A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1) (23 page)

What is left to me?

I only have my inventions and this hated artifact.

I know that it is some sort of scroll. I have kept it secured upon my person, ignoring its disturbing presence. It lies inside the lead tube that I constantly keep. It has been undisturbed since we examined it in the rooms of Monsieur Bin-Jamin in Paris, and before that, my transferring it from its little metal chest to this pipe, all that time ago on me and Miss Plumtartt's desperate flight across the English Channel to France.

What good is it to me?

I promised Miss Plumtartt that I would help her get it to Tibet. If I could have gotten her there, then she would have found the right location for something to happen concerning this scroll.

But I failed.

I failed to protect her.

My promise has not been kept.

Could I complete the task myself?

I wonder...

No! I would certainly not act in this manner in front of Miss Plumtartt!

“There ain’t no, ‘could I’ nor, ’should I'?”

“Do or do not, that’s the ticket!”

“Miss Plumtartt, I made you a promise.”

“I hereby make a re-affirmation.”

“I’m gonna complete our task!”

- - -

From Manila, I cross the choppy, South China Sea on a leaky freighter that couldn’t find anybody else to hire.

I arrive on the the mainland of Asia in a place called Cambodia. Here I pass through steaming jungles, filled with swarms of poisonous insects. These countries are full of snakes as big as hawsers, and bogs of watery mud that will just swallow you up gone, lickety-split.

This oppressive jungle reminds me of being trapped within the Leviathan. Here, there ain’t no sun, only a diffused light, filtered through lush, green leaves. This is reminiscent of the sickly green light I was afforded in the belly of the Beast. This sweltering inferno is very much like the hated entrails of my former, submersible friend, though he was, obviously, much cooler.

The heavy humidity makes breathing difficult. The air is heavy, thick, and oppressive. Nothing survives in this jungle. Everything rots, including my clothes and my inventions. The moist atmosphere indiscriminately eats away at cotton, wool, leather, steel, and flesh.

My ‘Green Beauties’ are deteriorating.

The La Mat, P.G.D.D., has begun to rust.

I am not pursued. Apparently, the horrors were only after Miss Plumtartt. In order to protect them, I pack away the two remaining devices. No need for them to deteriorate any more than they already have.

My boots succumb to jungle rot. I reckon this is the end of my good old ‘Mud Pounders’.

Oh, no, my poor feet.

Oh, gosh, my feet ain’t looking too good.

Looks like they are on their way, following the boots.

What am I gonna do?

I made a promise.

I made a vow to the love of my life.

I have to keep my promise.

I must endure.

Come on, be strong, Ichabod Temperance.

Ichabod Temperance.

‘She’ addressed me as Ichabod once, in Ipswich. I was fighting for her life, when things faded away from my memory, but I have always had the impression that something of importance happened then.

‘She’ called me Ichabod.

It is painfully frustrating to be unable to call the precious moment to mind.

It’s almost there, just at the edge of remembrance, her magical, musical, British-accented voice urgently called my name.

“Ichabod!”

...

Ichabod.

Hebrew for “inglorious.”

Yep, that’s me all right. I’m about as inglorious a fella as you could ever hope to find.

That ain’t all.

Temperance.

Temperance: To eschew alcohol.

Temperance / teetotaler.

Put ‘em together, and you still ain’t got much.

Ichabod Temperance, inglorious teetotaler.

Ichabod Temperance, inglorious teetotaler.

My poor feet.

I can’t look at ‘em.

What am I gonna do?

I know it ain’t no inglorious teetotaler what’s gonna climb up out of this unforgiving swamp and cross Southeast Asia.

I’ve got to get a hold of myself.

I need to draw upon my good horse sense.

I need to engage my tinker’s mind.

Don’t think like an inglorious teetotaler, Ichabod; think like a tinker.

I do not have to be an inglorious teetotaler.

I can be more.

Think, Ichabod Temperance, think!

Maybe I can tinker a little bit here. Maybe I can re-evaluate my resources.

Inglorious is a word that can be reworked.

Maybe ‘inglorious’ can be read as, ‘without glory’?

Ichabod: Without Glory.

Temperance can also mean being tempered by flame or hardship.

Temperance.: Hardened through the crucible of ordeal.

…

Ichabod / Without Glory.

Temperance / Tempered.

Without glory and hardened through the crucible of ordeal: Ichabod Temperance.

- - -

I continue my travels across Laos. At least here, I get to ride an elephant for a few miles.

Finally I get to Burma.

I turn more sharply North.

The going is literally uphill from here.

The terrain becomes more mountainous.

Eventually, countries become blurred.

After a certain elevation, there are no borders.

I follow the Salween river valley as far North as it will take me.

The outlying arms of this Southernmost extension of the Himalayas have been my valley. Now I finally climb to their summit.

I follow this line of the mountains.

I unpack, and clean, my ‘Beauties.’ So too do I prepare the old La Mat.

I enter Tibet.

- - -

“Boy, am I glad to see you folks!”

This here is a vicious blizzard a blowing. Zero visibility hides snow drifts as big as mountains and treacherous crevasses of all-but-bottomless depths. This is not good when you are on top of a mountain. I am relieved to find this shelter. It’s a commune of sorts. A tribe of about twenty people of varying ages share a large, round tent.

They are not the most jolly band I have come across, but I am happy for their company. Grudgingly, they welcome me among them.

Despite the language difficulties, we get along pretty well, until I am offered some bread.

I pull my emerald blade to cut the bread. It is not a threatening gesture.

“I’gnu ztok!”

An excited murmur passes through these people.

“I’gnu ztok bure! I’gnu ztok bure! I’gnu ztok bure!”

They grow quiet again, looking at me.

An old woman spits. “ I’gnu ztok bure ien! Jaek’ Kol hatan!”

With that, she and the whole lot of them run me out the tent flap. “Ein! Ein! Ein!”

I am staggered. I cannot fathom what just happened, but there is no mistake. They want me gone.

I leave.

Over the next few days, I find that no commune will let me enter. I am met at the outskirts of each enclave by angry villagers with pitchforks. Up until now, these have been relatively warm and friendly people.

I finally get the story from a kindly man who takes pity on me. He offers me food, and an explanation. There is a man in the mountains. He has all the area in a thrall of fear. His name is Jaek’ Kol. The name is synonymous with an ancient Himalayan curse, or legend, meaning, ‘Snow Devil’. This man, this Jaek’ Kol, has let it be known that he wants the man with the green knife.

I thank the kind man and leave.

I press on, unsure of my destination. Tibet as a destination point is kinda vague.

I approach the smoldering remains of a small village. No living soul remains. Gouged into a sheer rock wall, someone, somehow, has crudely scrawled the words, “I’gnu ztok bure hatan Jaek’ Kol.”

I now have the ability to loosely translate, “Green Knife Man come to Jaek’ Kol.”

I look at the tragedy of this little village. This man has shown what he will do if I do not come to him.

- - -

Old King Kol ain’t hard to track. He did a good job of slogging out a trail through this thick snow.

Hey, did I see a spark of light? It’s directly in front of me, in line with these tracks. Yeah, it looks like my friend has made a fire. I wonder if it’s a welcome beacon or a trap? Or both? I don’t reckon it matters none no how; I want some of that fire’s warmth.

Okay, now I can see a feller on the other side of the fire. He is backing away from the flames. I think this is meant as a gesture saying it is safe to approach.

Okey doke, I’ll take advantage of this temporary truce and thaw out at the fire, but I ain’t taking my eyes off you, big boy. I can still see your feet, at the edge of the firelight.

“All right, mister, I’m ready for ya, why don’t you step on out?”

There ya go, here he comes. Woah, he’s a big’un! I can’t see his face for the parka hood. Okay, he’s pulling it back. Woah, he’s a Mongolian! Those black eyes stab through me, even from the other side of the fire. His head is shaved bald but his eyebrows and mustaches are extra long.

“I’gnu ztok bure.”

Gee, mister, you ain’t gotta have such a look of disdain and contempt when you say it.

“Yessir, I’m the ‘Green Knife Man’.”

“Jaek’ Kol!”

Yeah, I know who you are, you Himalayan Genghis Kahn.

“Unh hunh, ‘Snow Devil’, yeah, I gotcha. I would say that it was nice to meet you, but I ain’t accustomed to lies.”

“Jaek’ Kol kill Green Knife Man.”

“Jaek’ Kol will be King of Mountain, when
‘They’
come.”

A cold wind whips the fire’s flames.

My belly churns at the mention of whatever
‘They’
are.

Darkness lays heavy on this mountaintop. Outside the fire’s light, complete blackness has surrounded us but now the wind’s turbulence disperses the thick clouds. Suddenly, the entire landscape is illuminated by the glow of a full moon. A sky of bright stars reveals fields of snow, circled by towering mountains, here on top of the world.

The Moon casts a bluish light on this scene of cold beauty.

Jaek’ Kol looks up at the Moon, and a short laugh jumps from his throat. He throws away his parka. Now, he takes off his shirt, preferring to fight bare-chested, even in the snow. He no longer needs protection, for he is in his element.

He basks in the Moon’s rays, absorbing the cool beams into his muscular body.

Uh, oh, is he having an epileptic fit? He is trembling and foaming at the mouth!

“Hey, are you okay, mister?”

“Huh, huh, huhrrrr!”

“What are you laughing at?”

Oh my Goodness, Jaek’ Kol is really being throttled! Hunh? That’s funny, I think his head has gotten all fuzzy. It is! His head is getting really hairy! Gosh, he is getting hairier all over. His big muscles are swelling up even bigger, even as the hair grows in. I wonder why it’s white? Golly, I think he is standing even taller than before! Oh my Goodness, he’s a monster; an abominable man of snow!

“rrrr-RARRRRR!”

“Pee-Gee Double Dee, don’t fail me now!”

BUH-
WHOOMP.
skrrrrrrr-chik.

“Ahh, dang.”

“rrrr-RARRRRR!”

Woah, he’s fast! I barely threw myself out of the way of his ripping claws! Where’s my knife...woah! I gotta keep moving! Okay, I got P.E.R.K.

“
Hrr, hrr, hrrrr.”

“Yeah, you go on and laugh; we ain’t done yet, buddy.”

Golly, he’s got the advantage over me in size and strength. He’s got a long reach. I have to keep moving, circling the fire. He may have an advantage over me in speed, too. I have to control the distance and timing like I learned back in Paris. I have to be ready when he makes a mistake.

He keeps slashing with those big claws like he is trying to decapitate me! I have to time his slash with one of my own... Got him! A nice gash on the back of his forearm!

“How do like them apple...Woah!”

“rrrr-RARRRRR!”

“He’s mad now! Maybe he’ll make a mistake to where I can get in close to juke him good... Now!”

“Unh! Gotcha!”

“rrrr-RARRRRR!”

“Kuh-gulph!”

He’s got me by the throat! I can’t breath. He is lifting me up off the ground. I am thrown!

P.E.R.K. is sticking out of his ribs where I got him.

The white-haired monster pulls the knife out.