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Chapter XXX: In Which a Trap is Tripped

The Grammar Penguin gazed at the black tower. It rose jaggedly into the sky, slicing the air and spearing low clouds. Various turrets and projections jutted out from the tower like parasites.

"There is where we shall begin," the Grammar Penguin told his companion. The monstrosity nodded its rocky head and stepped into the water. "Look at the ripples. They are not moving in any scientific manner."

Indeed, the surface of the lake was no longer as unbroken as a mirror. Where the monstrosity had stepped, ridges of water radiated in three distinct directions. Each small wave traversed the water to either of the towers or the city.

"It appears that the inhabitants were clever enough to develop an impossible, yet most definitely real, warning system," said the Grammar Penguin. "I am curious to know the workings of this lake." He bent over and dipped his wing into the water, watching the ripples, then noticed another astonishing trait. "The ripples have stopped projecting from your presence. This is interesting."

The rock monster shifted to see the peculiarity. As a result, it caused more waves to radiate. Upset by the accidental disturbance, it smashed both stony fists into the water.

"Calm yourself," ordered the Grammar Penguin. "We ought to start swimming or wading. It is all but certain we have been noticed. Waiting too long could have a negative result."

With that said, the Grammar Penguin dove into the water. the rock monstrosity began plodding along the lake-bottom, too heavy to float. They made decent time, particularly the Grammar Penguin. He zigged and zagged through the water, staying close to his companion while searching for dangerous crevices and creatures.

Half a mile into the swim, or one-third of the distance to the black spire, the Grammar Penguin felt something skinny and sticky wrap itself around his midsection. He tried to remove the Sword of Clauses from its waterproof sheath, but could not. He silently cursed and began twisting and turning, trying to escape the cruel grasp.

The tentacle jerked him downwards. He turned that direction to see a gigantic eye, glowing blue, over an even bigger abyss of a mouth. The Grammar Penguin acknowledged that he was about to be eaten, likely without any vigorous chewing.

As a last resort, he bit hard into the tentacle, choking on the foul fluid that flowed into his beak. The creature was unfazed and drew him closer. He kicked and bit to no avail. The creature might have laughed, thought the Grammar Penguin was quite too occupied to have known.

Suddenly, the glowing blue eye went dark. The tentacle released the Grammar Penguin and flailed every which way. He swam to the creature's head, drew the Sword of Clauses and stabbed. The creature went still and settled to the bottom. Before swimming away, the Grammar Penguin noticed four appendages had been torn from its body.

Some time later, though not as long as the Grammar Penguin had hypothesized, he and the rock monster stood at the foot of the black tower. Both were dripping wet and slightly disappointed. Up close, the tower was really a boring dark gray.

"I was hoping for something more dramatic," said the Grammar Penguin. "This is a bit too normal. What are your thoughts?"

The rock monstrosity shrugged. It stomped its way to the door, a particularly bland slab of metal, and knocked. That is to say, the monster smashed through the door, ripped it from the tower, walked to the shore and tossed it into the lake.

Moments later, a large cat, accompanied by a dozen short humans, emerged from the tower. "Yourrre in trrrouble," it purred. "Thisss iz my island. Thisss iz my sssitty. Trrressspassserrrz! Take theirrr weaponsss!" It motioned towards the Grammar Penguin. "Theyrrre mine now."

"You do not know what you have just done," said the Grammar Penguin. His eyes burned with loathing.

"I do," purred the cat. "You are the Grammarrr Penguin. My name isss Catapoztrrrophe and that meansss yourrr doom!"

Chapter XXIX: In Which a Lake Blocks the Way

After three more days of waddling, the Grammar Penguin found himself on the shore of a remarkable lake. Somehow, in the coldest reaches of Antarctica, this lake stayed unfrozen. The water was still, despite the large area. The opposite shore was out of sight, and not a ripple disturbed the surface.

The Grammar Penguin reviewed his map. It was less than helpful. The city of knowledge was not directly indicated. It could have been anywhere along the lake. The Grammar Penguin decided to circle the waters, taking a clockwise course.

He walked for a very long time. Not once did the opposite shore com into view. The water remained as still as ever. He stopped, now unable to see where he had first stood. The lake seemed to taunt him.

Frustrated, he sat on the shore, staring at the water. A chilly breeze nipped at his soft feathers. The Grammar Penguin thought about this. He took several deep breathes, attempting to bring more healthy oxygen to his brain.

Hours passed. The Grammar Penguin sat and thought. He thought about his wife, laying in whatever evil afflicted her. He thought about himself, his proud quest of half self-destruction and half duty. He felt ashamed, so he shifted his thoughts back to the lake.

The map was vague. It stated (though not so mathematically): "lake equals city." The Grammar Penguin pondered this equation. He concentrated quite hard. His head began to hurt.

A city of knowledge would have been reasonably large. It could have sat near the shore. It could have sat on an island. It could have been submerged.

As he thought, the Grammar Penguin heard a splash. He watched the water as it did not ripple. This puzzled him. He looked to the right, seeking the source of the sound.

The Grammar Penguin smiled (as best one can with a beak) at the hulking monstrosity of rock before him. The rock monster, an old friend, bowed awkwardly. "I saw you as I left Antarctica City," said the Grammar Penguin. "It has been some time since our last adventure."

He saluted the rock monster, which gave its own version in return. "You have given me fresh insight," continued the Grammar Penguin. "I thank you. I now know for certain where to find this city of knowledge. Follow me."

The Grammar Penguin stood and stepped forward. He stepped not into what appeared to be water, but instead onto another shore. This shore was real. The water moved, though it was difficult to detect. To his left, a white tower stood in the lake; to his right a black tower. In between, atop a sheer plateau, was the city.

Chapter XXVIII: In Which Vengeance is Sought

The Grammar Penguin walked for days. Only certain regions in Antarctica made for quick travel. Near the South Pole, only one such path was to be found. That path lay miles behind the flightless hero.

Somewhere, so the map said, in the unexplored permafrost plains of Antarctica, lay a lake. No one, scientist or native, had seen this bit of geography in thousands of years. The Grammar Penguin was skeptical.

He did not expect to find this lost city. He especially doubted the existence of knowledge pertaining to his wife's condition. He took the assignment to be away from Aphrodite and it killed him emotionally. He hated his disbelief and his apparent unfaithfulness, but all research had concluded without insight. For one such as the Grammar Penguin, being without knowledge was akin to being without breath.

And at this particular moment, he hated the chunk of ice which had just struck his head. Wishing he had brought his helmet, the Grammar Penguin scoured the area with his keen eyesight. He saw nothing but tundra.

"Show yourself!" he shouted to no one in particular. "I will find you in any case. If you explain yourself well enough, there may be less smiting in your near future!" He wielded the Sword of Clauses.

Silently, a figure, man-shaped and furred, faded into view. It stood in a manner that suggested aggression. Behind its back it held what appeared to be a long sword. Without warning, it struck.

The Grammar Penguin, having trained many years in all forms of combat, was able to deflect the slash. A lesser being would have been sliced in two pieces. The mysterious figure had enough strength and speed to worry the hero.

Hopping backwards and to the left, the Grammar Penguin adeptly parried each successive blow. The figure used a fast technique, never resorting to brute force or sloppy chops. Both combatants handled their swords with the utmost form of finesse.

Disinterest grew within the Grammar Penguin. He was tired of fighting. Using the next lull to his advantage (one of two in the entire sequence), he spoke. "Stop," he said. "I do not wish to smite you."

Oddly, this halted the battle. Both participants breathed slowly and deeply. The figure sheathed his sword. The Grammar Penguin followed suit.

"I am Eskimono," spoke the figure at long last, "Samurai of the North."

The Grammar Penguin realized the fur was actually a parka, though it was cut strangely. "I am the Grammar Penguin," he said, "Guardian of Literacy."

Eskimono pulled down his hood and nodded. "You are a master swordsman," he stated. "I cannot best you."

"Should we battle to the end of time," said the Grammar Penguin, "I would never defeat you."

This seemed to please the strange samurai .He now sat on the tundra. It began to snow. "I have come to avenge the murder of my father."

"You search the wrong hemisphere," explained the Grammar Penguin. "I have never seen a person such as yourself this far south."

"I do not expect to find the dishonorable one here," clarified Eskimono. "It is said in many stories that here, in the deepest reaches of Antarctica, is a city of knowledge. There, perhaps I might find the name I desire."

"I seek the city as well," stated the Grammar Penguin. He thought for a moment. He could not decide how much trust to allow this stranger. "My intents are personal and will remain so for now. Please do not take offense."

Eskimono nodded. "We have separate goals," he said. "Therefore, we will go separate ways. If the ancestors will it, we will meet again." He stood and bowed at the waist.

The Grammar Penguin returned the formality. When he was once again upright, the samurai was out of sight. Where he had sat, the snow showed no sign of disturbance. For some reason, this was not surprising.