The Title of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 8) (17 page)

~Toot! Toot!~

“Hold the boat!”

“Oui, ship the oars. This is naughtte a fire-breathing dragon that is bounding across this long, sea-grassed meadow towards us. No, it is the infernal creation of he who art the man, Ichabod.”

“Oh, please, stop that little boat that is carrying Sir Launcelot out to a ship to carry him across the English Channel and back to France.”

“Please, go, Ichabod. It pains me to suffer thy gaze.”

“Oh, no, this is all my fault, Sir Launcelot and I am so sorry! I did not mean to betray you! It was an accident! Please don’t go! Arthur needs you!”

“No, this disaster is naughtte of thy doing, my noble friend. I knowest thou dost naughtte have it in thy great heart to ever knowingly betray a friend. The shame of this calamity is mine alone to bear for it was I that was unable to control my traitorous lust. I have ruined the greatest love in history, that of my dearest friends, by the infernal treacheries of love itself. I must leave this land and pay eternal penance. I am ashamed, Ichabod, ashamed. Do naughtte torture me any longer. Every moment I tarry here, brings me unbearable pain.”

“Sir Launcelot, you are so pure and brave and noble and everything else that is good in humanity, you couldn’t help it if your incomparable heart fell for Guenevere!”

“I have failed, Ichabod, adieu.”

“Nossir, don’t say that! You are the greatest of Knights, yet your true fame is choosing to wear that reknown with humility. You are the benchmark of nobility that men strive for through the ages! You are the first to see compassion as noble, and strength a virtue to be used with wisdom! You are the catalyst for changing a ‘might is right’ mentality, to force of arms being used with measure rather than brutality. You are the instigation of chivalry! Without Sir Launcelot, chivalry may never come to be!”

“I am naughtte worthy of this distinction. Perhaps, once upon a time, baughtte that time is passed. My oarsmen, you may now continue to row me out to the waiting ship. Tell Arthur, I am sorry.”

“Oh, please don’t go! Arthur needs you!”

“Good-bye, Ichabod.”

“Oh, no, come back, Sir Launcelot!”

“Sir Launcelot!”

“Come back!”

“We need you, Sir Launcelot!”

“Launcelot!”

“Oh, no, I have failed again! I can’t do nothing right! What am I going to tell the King?”

“Mwuh, huh, huh. That’s it, just a little further, you pusilanimous, proto-Promethean, pussy-footing, protagonizing Paladin! Ha, ha! Now the water is plenty deep for you to drown with no hope of rescue when I cast you in whilst thy art wearing thy heavy, shining, chain and plate armour! That steel you are sealed in has sealed your ocean floor bound fate! Ha, ha!”

“It’s the Great Mischa Mauer! What are you doing?”

“Shut up, you little fool. I will deal with you in a moment; first, I must slay this slice of French boast.”

“You’ll deal with me now, you son of a gun! Come on, Miss Beemer, let’s get him!”

“Thou must hurry, Sir Ichabod. Even now, the foul wizard causeth the sea to boil in turmoil and Sir Launcelot’s wee craft is in danger of capsizing, throwing the noble Sir Launcelot to his watery grave.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am! I normally advocate the safe operation of motorized vehicles, but I’m gonna break my own rule and use this one in an unsafe operation as I run down that barmy Swami!”

“Pity he dived away to save himself, baughtte at least you broke the spell he was casting.”

“Stay back, Miss Stephanie! I’ll handle this feller.”

“Nay, come on, laddie, let’s get him together!”

“Oh! Yes, Ma’am!”

“You two! I still owe you for the atrocities I suffered at your hands when you visited my tent! I reach out now with a supernatural, psychic grip to throttle your throats from afar!”

~gulk!~
“Gly, grnt, greath...”

~gulk!~
“Gluk, grnt, geath, greager.”

“Mwuh, huh, huh!
Die
, interlopers! Ha, ha!”

“No, monsieur, these are my friends and I think they will naughtte die this day, oui?”

“Launcelot! How dare you! Put me down! You can’t hurt me, I’m an unarmed man! It goes against your code!”

“Perhaps I shall choose this moment to put aside my rules of chivalry.”

“Please don’t kill me, Launcelot! I surrender!”

“Very well, I shall allow this ship to carry you to France where you are invited on an extended visit to my own castle château. Your accommodations, however, will be in the basement.”

“Verily, our Miss Beemer hath doubled in weight, Sir Ichabod.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am. That sure was a stroke of luck, us happening upon Shifty Shelley’s Thrifty Shield Sales so shackling fifty of Shifty Shelley’s Thifty Shield Sales shields in a shimmering scaly sheen of nifty Shifty Shelley Shield Sale shields sheathing and shielding our shambling steamer, Miss Beemer, in Shifty Shelley Thrifty Shield Sale shields was surely and simply cinched.”

“Aye, baughtte that nay be methinks where the weightte be originating, Sir Ichabod. It seemeth to my senses that the mass most affecting our inertia is the great bloody log/club you have suspended before this dreadful contraption.”

“It’s supposed to be dreadful, Ma’am.”

“Oh, aye! I quite approve of the dreadful aspect of Miss Beemer’s make-over. I likes it, Icky! I beg thee pardon, good Knight, Sir Ichabod, m’lord.”

“Aw, cut it out. You know I like to hear you say my name in little endearments. You can say it any way you want and it’ll be extra special since it comes from you, Ma’am.”

“I sayeth, thou art a sweet boy, baughtte thy hadst better watch where thou driveth, Sir Ichabod. The vertical support posts and swing of club doth block thy vision.”

“Yes, Ma’am, those braces mounted to the front of Miss Beemer have to be there, making an ‘X’ to hold up the support beam. As for the club swinging back and forth in front of my field of vision, I reckon it doth make piloting this armoured buggy kind of iffy.”

“Will the club operate in battle as thee plans? Should thou naughtte test yon monstrosity?”

“I had to rig up this wooden mace in a hurry, and I ain’t as confident in her linkage’s long life. I’m pretty sure she’ll operate, baughtte I don’t know for how long or if it will work more than once. Though I firmly believe in product testing, this one will just have to be tested in the field under live conditions.”

“We went much faster before, Sir Ichabod. This craft is much slower at this time than earlier.”

“It’s all the extra weight slowing us down!”

“Sir Launcelot is now getting far ahead of us in his rush to return to King Arthur’s defense.”

“I used to baby this sweet little carriage, but now I’m pushing her for all she’s got. Poor ol little Miss Beemer is being pushed way harder than she was ever intended.”

“I taketh thee at thy word. Oh, look, Sir Ichabod, there is Camelot! So too, are the forces of evil! Launcelot is arriving at the castle gates at the same time as Morgana’s hordes! Launcelot fights a dozen men!”

“Well dang, Ma’am, there’s a couple of hundred enemy soldiers between us and them! Now is the time to go a clubberin’! Okay, now I am going to engage the oscillator. Good, there it goes. I am engaging the club’s pull rods to the steamer’s flywheel. It’s working! The club is now slowly beginning to swing in a controlled manner. Back and forth, side to side, as in conjunction with a forward and rear dynamic, the big cave man club hanging before us starts to describe a figure eight pattern.”

“Oh, yes, Sir Ichabod, the shape doth put me in mind of a repetitive pattern one may carve whilst skating on a frozen pond. The octal-numeral swells in size at the insistence of the club’s momentum, growing with its own life.”

“I reckon this wrecker has gotten enough height as it swings back and forth to engage the vertical oscillator.”

“Woah! Verily, m’lord, the dynamics of yon club doth transfereth the mighty energies it now possesses through the craft to us with intense veracity!”

“I am now engaging the elliptic gear to the central control mast.”

“Ichabod!”

“This thing is going a lot faster than I figured on!”

“Ichabod, the club is spinning out of control!”

“Actually, it is double spinning out of control.”

“Is the club supposed to swing in a wild figure eight of double circles?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I kind of sort of meant for it to do this. I just didn’t think it would do it this well.”

“Will this vessel hold together?”

“I reckon we’ll find out! Just hang on, Ma’am!”

“Verily!”

“This ol’ club is coming on like a double sided windmill! We are just about to run into the back lines of soldiers. They are trying to get out of the way but we are coming on too fast and unexpectedly. Look out y’all, here we come!”

~thuduh-buh-duddiduh~

~thuduh-buh-duddiduh~

~thuduh-buh-duddiduh~

“Eek! This is horrific! We tear straight through their masses! They cannaughtte escape our Battle-Bat! Men are clubbered asunder, and cast left and right before us! Brave, armoured soldiers by the score are knocked thirty feet in either direction as our unstoppable juggernaughtte of destruction beats a dreadful path through our foes.”

“Yee-haw! Yes, Ma’am! I hope that armour takes the brunt of the blows and these boys come out all right in the end when they make their eventual, distant landing.”

“How didst thou conceive such a thing?”

“I was thinking of some Auriental rice thrashers.”

“Thou art insidious.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“We must help Launcelot secure the castle!”

“Launcelot is standing outside the castle fighting off Morgana’s armies. He is holding most of them but some are getting past. If they secure the drawbridge, then Morgana has won! I’m gonna pass Launcelot and drive Miss Beemer right into the castle!”

“I am disengaging the clubberator! We are gonna charge right over the drawbridge!”

~Toot! Toot!~

“Y’all better jump in the moat or I’ll run you down! I ain’t playing!  We’re coming through!”

~Toooooooot!~

“Verily, yon soldiers tooketh thee at thy word and followeth thy sage advice, m’lord, clearing the path for thy lovely, if dreadful, Miss Beemer.”

“We’re in! Now we have to secure the castle!”

“Raise the drawbridge, Sir Ichabod!”

“But Sir Launcelot is still outside, holding off an overwhelming horde!”

“If we don’t raise that bridge we are lost!”

“Yikes! There is an enemy soldier hacking at the draw bridge rope! If he cuts that rope, we’ll never raise that bridge!”

“You go stop that fiend at the windlass, I shall assist Sir Launcelot!”

“But Miss Stephanie! Oh my Goodness, there she goes. I better just go on and do as she says. Hey! You! Quit hacking at that rope!”

“Augh! Get offeth me you nasty little man! How dareth thee lay thy common hands on a true Knight!”

“I beg your pardon, but I have been re-instated with Knighthood. The hands that layest upon thee belong to Sir Ichabod!”

“I shall cast thee to the ground with this mighty throw, you varlet! Hunh? My arm is stuck. The shoulder no longer hinges properly. Odd’s bodkins, now my other arm is stuck fast in an awkward position. What witchery is this?”

“It’s the witchcraft of sticking a wooden wedge into your armour’s metal joints whenever I can get at them without getting cut by that sword you still cling to and swing, albeit, in a less than graceful manner seeing I have both arms and one leg at least partially immobilized.”

“Blast you, Ichamaslob!”

“Aw, come on, that ain’t nice.”

“I still have enough use of the sword to make this last little hack at the drawbridge rope to ensure that it stays open.”

~snick!~

“Ha, ha! The rope is cut! The drawbidge is down and it can’t get up! Victory is ours! Long live Mistress Morgana!”

“Oh, golly, I have failed yet again! Oh, this ain’t no good.”

“Sir Ichabod, hurry, raise the bridge!”

“Oui, hurry, we are being over-run. You must raise the bridge now, Sir Ichabod!”

“Oh, golly, what am I gonna do? Miss Beemer! She can do it! I’ll put her into position and hook her up!”

“Hurry, Ichabod!”

“I got it! The drawbridge rope is tied up to the super-chuk’s fulcrum and I’m backing up! I’m trying to back up. Oh, this big old bridge is too much for her!”

“Raise this bridge, Ichabod! Launcelot and I are being swarmed over by Morganas’s army! It is up to you to save Arthur...Hunh? Hello, what’s this? There is a disturbance on our flank. A two-toned turmoil churneth this way. T’is an animal stampede! A herd of zesty zebra cometh! No, t’is a flock of giant, pugilistic penguins!”

“No, Ma’am, it’s a gaggle of nuns! The pretty one in front is Queen Guenevere!”

“Guenevere my love, our Arthur needs us!”

“Launcelot! I come to join you in defense of our King!”

“I told you nuns was nothing to play around with, Icky.”

“Dang, you were sure ‘nough right about that, Spyke! I ain’t never seen such an unruly group of berserker warriors! The way they wield their long flat sticks is terrible to behold!”

“Raise this bloody bridge, Ichabod!”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Stephanie, Ma’am! Come on, Miss Beemer, you can do it! I think you can. I think you can.”

“The bridge is starting to go up!”

“I know you can, I
know
you can!”

“Keep pulling, Ichabod!”

“Jump onto the rising edge of the bridge y’all! You’re gonna get stuck over there!”

“Me, first!”

“Spyke!”

“Wot?”

“What happened to ‘ladies first’?”

“This is just the dawn of chivalry, right? It takes a while to catch on. Technically, we’re still in the era of ‘every man for thyself’.”

“All six nuns have now made it up over the rising edge of the drawbridge and slid down the inside to safety. Guenevere and Lauancelot, you must jump to the bridge now!”

“You go, Guenevere, I shall protect thee.”

“No, Launcelot, I am naughtte worthy. Thee must flee to safety whilst I watcheth and protect thy noble rear.”

“Come on, y’all, Miss Beemer is fixing to give out!”

“Together my Queen! One, two, three, jump!”

“They made it! They are up over the ledge and sliding in to  the castle! Spyke as I get the gate up, you secure it by lock and beam.”

“Got it, Icks!”

~
BOOM!
Pssssssss!~

“Miss Beemer hath exploded! Sir Ichabod, art thou all right?”

“Oooo, yes, Ma’am, Miss Stephanie, I think so.”

“Our sweet Miss Beemer is no more, Sir Ichabod.”

“Oh, I reckon the pressure was just too much for her.”

“Queen Guenevere, what is wrong, m’lady?”

“I see a ghost! The King is dead!”

“Nay, my sweet wife, I am alive, if just barely.”

“Sire, thou art ill!”

“Yes, Sir Launcelot, though it heartens me to hear thy voice.”

“Listen, y’all, I hear the approach of a noble contingent on the other side of the wall.”

“Open this castle! I demand to speak with Arthur who art no longer King!”

“That is the voice of Morgana!”

“Help me to the battlements.”

“Sire, no, thou art too ill! Please go and take thy rest!”

“Nay, as thy King, I command thee, help me to the battlements, old friend.”

“Oui, my King Arthur.”

“Oh my Goodness, y’all. A tremendous army stands before our gates!”

“Oh! I sayeth, wouldst thou
believe
the garments of that atrocious woman?”

“Ha, ha! Look upon me! Cast your hungry eyes over me,
me
your Mistress, Mistress Morgana Le Meerrin. You may drink in the vision of my body that is so tantalizingly held in temptation before you. Let my bare flesh proclaim my natural right of ascension to royalty! The barest of steel bodices holds my resplendent form that thee may slake thy lustful thirst without restraint.”

“You blond, heavy metal hussy! What do you want?”

“Why, my sweet Queen Guenevere, is that you, in that nun’s habit? You have taken things hard have you naughtte. Yes, I agree with your choice in actions, child. I think a convent is fitting for such as thee. As for what I want, I merely wish to present a gift to our former King.”

“You have nothing that King Arthur wants.”

“Oh, baughtte methinks I do! Something that the king greatly desires. Something that you have been unable to give to him, Guenevere. Step forward my son and greet thy father!”

“What?”

“Hmph. This pathetic wretch that stands propped against his crumbling battlements is purported to have sired
me?
How droll.”

“This, young man, is my son?”

“Yes, fahhhhhhh-thah, and I am here to claim my inheritance.”

“My love, is thy inheritance, my child.”

“I am thy son, baughtte I am
naughtte
thy child! You will respect me in these last moments of thy life, fahhhh-thah, and you will know my name. I am,

Mordred.”