Read Online For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) by Ichabod Temperance - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ichabod Temperance
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Thick smoke from their stacks smothers the city. The harnessed steam pressure turns an engine that creates the wind to ‘blast’ the furnace. It is said to be the largest steam engine on Earth. It is banging away so fast, I can’t hardly comprehend it. The roar of the giant gas ovens is drowned out by the twin, ten-story blast furnaces themselves. They ain’t supposed to be run so hot. Belching, spitting, roaring and swearing, these blast furnaces light the entire valley with their vertical breath.”
“The orange flames do convey a sense of dwelling within Hades’ red glow, and though frightening shadows dance among the towers and silos of the plants fully blazing furnaces, I feel that the Martian’s attentions are safely drawn in other directions. I am confident in the stealth of our approach.”
“I hope so, Ma’am.”
“One moment please, as I wrap a scarf about my face, Mr. Temperance. This air is so heavily suffused with the fumes of burning coal and ore, that it stings my eyes, and the stench of the oppressive atmosphere is making breathing difficult.”
“Are you gonna be all right, Ma’am?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Temperance. I am not unaccustomed to the strong odours of production, but the air is getting a bit thick, one might say.”
“I think I’ll follow your example and use this out-sized, red handkerchief to sift my intake.”
“I am not normally one to complain, Mr. Temperance, but my visibility has been reduced to nil. Gritty particulates assault my eyes.”
“Me too, Miss Plumtartt, but I think I can remedy that. This place was evacuated in a hurry. Maybe some of the workmen left their safety goggles behind.”
“With this wish in mind, let us hastily peruse the contents of this, the first Sloss structure we encounter, eh hem?”
“Yes Ma’am, this here over-sized, tin-roof work shed is where pig iron is cast in the sand.”
“Perhaps we shall discover the protection we require here, eh hem?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt. Here we go, just like we thought. Some workmen discarded their goggles in a hurry to flee the plant. Let’s be be careful to discard them back the way we found ‘em when we are ready to go.”
“Of course, Mr. Temperance.”
“With the heavy goggles in place, and the bottom portion of our faces covered by scarf and bandanna, we are a frightful looking pair, Miss Plumtartt.”
“We are not here to win the Bristol Beauty Bouquet, Mr. Temperance. Let us repulse, our repulsive invader.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
The further we make our way into the overstressed plant, the louder the overriding racket becomes. Endless tangles of pipes, conveying pressurized steam, grow as jungle vines about the works. Each of these iron conduits shakes and squeals with outrageous pressures being exerted within. Steam bursts from pipe joints as they are asked to convey energies beyond their tolerances.
Blobs of molten slag are cast throughout the grounds in flaming globules. As degenerate volcanoes, purging the impurities of the boiled ore across the site, they spit the hateful loogies from the overflowing lips of their fevered furnaces’ upturned mouths.
Rows of huge, steel, silos rise up before us. These ingenious devices of Sloss take the dangerous, combustible gas of the furnace to fuel their air-heating ovens that then feed right back into the furnace again. These silo-looking ‘cowper’ ovens are glowing with too much heat. Pushed to their extremes, they scorch the air being blasted into the base of the furnace. The smell of melting clay is almost unbreathable. Heat waves ripple the air around the coal ovens, the silo ovens, and the five foot in diameter conduits projecting from the silos. Rising over everything else, we can see the main blast furnaces. They too warble the very air with aggressive waves of heat.
Through the veil of smoke, soot, steam, unbearable clatter, and searing heat, Miss Plumtartt and I stumble upon a large brick cathedral. Climbing over four
“The orange flames do convey a sense of dwelling within Hades’ red glow, and though frightening shadows dance among the towers and silos of the plants fully blazing furnaces, I feel that the Martian’s attentions are safely drawn in other directions. I am confident in the stealth of our approach.”
“I hope so, Ma’am.”
“One moment please, as I wrap a scarf about my face, Mr. Temperance. This air is so heavily suffused with the fumes of burning coal and ore, that it stings my eyes, and the stench of the oppressive atmosphere is making breathing difficult.”
“Are you gonna be all right, Ma’am?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Temperance. I am not unaccustomed to the strong odours of production, but the air is getting a bit thick, one might say.”
“I think I’ll follow your example and use this out-sized, red handkerchief to sift my intake.”
“I am not normally one to complain, Mr. Temperance, but my visibility has been reduced to nil. Gritty particulates assault my eyes.”
“Me too, Miss Plumtartt, but I think I can remedy that. This place was evacuated in a hurry. Maybe some of the workmen left their safety goggles behind.”
“With this wish in mind, let us hastily peruse the contents of this, the first Sloss structure we encounter, eh hem?”
“Yes Ma’am, this here over-sized, tin-roof work shed is where pig iron is cast in the sand.”
“Perhaps we shall discover the protection we require here, eh hem?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt. Here we go, just like we thought. Some workmen discarded their goggles in a hurry to flee the plant. Let’s be be careful to discard them back the way we found ‘em when we are ready to go.”
“Of course, Mr. Temperance.”
“With the heavy goggles in place, and the bottom portion of our faces covered by scarf and bandanna, we are a frightful looking pair, Miss Plumtartt.”
“We are not here to win the Bristol Beauty Bouquet, Mr. Temperance. Let us repulse, our repulsive invader.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
The further we make our way into the overstressed plant, the louder the overriding racket becomes. Endless tangles of pipes, conveying pressurized steam, grow as jungle vines about the works. Each of these iron conduits shakes and squeals with outrageous pressures being exerted within. Steam bursts from pipe joints as they are asked to convey energies beyond their tolerances.
Blobs of molten slag are cast throughout the grounds in flaming globules. As degenerate volcanoes, purging the impurities of the boiled ore across the site, they spit the hateful loogies from the overflowing lips of their fevered furnaces’ upturned mouths.
Rows of huge, steel, silos rise up before us. These ingenious devices of Sloss take the dangerous, combustible gas of the furnace to fuel their air-heating ovens that then feed right back into the furnace again. These silo-looking ‘cowper’ ovens are glowing with too much heat. Pushed to their extremes, they scorch the air being blasted into the base of the furnace. The smell of melting clay is almost unbreathable. Heat waves ripple the air around the coal ovens, the silo ovens, and the five foot in diameter conduits projecting from the silos. Rising over everything else, we can see the main blast furnaces. They too warble the very air with aggressive waves of heat.
Through the veil of smoke, soot, steam, unbearable clatter, and searing heat, Miss Plumtartt and I stumble upon a large brick cathedral. Climbing over four
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