Scrooge had a few things he needed to take care of before setting off on his journey to the moon. For one thing, he needed to ensure that the Bloodhound Gang leader quietly "disappeared". It didn't hurt that the man had a criminal background and used numerous aliases. He was wanted by the police, but that was also taken care of rather easily. It was amazing how much money simplified things. Money made the world go 'round.
He also needed to find a therapist for Webbigail. That was a little more difficult because he needed to find someone who would be discreet. Webby needed to be able to talk about what she'd endured without fear of repercussions. Even so, he doubted she'd be divulging that she'd killed someone any time soon. It shook you to the core when you killed someone. After what the Bloodhound Gang had done to her and what she'd retaliated with, she'd lost her innocence. And Scrooge hated that.
What he also hated was that the three remaining members had gone underground. Not in the conventional sense, because the criminals were fleeing Scrooge left and right. Rather, they appeared to have left Duckberg, at least for the time being. Like Lena, Scrooge figured the other members might bear a grudge against Webby and he wanted to keep them behind bars where they couldn't reach her. Of course, they couldn't reach her on the moon, either, but he'd feel a lot better if they were secure before he and his family left Earth.
One of the things he hadn't done, with Magica wreaking havoc and then the Bloodhound Gang throwing everything out of whack, was have a proper funeral for Mrs. Beakley. Webby needed the closure, as did the boys. However, Scrooge knew he wouldn't be able to restrain himself from running to Della's aid, assuming Glomgold wasn't pulling a fast one on him. The funeral would have to wait a bit longer.
The boys were equal parts suspicious and excited and he shared in their enthusiasm. He loved seeing the adventurous spirit kindled in his family and Webby had gotten caught up...except when she didn't. Her moods were still off-kilter and he worried she wasn't entirely stable. He couldn't tell her that she couldn't accompany them-she'd find a way to sneak aboard, regardless. Nonetheless, he questioned whether it was wise to let her join them when she had so much to deal with on her own. She was just postponing the inevitable; after all, she'd have to confront it sooner or later.
Right now, Webby was briefing the boys on what she knew about the moon. Huey was chiming in, Louie looked bored out of his skull and was playing with his phone, and Dewey was interrupting to ask questions about their mom. Lena was nowhere to be seen. He regretted casting her out, but she wasn't family. Although, he supposed she could be, given time. It wasn't fair to hold Mrs. Beakley's murder against her, even if she'd been the hand that had struck the fatal blow. Lena hadn't been in possession of her faculties at that point.
Speaking of which, he still hadn't repaired the damage done to the lobby and staircase. Magica's attacks had torn up the carpets and drapes, as well as gouging marks in the floor. Scrooge had been wary of letting strangers in, considering how jumpy Webby was, and also, he hadn't been sleeping well either. Magica's damn nightmares had afflicted him too and he kept seeing himself losing his family in different ways. He thought she might've been focusing particularly on him in a desire to drive him insane. It'd very nearly worked, too.
Scrooge sighed. Between his age catching up to him and the nightmares depriving him of sleep, he was a very tired duck. Right now, he was running on pure adrenaline, but that was bound to run out sooner or later. He couldn't ignore Della, though, nor could he ignore Glomgold. He didn't know what his rival was planning and whether he'd been genuine in his regard. Sometimes, Glomgold was hard to read. They'd also had a few moments in the past that had run dangerously close to frenemy territory and perhaps more than that. There was something to be said for sharing heritage and wealth.
Donald was waiting for him on the ship. Of the group, he alone had escaped Magica's nightmares. Magica wasn't concerned with him and had only focused on the manor's inhabitants. Donald, on his houseboat, was irrelevant. Besides, Magica didn't consider him a real threat. Donald had had more sleep than the others, but he'd been worried about the boys not sleeping well. In a way, Donald was more their father than their uncle.
Scrooge wrinkled his beak. He wished he knew who the boys' father was. Della had never told him and he'd never had a chance to ask her before she'd stolen the Spear of Silene. With his weakness for her, he hadn't had the heart to pursue the matter.
"Are you okay, Uncle Scrooge?" Donald asked. "Nobody in the mansion has slept well for almost three weeks now."
"I'll crash sooner or later, I expect," Scrooge said. "But this is more important."
"Do you think it's really her?" Donald asked.
"After all this time? I have my doubts," he admitted. "But we have no choice but to go to Glomgold. We'll get the full story one way or another."
"Are you sure you should bring the boys?" Donald pressed. "What if it's not her? I don't wanna see them disappointed again. It could break them."
"If I had my druthers, I wouldn't take any of the kids," he said. "I don't want them disappointed either. But this could be their mother. I can't say 'no' to them."
"I can," Donald said, stiffening his upper beak.
"But do you really want to?"
Donald's shoulders slumped. "There's no point in keeping this from them, is there? They're determined to find out everything they can about Della. We can't keep leaving them in the dark."
Scrooge nodded and they turned as the kids boarded the craft. Scrooge couldn't bring himself to smile at them. There was too much riding on this and he was running on fumes, just like the rest of them. He was also trusting Launchpad to guide them into space, which didn't exactly instill confidence in him.
Mister He Could Crash Anything had better not strand them on the moon. At least he had the skills to repair what he'd broken, but Scrooge would rather the rocket not get wrecked in the first place. Oh, how he missed Della's piloting skills.
On the plus and minus side, it would take them three days to reach the moon. That was plenty of time for sleep, which the entire group sorely needed. Since Launchpad didn't live in the mansion and Donald lived on his houseboat outside of it, they wouldn't need that much rest. Scrooge and the kids, on the other hand, could use all the sleep they could get. (He wondered whether Lena would take advantage of the empty mansion and get some sleep herself since Magica had attacked her dreams too).
Since he feared Webby having nightmares, not to mention the boys after witnessing her stab someone, he'd taken a sleeping draught with him to prevent dreams. After they'd shuffled on board, they were too tired to fight him when he suggested they each take a swig. Buckling themselves in, they settled back. Scrooge swallowed the last few drops and yawned.
It'd be pleasant to get some sleep without the thrice-damned nightmares hanging over his head. Webby had been having nightmares since her grandmother's death, so she needed it more than anyone. He smiled fondly at her; she'd nestled up against Huey and Dewey. Louie was sitting next to Donald with Scrooge on the other side. He could feel his eyelids getting heavy. Three days' worth of sleep sounded heavenly. He just hoped that whatever awaited them was worth it.
(Although, in actuality, they could've used the three days' sleep regardless).
Scrooge slipped into a dreamless sleep around the same time as the kids and smiled, his last thought of righting the wrongs that had been going on for so long in his family.
While Donald didn't normally like the idea of sleeping draughts, especially since they'd been made with magic, he condoned their use here. The boys were exhausted and Scrooge wasn't much better. Webby was another level of drained and he found himself studying her. In a way, she was the fourth nephew. That made her his too. He smiled.
Unbuckling himself once the rocket had achieved liftoff, he stroked Webby's head feathers.
"Sleep well, no dreams," Donald said. "To all of you."
He glanced over at his uncle. "You too, you old palooka."
Thankfully, Donald had brought something to do during what was bound to be a very quiet trip. Of course, that assumed Launchpad didn't try to fill the awkward silences with equally awkward conversation. Donald wouldn't put it past him.
He settled back in his seat, opened his newspaper, and glanced over at the boys. A trickle of doubt crept in. He'd raised them since they were hatched. In many ways, he was their parent. Would Della contest that? Would she want them back, completely hers? But...she couldn't have them. They were his boys. She hadn't seen them take their first steps, say their first words, or have any of the milestones that children had. She hadn't been there for them; he had.
Yes, Della was their mother, biologically. And he couldn't take that away from her. However, she couldn't take away from him that he was, by all rights, their surrogate father.
He still didn't know who their real father was, which he guessed he and Uncle Scrooge had in common. They'd have to ask her when they reached the moon. If she was there. If this wasn't some elaborate hoax perpetrated by Glomgold.
Donald saw more clearly than Scrooge sometimes Glomgold's intentions. He knew that the other Scottish duck liked Scrooge's attention, perhaps a bit too much. Then again, it was like that with all of Scrooge's enemies. They all seemed to exude sexual tension. It made him question whether he knew all there was to know about his uncle and whether he even wanted to.
No, he probably didn't. If Uncle Scrooge was hiding a sordid past with Glomgold, Donald most assuredly did not want to know about it. That was a secret his uncle could take to his grave, as far as he was concerned.
Of course, now that the idea was in his head, it was hard to discount. Great. He'd spend the entire trip wondering about his uncle's proclivities. Just what he wanted. Awkward conversation and disgusting mental images. Ugh, why him…
"I've never crashed a rocket before," Launchpad said conversationally.
"You'd better not crash this one," Donald snapped. "I am not going to die because of you."
"Relax," he said. "I'm the best pilot."
"When it comes to crashing, maybe," Donald muttered. "Just don't wake the others up, okay? They could use the rest."
"Got it," Launchpad said. He glanced over at the kids and Scrooge. "They've had a rough few weeks, haven't they?"
"Yeah…" Donald said.
"What exactly happened? Mr. McD didn't fill me in completely."
"Some sort of mix up with a gang and Magica giving them nightmares before kidnapping them," Donald said and scowled. He had been fast asleep at the time, else he would've stepped in and prevented their kidnapping. It felt odd, that it was all part of one extremely long night.
Crap. He was tired too. He yawned. He'd just close his eyes for a minute.
Launchpad was still talking and Donald pulled out earplugs to tune him out. He'd just sleep for a little bit. There was no way he was sleeping three days like the others planned to. Just a brief nap...that was it…
Webby woke up disoriented, not sure where she was or why it felt like she was moving. Huey had his head on her shoulder and Dewey was curled up against her side. She smiled. On Dewey's other side was Louie and on his other side were Donald and Scrooge. Louie was lying half on, half off the seat. She had no idea how long she'd been out, but everyone else was still asleep. Everyone...including Launchpad. She stifled a groan.
"Launchpad!" she cried and the pilot jerked awake.
"17!" he yelped. "I'm sorry, sir or madam, I did not mean to hit your car-"
"Launchpad, wake up!" she cried. Man, she hoped this rocket had an auto-pilot. At her yelping, Scrooge woke up and scowled. He unbuckled himself and smacked Launchpad on the head with his cane. She was impressed he'd managed to figure out what was going on so quickly.
"Curse me kilts, how long have you been asleep at the wheel?!" Scrooge snapped.
"How long have we been in flight?" Launchpad said, sheepish.
"How the blazes am I supposed to know that?" Scrooge demanded. "Don't tell me you went to sleep when we did!"
"There's an auto-pilot," Launchpad said, a tad defensive. "And this baby practically flies itself. All I needed to do was engage the auto-pilot and I just took a break to rest my eyes…"
"How long were you asleep?!" he screeched, rousing the others.
"Hang on, lemme check…" Launchpad said, shrinking under his employer's scrutiny. "About...22 hours."
"You were sleeping for twenty-two hours?!" Scrooge cried.
"Hey, some people here were enjoying a nap," Louie protested.
Scrooge snarled, pushing Launchpad aside. "We've drifted off course. We should be bearing northwest and now we're bearing northeast. It'll add another twelve hours to our trip. Do I need to stay up and hit you every time you're about to fall asleep?"
Judging by the look on his face, he fully intended to do it, too.
"At least we didn't crash, right?"
"Yes, thank goodness you didn't murder us all," Scrooge said darkly.
"Hey, man, flying a ship is hard," Launchpad argued. "I'm nowhere near as good as Della."
The triplets, Scrooge, and Donald froze. Scrooge said, in a would-be casual voice, "You knew me niece, did you?"
"Oh, sure, Della and me go way back," he said, oblivious to the fact he'd said something unusual. "We went to pilots' school together."
Scrooge scrutinized him for a minute more before rapping his cane smartly on the instrumental panel. That was a mystery they'd leave for later. Webby added it to the list of questions they had for the female duck.
"Donald, stay up and make sure this idiot doesn't steer us off course again," Scrooge said, disgusted. "Everyone else, we might as well stretch our legs before we try sleeping again."
Donald undid his straps and glanced over at his boys.
"How did you sleep?" he asked, anxious.
"Fine, Uncle Donald," they answered in unison and then hissed. Webby knew they hated speaking in a chorus.
"No nightmares from anyone?" he added and glanced over at Webby too. Webby frowned. She wasn't Donald's niece…
"That sleeping cordial should've taken care of that," Scrooge said briskly. "The color's back in your cheeks."
"It's not like we could've slept that well with Magica breathing down our necks," Dewey pointed out. "I'll take dreamless sleep over that."
"Aye, we all would, lad," Scrooge agreed.
"Maybe we should talk about what happened right before we left," Dewey said, frowning.
Webby hugged herself and Scrooge moved over to her to squeeze her shoulder. His previous irritation with Launchpad had vanished; then again, he'd never been as upset with his pilot as he'd been with the Bloodhound Gang. That rage had been truly terrifying.
"Do you wanna talk about it, lass?" Scrooge asked. Webby shook her head. She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to think about it. As far as she was concerned, she wanted to pretend it never happened. She hunched down in her seat.
"You can't keep it bottled up," Huey said.
She could remember the feel of the knife in her hand and the strength she'd summoned to punch through his sternum. She could also remember the blood spraying her in the face, the feel of it hot and thick, and the way it tasted when it flew into her mouth. Shuddering, she hugged herself.
"Give her a little while," Scrooge advised. "It just happened yesterday. She needs some time to decompress."
Webby gave Scrooge a grateful smile and he smiled back, tousling her hair.
"Anyone wanna play 'I Spy' to pass the time?" Launchpad asked and Scrooge groaned.
"You shouldn't be spying anything out here besides what you're supposed to be looking out for!" he admonished.
"What about punch buggy?"
"There shouldn't be any Bugs out here either!"
"Good ole Launchpad," Dewey said and smiled. He lifted his head to look at Webby. "You okay?"
"No," she said in a small voice. It was more than she'd admitted to before and she surprised herself. "But I'll manage."
She wasn't sure that was true, but hey, fake it until you make it. That sounded like Lena's motto. At the thought of the other girl, Webby's heart clenched. What if she'd decided to abdicate the manor and leave Duckberg like she'd planned? What if she wasn't at home waiting for them? Could she have abandoned her? Webby had left her; why not return the favor?
"What's wrong?" Dewey asked.
"You don't think Lena went anywhere, do you?" she burst out.
"Give her the benefit of the doubt," Scrooge advised. "She's probably sleeping off Magica's nightmares right now…"
Louie looked like he wanted to argue with him and Scrooge gave him a warning look. Louie shrugged, stretching and glancing over at his brothers. His gaze met Webby's and he smiled at her. She remembered, almost from another lifetime, him holding her in her sleep and saying, "I. Win."
Did he still think he was competing against Lena? Or was that how he saw things anyway? As a competition that he intended to win?
Was Lena sleeping it off at the manor? They wouldn't know for another two and a half days (it would've been two if Launchpad hadn't been slumbering too) when they might be able to contact Earth. That assumed that Lena was awake and around to speak with them. Webby fretted; she was no longer exhausted and she wasn't hallucinating, though she wondered whether she'd been thinking rationally for the last couple of weeks.
Although, if she wasn't sleeping well and making bad decisions, then no one else was either. That might've explained why she hadn't remained in the manor and set this whole thing in motion…
Louie stretched and cracked his knuckles. "Did you really think we were going to sleep for three days?"
"I didn't know how long you'd sleep," Scrooge pointed out. "None of us have had any restful sleep for half a month now."
Dewey squeezed Webby's hand and she squeezed back.
"Hey, Launchpad, you don't have any Darkwing Duck, do you?" Huey said and Dewey shot him a look of sheer betrayal.
"Of course I do! Lemme get the DVD started!" Launchpad exclaimed.
"Oh, great, more hero worship," Scrooge muttered. "At least he'll stay awake for this."
On the plus side, it'd take her mind off things. And she enjoyed the end theme, perhaps too much. Dewey groaned, facepalming, and released her hand.
"Why…" he groaned. "I hate my life."
"I hate your life too," Louie assured him.
"Ugh," Dewey said. "I'm not watching it."
"I'm not gonna make you, but I will give you scene by scene commentary and behind the scene tidbits," Launchpad offered.
"That's even worse," Dewey complained.
"Hey, you can't please everyone," Launchpad said with a shrug.
"Just don't get so busy watching the show that you forget to pilot," Scrooge warned.
"I've got eyes like a hawk, Mister McDee," he reassured him.
"Aye, and the brains of a squirrel," he muttered.
Lena de Spell had spent almost an entire day sleeping. The McDuck Manor was pretty posh for a place with a dead butler. She had the run of the place, too, which might've been cool if it hadn't felt so abandoned. Other than Duckworth, who wasn't much for company, she had no one to talk to. Plus, after the first day had passed, she found herself growing bored. There was only so much TV and internet and spying a teenager could do.
Plus, with Webby gone and Magica no longer attached to her, she had no real interest in the McDuck family lore. She did, however, have an interest in the criminal underground. Like she'd told Webby before, the chances were slim and none that the Bloodhound Gang and the other ne'er do wells would let such an insult stand. She intended to find out what was going on; of course, there was a chance she'd be recognized, as she'd threatened the leader too. However, they'd been drunk and high at the time and when she'd come to rescue Webby with the others, they'd been too preoccupied with escaping Webby's vengeance to linger and get a second look.
That didn't mean that they hadn't had time to reassess their situation and decide they wanted revenge. She grabbed the knife that Scrooge had so kindly given her, rolled her eyes at Gizmoduck's contact info (if she needed that, the mission was already blown), and stepped out of the guest room she'd taken over, which was right next to Webby's room. She touched Webby's ribbon, still tied around her wrist, and pressed her beak together tightly. By the time they returned, she hoped to have this sorted out without Webby in any sort of danger. That might be a pipe dream, though.
It occurred to her that since Scrooge had routed out the villains from the tunnels beneath the city, she might have difficulty locating the Bloodhound Gang. Magica had presumably slunk back to some hole in the ground; Lena doubted she'd stand trial or linger in town, not until she could reassert control or had a plan to accommodate the triplets, Webby, and Scrooge. That was one less problem and it was pleasant not to have to worry about nightmares from Magica, which was not to say Lena had no nightmares at all. They were less well-directed, but they came.
Her aunt had such a flare for the dramatic that she ought to have been an actress. Lena rolled her eyes.
No one apprehended her when she left the manor and she told herself she would come back to it. She wasn't abandoning it for good. Nonetheless, as she stepped away from it, through the gates, and onto the street, she felt like she was yanking on a tether and snapping it in two. Maybe theatrics ran in the family. Jeez.
Without any leads to go on, she'd have to head for one of the dens of ignominy that the villains frequented. Scrooge didn't know them and she hadn't informed him because she hadn't learned exactly where they were until Magica had so kindly left her body and stopped possessing it. There was a great chance that the information was fifteen years out of date, but that was a chance she'd have to take. There were worse things to gamble on.
One of the gambling dens, located on the far end of town, required a hike through the worst neighborhood. Again. Lena had opted to go during the day, since she figured her chances of getting robbed or held up at gunpoint might be reduced. Reduced, mind you, not gone completely. She wasn't that foolish.
Man, it sucked being a thirteen-year-old when you had to slink through the shadows and try to impress the adults, most of whom were grizzled crime veterans. She had a feeling anyone who recognized her would know her as "Magica's brat niece", which was not the reputation she wanted to foster. On the plus side, it might prevent people from messing with her, because they might assume she had the same powers as her aunt. However, once that assumption was laid to rest, she'd be in over her head.
Maybe it wouldn't come to that.
She'd tried to live unobtrusively throughout her life. Magica had funded her attempts to go through boarding school up and until Lena demonstrably failed out of every single one. She wasn't sure whether she was doing it to spite Magica or because her apathy overcame her desire to further herself. After the fifth such endeavor, Magica had given up the ghost and let her be. She still permitted Lena access to her funds, which prevented her from scrounging around on the streets and being a beggar, even if it didn't exactly provide a lavish lifestyle. It was kinda funny-Magica had been obsessed for years with obtaining Scrooge's number one dime and all of his wealth, but Magica had a fair amount of money and resources herself. It was more that the dime had symbolic and magical importance than that it meant anything literally.
The gambling den had no bouncer, which struck her as ominous. They'd let any riffraff in and, once the smoke cleared, Lena saw the Beagle Boys trying their luck and failing miserably. She also saw Gladstone Gander trying his luck and winning too much. The regulars were growing restive. It was suspicious to win so much at once. They would assume he'd fixed the game rather than being naturally lucky. And there was only so much leeway with their money that convicts had before they turned on whoever was grabbing all of it. She'd feel sorry for him if he weren't so naive.
Gladstone was in a corner by the pool table. The Beagle Boys were nearest the front door and about to be heaved through it by the bouncer Lena had missed upon entering. The bouncer was drinking and she sidestepped to avoid his gaze. He was a big, burly dog, a mastiff type by the look of him, and Lena did not want to tangle with that. Even Webby might have difficulty besting someone like him.
Smoke filled the air and irritated her lungs. It was cigarette smoke, no pot here, for which she was grateful. Still, spilled liquor competed with the smoke and her eyes watered. She squeezed between two high tables, pushed past another pool game in progress, and tried to find a corner where she could sit and observe. The haze that filled the room wasn't conducive to people-watching.
She could sit here all night and never see the Bloodhound Gang. She could barely see her hand in front of her face.
The problem was that she didn't look tough enough to run with anyone here. They'd see her as a kid and she didn't have the skills to back it up like Webby did. Magica hadn't bothered to waste her time teaching Lena self-defense or martial arts. Lena was a means to an end, nothing more.
Thanks a ton to you too, Aunt Magica.
Sighing, the breath aggravating her raw throat, she poked around at the various tables all the while appearing disinterested in them. To her consternation, known associates of Glomgold were here. The man himself wasn't present, presumably on the moon awaiting Scrooge, Donald, and the kids. Well, awaiting Scrooge and Donald, at any rate. She doubted he'd figured the kids into it.
She was glad Glomgold wasn't here for another reason. He'd be one of Scrooge's enemies to take her aside and guide her out of here and back toward home. She was not here to be babied.
Unfortunately, she was starting to wonder why she was here. The Bloodhound Gang hadn't materialized and she could wait all night to no avail. She didn't trust anyone else to run reconnaissance for her and she didn't know anyone else, save her aunt, who would have even wanted to. (And Magica would not have wanted to do anything that would assist Lena, no matter how small).
She had five days to track down the Bloodhound Gang before the others made it back home. Rescuing Della, if that's what this was, shouldn't take longer than a few hours at the most. The gang might've disappeared before, but that was with Magica's assistance. Magica wasn't bothering to help them out this time).
The reality was that she could stay here for five nights in a row and not get any intel. Duckberg was simply too large and the criminal population scared to rear their heads after Scrooge's last towering rage. Of course, a lot of the criminal riffraff had ended up in prison during one of his raids, which should narrow the selection down a bit. She'd gotten lucky when she'd caught up to the Bloodhound Gang the last time. They'd been bloated on their own success and senseless to anyone attacking wouldn't be stupid like that again.
There was another sad reality here. Lena was good at blending into the shadows, but that'd been with Magica's aid. Alone, Lena was vulnerable. A young teenage girl alone by herself in the rough neighborhoods? She might as well drape a sign over her head that said, "Take me."
It wasn't quite true that she had no help. Gizmoduck would come if summoned, but once he showed up, the party was over. No one was going to willingly stay and get busted by the police. Ugh, this had been such a stupid idea.
But, wait. Wait a minute. Gladstone Gander was the luckiest duck in the world, right? She needed something to ensure her luck changed and she'd be able to track down her prey. Gladstone should be able to change her luck if she made it their luck, not hers alone.
Unfortunately, her window of opportunity for that was closing. The bouncer, along with a few drunk and rowdy customers, were giving Gladstone the old heave-ho. Lena coughed, covering her face with her sleeve, and rushed out the door as fast as her legs could carry her. Her eyes still watered from the smoke and her throat smarted, but things could've been worse. No one had noticed her, no one whose attention could prove costly.
No, the only person whose attention she wanted was standing right outside the Gluttonous Pig and holding a twenty dollar bill he'd found on the ground. She didn't even know how he'd found it when the patrons here tended to be strapped for cash. Maybe he really was lucky.
"Hey," Lena said and then coughed. She cleared her throat. "Sorry. I'm Donald's honorary niece's best friend and I need your help."
"That's...a rather vague claim," Gladstone said.
"Well, it's either that or I'm your uncle's housekeeper's granddaughter's best friend," she said. "Take your pick."
"Good point," he said. "So, you're Webby's friend?"
"If you want to be technical about it…" she said and rolled her eyes. "Can you help me or not?"
"Depends. What do you need me to do? I am the luckiest duck in the world, after all."
And the humblest too.
"I need you to find someone for me," she said. "I don't know their names, but if you've been hanging around these bars, you should be able to track them down…"
"And what do I get for performing this service?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Is this a personal favor to you? I gotta say, this supposed relationship between us is very thin."
"It'd help Scrooge McDuck a great deal," she said and rolled her eyes again. "You'd be in his debt."
"In his debt, huh? All right. I'll do it. Who are we looking for?"
"Oh, you know, just a few cowards with a grudge. Easy stuff," she lied. "I'll explain it to you while we're on the way there."
"On the way to where?" he asked, baffled.
"Wherever you think we should go," she said. This had better work. She had no other alternatives.