A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1) (5 page)

Persephone

I awaken somewhat recovered from the prior evening's traumatic events. Not wanting to see the damage done to the lovely Hotel, or face the saddened staff, I take my breakfast and papers in my rooms.

There is an account of the strange occurrences in:

The Morning Calamity

HARRIED HORSES HEAP HEAVY HAVOC ON HAPLESS HEADS

“For unknown reasons, scores of horses on Birdcage Walk went completely berserk, wrecking dozens of carriages. Many of our finer citizens were quite put out. Most witnesses were at a loss as to a cause for the frightened animals. There were a few who suspected that they had seen the mysterious ‘Ghost’ that is leaving gruesome corpses across the countryside. These witnesses and others describe the ‘Ghost’ as a just barely visible, flickering shadow. There were even a couple of young boys who insisted that they were witness to a flying man and a horrible monster.”

The Gadfly Gazette

QUEEN’S HOTEL IS SCENE OF ELDERLY TERROR

“Beloved doorman of the Queen’s Hotel suffered a severe fit while on duty at the exquisite lodgings. During his departure from this World, the kind, gentle, dear old fellow managed to throw several colleagues about the premises in his compulsively violent death throes. ‘Ol’ Tom’ then proceeded to wreak havoc on the lobby, and to cause thousands of pounds in damage to the crystal enhanced dining room before expiring.”

‘He will be missed.’

Ominously, there are accounts from around the country of horribly dessicated corpses and terrified citizens.

Amazingly, there is one story that brings me a smile. It almost makes me laugh.

NATIONAL HERO THE VICTIM OF COWARDLY ASSAULT

“In an outrageous display, a crazed brute has assaulted famous explorer and reporter, Sir Henry Stanley. The noble countenance of this worthy gentleman may be forever altered. The scoundrel responsible is thought to be from the United States. Citizens are urged to keep watch for this ‘Mad American’.”

There is a knock at the door. A bellboy has a note:

Dear Miss Plumtartt,

I hope I was not presumptuous, interfering with your activities at St. James Park.

May we meet?

Respectfully yours,

Ichabod Temperance.

Good Heavens! Is this the marksman that came to my aid? Could that foolhardy soul have actually survived his encounter with the foul demon?

I cannot recall an image of the brave man, for I was in such a shocked and beaten state that I had not the capacity to observe my hero. He must be a great and fearsome beast of a man. Only a man with a stout heart and valiant soul would or could have faced the challenge of that unnatural fiend. I am suddenly thrilled at the prospect of meeting this no doubt, robust and dynamic example of English Manhood.

- - -

“Eh hem, you are quite sure that is the man that sent the note?”

“Yes, Madame.”

What a disappointment. The fellow in question is a rather pitiful little creature. He stands staring at me from across the room with his mouth agape. Far from the muscular champion that I was expecting, he is just a thin chap, no taller than I. An abundance of pomade holds his hair rigidly in place. His jaw and face have an unfortunate slackness to them and his general expression is all agog. Dressed in plain, workman's clothing, his appearance is notable for large buckled boots and derby hat, yet otherwise, he remains nondescript.

“Mr. Temperance?”

“Uhb.”

My word, the vacant expression on the young man’s face is such that I fear  he is under a hypnotic spell. No, I think now he is merely under some sort of enchantment by my femininity. His place in the world, I think, has not been such that he would have encountered many young ladies.

“I say, Mr. Temperance, are you quite all right, sir?”

“Uhb, … uhb, oh, Ma’am! Yes, Ma’am, I beg your pardon. Gee, I sure am glad you’re okay, Miss Plumtartt, I mean, Ma’am.”

He seems an innocent young man, and he is very shy and bashful in my presence. My first impression of the young man now changes. Though he is thin, I detect a wiry strength in the young tradesman. Topped with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes, as soon as he speaks, he betrays his American origins. He desperately, if not wholly successfully, attempts to conduct himself with exaggerated courtesies. His clumsy etiquette is poorly formed, but sincere in its intentions. His accent is of a soft melodious tone that I infer he developed in the Southern regions of our former colonies. Mr. Temperance is familiar with my sad story through the libelous newspaper account from recent editions, but I must know his!

“How were you able to see what others could not? Until that time, it was my impression that these horrors were invisible to all but me. Your pistol shots were spot on the creature’s head.”

“Oh! It was because of my ‘Green Beauties,’ Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am! These are a specialized set of goggles of my own design.”

The young man is suddenly very excited and animated. He forgets his quaint exaggerated manners as he eagerly describes the inventions of which he is so proud.

“I was having a stroll when I heard you call out. I reckon I just responded without really thinking. I used my ‘Beauties’ to find you. When I cranked ’em up, that big ol’ worm shone out like an emerald lantern. Last year I built a pair of goggles for your father, the ‘Elemental Protectors.’”

“Indeed, so you are
that
Ichabod Temperance. How marvelous! The goggles you built for my father were quite extraordinary. How fortuitous for you to be at hand and that the ability to see these other worldly terrors was then realized in these, your latest fantastic invention, Mr. Temperance.”

“Aw, shucks, it was quite by accident, actually, Ma’am.” He looks down, in a self-conscious, modest, manner. I detect his booted toe to be tracing circles under the table. “Gee whiz, I’m just happy you are okay, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am.”

He flushes with a crimson blush! How sweet! I hope that I am not blushing as well, for now that he is becoming more relaxed, so too does he reveal himself as an attractive young gentleman, of sorts.

Now is no time for indulgence in matters of the heart. Our lives - and perhaps the lives of countless others - are at risk.

I fill in the chilling details of my story, beginning with father’s laboratory and the tragedies suffered there, the factory shutdowns, and the attacks upon my own person. We are in agreement that the danger is growing. Indeed, it is probably growing exponentially by the day. Mr. Temperance is determined to assist me, but I am loath to put this impetuous young man in danger.

It is painfully evident to us both that the problem is bigger than just ourselves: England Herself is in peril.

I reluctantly accept his help.

The first order of business I think is to visit one of father’s closest confidantes. I require knowledgeable guidance.

“Yes Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt Ma'am, seeking wise council and advice is always a good idea, but if you don’t mind, I've got a little errand I’d like to run first.”

Ichabod

An idea occurs to me. Remembering how my pistol and knife failed, I do not want to find myself in such a predicament again, for I have a feeling I am not done with the vile, unwelcome visitor varmints. I used a bit of the monster against itself to defeat it. I want to find a way of doing that again.

The city of London is as heavily populated with those affected by the
‘Revelatory Comet’s’
passing as any other, if not more so. I possess a fantastic navigational sensibility, and though new to the city my innate abilities help us gain the assistance we seek. Perhaps I have just the tiniest fragment of magnetized iron in my nose, for my belief is that it grants me an uncanny sense of direction. Miss Plumtartt and I soon find ourselves in a neighbourhood of Apothycists, Chemysts, and Doctors of Alchemycal bent.

A tangle of chimneys betrays the location of many individual furnaces of differing fumes. I find a union hall of sorts here, its sulphorous vapors filling the air. This appears to be a rather dirty place of production and I do not want Miss Plumtartt to soil her fine clothes and be subject to the strong scents of industrial enterprise.

“Excuse me, Miss Plumtartt?” I ask of the beautiful young aristocrat, “I'd feel better if you did not leave the carriage, Ma'am. I’m gonna see if these fellas can be of any help to us. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“I am not the delicate flower you seem to think I am, Mr Temperance,” she answers with a casual acceptance, “but if it will make you feel better, I acquiesce to your request.”

Going down a flight of brick stairs, I enter to find a low-ceilinged, but far stretching, room lined with tables, laden with complicated chemycal apparatti and populated by men of studious intent.4

Foul odors arise from both the workbenches and the workmen.

“Howdy, y’all. I hate to interrupt you boys, but I was wondering if you all couldn’t help me out with a little problem?”

“This is a union hall, you silly American tourist. Queen Victoria is in the next house down.”

“You need to vacate these premises and go feed the pigeons in Piccadilly, squirt.”

“You’re trespassing laddie. Get to stepping.”

“Gee whiz, guys, I just wanted a little help.”

“You’re gonna get it, too.”

“Eh hem, I say, are you receiving the assistance you require, Mr. Temperance?”

“Wot? This ugly little git is with you, Miss?”

“Eh hem, if you are referencing my esteemed colleague as the aforementioned, ‘ugly little git’, then yes, he is indeed, with me.”

“We didn’t realize there was a
Lady
involved.”

“There is, and her name is Plumtartt.”

“Miss Persephone Plumtartt! Wot can we do to assist you, Madame?”

“Mr. Temperance?”

“Miss Plumtartt was attacked by an invisible monster what couldn’t be stuck by steel. I popped one of his legs off and stabbed him to death with his own foot. He started to melt away so I saved some of the monster goo in this here champagne bottle. I was hoping to learn more of our enemy from it, or even better, to craft a weapon.”

“We’ll need a few drops to examine. As the agent is reputed to be quick to evaporate, let us exercise speed and caution in opening the bottle.”

“Keep the samples sealed!”

“Do not expose it to light!”

“It glows with its own, phosphorescent light!”

“Is it alive?”

“Chill it!” “Heat it!” “Put it under extreme pressure!” “Stick it in a vacuum!”

Prr-gizzck!
Poof.

“Oh, Georgy, wot have you done?”

“I thought it would be a good idea to hit it with a nice jolt of electricity.”

“You silly old fool, you have exploded your sample!”

“Blast you, Georgy!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Hey, be careful, Terrence, you’re being careless with that marginalized solvent! You spilled some on my sample! I was trying to fibrillate its Terrarium levels to ascertain compatibility with the Corbomite figuration. The results are horribly compromised!”

“Oopsie! Sorry, Gherry!”

“My little drop of ecto-morpho-monster goop is now as hard as rock candy! You ruined it!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Look what you’ve done, Terrence, this little drop will not bend, chip, nor break. What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Hang on, y’all, I think we might be onto something...”

Persephone

There is some disagreement amongst the scientists. It would seem that one chemist has ruined the small, precious sample that Mr. Temperance shared with him. His fellow chemists voice their dismay with cruel ridicule.

Mr. Temperance is actually quite intrigued with what the old fellow has hit upon. In fact, he appears to be thoroughly pleased at the old gentleman’s accidental discovery.

My American friend quickly fashions himself a simple, but effective, device, using the elderly chemist’s formula.

I must say, there is a definite element of ingenuity to the prize with which we leave this guild of Apothytical Arts. Although the chemists did not hold great affection for him at first sight, Mr. Temperance is now leaving with many friends and well wishers. I am heartened by this small spot of good fortune.

“Where to now, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am?”

“I require advice and guidance. One of father’s closest confidantes and my own tutor, Sir Arthur Helmsley of Cambridge is the most knowledgeable man of occult studies in England. I bid you deliver us to Charing Cross, that we may secure railed transport to the college, but not before sending a wired telegraph ahead.”

I am conflicted. Still stinging from my embarrassing experience with Stanley, I am apprehensive about putting my trust into young Mr. Temperance. Yet something about my impetuous companion pulls at my heart. Where Stanley was all disingenuous charm, Mr. Temperance is...simply himself.

Arriving at Cambridge's train depot, my tutor and mentor, Sir Arthur Helmsley, greets us with relief. However, one look into each other’s eyes conveys the dread weight of our meeting. I am dismayed to find the professor in a terribly agitated state.

“Something beyond our knowledge, or even comprehension, is developing around us. An evil dew covers our fair land. Your father was in possession of a relic. A scroll of age beyond the time of Man.”

“A scroll? You don’t mean to say he used the...”

“Don’t say it! However, yes, that document is real and was entrusted to your father, Professor Plumtartt, for safety and guardianship. It was unthinkable to us who knew him that he would ever use the unclean object.”

“The state of his laboratory confirms it, I’m afraid.”

“Do you know where he would keep it locked up?”

“Hmm, yes, as a matter of fact, I do know a likely hiding spot.”

“That thing has opened a gate. Evil slides through. The scroll must be used to stop this plague, but I do not know how. The best minds for this sort of thing are in Paris.”

“Do you mean Stanislaus?”

“Yes, of course, take the object to de Guaita and have him decipher the dirty thing.”

“Yes, thank you, Sir Arthur!”

“Hurry, child, but Persephone?”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Be careful.”

- - -

Disembarking our train at Elderberry Pond Station, we hire a horse and cart to carry us to Plumtartt Manor. Dusk falls and darkness gathers as we pass through the iron gates of my grief stricken home. It is an ill wind that heralds our arrival. The rising atmospheric signs of a coming storm, add to the already forlorn aspect of the Estate. The long, tree lined drive is lifeless and desolate. It is difficult to believe this was a happy place, not so long ago. The many chimneys of the great estate are cold and unused. Plumtartt Manor has always been so bright and cheery, but now, the empty windows peer at me like sad and accusing eyes.

“It would sorely comfort me to have a functional firearm, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, but it’s nice to have something on hand in any case.”

“Let us hope that you do not need to test the mettle of your device from the chemists in combat, Mr. Temperance.”

Mr. Temperance and I enter the melancholy manor through the unlocked front door. I hurriedly light a candle and move swiftly toward the North Wing of the immense house. This is where a hidden cache has traditionally protected our family’s most valued secrets. Two hundred plus years old, this wing is the oldest surviving part of the Manor. Seized by a sense of impending doom, I rush to the family chapel. Pulling the heavy door open, I hurry into the place of refuge. I know there to be a secret place of hiding for the family going back for generations of Plumtartts. I carefully remove several relics from the altar. Finally, a painting depicting the Sermon on the Mount is removed. A small cabinet’s secret location is revealed to be built into the wall. Opening this hidden compartment, I see its solitary possession, a small, though strongly built, iron chest. I know with certainty that this is the terrible artifact of which Sir Arthur had spoken.

I reach for the iron box...