“Quite so, Kit. That is the ship’s operation. The docks are concerned with the similar action of transferring empty barrels for full upon their wheeled land transport. The primitive wagons are burdened with full barrels upon their arrival, and reloaded with empty barrels for their return, eh? Teams consisting of dead, zombie slaves by the dozen, drag the heavy, rough-hewn wagons through the difficult, dense, jungle trail. The question is, of what action do we take at this juncture? Certainly, our quest lies in accompanying these fellows back to their rum factory and from there, to rescue our friends, Reverend Dolomite and Officer Smith, from Sku Le’Bizarre’s captivity, eh?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, I sure wish we had a clever way of catchin’ up to those fiends what kidnapped our pals, in a hurry. I reckon we’ll just have to settle for following these fellers, sloggin’ through the near-impassable terrain that separates us from the cave under the mountains for probably ten miles or more as best we can on foot.”
“Aye, we’ll be able to follow aloong behind these lads without hindrance nor problem I thinks, the same way we did from La Vinaigrette to São Cochon. Assuming we arrive without being caught and eaten by hungry ghouls or bitten by poisonous snake or spider, nor succumbed to the oppressive jungle’s sweltering miasma, the challenge will be entering their cave, below the toowering Mount Miseriaiaia.”
“Oh, whoi’s there’s gots to be so many o’ the monsters? Oye don’t loike it!”
“Rotten luck, that, mobbes of walking man-eating corpses and all that, eh, what?”
“Quite so, Kit. If only we had some ingenious but simple way of sneaking past the dead fellows, without their knowledge, I say.”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt. I reckon’ we’ll just have to hide here behind this stack of empty rum barrels waiting to be loaded onto a wagon that’s gonna be pulled to the cave and presumably all the way through to be unloaded at the rum factory over there in that valley on the other side of these impassable mountains.”
“Aye, I can’t think of a single thing to do. I thinks me Irish loock has finally run oot.”
“It’s too bad, eh, these barrels are empty. Oye could go for a sip o’ that Sku Le’Bizarre, San Moniquan rum.”
“Yes! Quite! That’s it! The answer is quite obvious, simple, and staring us in the face! What marvelous simplicity!”
“My word, and what is your marvelous plan, Kit?”
“Why isn’t it obvious, Persephone? We merely need to insinuate ourselves into the work line! With a spot of moaning, hither and anon, I am sure we could pass for just another dead zombie! Certainly, it may entail the trudging and dragging of heavy wagons through the jungle, but it just might work!”
“Hear, hear, that really is brilliant, Kit my darling; however, even as sensory dulled as these fellows appear to be, I do think they might spot the fact that we are, more’s the pity, as white as refined sugar. This might tip our hand that we are not among their regular and familiar zombie slave work mates, eh hem?”
“Oh, yes, just so, Persephone. Drat! I thought I was onto something there for a moment.”
“Oye can usually fluht an’ canoodle me way past any doorman, but Oye don’t think it’ll work wiff this lot.”
“Aye, I say we follow the boyos backs to their cavey lairre and then roosh them real quicks.”
“But there may be hunnerds of ’em, Officer O’Hagan.”
“Aye, baughtte I likes a challenge, m’boy.”
“Uh, oh! Looks like a bunch of them there walking deadmen are headed this way!”
“Oh, my! I say, my word, there are more moving in from behind as well, blocking our egress.”
“Quick, everybody! Let’s all jump in these empty barrels. Maybe these ol’ zombie boys’ll just walk on past and not notice us!”
“Just pull these handy barrel tops over and we’ll each hide in our own barrel.”
“Shhh! Here they come! No Tolkin’!”
“...unhhhh.....”
“...unhhhh.....”
“...unhhhh...”
“...unhhhh.....”
“...piecke aup bharrelhs...”
“...piecke aup bharrelhs...”
“...load onto wauhggonns...”
“...load onto wauhggonns...”
“...pull wagons...”
“...pull wagons...”
“...pull wagons...”
“...pull wagons...”
“...pull wagons...”
“...pull wagons...”
“...pull wagons...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull wagons...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull wagons...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...through the streets...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...of La Cochon...”
“...pull, pull...”
“ ...our footsteps beat...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...our dirge does drone....”
“...pull, pull...”
“...wake or sleep...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...alive or dead...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...we're in deep...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...over our head...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...day or night...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...in a rutte...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...we want a bite...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...of uncooked butte...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...tiger's tail...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...sweltering bog...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...jungle trail,...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...croak of frog...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...past jungle leaf...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...over rotten log...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...there is no relief...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...from this mental fog...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...screech of cat...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...howl of dog...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...bite of rat...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...through rivers slog...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...we live in strife...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...making spicey grog...”
“...pull, pull...”
“..in the gears of life...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...we are a cog...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“...pull, pull...”
“Work, you worthless slaves! Your work is your life’s death’s life! To make your death
a living torture is my life’s ambition! Endless toil is your allotted lot, you miserable, undesirable sots! From my observation post on the landing of my jungle cabin, I can oversee your eternal labours. Supervising your suffering death is how I make my living. Being Sku Le’Bizarre’s rum wrangler overseer makes me a very important man, you former men. I have the important position of overseeing this end of the rum moving process. It is I, Overseer S’poielle de’ Worcestershire, that is in charge of getting the rum from the mouth of the ‘Craven Cavern’ that runs beneath the beautiful witch, Mount Miseriaiaia, and to le São Cochon.”
“Be careful there, you stupid cadavers! Only one pair of zombies bearing a barrel between them are allowed on the rope bridge at a time! You have to alternate between outgoing full barrels and incoming empty. Do you wish for the bridge to break and then to cast you, down, down, down, and into the foul waters of the River Stynx that roars by far below?”
“The same rule applies for the stone steps cut into the volcanic rock of Mount Miseriaiaia. Only one pair of barrel bearers may use that steep stone access to the cavern’s entrance, high in the air. I have even had the torches lit at either side of her yawning gate to show you the way.”
“You zombies pulling that wagon of empty barrels from ‘The Giddy Ge’de’, stop! You fools! Do you not see the error you are making? Look at those barrels. They are all mixed up! Clearly, half of those casques are labeled as ‘spicey’ and half as ‘dark’! The ‘spicey’ barrels go first! These ‘dark’ barrels can wait until tomorrow night.”
“That’s it, one at a time, carry the ‘spicey’ marked barrels across the swaying, tattered, and frayed, hemp ropes of this derelict footbridge.”
“That is good. All the ‘spicey’ barrels are now safely across the ‘Chasm Stynx’. Now bear your burdens up those steps and into the cave. The factory needs those barrels!”
“Hey there! I think there are mice in these empty barrels of ‘dark’ rum. I saw one of them move a little! There is something in there! A rat maybe? Oui! A rat indeed for I hear the hushed tones of hissed whispers as one filthy rat confers with another rat in a companion barrel.”
“Ayiieeee! A white man has leapt from a barrel! I knew there was something in there, but I did not expect to see a ridiculously attired little white man as the source of my troubles! My mind cannot comprehend the vision it is forced to endure! The painfully bright tropical colours of the inflated sleeves of his party shirt do little to distract from the disgusting, tight, clinging, brilliant white trousers and shining white shoes. I scarcely notice the scarlet, dingle-berried, flat hat he wears.”
“Ayiieeee! A second white man leaps from an accompanying barrel. He though, is not a despicable example of humanity as his fast moving counterpart. No, this is a gentleman of some refinement, oui! His tall, strong, physique is immaculately attired in a stylish white suit and hat. His tie and vest bespeak a man of some culture. Dark, penetrating black eyes are the same deep black of his hair. His handsome face is resolute with purpose I am thinking, oui.”
“Ayiieeee! Bless my cold, cruel, and merciless heart, a third pasty white savage has now a barrel given birth. Eek! It’s a leprechaun! The disgusting creature wears a skull face below that outrageous green derby hat!”
“Seize them!”
“C’mon y’all! We gotta getta move on and hurry on across this here rope suspension bridge!”
“Temperance! You foolish boy, old man. I say, I think we could have waited a scant twenty-four hours, eh what?”
“Aye, Ickety! Ye ’ave shown our hand and exposed us to the terrors of a hundred flesh eating zombies!”
Thud! Thump! Buh-fudde!
“RRRRAAAARRRRROOHHR!!!”
“Foolish invaders! Your puny efforts avail you not, for even as you, admittedly, rather adroitly, punch, kick, flip, toss, and generally outmaneuver my zombie slaves, their many numbers now overwhelm you making your resistance and position untenable. There now, bring me the captives for a brief interrogation before they are turned into mindless zombies to forever be in the evil service of Sku Le’Bizarre!”
“Unh! Unh! Unh! Lemme go! Dang it! y’all turn us a’loose!”
“I say, easy there, my good dead man. No need to be so rough, my word.”
“Aye, when’s I gets free, I’ll be issuing a few receipts, laddies.”
“Silence! You will speak when I command! You, Dingle-Berry Hat Boy, what are you doing on the Island of San Monique?”
“Unh! Unh! We’re here to rescue our friends, you slave-driving fiend! Let us go so we can go save ’em, you big meanie!”
“You must mean the sacrificial holy man, Dolomite. Wait, you said, ‘friends’. Ah, you must mean the new white slave the master has acquired. The tall, strongly built otherwise good looking male that now wears the slack expression of unthinking servitude.”
“Aye, that be the one. Where have ye taken him?”
“Ayiieeee! It talks! This frightening fighting horror of a leprechaudal monster speaks to me in human tongue!”
“Maybe to you I’m naughtte attractive, me seveere overseer, baughtte the ladies find me ir-r-r-r-ressistable.”
“The white giant accompanies his master, carrying the futile resistance of the Reverend Dolomite over his shoulder. By now they have exited the other side of the ‘Craven Cavern’ and look out on the ‘Horned Plateau’, the vast Northern plain between the impassable mountain ranges. From the vantage point of the Cavern’s opening, high on the cliffs of Miseriaiaia, the endlessly crashing surf of the jagged rock graveyard formed by San Monique’s stone goat horns lies to the North. Ahead and to the South stretch the endless fields of sugar cane. Their tall, strong stalks of decadent sweetness is the primary ingredient of our delicious rum. This bountiful resource has built a fortune with which the master has brought about his ‘Great Scheme’. The Master will enjoy a view including a fringe of tropical jungle foliage surrounding the edge of the valley, separating the fields from the mountains. On the other side of the plain, Lady De’athSpelle’s eastern range extends Northward. Directly across from that awe-inspiring vantage point my Master enjoys, Queen Tempestia’s beauty rises up to the sky. Our volcanoe Queen dominates the entire ‘Horned Plateau’. She has been excited of late; her passions light the sky with her fiery reflections. She shakes the entire island as she prepares for Dolomite’s sacrifice and her grand release.”
“If you please, my good man, I believe I overheard you to say your name was Worcestershire. My name is Eppington, Kit, Eppington. I think I knew a Worcestershire in Baltimore once. Yes, ever been there, old bean?”
“Silence!”
“Hey there, Mr. Overseer Wer...”
“Worcestshire!”
“Yessir! Sorry, sir! Wuohr...”
“Worcestshire!”
“Yessir! Overseer Whooch...”
“Overseer Worcestshire!”
“Overseer Woorts...”
“Overseer Worcestshire!”
“Oversheer Werchesterersheershireshauce,,,”
“NO!”
“Aw, please, come on, let us go so we can go and rescue them boys. They’re a couple of real nice fellers.”
“No, I will do no such thing. My hordes of walking deceased, you are commanded to bear these prisoners over the rope bridge and across the ‘Chasm Stynx’. Carry them up the steps and through the almost ten miles of the ‘Craven Cavern’. Continue to carry them the long ten miles to Sku Le’Bizarre’s Grand Plantation house that sits in the exact center of the sugar cane fields that make up the ‘Horned Plateau’. There, Sku’ Le’Bizarre will do with you what he will.”
“Aye! I likes the sound o’ that! Carry me the twenty mile hike me dearies! Ye have carried us nearly twenty miles already in your rum barrels, twenty more won’t hurt you none m’lads.”
“Silence! Take them away!”
“...RRRRAAARRRRRRRRRRR...”
“Unh! Unh! Unh! Lemme go, y’all!”
“Aye, ye dead laddies be interfering wi
th a police officer in the dispersement of his duties!”
“I say, old boy, but I’d really rather not cross that dilapidated rope bridge over that eighty foot sheer drop cliff old chap.”
“Quiet, Eppington, I told you to be silent!”
“And I said that I don’t want to cross that bridge!”
“Your companions are being carried across and so shall you! Get that man across that bridge!”
“Blast it you devils, I don’t like heights!”
“Shut up and quit struggling! Get across that bridge!”
“No! I don’t like heights, blast your eyes!”
“Subdue that man!”
“I, don’t like, HEIGHTS!
“Mr. Eppington! Settle down, sir!
“I DON’T LIKE HEIGHTS!”
“Aye, ye’re shaking the bridge, laddie!”
“I DON’T LIKE HEIGHTS!”
“Control that man!”
“I! DON’T! LIKE! HEIGHTS!!!”
“Mr. Eppington!”
“Kit, m’laddie!”
“...RRRRAAARRRRRRRRRRR...”
“You disobedient fool! Stop struggling! You’re going to wreck the bridge!”
“I.”
pluh-toink!
“Don’t.”
pluh- tink!
“Like.”
tuh-pink!
“HEIGHTS!!!”
PLINKETY-PLOINKETY-PLINCKETY
SNAP-PUH!!!
“Aaaaaaaahhh!-
-
-
-
-
splash!splash!splash!splash!splash!splash!
“You fool! You have wrecked my bridge plunging yourself, your friends, and twenty valuable dead slaves into the churning torrent of angry waters of the roaring chasm to be swept away as insignificant flotsam on ‘The River Stynx’!”
Chapter Seventeen:
Repulsed
-glub- “No! Not over there, you guys! -glub- Swim over to this side!”
“Temperance, old chap, that bank is far too steep and slippery. -glub, glub- This other bank will be easier to gain purchase on, old fellow.”
-glub-gasp-glub- “That ain’t the question. Our pals are on this side of the river and I don’t think that saucy overseer is gonna let us across that bridge of his, no way, no how.”
“Aye” -glub- “The lads a’right. We’ll pull ourselves out o’ this cursed river and the companionship of our cannibal swim-mates on the steep banks o’ Mount Miseriaiaia.”
The Measure of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 6) Page 11