A World of InTemperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 2) (23 page)

P.O.V. Wolfgang

“I’ve enlisted every blacksmith shoppe, shipbuilder, or any other man with an anvil, and have them manufacturing our delivery systems, Herr Piston.”

“Call me P.T..”

“Danke, Herr P.T. The torpedo logs’ delivery harnesses have been a tricky thing to pull off, but we have dozens in production that should be available in the next few days.”

“That’s good, Metzger, but stay after your people. Timing is crucial. South American fleets from Chile and Peru, steam to meet the fleets of the South-East Asian Confederation. The United States blunders into the middle, stuck with several contradictory treaties that have them attacking and defending everyone involved. The Czar sends his navies, hoping to slaughter future competitors in this mad rush to join the empire race. Standard migratory patterns in the whale populations have been shifted to expedite delivery of our ordnance, but they have a long way to go, and a short time to get there. Speaking of which, where is Murray with his end of ordinance manufacture?

“James is collecting the bladed harnesses, but he has been gone a long time.”

“How about our intelligence on the Zeppelin fleets?”

“The Chilean and Peruvian fleets are using hemp control lines. The American and all others, use wire.”

“That could prove problematic. Wire cutters that can be carried and utilized by sentient birds are theoretically possible. What about exchanging blades for files in the Albatross harnesses? Also, some of the birds are showing a resistance to the head-mounted saws. I propose a claw-based mounting system.”

“Ja, I think I can come up vith something. Additionally, I had an idea. Whot about blades for the beaks?”

“Hmm. That might not be a bad idea, Metzger.”

“Ach, here is our James. He brusquely throws open the door, stumbles into our workshop and collapses across the couch.”

“Where are my goods, Murray?”

James struggles to lift his head and open his eyes. He points at the door, then collapses again.

“Ah, a stevedore brings in a large, heavy package. Ja, and he is followed by another. Between the two of them going back and forth, they build a large pile of packaging.”

“Give ’em a nice tip, would ya, Wolfie?”

“You are very generous vith mein moneys I think, James.”

“I’ll put it on me expense account, mate.”

“You no longer have an expense account!”

“Let me see what we have! Metzger, help me open this package.”

“Ja, Herr P.T.”

“Hey, these harnesses will work perfectly. We have blades being specifically made to fit these. Good job, Murray.”

“I’m glad you thought to use tack shops for some of that gear, P.T. The price they extract from me at those bridal shoppes has taken a toll upon me essential reserves.”

P.O.V. Ichabod

“Our journey to Gerbilbiit has only confirmed my worst fears, Ichabod. All of Europe is a powder keg. All the way here, we have seen terrible new weapons of war being brought into place and armies are massed to use them.”

“Yessir, Mr. Cogito. I seen a whole battalion of steam-driven mobile fortresses, propelled by twin treadmills like the snow steamer, but without the skis to steer with.  Gatling guns and cannon were sproutin’ from them armoured beasties, like carrot tops in summer.”

“I find it both sad and unnerving to see ships of flight prepared to drop their terrible ordnances upon their fellow Man, not to mention my own callous endangerment.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Cogito, this is horrible! There are giant Voltage Disruptors being readied for use!”

“Lube my extenuator rods, and pop my springs, that’s the same horrific weapon used against us over the North Atlantic! This is madness!”

“Them Voltage Disruptors had a noble purpose back when they were developed. They helped to save planet Earth from inter-dimensional invasion. James Murray had a palm-held version that was powerful enough to knock out the big man, Wolfgang Metzger, but here, we see these electricity flinging weapons built to gigantic scale. I reckon it’s the way the monster is cone-shaped, descending in size from its base with twelve consecutive, clear glass insulators, all wrapped in intricate electrical apparatus. A steel bar runs through the center of the cone to the concentration of focus; a brass ball. A metal structure secures the tower of glass rings. From a mechanical, hinged-boom, she can be lifted to point down on her unlucky targets. The Voltage Disruptor that fired on us from the Zeppelin over the Norwegian Sea was a tiny fraction of the size of the monsters we have seen on the Peace Conference.”

“It’s a pity that the fantastic, futuristic appearing devices, paint a bleak future for our planet, rather than bold.”

“Yessir. The papers are saying that in an effort to maintain a safe place of neutrality, an expeditionary unit from the United States is here. A hundred thousand troops of the United States Army stand guard outside this little town, to protect the delegates here in Gerbilbiit. Hockeyslavakia is theoretically a neutral country.”

“Your idea of gaining employment with a Peace Conference catering company was inspired, Ichabod.”

“Thanks, Mr. Cogito. I think you look just swell in your white waiter’s jacket.”

“Being a caterer’s server suits you, Icky.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cogito. Gee, this peace conference ain’t very peaceful, is it?”

“Conflicts rage about us, sir.”

“Yessir, this here pavilion erected on a hilltop just outside of Gerbilbiit is got more hair-pulling, back-stabbing, double-dealing, over-stepping, under-cutting, two-facing, under-handed intrigues playing back, forth, up, down, and in and out than a Shreveport cat-house. This place has as much chance at coming together and forming a lasting peace as I have of growing wings and flying to the Moon. Actually, I kinda wish I could: anything to get away from these folks’ unpleasant riot.”

“Don’t look now, Icky, but Count GnarlyBrow appears to be quite put out with Duchess Skoulhevi.”

“Yessir, she’s upset with the Lady Protectorate of Bolonia bringing Viscount Autboard Motaer.”

“Dear me, Ichabod, Princess Goureelalieptz is not happy about seeing Duke Furryhand de Lonely with Baroness Boulderlanche.”

“Uh oh, Mr. Cogito, I think he is going to say something ugly.”

“Und if you don’t like it, Brunhilde, then you can Lichtenstein off mein boots!”

“Hate is in the air, Ichabod.”

“Here, Mr. Cogito, hold my tray of horsey dee overs, this might be my only opportunity to stop a tragic war!”

“Ichabod, what are you doing! This is an international peace conference; get down off that table. Why are you placing your pinkies in your mouth?”

~ssssWEEE-lll-THWEEEET!~

“Sorry about that folks, I know that there whistle had enough pierce to it to sink a dreadnought, but I just gotta get your attention to say this! Delegates of Europe! Please consider your actions! Think of your people! Think of your glorious countries! They are counting on you! We ride upon the shoulders of giants! It took thousands of years to create this group of beautiful nations. These ancient cities have been bequeathed to us. The craftsmanship that has gone into our cities’ architecture is a lost art. Europe’s museums are home to the greatest art ever produced. We owe so much to our past, but we owe so much more to our future! Do not squander the treasure of our nations’ soldiers. Do not forsake the sacred trust your people have placed in you. Now is the time! Save the lands of your fathers! Preserve the wealth of unborn generations!”

~huhhh~

“All I am saying, is, give peace a chance!”

There is a long, silent pause as my words lay heavily over the somber conference.

“In other words, can’t we all just get along?”

A single tear escapes my iron eye.

There is a long, thoughtful pause.

Bigotries fade from recalcitrant faces.

Angry delegates look to each other with thoughts of possible reconsideration in their softening expression, until there is an explosion... of laughter.

“mmm-
bwuh
-
Hah!
-Hahahahahahahahaha!”

This goes on for some time. The delegates, moments ago at each others’ throats, now hug each other, pounding each other in sympathy at my funny little joke. There is not a dry eye in the house! Everyone is acting as if what I said is the silliest thing they ever heard!

Eventually, order is restored and composure is finally regained. Wiping away the tears of laughter, King HouHaugh Staupher is finally able to speak.

“Young man, your naiveté is quite charming, but out of place in today’s modern world. You do not know the complexities of diplomacy.”

“But look at you now! It wasn’t what I had planned for, but weren't you all able to find common ground in being able to laugh at me? Hugging, crying, laughing; sharing a moment of common bond. That’s a start, ain’t it, right?”

King HouHaugh Staupher looks around at his fellow peace delegates.

“The young man is right. Now then, where were we?”

And with that, the crowned heads of Europe plunge back into screaming, fighting, and trying to kill each other.

P.O.V. Abigail

“Your butt will never get away with it, Derriere Eternia!”

“I say, hear, hear, rather, your laurels shall not smother this planet’s sovereignty, eh hem?”

“Oui! You are to receive zee spanking, I think, too!”

“Oh, but ladies, I think
not
!”

~snap!~

“Guh-
ulck!
My throat is being crushed. I can’t breathe.”

Gauzot and Plumtartt are also throttled by invisible hands.

A smattering of polite applause arises from Derriere Eternia’s assembled guests.

Sliding about the room, she tells her tale. “For centuries I have existed.” Outstretched fingertips lead her incredible body (did I just say that?) in catlike fluidity. “Not unlike Mademoiselle Gauzot, I do it at the expense of others. Unlike Mademoiselle, however, I did not forfeit my life to gain this immortality. Nor am I so choosy in my victims. I also have chosen to combine my arts, including Alchemy, Witchcraft, and any other craft that furthers my aims and power.”

“Oh, but how my efforts jumped exponentially once we had the visit of the Revelatory Comet! My already considerable powers have grown beyond measure. A world full of intemperate madmen only needed this little push to create the perfect scenario of humanity killing itself off! A few immoral weapons were developed quickly and eagerly snatched up by Man seeking to destroy his fellow Man. I am just helping them along a little. They should give me a medal; they award themselves with enough of them for their warring deeds.”

~applause~

“I say,
~gulk~
it is a crime against nature,
~gulk~
eh hem?”

“No, Persephone, Nature is on my side. She rises up against her human tormentors. There again, I am only lending a helping hand. Once I have dispensed with Mankind, the few sentients among the animal kingdom shall be easy enough to exploit, after they get a whiff of what I have brewing in my obligatory black pot.”

“The fumes of my brew shall spread and cover the Earth. Slowly, as the brutes never even know what hits them, my spell will take its hold. Individual sapience will fade into the distant past. The shredded remains of Man and the pathetic dumb animals will see me as their rightful queen for the rest of time.”

~applause~

“Someone whip those bellow slaves into action! Get the brew flames hot! Ha, ha! Yes, that’s it! My ultra-cauldron rapidly achieves a roiling boil, ha, ha!”

“Bring in the Expunginators! Aim the ejectors at the super-kettle.”

“Engage the dynamos!”

All around the hall, great generators spin into life with whining hyperactivity.

Arcs of charged energy snap from the top of insect-like antennae and columns of insulators that struggle to contain their dangerous charges.

A taste of copper is in my mouth. Raw electricity is in the air. The floor throbs with vibrating mechanical anticipation.

Derrière Eternia straddles a tall and somehow, erotic lever. With a solid stance, she grasps the handle with a firm and knowing grip.

“This is where I go into Sin-dication.”

P.O.V.  Wilma Altamont

The Evening Visitor.

BRAVE SEC‘O’WAR SEIZES INITIATIVE!

The Unexpected Calamity.

BEFUDDLED PRES UNABLE TO CONTROL IDDYAUGHT

The Morning Condition.

SAN FRANCISCO PROUDLY KICKS OFF WAR OF EXPANSION!

The Mid-Day Meteor.

I.B. IDDYAUGHT GETS HERO’S WELCOME!

The Mid-Day Meteor. Continued.

Section D. Community Events. Fourth page. Below the fold.

PRESIDENT WHAT’S HIS NAME, TO VISIT CITY.

“Our arrival borders on being too late, Madame Pâte à Glacer.”

“Do not surrender hope, Miss Wilma! You and I, I think, are the ‘Million to One’ shot of hope.”

“I fear we may be too late to do any good, Madame.”

“No! Do not worry, Wilma. Hurry, driver! Do not make me take it upon myself to instruct you how to jockey this carriage! Must I climb up and throw you from your station? I said hurry, you fool! Get us to the San Francisco Excelsior Hotel.”

“Eek! Sorry, lady, the streets are packed! I can’t get through! Can’t you see the big crowds? Don’t you hear the brass band? Look at all the balloons and patriotic bunting. There is a big speech being made at the Excelsior, today.”

“Bah, enough, you coward! Come Wilma, take my hand, we shall abandon this traitorous carriage and I will force our way through this gathering of people.”

“Oh dear, Madame Pâte à Glacer, I direct your attention to the distressing, celebratory banners overhead:”

HEAR THE SHOT HEARD 'ROUND THE WORLD!

“Oh, Miss Wilma, I see another such exclamatory disgrace!”

HISTORY TO BE MADE TODAY!

“I beg you, Madame Pâte à Glacer, do not look upon this next, unthinkable, prediction.”

INAUGURATION OF AMERICAN EMPIRE!

“Look, Wilma, we arrive just in time to hear the start of the keynote address. It is the ambitious Secretary of War himself, Insufferable Bleiumen Iddyaught, addressing the assembled crowd:”

“This country can no longer afford the luxury of individual Sovereignty. This is an empire-driven world we live in. Either colonize, or be colonized. I say, colonize!”

“
Yay!
”

“He enjoys the approval of his audience, Madame.”

“Shh, Wilma, I want to hear!”

“Coast to coast, and pole to pole, it is this country’s manifest destiny to rule this hemisphere!”

“
Yay!
”

“Bah, I hear enough, I think. Come Wilma, let us go into the hotel. We will find and put a stop to this Insufferable Iddyaught before he does something naughty.”

“These lobby steps, Madame Pâte à Glacer, should lead us to the room that contains his balcony.”

“Oui, Miss Wilma, up the stairs and here we are...oh! Here is someone I did not expect to see!”

“Mr. President!”

“Hello, ladies! I hope I did not startle you. I do not normally skulk about hotel hallways, Ah assure you.”

“We did not expect to see you, Monsieur President. So, why are you skulking in the hallway in so unpresidential a manner?”

“This Secretary of War I gots is a slippery fish! Not only has he ovah-stepped,  Ah say, ovah-stepped his boundaries in responsibilities, he has undermined mah au-thor-i-ty at ev-ah-reh turn. He circumvents mah position, yet I am to blame for his illegal actions. He has instigated plans throughout the world that place our country in a dangerous position. Ah was elected the President of these United States to protect this country, not to build an em-pie-ah of tee-rah-neh.”

“My President, we are here at the behest of agents working on the side of justice, as you are. We told our friends that we would do all in our power to help. What can we do?”

“It seems this rascal has locked the door. Can you help me get in?”

“Step back. This is the job for Madame Pâte à Glacer.”

“You never cease to amaze me, my friend.”

“You are a resourceful woman, Madame.”

“Merci, Wilma, and yes, my President, I occasionally find it convenient to have a lock-pick set at hand.”

~click~

“We are in! Thank you, ladies!”

“Oui, now then, where is this Secretary of War, this Insufferable Bleiumen Iddyaught?”

“He is on the balcony, making his speech, listen:”

“...and when I fire this pistol into the air, it will signal our mighty naval fleets into action! Our unstoppable Zeppelins will begin their flight into destiny! Behold the dawn of the United States Empire of the Americas!”

He holds his pistol aloft.

“That’s far enough, Iddyaught. Put down that gun, Ah say, Ah say puts it down now, Suh!”

I.B. Iddyaught looks in to see us.

“Excuse me folks, I’ll be right back.”

“You are really stretching the limits of your office, Mr. Iddyaught.”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t President Samuel Clemens. Finally caught up to me, eh?”

“That’s right, you scurrilous dog. Ah’m arresting you on behalf of my honored constituents and the ethical authority they bestowed on me when they rightfully elected me to protect this country from riff-raff like you.”

“You crazy old river rat. You need to go back to writing silly stories and let the adults attend to the business of running this country.”

“Samuel Clemens, if you do not do the right thing this very instant and take that weapon from that disagreeable man, I shall be very displeased.”

“Miss Wilma is right, President Clemens, and I think that I, Madame Pâte à Glacer, shall be very happy to assist you, too.”

The Creole beauty smiles as she eases forward, yet somehow her happy demeanor conveys the threat of a Louisiana alligator.

I. B. Iddyaught points and exclaims.

“Look, behind you! It’s Santa Claus!”

“Ah say, where?”

“But Christmas was last month, was it not?”

“Mon Dieu! It was a ruse! Insufferable Bleuimen Iddyaught has turned and gone back out onto the balcony while we were distracted!”

“I give you: The Empire of the United States of America!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“The Secretary of War has fired his pistol in the air!”

The signal is taken up. More gunfire erupts. Cannons are fired. Balloons are released. Ships in the Bay fire their weapons in jubilation and in spreading the signal. Caged birds are released. An energetic band strikes up a merry and patriotic tune. The firepower powered signal travels the sides of the bay. Like an ocean wave, the gunfire spreads word of the pistol signal. The retorts continue unabated; the sharp sounds travel for miles into the distance. Still we can hear it, expanding on and on, spreading out across the globe.

Iddyaught returns, he holds his weapon on us.

“I still have three shots left. One for each of you dastardly traitors.”

“Ah say, don’t you
dare
point that weapon at these fine ladies.”

I surreptitiously withdraw a hairpin whilst our erstwhile emperor is concerned with Samuel and Madame Pâte à Glacer. Utilizing the business end, I provide a quick, sharp, rebuttal to the ambitious Secretary.

“Ouch!”

~klunk.~

“You made me drop my pistol, you old bat! That hurt!”

“Well done, Miss Wilma! C’est magnifique!”

“You'll all rot in prison for this! Come here, Uncle Sam! I'll knock you all the way back to Missouri, you old fool.”

“Samuel, be careful!”

“Not to worry, Wilma, President Clemens ducks first beneath a wild right-handed roundhouse punch, and then beneath a left. While ducking this southpaw, he steps through and behind and at the same time runs his own left arm up to hook his hand behind the Secretary’s head.

“I believe I can see where our President is going. If I may make this call: ‘Mark’!”

Completing his step, the writing riverboat rapscallion stands directly behind the secretary. and slips his right arm under the right arm, and behind the head.

With both arms grape-vined, our President laces his fingers securely upon the crown of his foe. A Full Clemens is now snugly applied.

“Mark Twain! With two hands used to engage, I feel confident in dubbing this hold a Full Clemens.”

“Oh! Wilma! Please to help me! Toute suite! I require something of substance.”

“I am averse to carrying cash, Madame Pâte à Glacer. As this is the case, I am able to lend you a roll of dimes.”

“Oh! Oui! This shall do nicely!”

Madame Pâte à Glacer presses the valuable, and firm, weightiness into her right palm. Her smile transforms into a determined frown of intent. Brows draw together.

Placing one foot forward and turning her shoulders in preparation, a Louisiana Slugger is uncorked.

~THWAUCK!!!~

“Well done, Madame Pâte à Glacer. Though we all enjoyed your swift blow of justice, it is tempered with the knowledge that the signal for war has already sprung from our empty hands.”