Uncle Scrooge had invited them to the Money Bin. It was more private, for one thing, and also more comfortable.
"You knew just how to use everyone's talents to save the family. And you even made sure the wee warriors had a new home!" Uncle Scrooge sighed fondly. "You always did take after me that way."
"You? Please, that was classic Della," Gladstone said.
Uncle Scrooge's smile turned sad.
"Aye, you're not wrong there," he said quietly.
The room fell silent. Lucas caught Gladstone's eye and they exchanged worried looks. He tried to think of something to say to break that silence, but he couldn't think of anything.
Uncle Scrooge walked over to his desk and picked up a framed photograph. He looked at it. Louie thought he could see tears gathering in Scrooge's eyes and began to panic.
"You don't belong here, lad," Uncle Scrooge finally said.
Louie felt like he'd been shot in the chest. Even Gladstone looked shocked.
Uncle Scrooge walked away from them towards the window. "I haven't spoken to your Uncle Donald since the Revolution. I haven't seen the boys, either." Uncle Scrooge was quiet for a long moment. "Donald never got over the loss of you and your mother. He blames me for it, and he's probably right." He shook his head. "I'd love to have ye here, lad. I really would. But you belong with your brothers and your Uncle Donald."
"Oh." Emotions churned in Louie's chest. Anxiety, excitement, sadness, fear. "But…what about you?"
Uncle Scrooge's expression turned sour. "Donald doesn't want anything to do with me. I doubt he'll want you to see me." He went and sat down at his desk, took out a piece of paper, and began to write. When he was done, he folded the paper into thirds, dropped a glob of wax along the seam, and pressed his ring into it.
"Donald lives with the boys in a houseboat along the harbor across the city. He—" Uncle Scrooge fingered the letter nervously, gently enough not to break the seal. "He's not—he hasn't been the same since the Revolution."
Louie and Gladstone waited silently for Uncle Scrooge to continue.
"Be gentle with him, boys. I don't know how he'll react to Louie here…" He trailed off, staring off into the distance like he was reliving a memory. Then he shook his head as if to shake that memory away and continued. "It might be best if Gladstone were to see him first. Break the news to him carefully. Try not to shock him, if that's possible. He…" Uncle Scrooge took a deep breath. "He's fragile, these days."
"Donald Duck? Fragile?" Gladstone said.
"Aye," Uncle Scrooge nodded. He looked even sadder now. "The Revolution planted a seed of fear in him, and when that fear was realized…"
Louie found himself suddenly…frightened. He hadn't thought much about Donald—Uncle Donald—but the way Uncle Scrooge was talking…he was more than a little afraid of what they would find in that houseboat.
Uncle Scrooge handed the paper he was holding to Gladstone.
"What's that?" Louie asked.
"Give this to Donald. I've written that I recognize you as the lost Prince Louie. The way he still blames me for the Revolution…I don't know that it'll help much, but it's all I can do." Scrooge looked over at the clock. "I've got some business to take care of. You're more than welcome to stay as long as you'd like. Spend the night, even. The Money Bin is always open to you both." He took Louie's hand in his own and placed the dime in his palm, gently folding his fingers over it. "And this is a promise," he said. "This dime brought us back together once; it'll do the same again."
With that, he gave Gladstone a parting nod and then quietly left.
Louie stared at his closed hand for a moment, feeling the smooth metal once more. Then he turned to Gladstone. "But I thought that Magica De Spell started the Revolution."
Gladstone had a pained look on his face. "There were a lot of…conversations," he said tactfully, "during the Revolution, a lot of…differing opinions." Gladstone took a breath. "Donald started blaming Uncle Scrooge, said that if he'd just given Magica the dime, none of this would have happened. I didn't think…I couldn't imagine…" Gladstone seemed to be talking to himself now. "Six years."
That did absolutely nothing for the growing anxiety in Louie's chest. Except perhaps make it worse.
"I guess we should go back to the hotel," Louie said, putting on his jacket. "Get a good night's sleep."
Gladstone nodded slowly, only half listening. "Good idea," he said. He pulled on his own jacket from where he'd thrown it over the back of the sofa, and together they left the Money Bin and entered the cool night air.
Gladstone cleared his throat and pasted a smile on his face. "I guess we've got some planning to do!"
"Ok," Louie said. "Step one: go to the harbor. Find the…houseboat."
"Right." Gladstone put a hand on his chin thoughtfully. "Uncle Scrooge was right. I'll have to go in and see him first, otherwise it'll be…a lot." Gladstone thought some more. "I'll focus on catching up with him first. Regain his trust."
"Why would you have to—"
"We haven't seen each other in six years, Green Bean. You gotta get to know a guy again after that long." He thought some more. "And then…I'll just tell him about you. My luck should take care of the rest."
"Do you really think your luck is going to make this all go the way we want it to?" Louie asked, for once without a trace of sarcasm.
Gladstone shrugged. "It's never failed me before."
"Has it, though?" Louie asked. "I mean, you were stuck in Edinburgh for the last six years."
Gladstone put up a finger. "Ah, but I survived," he said. "And I found you!"
"Yeah, but…" There was a knot of anxiety in Louie's stomach. "What if your luck's not strong enough for this?"
"That doesn't happen."
"But—"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
They walked the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence. When they arrived at their room, they found it dark and empty.
"Wait, where's Lena?" Louie asked. "I thought she came back here."
"I don't know," Gladstone said, rubbing his chin. "I always had a feeling…" But he stopped himself and shook his head. "I'm sure she just ducked out to keep from getting in the way. She does that from time to time. She'll turn up by morning."
Gladstone remained uncharacteristically quiet as they got ready for bed, so Louie followed suit. Gladstone climbed into bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling.
"Goodnight, Gladstone," Louie ventured.
"Hm? Yeah, goodnight, kid."
"Can I turn out the light?"
"Yes."
Louie snapped the light off and got into his own bed. It took him a long time to fall asleep.
"If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself," Magica muttered. She grabbed her broom from the corner and blew several years' worth of dust from it right into Poe's face. He coughed and flew up into the air to escape from it.
"That stupid child has given the dime back to Scrooge, and it's all your fault!" Magica swung at Poe with the broom.
"The dime! The dime!" Poe parroted, dodging out of the way.
"You had six years to figure out that kid had it," Magica continued. "We actually would have had a chance then! But now that Scrooge has it…"
"Try again! Try again! Evermore!" Poe squawked.
"Of course I'm going to try again! What do you want me to do, give up?" Magica spun around to face him and shoved a finger in his face. "Don't answer that."
Poe squawked.
Magica set the broom around and gathered some supplies—some wands, some foof bombs, a small hand mirror for scrying. It didn't work as well as her crystal ball, but it was good for travel.
Speaking of which…
Magica placed everything in her soft, velvet sack and set it by the broom. Then, she went over to that crystal ball and started moving her hands around it.
"Oh, crystal ball," she said. "Show me Scrooge McDuck."
The inside of the crystal ball swirled into a clouded, glittering whirlpool, and then it cleared into a moving picture of the former King. Magica didn't bother to hold in her grimace.
"What's he doing…?" she said to herself, watching the image closely.
Unfortunately, crystal balls didn't come with sound.
It looked like Scrooge was at home, or at least what passed for "home" for him these days, saying something to, oh, what was her name…Quackfaster? Duckworth? Buckley? Magica could never keep all the names flying around the Money Bin straight. She was his right hand, that she remembered. Just about the only person who had stuck around after the Revolution. Magica couldn't help but indulge an evil smile at the memory—she may not have gotten the dime, but causing all of Scrooge's friends and family to leave him was nearly as good.
Magica shut the crystal ball off with a wave of her hand and mounted her broom. She looked at Poe.
"Well? Are you coming or not?"
Poe flew back a few feet. "Nevermore! Nevermore!" he squawked.
Magica scowled. "Oh, you coward!" The broom lifted her up off the ground and flew her out the window. "Goodbye, Ratface!" she called back. "Don't wait up!"