Free A World of InTemperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 2) by Ichabod Temperance Page A

right, Ick-Ick, I’ll just grab up a few likely looking sources of reading material and we’ll be off before anyone knows we have been here.”
    “Shh! James, listen!”
    “Uh, oh, Icks, someone’s entering the factory. It sounds like several voices.”
    “Hurry James, let’s hide!”
    The sounds of the men entering the personnel door are followed by the larger barn-size, loading bay doors being swung open.
    A team of horses and wagon are driven in. The horses are easily able to maneuver in the large building.
    The wagon is followed by something else.
    Something big.
    It pauses in the opening of the large loading bay doors.
    A monstrous bulk is dramatically backlit by outdoor torch bearers.
    Standing over ten feet tall, is an enormous man.
    He has smoke stacks.
    Steam pours from every pore.
    A roaring furnace’s flame is reflected in his inhuman eyes.
    “Come on, LeadeFoote, unload this wagon. I don’t like being around these nasty germs.”
    James and I can feel every step of the mechanical monstrosity’s progress. It makes its way to the back of the wagon and unloads its burden.
    “Now load up them canisters and be quick about it!”
    The clockwork giant loads the artillery shells and gravity delivered air bombs.
    The wagon groans under its unlawful load.
    Once loaded, the wagon creaks out the doors. The giant follows.
    “Ah-choo!” (Ichabod, sneezing.)
    “Bless you.” (James, blessing.)
    “Shh!”(Ichabod’s remonstration.)
    “Who’s in here!” (Alerted bad guy.)
    “Turn around, LeadeFoote! You get to go hunting!”
    Four men with rifles, and their over-sized friend, are alerted to our presence and make to flush us out.
    “Better go get the boss,” an authoritative voice commands.
    One rifleman leaves. Well, that makes for slightly better odds.
    James picks up an amber bottle and heaves it over the stack of material we are hiding behind towards an outside wall. As it smashes, after successfully diverting our foes attentions, we run in the opposite direction.
    ~POW! POW!~
    Two of the rifles fire towards James’ diversionary tactic.
    “Hold your fire, you dang idjits! Yer gonna blow us all the way to the North Pole!” scolds the third rifleman.
    The riflemen exchange their rifles for lengths of pipe.
    James and I follow their astute example and kit ourselves out in similar fashion.
    Except we don’t have rifles to exchange for our length of pipe.
    Everybody is all sneaky-sneaky, everybody except LeadeFoote, that is. The behemoth is left to his own devices in his search for us, the trespassers.
    The factory continues its labor of loathe unabated.
    Conveyors convey.
    Pulleys pull.
    Poison piles up in precarious pyramids, promising portents of pushing up plenty o’ Petunias.
    There is ample ambient noise to cover any sounds of movement.
    Five men are now creeping about. Soon, we all lose track of one another.
    I study the workings of my surroundings.
    An idea starts to percolate.
    I attach a chain from the handle that operates the tilting mechanism on a vat of some horrible, bubbling brew, and connect the other end to a lever I have improvised on a nearby ladder. I then change the direction of the proposed tilt.
    Moving back out through the field of wary warriors, I spy a foe. I make a furtive movement. He surreptitiously begins to track his tricky quarry.
    I sneak back to the ladder.
    He sneaks along behind.
    I sneak up the ladder, careful not to initiate the switch.
    He sneaks along behind me.
    He is not careful to avoid initiating the switch.
    A large vat of some terrible goo pours down upon him. He is slimed.
    The wretched fellow screams in pain.
    Against my better judgment, I rush back and grab him. Blind with pain, the poor man allows me to run him out the loading bay doors to in the snow. This seems to help the chemically burnt young man.
    I turn in time to fall out of the way of his pipe-wielding friend. As I roll up I bring my own pipe into play to block the blow intended to crush my