AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm more active over at AO3 so don't hesitate to check out my fics over there if you like them! It's also way easier to do formatting and stuff there. I also have a new Ducktales fic I'm working on, called a "The First Law of Robotics Is to have Fun and Be Yourself!" which I hope you'll check out if you've enjoyed "Till Death" so far... :)
Pride Month, it turned out, was an excuse for homosexual Mammals and their supporters to get together in noisy groups while dressed in tacky outfits, get drunk, listen to awful music, dance lewdly, and just generally make a public nuisance of themselves. Also, there were parades.
The point, Scrooge assumed, was that they were doing it to prove that they could. To show themselves off to the public, loudly and without shame, and force people to acknowledge their existence, while staying in a large group to protect themselves. There was nothing illegal about these Pride activities these days, but Scrooge could remember a time not that long ago where they had been either illegal, or at the very least strongly frowned upon.
Duckworth had never taken part in this sort of thing, at least not that Scrooge knew of. It was a world entirely outside of his normal comfort zone. Sitting at the breakfast table and browsing his search results on his tablet, he was a bit aghast by the things he was finding. This was what the boys thought he should go participate in?
"Bloody Sodom and Gomorrah in my own backyard," Scrooge muttered into his coffee.
"What?" Donald asked, frowning with his entire face. He reached over and took the tablet from Scrooge – who didn't put up a fight. He'd rather not have to say more out loud about what he'd witnessed during his search than was strictly necessary.
"The boys told me I should go to a 'Pride Event', and I think they've got their bums oot the windae," Scrooge said. The boys in question were not paying a whit of attention to the conversation, engrossed in talking about... Spider-moon-iron-ninjas or whatever it was children talked about these days.
Apparently Donald agreed because his face turned five different shades of red as he swiped through the tablet- But then rather than say anything, his nephew typed something into the device, and a moment later handed it back to Scrooge. The page Donald had pulled up was for the City of Duckburg's park services, and there was nobody in leather pants, topless or covered in glitter to be seen in the photos.
Pride in the Park is a family-friendly LGBT+ event for all races in Duckburg Park on the Central Green, featuring live music, theater performances, popular local food trucks, an art auction benefiting LGBT+ charities, and much more! Going on our fifth year…
Duckworth would have loved it. He supposed if he had to be dragged to something this would be alright.
"Fine," Scrooge said, "I'll go to this Pride thing at the city park. It's in June."
"Good for you, Uncle Scrooge," said Donald.
"I have conditions though!" Scrooge announced, setting the tablet aside, "We're going incognito – that means Donald's car. I know what we talked aboot, but I don't want to make a big fuss. I don't want us to get mobbed by the bloody paparazzi. Just showing up will be enough to make headlines."
"Does that mean you're actually going to leave the house without your top hat?" Louie asked around a mouthful of chocolate croissant.
"I have other clothes," Scrooge groused. "I just like that hat."
The coffee pot near Scrooge suddenly levitated, pouring itself to refill Scrooge's cup. Cream and sugar also added themselves, as if held by invisible hands.
"It is a nice hat, although you should get a new one sometime this decade," Duckworth said, the morning sun shining through his transparent form.
"My hat's fine!"
"It's going to fall apart on your head while you're wearing it," Duckworth replied mildly. Then, less mildly, "Also, you could consider wearing something that doesn't make you look like you're about to foreclose on an orphanage." He turned his attention from Scrooge's coffee to the rest of the table. "Would anyone like seconds?" Huey, Dewey and Louie all raised their hands even though none of them had finished what was on their plates yet.
"Duckworth, don't you dare," Scrooge scolded. "They have a butler for a couple of days, and you've already got them spoilt rotten. If you want more, get aff your lazy bahoochies and go fetch it from the kitchen yerselves," Scrooge told the boys. "And not until you've cleared your plates!"
"Yes, Uncle Scrooge," the boys sighed in unison.
"So is Duckworth going to come with us?" Louie asked, stuffing the rest of his croissant into his mouth at once.
Scrooge and Duckworth exchanged looks. Duckworth gave an eloquent shrug. "I'm not currently capable of leaving the mansion grounds."
"Whoa, so you're trapped here?" Louie said.
"I wouldn't call myself trapped, but you're correct; I cannot leave."
"Might I ask why you threw this out without even opening it?" Duckworth inquired, fishing an envelope from the garbage bin by Scrooge's desk.
"You might ask," Scrooge said, not looking up from his stock report. "Cannae say I'm going to answer."
An expertly wielded letter opener slit the envelope open, spilling the contents into Duckworth's waiting spectral hand. "It's an invitation to a new museum wing opening," Duckworth said. "It's at the natural history museum. You love that place."
"Eh, I haven't gone to one of those stupid galas in ages."
"McDuck, it's your responsibility as the foremost citizen of Duckburg to support the city's cultural institutions." Duckworth attempted to push the invitation between Scrooge's nose and the stock report he was reading.
"Well, I don't want to go!" Scrooge said. He squinted down at the invitation. "Besides, look who's sponsoring it! Flintheart Glomgold. Why would I subject myself to spending more time with that mangy old feather duster than I absolutely have to?"
"When was the last time you went to something like this?"
"I don't want to talk aboot it."
Duckworth snatched the stock report away, forcing Scrooge to look at him. "Was it with me? Did you stop going because I died?"
"Yes, fine, it was! I didn't want to go alone and get reminded of what it used to be like."
"Well, don't go alone then!"
"You're mad if you think I'm going to try and find myself a date at this age. And I'm certainly not paying someone to go with me!"
"I meant take the boys," Duckworth said, looking amused by Scrooge's outburst. "They're old enough to be introduced to their social responsibilities, and maybe even enjoy themselves… Do it for me," the ghost pleaded. "I can't go, so you'll just have to tell me how it was afterwards."
"Ach, fine," Scrooge knew when to accept defeat. "I'll go. The boys are going to need suits though-"
"I'll see to it," Duckworth said with obvious pleasure. "You'll need a new suit as well."
"I have a perfectly fine dinner jacket!"
"It's nearly twenty years old. Not only is it out of style-"
"I dinnae get to be the richest man in the world by replacing functional clothing for no reason, Charlie! Menswear barely changes anyway. Who would even notice if my lapels are too wide or no narrow enough?"
"Amos Fletcher of the Duckburg Times Style & Society column," Duckworth sniffed, head held high. "He'll notice."
"Cannae let it go, eh?" Scrooge sighed, trying to get his stock report back, but Duckworth just levitated the paper higher. "So what if he used to make fun of how I dressed? I don't care."
"Well I do," Duckworth said. "It reflects poorly on me-"
"You're dead! If I look bad now they can hardly blame you. The opposite really. They'll say I've let myself go since you died."
"You have let yourself go," Duckworth said, lifting the stock report even higher when Scrooge started to swing at it with his cane. "Stop that, we are having an adult conversation."
Scrooge sat back down with a huff.
"I don't want people to say things like that about you," Duckworth said, more gently. "And I know you say that you don't care, but you do, you miserable old tightwad."
"Oh, please, keep buttering me up," Scrooge laughed.
"-You've also put on a little weight in the midsection, and lost muscle tone elsewhere," Duckworth said, and Scrooge stopped laughing. "So a few adjustments to how your jackets fit wouldn't be amiss."
"You know I was being sarcastic, aye?" Scrooge said. "I didn't mean you should keep taking the piss."
"I never said you looked bad," Duckworth said, smiling at him, and Scrooge was suddenly overcome with the intense desire to give the ghost anything he asked for.
"Fine. I'll get a new tuxedo. Cannae wait to see how old Jack O'Flannel reacts to finding oot ghosts are real."
It turned out that Jack O'Flannel, Scrooge's prefered local tailor, fainted when presented with a ghost for the first time. Duckworth had fetched the smelling salts, and after a brief explanation - and some reassurance that Duckworth wasn't a hallucination or out to steal O'Flannel's soul - the tailor had gotten back to business as if nothing had happened, in typical Duckburger fashion.
O'Flannel had made suits for Scrooge and Duckworth for many years, and he knew how things worked in the McDuck house. He wordlessly handed Duckworth a folder full of fabric samples in various colors and textures, before getting to work measuring Scrooge and making his notes.
"I think the charcoal wool #1 for the main body," Duckworth said. "And glossy black #1 for the lapels. Or maybe glossy navy #3? What do you think, Jack? His feathers have gotten whiter. I'm worried he'll look washed out and sickly in a deep black."
"As always, you've got a great eye for the details, Mr. Duckworth," the tailor said, wrapping his measuring tape around Scrooge's neck. "Knowing Mr. McDuck's taste, I'd go for the glossy black if he's going to be in black tie formal. You know he prefers to keep to tradition."
"You're both daft," Scrooge said. "That entire sample book is all the same bloody color."
As had been their habit before Duckworth's death, O'Flannel and Duckworth politely ignored Scrooge.
"So, for the shirt, what do you think of Warm Ivory, with the mother of pearl buttons?"
"Do promise you'll behave while playing with the other children," Duckworth said.
"Very funny," Scrooge replied, checking himself over in the washroom mirror, comb still in hand. "I make no promises where Glomgold's involved."
"Well, at least try not to get blood on your new dinner jacket," Duckworth said, plucking the comb from Scrooge's hand and running it through the ruff of feathers on the duck's cheeks. He turned Scrooge's head up with a touch of spectral fingers on his chin, and combed through the rest of his face and head feathers until they looked sleek.
Or as sleek as they could get. Scrooge really hadn't been taking care of himself properly and his plumage was rather ragged.
"You're no fun. How'm I supposed to break it in, then?"
"Oh, stop," Duckworth smiled as he smoothed Scrooge's lapels. "You look nice. Almost civilized- Which we both know is a lie."
"I'm glad to hear I pass muster," Scrooge said, and he found himself staring up at Duckworth, unable to bring himself to look away. "Wish you could come to this party with me. It's going to be dull without you."
"I shall be with you in spirit."
"Aw, haud yer wheesht."
There were a lot of things Scrooge expected to deal with at a party thrown by Glomgold. Seeing Goldie O'Gilt for the first time in thirty years wasn't one of them.
She was beautiful, of course, she was always beautiful, but she seemed younger than the last time he'd seen her. Her feathers had gone all gray back then, but now she was blonde once more, and it didn't look like it had come out of a bottle. Scrooge had wasted enough of his life thinking about that golden plumage that he could recognize her natural colors.
He thought briefly of Duckworth, haunting the house and waiting for his return, trapped there because of his loyalty to Scrooge. Part of him wanted to turn away, to act like he hadn't seen Goldie, cut off the impending interaction before it could even begin, but another part of him…
He'd known Goldie on and off since 1896. There was something in him that would always be drawn to her, but when he failed to make a decision either way - go or stay - she spotted him, and that sealed his fate. As usual she was the one that took the initiative, approaching him with learned and polished grace that let her blend in with the upper class like the chameleon she was.
Even as part of him thrilled at the sight of her, felt his blood rush in anticipation of their usual banter, the inevitable violence and chaos that always came with her presence in his life, Scrooge also felt a great ache in his chest, at his failure to leave, his inability to ignore the temptation of this woman, no matter how many times experience had taught him that she couldn't be trusted, even knowing that someone trustworthy, someone who had never let him down, was waiting at home.
"Watch your wallets, boys," Scrooge growled, but the warning was really more for Goldie than for his grand-nephews. I'm not in the mood for your games, O'Gilt, leave me out of it, he tried to tell her with his eyes alone.
"Please, Scrooge! I wouldn't steal from children," Goldie said, watching him the way a mongoose eyed a snake. "Unless they had something I really wanted, or I was bored, or-"
"Goldie O'Gilt, the Ice Queen of Dawson." Scrooge felt himself close the distance between them, couldn't recall when he'd made that decision. He felt drawn, like water towards a drain. "I thought I heard the clatter of cloven hooves."
"Scroogey McMoneybags, the Tightwad of Duckburg. That clatter was probably your brittle bones settling, ya gilded geezer!"
Goldie making fun of his brogue was nothing new, and certainly not enough to get a rise out of Scrooge. He was about to let loose with a retort when Glomgold suddenly shoved himself between them.
"Oh, hello, Scrooge! This is my date, Goldie!"
Unsurprising, attaching herself to the richest available person at an event like this is a classic from the O'Gilt playbook, Scrooge thought. Glomgold had tossed a proprietary arm around Goldie's waist, and Scrooge started a mental countdown for how long before Goldie did something about it.
He hoped she would break his wrist. He knew objectively that he had no claim on Goldie, she'd never been his and never would be, but it still got under his skin, seeing Glomgold paw at her. She's not mine, but she's not yours either.
"What's that, you're exes? How awkward this must be for you!" Glomgold was beside himself with mirth, and Scrooge wondered if he'd planned this entire evening just so he could do this, try to prod at both of them for a reaction, or was there anything else in play? Scrooge said nothing, just gripped his cane tighter and again tried to communicate with Goldie through excessive squinting and furtive eye-movements.
"Does it make your blood boil with jealousy, Scrooge?" Glomgold cackled, and Scrooge watched as Goldie delicately pinched the man's wrist and removed his arm from around herself. A less violent rebuff than Scrooge had been hoping for.
The orchestra, which had until then been playing inoffensive but boring elevator music, suddenly launched into an anemic tango. Goldie made eye contact with Scrooge, and tilted her head almost imperceptibly towards the dance floor. Do you want to?
"You're just a sad third wheel! Deadwood-" Glomgold continued, oblivious to the silent conversation happening in front of him, until Goldie offered Scrooge her hand and Scrooge took it. They turned away from Glomgold as one, already in sync as they moved smoothly onto the dance floor.
"It's been a long time, Scrooge," Goldie said, pulling him close to her body as they began to move to the music.
"And yet it still feels too soon," Scrooge sighed, half-heartedly going along with it, following her lead.
"Oof, your tango's as rusty as your joints, Old Man," Goldie complained, pulling him along to the beat of the music. "I'd get a better workout at a nursing home."
Scrooge took the lead violently, spinning and dipping his partner with more brute strength than skill. He hadn't danced with anyone in almost ten years, and it had been at least forty since he'd danced with Goldie.
"How's this for rusty?!"
"Not bad," Goldie said, smiling up at him like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, only a single strand of hair out of place. "But whoever taught you clearly didn't make any effort to file off your rough edges."
"Maybe they like me with my rough edges," Scrooge said through his teeth.
"So there is someone?" Goldie's smile was predatory. She was digging for information. "Well, they have good taste." Goldie pulled Scrooge away from the crowd and to a more open part of the dance floor. Her footwork was fancy and impeccable as always. She made Scrooge look better than he was with how smoothly she moved. Scrooge could feel all the eyes in the room on them.
"All those rough edges were always what made you so… Interesting. Don't be a sourpuss. It's been almost a hundred years since I last left you in the lurch."
"Seventy-one years," Scrooge replied tersely.
"God, you're such a bean-counter. Fine, seventy-one years. Don't I get a reset after being good for so long?"
"You know, I have people in my life who have never turned on me."
"And you must be bored to death of them. What sickening goodie-two-shoes," Goldie said. Scrooge was in the middle of another dip and very nearly dropped her.
"Did I hit a nerve? What's the matter, Moneybags? Your game's off."
"It's none of your business."
"Oh, don't be like that. When it's about you, it's always my business."
"So, you're looking very lovely tonight," Scrooge tried to change the subject.
"Lord, next you're going to ask me what I think about the weather."
"You're also looking younger than I remember," Scrooge continued doggedly on.
"Yes," Goldie sighed. "A lady never gives away her secrets... But I did find a fountain of youth in Rongway."
"Really?" Scrooge was interested despite himself. "I was looking for that damn thing back in the 80s. Never found it."
"Probably because I bottled it up for safe-keeping in '87. If you really want some maybe we can make a deal," Goldie said slyly.
"...No, I don't need it anymore," Scrooge sighed.
"Yeah? Is that a fact? Because it sure feels like you could use some." Goldie pinched at Scrooge's upper arm. Where there had once been solid muscle there was now the skinny-flabby flesh of old age. Scrooge spun her sharply in his arms on the next beat of music, his temper bubbling close to the surface. She was goading him, wanted to get him angry and sloppy, and he was ashamed of how well it was working.
"What's the matter? Has it got an expiration date?" Scrooge asked, "Unexpected side effects that you hope to find a cure for by getting me in the same boat with you?"
"Seriously," Goldie said. "What crawled up your kilt and died?"
"Nothing," Scrooge said. "This is just how I am now."
"No wonder you're still single."
"Quit yer havering, O'Gilt. What are you really up to?"
"Why do you always think I'm up to something?"
"Because wherever you go, you leave a flaming wreck in your wake."
"Can't start a fire without a spark," Goldie said, sliding a hand up the back of Scrooge's neck, grabbing a fistful of feathers as she dragged him in obscenely close. Their beaks were almost touching, and Scrooge felt himself tensing up, ready to fight her.
The moment was shattered when a loud feedback screech erupted from the speaker system and the orchestra shuddered to a halt.
"Ladies and gentlemen, hated rivals!" Glomgold had acquired a microphone from somewhere and was standing on the temporary stage that had been erected at the entrance to the new museum wing. He bared his teeth in an unnerving parody of a smile while making eye contact with Scrooge. Goldie pushed away from him as the room turned its attention to Glomgold.
"I'm proud to unveil this new permanent exhibit! Dug up by me very own oil crew in the Yukon, and generously donated to the Duckburg Natural History Museum in exchange for a modest tax write-off, the Glacier Monster of White Agony Creek!"
The curtain separating the main hall of the museum from the new wing dropped, and right in the center was an immense tank of yellow liquid, containing the withered and twisted remains of a wooly mammoth. It floated in the formaldehyde but was also held erect by some sort of internal suspension system, Scrooge assumed. Spears from ancient hunters dotted its sides, skewering it from multiple angles. It was actually a rather impressive display, even if Glomgold had funded it.
"Wait," Scrooge frowned. "Did he say White Agony Creek?"
"Uh-huuh," Goldie smiled, giving Scrooge a sideways glance that communicated more than their entire prior conversation. Something was most definitely up. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"
The party guests were being herded past the stage and into the new exhibit hall as Glomgold continued to talk about how the mammoth had been found, the preservation process, and how they were already working to clone wooly mammoths in Glomgold Enterprises Genetic Engineering subsidiary, but Scrooge barely heard him - his focus was on Goldie. She was… waiting for something to happen.
Something did: a gunshot went off, and the lights went out, plunging them all into abrupt silence. A loud metallic crash vibrated through the air.
"All of you put your hands on your heads! This is a stick-up!" shouted a voice Scrooge recognized, but couldn't immediately place.
"And that's my cue to go," Goldie said, grabbing Scrooge by the front of his shirt and dragging him into a hard, fast kiss. "Try not to have too much fun without me, Handsome."
When the lights came back up, Goldie was gone, and the party-goers were trapped inside of the new wing, a security gate blocking off the exit to the main hall. Scrooge immediately looked for an emergency exit - the new wing had to have at least one - but saw an unsavory-looking fellow with a shotgun blocking it off - a Beagle Boy, by the looks of him.
"Nobody better try to play hero or you'll lose more than just your wallets!" Big-Time Beagle shouted into the microphone, creating another feedback squeal. Glomgold was getting manhandled off to the side by two more Beagles dressed in caterer uniforms. It felt like the hall was positively crawling with Beagles all of a sudden, some disguised as caterers, others as museum staff. How the blazes hadn't Scrooge noticed them?
Ah. Goldie, of course. She never did anything just for fun. She'd been keeping him distracted long enough to get him into this trap. But why?
"What do we do?" Huey asked as the triplets crowded close to Scrooge, trying to keep him between themselves and the armed-to-the-teeth Beagles who were starting to frisk party-goers, grabbing wallets, purses and jewelry and shoving them into pillowcases that had seen better days.
"We cooperate," Scrooge said with a frustrated sigh. Christ, he'd completely forgotten about the boys. Thank God they'd come back to his side and not gotten themselves hurt while he was preoccupied.
"What, seriously?" Louie asked. "Aren't you gonna- You know," and he poked at Scrooge's cane nervously. "I mean, you could take them, right?"
"And risk getting someone shot?" Scrooge asked, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Nothing anyone's got on them tonight is worth that. Now stay behind me and don't say a word. Do as they say."
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Scrooge McDuck," Big-Time leered at him as two of his brothers grabbed Scrooge's arms from behind, and a third frisked him. "Not even gonna put up a fight, huh? Just gonna bend over and take it?"
"At the moment, you do have the upper hand," Scrooge said with a scowl as the Beagles laughed at him.
"We do, don't we?" Big-Time said, obviously enjoying himself. His brothers turned up Scrooge's billfold, a checkbook, and the Barlow knife he carried with him everywhere, tossing it all carelessly into their sack. The wallet and checkbook were easily replaced, but the knife…
Forget it, Scrooge told himself. You can get it back later.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, mutt," Scrooge heard himself saying, mouth going on it's own, hands flexing into fists behind his back.
"What was that?" Big-Time demanded, bristling at the slur, grabbing Louie by the arm.
"Ow! Hey, lemme go!" Louie said, squirming as another Beagle pawed through his pockets, retrieving a vinyl wallet with superheroes on it, tossing it into their bag of stolen goods. Scrooge felt his jaw pop from how hard he was clenching it.
"You better watch your mouth, McDuck!" Big-Time had grabbed Huey by the arm and was unclasping his wristwatch while the boy watched with tearful fury. "You wouldn't want us to take out our hurt feelings on these kids, now would you?"
Scrooge surged forward until his beak was practically touching Big-Time's nose. The two Beagle boys trying to restrain him were dragged after. "Harm one feather on their heads, and I'll break every bone in your body." The hall was suddenly intensely silent. Scrooge could hear his own voice ringing against the high stone ceilings. "And that'll just be me warm-up."
Big-Time looked like he was struggling to decide if he should call Scrooge's bluff or not, and his brothers were looking to him for guidance. Big-Time broke eye contact first, probably remembering the stories his Ma had told him about Scrooge's temper, the legendary violence he was supposedly capable of, and thinking better of baiting the old man further, even if it meant losing face in front of the rest of his gang.
"Eh, whatever," Big-Time said, shoving Dewey away. "Kids ain't worth anything anyway."
They're worth a hundred of you, Scrooge thought acidly, and he gave a little quack of alarm when he was dragged backwards by the arms and felt the cold bite of handcuffs clicking into place around his wrists.
"Just in case you get any stupid ideas before we're done here," Big-Time said, waving the handcuff key at Scrooge before he and his brothers moved on to turning out more pockets.
"That was really weird," Louie said. The Beagle Boys had already made off with their loot, leaving their victims trapped inside of the museum. Police had arrived and were trying to break down the security gate and free them all. "They're not usually this… Competent?"
"They're working with O'Gilt," Scrooge replied with certainty. He had been trying to squeeze his hands free of the cuffs for the past few minutes but all he'd gotten was chafed skin and feathers torn out for his trouble.
"What, your ex-girlfriend?" Louie asked.
"Yes, though I still cannae figure oot why, or what she's after. This new exhibit is nothing but junk."
"Well, the mammoth's pretty cool," Huey said, looking up at the mummified remains.
"I suppose," Scrooge sniffed. It was impressive, but more importantly than that…It came from White Agony Creek. That was the name of the plot of land where he'd finally struck it rich in the Klondike. Hands still cuffed behind him, he walked over to the mammoth display. Nothing seemed amiss there. Then again, what had he expected? For her to steal the damn head off the carcass in the few short seconds she'd had? Obviously not. He cast his gaze elsewhere, searching. It had to be something to do with the mammoth…
THINGS FOUND WITH THE GLACIER BEAST! These artifacts were found in and around the mammoth's body, proclaimed a sign in a glass case beside the primary display. Indian arrowheads, spears, a knife… Hm, artifact removed for preservation, read a paper slip at the end of the display. Odd on a new exhibit. Scrooge leaned in closer so he could read the small print, squinting even with his glasses.
Fragment of a map
White Agony Creek, Alaska
C. 1890
Ink on deerskin leather
Glomgold Collection, Gift of Glomgold Enterprises 72.2617
"Damnit!" Scrooge straightened up. Now he knew what Goldie was after, and she'd be on her way to the house next. Hell, maybe she was already there, ransacking the place looking for Scrooge's half of the map. "Lads! Has any one of you got a pen on you?"
"Yeah," Huey replied, pulling a ballpoint pen out of his jacket pocket. "Why?"
"Unscrew it and get the ink cartridge out," Scrooge said.
"Okay," Huey said, holding up the thin plastic tube. "Now what?"
"Give it here," Scrooge said, and once he had it in his cuffed hands, after a few false starts he inserted the pen tip into the keyhole. He started jiggering it around, hoping to pop the lock.
"Uh, are you trying to pick the lock?" Huey asked.
"No, I'm making tea," Scrooge sneered.
"I've got my lock-picking merit badge from the Junior Woodchucks," Huey said tentatively. "I could-"
"You've got your what? Get me out of these damn things then, don't just stand around gawping!" Scrooge turned to offer his still-cuffed hands to the boy.
"Boys!" Donald cried, shoving his way past police officers taking statements. He grabbed all three triplets up in his arms and hugged them close. "That's it, I'm never letting you out of the house after dark again!"
"Uncle Donald, we're fine," wheezed Louie. "Please put us down."
"Oh, sorry," Donald loosened his bone-crushing grip. "What happened?" he demanded.
"Beagle Boys," Scrooge said, rubbing his raw wrists. "C'mon, we need to get home right away."
"Excuse me, Mr. McDuck," one of the officers said. "We'd like to take your statement before-"
"And I'd like to get home before the sun rises. If you want to have a statement, you can make an appointment with my secretary like everyone else. Launchpad, we're leaving!" he waved his cane in the air to get the driver's attention.
"What's the rush?" Donald asked, attempting to grip three hands at the same time as he dragged the triplets after himself.
"They're working with O'Gilt," Scrooge said as Launchpad bashed the Town Car into the fire hydrant in front of him, one wheel up on the curb. Unphased, Scrooge opened the door for himself, gesturing for Launchpad to stay in the driver's seat as he climbed inside.
"Goldie? That old witch?" Donald asked, herding the triplets in after Scrooge and closing the door behind himself as he sat next to his uncle.
"Home, Launchpad! On the double!"
"Can-do, Mr. McDee." Launchpad reversed into a parked squad car and then took off at speed before the cops could start shouting.
"So is anyone gonna explain what the deal with Goldie is?" Dewey asked.
"She's a bad lady," Donald said in his you're too young to know about this voice, which, coincidentally, was the voice he used 70% of the time around the kids.
"She's a backstabbing viper who's only oot for herself," Scrooge said, squeezing his cane tight enough that his knuckles cracked. "She's after something of mine and set this whole damn gala up just to make sure I was out of the house long enough for her to find it."
"What's she after?" Donald asked.
"Part of a treasure map- She's got the other half now. It was in Glomgold's stupid exhibit."
"Wait, so what's the big deal?" Huey asked. "If she's just after the map - you're super rich, it's not like you need more money. Why not just let her have it?"
"I'm going to ignore the part where someone that shares blood with me implied someone could ever have 'enough' money," Scrooge said, "and focus on the fact that it's a point of pride! It's a matter of principle. Nobody steals from Scrooge McDuck!"
"The Beagle Boys stole from you tonight," Louie pointed out.
"And I'm going to make them regret it all the way to their graves," Scrooge said.
"What did they take?" Donald asked.
"My billfold," Scrooge said. "Huey and Louie's as well. Huey's watch. My knife."
"Huh," Donald said, a frown creeping onto his face as he watched the boys. Scrooge recognized that look; it was the slow-burning, grudge-holding version of the infamous McDuck temper. They were more well-known for their sudden explosions, but Scrooge knew from personal experience just how long a McDuck could hold a grudge.
"And we're home!" Launchpad announced, his front wheel jumping the curb into the fountain in front of the house. Scrooge was already out the door and racing for the front door, brandishing his cane in front of himself like a sword. Donald followed at a safe distance, keeping the boys behind himself no matter how much they tried to sneak around him to get closer to the action.
"Uh...Goodnight!" Launchpad called after them as he reversed out of the fountain and into the bushes.
The front door was wide open.
"Beakley!" Scrooge shouted as he stomped through the front hall. "Webbigail! Duckworth!" The lack of response made the whole manor feel eerie and too-quiet in a way it hadn't been ever since Donald and his boys had moved in.
Scrooge knew that Duckworth would never abandon his post and considered it his duty to protect the house, so the fact that he wasn't answering him meant Goldie had done something to him. She'd no doubt done something to Beakley and Webbigail, too, but Scrooge didn't think she'd hurt them too badly. She certainly wouldn't kill a child or murder their guardian before their eyes.
But a stubborn ghost that couldn't be knocked out or be persuaded into surrender? Who knew what she would do to get around him. She could have exorcised Duckworth completely.
Scrooge could see the signs of struggle everywhere, crossbow bolts embedded in the walls, broken furniture, things thrown out of place. He felt his feathers bristling with a mix of outrage and fear. Blood pounded in his temples as he charged up the stairs and threw open his bedroom door.
Goldie sat on Scrooge's bed, wearing one of his hats, looking bored. She lit up when she saw him. "About time, Old Man."
Under most circumstances such a tableaux might have been thrilling, but right now Scrooge's heart was too far up his throat for him to appreciate the view. The room looked like a bomb had hit it. Furniture and clothing and other miscellaneous objects were everywhere, the curtains were torn, and one of the stained glass windows was shattered… But worst of all, the carpet had been rolled up and it looked like the pentagram had been set ablaze, the wood charred and scorched all over.
Goldie only had a few seconds to climb up onto the bed and strike a pose after hearing Scrooge's bellows from the entry hall. The man burst into the bedroom looking positively feral. A promising start for the evening.
Less promising was the gaggle of children hot on his heels. She hadn't come here to babysit and hand-hold, and she had hoped that Scrooge would have ditched the rugrats by the time he found her. Thankfully, what looked like Scrooge's nephew Donald was on the kids like a sheepdog, dragging them away.
"No fair, we wanna see what happens!" the one in green protested.
"Yeah, things are about to get interesting!" the one in the red shirt said.
"Nuh-uh! This isn't for kids!" Yep, that was definitely Donald Duck. It might have been decades since she'd encountered him, but Goldie would have recognized that speech impediment anywhere. He yelled at the children some more as he herded them out, but she didn't really care enough about what exactly he was saying to try and decipher it. The door slammed shut behind him, and she was left alone with Scrooge.
Perfect.
"Where are Beakley and Webbigail?" Scrooge demanded.
Or maybe not. She'd been expecting her charms to get her past the inevitable indignation that always came when she broke into wherever Scrooge was living at any given time, but it seemed like he was in an ornery mood.
"Where's the other half of the map?" she shot back. Seeing Scrooge's bristling, she rolled her eyes and gestured at the large armoire. "They're fine, just a little tied up at the moment."
Scrooge's eyes darted between Goldie and the armoire. She could tell he didn't want to take his eyes off her but was forced to do so to get the armoire doors open. The hog-tied Beakley and the kid that had been with her tumbled out of the armoire and onto Scrooge when he opened the door, and he worked quickly to ungag them before starting in on the knots.
"Fucking untie me already, you bastard," Beakley spat impatiently, ripping her arms free as soon as she could, nearly knocking Scrooge's glasses off in the process. "I cannot believe you let that woman-"
Scrooge left her to finish untying herself as he moved on to helping the girl, Webbigail. All the kids running around the mansion were a surprise to Goldie. Scrooge didn't particularly hate children, but he certainly wasn't a fan either. Since when was he operating a daycare out of his house? At this point Goldie was half expecting to open a dresser drawer and find some eggs. Could it be that the man had gotten domestic in his old age?
"The map's none of your business, O'Gilt," Scrooge said. "The whole thing was mine to begin with!"
"Are you really in any position to preach at me?" Goldie asked. "Sure, you didn't steal it, but how fair was that trade you made with Koda Blackriver when you bought that map? What did you give him for it? A bottle of scotch and fifty cents?"
"That was a lot of money back in those days!" Scrooge protested.
"No, it wasn't - not for what that map is worth, and you know it," Goldie said. Scrooge didn't have a chance to respond because the Beakley woman was pushing past him with murder in her eyes. Thankfully Scrooge blocked her with his cane, clearly not about to let her go first.
Goldie wasn't afraid to go another round with Beakley. This wasn't the first time she'd fought the spy-turned-housekeeper, but if she had to choose who she was going to get in a knock-down brawl with tonight, she prefered Scrooge. Beakley just wasn't her type.
"I'll handle her," Scrooge said.
"I'm sure you'd love to handle her," Beakley replied, her mouth pinching together. "But you-"
"You should tend to Webby," Scrooge said, and Goldie thought Beakley was going to strangle him… And as entertaining as that would have been to watch, Goldie had other items on her agenda that she wanted to attend to. She slid off the edge of the massive four-poster bed and smoothed out her dress.
"There's plenty of me to go around," Goldie said. "You and I can always hook up again some other time, Agent 22."
I really shouldn't tease her, Goldie thought, watching the woman's fists flex helplessly at her sides. Those hands could definitely snap a person's neck like a toothpick.
"One of these days I'm going to-"
"Get in line," Goldie said with a smile. "Scroogey's right, take care of your kid. Things are about to get a lot less family-friendly in here."
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Beakley replied dryly. "You've got no self control when it comes to that woman-" she said to Scrooge.
"Yes, yes, I know you're very disappointed with me," Scrooge said to Beakley, irritation obvious in his tone.
"Granny?" the girl said, so quietly Goldie almost missed it. That little voice had the miraculous effect of sapping the fire right out of Beakley though, and the woman gave Goldie one last vicious glare before she turned away, put her hand on the kid's shoulder.
"Everything's fine, I'm not hurt," she said softly. "Are you alright, dear?"
"I-uh, my shoulder feels kind of funny. I think maybe it's dislocated."
A lifetime ago, Goldie might have felt a pang of guilt. She felt the ghost of it haunting her now, but she banished it viciously. It wasn't her fault that the Beakley woman had fallen on the kid when Goldie had knocked her out.
"Is she going to be alright?" Scrooge asked, eyes darting back and forth between Beakley and Goldie. "Do we need to call a doctor?"
"It's fine," Beakley said tersely. "I'll take care of it, as long as you take care of…" she trailed off without finishing, but Goldie had a feeling she wanted to say this trash. She ushered the girl out of the room, and Goldie nearly sighed with relief as the door clicked shut behind them.
"Finally," Goldie said. "I thought they'd never leave," she turned towards Scrooge, but her next flirtatious comments died on her tongue. She could read a room, and she could read Scrooge McDuck. The old fart was furious with her, shoulders all bunched up into his neck like he was seconds away from decking her.
The thing was, she had no idea why. Had that much changed since the last time she'd seen him?
"What did you do to Duckworth, O'Gilt?" Scrooge said, advancing towards her.
"Duckworth, Duckworth…Isn't he your valet? I haven't seen him."
"He's dead," Scrooge said, tone icy. "He haunts the house. And he wouldn't have let you in without a fight."
"Oh," Goldie mentally shuffled around the things she knew and got a better picture of what was happening. "Yes, there was a demon or- poltergeist or something in my way. I dismissed it. Was that really Duckworth? Death hasn't done him any favors."
"Dismissed?!" Scrooge exploded. Goldie felt her own temper rising to match the old miser's. Since when did he care about his employees? About the children of employees? She'd seen him leave countless people to fend for themselves without a second thought for their wellbeing if there was treasure and adventure to be had. Scrooge was ruthless. All this faked concern was getting under her skin.
"Yes, dismissed!" Goldie spat back. "How was I supposed to know that monster was your pet butler? And anyway, I know you're a cheapskate, but this is a new low for you! Using black magic to keep the dead enslaved? Really, McDuck?"
But Scrooge wasn't even paying attention to her anymore. He'd walked past her and was picking something up off the floor - a painting, Goldie realized after a moment. When he turned it around in his hands it crumbled a little, the frame falling off the canvas. With a start, Goldie realized it was a portrait of Duckworth.
"What the Sam Hill's gotten into you?" Goldie demanded. Scrooge didn't respond, just stood there looking at the painting in his hands. "You're acting like I killed somebody. All I did was break your little binding spell and set him free."
Scrooge turned a withering gaze her way. "He was here by choice! He wanted to be here! If you've banished him and I cannae bring him back again, you may as well have killed him."
Dumbstruck, Goldie stood back and watched as Scrooge set the painting down in the center of the ruined pentagram and began to prepare some sort of ritual. He retrieved an armful of candles, a knife, a piece of chalk, and a battered old Ouija board from a locked steamer trunk under the bed. With the chalk he drew a circle around the painting of Duckworth, the candles went around the circle, and he set the Ouija board down on top of the painting.
Scrooge rolled up one sleeve, revealing a bald patch from elbow to wrist, the skin pink and red where old cuts hadn't quite healed. Using blood for magic was serious business, and it looked to Goldie like the old coot had been doing it for some time now. He cut into his arm without a flinch and carefully dripped the blood inside of the chalk circle, using a handkerchief to wipe off the knife and then apply pressure to the wound.
He began an incantation: "Adeoque nulli animum, revertetur in terram suam!" The flames on the candles flickered and jumped, growing taller and brighter with every word Scrooge said, as if they were straining and reaching for him. "Adeoque nulli animum, locutus est ad me."
Suddenly the spots of blood on the floor shivered, as if some vibration had hit them, and the blood moved, spread itself out in a thin circle parallel to the chalk circle. That thin line of blood continued to move, and complex arcane symbols drew themselves on the floor, far more delicate and precise than anyone could possibly draw by hand, especially with a medium as sticky and hard to use as blood.
Goldie was no stranger to magic, exorcisms and things like that, but she wasn't a professional either… And until this moment she would have said the same about Scrooge. It was abundantly obvious that Scrooge had passed from an amateur to at least a practiced hobbyist. How long had Duckworth been dead? How long had Scrooge been fooling around with black magic to keep him around?
"Charles Duckworth II, locutus est ad me," Scrooge completed the spell, blood-smeared knife still in the hand that was clamped over his forearm. He was watching the Ouija board intently for any sign of movement.
The heart-shaped wooden planchette began moving slowly at first, sliding along the surface of the board until it came to rest on YES. Then the planchette continued to move, from letter to letter, spelling out T-R-O-U-B-L-E-S-O-M-E-W-O-M-A-N.
"Oh, thank God," Scrooge said, tension draining out of his shoulders. "You scared the downy feathers right off me."
"So you got an answer from the other side. He's fine," Goldie said. "Aside from his questionable taste in where to spend his afterlife. Was Hell too pleasant?" She approached him cautiously. She hadn't been able to find the other half of the map while ransacking the mansion, so she had to rely on Scrooge to show her where it was or agree to working together. Scrooge tensed up as she drew closer, turned to scowl at her.
"Oh, stop being such a big baby about everything," Goldie sighed, brushing a loose strand of golden hair away from her face in the way she knew always got him distracted. She tugged the ceremonial knife out of Scrooge's now unresisting hand, set it down on a nearby dresser.
"Come on. Let me have a look," she said in a no-nonsense voice, pulling the blood-stained handkerchief away from Scrooge's arm. Goldie could hear the wooden planchette scraping wildly across the Ouija board's surface, but couldn't see what the ghost was saying with Scrooge in the way.
"What have you been doing to yourself, Scroogey?" she asked quietly as she ripped the handkerchief into strips and tied them around his forearm. "Black magic? Commanding the dead? That sort of thing never ends well."
Scrooge didn't answer her question, avoided eye contact as he rolled the sleeve of his tuxedo back down over the bandage.
"Yes, he's fine. No thanks to you," Scrooge said. There was something off about the way he was looking at her, the way he was standing, talking. Goldie cocked her hip to one side and gave him her best pouty look.
"Come now, Scroogey. It's not my fault I didn't recognize him. Can you really blame me for thinking he was a monster?"
"Stop calling him that," Scrooge said. "You came here for the other half of the map, yeah?" Before she could answer, Scrooge's hand shot out and he snagged the top hat off of her head. He shoved his arm inside of it, and with a ripping sound, pulled something back out. Of course he'd hidden it in the lining! Why hadn't she thought of that?
Maybe I wasn't really trying my hardest. Maybe the idea of getting to go on an adventure with Scrooge again was the real reason I went to all this trouble…
"This map?" Scrooge said, dangling the scrap of faded leather between them. It took every ounce of Goldie's self-control not to try and grab it from him.
"Yes," Goldie said, her eyes on Scrooge rather than the map. Once upon a time, Goldie had been able to read him like a book, but now it felt like there was something else between them, time and distance and change.
"Fine. Take it," Scrooge said, handing it to her. Goldie stared at the map, then at him.
"Is this some kind of trick?" she asked. "You do remember what this is, don't you? You haven't gone senile on me?"
"I remember," Scrooge said. "It's a map to the last great gold vein in the Klondike. Something the natives described as a mountain of gold."
"So then why the hell are you just giving it up? What do you know that I don't?" Goldie asked. "It's treasure. You're Scrooge McDuck." she hesitated, then added, "I would have gone halves with you." She almost believed herself as she said it.
"Right," Scrooge scoffed. "Well, maybe I am getting old. I think I have enough gold for the time being. Richest man in the world, you know." He set his hat on his head and put his hand on the back of Goldie's neck, firmly guiding her towards the exit.
Down the hallway. Down the stairs, through the great hall and to the front door. "You've gotten what you came after so I think we're done here," he said, unceremoniously pushing her out the door. "I've got family to tend to and a house to put in order. Goodnight, O'Gilt."
She couldn't quite believe it when the door slammed behind her.
After checking up on Beakley and Webby, Donald and his boys, and satisfying himself that everyone was alright, Scrooge returned to his bedroom. The place was a mess.
"Still with me, Duckworth?" Scrooge asked. The planchette skittered off the edge of the Ouija board excitedly before coming back to sit on YES. "Are you hurt?"
NO.
"Good," Scrooge picked his way over the remains of a broken table and chairs to get to the dresser beside the bed. It was where Duckworth had kept his things before his death. Scrooge had never had the heart to move any of it.
He was glad to see that although Goldie had clearly rifled through the dresser, she'd apparently not found anything that caught her fancy. Everything was mostly still in place. He closed the drawers and thumbed through the stack of vinyl records, pulling out Duckworth's favorite Irving Berlin album. The phonograph crackled to life as the record began spinning, and soon the room was filled with the sweet sound of strings and a lone voice crooning soppy sentimentality that Scrooge personally found tedious. He was more of a pub song sort of man.
With the music filling the silence, he set about making the room fit for habitation again. The things that had been broken or ruined during what he imagined must have been a ferocious battle, he piled to one side. Everything that had survived, he put back in their usual places - save for the painting of Duckworth that was still on the floor with the Ouija board and candles.
"Goldie's working with the Beagle Boys," Scrooge told Duckworth while he worked. "And probably Glomgold, too."
B-I-R-D-S-O-F-A-F-E-A-T-H-E-R, Duckworth replied via the planchette.
"I doubt it's a long term partnership. She'll burn them too."
YES.
"The Beagles held up the gala. Took some things from the boys. Took my Barlow."
The Ouija board gave an angry little rattle, shaking against the painting, and that was almost enough to make Scrooge smile about the whole thing. It seemed he wasn't the only one upset about the situation.
T-R-O-G-L-O-D-Y-T-E-S. Only Duckworth would go to the effort to spell out such a word through a damn Ouija board.
Scrooge finished cleaning up, aside from the mess on the floor where Goldie had burnt the magic circle. He would have to either repair it or find a new spot in the house to place it. Either way, it was a task best left for the morning.
The record had reached its end, so Scrooge flipped it over to play the other side as he got ready for bed.
"We're going to have to do something about this," Scrooge said, hanging his tuxedo up in the closet. It felt odd to do it for himself again. Duckworth had only been back for two weeks and he was already used to the man tending to him. "It's an intolerable situation. You, trapped in the house, vulnerable to anyone with a novice's knowledge of sorcery."
He saw the planchette moving again as he left the closet. D-O-N-T-T-R-O-U-B-L-E-Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F.
"You're daft if you think I'll leave it alone," Scrooge scoffed, pulling on his nightgown and shutting off the lights before climbing into bed. "I'm going to find a way to keep you connected to the living world, preferably where I can keep an eye on you at all times!"
He heard the planchette scraping against the wood again, but from the bed he had no hope of seeing what Duckworth's response was. A moment later he felt the cold, tingling presence that he now recognized as Duckworth settling on the bed beside him, in Duckworth's usual spot.
"Goodnight, Charlie," Scrooge said, a soft feeling he was unaccustomed to bubbling up inside him. He felt a cold chill on his arm, where he'd cut himself earlier. He fell asleep easily and dreamt of Duckworth.