The Measure of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 6)
Page 13
“Let us continue to take care as not to be seen as we look into that question. My word, look there! A three level, slave driven, capstan perpetually turns under the straining efforts of a hundred zombie slaves! A central beam is pierced by many perpendicular logs. These are each lined with many condemned souls, laboring as beasts of burden. Their unceasing efforts turn dozens of spindled belts that in turn connect to dozens more.”
“The constant thud of their doomed footfalls match the cadence of their melancholy duhge.”
“...push..
thud. thud. thud.
“...push...”
thud. thud. thud.
“...push...”
thud. thud. thud.
“...push...”
thud. thud. thud.
“...push...”
thud. thud. thud.
“...we are accursed...”
thud. thud.
“...with eternal walk...”
thud. thud.
“...our will has burst...”
thud. thud.
“...minds turned to chalk...”
thud. thud.
“...this endless wheel...”
thud. thud.
“...perpetual motion...”
thud. thud.
“...we've lost our zeal...”
thud. thud.
“...oblivion ocean...”
thud. thud.
“...no journeys end...”
thud. thud.
“...we march on and on...”
thud. thud.
“...our backs do bend...”
thud. thud.
“...until we're gone...”
thud. thud.
“...push...”
thud. thud. thud.
“...push...”
thud. thud. thud.
“...push...”
thud. thud. thud.
“...push...”
thud. thud. thud.
“...push...”
thud. thud. thud.
. . .
“What a deplorable situation we have discovered, Miss Froust. This is obviously an operation of evil. I cannot sit idly by and not work to save these poor wretches from their miserable torments.”
“Oye’m wiff ya’s on that, sistuh. This ain’t roight, but Oye’m not keen on the idea of having to get along wiff a blue-blooded blowhard loikes you to remedy this terrible situation.”
“Eh, hem, yes, well, let’s not go and get hasty, now, shall we, for it is equally difficult for myself to envision enlisting assistance from you. Fortune, it would seem, has deemed to thrust the two of us together in common circumstances, and cooperation may, no matter how distasteful, be necessary. However, I am curious to know the disposition of our male companions before we proceed with our own tentative, temporary, entwined task team, Miss Froust.”
“Oh, Oye ain’t worried about that lot none, whoi, they’re prob...”
“Mon Dieu, Sacre Bleu and Lafayette too! To what do my disbelieving eyes are the appearings? Two white women? You have no business here! Seize them!”
Chapter Twenty:
ZombieGram
“...so she says, ‘But Howie, I’m your mother! How can you foreclose on me, your widowed mother and this, our poor old family farm.’ Ha, ha! As if that would make any difference. Yeah, working as a foreclosure enforcement attorney was full of amusing anecdotes like that.” -sigh- “Good times, good times.”
“You are a cold, cruel, and unscrupulous man, Howard C. Cross! Eee-Yes!-Ah! Shame on you! You have the heart of cherry pit, you shameless shyster!”
“Shut up and enjoy your Pina Colada, Zo.”
“Be quiet, both of you! A messenger zombie is running this way. It is coming from the direction of the ‘Craven Cavern’. What news do you carry, slave?”
“... uuuhhh, … white men ... on San Monique ...”
“What? Impossible, you fool! This island is unknown in the world except as legend. Many layers of protective spells insure that none can approach this island. You foolish slave! You trouble me with nonsense!”
“I don’t know, Sku Le’Bizarre. The plaintiff under our supervision, namely the Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite, and this over-sized, drooling, and devoted employee, Keefer Smith, had some loyal friends back in the states.”
“I tell you Cross, it is impossible!”
“Eee-Yes!-Ah! I am saved! Hallelujah! My friends are here to save me and to thwart your evil plans, Sku Le’Bizarre and Howard C. Cross!”
“So, aaah, Mister Zombie, ‘hypothetically speaking’, if these ‘white men’ you report of were ‘theoretically’ here, how many ‘alleged’ invaders are we talking about?”
“... uuuhhh, … three ...”
“You are a stupid and foolish zombie! Go away!”
“Hey, Skullzy! Look over there, I see another one of your running cadavers.”
“I see it, mon. It comes to us from the direction of the rhumme factory. Come to me, slave. What news do you bear?”
“... uuuhhh, … white women ...”
“What! White women! Where? At the factory?”
“... yes ...”
“Bah! This is intolerable! Cross! You take the ‘Cadaverpillar’ and find out what is going on at the factory. A security breach will not be tolerated!”
“Right, S.L.B.! I’m on it!”
“You, the zombie slave formerly known as Smith. You stay here and hold Dolomite prisoner.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I will take the ‘DoomBuggy’ to secure the cavern’s gateway passage.”
“All trespassers shall be slain on the Island of San Monique!”
Chapter Twenty One:
Necropopodopolis
“I think them ol’ hungry, feisty, life-challenged stevedores have finally quit chasing us along this jungle-ey mountainside.”
“Aye, let’s stop an’ catch our breath. Maybe a plan will magically occur-r-r to us.”
“I say, that would be a handy spot of luck, eh, what? Yes, I thought we did rather well against the first ten or twelve fellows back there at the cavern entryway steps. Rotten luck those chaps being in possession of unending and overwhelming forces, eh, what? Nevertheless, the onus remains upon us to breach these unassailable cliffs and to effect a rescue for our friends, male and female. We must force passage on that cavern. Perhaps if we could get some rope, we could climb to a position directly above the cavern’s entrance. We could then lower ourselves down. With speed and surprise, we might be able to make a fast passage of the cave before they know we’ve hit them.”
“I don’t think so, y’all. It’ll take a day at least, maybe two to secure the rope we need. The cliffs above the cave don’t look too inviting, no how. Besides, we’ve lost the element of surprise. These boys are gonna be wise to us.”
“There’s no other way, Ickety, lad.”
“This is a big mountain range, Officer O’Hagan, sir. If we keep moving southward, we’ll come to Mount Tormentia, and Mount Agonia beyond that before we’re back where we started at Lady De’athspelle. There might be another way between these other mountains, somewhere.”
“Aye, there’s a thought. Come to think of it, didn’t we hear something about a long lost city of the dead that leads to a supposed, hidden, mountain-top pass?”
“Velcropopodotsis?”
“By Jove, that’s it, Temperance! Necropopodopolis, of course, back in Sao Vinaigrette, that obliging fellow Jean-Trevour told us about it. The only problem, lies in it having been lost to the ravages of time for hundreds of years.”
“Say, you all, lookey over yonder. I spy a pale lantern’s light forcing its way through the gloom.”
“Aye, Ickety. As we stealthily get nearer, the light source reveals itself to be emanating from that spooky, jungle cabin, all surrounded by ghastly charms, indicating a heavy VooDoo influence. Let’s be neighborly and stop in to say hello.”
“Righto, I’ll just rap my knuckles politely on a convenient porch post
thusly, eh?” -knock, knock- “Hello? I say, is anyone in residence?”
“Kauhme eeen...”
“I say, thank you so much. My word! Lady Paramarfeigh! We last saw you in that infernal Texan swamp! What are you doing on San Monique?”
“I am not this Lady Paramarfeigh of which you speak. I am Madame Paramarfiegh. You answer me, white man. What are you doing on San Monique?”
“We are here to rescue our friends and save the world, Ma’am. And you really do favour that ol’ VooDoo gal, Lady Paramarfeigh. Are you sure that you, Madame Paramarfiegh, are not related to her somehow?”
“Nae, put that aside for now. Madame Paramarfiegh, can you help us to cross these savage mountains, that stop us on our r-r-righteous quest?”
“There is no passing of the ’Devil Sisters’. Miseriaiaia, Agonia and Tormentia will not suffer their fearsome flanks to be trod by living man.”
“But Miss Madame Paramarfiegh, Ma’am, that dang ol’ witchdoctor VooDoo mystique Sku Le’Bizarre plans on sacrificing our friend, the Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite, to instigate a worldwide zombie dawn of doom. There will be folks all laid to rest gettin’ woke up to do his foul biddin’!”
“Oui, I am familiar with this prophecy. It is not a thing that I would see brought about. This catastrophe would upset the balance between good and evil.”
“Hear, hear, jolly good! I was hoping you would turn out to be on the side of the Angels, Madame Paramarfiegh,”
“You must find your way to the ‘Craven Cavern’. That is the only way to get to the other side of the ’Devil Sisters’.”
“Bad show, that I’m afraid, Madame Paramarfiegh. We have already been repulsed from that passage twice already, I’m afraid.”
“Then we are doomed, for that is the only way.”
“Hey there, Miss Madame Paramarfiegh, Ma’am, we heard tell that there is a fabled lost city of old that did possibly lead to a hidden pass over the mountains.”
“No! Do not speak of that evil place! To the average San Moniquan, it is but a hazy legend, but I know it to exist in reality. You fool! Put it out of your mind, Dingle-Berry Hat Boy!”
“We’re not too keen on this ‘doomed’ business, dearie. Please direct us on the most direct route for ‘Necropopodopolis’, if you please.”
“Aieee! Do not speak that dreadful name! However, I do not care to consider the awful ‘ApocoDoom’ that will occur if I do not assist you in this mad quest. Very well! I shall see that you are guided to this sorrowful city of the ’Sinisters’.”
“Thanks a lot there Miss Madame Paramarfiegh, Ma’am. We sure do appreciate your help. Let’s see, you’re taking a little bit of a powdered ingredient from one old jar, and a pinch of something else from a little wooden chest. A drop of evaporating liquid from an old timey little brown bottle, too. Now it all gets mixed up in this mortar and pestle. Whatcha doin’ now, Ma’am? I see that you’re pouring the mixture into the palm of your gnarled hand and cupping it over with your opposing hand. Oh, I see, you wish to chant a few words over it.”
“Guide this Vessel,”
“Where it should not Go.”
“A Mountaintop Trestle,”
“To the ‘Horned Plateau.’”
“Make of me this Pest,”
“A Cursed City seeking Burro,”
“A suicidal Quest,”
“A Volcanoe slain Hero.”
“I don’t think your spell worked, Ma’am. Nothing happened. Did somethin’ go wrong? Maybe you’re thinking your powder is supposed to be affected by the little song somehow?”
“Are you curious as to the effect my song had on the powder, Dingle-Berry Hat Boy?”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
“Here, have a look...”
“Hunh, just looks like you got a little handful of powder piled up in the palm of your hand. I’ll examine it more closely as you hold it up before your own face.”
“Huh-ssphewwww!”
“Augh! Gag! Cough! Cough! Cough! What’d ya do that for? I didn’t want all that VooDoo powder blown into my face! Cough, Cough! It’s in my eyes! It’s in my nose! It’s in my mouth!”
“Aaaaaaaah-Hahahahahahaha!”
“Ickety! Settle down, lad. Kit and I will help ye!”
“I can’t see!”
“Hear, hear. Steady there, Temperance old chap. Stop all this thrashing about, eh? Bad form, sir, I say!”
“Augh! I can’t breathe!”
“Ickety!”
“Lemme go!”
“Temperance!”
“Lemme outta here!”
“I can’t hold him, Kit!”
“Nor I Constable! Let us concentrate on maintaining our pursuit!”
“Aye!”
“I gotta move.”
“I gotta walk.”
“I gotta.”
“I gotta...”
“I gotta...”
“...gotta...”
“...gotta...”
“...move...”
“...walk...”
“...go...”
“...go...”
“...go...”
“O'Hagan! I do believe our man Temperance is under some diabolical entrancement!”
“...gotta...”
“...go...”
“...go...”
“Aye, ye're right, Kit m'lad!”
“...go...”
“...go...”
“What do we do, Constable?”
“...go...”
“...go...”
“We follow the little blighter! Doon't let him escape us!”
“...go...”
“...something's wrong...”
“...in my mind...”
“I say, he's a fast little rotter!”
“...constricted thoughts...”
“...in a bind...
“...on I walk...”
“...unaware...”
“...that I talk...”
“...without care..”
“...clinging vines...”
“...cannot stay me...”
“Ickety! Look out faer that huge monster snake!”
“...poison snake...”
“...chomp...”
“...cannot slay me...”
“Good Heavens, that boy just bit that giant anaconda's head off!”
“...chomp...”
“...chomp...”
“...slippery slope...”
“...hands do grope...”
“...after toil...”
“...pray for soap...”
“...shuffle off...”
“...mortal coil...”
“...to enter here...”
“...abandon hope...”
“...uuuhhh...”
“..uuuhhh..”
“uuhh.”
“Uhhh.”
“Uhhh.”
“Oooh.”
“Oooh-where am I?”
“Ah, Ickety, ye’re back to being your Alabama baern Okie self, lad, aye, and not still under that VooDoo priestess’ mesmeric hex. Well, If I’m not mistaken these bits of stone architecture peaeking through the overgrowth suggest that we are in a very old and long dead city. Short odds that we be the first living men to stand foot in this city in over two hundred years. This undoubtedly must be the legendary city of the dead, the cursed, ‘Necropopodopolis’.”
“Indeed, I concur, Constable O’Hagan. Crumbled buildings spread their defeated detritus before the victorious overgrowth of jungle fauna, eh? Pillars of stone breach the tropical tentacles like the bones of some rotting thunder lizard.”
“Looks like the buildings endure with considerable more success, the higher and further into the center of this mouldy metropolis we climb, y’all.”
“Quite so, in fact, though one must be an Alpinist to commute in this urban artifact clinging to the side of this island mountain.”
“You know, Temperance, I would be remiss if I did not mention, you did a smashing job of locating this forgotten outpost of ci
vilization.”
“I did?”
“Aye, Ickety, you acted as our very own bloodhound...”
“...ooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooo....”
“Eek! Er, that is, eek. I say, that is a particularly unnerving low and ghostly moan that just made its sad way to us. Rather disconcerting the way it was accompanied by an unusually cold gust of wind and the surrounding forest dropping into sudden silence, eh, what?”
“...ooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooo....”
“I-i-i-is it just me, y’all, or did we just hear several ghostly moans from all around us, seemingly in answer to the first?”
“Now then, Kit and Ickety, there’s nothing to worry about. Most ghost stories are just little misunderstandings and have paer-r-r-fectly logical explanations. What we just heard was just the wind blowin’ through the rubble, making a spooky sound. The way Ickety’s hillbilly kinfolk like to pretend they are playing a musical instrument when they blow over the small opening of a moonshine crockery jug. Doon’t pay the creepy moans and calls any mind. Let’s hurry along, though, just in case I’m full o’ Blarney.”
“...ooOOOOOOOOOFleshhhhOOOOOOooo....”
“Eep. Eep. Eep. Yes, I say, I think ‘speed walking’ is an apt description of our hurried gate. Perhaps we can coin the phrase and popularize its use.”
“...ooOOOOwe want your fleshhhOOOOOOooo....”
“Oh, ding, dang, y’all, I don’t know how I know it, but I just know we are surrounded by a lot of spooks.”
“...OOOOOO we crave your fleshooOoo...”
“Behave yourselves, lads. Doon’t be grabbing onto me.”
“I didn’t touch you, Officer O’Hagan, sir.”
“I assure you Constable, I did not grab nor touch you in any way.”
“Well, if you didn’t, then who did?”
“YOOOOOOOOOooo HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooo”
“Eep. Er, that is, I mean, Eek! My posterior was just firmly and knowingly pinched!”
“OOOOOOOOwe desire your fleshoOoo”
“Yikes! I think I was just groped in an overly familiar manner too, y’all!”
“OOOOOOOOMANFLESH!OOOOOOOO”
“Do me lights be playing tricks, or are there not thick mists coalescing into ghostly human forms all about us?”
“Quite so, Constable. I say, these spectral wraiths gain their former mortal shape before our very eyes, so to speak.”