A Journey of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 9) (3 page)

“Gee whiz, it sure is swell for y’all to come out and greet us.”

“What did ye’ say ye’re name were boy?”

“My name is Ichabod, sir.”

“Ho, ho! Ichabod! The little man’s name is Ichabod, my friends!”

Icky, Icky, Ichabod.

His face is as blank,

as a dirt clod.

His head bobs about,

as on a rod,

Oh, Icky, Icky, Ichabod!

“Bah, stop all your happy dancing, you merry little munchkins! I am a very important man.”

With a furrowed brow,

and condescending smirk,

He’s repugnant, and how,

because he’s such a jerk.

His glance will wither,

the heartiest fern,

stay away from my sister,

J.P. Morganstern!

“I applaud your natural instincts, my adopted Gnomeys.”

Her eyes, how they twinkle,

the blue wonders give a wink.

This lovely girl is in contrast,

to the industrial fink.

Morganstern has the allure,

of a bovine fart.

Splendor is the aura,

of Persephone Plumtartt!

“Ahoy, ahoy, adorn our new friends in garlands of pretty flowers, my Gnomeys! There, now we are ready to sing our song of Tribute.”

“Hooray!”

How can we be so lucky?

I don’t know.

We live a perfect life,

In Sagging Bough.

Shining Sun above,

solid ground belows,

Go barefoot in the meadow

you gets a cow patty ‘tween the toes.

To live a life so nice,

requires sacrifice.

Virtues we extol,

To appease our Troll.

Warm Sun above,

Our hearts are full of love.

A better life we’ll never know,

Than the glory of Sagging Bough.

“Uh, that sure is a pretty little song, y’all, but, uh, did I hear y’all mention a troll in there somewheres?”

Through the woods

past the ridge,

living beneath,

Billy Goat bridge.

Part avalanche roll,

and geologic mutt,

He’s our own troll,

GraniteButte.

He watches over us

with eyes of coal,

an occasional maiden

is his only toll.

“Leapin’ Limestone Landlords, Miss Plumtartt, these poor folks are languishing under the oppressive tyranny of a bloodthirsty monster what lives off the blood of their innocent daughters!”

“Indeed, Mr. Temperance. I now am able to fully interpret their use of the word ‘Tribute’. I say, are we expecting this fellow, ‘GraniteButte’, for imminent arrival, eh hem?”

“Aye, lassie! Hark ye’ toward yonder forest.”

Casting trees aside,

crushing rocks to gravel.

There is no disguising,

his noise of travel.

Animals flee the tread,

of the walking boulder,

Except the vultures,

resting on his shoulder.

His choice of maiden,

is an occasional must,

lest we all,

be ground to dust.

He is the one thing,

that we fear,

Everybody act happy;

he is here!

“Grumble, rumble, fumbledy bum, I wants me Tribute, that’s why I’ve come.”

“Hail, oh great troll GraniteButte! We are so happy to welcome you in this time of Tribute! See how we celebrate this joyous time in which we present you our young to choose from for your dinner.”

“I wants me Tribute.
~sniff, sniff~
Hey, I smell something I have never smelled before.”

“We are visited by mythical creatures, your Trollness. Here are three humans!”

“Don’t lie to me, little Gnomey! There is no such thing as humans!”

“Howdy, there Mr. Grannybutt Trollman.”

“Roar! I am GraniteButte! I am a mighty Troll! Do not call me Grannybutt!”

“Eep! Sorry, sir! My name is Ichabod Temperance. This here is Miss Persephone Plumtartt and Mr. J.P. Morganstern. We are visitors to your world. It sure is nice to meet you, sir. I ain’t never talked with no rock before, leastwise, one what would answer me back.”

“I say, I cannot stand idly by while you take an innocent maiden to be sacrificed. Retire from this field, GraniteButte, there will be no Tribute for you today, sir.”

“Today?”

“Forgive me, I am still in the process of climatizing to your idioms. I should say, you will receive no Tribute at this time.”

“You dare to defy me! Actually, you are a very becoming female. Despite your freakish human form, I find you attractive. I shall take you, human woman known as Persephone Plumtartt, to be my Tribute!”

“Oh no you ain’t neither, Mr. GraniteButte! You better leave her alone!”

~kick, kick, punch, punch~

“Are you striking me? Silly human, get out of my way.”

~flick!~

“Mr. Temperance! You horrible monster! You have struck Mr. Temperance unconscious! Oh! Now you snatch me up and bear me away against my will!”

Isn’t this wonderful

isn’t this fine.

GraniteButte has someone else

on which to dine.

That girl was a real looker,

a real beauty,

this has been the greatest,

time of Tributey!

    Frae the petals sprang life,

    both common and rare,

    fire, water, air and earth.

    Through victory and strife,

    rendered ugly and fair,

    even rock and stone gave birth.

                       -From the Epoch of Enauck

“
Oooh, where am I?”

“The lovely hamlet of Sagging Bough in Middle o’ Earthhe. Dinnae make me tell the tale again, laddie.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Bottomfeeder, sir, I think it’s coming back to me. Oh my Goodness, where is Miss Plumtartt?”

“She has the good fortune of being chosen the fairest maiden in all of Gnomedom! She has been chosen as more beautiful than any Gnome lass. It is a great honour! Now don’t you worry, Ickity; I am certain that she has been gobbled up gone by now.”

“What? Nossir, I ain’t having that! Which way did he go? I gotta save Miss Plumtartt!”

“Don’t be silly, Icky. Be sensible, there’s plenty of Gnomey girls that will soon take your mind off Penelope.”

“Persephone.”

“Whatever.”

“No, now I’m serious, which way did they go?”

“What can you do, boy? Granitebutte is thousands of stone of solid stone. Ye’ dinnae stand a chance against the mighty brute.”

“I know he’s big, now which way did he go? Never mind, I can track that flat footed son of a gun.”

“What will ye’ do when ye’ find him, eh? Ye’ cannae hurt the beast.”

“Gosh, I reckon that’s true. Do you have any suggestions for tackling a bruiser like that?”

“Yeah. Don’t.”

“Oh well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Bottomfeeder, so long.”

“Harumph. Temperance, where do you think you’re going? You need to see about returning me to civilization.”

“You are just going to have to find your own way home; I have more important problems.”

“More important than me? Don’t be absurd. Why, you don’t mean to say that your foolish wench is more important than I am do you?”

“Yessir, I do. Oops! I mean, don’t you go and call her no wench! Shame on you! Miss Plumtartt is the finest girl this world or ours has ever seen! I ain’t got time for this, I gotta go save her!”

“Temperance, come back here!”

“Nossir, Mr. Morganstern, if you want me to watch out for you then you better learn how to keep up!”

“You impertinent little scamp! Wait! Don’t leave me here among these nasty little Gnomeys; I’m following you!”

~~~

“I say, sir, this has gone on long enough. Unhand me at once, you calcified cad!”

“Booger, you are an earful, lady.”

“You will address me as Miss Plumtartt, if you please.”

“I don’t make it a habit of naming me food, Missy.”

“I concur, my good troll. Let’s stop all this nonsense about one being consumed, eh hem? It is doubtful I would be of any nutritional value to a being of your bio/geo metabolism.”

“I don’t eat me Tributes because I’m hungry. Why, that would be silly. It’s a long standing tradition, and everybody is happy with it.”

“Including the Gnomey maidens?”

“Getting gobbled up ain’t so bad, when you think about how these girls are looked upon as heroes! They have kept me, a terrible troll, at bay for as long as anyone can remember. Why, even I cannot remember the last time I wrecked a village. Of course, the real incentive for the gels is being always remembered for having been chosen the prettiest girl in the village. It is a fierce, and often brutal competition. Never underestimate the power of ego.”

“One is familiar with backstage beauty pageant hostilities.”

“Roight, it’s makes what I do pretty tame in comparison, eh?”

“Indeed.”

“Aye, it’s an ugly thing to see those pretty Gnomey girls pulling each other’s beards out.”

“One can imagine.”

“Aye, there’s been some legendary pageants that spawn feuds lasting many generations. It’s an honour to think that I am responsible for such deep emotions.”

“Quite so, you must be very proud.”

“Legendary? Why bless my cobbled knees, here I am rattling away with a real human, and I never even considered the legends.”

“I say, what legends might these be, eh hem?”

“This is a very old world, Persephone. We have lived through many long Ages. I seem to recall, though, that concerning human mythology, it is said that a ‘son of a man’ will come at a time of Great Crisis and the turning of an Age. Don’t worry, my child, I am sure this does not concern you.”

“I wonder why the Garden Gnomeys did not mention this legend?”

“I doubt that they are aware of it. I am much older than they, you see.”

“But I was under the impression that these are very long-lived folk, GraniteButte.”

“Oh, in human terms, certainly. I have no doubts that they live many times over that of a human lifespan.”

“Yet they are as children to one such as yourself.”

“Quite.”

“I say, I am absolutely fascinated by your world’s ancient lore. Please go on, Granitebutte.”

“In truth, I know but a few scattered pieces of our long history. It is so long since I even considered such things.”

“Is there no one to whom I may turn to learn more of this world?”

“No, Persephone, not anywhere in this country. This is an isolated valley and this end is cut off by impassable ravine. There are settlements of more Gnomeys many leagues to the South. Perhaps they can assist you in finding a way from this valley. You may eventually find your way to another kingdom and store of knowledge.”

“I say, that does sound like a lengthy expedition. T’is a pity there is not anyone closer.”

“Actually, there is someone. There was a time, in an ancient Age, when many fair creatures used these paths. I am given to understand that there was an old hermit living in the Blackened Woods, across yonder gorge. There is a possibility that he lives there still, but we shall never know.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s this bridge I live under. The bridge is collapsed. That catastrophe happened some time ago. The hermit is probably gone. Oh, Persephone, I cannot tell you how shameful it is to be a troll under a bridge that no one wants to cross. It was the collapse of the bridge that has forced hamlet terrorisation upon me. It is quite humiliating, living under just one side of a collapsed bridge. Oh, silly me. The point is moot. I am going to gobble you up all gone anyway.”

“But Granitebutte, what if I am among the ‘son of a man’ party that is embedded in your most ancient legends?”

“Ha, ha, ha! Don’t be silly, that is just too far-fetched. Now be brave, Persephone, this will be over in a moment. Try to relax and think of your Gnomeys.”

“Granitebutte, wait, I have an idea! One of my traveling companions is a gifted engineer. I have every confidence that he could repair your bridge in exchange for you sparing our lives and allowing us to cross.”

“Repair the bridge, you say? There has not been an attempted repair, lo this long span of time. I shall allow your human to have a go at it.”

“Splendid.”

“Shall we return to Sagging Bough to retrieve the little booger?”

“No, assuming he survived his assault on you earlier, I’m sure he will be along to effect a rescue on my behalf.”

{enunciated whilst whistling}

~“whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will.”~

“Ah, there he is now.”

“What do you mean? I heard a bird whistle, not a human. It was a little odd, though, so I thought I would go investigate.”

“Knowing Mr. Temperance as I do, I suspect that he is attempting to lure you into some sort of devious trap.”

“That little runt? Impossible!”

“Nevertheless, please allow me to extend an invitation. Oh, yoo, hoo, Mr. Temperance? I say, is that you, sir?”

“Shh! Be quiet Miss Plumtartt, I think Granitebutte is around here somewheres.”

“Indeed, he is. What’s more, he and I have come to a mutual understanding. I hope you do not mind if I took the liberty of volunteering you to a small building contract, eh hem?”

“Uh, no Ma’am, I reckon it’s okay if you green lighted it.”

“I am curious, sir, what did you have in mind for Granitebutte?”

“I got me a trip hazard right below where I have a tremendous boulder positioned to then fall upon and crush that big stone cold killer. Oops! Uh, hello there Mr. Granitebutte! I didn’t see you. I sure am glad we’re all gonna be pals and not have to kill one another.”

~~~

“Tell me of when the bridge was lost, Granitebutte.”

“This at the edge of memory, Persephone, but I will never forget those terror filled times. Momentous events and battles were occurring all over Middle o’ Earthhe. In a cataclysmic upheaval, a spell was unleashed. This forbidden magic nearly consumed our world. Smoke blotted out the sun for lengthy times. Maelstroms spun their fury across the lands. One even found this secluded valley and wrecked the bridge. Until that time, there was peace between the races, but the wars fostered mistrust. Since that time, each of the magical races have fallen into seclusion from one another. This is why the bridge was never rebuilt. It was a dwarvish construction, but dwarves have not been seen here since that time.”

“Could you not have rebuilt it yourself?”

“Do I look like a dwarf to you?”

“As you stand a good thirteen feet tall, I must answer to the negative.”

“Besides, even back in the early times of me youth, I was never so reckless as to go afoul of the Dwarvish Union.”

“Most wise, my friend. Let us see how our Mr. Temperance and Mr. Morganstern are getting along at their reconstruction efforts. Oh, yoo, hoo, Mr. Temperance? I say, Mr. Morganstern, have you seen our Mr. Temperance, eh hem?”

“Burbity, yes, I have, now don’t you go and distract him from his labours. I am a man of industry! I am accustomed to working hundreds of men at a time to an early death. Look at me! I am forced to make do with a work force of one puny man! No matter how hard I badger him, I have not been able to get the work of but three or four men out of him. It’s a good thing this is just one long day, and he has lost track of time in his endless labours. That reminds me, the end will be coming up pretty soon, thanks to my outstanding supervision.”

“My word, you do indeed appear to be nearing completion of the project. Ah, I see our workforce scrambling up out of the gorge. Yoo, hoo, Mr. Temperance?”

“I said not to distract him!”

“Oh, pooh, I can certainly speak with the man as he continues his work. Mr. Temperance, I applaud your efforts.  The end of your task is near at hand.”

“Yes Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. The work has gone pretty fast, once I got the pulley system rigged. All the stones were waiting for me at the bottom of the ravine. They are carved to fit one another, like a big ol’ jigsaw puzzle. Them dwarves must have been some clever fellers to construct this arch. Once’st I figured out how the blocks inter-locked, everything pretty much fell into place, so to speak.”

“Jolly good, Mr. Temperance. With the placement of that last keystone, your labours are in completion. Might we now make use of this stone causeway, Granitebutte?”

“Hooray! I once again have a bridge to guard, collect gruesome tolls, and terrorize travelers upon. Wonderful! Yes, you, Persephone, may cross.”

“And my companions?”

“I am feeling generous. You may take them across as well. I will only bite one limb from the busy little one.”

“No, no, I require that Mr. Temperance remain intact, that he may be of further use to me.”

“Ah, of course. Well then, best of luck, my friends. The hermit you seek, if he still exists, is hidden away in yon dark, foreboding forest. Farewell.”

“Golly, Granitebutte wasn’t kidding, y’all. For a world that lives in constant sunlight, this here forest is as gloomy as a Parisian subway.”

“Bah, give me man-made gloominess anytime. These great, knotted, balled, roots of these knobbly trees are nearly impassable!”

“I say, quite so, Mr. Morganstern. The titanic trees combat one another to block our progress.”

“These here trees have a  slick, black bark, that is almost more akin to skin than tree outers that is giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Bah, if a road ever did come through these blasted trees, it is surely long gone now. Why, there is not the slightest hint of a path. Temperance, are you sure you know where you are going? Blast it, if that boy has gotten me lost, I will see to it that he is relegated to pigpen janitorial duties for the rest of his miserable life!”

“Worry not, Mr. Morganstern, our Mr. Temperance has proven himself on more than one occasion to possess an uncanny sense of direction. Is this not the case, Mr. Temperance, eh hem?”

“Um, normally that is the case, Ma’am, but, uh, I don’t really know where we was to begin with, nor do I have any ideer where we are going. There are not a lot of sign posts reading ‘This way to the mythic hermit hut’.”