Chapter Eight: I Hope I'm Wrong
They made it out to a wide hallway before Webby halted. Lena bumped into her and was about to ask what the delay was when klaxons blared out. Lights flashed and steel grates slammed down over doors. Lena grabbed her amulet and squeezed, forcing the one immediately ahead of them to raise. Seeing as Webby had frozen in place, she yanked her along. Of course, Webby knew this facility much better than she did and it wasn't long before they found themselves at another crossroads, four doors, all locked down, barricading their progress.
"Which one?" Lena pressed. Why had Webby chosen now to flake out on her? "Webby."
Webby said nothing and Lena hissed.
"I can move all the barriers in our way, but you have to tell me which way that is," she growled.
"It's too late," Webby moaned. As if right on cue, Lena's amulet went dark, as did their surroundings. Unconsciously, Lena sidled closer to Webby. Her hand brushed the other girl's and Webby flinched. Physically abused, then. Mrs. Beakley would have a conniption. Something within Lena longed to protect the younger girl, defend her against the evil FOWL perpetrated.
This was wrong. From everything she'd heard about Webby as a small child, she'd been full of confidence and vigor. This Webby had little confidence in herself and was constantly off-kilter. FOWL had wrecked her. Lena didn't know why this angered her so much-she barely knew her, after all-but it did. She had grown to care about Webby's grandmother and knew how much she mourned her granddaughter's disappearance. To see what Webby had been turned into would devastate her.
"Lemme guess-magical forcefield?" she asked and Webby nodded. To her surprise, her fingers brushed against hers again and Lena found herself wanting to hold her hand to comfort her.
"Family is supposed to help you, not hold you captive!" Lena's words from so long ago echoed in her mind. That was what Steelbeak was doing to her, holding her captive. Lena inched closer to her and Webby flung her to the floor as a blade came out of the ceiling and came within inches of slicing at them. What the hell? What was going on here?
In her hands, her amulet sputtered. Lena growled, aiming a magical blast at the blade. It was hard to see in the dark and only the passing of wind had warned her in time. Her heart hammered again.
"This is some sort of screwed up test, isn't it?" she muttered and again, Webby nodded.
"How am I supposed to aim when I can't friggin' see?" she protested.
"Anticipate where the blade will be," she instructed. "Feel its passing and figure out its pattern."
"That's easy for you to say," Lena grumbled. "You were trained in this stuff."
The blade squished overhead and Lena could swear it was getting lower. She was trying not to freak out over here. The blade was getting lower and she still had no idea how to stop it. She couldn't ask Webby to halt it with her bare hands. Clearly, this was designed to force Lena to use magic to save them. It reminded her entirely too much of Magica's machinations for her liking.
She was too panicked to deduce the pattern and she became aware of Webby counting aloud. At first, Lena thought of snapping at her, and then she realized she was timing the blade for Lena's benefit. Every minute, it lowered another six inches and began its pattern again. One, two, three, four, spin, pivot, one, two, three, four, then drop.
Lena willed herself to focus. By the third repetition, she had it down. She aimed with the amulet, fired, and heard the blade slam into the opposite wall. The lights returned and Lena's heart rate slowly resumed its normal pace. Webby smiled at her, but it didn't reach her eyes, which remained empty and hollow inside. Lena wrenched her gaze away; something at Mount Vesuvius was ruining her, even now, but it wasn't the time to discuss it.
In the next room, which she had the sense they were only allowing her to access, fire spat out at them. Lena whirled, conjuring up a protective shield about herself and Webby. The fire sprayed at the shield and Lena huddled closer to Webby. Webby was oddly calm, but perhaps that had more to do with her peculiar state of mind than the absence of fear. She barely knew her as she was now but she was worried. This little reaction in the face of danger was unnatural.
That wasn't Lena's only problem. The fire continued, unabated, and Lena didn't know how long she could hold up the shield before it collapsed and they were incinerated. Webby couldn't do anything about this, not unless she wanted to be a roast duck. However, Lena was disused to conjuring up protection of any sort and using magic, in general, was a novelty to her after her parting ways with Magica. She ground her beak in frustration.
After what might've been a minute but felt more like an eternity, the fire stopped and Lena sagged against Webby. The other girl was supporting her and Lena had the dread suspicion that their next room would contain another challenge, and then another until Lena collapsed. FOWL had no tolerance for feebleness.
With a sense of impending doom, she and Webby made their way to the next room. At first blush, there was nothing to see. It was a vacant warehouse room and the door through which they had entered vanished, leaving them in a room with no exits. Was she supposed to create one? That wasn't something she'd learned how to do. The alternative was to transport them out of the room, but, again, not something that Lena knew how to do. As far as she knew, from her experience with Magica, that might not even be possible. Magica had a broom for a reason.
Then shadows appeared on the walls. Ever since Magica, Lena had hated shadows. They petrified her. She grabbed Webby's wrist and realized that she was shaking. The room darkened considerably until it was an equal balance of light and shadow. Lena was whimpering.
"Poor dumb little Lena…" Magica crooned and Lena whirled. "Did you really think you'd escape? You really thought I'd grant you your freedom?"
Lena, desperate, spun to look at Webby, but Webby's gaze was linked to a different wall. Curious, Lena wrenched her gaze away from her aunt (who continued taunting her) and saw Webby slicing at her grandmother's arm. At once, Lena understood the purpose of this room. These were things that haunted them. Webby gasped, backing up into Lena until it was all Lena could do to keep them both upright. Whispers trailed along the walls now, too, both Magica and Mrs. Beakley, along with Black Heron. Lena wasn't sure they were real-it was possible for two out of the three, but she doubted Mrs. Beakley would choose to torment her granddaughter. That meant it had to be an illusion. A powerful one, no doubt, but an illusion just the same.
Mind games.
Webby's beak quivered and she fisted her hand into Lena's shirt. This was pretty messed up, even for FOWL. They were supposed to be testing Lena, not Webby.
Black Heron's voice rose out of the cacophony. "You're not as loyal as you seem, hmm, Webbigail?"
"I didn't mean to kill her!" Webby protested, her voice high and strained.
"Then what good are you?" Heron sneered. Webby was panting, each breath seemingly shorter and shorter. Lena had been near Huey during one of his panic attacks and she recognized the symptoms. Webby was about to hyperventilate.
"Get a life!" Lena snapped. She squeezed the amulet again and banished the shadows, though the effort left her shaky and off-balance. Black Heron lingered and Lena wrapped a protective arm about Webby's waist.
"Sssh, it's okay," she said. She had some experience calming the triplets down, particularly Louie and Huey, after panic attacks. "Sssh. Breathe."
"Sisterly affection?" Black Heron sneered and stepped forward through the previously impenetrable wall. A doorway appeared in it now and, without bothering to speak to her, Lena grabbed Webby and dashed for the open door. Black Heron didn't stop them. There was dried blood on her scalp and she had a black eye.
Black Heron had set this trap not for Lena, but for Webby. She had wanted to see what her true reaction was to Agent 22's death. Now that she had what she wanted, she allowed them to go free and reach the living quarters. Of course, Lena had no idea where those were, but Webby's aimless walking eventually brought them to her room.
It was a good thing it wasn't far because as soon as Webby scanned her palm and admitted them both, she collapsed onto the bed. Lena knew she ought to comfort Webby, but she had bigger concerns. Black Heron hardly needed a reason to attack Webby, but now she had concrete proof that Webby wasn't cut out to be a FOWL agent. Between Webby assaulting her earlier, freeing Lena, and then confessing she didn't want to attack someone she'd been trained her whole life to kill, Black Heron had a serious case against her.
Lena didn't know how FOWL operated, but she was willing to bet that this boded ill for both of them. She sat down on the bed and rubbed Webby's back distractedly.
By not adopting their ways and by only attacking Mrs. Beakley under duress, Webby had proven her unfitness as an agent. Steelbeak could hardly fail to recognize that. Lena knew enough about how villains operated to know that they wouldn't accept anyone who didn't adhere to their principles.
They had to get out of here before the news reached Steelbeak or he might be forced into seriously hurting Webby.
Doubtless, some of this had occurred to Webby, hence her hyperventilating. Lena continued rubbing her back; then again, it was also possible that she was freaking out over whatever the shadow Beakley had said to her. Not having heard it, Lena could only guess.
A line from a song popped into her head.
"I'm not broke. I'm just a broken-hearted man…"
"Webby!" she hissed. As much as she hated this, they had no time for histrionics. "We need to get out of here before Black Heron goes to Steelbeak."
Webby lifted her head and stared at her without seeing her. "Why? What's the point?"
"The point is that she has proof that you're not cut out to be a FOWL agent in black and white now," she growled. "You know better than me what they do with FOWL agents who aren't fit to serve."
Webby still looked blank and Lena sighed.
"You admitted you didn't want to kill your grandmother!" Lena said, exasperated. "That was literally one of the worst things you could've said...and I'm channeling Louie. Great."
"C'mon, care about something," she begged. Webby flopped back onto the bed and pressed her face into the pillows.
"What's the point?" she asked dully. "Mr. McDuck wouldn't tell me what happened to her, which means she's dead. I failed to keep my emotions out of this and I couldn't even keep my mouth shut about my feelings. I was supposed to be cool-headed and stoic and I wasn't. I'm not fit to be a FOWL agent."
"Because you're not meant to be one!" Lena cried. "You're meant to be with your grandmother and the triplets and Uncle Scrooge in the mansion!"
Webby glanced up once and then sighed. "You wouldn't understand."
"What? I wouldn't understand about your family trying to force you into something against your will and then punishing you when you don't react the way they want you to? About your family holding you captive and scrutinizing your every thought and feeling, attacking you if you dare think differently? I know exactly what that's like. Aunt Magica held me captive for fifteen years, Webby. A little longer than you've been here."
Webby had stopped hyperventilating, at least. She rolled over to look at Lena.
"And when I tell you that Black Heron doesn't need an excuse to kill you, I'm telling you the truth," Lena said. "Magica tried to destroy me when she had power. Black Heron isn't even down and out and she's wanted you dead for a decade."
Lena frowned. "You know what herons do to ducklings, don't you?"
"They kill them in front of their parents," Webby said and then froze. Her eyes met Lena's. Neither of them liked where that train of thought led.
"We have to leave. Now," Lena repeated. "Your mom might not be around, but your dad is. And Heron has a grudge against your grandmother."
Webby nodded, swiping at her cheeks. Lena leaned forward and hugged her. Webby hugged her back. It had taken Lena a while to get used to hugs and positive touch. She could tell Webby was in the same boat. When Lena let go of her, Webby didn't release her in turn, so Lena hugged her again. The younger girl was shaking, her eyes wide.
"Webby?" Lena prodded when it seemed that the other girl didn't want to move.
"I'm sorry I kidnapped you," Webby murmured.
"You said that already," Lena said, faintly irritated. FOWL wouldn't kill her; they had uses for her. But Webby's time was running out.
"I don't know how to leave HQ," she said and her expression was pained. "They knocked me out and then flew me to Duckburg. I've never left HQ on my own-they were probably afraid I'd leave and go back to McDuck Manor."
"Then…" Lena said, at a loss. "We have a serious problem. We'll work it out as we run, okay?"
Webby nodded and although she still looked like someone had carved her out her heart and served it to her, her eyes were full of resolve.
"Okay," she said. "Let's go."
"Ha, ha! Success!" Scrooge proclaimed. He hadn't gotten the damn phone to work again, but he had found something better. They might have been forced to retreat from Mount Vesuvius, but this time, their tracker hadn't been found by the enemy. Darkwing Duck had pegged one of the Eggheads and even though the signal had blipped out, it was too late. They knew exactly where FOWL HQ was.
"I should have guessed," Mrs. Beakley said. Despite the fact that she wasn't supposed to be on her feet, she had insisted on coming along for this. She was sitting in a wheelchair in Gyro's lab and her hands were tight on the armrests.
"He would put his HQ in Siberia," she said, shaking her head. "Nothing but snow for miles around. It's a death sentence for anyone who tries to leave without transportation."
"We need to get there as soon as possible before someone discovers that the Egghead was being tracked," Scrooge said.
Darkwing scowled. "They're not gonna figure it out, not if the thing stopped transmitting as soon as they entered. It was active up until five minutes ago."
"You seem awfully confident for someone who's never used a tracking device before," Mrs. Beakley informed him. Her disdain was obvious.
"It didn't use to be in Siberia," Darkwing said, ignoring her completely. "It was in the Amazon. It makes sense that they've moved since they knew we knew where they were. How fast can we get there, LP?"
Scrooge bristled. He hated that Darkwing was ordering his pilot around, though Launchpad didn't seem to mind. The man was fawning over him and falling all over himself to please his hero.
"Uh...about thirteen hours," he said. "Twelve and a half if I fly a little faster than normal."
Scrooge sighed. They were all tired and they needed time to lick their wounds. Plus, while he normally had little confidence in Launchpad's piloting abilities, he thought to ask him to fly for another twenty-four hours was too much. He looked over at Mrs. Beakley, whose expression was grave. He knew she wanted to fly out too, but she wasn't in any shape to confront Webbigail again.
"Two days rest," Scrooge decided and Mrs. Beakley growled. "We can't expect everyone to fly into action, Bentina, and we do need our rest. Especially you. They won't have moved the entire HQ in two days."
"I know, but…" she sighed. She had a grainy picture of Webby taken from a surveillance camera earlier. He saw the pain in her eyes.
"We'll be there in two and a half days," Scrooge soothed. "Nothing's going to happen to her in that time frame."
He hoped. He really had no way of knowing, which was problematic. But he couldn't tell Bentina that or she'd fly off the rails. He wasn't even sure two days was sufficient for her to recover, but it was all the time they could really afford. She would've balked at further delay.
And he wasn't looking forward to traveling to Siberia.
Black Heron paced in front of Steelbeak's desk. "You see my point, then?"
Steelbeak scowled. "You've had a vendetta against Agent 22 and against my daughter for as long as I've known you. All this proves is that you're desperate for a chance to get rid of Webby."
"I have proof she's a traitor," Black Heron hissed. "I have proof she's not cut out for this. You knew she wasn't a psychopath, Steelbeak. You knew she didn't have the coldness necessary to be a killer."
"I'll keep an eye on her."
Black Heron snarled. "You're refusing to see the truth! You're clouded by affection for that damn girl!"
"Webbigail is mine," Steelbeak said coldly, cutting off her protests. "She belongs to me. She is an extension of me as my offspring. You attack her, you attack me. You'd better have some damn compelling evidence because right now, you're skating on thin ice."
Black Heron faltered and Steelbeak smirked.
"Don't ever tell me I'm clouded by affection. I don't have a heart. But I do know that if you make one more crack about Webbigail, I'll see you executed. Is that understood?"
Black Heron's eyes narrowed. She would find another way to rid herself of Webbigail, then. But she wouldn't back down, regardless of whether she appeared to or not. This was a minor setback. As far as she was concerned, the game was still in play.