“Oh! I say! Well done Mr. Temperance, a succinct summation. I applaud your intellectual acuity!”
Since I am more familiar than he with Europe and Asia, I take my turn to set forth what I believe to be our best route. Realizing the necessity of haste, I speak quickly:
“I suggest that we start by heading south of the Alpine Range rather than west through Germany and across the lengthy Northern routes of the European Plain, to get to the Asian Steppes. My proposal is to make our ascensions by the Southern accesses. We can go by train to Montpellier. From there, we can take a boat across the Ligurian Sea to Genoa. Perhaps a dirigible across the Adriatic. From there, we will have to figure it out as we go. Perhaps we can sail down the Danube, skirting the Carpathian Mountains. We shall proceed by ship across the Black Sea, to the inland Azoz. This voyage will bear us all the way to Razoz in the Ottomans. We continue East, going North of the Caucuses mountains. We shall cross the Caspian Sea at Baku. At this juncture, I believe that we shall require the hiring of a caravan to cross the endless wastes of the vast, Great Karskum Desert. Pending our survival, the onus would be upon us to then break through the impenetrable fortress of Mountains that are the Hindu Kush. Following the completion of this challenge puts us onto the Tibetan Plateau. A scant, one thousand miles of desolate, uncrossable, terrain, and Bob’s your uncle. Of course, we shall be proceeding on the assumption and hope that we will not be harried by inter-dimensional abominations sorely bent on our destruction along the way.”
“Oh, good, I was scared you might have something difficult in mind, Ma’am; however, I think I may have a shortcut to get us a little jump on this expedition.”
Chapter 25 - Do I Need a Pass Port Too?
Ichabod
“I have one other observation, if I may, Miss Plumtartt?”
“Why of course, Mr. Temperance, and that would be?” ~batt, batt, batt~
I momentarily lose my train of thought under the bewildering breeze of Miss Plumtartt’s batting lashes.
“Uhb, … oh yeah! I’m thinkin’ these attacks have only occurred at night.”
“Great Drake’s ghost! You’re right, sir! We must make the most of our daytime hours for travel. Let us fly from Paris at once!”
“Yes, Ma’am. That is exactly what I have in mind. I know that a train to Montpellier and a subsequent boat across this corner of the Mediterranean Sea to Genoa are the more obvious routes, but I suggest taking you up on your idea of flying out of Paris.”
“Do you mean by way of Zeppelin? I am sorry, Mr. Temperance, but even these modern airships are incapable of surmounting the mighty Alps.”
“Yes, Ma’am, but I think a balloon might make it.”
“Why, Mr. Temperance! How ingenious! I say, a hot air balloon, theoretically, might just be able to clear the Alpine Range. A high altitude trip over the Alps is exactly what is called for under the circumstances. My word, we should be able to shave several days from our journeys.”
Just outside of Paris, at Bois de Bologne, we secure passage on a festively bannered Montgolfier hot air balloon. ‘Dante’s Roter’ sits ready for us and we make a hasty departure from Mother Earth. Soon, we are soaring high above the French countryside. This is my first time to ever leave the ground! It is a little unnerving at first, but I quickly become acclimated. Miss Plumtartt has been in many dirigibles of different size and shape, but this is her first open air balloon ride and she seems to be as pleased as myself at the wonderful conveyance. We are fortunate in that the prevailing winds carry us South to the village of Villeurbanne, on the River Rhone, where we alight and acquire rooms at an inn for the evening. I believe that we have gotten a jump on our adversaries as we enjoy an uneventful overnight stay. We awaken excited at the prospect of an Alpine crossing. This should be a thrilling exercise!
The white capped mountains of the Swiss Alps loom before us. Higher and higher our daring pilot, Monsieur Jamie Palmatier, fearlessly takes us. We are soon bundling up in cold weather gear that Monsieur Palmatier was smart enough to bring along. I am afraid that we may be dashed upon the mountains, but there always seems to be an air current lifting us safely from the tearing rocks. On one particularly difficult mountain crossing, we feel and hear our basket dragging through the snowy fields that top the range.
“Mr. Temperance, please hurry and save us some of that snow, please, sir.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answer and dutifully scoop some of Switzerland’s glittering crystallized winter wonder into a depleted sandbag as our basket drags the top of a lofty Alpine peak.
“Superb, sir!” Miss Plumtartt smiles as she produces a bottle of champagne and tucks it into the burlap igloo. Later, Monsieur Palmatier produces champagne glasses, and we uncork and enjoy the chilled bubbly as we descend from our dizzying heights of the mighty Alps and glide into Northern Italy.
“I want another weapon with which to fight my foes; some sort of direct energy device. The creatures are vulnerable to powerful strikes of concentrated electricity, and I betcha we can build us a blaster.”
“I say, I have connections with the city of Graz, in Austria-Hungary. Father made a generous donation to the universities there for their advancements in electrical applications. I am sure we will receive assistance in constructing your ‘direct-energy’ device there.”
Returning to Earth in Milan, we make arrangements to travel to the great Austria-Hungarian Empire’s city of Graz. We gain passage on a beautiful, Italian Zeppelin, the “Bella Donna,”and cross the Adriatic.
As we approach the ancient city, we see the red-tiled roofs and old clock towers. A fairytale castle decorates the landscape, but there are ominous signs that we can plainly see in this medieval town. The castle is missing a turret and slowly weeps smoke from the recent wound. More smoking craters on other buildings can be seen. From our vantage point, high in the air, we see hurried, unusual construction projects around the area. Great spools of wire are being played out across this valley to embankments that are reminiscent of cannon battery placements. Miss Plumtartt is familiar with this place and points out that a famous landmark of the area, the Schlossberg clock, has a different appearance than it has had in the past. A latticed, metal tower grows from a hole ripped in its roof, and a wire basket, laid upon its side, spins at the top of the incongruous tower.
This area has been in recent battle.
We land in a field designated for aircraft. There is a tinge of anxiety in the air. Much like our train arrivals in Ipswich and Paris, our landing in Graz places us in a city exuding a tangible fearfulness. We disembark our Zeppelin with some trepidation.
No, this is not quite the same as Paris and Ipswich. These people, and this city, though they share the same frantic energies as was felt in England and France, are not blindly fearful and unsure. With a grim resolve, and moving with purpose, the citizens we observe are mobilized for war.
This city is mounting a defense!
- - -
Picking one Burghermeister-looking fella, we ascertain there is a meeting of the muckity-mucks at the largest of the six universities in this Bohemian Beehive.
Arriving at the impressive University of Graz, we enter the ornate complex and make out the noise of a multitude in argument. We follow the sound to a double doorway, crowded with men trying to enter an already packed auditorium. Miss Plumtartt cocks her ear, and listens for a moment. Shaking her head in a dubious manner, she explains to me that she can make out several languages being spoken: German, Serbian, Hungarian, and Croatian, among others.
Miss Plumtartt expresses, “This area of the world has never been known for its peaceful existence.”
“Do you mean Austria-Hungary?”
“No. Academia.”
Leaving Miss Plumtartt in the hall, I squeeze my way through the crowded door into the argumentative auditorium. Just inside is a large chair. Not built for comfort, or even for sitting in, this chair could double as a throne for Paul Bunyan. I climb up, and placing my pinkies in the corners of my mouth
, I give an eardrum piercing whistle.
“Achtung! Achtung! Presenting Miss Persephone Plumtartt!”
There are hundreds of gasps, shuffles, and low murmurs. Much as the Red Sea parted for Moses, an opening is created through the crowd toward the doorway, revealing the stunning appearance of Miss Plumtartt. She calmly walks down the aisle that has formed for her. I hop down off the big chair and follow in her wake. The incredible beauty of Miss Plumtartt is hungrily devoured by these academic wolves. They act like they’ve never seen a woman before, with their mouths hanging open and the wiping of spectacles to get a better examination. Her poise and air of serenity act to soothe the agitated and embattled burghers and scholars. I also get the impression that she and her name are not unfamiliar to this scholarly body.
“Gentlemen,” Miss Plumtartt smiles,“it pleases me to no end, seeing you put aside your differences, in order to further your city’s defenses.”
There is a lot of looking at one’s toes and such, as the chagrined scholars sheepishly cow under the gentle remonstration.
A very distinguished gentleman introduces himself as Doctor Noodlz. He appeals to the reproachful young lady.
“Miss Plumtartt! We are honoured to have you here with us, in this time of need. We give our sincere sympathies to you, for the loss of your dear, departed, father, whom we all so admired. As you can see, we are under siege by supernatural forces... For simplicity’s sake! Let us not argue over terminology!” An uproar at the words ‘supernatural forces’ threatens to derail his plea. “Let me give Miss Plumtartt our situation! We are under siege by … something. Approximately two weeks ago, we had the first reports of desiccated corpses. Then, reliable witnesses confirmed these all-but-invisible creatures of frightful power. The murderous horrors have claimed a frightful toll upon our poor citizens. These monsters, for there is no better word to describe them, please forgive my unscientific terminology, we learned to locate by means...”
“We!?! I am not “we!” You would take credit for my brilliance!”
Everyone in the hall lets out a collective moan and shakes their heads. I hear murmurs of, “Kleine Professor.”
Forcing his way angrily forward is a fiery youth. He practically has sparks coming out of his eyes. He cannot be more than sixteen years of age, yet he has all the assurance of any man in the room.
“Meet our ‘Little Professor’, Professor Tesla.”
- - -
“Would any of you have thought of a device that emits a beam of energy, and then measures the time of its echo return from a given object to grant visibility to the invisible? Who among you has the brilliance to construct such a window of wonder? A way to see that which cannot be seen by man? You? You? Any of you?”
“Professor, please,” Doctor Noodlz begs. “We recognize your brilliance in constructing this amazing machine. But we are all trying to achieve a common goal. Did...”
“Common goal? I defend the city, while you take credit for my insight. It was not the University that designed the “Eye of Graz,” it was Professor Nikola Tesla of the Graz Polytechnic!”
Choruses of assent and objection collide throughout the auditorium arising from the impassioned participants.
One voice is heard. “We are all working hard to stem this assault, Professor. It was the University of Graz that devised the ‘Voltage Disruptors.’”
“‘Voltage Disruptors?!’ A child’s toy!” says the feisty little professor. “I give you the ability to see the foul beasts. I have plans for defending the city with greater efficiency. A huge ball of energy, to surround the city, would be a shield against attack. Like a wall of energy, whatever strikes it, the shield would push back with greater Force.”
“Undoubtedly this would be a grand defense of the city,” someone calls, “but our present need is more pressing. Thank goodness we had one of the Plumtartts’ incredible Sol Furnaces. Without this ability to generate tremendous amounts of electricity, we would be powerless against our enemies.”
“Gentlemen, please,” pleads Miss Plumtartt, “I am eager to investigate this mysterious Window, and intriguing Eye. No doubt the Voltage Disruptors are every bit as stimulating as they sound. However, I wish to first introduce you to an inventive friend from the United States of America, a Mr. Ichabod Temperance.”
This is no time to be shy. I step forward.
“You gentlemen are probably familiar with the inability to contact the creatures with metal, whether bullet or blade. Powerful bolts of electricity will completely destroy the creatures. I have devised an alternative. The buggers’ own juices can be turned against them.” There are noises of assent as this avenue of thought has already passed through the minds of the men assembled there. “Blast them with electricity, though, and you get no usable fluid.”
“We have been able to collect a bit.”
“Then you can make these!”
With that I draw my emerald blade, and throw it down into the middle of the table. It sinks into the wood a good two inches with a solid thud. The blade is recognized immediately for what it is, and what it could mean for the city defenses.
“I am in possession of a formula for the hardening of gathered other-dimensional ectoplasm. This can be used to make blades with which to fight your enemies.”
A great cheer goes up in the room.
“I have more – behold!” I hold up my ‘Green Beauties.’ Their remarkable ability is also easy to recognize.
“These goggles will allow you to see your enemies.”
“Wait!” calls out Professor Tesla. He steps forward and throws a handkerchief over the goggles. “Before you use this man’s intellectual property, we must all, by public assent, grant all rights, ownership, and patents of this device, to its inventor, Mr. Ichabod Temperance.”
“Ahh-Greeed...” from the assembled Academics.
“Now then,” says the fiery young professor, “let’s see what we’ve got!”
Chapter 26 - Devices Of Destruction.
Persephone
Echoes reverberate down the wide University of Graz hall, as we stride before an unruly horde of excited scholars.
“I note that to our East, just across the River Mur, stands a solitary mountain in the center of the city. It is topped by the famous clock tower of Schlossberg. That landmark now has the added feature of a hastily-constructed metal contraption climbing from one scarred side. This untidy tower is capped by a large, slowly spinning, open-topped, metal basket, laid upon its side. Tell me, Professor Tesla, can you explain this device to me, eh hem?”
“Of course, Miss Plumtartt. What you describe is one component of ‘The Eye of Graz’. The basket is a projector that sends a beam of energy across our expansive valley and far beyond. It is like a propeller fan, sending out its radiations. Unlike the modern propeller fans which oscillate, this would be a constantly circling fan. When there is a reflection back from this beam to the Schlossberg collector in a particular spectrum of light, a notation is made of the time of its return. Height, direction, and speed can all be extrapolated from this data. A projection of the spot where this reflection took place is displayed in my ‘Window of Wonder.’ It is a round window, two feet across. It looks down into the machine. A large cathode tube is the actual window. The image corresponding to my beam of energy is shown as a line of light that, like a broom, sweeps across the field of artificial light. A reflection resulting from our spectrum search would take the form of a spot of light on the glass.”
“These are good for the big creatures, such as the ones that come down out of the Alps, or across the plain, from the Carpathians. It helps a little in finding and helping with the smaller ones. Your ‘Green Beauties’, as you call them, will help greatly with the smaller, hand-to-hand fighting, that has been just as horrific as that of the big emplacements.”
“May we examine these goggles now, please?” asks Professor Saugee-Bahtum.
Poor Mr. Temperance. These scientific cads salivate over his prized goggles in the same
manner that I was ogled by Herr Doktor Himmel.
“No dismantlement!” he pleads worriedly. “You may examine them, but do not disassemble! I'll tell y’all how they work!”
There is some grumbling, but they take what they can get.
Mr. Temperance writes down the formula for creating the Ectoplasmic resin, along with the principles of the ‘Green Beauties’ design.
Professor Von Stoughen-Shert explains the Disruptors. These are the direct energy devices that Mr. Temperance had hoped to learn to build, already made!
Huge amounts of energy are required to provide power for any kind of effective blast. Before you can have a weapon, a power source is required. This city has an unusually large power source in the Sol Furnace. It is the only land based Sol Furnace and is exclusively designed for the generation of electricity. The only other active and functioning Sol Furnaces in the world power two, eight-wheeled, ocean paddlers. These luxurious liners are in possession of the other two furnaces. Plowing the Atlantic Ocean is the Sovereign Ship, Triumph. Her sister, the S.S. Victoria, is just now arriving to her Pacific duties. Soon to be launched, an as yet unlit Furnace resides within the British Lion of a flagship, Her Majesty’s Ship, Dreadefulle. Three more Sol Furnace-driven wonders are in the midst of construction.
A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1) Page 10