Morning came entirely too early and Louie groaned, holding up his arm to fend off the sun. He reached for his cell phone, which he didn't have and even if he had had it, it would have been of limited use. Sighing, he glanced over at Webby, who was curled into a tiny ball, and then from there to Dewey, who had his arm slung about her waist. Louie's eyes narrowed, though he was more concerned with Webby whimpering in her sleep than Dewey hugging her to him. Pick the battles you can win if you have to fight at all.
"Lena…" Webby whispered and Louie's heart thudded. He knew that she'd been having nightmares about her best friend, especially because she was keeping it to herself. He was willing to bet she had nightmares about almost drowning, too, but she wasn't going to dwell on that in her waking hours. He watched her for a minute more and then sat up. Standing was beyond him and he had to crane his neck to see the bed in the corner of the room.
Scrooge had fallen asleep in a chair; Huey was staring out the window at the morning sun. Goldie, on the other hand, was right in front of him. How had she done that? He hadn't even heard her move and, unlike the others, he hadn't lost one of his senses. Or whatever it was that had happened to Scrooge.
"Someone took 'break a leg' literally, huh, kid?" Goldie asked and Louie shrugged as if this didn't bother him.
"Eh. Someone always gets hurt and that someone is usually me."
"Who are you three, really?"
Webby tossed and turned and sought out Louie. His heart skipped beats and he was painfully aware of Goldie's attention upon him. Maybe if he weren't being observed, he would have tried to mollify Webby. Right now, he felt like he was on trial for something.
He didn't know Goldie all that well, past or present. Or future, since they were in the past and ugh, timelines were annoying. He matched her gaze and tried to figure out what kind of game she was running. Everyone had their own agenda. Getting a leg up on them was a matter of working out what they wanted and how to get it before them.
"We're Uncle Scrooge's grand-nephews," he said.
"I don't have any kids running around in the future that I don't know about, do I?"
Louie shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? You're just Uncle Scrooge's ex. No one tells me anything."
In truth, he knew a little more than that, but it was never good to tip your hand too early. You had to hold some cards close to the vest and know when to play them. Besides, he was pretty sure that if Huey could hear himself, he'd be prattling on about disrupting the timeline and altering it and blah blah blah. Like Magica stealing Scrooge's gold hadn't done that already. What did it matter if they kept wrecking things? They could hardly do worse than what had already happened.
She cast him an appraising look. "Maybe you ought to keep an eye on your girlfriend."
"Wait, what? No. She's not my girlfriend," he sputtered, glad Huey couldn't hear and that no one else was awake. Color rushed to his cheeks and Goldie smirked, enjoying his discomfort. She spent a few more seconds staring at him before turning her attention to Scrooge. Louie glanced back at Webby.
"It's so cold…" she whispered and he knew her dream had transitioned from Lena to Glomgold throwing her overboard. Since Goldie wasn't looking at him, he thought it safe to take her hand and squeeze. His heart thudded and his stomach flip-flopped. She was supposed to be like family. She was supposed to be like his sister. This wasn't a familial feeling he had toward her and he wanted it to go away.
"Webby?" Dewey whispered and Louie realized that his brother had spoken for the first time since the avalanche. On a whim, he glanced at his broken leg and flexed his toes. They moved. Could whatever Magica had done to them be wearing off? Experimentally, he heaved himself to his feet, but the cast threw off his sense of balance and Huey caught him before he crashed into the floor.
"I can hear again," Huey remarked. He glanced over at Webby. "I wish she'd have told us she has nightmares."
"Oh, good," Goldie said from behind them. "You're not lame, blind, deaf, and dumb. I can work with that. We're wasting time. We need to get moving if we're going to find the younger Scrooge and fix the timeline."
"I said I could hear again. I didn't say that my hearing was perfect," Huey said. "And I don't think Louie can walk on that leg. Nor can Dewey speak very loudly."
"In my defense," Dewey rasped, "I was trying not to wake Webby."
Webby gasped, springing upright and then staring around her in concern. She scrubbed at her cheeks, where a few errant tears still fell. Her beak quivered and she clamped it shut. Louie took a tentative step toward her and swayed on his feet. It still didn't feel like his broken leg wanted to support his weight, regardless of how the others were faring.
"I can see. Sort of," Webby said. "I can see your shapes."
"That'll have to be good enough," Goldie said. She nudged Scrooge awake and he coughed, but it was a dry sound, compared to his hacking earlier that sounded like he'd been trying to expel his lungs. Webby was orienting herself while Dewey whispered to himself. It sounded like, now that Dewey had his voice back, he was desperate to hear it. Louie rolled his eyes. Typical middle child.
"What about breakfast?" Louie asked as his stomach growled. He couldn't remember the last time they'd eaten, either. After everything they'd been through, it was hard to tell how much time had passed.
"This could be life or death and you're worried about food?" Scrooge snapped, clearly thinking Louie needed better priorities.
"We haven't eaten in at least a day, Uncle Scrooge," Webby said quietly. Scrooge glanced at her and then at the others.
"They should have food at the digging site," Scrooge said. "Can ye wait until then?"
"Yes," Huey said, shooting Louie a dirty look. "We can wait."
Louie glowered back and then studied Webby. Webby's gaze was still occluded, but there was something beyond the film on her eyes. She caught him looking at her and smiled at him. His heart skipped a beat again and he pushed himself to his feet. She caught him before he fell and, to his relief, he found that he could take a few tentative steps with her assistance. This was better than it'd been yesterday.
"If Magica injured us in the proper timeline, then by changing it, she's erased what led to our injuries," Huey said. He wasn't yelling anymore when he spoke, for which Louie was grateful. The cast remained on his leg but that might've been a lingering effect, like Webby's blurry vision. Or whatever happened when you had cataracts. Louie wasn't clear on the details.
Goldie was watching Scrooge carefully and she nudged him with a wicked grin.
"Move it, old man," she teased. "Or we'll leave you in the dust."
Then, before he had a chance to object, she bolted out the door. The kids followed with Scrooge grumbling, though he moved surprisingly fast for his age. (Huey had it pegged at 152, which was ridiculous and probably true). He guessed he was spry, which brought disturbing thoughts regarding Goldie and Scrooge given Goldie's invitation.
"Ye cannae wait five minutes?" Scrooge complained.
"The early bird gets the worm," Goldie said serenely. "And it looks like you've lost your share of worms, Scroogie."
"Yeah, but who would want to eat worms?" Louie objected.
"The early bird also gets her choice of the gold," Goldie continued, ignoring Louie's commentary. She stretched, having dressed before they awoke. She was wearing her prospecting outfit, which, while it did nothing for Louie, apparently drew Scrooge's attention. Louie was still leaning on Webby and had almost forgotten, perhaps because he'd been so focused on not hyper-focusing on it. Remembering made his heart race.
"We're not out here for gold," Scrooge reprimanded. "We're lookin' for my counterpart."
"It was a figure of speech," Goldie said with a shrug. "You probably know them all, since you're so old."
"So, is this flirting?" Huey asked innocently and Dewey and Louie snorted.
"It is not flirting!" Scrooge snapped. "Oh, grow up!"
"What fun would that be?" Goldie said and then smirked at him. "Oh, wait, you weren't talking to me."
She led the way and Louie tuned out their banter. Webby was having problems with her footing, especially when she found a creek and nearly pitched headfirst into it. Apparently, her vision couldn't distinguish between dry land and wet. He yanked her out before she fell, though it sent him off balance and Dewey and Huey had to grab both of them.
"It's wearing off," Huey said, though whether he believed that or he was repeating it to convince himself, Louie didn't know.
"It's taking forever," Dewey muttered and then glanced over at Louie and Webby. "Are you two okay?"
"I'd be better if I didn't have this stupid cast on my leg," Louie groused.
"I wish I could appreciate our surroundings more," Webby said wistfully. "It's hard to fangirl over being in the Yukon where Scrooge McDuck made his fortune when I can barely see anything."
"It's hard to do anything when you can barely move," Louie grumbled.
They had walked about a mile and Louie's stomach grumbled louder. To Huey's consternation, the older boy's stomach grumbled too. He looked chagrined and said, "How much further?"
"We're here," Scrooge announced. They found a man standing over a boiling pot of what Louie assumed was stew and what he strongly suspected was duck floating in there. He hated duck. For one thing, it was greasy and fatty. For another, it was entirely too close for comfort. Those ducks weren't domesticated, which meant they were edible, but it also meant that the only difference between that duck and him was that he could talk and walk upright.
"Is there anything else?" Huey asked, looking queasy.
"You eat that or you starve," Scrooge said, but his voice was soft, taking the sting out of his words. "We'll see if we can find anything else later, if ye want."
He coughed, another wet sound, and spat out blood. Goldie paled and the kids winced. Webby and Huey looked beside themselves with concern.
"Maybe you should sit down, Uncle Scrooge," Huey suggested.
Rather than chairs, they found tree stumps and Scrooge didn't so much sit as collapse onto one. He coughed again, harder, and this time, fat globules of blood came out. Goldie stroked Scrooge's whiskers and Louie knew she wasn't feigning her anxiety. For someone who claimed she loved gold more than him, she wasn't acting like it. Or perhaps it was that she loved Scrooge too and the gold was temporarily taking a backseat. The gold wasn't in danger of perishing.
Whatever sentimentality Goldie had, however, vanished as she cast a glance about the dig site. "This is where you usually go, isn't it? So, where are you?"
The man doling out the stew looked confused and they ignored him. Huey looked over at the bowl the dog with floppy ears gave him and Louie bet he was worried about contaminants. Sometimes, he swore Huey had a touch of OCD. It was ridiculous. Who cared if anyone had eaten from that bowl before? Food was food.
"No one was worried about germs back then," Louie said. "Maybe they didn't exist."
He said this knowing it'd rile his brother up. True to form, Huey puffed up, looking like an angry cat. Louie grinned.
"You and I both know they existed," he snapped back.
"Oh, I don't know," Louie said. "I'm pretty sure that germs were only invented in the last fifty years. As a way to make people like you go crazy."
"That's not true!" Huey said and Louie snickered.
"Are you calling me a liar?" Louie said, pretending innocence. "Me? Your own brother? I'm hurt, Hubert."
Webby was getting soup, as was Dewey, so they weren't privy to the conversation. That meant Louie could tease his brother to his heart's content or until Huey got snippy about it. Louie took a step back, not liking the look in his older brother's eyes.
"Germs predate cell phones, which means while we can both get sick, you can't run your games," Huey said.
"Where there are people, there are suckers," Louie said smoothly. "I'm not worried. Afraid you're going to die of smallpox?"
"Afraid you're going to lose control of your cons while we're stuck here and you can't monitor them?" he shot back.
Louie's smile flickered. As a matter of fact, that was a valid concern. Judging by the smug look on Huey's face, he knew he'd scored a hit. Louie glowered at Huey, who, despite the unhappy expression, nonetheless quaffed his soup.
Webby and Dewey came back over, putting an end to the conversation, though not to the smug look returning to Huey's face.
"Do I want to know what's in this?" Webby asked, prodding at it with a wooden spoon.
"Probably not," Dewey said. His voice remained raspy and they sat on the ground, seeing as there were only a couple of tree stumps. Scrooge sat on one and Louie on the other. Louie was afraid if he sat on the ground, he wouldn't be able to get back up.
"No, you don't," Huey said.
"How are you feeling, Louie?" Webby asked, studying him as carefully as she could given her disability.
"Hungry," he said, sidestepping her worry. He dug into the soup and glanced over at the adults. Goldie was eating slowly and watching them, all the while also glancing about. Scrooge had gotten up to converse with the food vendor and was too far away for them to determine what they were talking about.
Webby pressed a hand to his forehead and he blushed.
"I've got a broken leg, not a fever," he reprimanded.
"You feel warm anyway…" she said, frowning. She pressed her hand harder against his forehead and he blushed deeper.
Huey and Dewey were watching this with frowns and Louie jerked away, painfully aware of his brothers' scrutiny. Dewey might be clueless, but he bet that Huey wasn't. And if Huey knew, it was a matter of whether he wanted to complicate Louie's life by telling.
"I'm fine," he grumbled. Webby looked put out and he grimaced, looking away.
"If you're sure…" she said in a tone that indicated she wasn't.
They lapsed into silence and Louie pulled a face. The soup, as it turned out, was duck and it was gamey in addition to being greasy and fatty. Still, food was food and he supposed he wouldn't complain. Too much. For drink, there was plain, cold river water, which he also hated.
When they finished, Scrooge and Goldie led them deeper into the mines. Louie didn't know what they expected to find. The torches only illuminated so much and the further they went, the more claustrophobic Louie became. He was used to close spaces because of Uncle Donald's houseboat, but this was ridiculous. They had to lower their heads and walk hunched over. And, just when Louie was about ready to complain, loudly, about this exercise in futility, they stopped.
"He's down here," Scrooge said, pointing to an even narrower and shorter tunnel. "I vaguely remember waking up there."
They proceeded slower and then stopped. Somewhere, a bird was whistling.
"That's a canary," Huey said. "But this isn't a coal mine. So why is it whistling?"
"That usually means there's a gas leak," Webby mused. She was holding onto Dewey and Huey to keep from tripping over rocks. "But…"
Scrooge's and Goldie's eyes went wide and they rushed forward as one. They couldn't both fit and it became apparent that only a child would be able to travel much further along. Louie wasn't volunteering.
"I'll go," Huey said. The earth rumbled threateningly around them.
"No, ye won't," Scrooge snapped. "If anyone's going, it'll be me."
"Don't be an idiot," Goldie snapped at him. "You won't fit. You're small, old man, but not that small."
"If I could see, I'd go," Webby said.
"I'll go," Dewey said and, in unison, Huey, Scrooge, Webby, and Louie shouted him down.
"No!"
"Ye can't yell if you're in trouble, lad," Scrooge reprimanded.
"I'll go," Huey repeated. Then, before anyone had a chance to stop him, he darted forward, scrambled lower, and shifted out of sight. Louie's heart was in his throat and he glanced over at the others. At that moment, his leg chose to buckle and he had to latch onto Dewey and Webby.
But was his leg weakening or was it…
"Cave in!" Webby gasped.
Rocks fell over the entrance Huey had just used, blocking him and possibly Scrooge's younger self from getting to them. Scrooge cursed softly.
"If only we had Launchpad," Scrooge said. "That big lunk would've been useful for something."
"I wonder what he's up to now?" Dewey said. He glanced at where the rocks had fallen and began digging, just as the canary whistled again and the ground rumbled ominously.
Again, they had barely escaped with their lives. Mrs. Beakley didn't know how Glomgold had outfitted the DT-87 robots or why his hired help was so adroit at fighting nor did she want to know. It might have had something to do with the manor flickering around them and reality-altering again. As it did, she could feel her own senses falter and she had a disturbing thought.
If Scrooge McDuck wasn't the richest duck in the world now and he hadn't helped SHUSH with their operation, she might still have defeated Black Heron, albeit by the skin of her teeth. If that was the case, then she wouldn't have practiced her skills as much, which meant she was inadequate. And if she was failing, then so was Webby. Anxiety choked her and she had to order a retreat, both because they were outmatched and because visions of Webby suffering in various ways kept rushing through her mind.
They regrouped at Launchpad's garage, although Gyro wrinkled his beak at the smell. Launchpad seemed oblivious. Fenton was pacing, Gyro was hunched over the couch like it had a communicable disease and did the utmost not to touch it, and Mrs. Beakley was staring at the TV without seeing it. Launchpad had put Darkwing Duck or, rather, Double-O Duck, but thankfully, he'd placed it on mute.
If Mrs. Beakley were an inadequate SHUSH operative, that meant that Webby's mother would have been less efficient at her job and the same went for her son-in-law. How old had this version of Webby had her parents before FOWL came down upon them? She couldn't answer that, not without access to a computer, and although Launchpad's garage had many things, a device connected to the internet was not one of them. Besides, there was a thing as too much information.
"That was a resounding failure," Gyro said. He glanced at Mrs. B. "I'm not blaming you. It feels like someone's actively rewriting the timeline and making things worse for us."
"Is there anything we can do in the present?" Fenton asked and winced at the pessimism in his voice. "I'm not saying it can't be done. I'm saying that aside from the clock, is there any other way to effect change from this side?"
Gyro frowned at his assistant/intern. Even though Scrooge McDuck had hired Gizmoduck on full time, there was still a power dynamic between Gyro and Fenton. Gyro considered himself superior to many people, Fenton most definitely included. Still, Gyro looked thoughtful rather than dismissive. She wondered whether she wanted to know why.
"Not unless we build our own time machine," Gyro said. "Glomgold's going to be keeping a closer eye on us-we'd need someone else to sneak into McDuck Manor, someone that can slip beneath the radar. He's onto all of us now."
"Like a kid?" Launchpad suggested, mouthing along with the words with the TV show.
"Huh. Lightning does strike idiots once in a while. Yes, like a child," Gyro said. "But Mr. McDuck's grand-nephews, along with your granddaughter, Mrs. Beakley, are trapped in the past."
"What about Donald?" Fenton said and Gyro gave him a strange look.
"Donald isn't a child," he said as if he were explaining this to a simpleton.
"Nor is he considered particularly close to Mr. McDuck," Fenton pointed out. "Think about it. Out of all of us, who's the one he'd regard with the least suspicion? Who's the one that Mr. McDuck is furthest from that he's related to who isn't...possibly lost in space somewhere?"
Mrs. Beakley grimaced. How had Fenton learned about Della? Well, never mind that.
"You bring up a good point," Gyro said and then huffed. "Unfortunately. Well, better to have Donald on our side than no one. And if he finds out that the kids are in danger, he's bound to want to help."
"So it's decided," Mrs. Beakley said. "We'll ask Donald."
Despite the many things around Duckburg that had changed, including too many pictures of Flintheart Glomgold for Mrs. Beakley to stand, Donald's houseboat was not one of them. It wasn't in the McDuck Manor pool, which made sense as he was no longer even remotely a houseguest. Instead, they found it at the marina and it looked exactly as the same. Mrs. Beakley was slightly relieved, though she didn't know why she'd thought his houseboat would change. It wasn't like Scrooge had funded his nephew's living quarters. Quite the opposite.
Donald Duck wasn't home (of course not, given the luck they were having today), which meant they had to figure out where he might have gone. They split up, Team Science heading off toward Glomgold Industries and Mrs. Beakley, saddled with Launchpad, tracing out Donald's usual haunts. She didn't know Donald had any usual haunts, which made matters worse. Launchpad insisted he did and she wasn't sure she should trust the pelican. On the other hand, he had proposed this idea, which meant he wasn't completely devoid of sense. Just mostly.
They headed for the supermarket, where they discovered Donald having an argument with an overweight, beleaguered cashier named Beverly. She was a duck with curly brown feathers and a purple streak that oddly reminded Mrs. Beakley of Lena. The cashier kept pointing to the circular and then an expired coupon that Donald kept producing. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but here.
The disagreement was quickly arousing the interest of customer service and Donald was sputtering, hopping up and down.
"Really? To save fifty cents, Donald?" Mrs. Beakley said, startling the duck and prompting a grateful look from the cashier.
"It doubles!" he said. "And it's expiring today!"
"It expired yesterday," the cashier said, exasperated. "You can't use it. My system won't recognize it. It's not my fault. Please calm down."
"We have bigger problems than saving a dollar," Mrs. Beakley said, arching her eyebrows. "In case you haven't noticed, we appear to have entered a parallel universe in which Flintheart Glomgold is the richest duck in the world, among other things. The kids are in danger. I have a feeling and I trust my instincts."
Donald looked like someone had sucker-punched him. The anger faded from his face and the cashier sighed, relieved.
"Parallel universes?" the cashier exclaimed. "That's so cool. String theory in motion."
"Not cool," Mrs. Beakley said. "This is a problem."
She proceeded to ignore the cashier, who was rambling about string theory behind her. Launchpad looked completely lost, which was expected. Donald, on the other hand, left his groceries behind and charged out the door.
"You don't want any of these?" the cashier said, aggravated again.
Donald ignored her and they walked out. The cashier groaned and Mrs. Beakley's last impression was of her explaining to the manager that they needed to put the mostly frozen food away before it thawed.
"So, what do we do?" Donald asked, more worried about the kids now than his precious dollar. At least he had his priorities in check. That was good, because they didn't have time to bandy about.
"We need to get into McDuck Manor," she said. "And you're the only one of us that he won't throw out."
At the words, she remembered to call Gyro and tell him that they'd located Donald, lest the others go wandering about the city in search of him.
"Does he even know how to use that clock?" Gyro demanded on speakerphone.
"I'll figure it out," Donald snapped back.
"We're doomed," Gyro groaned.
"I'll figure it out!" Donald repeated, growing agitated again. He pawed the ground and glowered at the phone as if he could reach Gyro through it. His fists balled and he hopped up and down.
"Yes, you will," she said, wishing he had someone to calm him down or that they had the time to expend on that.
"I will," Donald said. They walked to the limo and Launchpad hopped inside. As they traveled, it looked like Duckburg transformed before their eyes. Scrooge's few holdings grew fewer and fewer until they vanished entirely. Uneasy, Mrs. Beakley looked at Donald and Launchpad.
Donald squawked in dismay and tugged at his seatbelt.
"What is it?" she demanded.
"I need to get to the manor," he exclaimed.
"You'll be faster if you let Launchpad drive us," she reprimanded. That didn't stop Donald's fidgeting and attempting to get out by pulling on the door release instead of pushing. She didn't know what he was remembering or not remembering, but whatever it was, it had the younger duck frantic.
She closed her eyes and sighed, unable to rest and worried more than ever about the kids. Her memories were being supplanted too. She had a bad feeling about this, though she wasn't chomping at the bit to get out. Not yet. That would come later.
She briefed him on the situation further while they traversed Duckburg's roads. As she did, she glanced back up at McDuck Manor. It might've been her, but it looked like an ominous dark cloud hovered above the building that threatened to take everything good with it.