Crappy Feet

The next morn I awoke, and after a bite, gathered my pack to face the day, here in this barren wasteland. As I emerged from the snowcave, I was encouraged by the bright sunshiny day. Immediately on the horizon I saw a trail of smoke and from that moment knew I was not alone here. I bundled toward the direction of the fire, and came to a high ledge overlooking a plain of snow- but what greeted my eyes was a surprise I shall never forget.



I had the sense to be cautious at first, and peered expecting to see a hunting or fishing encampment at the plain below. And what I saw was an encampment of sorts, but an unusual one. At the base of the plain stood an oilskin tent, with a large hot-air-balloon, the type I have only seen illustrations of, but, being familiar with the experiments of the Montgolfiers from my studies, I found the actual sight of one quite intruiging.

Standing in the doorway of the pavillion was a shadowy figure, who seemed to be dressed in a military costume of perhaps Italian fashion. At first he seemed to be absentmindingly conversing with the assembled flock of penguins, then the sound of a pennywhistle came wafting on the breeze. A minuet played rather precisely, if not ornamented to my taste. At this point I was about to get up and descend to introduce myself when the most extraordinary thing happened.



The Penguins, at first mingling about, seemed called and controlled by this tune, forming into regular lines. I saw the shadowy figure produce a fish or two and throw it to the throng, they eagerly accepted these, then assembled back into regular order at the prompt of the whisted tune. Thay had the organization and speed of a green militia, but they seemed quite obedient.



I heard the Shadowy figure shout intructions, with what seemed to be a brogue or lilt to his tongue, although the distinct words I clould not discern. I watched in fascination as the birds seemed to understand these words, turning this way and that on instruction.



Then the birds began to move in rythym to the tune! Amazingly, they were dancing, cavorting in time to the melodious pipe. How charming, I thought- but largely impratical- where these to be a dancing troupe for a circus? Surely bears would be more interesting and more easily obtained.



I kneeled, still concealed watching this for a time, when I noticed, looking closely, that the penguins each were carying burdens, small grey haversacks of a sort snugly fit to their backs. Surely the penguin, though plentiful here, is not the best beast for transporting goods here, I thought to myself.




Then the figure changed the tune, and at once the birds began to pair off, struggling to imitate a couples dance, such as the new Austrian Waltz. The shadowy figure culled one though, and whistling more to it, moved it away from the flock.



This solo bird stood a moment alone in the field. After the repeat of three shrill notes the came a loud flash and a delayed rapport.

Boom!




A steaming crater laid where the mesmerised bird once stood! I froze in shock, then pondered the meaning. It was coming clear to me, this heinous plot- the birds, packs stuffed with Mr Nobel's curse, had been trained to detonate on command! Of all the dispicible acts! But why the dance? it is then I pondered how the dancers looked like so many frockcoated gentles, in the garment Prince Edward has made fashionable, the Tuxedo jacket. Here was the plot laid bare then..The jacketed bird would infiltrate a ball, and wreak havoc on the guests there. An insidous plot indeed! I determined at that point to not only foil this plan but make good my escape, under the cover of darkness.




As daylight ended I kept a close watch on the camp. Eventually the packs were removed and piled by the balloon, and the shadowy figure retired to his tent. Waiting, chilled as the hours passed, I recalled everything I could about the operation of a ballon, and cleaned my firearms, should they be a last resort. At the right time, I slunk down to the water's edge, eased along the coast and noiselessly dropped each pack, opened, into the deep water. Then I warily climbed in the baloon, the snores coming from the pavillion covering the rustle of my footfalls.



I ignited the flame with a parafinned match, and having cut the guide ropes slowly ascended. The darkness grew below me, but I heard the shouts of the shadowy figure and the anxious yelps of the unwitting penguins below me as I rose.



Higher and Higher, I finally drew breath as the the scene completly disappeared below me. I found a hamper with blankets and food stores on board, and thanked my good fortune.



I surveyed the scene- I was warm enough, had food, and the winds blew easterly, as I gained altitude I decided that this time I had tricked fate, but wondered at the poor fate of those penguins, having been trained to dance, left happily roving the Antarctic wastes- whatever shall become of these oddities of nature?



(Note: This is, of course, a spurious fictional narrative, cooked up by Mr. Abel and produced in the Falling Anvil and Steelhead Saloon for the entertainment of his fellows, and the inflation of his own ego. Any participants have not given prior consent to their images being used and in no way reflect on their character by the actions depicted. Keep those comments coming in :) )