For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) (24 page)

“Now pull us up by the tentacles while simultaneously leaping your feet upward to grasp the walker on the left about the head with your mechanical legs.”

“Ichabod...”

“Sir Paul, please.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Left!”

“I’m leading! Er. Well, under the circumstances, I shall relent at this time.”

“Thank you, Sir Paul. On my mark... now!”

“We jump! You were right, Ichabod! Our leap has forced the fliers to take our weight! We swing our legs up to grasp the fuselage of the sonic cannon mounted tower on our left!”

“I’ll spin our tripod’s axis ninety degrees, while in this perpendicular alignment, Sir Paul. You arch your back and legs, and then double over to throw this Martian monkey!”

“Hah! As this is done, that is did.”

“Hooray! We have realized our maneuver, that is, to utilize the flier’s to elevate our legs and grasp one of the walkers about its cockpit, and flinging him unceremoniously into his companion. Happily, the collision between the two twins sends them crashing to the ground in a tangled collection of spiderlegs and squamous tentacles.”

“Splendid, Ichabod! How should you like to handle these flying pests?”

“Glad you asked, Sir Paul. If you liked the other, you’ll love this one.”

“Bend forward as far as our captors will let us, and then fling our pie plated home backwards whilst at the same time leaping up. Look up as hard as you can while you do it.”

“Success! We complete, with the unwitting help of our companions, an assisted backflip. The tentacles of our three craft are now tightly bound up together.”

“Twirl, Sir Paul, twirl!”

“The flying alien craft struggle to free themselves, but we have them solidly ententacled. They have throttled their engines into a frightful frenzy, in an attempt to pull from our tenacious grip, but to no avail.”

“Pull to the left., Sir Paul! We must start our counter-clockwise turning circle.”

“The fiends resist us!”

“Keep pulling! The fliers pulling against us is now starting to work in our favour! The maelstrom of a tornado is spurned by the Hellishly propelled winds.”

“As the tempo of our feet increases so to does the tempest at the end of our arms. Yea, though our pinwheeled partners resist vehemently, we relentlessly pull our unwilling partners along. Verily, we cannot be stopped! It’s working, Ichabod! They are in our terrible power now! Woe unto you, foul invader. Earth shall have her vengeance on you, my damnable foe, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, we’re, loose, loose, loose, ing, ing, ing, con, con, con, troe, troe, troe, woah, woah, woahlll!!!”

Our spinning maneuver worked! It has worked too well, in fact. We continue to spin faster and faster. We are as some giant stumbling centrifuge, spinning at greater and greater velocities. The outward pull of the flying Martian war machines accelerates our blinding spin to a truly terrifying torque. I think our tripod’s axis has released her brakes and added another element of dizzying speed to our revolutions. Our three spidery, vicariously dancing appendages beat a dazzling tattoo as they desperately struggle to to keep up with the out of control whirling gyro-top.

“Sir Paul! You and I are the eye of this hurricane! You need to think ‘cartwheel’, and give these kids a happy landing.”

“I confess, Ichabod, it has been some time since I performed a cartwheel. It was in my ‘Pre-Comet’ days. I was in the chorus and auditioning for a dance position,...”

“I would love to hear the story, Sir Paul, but can we do it another time? I’m about to lose my cookies back here.”

“Oh, yes, of course, dear boy. Hmm, a cartwheel, eh? You shall have it. Suffer the wrath of Paul, via my acrobatics of anger, you villains!”

And with that chilling invocation, the great performer swings his control arms up high, and in a far reaching parabola, slings them over his head. In quick succession, our enemies are smashed to bits, as we, hands free, I might add, continue our rotation over their crash landing to gracefully hit a three point conclusion. We stick it rather well, I think.

“Hooray! You did it, Sir Paul! That was incredible!”

“A well prepared thespian is capable of many things, my good man, but I graciously accept your simple accolades.”

“I think we got ‘em all, Sir Paul. Let’s go find...”

{{{{BUNG!!!}}}}

“Our carriage has been struck, and struck hard, Sir Paul. It is a wonder that we are able to keep our balance.”

“Look there, Ichabod, the sonic cannon towers are making their triumphant come-back, blasting us onto our mechanical heels.”

“Ah, to heck with that, let’s dig in give ‘em a big green blaster pop!”

“Agreed! Blast them, Temperance!”

“Yessir! … Um, well, I’m trying, but it would appear that our gun has been diisssaaabbbbbbbbb-b-b-b-b-l-l-l-l-l-l-rrrrrgggh!!!”

Our tower is seized in a palsied fit. A vibration has taken us that feels as if it is coming from within our innermost core. My eyeballs feel as if they are going to rattle out of their sockets. I will my teeth to stay in my head.

The twin towers must be working their sonic cannon in unison to destroy us. Their combined aural emanations shall pulverize us as they did our nation’s capital.

The sensation is excruciating! It is like being crushed and ripped apart, simultaneously. I might be screaming; I cannot tell.

This is unbearably intolerable!

*{{{{AAAAAHHHHH!!!}}}}*

*{{{{ - - - - - - - - - - -  !!!}}}}*

“It’s Miss Clarabelle Nightingale! Her true, pure note of human sanctity defies the evil tone of tyranny.”

“With the canceling of their duo-ed demolition, the devils break off their dampened desires. The pride of the WickeThimble Players, Clarabelle stands straight and proud in a classic performer’s stance. Angled at forty-five degrees, feet perpendicular, to form a ‘T’, and with her hands clasped before her in their proper positioning, she is the very picture of happy satisfaction.”

“Yessir! Looky there how her entourage of a dozen troopers applaud her so vigorously. I do not know if I have ever witnessed anyone beam with such pleasure as Miss Clarabelle, right now.”

“Yes, impeccable timing, that girl. She never misses a cue.”

“Uh, oh! One of the towers turns upon her. A ferocity seems to be cooking in its mechanically emoted, and menacing way. The gigantic monster flings its horrid energy at the poor girl!”

“Ha, ha! With a note of conviction, she easily cleaves the clef and counters the troublesome treble.”

“Unfortunately, the monster changes the frequency of his dangerous decibels. It is not countered this time. It pushes against our Miss Clarabelle.”

“Perhaps this note has more bass in it. Our Nightingale adjusts her stance. Her features take on a more serious conviction.”

Whumm-whumm. Whumm-whumm.

“The war machine has a fearsome determination in its gigantic stance. The sonic cannon intensifies its reverberations.”

Whumm-whumm! Whumm-whumm!

“Can it be? Do Clarabelle’s adorable little features harden, just a tad? Does a scowl threaten to overtake her cuteness?”

“Oh, Sir Paul, the Martian war machine leans forward, bearing down on Earth’s delight!”

Whumm-Whumm!!! Whumm-Whumm!!!

“Our Clarabelle is being pushed backwards! She tenses her curvaceous form, but her feet slide a little before catching their grip.”

“I can’t hardly look, Sir Paul! Clarabelle has twisted her face into a frightful snarl! With a frightful grimace, Miss Nightingale fulfills her solo role to her toughest critic!”

{{{{AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!}}}}

“The tower is buffeted, but continues to resist Miss Nightingale’s remarkable charms. It leans forward, into the aural assault.”

“Miss Clarabelle leans forward in her assault, too!”

“They support each other in this sonic showdown. Though, she is the size of a mortal, human woman, and the war machine stands a hundred feet in the air, for all the world they appear to be butting heads. The one hundred yard intervening gap notwithstanding, they push against each other like two bulls or Mountain Rams. An observer would swear that they were grinding their foreheads together with mutual animosity.”

WHUMM! WHUMM!!! WHUMM! WHUMM!!!

{{{{AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!}}}}

“Looks like Miss Clarabelle trembles at the effort she is forced to expend. She’s beginning to sweat. No, I’m sorry. That ain’t right, what I meant to say was, she begins to perspire. Wait, no, let’s go with, she begins to glisten lightly, with the glow of exertion.”

“Your words are well chosen.”

“The gynormous war machine trembles horribly. I think it would begin to sweat, if it could.”

WHUMM! WHUMM!!! WHUMM! WHU-SKRUH-
CHOIN
ZSK!!!

Yellow flashes of electricity burst in jagged orbits around the broken cannon. Cracks have spread throughout the elongated bean of the weapon’s broken body.

{{{KAW-WAH-BUH-
BOOOM
!!!!!
}}}

The titanic tower explodes in a concussive bloom of fire. The fuselage is disintegrated; only the legs still stand. They wobble briefly and collapse loosely into a pile.

So too, does Miss Clarabelle Nightingale. With the back of her wrist lightly pressed to her delicate forehead, she gently corkscrews her shapely body into the eagerly awaiting arms of ‘her lads’, as the songstress swoons.

All of these things I am aware of in a peripheral sense, for as soon as Miss Nightingale makes her astounding presence felt, Sir Paul and I focus our attentions on her opponent’s evil twin.

“Sir Paul, I suggest you revert to your pugilistic expertise.”

“It was strange to be in a fist fight earlier while in the costume, but now, to be in the costume and to be in control of this awkward vessel is doubly challenging.”

“Though you show great form with this new-found vicarial medium, so does our opponent.”

“Well, I can’t actually hit this chap as well as I might, were we naughtte fighting in this outrageous manner. Neither he nor I can gain an advantage over his adversary.”

“Maybe our opponent is gonna try a different tactic.”

{{{Kuh-Chink!!!}}}

“The sonic cannon has swiveled out of position.”

{{{Kuh-Chunk!!!}}}

“The lighted rod of the metal melting lavender beam generator has swung into its place, the array of sequentially ordered lights in full fury.”

“Duck!”

{{{SKRRR-
BZZZCK
-CK-CK-CK-CK!!!}}}

“A lavender cone of metal-melting death just passed over our heads!”

“Charge!”

“Sir Paul, you’ve rammed our craft into the purple ray mounted enemy walker war machine! The edge of our fuselage is jammed under the edge of our sister ship’s carriage. The angry fellow cannot bring his weapon to bear on us from this angle.”

“Sparking and screeching their metallic protests, the pie lids are suffering terrible abuse. Our wedge has stubbornly denied a shot from the vexed villain. The frustrated fighter fires ferociously but futilely.”

“You have him in a crushing hug, Sir Paul! You have momentarily neutralized the bionical beast!”

“Yes, well, any suggestions as to how we proceed from here?”

“Well, for Heaven’s sake, keep the fuselage jammed under his chin. Hmm, let’s see. Can you get him in a hold, more from the side, Sir Paul, without releasing the head block?”

“As you wish, Ichabod.”

Sir Paul maintains a crushing grip upon the machine. Though the Martian craft struggles most vehemently, the Alpha actor refuses to loosen. As requested, he makes an adjustment with his stance, and tentacle attachment.

“Now, pick that sucker up, and balance him where our shoulder would be if this thing we are driving had shoulders.”

“I have him up and balanced!”

The Martian excitedly fires his ray into the uncaring sky.

{{{SKRRR-
BZZZCK
-CK-CK-CK-CK!!!}}}

“Dump that Martian sack of crap on his head, Sir Paul!”

Sir Paul takes a Herculean leap upwards, carrying us and our alien burden far into the air, before crashing with all of our and our opponents weight upon his pie-lid head.

The motion is not unlike that of an automated vertical hammer, used for driving pilings deep into the Earth.

*{{{{THUUDDD!!!}}}}*

The impact has a tone of finality about it.

“Oooh, my great head. I know naughtte where I am, nor what has transpired.”

“Earth was attacked by Mars. You and me are wearing a Martian suit so we could rustle us up an inter-planetary war machine and use it to destroy our enemies.”

“Yes, it comes back to me now.”

“This here ship is done for. That fall has knocked the top lid halfway off, and there ain’t nary a sign of life out of the electrics.”

“Yea, but our dance partner took the worse brunt of that pratfall. Our ship is burst asunder, but our fellow contestant is crushed absolutely, as hers caught our combined weight and at an injury assuring angle.”

“Uh oh, through the smoke and occasional gasping spark, and between the crack of the split pie lids, I see movement, Sir Paul.”

“What, what? Is this the approach of one of the fiends? We must figure out a way to stand!”

“Hang on, Sir Paul, the vision of British beauty carefully stepping through the busted seam of the fuselage is a sight for sore eyes.”

“Yoohoo, Mr. Temperance? I say are you still alive, sir?”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, but me and Sir Paul have fallen and we can’t get up.”

“I see. Not to fear, Miss Englehart and I shall render assistance in freeing yourself and Sir Paul from that fabricated foe.”

“Thank you, Ladies. Ah, that’s better. Let us vacate this villainous vessel, and return to our loving Earth.”

“May I hold your hand to steady you as you step through the ruptured hull, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am?”

“I should be delighted to enjoy your chivalrous assistance, Mr. Temperance.”

“Gee, whiz, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, I don’t mean to gush, but in the morning sunlight, you are the prettiest girl I ever did see!”

“I am overjoyed at your approval, Mr. Temperance; however, I remember you and I having made an agreement. Something along the lines of moving past the societally-dictated reserve forced upon us by overly prudish minds. An advancement in the manner in which we address one another, maybe, yes, eh hem? Quite so, for I consider myself a modern and liberated woman. In this advanced day and year of 1876, I think it is well within the parameters of good form that you and I finally enjoy our relationship on a first name basis.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Pl..”

“
Mr.
Temperance!”

“Eep! Yes, Ma’am, Per...”

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

“Mr. Temperance, what is happening? We have been knocked to the ground, as a cavalcade of emerald explosions bloom around us, blossoming into bouquets of blustery butchery!”

“It’s the first, green blaster walker that we shot! It ain’t dead!”

“I see. In a shambling and wrecked state, the first blaster tower totters back to us. The earlier, point blank shot at the brute had apparently not been sufficient to destroy the mechanical. Though its gait is the most unsteady excuse for upright travel I have ever seen, the gun on top is still very much operational. My word, I find that we are quite pummeled by explosions, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt! Get down, I’ll shield you!”

“Eh hem, no, I think not, rather, please allow me to concentrate. … Ohm...”

“Um, Miss Plumtartt?”

“Shh! I’m trying to concentrate! ... Ohm...”

“Are you trying to regulate the amperage or voltage of this thing?”

“It is not that sort of ‘Ohm’, Mr. Temperance.”

“Oh, yeah, right, this is more along the lines of your ancestral bloodline, Revelatory Comet influence and being bathed in an elemental beam during an unfortunate laboratory experiment which bequeathed uncanny powers to you. Sometimes I forget about that and your ‘Gung Fu’ training in China, where your powers of concentration were honed to a razor’s edge.”

“... Ohm. …
Shh!
… Ohm. ...”

“That blaster tower is shambling its way right at us. That thing is such a rambling wreck that it can’t get a good aim at us with its overactive blaster.”

“... Ohm. ...”

“Golly, I think I just saw a sparkle of red light bounce up and down through you, Ma’am. There it is again! You are all tingly with red sparks, Miss Plumtartt, and look as if you are set to burst!”

“Yes, quite. I say, …
At
You!!!”

~
Hah-
wah
-
woo
-WHOOSH!!!~

“I can’t really say that ‘At you’ battle cry was exactly blood curdling, but it done the trick! A bolt of pent-up active dynamics snaps itself up and down your form until finally bursting as a red sphere from your outstretched palm. The scarlet orb almost pauses before shooting away to unerringly strike the mechanical monster!”

“Indeed, the crimson ball sinks directly into the green blaster weapon of our attacker, fate would have it, at the exact moment that the green energy light based weapon is itself being discharged. I say, the red and green light based energies disagree violently, do you not agree, Mr. Temperance?”

~KRACK.~

~KRACK.~

~KRACK-ACK-ACKITY-
BOOM!!!
~

“Yes, Ma’am, Mis Plumtartt, Ma’am. The resulting explosion is catastrophic, and tinged with an unfortunate brown tone from the lights’ red and green combination. Miraculously, after the fiery, spark-filled fireball explosions, the tower still stands!”

“Not to worry, sir, for the edifice is dead on its three feet. Notice, if you will, a series of electricity-generated explosive ‘pops’ manifesting themselves. These appear as yellowy flashes of unheavenly haloes around the demolished carriage. A faltering pitter of steps to the left, and another staggering to the right, is now followed by the spent shambles collapsing into a smoking heap. Yes, I say, and good riddance, too.”

“Gosh, Miss Plumtartt, everywhere we look, the smoldering husks of wracked Martian war machines litter the Maryland countryside. The two combo units, the ones with lavender rays and sonic cannon lay in smoldering ruin. The smoking husks of the two frightful green blaster mounted terrors, are marked by their skeletal legs pointed to the blue sky. Not much is left of the heavier than air flying craft; how unthinka...

~CRASH!~

“Look out, Miss Plumtartt! That big tree is being pushed over on us!”

“Mr. Temperance!”

“Run, Miss Plumtartt! It’s the mechanical bug crawler! I forgot about it! I don’t mean to handle you brusquely Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, but I gotta heave you out of the way! Unh!”

“Mr. Temperance!”

“That thing is moving fa...unh!”

I am struck! A tree, flung by the mechanical menace, has landed on me. Oh, no! Not only am I stuck securely by the great weight of this tree, but I fear I may be injured as well. I am pinned fast.

“Ichabod!”

“Run, Miss Plumtartt! Leave me! Run!”

“Ichabod! I can’t leave you!”

“Please! Leave me, run, run!”

“Ichabod, no, I can’t leaiiiiiiiaaahhhhh!!!”

“Persephone!”

My Persephone is caught up in one of the terrible tentacles belonging to the loathsome crawling butcher shop. Steel claws plunge down all around me as the horrible thing pulls itself directly over me. The crushing weight is unbearable. More metal crab legs dig in around me as the thorax is pulled over the downed timber. Another onslaught of plunging and scrabbling steel claws nearly rip me apart as they seek purchase around the fallen tree that now both crushes me under its weight, but protects me from the dreadful weight of the bloated artificial insect’s abdomen. It seems to take forever for the giant thing to cross, but only seconds for it to disappear.

I am steadfastly trapped beneath the trunk of this tree. I am tightly pinched and having to exert effort to draw breath. The point of connection with my captor is across my stomach. Neighboring branch stumps prevent my complete flattening. I can no more lift this tree to free myself than I could if it were a train engine. I must escape! Persephone has been taken. Perhaps the unthinkable has already occurred. This situation is intolerable. Every second Miss Plumtartt remains in their ravenous captivity is a moment closer to her beastly demise. Unable to shout for assistance, I shake a tree branch to mark my location.

“Sir Paul! I see movement! Over there! Yes, someone is down there, still alive.”

“Roof, roof!”

I hear the welcome bark of my little buddy Bolt. He picks his way through the tangle of crushed tree limbs to lighten my heart with his pink tongued kisses.

“Here he is, Sir Paul.”

“The boy is trapped. By my lights, I shall lift this tree and free him. Guh-
urgh!
”

“Sir Paul, stop! The weight is too great! You will do yourself a grievous injury!”

“He is being crushed, Valuria; we must lift this tree!”

“Leverage.”

“Did you hear that, Sir Paul? Ichabod wants us to gain an advantage over this great weight by means of a tool.”

“Yes, he is correct. Hurry lass, we must find an appropriate piece of our defeated enemies’ broken structures.”

“Yes, Sir Paul, here is a length of steel from the shattered remains of a Martian war machine.”

“That will suffice! Be strong Ichabod; we will soon have you out from under there. Here is a handy fulcrum. Stand by to help pull him free, Valuria. Ready? Guh-
Urgh!
”

“There, I have him free, Sir Paul! Hey, Ichabod, wait!”

I hate to get saved and run, but I am off like a shot. I think I hear my friends call after me, but I am a man on a singular mission.

I force myself to put the pain of my injuries aside. I am going to go ahead on the assumption that they are not serious. It don’t matter no how. I am a beam of sunlight having passed through a strong magnifying lens; such is the focus of my intent and resolve upon what I must do.

---

The Adelaide Marmalade.

MURRAY VS. MARTIANS!

By Bonnie Bummtickler

“Krikey! Our lonely Martian duo has gotten over their separation anxieties and makes to return to sweet Adelaide for a hematic nightcap. For an exclusive insight into the battles, we turn to the bigger than life heroic figure of Secret Agent James Murray:

Krikey! I knew our brief respite would not last so I’ve had me diggers diggin’ to stay the steely wombats. The trivets has a strong boovos for the red goblins, but we were ready for the hungry brutes. Our twinnies come a knockin’ as we knew they would, but all the metals these garbos missed we had waiting for ‘em. Seems they are always turning our weapons against us, Oi figures it’s time to spin the Toucan on the rumsuckers. ‘Waits til’ ye can scent the offal beasties’ are me orders. Once they tippies into our trappo we springs the Shanghaidey-ho. A burnished sheet o’ boiler plate is held to the Sun to gather her entrancing reflection and get the metal melting spew ray to turn upon it. He takes the bait! When that sputtering purple ray hits the plate, all the metal bits we have spread out into their approachicle paths are ignited. We have these blokes in a field of burning metals. The great milkstool what spits the awful lavender ray is immediately burst into the prettiest column of flame seen on our Blessed World since the Old Testament as he himself is unbeknownst in contact with the treacherous ironies. His mate beats a hasty withdrawal, but not before stepping in a puddle of train engine. We didn’t melt the git, but the three legged goot is hobbled with a club foot, and now has to lug a giant chunk of steel blob to make his way. I don’t think we will get another chance like that, though. The purple ray machingey is destroyed, and there is still a lot of devilment in these unwelcome tourists. The last we heard, Kangaroo Jack has purloined a piggyback on a tuggy from the Roo Isle to Newlands Peninsula. When the charming couple return, it’s gonna be a rum confightoflict.”

The Amsterdam Haze.

SPIDERZ MARZ FROM!

By Ursula Snobuni.

Der valking thingeez eez in der confuutsion, ja! But der tower thingy Eifel, she eest not done vith I think. Der radio waves from der contraptions of Gilman, Zott, und Tesla, puts the troublesome trio in der bad state, ja. So they build the new machine, ja. This new thingy, eest like der spiderz bug. This Eifel Spider, eet eez not troubled by zee radiations of zee broadcast towers zat have been erected, ja. No, they are powerless to stay the crawly beastie and have now destroyed zeez transmitters, thus freeing their trapped walking comrades, ja. Vee are in zee deep strudel now I am thinking.

x

“Go back, Bolt. I will handle this myself.”

I know he understands my wishes but he has decided to be headstrong. He refuses to leave my side. I do not have the time nor inclination to be firm with him. I continue the mad pursuit of my Persephone’s abductors. To lose my precious Miss Plumtartt to these inhuman monsters is unthinkable! I have no idea what I can do to save my princess, but I have to do something. I will worry about that at the proper time; right now, all I can think of is running to catch the monster metal bug. I cannot control the dismaying thoughts that intrude upon me. Images of Birmingham in flames and razed to the ground. Washington D.C. reduced to rubble, right before my eyes. The poor citizens of Baltimore and the other victims. I must not dwell on their fate as I fear Miss Plumtartt has already endured the same, and I have been unable to stop it.