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

by Ichabod Temperance

  “My business is to stop that horrible machine and its pilot. Neither your dealing with me, nor my physique, has any bearing on the situation.”

  The dangerous fellow looks me over again. He still holds the massive wrench as if he might yet use it on me.

  The reappraisal is disconcerting. I feel like life is cheap in this man’s eyes, and I might be of use to him if for no other reason than to use as expendable chum to bait his prey.

  “My name’s Daniel Slagwood. I runs this Furnace, see?”

  “Yessir.”

  “I don’t takes no backtalk from nobody, see?”

  “Nossir.”

  “That includes that disgusting varmint from that strange mechanical walker. He’s violating my girl.”

  “Sir?”

  “Huh? Oh. I mean, my girl ‘Big Alice’, the number one furnace. That monster is outta line and I mean to straighten him out.”

  “Any ideas as to how one might accomplish that little chore, Mr. Slagwood?”

  “I’m working on it, Ike.”

  “Ich...”

  “Whatever.”

  “The monster trespasser has this place running and burning at full tilt, Mr. Slagwood. I don’t think this plant has ever been pushed near this hard. What do you think he’s up to?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care!”

  “From what I am able to deduce, and from what little I know of metallurgy, I would say that our visitor is concocting his own blend of steel. I saw where the ingredients being fed into the blast furnace for iron production have been drastically changed.”

  “He better not be tampering with ‘Big Alice’s’ dinner!”

  Daniel Slagwood mounts the stairs of the glowing furnace.

  I follow at his heels.

  The gigantic furnace roars her displeasure directly upwards into the night sky over the city of Birmingham’s sad, devastated, remains. One flight of stairs surrounding the giant furnace after another pass below our feet. Soon we are far above the distant ground. Seams glow with heat from where there should be no seams showing. This furnace cannot withstand what she is being put through. We finally arrive at the feed to the furnace. A tremendous conveyor belt dumps the raw ingredients of iron ore, limestone and coke into the furnace’s skyward facing mouth. Perhaps there is an element of metal construction here that I am unfamiliar with. Our favourite Martian has tampered with the recipe. I think he has brought a special ingredient from back home.

  This far in the air, I can see and feel the panic of this plant. I am riding on a sound riot. Blowing engines scream, and the blasting wind they make roars through their giant conduits. This and the whistle and hiss of high-pressure steam produce a palpable noise cloud. Material movers relentlessly turn, conveying fuel to feed the euphoric madness of this furnace’s binge. ‘Big Alice’ is not very ladylike. Spitting flaming slag into the sky, and with molten drool at her lips, she gorges herself on the Martian’s metallurgical smörgåsbord.

  “Nobody plays around with ‘Big Alice’s’ feedstock. I control that inlet! So says Daniel Slagwood! Feeding time’s over, big girl.”

  The burly bossman pulls the lever that stops the intake conveyor.

  “Uh, oh, Mr. Slagwood, here comes that big old Granddaddy Long-Legs spider walker. He didn’t like you turning off that conveyor.”

  “That’s too bad, Sticky.”

  “Icky.”

  “Shut up, here he comes! He is trying to get us; run around to the other side.”

  “Uh, oh, now that three legged spider walker is scrambling around again. He is really mad! I think he is really after us, bad!”

  “He’s reaching up and pawing at us, but we are too far up in the air for him to reach.”

  “Ha, too bad! He can’t get to us in that mechanical arachno-walker, and if that booger comes up here I’ll clobber him, but good.”

  “Look out, Mr. Slagwood, here he comes again! Run!”

  “I’m done with running! Hey, you in there, come on out and face me! You want me? Come get me!”

  “Zoinks! I think he heard you! That mechanical monster is trying to climb the furnace!”

  “Get off of Alice, you tin trespasser! That’s no way to treat a lady!”

  “That monster is climbing up after us! He’s tearing her steel steps and walkways down, Mr. Slagwood! How are we going to get down?”

  “How do I know? Shutup, Stinky!”

  “Icky.”

  “What is that three-legged contraption doing now, hugging the furnace?”

  “Nossir, he is shinnying up after us.”

  “Augh, he is tugging at this, the last platform! That stupid monster is going to make me fall!”

  “Me too, sir!”

  “Who cares about you; it’s me I’m worried about!”

  “The monster almost has us, sir!”

  “Molten Mermaids, I’m going to get a shot in on you before you do me in, you vandal!”

  The big man, Daniel Slagwood, takes a moment to heft the balance of the huge wrench he is armed with. Anger and determination grip his fearful visage. Sinews pop from the swollen sausage-like arms that protrude from his rolled up sleeves. Charging around the walkway, and with all of his considerable strength, the fearsome foreman heaves the thirty pound wrench at the pie-lidded predator.

  “Suck on that! Nobody plays around with my sweet Alice!”

  The weighty missile catches the monstrosity square and solid.

  The Martian vehicle is stunned as the massive wrench bounces off its lid with a loud clang and loses its grip with one of its three legs on the furnace. After a woozy moment or two, it shakes off the effects of the strike to rally its senses.

  Three sets of thick roots drop out of the craft’s underbelly. These metallic but strangely fluid extensions curl and feel about themselves as the operator develops a sense for their use. These ‘tentacles’ immediately put me in mind of something one might see as a part of a squid, or an octopus. These odd limbs are able to reach out from under and over the Martian war machine’s flattened ‘head’.

  Multiple-fingered claws at the tentacles’ ends snap at Mr. Slagwood. He fights them like a rabies maddened dog, but two of the horrifying appendages seize his arms and stretch him out. Another one of these serpents quickly envelops Daniel Slagwood like a monster snake from the Amazon Jungle. He is lifted high in the air, roaring and struggling in vain. It looks as if the big boss bully shall be dashed to the ground, a hundred feet below. Then, it appears that the creature will cast Slagwood into the mouth of the furnace. The horrible tentacle holds the struggling supervisor high in the air above the roaring flames. The man who was so fearsomely large to me a moment ago, is now like a child’s toy in the grip of this terrifying creation.

  Instead of Daniel Slagwood being dashed to his demise, or burned to a crisp as had been frightfully inferred, a hatch is opened in the top of the Martian carriage.

  The captive foreman is held above the open portal.

  Horrible noises follow the deposit of Daniel Slagwood into its depths.

  As terrible as those smacks and snaps are, it is the deep, wet, dark, belch, that follows that grips my heart in the cold clutch of a nameless dread.

  The tentacles return to life after a moment of savoring Slagwood.

  They are eagerly in quest of something, or rather, someone else. Namely, me.

  I am trapped on the highest platform of ‘Big Alice’.

  The three sets of awful tentacles close in on me. A lens set in the middle of each tentacle’s end gives the impression of a watching eye. I think it is a periscope of sorts.

  The platform is being torn away! I have to climb higher, but that will put me right over the mouth of the furnace and I’m liable to get a big, molten loogie spit at me.

  I gotta climb up this webbing of steel girders supporting the ore elevator and get atop the steeply angled feed car slide for ‘Alice’s’ ravenous feed chute. Those snappy tentacle claws are after me!

  This is the highest p
oint on the furnace! There ain’t no where else to climb! All I can do is hide behind the big pull wheel for the feed sleds.

  The sled slide is too steep to slide down.

  “Yikes! The tentacles are reaching for me! One of them is reaching through the wheel to get me! I know, turn on the feed! Ha! I got your tentacle trapped! Now I can climb down the feed car cable!”

  Good the feeder sled is at the bottom, I can just climb all the way down off this crazy furnace.

  “Hey I’m halfway there, I think I’m going to make... oop!”

  Aw crazy crickets, that smarty-pants Martian got free and now the cable is going back up. The cable is going up as fast as I climb down, so I am staying in one place. Now the feed sled has got me! I don’t want to go up, but that feed sled is going to carry me back to the top. I don’t want to do it, but I’m gonna have to slide the rest of the way.

  “A

  u

  g

  h!”

  ~splash!~

  “Blub!”

  “Oh my Goodness, I sure am glad there was a subterranean tunnel and creek at the end of this run. I’m double glad I didn’t impale myself on the projecting rebar and other underwater metal hazards. I reckon I’m just gonna have to follow this industrial sewer and hope it leads me out of this tragic scene.

  ---

  “I say, I am most dismayed at your reports, Mr. Temperance. It’s not just the tragic loss of life involved, but the intelligence that our enemy is working with a particular goal in mind, that so troubles me. The creature is not wasting any time; on the contrary, he is busy in his constructive energies. We must be equally vigorous in our defiance, Mr. Temperance.”

  “I’m just glad that I was able to find you again, Ma’am.”

  “Not to worry, Mr. Temperance. I monitored your exchange with our foe at the top of the furnace and your treacherous retreat. I was able to extrapolate your exit.”

  “We better make camp in a quiet spot and rest up for our trials of the morrow, Ma’am.”

  Though the fate of our planet may very well hang in the balance, I cannot help but be pleasantly distracted from our struggles by the proximity of Miss Plumtartt. I have difficulty being sad or dispirited in her company.

  “I say, Mr. Temperance?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt?”

  “You had a content and happy look on your features for a moment. I was wondering what you could have been thinking of in these troubled hours. My word, how your face flushes with a crimson blush! Did I catch you in intimate thought?”

  “To tell the truth, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, I was just thinking about how nice it is to spend time with you.”

  “How sweet, Mr. Temperance! I admit that though these recent trials have been a terrible source of concern, I do feel that spending them with you has been a heart-warming delight.”

  She takes one of my hands in both of hers.

  “I too, have rather enjoyed spending time with you, my dear Mr. Temperance.”

  “Gee, this is swell, Ma’am.”

  “Nonetheless, my little hero, we must once again save our planet Earth from total destruction, foreign domination, and ruinous misfortune. I propose we get some rest.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  ---

  “Let me help you, Ma’am; I think we can get a look at Mr. Martian from the top of this pile of coke.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Temperance. Ah, yes, there he is, now.”

  “Miss Plumtartt?”

  “Yes, Mr. Temperance?”

  “Is our boy over there a bit more ‘hunchy’ today?”

  “Quite so, Mr. Temperance, that is ever so much more of a lump that the beast carries today than he had yesterday, yet our enemy is as busy as ever, with his ambitious construction project. The large growth that has suddenly bloomed so obscenely on his back does not appear to worry him nor slow him down.”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “He has put this furnace to use as a foundry, Mr. Temperance. This creature is constructing something.”

  “Gosh, I wonder what it could be?”

  “I suggest we maintain our observations, but make no move to interfere with the monster’s plans at this juncture.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, I get the impression that he is being more cautious and alert to any threat. Several times, he has spun about, while drawing his pistol, looking for somebody attempting to ambush him.”

  “I concur. Let us fall back at this time.”

  ---

  “Wake up, Miss Plumtartt! Nothing is happening.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Sloss Furnace, Ma’am, all the hyperactivity has slowed down. Whatever the Martian has been doing in there, it is coming to a close.”

  “You are correct, Mr. Temperance.”

  “There is something else, Ma’am. You ain’t gonna like it. It ain’t pretty.”

  “I harden my heart, Mr. Temperance, what would you have me observe?”

  “Take a look at Marty.”

  “By the Named Bells of Notre Dame, the hump our adversary now displays makes Quasimodo appear as straight-backed as a Buckingham Palace guard, eh hem?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. The wart on that boy’s back is as big as him, poor thing.”

  “I say, our Martian workman does not appear distressed by the growth. On the contrary, I would say that he is actually quite pleased with his state of being. His behaviour and manner would suggest he is most pleased with himself. He might well be supposed to be in a merry and festive mood, eh hem?”

  “You’re right about that, Ma’am, in fact, I think he is doing a little dance. Gosh, he really is doing a little dance, ain’t he? Looky there at how he stamps his feet:”

  “Left, right, rear.”

  “Left, right, rear.”

  “Left, right.”

  “Left, right.”

  “Rear! Rear! Rear!”

  “Then he begins again, repeating the process over and over.”

  “I say Mr. Temperance, he now he involves his hands, with his stamping rituals. If I may:”

  “Top hand claps the right hand.”

  “Top hand claps the left.”

  “Right and left hands are pressed together to form one hand for the descending top hand to clap against.”

  “Top hand claps left, right.”

  “Left, and right hands clap together.”

  “Left and right hands press together, to clap

  top, top, top!”

  “As with the feet, this is repeated, ad nauseam.”

  “Am I seeing things, or is there now a second set of three hands clapping along?”

  “My word, you are correct, Mr. Temperance! Three arms with hands extend from the back hump! They are indeed, keeping time with the first set.”

  “Something is happening to the bottom of the hump. Ugh, don’t look Miss Plumtartt, a foot just poked through!”

  “You may continue to shield your vision, Mr. Temperance, and I will give you an account of the gruesome spectacle. Yes, just as I supposed they would, two more feet have burst forth. Hello, what’s this? The excess feet and hands have all taken a firm grip upon a stanchion of the walking craft. The Martian struggles to walk away from the beam but his nouveau limbs refuse to relinquish their grip. Oh dear, this is more grisly than I am comfortable in relating. The hump is tearing free of its host. They are separate! The Martian has torn himself in twain!”

  “I’m gonna look. Eek! You are right, Miss Plumtartt! How terrible! Hunh? The wart is climbing off the stanchion. Did he just wriggle himself?”

  “I say, I have a hunch about this hunch. Yes, quite, just as I suspected. Look there, Mr. Temperance, three new eyes come open.”

  “Fruity Bubble Gum Bubbles, we’ve got double trouble! There are now two, fully grown Martians on the premises!”

  The two stubby, stinky monsters stand looking at one another for a moment. Then they chase each other in a circle a time or two. The side mounted hands clasp one another as the top
hands excitedly exchange a high three. A few more spins take place while holding hands. We can no longer tell which is the original, and which is the new. They hold each other’s three eyed stare, for a three count, blink three times, and then they begin to bob up and down at the same time.

  After a few bounces, the stomps begin again.

  Left, right, rear.

  Left, right, rear.

  Left, right.

  Left, right.

  Rear! Rear! Rear!

  The clapping bit begins again, too.

  “Sneaf! Snarf! Snoe!”

  “Sneaf! Snarf! Snum!”

  “Sneaf! Snarf!”

  “Snerf! Snoof!”

  “Arum! Arum! Arum!”

  (Fi, fie, foe.)

  (Fi, fie, fum.)

  (Get fat.)

  (On human.)

  (Bum! Bum! Bum!)

  More dancing ensues.

  A complicated series of three handed clapping exercises follows.

  One creature marches to his tripod craft and climbs in. We hear the sounds of his war machine coming to life.

  The other monster goes to where all the work has been taking place.

  We can hear the sounds of machinery coming to life.

  Another tripod rises up.

  Two Martians and two overgrown milk-stools of destruction.

  The two craft face each other.

  They begin to bob up and down in counter-point to each other.

  Tentacles are released from beneath each craft. These reach out for the other. Clasping the tender metallic fingers, the two jubilant invaders lean back; each supporting the other, they spin about the open lot of the industrial site. Eventually, the happy couple release the tender moment and begin to pick their way East.

  Chapter Six · The Happenstance of Fate

  “I’m sorry to put us out on the road like this, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, but I just didn’t think Clementine was up for anymore adventuring.”

  “Of course, Mr. Temperance. Our Miss Clementine is a sweet and gentle girl. I quite agree with quartering her at the first sanctuary of safety and security.”

  “Thanks, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. I’m sure we’ll secure alternative transportation, soon.”

  “Remarkably, soon, Mr. Temperance, for if I am not mistaken, we happen upon a gift most serendipitous, eh hem?”