouse.”

  “Mmnnyyeesss, well. Please leave your armaments at the desk, young man.”

  “Yessir.” I leave my pistol belt and knives at the lobby desk.

  Our reluctant host ushers us to an exquisite parlour. Mr. Trevor gives me one more disapproving once over before going to find the man we are here to see.

  I locate a big comfy chair and pull out my clay pipe. I think back on our desperate flight last night through Ipswich. It was a near thing indeed, that we made it to the docks, for there was a bushel of nasty kritters that wanted to do us in. I think I am proving to be fairly adept at this slash and thrust sort of thing with the new emerald blade. I was doing pretty well against the wormy insects, up until… hunh… Things faded out for a bit. I feel as if there is a span of time that I have lost from memory. Did I dream it, or did Miss Plumtartt actually call me by my Christian name? I have a vague impression that she did. Miss Plumtartt’s distinctive and lyrical voice calling my first name. ‘Ichabod.’ In fact, good golly, I think I took that incredible woman in my arms! I held her and carried her! I had almost quite forgotten! The last thing I remember before this is running through the streets, making for the now smashed Ipswich docks. There is a muddy blur in my memory. I think something important happened between Miss Plumtartt and me, but I can’t bring it to mind. What could have happened that I would forget such close contact with such a beautiful girl?

  Hey, a gentleman has just walked into our parlour. He is of stout girth, fancy dress, and an arrogant attitude. I can tell straight away he is not the man we are to meet. Rather, he is quite a rude fellow with a German accent.

  I stand up to meet him but he dismisses me as being beneath his contempt, barely giving me a glance before he is all over Miss Plumtartt.

  Like black on coal, like white on rice, like stink on a Junebug, this Teutonic Lothario is putting himself forward against Miss Plumtartt.

  I ain’t liking this a bit.

  But I promised to be good.

  This slimey son of a gun has not stopped staring at Miss Plumtartt. She is a pretty girl, and easy to look at, but this big jerk is openly ogling a proper young lady. He is making Miss Plumtartt uncomfortable and I am getting hot.

  But I promised to be good.

  “Mein scrumptious strudel! You have zee pleasure of meeting,” (Brightly shining booted heels click sharply together.) “Herr Doktor Rudolph Himmel!”

  Herr Doktor Rudolph Himmel tries to impress Miss Plumtartt with a long list of family titles, scholarly credentials and enough following initials to start a new language with.

  “So, Fraulein Plumtartt,” drools the passionate Prussian. He wedges a thick monocle into position to get a better look. He is leering at Miss Plumtartt in a most inappropriately familiar manner! “normally I would be staunchly against allowing der female entrance to mein clubbe, but for a delightful Leibchen as yourself, I vill happily make zee exception, Ja.”

  “Yes, how charming, Herr Doktor, I am sure, but you see, I am a founder of this clubbe. One might say that you were in ‘mein’ clubbe, sir.”

  The randy count is not pleased at Miss Plumtartt’s oneupmanship. I can almost see the salivating fangs of the Hessian Wolf as he backs Miss Plumtartt up against a table and then presses himself against her until you couldn’t get a piece of butcher’s paper between them.

  “Persephone!”

  A small young fella stands in the doorway from which he has called. He looks to be barely a teen, but has an adult’s authoritative presence. There is also a frailty about him though; he is out of breath from his short travel to this room.

  “Stanislas!” Miss Plumtartt calls back to the youth as she ducks beneath Herr Doktor Himmel’s grasp. “It is so good to see you, my dear!”

  She runs to and warmly embraces the little gentleman.

  “My dear Persephone, I can tell that you are deeply distressed. Please tell me what concerns you so.”

  “Yes, of course, Stanislas, but in private, if you don’t mind.”

  “By all means, dear Lady.”

  “But Fraulein,” cuts in Herr Doktor Himmel very brusquely and without regard to me or Monsieur de Guaita, “I was in the middle of mein own conversation vith you, und I vaz not finished.”

  “Really?” Miss Plumtartt regally arches a single eyebrow. “I think that we are quite through. However, I am sure Mr. Temperance will keep you company while I am away. Thank you, gentlemen.”

  With that, Miss Plumtartt and Monsieur de Guaita swiftly walk away.

  I don’t like the way this ‘Herr Doktor’ is eyeballing Miss Plumtartt's bustle.

  But I promised to be good.

  This continental Casanova is not treating Miss Plumtartt with the respect she deserves.

  But I promised that I would be on my best behavior.

  “Good evening, sir,” I say, trying to break the Dok’s fanny-focused attentions, “my name is Ichabod Temperance.”

  I am
completely ignored by the thwarted German Gigolo.

  “Howdy, Dok. That’s Herr Doktor Himmel, ain’t it?”

  He looks as though he has just tasted something sour. This boy is having to dig deep to come up with the good manners to speak to me. In his opinion, I am obviously beneath his notice.

  Once the bustle in question turns out of sight, he finally acknowledges my existence with a dismissive snort.

  I try my hand at high-brow small talk.

  “Some weather, we're having, eh what, old chap? Looks like we might have a spot of rain, hunh?”

  Herr Himmel has returned to not even acknowledging me.

  “I like your clubbe, Herr Himmel. Very posh. Yep. Yep. Um, yeppers. Very posh, indeed.”

  A small flicker of distaste crosses the single lens enhanced face.

  “Um, you’re from Germany, right? Uh, I like sauerkraut with corned beef, how about you, hunh?”

  “I am considering having it on something right now.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “You all got any ‘Ghost’ attacks in your neck of the woods, Herr Doktor?”

  He snaps his focus on me. Suddenly, I feel like a pinned bug under his glaring monocle.

  “Why yes, my little American,” leers the beastly baron, “vee do have zese ‘Ghost’ attacks in mein country. Quite horrible they say.”

  Then why do you grin when you say that, you creep?

  “These will run their course in due time.”

  ~!!!~ What does he know?!

  A cuckoo in his hat alerts the aloof Austrian that he has an appointment to keep. He checks first his watch, and then his clockwork pocket organizer and then makes to leave, but stops and taps my shoulder with his cane.

  I suspect this device to be of dubious design.

  “You and zee young lady. You are intimately involved, are you not?”

  ~!!!~ Is he doubting Miss Plumtartt's unquestionable virtue?!

  I promised to be good....

  “Herr Himmel, it is my understanding that Miss Plumtartt is of the highest moral character. Our relationship is of the most honorable sort. We are friends but there is no intimacy involved!”

  He sneers:

  “Yes, vith you, I can imagine. Vell, you never know vith zee English women zees days. Interesting, though, for she is most comely, for common quail.”