"I've always been Mr. G's driver, haven't I?" Launchpad asked. He glanced over at his Double-O Duck poster hanging on his wall and she frowned. Unlike when Scrooge had owned the manor, Launchpad didn't live on the grounds. He lived in a garage a couple of blocks away. The place desperately needed a good cleaning and she wrinkled her beak. That could wait until later.
"You don't remember Scrooge McDuck? At all?" she pressed. She was shifting from foot to foot and being chary of stepping on fast food wrappers. It was clear that Launchpad didn't have a woman in his life. Her gaze slid over to the Double-O Duck poster again. The actor didn't look a thing like Jim Sterling. How could Scrooge not earning his fortune have altered Darkwing Duck of all things?
The pad was tiny, with barely enough room for a bed beside his car, and the whole place reeked of motor oil. There was a hallway behind the couch that presumably led to the kitchen and bathroom, assuming they weren't one and the same. Considering the state of his "home" (and she used the term loosely), she was willing to bet Glomgold was as big a penny-pincher as Scrooge when it came to salaries. Perhaps more so, because he probably hated having Scrooge's employees on the payroll.
"O'course I remember Mr. McDee," he said and then paused, tilting his head and looking at her quizzically. "He's the second richest duck in the world. He lives in St. Canard."
Of course he did. Because none of this could be easy. She bit back impatience.
"But no one's seen him since he went on an adventure with his grand-nephews and the housekeeper's granddaughter," he said with a shrug. "It's been three weeks."
"Three weeks?!" she exclaimed. The kids had been trapped in the past for three weeks?! That was inexcusable. How could the world have shifted so far, so fast? It made no sense. Mr. McDuck and the kids had left two days ago. Two. Days. Ago. This was impossible.
Then again, how was she supposed to discuss something this complex with a simpleton?
He shrugged. "Time skips around a little, but you get used to it. Something to do with someone breaking the space-time continuum. I don't know. It's all beyond me."
"I'd believe that."
She balled her fists. Had three weeks passed in the past where the others were? Or were they stuck on the same day? She couldn't tell. Never before had everyone seemed so far beyond her reach. But Launchpad...Launchpad could get into the manor, couldn't he? Scrooge gave him free rein over the house so long as he didn't crash anything inside of it.
"You can get into the manor and to the clock," she said, already thinking through a plan. "Once you've gotten inside, you can bring me in-"
"No can do, Mrs. B," he said and shrugged, glancing back at the TV. "I'm not allowed in the manor. I'm barely allowed to drive for Mr. G. I'm on probation, too, 'cuz I crashed the Sunchaser during his latest treasure hunt. One more strike and he'll fire me."
Clearly, Glomgold didn't have the same soft spot for Launchpad that Scrooge did. It was perfectly understandable considering how much collateral damage the pilot caused. It did, however, put a damper on her plans. She wracked her brains trying to think of anyone that might be allowed to enter the palace-she was starting to think her quitting had been hasty, though the idea of begging for her job back was beneath her dignity.
She might have to swallow her pride if it came to that. She would look for an alternate solution in the meanwhile.
"You do know you were supposed to work for Scrooge McDuck, right?" she asked. "None of this was supposed to happen."
Launchpad stared at her like she had two heads. "That's just what the mole people want you to think."
Mrs. Beakley facepalmed so hard that she bet Webby could feel it in the past. Her eyes watered and she groaned. Was he really on about this again? That'd been just a movie and she'd thought he'd be over it by now. How on earth could that have been a thing in this alternate timeline but not, say, linear time and Glomgold not inheriting McDuck Manor?
"For the last time, Launchpad, there is no such thing as mole people. That was a movie," she said, wishing she could shake sense into the pilot, but it was a lost cause.
"Right," he said in a way that indicated he didn't believe her. She groaned.
"If you get fired by Glomgold but fix the timeline, you'll be Mr. McDuck's chauffeur and won't have to worry about losing your pay." That assumed that Launchpad wasn't in arrears to his employer, which she had a hard time believing he wasn't. Of course, mentioning that wouldn't be prudent (not to mention she'd have to explain the concept of "arrears" to him). She hated that her last pathetic hope before pleading for her job back was to recruit Launchpad.
"I'm not allowed in the manor."
He wasn't following her. She wanted to throttle him.
"Listen to me," she said, keeping a tight rein on her temper, "I am telling you that it doesn't matter. If we can get to the clock and prevent the past from happening or repair the timeline, then your transgressions will be forgiven."
"Trans-what now?"
Mrs. Beakley groaned again. Why did her last hope have to be an imbecile?
"Your wrong-doing," she explained, resisting the temptation to facepalm again. "If you fix the timeline, none of this will have ever happened."
"I'm not following you."
"Of course you're not."
She groaned and added, "Look, all you need to know is that if you help me, you won't get in trouble because it'll all work out. All right?"
"If you're sure, Mrs. B…," he said, sounding none too certain himself. He pushed himself to his feet and the couch groaned, springs popping up. While she knew his digs at McDuck Manor hadn't been posh, this was grubbier and worse maintained than his room at the garage had been. She made a mental note to check the garage once the timeline was fixed to ensure Dewey wasn't hanging out with Launchpad on a couch with protruding springs.
"I'm sure."
He glanced back at the couch, which had sagged to the floor and looked like it was on its proverbial last legs. She almost pitied the poor thing.
"So what do we do?" he asked.
"When you say you're not allowed in the manor, does that mean that the security is primed against you? Or that you're strongly discouraged from entering the manor but can physically do so?"
"The last time I tried to get in, the DT-87 kicked my butt and threw me to the curb. I'd barely even opened the garage door connected to the rest of the house to check on Mr. G when they tossed me out."
That was not encouraging.
"But, wait, aren't you working for him? Why can't you get in? What do you need me for?"
She sighed. "I'm afraid I let my temper get the better of me and quit before I could reach the time clock and repair the timeline."
"You shouldn't have done that."
"No kidding," she said in a deadpan voice.
"Maybe if you beg him, he'll give you your job back. It's worked for me."
Interesting-Launchpad's memories had been modified to accommodate the new timeline. Hers hadn't. Maybe he was more susceptible to it because he wasn't very bright. Anyone with any modicum of sense would've...would've…
Gyro! Could Gyro be allowed access to the manor? She remembered that he'd burst in there during Game Night and his invention had caused everyone to shrink. If she could ride his coattails into the house, she might be able to sneak off and attack the clock, especially if she explained the situation to Gyro first. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of that.
Although, there was the same distinct possibility that Gyro's memories had been wiped and replaced too and she, along with Flintheart Glomgold, remembered the altered timeline, but no one else did. She glanced at the Double-O Duck poster and remembered, though she wasn't sure why she did, that Darkwing Duck had been pitched as Double-O Duck originally by Tad Stones. Why they would have allowed that to go through instead of Darkwing was anyone's guess and certainly not relevant to the current predicament. She stowed that away for later, in a mental box called "things I don't have the time to ruminate on".
She strongly suspected Magica's hand in this, but she couldn't prove it. Moreover, she couldn't reach the sorceress, who was presumably holed up somewhere to prevent such a confrontation. Mrs. Beakley didn't have the strength or time to battle her and anyway, that was a red herring. She couldn't defeat her and force her to replace the altered timeline, especially not when she stood to lose so much by doing so. No, her best bet was to get into the manor and change the clock. Or enlist Gyro and figure out how to circumvent the clock and otherwise implement her plan.
"I'm not begging him," she said. She'd rather swallow Scrooge's top hat.
"It's not that bad. I can coach you."
"Do I look like I need lessons on how to be pathetic?" she snapped and then regretted it. "Sorry. I'm worried about my granddaughter and the boys."
"Did you work for Mr. McDee too? 'Cuz I don't really know the Duck kids and your granddaughter all that well…"
"Dewey's not your best friend in this timeline, I take it," she murmured.
"Mr. G doesn't want me to interact with anyone related to Mr. McDee."
Of course not. That might spoil his plan. She didn't know how Launchpad had so much backstory when time had literally changed a couple of hours ago at the most, but then again, Magica's intervention might be providing a lot of background.
"So you don't know the boys at all."
"I didn't say that." A mischievous grin lit his face. "I just said he doesn't like me interacting with them. He's too obsessed with staying rich to notice what I do all the time."
"So you'll join me to help Dewey?"
He nodded. "I still think you ought to grovel to Mr. G. If he's nice, he'll only dock you a couple weeks' pay."
Considering how fluid time seemed to be here, that could be anywhere from a couple of hours to actually two weeks. She didn't intend to remain here that long if she had a choice. And the pay wasn't the important thing (something told her that Glomgold paid less than Scrooge). Her family needed her.
"Why don't we take a pit stop first? Are you allowed in Glomgold Industries' lab?" she asked, assuming that Gyro, Fenton, and Manny (well, maybe not Manny) worked for Glomgold in this timeline.
"Yeah. Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
Why not indeed.
"Then we'll start there and see if Gyro and the others can help us."
"Help us with what?"
She facepalmed again. "Never mind. Just follow my lead. And I'll drive."
"Anything you say, Mrs. B. But if you quit, are you allowed in the lab?"
"Hopefully, good news doesn't travel fast."
They headed out and Mrs. Beakley wrinkled her beak at the state of Launchpad's car. It seemed like a good kick might dismantle it. It took her a couple of seconds to remember in which direction Glomgold's office was since it wasn't near McDuck Enterprises. Heaven forbid the two biggest tycoons in Duckburg history share a common border.
When she saw the Money Bin and realized it belonged to Glomgold, she hissed. Whereas at the top in the normal timeline there was a dollar sign, in this timeline Glomgold's giant gold head sneered down at them. How gauche. Then again, money didn't equal class or taste.
How much of this had happened naturally because of Magica's and Glomgold's interference and how much had Glomgold commissioned before she grew aware of the split? Had she been in a daze before and not noticed time passing? Was time passing as quickly in the past as it was here? The thought had returned to the forefront of her mind and try as she might, she couldn't dislodge it.
She parked in a spot further away from the staff entrance so she didn't attract undue attention. Launchpad escorted her to the security station, where they admitted her by dint of her and Launchpad's ID cards. It looked like, as she'd theorized, Glomgold hadn't had time to strike her from the registry yet. It'd be encouraging if the situation weren't so dire.
They found Gyro and Fenton staring at a blackboard covered in equations that she couldn't make heads or tails of.
"I assume you're here because we were standing in McDuck Enterprises and suddenly found ourselves in a tacky, gold-lined lab with sub-par equipment instead," Gyro said, studying the board and not turning. "Well, one of you, anyway. I doubt Launchpad noticed."
"You remember the right timeline, then?" Mrs. Beakley asked. She assumed that whatever they were puttering with had to do with the time fluctuations, as well as the schism in the time stream.
"Of course I do," he said, sounding offended she'd even questioned it. "And so does Fenton. Why wouldn't we?"
"Launchpad doesn't."
The man in question had gone wandering over to an experiment and Gyro hissed, snapping his fingers. Manny, one of the many things that didn't belong in this timeline, was nonetheless present, Scrooge McDuck's head atop his shoulders and all. She supposed the slapdash alterations had led to a few...snafus. Manny pushed Launchpad away before he ignited a couple of compounds that probably weren't meant to be lit. Mrs. Beakley rolled her eyes.
"That man is a hazard," Gyro snapped. He glanced back at the board and then at her. "But you do."
He was returning to their previous conversation. She nodded.
"I'm sure Mr. McDuck would remember too...if he hadn't gone missing," Gyro said and scowled. "We both know who's responsible for that."
"Doctor Gearloose?" Fenton asked and tugged on the man's sleeve. Gyro whirled, glowering at the younger man for daring to touch him. Fenton shrank back and pointed toward the security cameras. The blood drained from Mrs. Beakley's face.
"So?" Gyro said, but she detected a hint of unease in his voice. "He's not watching that."
"He may not be, but he has a whole security team that might be," Fenton replied.
Gyro hissed, apprehension flooding his features. "As much as I hate to admit it, you're probably right. Probably. We should continue this conversation elsewhere, somewhere soundproof."
Manny tapped out a frantic Morse code message and Gyro scowled at him.
"How do you know that?" he demanded.
"He's a magical construct," Mrs. Beakley pointed out. "He probably has preternaturally strong hearing."
"All right, there's an escape route through the Money Bin," Gyro said. He looked mournfully at the equipment. "But if I leave my babies here, he might hurt them."
"It's just tech," Mrs. Beakley said and Gyro gathered up Lil Bulb, as well as an assorted amount of components she couldn't identify at a brief glance. She wasn't exactly up on her technological know-how.
"Just tech?" he repeated as if she'd cursed him, his mother, and his entire family. "Just. Tech? Are you mad, woman?!"
"Doctor Gearloose takes his work very seriously," Fenton said in an undertone.
"Especially when it turns evil," Mrs. Beakley added.
"They're not evil. They're just misunderstood. And occasionally cranky," Gyro said.
They glanced at the security cameras and then, in sync, all three winced. A red light flashed over them and then sirens pealed out. They were followed by klaxons and Gyro gestured for them to follow him. She glanced back to spy Launchpad trying to put back together a model ship. Gyro looked apoplectic with rage and it took Mrs. Beakley and Fenton dragging him away to prevent him from launching himself at the much larger and more muscular man.
They rushed through the tunnel and though she couldn't hear their pursuit, she sensed it as a prickle along her spine. If Gyro didn't have access to tech beyond the lab, they'd have a larger problem on their hands than they already did. And they didn't need any further complications.
They encountered a fork in the road and Gyro directed them to the right. Mrs. Beakley froze and this time, it was Gyro's and Fenton's turn to tug her along. Unfortunately for them, she was heavier than them and also disinclined to move.
"Are you insane?" she countered at Gyro. "That way leads to McDuck Manor!"
"Of course it does," Gyro said, implacable and having to shout over the alarms to be heard. "That's exactly...oops."
He cursed.
"Exactly where we shouldn't be going!" Mrs. Beakley snapped.
"Why'd we stop?" Launchpad asked. He'd been bringing up the rear and hadn't heard the conversation. Then again, she was standing right beside Gyro and could barely hear him.
"Any other ideas?" she said tartly.
"Retreat!" Gyro announced and they spun about only to be confronted by more of the DT-87 droids. It looked like Glomgold was outsourcing his security and replacing it with robots. Then again, they were probably cheaper and easier to maintain than people. They were also a nuisance.
"Stand and fight!" Launchpad announced.
"Blathering Blatherskite!" Fenton announced and then, as the suit raced to him, "Oh, yeah, by the way, I'm Gizmoduck. Nice to meet you."
"Why don't you tell the entire world you're Gizmoduck?!" Gyro snapped.
"It wouldn't be much of a secret identity if I did," Fenton replied.
"It's not much of one now," Gyro shot back.
The suit slammed into Fenton and there was a brief moment where Mrs. Beakley wondered whether she was trapped in a pretty sailor soldier anime as he had a transformation sequence to rival Sailor Moon. She rolled her eyes and Gizmoduck blasted whatever came his way. The other four took on the five remaining bots. With five to six, the odds were much better and she thought they might stand a chance.
Evidently, this had occurred to Glomgold or whoever was manning security, because five more flew out of nowhere. Ten to six. Sweat trickled down her back. Hopefully, wherever the kids were, they were faring better than them.
The bots moved aside as Glomgold came into the middle of them. He leaned on his cane and leered. Gyro and Mrs. Beakley glowered back. Launchpad and Fenton mostly looked bewildered. She assumed a defensive stance, though she knew he wouldn't attack her, not directly. He had minions for that.
"I should've thought you'd come crawling back to me," Glomgold said.
"You've screwed up time so badly that it's skipping," Gyro snapped. She noticed he didn't hold Glomgold in the same reverence as Mr. McDuck. Then again, he had only the McDuck Enterprise's lab team through trickery.
"It wasn't me!" Glomgold retorted. "And anyway, you work for me. All of you. And if I tell you to leave well enough alone, you will."
"I don't work for you!" Gyro spat. "I work for Mr. McDuck. You manipulated things so that you took everything from him, but that doesn't mean you've earned my loyalty."
Glomgold surveyed the group with a critical eye and his gaze landed on Mrs. Beakley. "You shouldn't even be here. I fired you."
"You didn't fire me. I quit."
"Semantics," Glomgold said, waving her objections aside. "I'll overlook this if you'll get back to work. Now."
"And if I refuse?" Gyro retorted, his tone dangerous.
"Then…" Glomgold smiled and snapped his fingers. "Get 'em, boys!"
Manny thumped out a message that Mrs. Beakley thought said, "You and your stupid pride."
"Oh, like you're any better," Gyro countered. "Like anyone here doesn't have an ego problem."
"I don't," Fenton said, honestly baffled.
"That's because you're an idiot and don't count," Gyro said dismissively. "Those of us with a brain are offended."
"Hey, I take offense at that!" Launchpad said.
"I stand corrected. One of us without a brain is still capable of umbrage," Gyro said and rolled his eyes as he aimed his blaster at two approaching droids.
"Isn't that the teacher from Harry Potter?" Launchpad said blankly.
Then there was no time for chit-chat. The droids occupied their full attention and she was grateful Gizmoduck was on their side. She wondered whether Glomgold would realize who Gizmoduck was when the timeline reverted back. Perhaps he'd just assume that the superhero had materialized out of nowhere and not connect the dots.
The droids were more bothersome than the shadows had been. Shadows could be ripped apart easily and curbstomped. The droids dodged, weaved, and then aimed laser blasts at them. Mrs. Beakley leaped into the air and kicked a droid into a wall only for another one to take its place. Glomgold, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, was still watching with a smirk. She punted the next droid at him and it swept him off his feet and onto his butt. Served him right.
Rising again, Glomgold snapped and ordered more droids to the scene. They were already swamped. Mrs. Beakley didn't have time to look to see whether anyone obeyed him. Instead, she concentrated her firepower on defeating the ones she could see. Her heart pounded. Three weeks had passed. And even though the situation here wasn't optimal, she worried far more about her granddaughter and the boys. She had confidence in her skills to pull through. She had no idea what had befallen the others.
After they'd knocked over a good ten droids, at least, she realized that no reinforcements were forthcoming. Glomgold was speaking into a walkie-talkie and looking peeved. She flung another droid into his head and he keeled over. Gyro kicked the walkie-talkie into the wall.
"Now," Mrs. Beakley snapped. "We're going to get the clock."
"No, you're not," Glomgold snapped. He gasped, the breath knocked out of him, and glanced about. "Gabby McStabberson? Take care of them."
A trio of assassins materialized and Mrs. Beakley, along with the others, backed into a wall. The assassins were armed; she wasn't, not really. Five against three might seem like good odds, but if they were trained by FOWL, that could all change in an instant.
By Magica's little trick, she'd learned that everything could change in an instant, especially if you weren't expecting it to. There wasn't much she could do with that information. They were waiting for Goldie to return and the boys were watching the window. Scrooge was pacing, judging by the wind that brushed past her as he moved. Webby sat still, unable to see what was going on and afraid to walk into a table or another piece of furniture if she paced.
Goldie might still turn her back on them. She wasn't known for her magnanimous ways. Webby sometimes doubted she even cared for Scrooge at all or whether she simply cared for his fortune. "Ex-everything". Her stomach twisted and then gurgled. They hadn't had anything to eat all day or whatever time had actually passed since the avalanche, their trip to Mount Vesuvius, and then their unceremonious shove into the Yukon during the Gold Rush. But thinking about eating made her sick.
What had happened in the present while they were sequestered in the past? She didn't know. The whole timeline might be altered and, as a result, nothing might be the same. Or some things might be and others not. There was nothing they could do for the present. They needed to fix the past.
Scrooge halted, coughing up blood again, and Webby's stomach churned harder, bringing bile to her mouth.
"Is it close to sunset?" she asked, desperate for any news.
"Aye, it is, lass," he confirmed. "But whether Goldie actually returns is another story altogether."
"And whether her greed gets the better of her and she ditches us is another story too," Louie muttered.
Webby tuned out Scrooge's response as she pondered something. She inadvertently interrupted as she thought aloud.
"If time's been rewritten, then our disabilities should go away too, shouldn't they? The reason for them isn't there anymore. It's a paradox."
"Man, I wish you could talk to Huey about that," Louie said. "He'd understand better than I would."
"She's right," Scrooge said. "We shouldn't be disabled anymore, not if the whole point was to weaken us to steal me dime."
"I'm looking forward to my leg not being broken," Louie grumbled. "Any minute now. Any. Minute. Now."
A wagon pulled up outside the cabin and Webby's vision flickered, shades of grey and black appearing before darkness consumed it again. She sighed, balling a fist in frustration. Whatever this was, it wasn't permanent, but she couldn't figure out the pattern. There had to be a catalyst somewhere.
"Hey, Webs?" Dewey called and his voice was faint, cracking. "I think maybe...maybe the spell's wearing off."
"I don't know if that's good or bad, though," Huey said. "Because if the spell is wearing off, that means that history's definitely been rewritten, which means we're already stuck in a paradox. We wouldn't be here if Magica hadn't coveted Uncle Scrooge's dime. But she has it, which means we don't have a reason to be here, which means we shouldn't be here, but we are anyway."
"Did anyone follow that?" Dewey asked. She scowled. The others were regaining their voice and hearing and she still couldn't see.
"I think-" Huey froze. "And...my hearing is gone again."
"My leg never stopped being broken," Louie said and Webby's beak twitched. It seemed the green triplet was a bit salty about that.
"I never regained my sight, so don't feel bad," she answered.
"I guess some people are just luckier than others," Louie muttered.
The wagon pulled away and they heard footsteps approach up the wooden steps. The door opened and boots hit the floor. Despite not being able to see it, she nonetheless turned her head in that direction. She assumed it was Goldie. Sad as it was, she thought Goldie might be the lesser of two or three evils running about in Scrooge's past. At least she belonged in this timeline.
"Well, aren't you all a sight for sore eyes. Well, the ones who can see," Goldie remarked and then put down a metal object that clanged. "All right, Moneybags. Spill. What's really going on here?"
Scrooge proceeded to explain that they'd been hunting for a treasure lamp on a snowy mountain top when they'd ended up buried in an avalanche. From there, they'd been separated and awakened to discover themselves injured in a specific manner, as well as how they'd been transported from Mount Vesuvius to the Yukon. When Scrooge was done, he was coughing again and Goldie poured him a glass of water. The older duck swallowed in big gulps.
"You're coughing up blood," Goldie commented and it was sans her normal sarcasm. "I know you're older than you look, Moneybags, but this is serious, even for you."
"Ye think I don't know that?" he countered and coughed again.
"So, you need my help," Goldie said and sat on a chair beside Webby. "That's what you're telling me. You need my help to retrieve your number one dime and restore the gold vein to you so the future will be as it's supposed to be."
She huffed. "What's to stop me from stealing the gold vein for myself, Scroogie? All you have is my word that I'll help you and I haven't even given you that. Plus, what's in it for me? What do I get out of all of this?"
"A few years ago," Scrooge said and then paused. "In your future, my past, I found another gold ore deposit and gave the land to you. It's in your name. If ye can stand to wait a hundred or so years, ye won't be rich, but you'll be better off than ye are now."
"Tempting, but the payoff would take a rather long time," Goldie said. "I have no guarantee I'll even live to see it."
"We both find the Fountain of Youth," he said. "You'll live to see it."
"I'm the only able-bodied person in your group. You'd have to rely on me an awful lot, Scroogie. Do you even trust me that much?"
"Do I have a choice?" he spat.
"Well, sure. You and your gang of misfits could go after Magica yourself. I'm sure she's still around. Unless, of course, she isn't, which would compound the matter."
"If she's not here, then we can't retrieve the dime and we're stuck," Louie commented.
"And then I have a bunch of freeloaders," Goldie muttered. "At least, until I throw you all out."
"You wouldn't," Webby said and then hesitated. "No. Wait. You would."
Goldie turned and Webby hissed when the blonde duck grabbed her head and tilted it this way and that. "Quite a group you have here. She might even be formidable if she could see her hands in front of her face. And your grand-nephews might even be helpful if they weren't also impaired."
"I already know that!" he snapped. "Are ye gonna help me or not, Goldie?"
Goldie released Webby's chin. "I haven't decided."
"Ye cannae hear that and stew on it! We need your help!" Scrooge protested.
"See, that's the thing. You need my help. I don't need yours. Like I said, the payoff is a long way away."
"Goldie, ye backstabbing-" Scrooge started and Goldie interrupted.
"Though there is eventually pay off," she mused. "Plus…"
She shrugged. "I'll sleep on it. I'll give you my answer in the morning."
"In the morning?!" Scrooge objected.
"That's what I said. In the meanwhile, there's a cantina a mile down the road. You could get some food, if you wanted," Goldie said and shrugged again. "I'm going to bed. You're welcome to come with, but I don't think the kids would be too happy about that."
"Wait, what?" Louie said. "Ew, gross!"
"Like I said, kids are such a dealbreaker," Goldie scoffed.
"I need to move quickly if I'm gonna catch Magica before she jumps ship," Scrooge snapped. "I donnae have the time to wait and dither! And neither do you!"
"See, you haven't convinced me of that. I don't see where my urgency comes in," Goldie responded.
"My other self is lying in a ditch somewhere and could die, for all I know, at any moment," he snapped.
To Webby's surprise, the female duck hesitated. She could hear it in her next question, as well as feel her tense.
"Die?" Goldie repeated.
"Yes, die," Scrooge replied, impatient. "Magica did something to my past self but I cannae figure out what yet."
"You didn't mention dying before," Goldie said accusingly. "Why didn't you say that?"
"I dinnae think it'd make any difference. And if I'm dead, you're not getting paid."
"That's not-I didn't-" she stopped. She cursed softly. "You really know how to motivate a girl, don't you?"
Goldie sprang from her seat and paced the floor. "Do you know where your other self might be? If we can find him, we might have a lead."
"So you'll help?" Scrooge asked.
"Yes, I'll help. But there's still not much point in rummaging around in the dark. None of us has a torch and we're not going to be able to do much with only the moon shining."
Scrooge hesitated too. With Webby blind, Louie limping along, and Scrooge with an unknown disability, it might be dangerous to wander about in the dark. Goldie had a point, though Webby was loath to admit it. She was also growing tired, perhaps from all the magical transportation. She stifled a yawn.
"All right. But we'll start at first light tomorrow," Scrooge said.
"Anything you say," Goldie said. Webby heard her brush her beak against Scrooge's head. "I don't have a lot of room...and as I said, you're more than welcome to share my bed."
"Ew, no, gross," Louie said.
"Like I'd really do that in front of kids," Goldie said and Webby could hear her rolling her eyes. "Find a nice piece of floor to sleep on, kid. Because the bed is mine and I'm not sharing with anyone but Scrooge."
"We've slept in worse places," Webby volunteered, trying to cheer Louie up.
"We've slept in better ones, too," Louie grumbled.
"Good night, all," Scrooge said. Webby curled up on the floor and Louie and Dewey curled up next to her. She felt Dewey's arms go about her and Louie pulled her closer to him too. Sandwiched between the boys, between the magical fatigue and the stress of the situation, she fell asleep sooner than she'd like. Her last impression was of Louie holding her hand.