The Measure of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 6) (12 page)

“Phffiffeteainne menne”

“Oughnna deadde manne’s cheistte.”

“Yough, hough, hoe”

“aughnna baughttel o’ rhumme.”

“Draenkke an’ the Deivil”

“Hhaughdde douhnne forre theigh reistte.”

“Yough, hough, hoe”

“aughnna baughttel o’ rhumme.”

“VooDoo filled Nights,”

“Ces’t Magnifique!”

“Yough, hough, hoe”

“aughnna baughttel o’ rhumme.”

“Blaucke Maugickes aundde Rhumme,”

“On the Isle of San Monique!”

“Yough, hough, hoe”

“aughnna baughttel o’ rhumme.”

“At least them sailor zombies on that there ship are a little more cheerful than their shore-bound counterparts.”

“The landlubbers are of the dead variety of zombies, m’lad. It is my understanding that these boat-bound brethren are still among the living, but under a powerful VooDoo curse, not unlike that which me dear own partner, Keefer boy, that I am here to rescue, languishes under himself, aye.”

“Oh, Oye’ve nevvuh seen no buhg loikes this before. This town is pitch dark! There’s not a lamp not candle to be seen in any window. It ain’t natural!”

“Quite so, Mirabella, but so far, as they say, so good, and I think we may agree. We can only assume that we are enjoying the height of the night-life scene here in São Cochon. The scene, of course, is non-existent, as there is not a single light burning anywhere. The low, moaning song of the unhappy zombies and the sound of their slow, drudgery of constant work are the only indication of activity in this piss-poor port. That parade of chanting party zombies was most accommodating in their leading us to these dreary docks. Temperance old boy, tell me, are you able to make out the name of this rum-running schooner in which the lifeless chappies labour?”

“Yessir, Mr. Eppington, sir. I can just make out the name on her bow in a momentary flare of moonlight through the thick cloud cover. This boat is saddled with the unfortunate name of
‘The Giddy Ge’de’
.”

“Well done old boy. Still too dark for my eyes to make out, but the lack of proper illumination is so jolly good in that this deserted, ghost port does allow for surreptitious travel, I say, right up to the point of being able to gain an observational vantage point at a very close position. From behind this stack of empty barrels here, we are able to watch the industrious devils at their work, unloading empty rum casques from their ship’s hold, and then refilling it with full barrels.”

“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 wagon
s...”

“...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.”