A Journey of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 9) (6 page)

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Fee-fie, ~  fie-foe,

returning underground makes our hearts glow.

Our dwarvish city carved out by pick

Chisel and hammer will give it a lick.

Fee-fie, ~ fee-fie,  fee-fie,  fee-foe!

“Blast it, Temperance, must you whistle along with these horrid fellows and assumed women? Harumph, ‘fee fie’, indeed. Why that’s just nonsense! This little tune should go like this:”

Buy low, ~ sell high

That’s where the profits lie

While the suckers are all throwing fits,

I scoop scads of cash into my mitts.

Buy low, ~ buy low, buy low, sell high!

“Uh, I think you’re losing the spirit of this little song there, Mr. Morganstern, sir.”

Fee-fie, ~  fie-foe.

to Duunnejonia we go.

Under mountains, in tunnel and mine,

tons of rock overhead, is just fine.

Fee-fie, ~ fee-fie,  fee-fie,  fee-foe!

“Be wary, my human companions: these dwarves are a devious lot. It chills my elvish heart to pass through this heavily fortified cave entrance into their forbidden lair.”

“My word, we enter upon an underground city! The dwarvish community is turning out en masse to enjoy a full inspection of our party, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. Thousands of dwarves appear from innumerable rocky homes to unabashedly gawk at us in open amazement.”

“Harumph. I do not like being forced into a hole in the cavern wall. What is this little wooden room; is this some sort of holding pen? If this is a jail cell, then why are our guards in here with us? That is quite enough, we are packed in like standing sardines. When do I get to speak with my lawy
a

   a

    a

     a

      a

      h!”

“Mr. Temperance, we’re falling!”

“We’re dropping fast, but we ain’t really falling, Miss Plumtartt. I think we are in a high speed lifterator. We are riding our way down through a deep mineshaft!”

“Burbity! A mineshaft! That is unacceptable! Do I look like some grubby, black-lunged miner with coal smeared features? I should think not! Oof! We have come to a stop at the bottom of this shaft and our cell door opens. Harumph.”

“Gosh, we must be thousands and thousands of feet below ground, y’all.”

“My word, I say, these dwarvish fellows are most direct and insistent upon hurrying us through these low, dark, rough hewn mines, are they not, eh hem?”

“No Ma’am, I mean, yes Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, they sure is. Golly, I hope these boys know how to get back out! These narrow passages wander on forever. They done snagged my compass and I ain’t got the slightest idea of where we’ve got to.”

“Ouch, my noggin! Verily, these dwarves doth barely carve enough headroom to grant themselves passage, much less one of Elven stature.”

“Watch out y’all, there’s some dwarves coming our way from up ahead. Everybody mush up against one side of the mine passage to let them through.”

“Burbity. Those dwarves were bearing sacks of rocks. They must be clearing out debris from a mining operation up ahead in the dark somewhere. Great Industrial Ages, these guards are marching us into a labour camp! We are prisoners, destined to toil at back breaking labours for the rest of our lives! I hear the sounds of hammers and chisels! Bah-hoo-hoo-hoo, I’m too important to be enslaved!”

“Eh hem, I am afraid that our craven corporationist comrade is correct. We come now to the point of excavation where powerful dwarves assault the stone.”

“Prisoners, halt! King MountainHeart, I apologize for interrupting your labours. We have taken a band of invading outsiders prisoner. They carry unusual artifacts. We decided it best to leave their disposition to your judgments.”

“Rrr, I do not like to be interrupted. It is for breaches such as these that you were punished in the first place, Strongenfight. You should have slain them on sight. That is the way. I sentence you to another out-of-cave deployment. Remove these disgusting creatures. Send them to the kitchens. Perhaps they will improve the flavour of the soup.”

“Burbity. I am not a cook.”

“I meant throw you in. Try the little one first, to test him out.”

“It is this the little one that we would direct your attention to, sire. We suspect the thing of being a dwarf.”

“Ho, ho, ho!
That
little thing, a dwarf?
Ho-o-o-o-o
, ho, ho, ho, ho! Your jests will not get you out of Sunlit deployment, Strongenfight, but that was a nice try. That skinny little blank-faced pebble a dwarf? Ho, ho, ho! All right, jokes over. Someone pass me a fresh hammer and let me return to my royal work.”

“I ain’t really a dwarf, Mr. King Mountainheart sir. I am human.”

“Disgusting; it speaks! You do not expect me, King Magnus Mountainheart, sovereign king under the mountains, to believe this farce, do you? Humans are a mythological creature; they do not exist in reality. Anguson, why wouldst thou attempt this charade?”

“The halflet was bearing these on his person.”

“Hmm, let me see. By My Holy Iron Chisel, what dwarvish wonders are these? Ugly little human, how didst thou come to be in possession of these sacred artifacts?”

“I ordered them from out of the Hoebuck Shears catalog, sir. I mean, sire, sir.”

“What do you suggest we do with them, Anguson?”

“These artifacts are very much like our own lost arts. I propose we allow them access to the ancient foundries. Perhaps they can share their knowledge of these meckanicals with our smithies.”

“This is not a bad idea, Strongenfight. Our smiths do well in producing hammer and axe, yet these ancient lost teknologicals would be a boon to reinvigorate.”

“Burbity, bup, bup, bup. Not so fast there, you powerhouse pygmies. You want something from us, but what do we get in return?”

“You will be allowed to live, human prisoner.”

“Harumph. I believe I can negotiate a better deal than that. I am well versed in the artfulness of the deal, you might say. Now as I understand it, our party wishes to be given safe passage through your horrid little mine system to the other side of these vast mountain ranges. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”

“By my grandmother’s beard, there might be merit in this insolent mongrel’s speech, m’lord. I propose that we use these outsiders to retrieve the Pick of the IronEater!”

“Ho, ho, brilliant, Anguson. I cannot stand the thought of another dwarf dying at the hands of that horrible, old, cursed witch, but who cares about a miserable little human?”

“Very good, my good King Magnus Mountainheart. We shall take these creatures to the smiths, glean what information we can, and then send the halflet dwarf to return us our most sacred and magical artifact; the Pick of the IronEater!”

Bane of elf,

this dwarven curse,

her evil doth writhe and twitch.

Forsakes all for herself,

always for the worse,

a doom to all is the witch.

                               
-From the Epoch of Enauck

“Hold there, halflet; this is as far as any dwarf will go. Thou art on thy own from here. Remember, if thou fails in thy quest, your two human companions and the elf will perish.”

“Dang, that’s a lot of pressure to put on me, y’all. Come on, fellers, how’s about a couple of you big, strong dwarves tag along to help me take on this unknown danger?”

“Nae, Ichs of the Bods, we’ll have no part of her foul stenches.”

“Gee whiz, what did this old gal do to frighten all you brave warriors?”

“This evil enchantress used her magics to force entry to our sacred city. With terrible spells, she blasted many a brave dwarf to his death. The good king in those days took our most sacred artifact, the Great Pick of IronEater, to do battle with the evil sorceress. The she-beast enchanted the great dwarf and took the holy relic as her own. A contingent of our greatest warriors went to do battle with the forest monster. They returned as shells of their former selves. One always remained under a Doc’s care. Another became unbearably grouchy. One miserably happy. The fourth so sleepy he hardly ever woke up again. There was one so bashful, he remained lonely for the rest of his times. One poor dwarf developed allergies so bad that he could not stop sneezing, and the last developed a smoking addiction that always left him with dopey sensibilities.”

“Gosh, that’s terrible. So, uh, this pick I’m supposed to be fetching, is it like, made of gold or something?”

“Ho, ho, ho! A golden pick, he says! Hee, hee! Gold is a soft metal, boy. It’s nae good faer mining. Nae, this holy artifact, the Great Pick of the IronEater, is made of iron. It is obviously quite old, as you look upon it; the head and shaft  are covered by magic, dwarvish runes.”

“Roons? Oh, runes, right. Okay, I’ll just go sneak in and swipe y’all’s magic mining tool for you. I ain’t real comfortable with y’all keeping my friends hostage, so I’ll be sure to hurry.”

“Mae the Gods grant ye loock, Ichs of the Bods, my friend.”

“Thanks, Mr. Strongenfight, sir, I appreciate that.”

“Oh golly, there they go. I’m all on my own, now.”

Them dwarvsies ain’t so bad, if they ain’t trying to kill you. I ain’t never seen nobody happier than them dwarvsie smithies when they got a look at our watches. That Mr. Morganstern knows a thing or two more about stamping gears than I would have give him credit. His manufacturing background has turned out to be really useful! That Mr. Morganstern ain’t never had a workforce to boss around like them dwarves. They work harder and faster than that poor old industrial magnate can attempt to drive them.

I’m proud of Miss Plumtartt; she was in her element. What with her growing up in and around the giant Plumtartt factories and shipyards, she knows a thing or two about production. She is lot more pleasant for the dwarves to deal with than Mr. Morganstern. Maybe she is too much more pleasant. I think all them dwarvsie smithies have got ‘em a case of puppy love for Miss Plumtartt. They better behave because I got me a case of puppy love first!

Gee, I don’t know nothing about no witches. I can only guess at what she might do and how she might do it. All my pals back in Duunnejonia were real helpful at making all the components I needed to build this contraption I have strapped to my back. The big old business end of this thing is holstered where I can get to it, quick.

These are some spooky old woods I’m wandering around in, that’s for sure. Even in the broad daylight, not a lot of light makes it through the tree limbs to make it all the way down here on the mulchy ground. These trees are so tall, I don’t know where the tops are.

Dang, I’m so lonesome. I wish Miss Plumtartt was here. She ain’t never afraid of nothing.

Oh, that’s nice. I see a patch of sunshine up ahead. It’s a little meadow. Looky at all the pretty little flowers. I just want to walk out in the middle of them.

Yep, this is nice. All these little blue flowers are so fragrant. They are about the sweetest thing I ever did smell.

Well, I reckon I ought to be going. I need to go find the witch what lives in these woods.

Yep, I need to get going. I’m gonna get me one more whiff of flowers, then I’m gonna get on the hoof. I got me a magic tool to swipe.

Golly, I just can’t quite get myself to leave just yet. This is so pleasant. Standing here ain’t really that bad. I know I ought to be off doing something or other, but I’m sure it can wait.

Mmm, flowers. They are so sweet. Mmm, hunh? I see someone heading this way.

“Howdy Ma’am, my name is Ichabod Temperance. A sweet, little old lady like you ought to be careful wandering these here woods: there’s supposed to be an evil witch what lives around here!”

“Heh, heh, heh, oh, thank ye, Ichabod Temperance. Oh, dearie me, a real witch, you say? Heh, heh, heh, what does she look like?”

“Well, Ma’am, from what I understand, witches have big beak noses with a gnarly wart, green skin, and black hair what is frazzled in every direction. They wear wide-brimmed pointy hats that fall over in the middle and ride on broomsticks.”

“Heh, heh, heh, I’ve never seen anyone that looked like that, my Ichabod.”

“You ain’t? That’s good, Ma’am. Say, you ain’t the witch are you? No, I don’t reckon you are. You seem so nice.”

“Heh, heh, heh, yes, Ichsy my pet, I am but an innocent, harmless old woman, living a simple life in these woods.”

“What is your name, Ma’am.”

“I am Witch Karrion. Oops! I mean, I am old maiden Marrion.”

“Howdy Miss Marrion, Ma’am, it sure is a nice day, ain’t it?”

“Heh, heh, heh, yes, my poor, thirsty, Ichsybody.”

“Gosh, now that you mention it, I reckon I am a little thirsty.”

“Heh, heh, heh, and a little famished, yes, heh, heh, heh, my tender little Icky?”

“Golly, you sure enough nailed it on the head, Ma’am. I really want something, but I ain’t sure what it is.”

“
E-e-eh-h-h
, heh, heh, heh, heh! Perhaps you want, … an
apple?
E-e-eh-h-h
, heh, heh, heh, heh!
E-e-eh-h-h
, heh, heh, heh, heh!
E-e-eh-h-h
, heh, heh, heh, heh!”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Marrion Ma’am! Golly gee whillikers, how did you know? Gosh, I’d give most anything to have an apple right now.”

“Heh, heh, heh, oh, my scrumptious boy, would you like for me to produce an apple?”

“Woo, wee, oh boy, would I? You bet, Ma’am!”

“Heh, heh, heh, well, let me look into my pocket. Heh, heh, heh, I have a pinch of magic powder that might do the trick, so to speak.”

Dreams of pleasure,

illusions of joy,

help me to,

entrap this boy.

Apple so red,

juice so sweet,

nothing to dread,

go ahead and eat.

Basest magic,

to powder I blow,

Tree of Enslavement,

grow, grow, grow!

“I thought you were offering me an apple, but all you did was sing a little song and blow that sparkly, glowing powder all over that dead tree stump.”

“Heh, heh, heh, but look, my pet, your apple comes.”

“Hunh? Really? Where? Oh, I see, the tree stump looks like it is coming alive! A fresh trunk is pushing its way up through the hollow center. Now it is pushing out branches. Look Miss Maid Marrion, it is sprouting leaves, too!”

“Heh, heh, heh, let’s see, where’s that apple? Heh, heh, heh.”

“One branch is extending out towards me where I stand in this little pasture of flowers. Oh, looky there, Miss Maid Marrion, Ma’am, a single apple has suddenly bloomed, swelling into life, just where I can reach it.”

“You want it, don’t you, Icky?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am!”

“Then
take
it!”

“Yes, Ma’am, I got it!”

“Take a bite, Ichabod!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

~chomp!~

“Now you are mine, forever!
E-e-eh-h-h
, heh, heh, heh, heh!”

“Hunh? What did you say?”
~chomp, chomp.~

“Oh, nothing, dearie. Is the apple to your liking, my sweet pet?”

~chomp, chomp.~
“Yes, Ma’am.”

“How do you feel, dear boy?”

“I feel good, Ma’am.”

“That is good, Ichs of the body. You are full of contentment, yes?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Describe to me what you see, my sweetness.”

“I see this little pasture I’m standing in, Ma’am, only, it’s kind of a big pasture. There is lots of sunshine, to make all the little birdies happy. The birdies are making all the flowers happy. Gee, all the birds and flowers are making all the trees happy too. Golly, all the little forest animals have come out to wag their tails and wave to me in an inviting manner.”

“This all sounds most pleasing, my tender boy. Tell me, am I pleasing to you as well, my sugar strudel?

“Oh my Goodness, you are gorgeous, Miss Marrion, Ma’am! I thought you were a harmless, little old lady, but now I see that you are a beautiful young woman. You are taller than I thought. You have thick piles of silky blond hair cascading about your shoulders in waves of saffron follicle glory. Golly, you are a lot more filled out than I noticed before, too. That reminds me, your dress is different. You might catch a cold with all that warm, peachy flesh showing.”

“You are so considerate, my sweet. Yes, perhaps we should retire to my cottage. It is right over here. Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am, this is just the most darling little cottage I ever imagined. It has slopy roofs, windows and doors. It is decorated in colourful swirls. It almost looks as if it is constructed of cake and icing.”

“Come inside, Icksy, my loving slave.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Ahh, it’s adorable in here! It smells like a bake shop in here!”

“Wouldn’t you like to live here, Ichabod?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“You would be happy here, would you not?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am!”

“You and I, living here, happily ever after. That sounds nice, doesn’t it, Ichabod?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Look at me, Ichabod.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I am pleasing to behold, am I not?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I am tall.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Strong.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Voluptuous.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You are for me, Ichabod.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Come to me.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Let me embrace you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Let me hug you to my bosom.”

“Mm, mmph.”

“Listen.”

“Mmm.”

“Smell.”

“Mmm.”

“Do I smell good to you, Ichabod?”

“Mmm, hmm.”

“Can you hear my heartbeat?”

“Mmm, hmm.”

“Listen, Ichabod, it speaks to you.”

~thump, thump~

     ~thump, thump~

           ~thump, thump~

~thump, thump~            

~thump, thump~  

~thump, thump~

you, will

o, bey,

my ev,

ery wish.

Your, life,

is, mine,

to, dine,

de, lish,

for, get,

your self,

your, fears,

your, woes,

for, you,

are, mine,

from, head,

to, toes.

“Mmm, my Ichabod, you belong to me, now. Isn’t that nice?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You are tired, my child, you want to lie down with me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Remove that device from your back.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Remove your hat, Ichabod.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Remove your jacket, Ichabod.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Remove your shirt, Ichabod.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Remove that amulet, from around your neck, Ichabod.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“This amulet is a device of some kind. What does it do?”