In which Our Heroes receive another offer they ought not to refuse on their way to Punta Arenas, and the First (and probably Last) Annual Penguin Festival goes horribly, horribly, wrong.
When last we left Our Heroes, they were recovering from a bovine onslaught as they continued their rail journey to the southern end of the earth…or at least, the End Sands*. The nice old man whom they’d met invited them to join him at supper once again, on their last night before arriving. After a lovely meal that included suspiciously fresh roast beef, Mr. Meyer offered Team TransAmerica a considerable sum of money if they would consent not to finish first. He, too, represented a consortium of businessmen with an interest in the real-world aspects of probability. He even offered to route the money to an account that would not incur inconvenient tax penalties in the various nations in North America. Alas, Our Heroes felt obliged to turn down his generous offer, in light of several other unrefusable offers having been accepted already. Mr. Meyer took their answer in stride, and he and his large, well-armed grandsons bid the team a polite farewell.
Upon arriving at Punta Arenas, the team procured magically warded warehouse space for their expedition gear, and set off for the (former) United States consulate. Upon arrival, they discovered that the Consul had departed for the islands near Antarctica, in the hopes of bagging a walrus. They did meet the Consul’s agéd mother, who apologized for his absence, but allowed that she “didn’t have the heart to disappoint him,” when it came to big-game hunting. Fortunately, the grande dame was more than equal to the task of summoning her son’s secretary, who promptly got their paperwork in order. Team TransAmerica accepted her kind invitation to stay at the Consulate, and went off in search of transport and a newspaper.
Transport was promptly secured aboard a German vessel (conveniently a neutral flag in the Great Southern War) departing two days hence. Whilst at the waterfront, Dr. Hu found himself in the midst of another amazing coincidence; he met his long-lost Nephew Wu, who was a sailor on a Chinese trading vessel that had been caught in a typhoon and ended up in the Japan Current. (A navigational disaster is no excuse for not making money, and the ship was trading and resupplying for a trip up the Atlantic coast of South America.) Estimating that his odds of getting back to China were better if he headed west, Nephew Wu threw his lot in with his Venerable Uncle’s compatriots.
Having attended to business, Our Heroes went about their shopping, and inquired after the First Annual Punta Arenas Penguin Festival, an event honoring the work of two Argentine ornithologists recently returned from their fieldwork. (Any excuse for a festival…) The entire staff of the Consulate would be in attendance, and Our Heroes had no polite way to refuse, particularly when Titania claimed to have an interest in the penguin piñata (a charming Mexican entertainment imported specially for the occasion) touted by the local paper.
Team TransAmerica passed a quiet night, and got themselves up bright and early for the Penguin Festival. A carnival atmosphere prevailed, with a variety of exotic street-food vendors and performers, carnival games, pony rides, colorful decorations, a display of live specimens of several species of penguin, and even one of those new-fangled Ferris Wheels. Titania promptly took her place in line, paid her fee, and took her turn at the piñata. She swung…and missed, then swung again…missed again. The entire adult contingent of Team TransAmerica held its collective breath as she swung for the third and final time, connecting solidly with the piñata and smashing it wide open. The sight of the top half of a papier-mâché penguin hemorrhaging sweets and vulture-like horde of children attending its doom was a sufficient distraction to keep anyone from noticing that an alarming number of six-to-seven-foot-tall penguins with glowing red eyes had emerged from the Southern Ocean and were heading directly towards the festivities…until Mrs. Atwood pointed and shouted.
Naturally, a panic ensued. And not just amongst the crowd.
Nephew Wu was the first to flee the scene, rushing past his Venerable Uncle and calling on their mutual ancestors to save him. Mr. Laughton and Dr. Hu engaged in a brief conversation, the end result of which was that Mr. Laughton was informed rather forcefully that the good doctor did not, in fact, “carry his explosives around in [his] pants,” causing Mr. Laughton to depart at speed, overtaking Nephew Wu in his haste to retrieve the doctor’s little black bag from the Consulate. We shall read more of this later.
The rest of the team attempted to stage a fighting retreat as the possessed penguins closed in on Miss Kingston. Mrs. Atwood promptly got herself and Titania to a safe distance, whilst Mr. Karl bravely interposed himself between Miss Kingston and the agitated avians. Dr. Hu got caught up in the crowd, and found himself being trampled, and therefore entirely unable to provide assistance for a few moments. Most of the penguins headed directly for Miss Kingston, although a small contingent headed directly into the festival grounds, freeing their imprisoned brethren and gently herding them back towards the water.
One is tempted at this point to state that chaos then ensued, but the fact of the matter is that chaos already been in the process of ensuing, and merely became more enthusiastic about its job as the battle progressed.
Fortunately, the doctor was able to extricate himself and managed to fire off a few spells in the general direction of the penguin swarm. Six-foot penguins dropped all about Miss Kingston, stunned or wounded; Titania also contributed such magical attacks as she could muster. In her own defense, Miss Kingston emptied her pistol, taking down no less than three penguins in less than a minute. Unfortunately, Mr. Karl experienced difficulties with his balance amongst the fray and confusion, and quickly found himself underneath some four hundred pounds of deceased giant bird. By dint of sheer numbers, the penguins were able to overwhelm Miss Kingston, rendering her unconscious and beginning to roll her down the beach like an exceptionally unwieldy egg. Mrs. Atwood, lacking any other options, pulled her Peacemaker from her reticule and wounded one of the penguins attempting to kidnap Miss Kingston. Unfortunately, her second shot hit Dr. Hu squarely in the back, a tragic accident she later blamed on an unseen militiaman, taking advantage of the lack of witnesses.
Meanwhile, Mr. Laughton had run back to the Consulate at considerable speed, only to discover that both the front and rear doors were locked. He spotted a high window that might provide a entrance, and raced to the garden shed, where he discovered yet another locked door. Venting his frustration, Mr. Laughton attempted to kick the door in, but succeeded only in breaking his toe on the sturdy portal. Switching tactics, he proceeded to shoot out the lock of the garden shed, and burn his hand in the process of opening the door. Spotting a ladder, he dragged it to the window, only to discover that its maximum extent would leave him two feet short of his goal. The result was a fit of language not to be repeated to Polite Company such as Our Readers, and a decision to limp back to the beach in his own good time.
And so, things looked very bad indeed, what with the penguins nudging Miss Kingston across the gravelly beach towards the freezing water, Mr. Karl trapped in an increasingly smelly situation from which he persistently failed to free himself, and Mrs. Atwood attempting to repair the damage done to Dr. Hu. Fortunately, whatever entity had been possessing the penguins lost its grip, and the confused and honking horde made its way to whence it came, leaving Our Heroes collectively with yet another weird tale to tell ’round future campfires, and Mr. Karl specifically with lingering lower-back pain.
Quotes of the game: “There are fates worse than death that we fear more than taxes.” —Mrs. Atwood
“Guns really do kill people.” —Mr. Laughton’s player
*English for “Punta Arenas”
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