Author's note: It's finally here!
Welcome to the world of Of Shackles and Ashes! I would like to thank dixiemame for inspiring me to write this as well as encouraging me along the way, and the people from the mouse and duck discord servers for being so supportive and welcoming. Couldn't have done it without you guys!
I apologize to the people who had to wait so long since the story's preview. Luckily, Chapter 2 is already in the works, so there's the chance it won't take months like this had. Hope you enjoy!
Fun fact: "Cendre" is French for 'cinder' as this was influenced by Charles Perrault's "Cendrillon."
One may find the concept of sailing overwhelming, mundane even, but to him, this was the life.
On a grand ship drifting through the sea, a lone sailor rested his head on crossed arms. He gazed at the horizon while letting out a relieved sigh. This was a habit of his whenever he stared at the ocean, but he couldn't help it. With the perfect weather shining down and his troubles miles and miles away, what more could he possibly want? And best of all, it was peaceful. No disturbances other than the sound of waves splashing against the ship's hull and the faint calling of seagulls.
Wait, seagulls?
The sailor shifted his focus away from the water, and saw little dots of what he assumed were seagulls soaring around the sky from a speck of green. Could he be close to land already? He climbed a rope ladder up to the crow's nest, pulled out a telescope from his coat, and peeked through the lens. Sure enough, a beach was spotted in the distance. Boy oh boy, this was it.
"Full speed ahead!" He commanded to no one as he put the telescope away and swung back down. While he started to unfasten the sails, he pitched up his voice and yelled out "Yes, Sir!" as well as give a quick salute to the imaginary Captain. He pulled ropes and pulleys before reaching to the helm and steadying the ship. "Forward!" he shouted and as if on cue, a gush of wind blew into the sailcloth, sending the ship racing through the water.
With all his force, the sailor steered the speeding vessel towards the shore, the salty air rushing through his white feathers. The closer he made it to the beach, the louder his cheers became, and a sense of pride swelled up inside him.
This was what he was destined for. This was the thrill he'd been yearning for his whole life. Those back home would've mocked the very thought of him adventuring out at sea. Well, won't they be in for a surprise, for he could already hear someone repeatedly calling out to him. This was it, he can feel it. Once he lands, today will mark the day the whole world will realize his worth. His life will no longer be the same or his name isn't-
"DONALD!"
If that wasn't enough to snap him out of it, then it was the swift WHACK to the head by his uncle's cane that did the trick.
Here awoke Donald Duck, not on a ship but in a massive room cramped with stacks and stacks of gold coins divided according to their polished state. Upon realizing that he had mixed around the gold unknowingly throughout his daydream, Donald reached for the sore spot on his head when the sound of that very cane tapped on the coins. He hesitantly turned to the elderly man glaring down at him.
"What nonsense were ye trying to pull? I could hear your blabberin' all the way from me office! When did I ever say to swim through the gold? Look at this jumble! Do I have to keep knocking some sense into you?!"
"No, Uncle Scrooge. I'll fix this up right now," said Donald as he grabbed handfuls of coins in an attempt to organize it, but Scrooge didn't come by to only scold.
"That's enough of your slacking for tonight. Now get going! We're having a house meeting," he demanded. Donald somberly obeyed and dropped the coins. He wanted to argue that he wasn't purposely slacking off, but admitting to what he was actually doing would be worse. He followed his uncle out of the room, pulling his goggles off along the way. Cleaning raw coins meant raw dust, dirt, and gunk everywhere, so Donald would wear them as protection. Meanwhile, Scrooge grumbled under his breath until they approached the housekeeper.
Mrs. Beakley, stern and upright, guarded one side of the doorway to the office while her small granddaughter Webby guarded the other, imitating her authoritative posture. They welcomed the two men with a silent nod (and an ecstatic wave from Webby that Donald waved back to) before opening the door and joining them inside. Already in a chair with his legs crossed rested another duck, who had been occupying himself by combing his blonde curls of hair and dusting off his frock coat. Gladstone Gander greeted his more raggedy cousin with a smirk as he took a seat next to him, much to said cousin's annoyance. Scrooge adjusted his chair behind his desk as he rubbed his temples.
"Now that the meeting is in order, I want to say first that it seems the only heirs to my will are complete deadbeats!" Donald hung his head low while Gladstone went unfazed, finding the clover leaf pendant on his cravat a higher priority. Scrooge rambled on, "All these years living under my roof and it's like I never taught you anything. Why, when I was your age-"
"'You learned to be 'tougher than the toughies and smarter than the smarties'. We know. You don't need to tell us this a million times." Donald interrupted without lifting his eyes from the floor. This earned him another whack from Scrooge's cane, this time on his arm, but Scrooge didn't continue his backstory, so it was worth it at least. He was going to until he heard Gladstone's "subtle" snickering.
"What's so funny? Don't think you're off the hook, ye layabout. If you quit loafing around for once, maybe you'll finally realize that success isn't something to sit around and wait for!"
Gladstone pressed a hand to his chest and gasped, "Who says I have to wait for it?" He was known for one thing and that was that he never worked a day in his life to get what he wanted. That's what his good luck was for.
Scrooge groaned and buried his face in his hands. What is he ever going to do with these children? Oh wait. After a moment of silence, he said, "However, that's not the only reason why I called for you all tonight," he reached under his desk, catching everyone's attention. Even Mrs. Beakley had no idea what Scrooge was planning. "Consider this a proposition." He uttered before sitting back up and dropping two tiny sacks of money on the top of the desk. It shocked Donald that such a miser of an uncle would be willing to trust him with something, especially money he didn't have to polish.
"Are we investing this?"
Scrooge scoffed, "Don't to be ridiculous, nephew. There's a sale going on at the marketplace that ends tomorrow, and frankly, I'm in the mood for some haggis. Your task is to go fetch some ingredients. You get the onions, and Gladstone, you get the oatmeal."
Donald tried to wrap his head around this. "So... grocery shopping? But, isn't that just Beakley's job?" Mrs. Beakley grunted at him. "Sorry, Mrs. B. What I meant to say was.. what's the point of this?"
"Each sack contains 30 gold. The point is to use as little of it as necessary while getting a good bargain. A way to practice how to save money wisely. If you have the gall to think you're worthy of inheriting my hard earned fortune, then do this one thing and perhaps I'll reconsider. But, I better not hear of any commotions tomorrow." He glared at Donald, who said nothing. "Especially from you."
"I say, Uncle McBillions, this is quite the prudent task," Gladstone chuckled right as he got off his seat to slap Scrooge on the back. "Your wisdom is truly something I admire and-"
"Don't you start with that." Scrooge snapped, sending Gladstone a few steps back. "Now then, are we in agreement?" The cousins looked at each other, then at Scrooge, and slowly nodded. It's not like they had much of a choice anyway. "Good. Now off to bed, both of you! I expect this done in the morning. No exceptions!"
"Yes, Uncle Scrooge," exclaimed Donald and Gladstone in unison. They both raced for the door and got stuck between the doorway in the process. Donald had to give up and let Gladstone go first to let everyone through. Webby almost ran off to wherever until Mrs. Beakley picked her up.
"That goes for you too." she instructed. Webby whined but followed her grandmother as soon as she was let down. As for Donald, he walked upstairs to his bedroom and plopped onto his bed, his body aching and ready to end the day with some sleep. He re-positioned himself so he could face the wall.
In an open space between the bed and the corner, various ocean maps and diagrams of boats were plastered on that only Donald sees. Some he drew by hand, some by trace, and some he ripped out of old library books. It served as his daily motivation to keep him going throughout the day. In the hopes that maybe, just maybe...
Pulling a worn out blanket over his shoulders, he tried to picture himself back on that ship about to be welcomed with open arms.
Nothing happened. Of course it didn't. How could it?
This was the real life.
Saying that the castle staff caught up in a frenzy would be putting it far too lightly. Before the crack of dawn, servants have raced back and forth between rooms to keep things in tip-top shape. Shouts of "Has she arrived yet?" echoed through the halls followed by "Not yet!" Cooks have already begun preparing meals, some tasting like the time it took to make them. Anything had to be accomplished in time for Queen Margaret's long-awaited return.
Only one stayed put during this time of delirium, though her anxiousness outmatched the rest. She stood by a window in the hallway, twiddling her thumbs while occasionally glancing at the clock. With unease shown clearly on her face, it didn't take long for another servant to stop what she was doing and take notice of this odd behavior.
"Are you alright?" she asked as she tapped on the woman's shoulder. The woman jumped at the gesture as if abruptly woken up from a deep sleep. When she took notice of the big hen standing near her, she laughed nervously, trying to tuck her black hair behind her round ears.
"Oh! I-I'm fine, Clara," she stuttered, blushing all while avoiding eye contact. Like that was going to fool anyone, and Clara was no exception. She went down on one knee to reach the mouse's height, her hand still on her shoulder.
"Minnie, be honest. Is there something wrong?"
The woman, Minnie, refused to meet Clara's eyes, preferring to view the kingdom of Cendre instead. "I-it's nothing, really. I-" She paused for a brief minute and forced a grin. "I'm simply excited to see Margaret, that's all. It feels like such a long time since I saw her." Clara cocked an eyebrow. She remained unconvinced, but reluctantly accepted that this wasn't something for her business to intrude. Sighing, she straightened up and patted Minnie on the head.
"I don't know what goes on between you two, but let me tell you this: You may be her personal assistant, but at the end of the day, you have only yourself to worry about." Clara then ruffled her hair, which did make her genuinely smile. "I have to get going now. Those sheets aren't going to fold themselves, you know."
"Of course." Minnie nodded, wishing good luck to Clara as she hurried to the next room down the hall. Once she left, Minnie dropped the smile, proceeding with her thumb-twiddling and clock-checking. There were plenty of other things to do, especially in this rush, but it's just that-
That...
Well, 'that' will have to wait until Her Highness comes home. Maybe by then, Minnie will gather up enough courage to finally blurt it out. Any minute now, she assured herself as she watched rays of light begin to peek out the window.
Donald shielded his face as he sluggishly stepped into the rising sunlight. He didn't try to look presentable with his disheveled feathers and visible dark bags under his blue eyes. After a restless sleep, his main objective today was getting the task over with. It didn't sound so bad. Just get onions at a cheap price, then go home without a fuss. Nothing to it, right?
Still, how can he beat Gladstone? With that luck, he wouldn't need to use the money at all. The oatmeal could be a prize of some raffle or a special offer for being the so-and-so customer. It wouldn't be surprising if a giant sack of it fell from the sky and landed right at his feet. Trying to go against the lucky gander was like volunteering to fail.
Donald smacked his forehead. Come on, man, focus. Competition or not, there's no denying he has to prove to Scrooge that he's more than capable of handling tasks and following directions. Sure, it's guaranteed he'll come out last, but maybe his uncle will turn out impressed by his efforts. If this was all it takes, then by gosh, he'll do it!
At the end of the cobblestone driveway, Donald spotted through blinding sunshine what resembled black circles bobbing up and down the road. The paperboy had arrived, whistling a merry tune with a bag of mail strapped around his shoulder. Behind him was a golden furred dog walking to the beat of the melody with a roll of newspaper in his mouth. The mansion stood alone on a grassy hilltop at the outskirts of Cendre, making this his last stop.
"Hey, Mickey," Donald yawned as he stretched his arms. Upon hearing his master's name called, the dog rushed towards him without warning and jumped up to lick his face. It was then that the paperboy stopped whistling and turned to his direction.
"Hiya, Donald!," he chirped, surprised yet pleased to see him. "Whatcha doing out here at this hour?"
"Eh, family errands," Donald shrugged while scratching the excitable pup's back. "Gotta head to the marketplace for stuff. Gladstone's taking a carriage, but I might just walk. Could use a little workout. Uh, mind if I join you and Pluto til we get there?"
"Not at all. It's always nice to have some company," Mickey beamed, and later said, "Can you give me a minute? Pluto!" He held out a hand in front of his canine companion, signaling him to get off of Donald and let go of the newspaper. Their shift wasn't over yet. Pluto obliged, spitting out the roll onto Mickey's hand so he can place it on the mansion's front steps. Once he did that, he reached into his bag and pulled out a colorful postcard, handing it over to Donald. "Here's your mail. It's another one from Fethry."
"Where's that crazy loon off to now?" Donald chuckled as he flipped over the postcard. He recognized the wacky handwriting of his cousin Fethry, who used to live with the family as a kid, but moved out years later to, in his words, 'see the world'. Since then, he'd been sending cards from the many places he visited. This one consisted of little doodles and a stamp with a cathedral printed on. As eccentric as Fethry was, Donald kind of missed having him around. Him and...
After tucking the postcard into his vest, he asked Mickey, "So, did something exciting happen to you lately?" He could say he watched paint dry and that'd be more thrilling compared to Donald's never-ending chore in that room. Really, any answer would do. As long as it changed the topic.
Pluto nudged Mickey's leg with his nose. Indeed, something did happen as of lately. Mickey thought it through, not entirely sure if he's allowed to say it. Oh, why not? Might as well spill the beans. "I don't know if you'd call it 'exciting', but I applied to volunteer at-"
"We're behind schedule!" Scrooge burst out the door followed by Gladstone, dressed in fine clothing for someone going grocery shopping. Scrooge tipped his top hat at the paperboy in greeting but was in no mood for chit-chatting. "Where in blazes is Launchpad?" he tapped his foot, staring at a silver pocket watch. "He should be here by now."
Twirling a sleek cane of his own, Gladstone approached the friends and laid an arm around Mickey's shoulder, lightly shoving Donald aside. "Hey-hey, how's it going, Big Ears? Don't see you here often. Then again, I'm usually asleep at this time."
"Hello, Gladstone," Mickey's voice trailed off, forgetting what he was going to tell Donald. Man, this was awkward. He still hasn't got over the name 'Big Ears'. It's not an insult, he knew that, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. He gently pulled Gladstone's arm off of him. "Pluto and I were just stopping by to-"
Out of nowhere, Launchpad McQuack, Scrooge's private coachman, pulled into the driveway, or for a lack of a better word, attempted to. The carriage he drove ended up running into a shrubbery before coming to a full stop. It became understandable why Donald wanted to walk. "Woah! Morning, Mr. McDee!" shouted Launchpad, a gentle giant always ready to assist. "Sorry 'bout the bush!"
"Never mind that, lad." Scrooge groaned, picking up the newspaper. A broken bush was less costly to repair than a broken vehicle. He'll give him that. "What are ye doin' diddle-daddling for? Scram! You're late as it is!" he directed at his nephews. Gladstone made his way to the carriage and climbed inside. Launchpad waved goodbye as the steed began to canter until he remembered to pay attention to where he was going.
Donald was about to set on foot with Mickey and Pluto when Scrooge yelled out, "Don't come back until everything's done right! You hear me? Don't you dare waste my gold, you ingrate!" Donald bit his tongue and shook his head, not bothering to answer.
Though they were soon out of his sight, Mickey whispered in the hope that Scrooge wouldn't hear them from afar, "Say Donald, don't you think it's high time for you to leave that place? No offense, but I don't think you'd want to spend the rest of your life as a servant."
Donald snorted like it was the most ridiculous remark he ever heard, and there were plenty. "I'm no servant", he quipped, "Servants get paid." Mickey frowned at his take on humor, even Pluto whimpered. Donald's speed quicken. "Look, don't think so much about it. I'm not leaving and that's final." He grabbed a stick for Pluto to fetch. "On the bright side, the boys will be coming over in a couple of weeks. Their mom's letting them stay longer than usual."
"... You two still aren't...?"
"No." Donald sadly sighed while Mickey winced. It was a touchy subject, so he should've known better than to expect a different answer, but Donald wasn't mad. That question was bound to be asked at some point and he preferred it coming from his best friend than anyone else.
Mickey took Donald's spot of throwing the stick whenever Pluto brought it back in delight until they reached the marketplace. The overview gave off an empty vibe save for a couple of villagers, a guardsman on duty, some horses roaming around, and open shops. Not even Gladstone or Launchpad were spotted.
"Where'd everyone go?" Donald let out. Was there even a sale going on? Apparently yes, if the front sign display reading "Half Off All Merch" had a say in it. So what gives?
"They're probably at the castle waiting for the Queen." Mickey quickly answered as they made it to another pathway. "'Supposed to be this big ceremony for her return. I'm thinking of heading over there with Pluto once I clock out."
Donald wasn't someone who got on track with the latest gossip news. To him, there were more important matters at hand. "Go ahead. I gotta get this done fast. Luckily, there's no tra- WAK!
Just as he laid a foot on the seemingly empty road, a familiar carriage speed by, almost trampling him. Donald was able to dodge in time, falling onto the pavement while a cry of "Sorry!" got muffled by the laughter of villagers close by. In contrast to his lucky relative, Donald was known for his frequent misfortunes, such as getting splashed by a puddle or getting his shirt stuck. His humiliation was everyone's entertainment.
Only Mickey helped pull him up. "I'm guessing that was them?"
"Most likely..."
It might be that Launchpad was currently looking for a place to park or that Gladstone had so shockingly beat him to it and is driven home, but both chances meant that Donald has to pick up the pace. After that incident, he bade farewell to Mickey and Pluto and headed to the nearest vegetable stand he could find. While most had their products at the front, this one had them stored behind a counter. He rung the little bell for service and waited for a figure appeared to give a friendly welcome.
"Good morning- Pete?"
"The one and only!" hollered an obese black feline emerging from the stand. He towered over Donald with his intimidating presence and girth, leaving him speechless. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" he banged the counter in laughter at his own joke. Something felt off.
"Last thing I've heard from you, you were arrested for petty thievery."
"That was so long ago. I've learned my ways since then. I'm a changed man fillin' in for a good pal o' mine. So!" He clapped his hands, "What can I getcha?"
Donald doubted anyone, pal or not, would ever leave their establishment to someone as sleazy as Pete. He looked around in case a person came by searching for their rightful shop. When no such person showed up, he groaned and went over his order as instructed. "One pound of medium-sized yellow onions."
Pete cupped his chin and "hmm"ed to give the impression of calculating the estimate. "Let's see. That'll be 30 gold!"
Donald almost started counting when it hit him. That costed exactly what he was given. Spending it all already wasn't part of the task. He stood his ground, "But the sign says everything's half off. It should be 15 gold, not 30. I haven't seen what I'm buying yet."
Pete anticipated this. "Have I got the ones for you!" He opened a drawer, letting out countless flies as well as the foulest stench that he seemed immune to, and shoved a crate down Donald's arms. It reeked of spoiled onions, and those smelled horrible to begin with. Donald didn't need to look inside to shove it back, cover his beak, and gag.
"Oh, don't let its appearance deceive you. You see, these are no ordinary onions. They come from a dark place where no simple man, and certainly no duck, has ever trespassed." Pete jabbed a thumb to his wide chest. "It takes tough guys like me to go and fetch 'em."
"Yeah, the dumpster," mumbled Donald, pinching his nostrils. No way Scrooge would accept rotten food (Or anyone in that case). There's got to be a way around this. While Pete left to swat the flies away, Donald examined the stand piece by piece. He crawled inside, poked the other food on display, which turned out to also be rotten ("Yuck!"), and tapped on the wood. Finally, with a light kick at the bottom, he felt something hard against its cloth. On all fours, he lifted it to find poorly hidden crates that smelled much better than what Pete offered. He ripped the lids off until, aha!, he saw freshly picked onions huddled together.
He knew it! That crook! Crawling out, Donald grabbed the crate and laid it by his feet. He pretended to have waited the whole time when Pete came back, his grip tight on an onion behind his back. One thing had to be made clear before ratting him out. "So, this is the only batch I can get. Is that right?"
Pete crossed his heart. "I swear it." Oh, I'm sure, Donald thought. Dropping the facade, he pulled out the onion and pointed at it.
"Then what's this?"
Pete's jaw dropped, his face paling. Where did he get that? He bent down and noticed an empty space under the stand. That little- "Uh...you-you don't want that. Those come from boring, ordinary farms. They ain't nothin' special."
"Who gives a darn if they're 'special' or not? You've been trying to rip me off by selling expensive garbage! I'm taking this home with me, and for the actual price." After throwing 15 gold pieces at Pete, he yanked the fresh crate from the ground with one hand and prepared to leave. "'Changed man.' If it wasn't because I'm in a hurry, I'd report you right this second! Good riddance!"
It'd be nice to pummel that puny wimp if it weren't for that guardsman, but Pete had other plans. He may be a petty criminal, but he wasn't an entirely stupid one. That little tantrum a moment ago gave him an idea. He leaned over the counter to Donald and lowered his voice enough for him to hear, "I'm not liking your little attitude there, Quackers. Actin' so rude to a poor man trying to make a business. You rich folk sure do think you can get your way."
It worked. Donald stopped, "What?"
"You heard me, nephew of the oh-so-great Scrooge McDuck. You don't know what it feels like to be pushed around. I bet all you do is lounge on some fancy-shmancy sofa sipping tea or somethin'. You and the rest of your lousy family."
Being related to the richest non-royal duck in the land meant being interpreted as some spoiled rich kid. Donald faced this so many times to the point that he had long since given up on telling them otherwise. Gladstone was no help in defying the conception either. But never, under any circumstance, was it acceptable to insult Donald's family right in his face.
"Take it back!" His voice raised.
Pete smiled smugly. "I could, buuut," He rubbed his big fingers together, "It's gonna cost ya extra."
Donald realized Pete's plan in that instant, but his evergrowing anger won against reason. He sensed the villagers peeking their heads in, wondering where all the yelling was coming from, and Scrooge's warning of no commotions played in his head. Inhaling deeply, Donald let go of the crate, pulled the sack out, and slammed it on the counter, the onion still in his other grasp. "Fine. Take the stinkin' money. It doesn't matter. Just knock it off."
After getting all of Donald's gold like he wanted, now should've been the time for Pete to leave him alone, but this was too much fun to quit. It's not everyday you get to poke fun at the temperamental duck and get away with it. He kept going, not thinking of the outcome. "Glad to see you had a change of heart, ducky. 'Course, it won't change the fact that your family's still a bunch of worthless little-"
"SHUT UP!"
Donald hurled the onion in a fiery rage and stormed off, leaving behind the crate. He didn't care that everyone was gawking at him. He didn't care that he's going home empty handed. He didn't care that he has to face Scrooge and tell him he used up all the coins. He. Didn't. Care.
However, the villagers weren't actually looking at him, per se. How strange. For such an outburst, he didn't expect a cracking sound of all noises to fill in the silence. Wait, where was that coming from anyway? And why is it getting louder, lasting longer by the next? Curiosity grew too big to ignore. Senses slowly coming back, he turned around.
At what was possibly his worst ever, Donald managed to smash into one of the wooden poles that kept the stand in place, to the verge of splitting. His heart collapsed to his stomach.
"Uh oh.."
The pole snapped into two pieces. The roof tilted and collapsed backwards. Everyone gasped as it hit the ground with a thunderous CRASH. Nearby horses became started and reared on their hind legs. A man tried to soothe them to no avail. They galloped away, damaging whatever laid in their path with the carts they pulled. From this, little shops started to topple against the other like deadly dominoes.
"I WILL CALL FOR HELP!" the guardsman shouted as he sprinted away. "PLEASE REMAIN CALM!". That was near impossible with villagers screaming and running in all directions to escape the rampage. Donald meanwhile stayed frozen in his tracks. Dust filled the air; properties were crushed. He could hardly breathe at these sudden chain of events. All this chaos from an onion?
At last, true to his word, the guardsman returned, along with his teammates and their captain on their chargers. They were at the ceremony when he pleaded for assistance, and they . Orders were made to evacuate people and send the horses safely to their owners. Villagers formed into a crowd, pushing and dragging one another out of the area. One found Pete under the ruins, surprisingly unscathed by crouching under the ruined stand.
Because there were fewer counts than on a daily basis, it was easier for the guards to lead everybody to a field near the hilltop. They watched as the destruction reached the farthest edges of the marketplace. Fortunately, it didn't spread to other parts of the kingdom, and larger buildings hadn't been affected. However, it didn't make the situation any less dangerous. Whoever was responsible for the damage will not go scot-free. The captain waited till the noise died down to step off his horse and, in quite an outlandish fashion, gesture at the crowd.
"Alright, which one of you is the perpetrator?"
At once, the villagers took a step to the side, leaving a petrified Donald smack-dab in the middle. He gulped, trying to explain his side of the story, but it was too late. He flinched when a guard grabbed him by the collar, and watched in horror as his wrists felt the weight of iron cuffs.
It was at that point that Donald's life finally began to change. Not in the way he had hoped.