Gladstone pulled Louie off to the side amongst the stacks of crates and barrels along this part of the wharf. He moved the strap of Louie's bag out of the way to straighten his collar. "The houseboat should be up ahead. You'll wait back here until I come get you. Remember, Donald's a prince. He only ever liked to be called a prince when he was mad at me, which was often, but I'd probably err on the side of caution. Or…" Gladstone tilted his head in thought. "Or maybe just play it by ear. He's got that temper of his; I don't expect it to be too much of a problem, but if at any point I tell you to run, you run."

"But you said he wouldn't—"

"That's only if he believes you're you. If he doesn't…" Gladstone trailed off. "I don't know what he'll do."

Louie swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

Gladstone finished fiddling with Louie's collar and switched to fiddling with his own. "How do I look?"

"Fine," Louie said. He was too nervous to really look, his anxiety about Donald compounded by the fact that Lena hadn't yet turned back up.

Gladstone gave him a nod. "I guess this is it."

"Yeah."

"Good luck."

"Good luck."

Louie watched Gladstone walk down the dock and up the gangplank of one of the boats.

And then Louie had all the time in the world to contemplate the stupidity of wishing "good luck" to the guy with an unending well of supernaturally good luck.

Gladstone smoothed out his jacket standing in front of the door to the houseboat that unmistakably belonged to Donald Duck. He wasn't sure what he was going to find on the other side of that door. Would Donald even see him? They hadn't always gotten along, but after all this time, surely he'd be happy to see him. Then again, the way Uncle Scrooge had talked about him…no. There was no way Donald was as bad as Uncle Scrooge had made him out to be. Right after the Revolution, maybe, but surely he'd healed by now.

Right?

Right.

He'd had to.

Gladstone took a deep breath.

And knocked on the door.

After a long minute, the door slowly creaked open just a crack, to reveal…uh, nothing?

Gladstone looked down.

"Huey!" Gladstone cried, his face breaking into a big smile. "Do you remember me? I'm your Uncle Gladstone!"

"Uncle Gladstone?" a voice came from further inside, and then the door swung wide open to reveal a second duckling. "Uncle Gladstone!"

"Gladstone?" Gladstone would recognize that voice anywhere. How could he not? He had never heard another like it. "Is it really Gladstone?"

"Duh! Who else would it be?" Dewey called back.

"Huey?" said Donald.

"Uhhh…I think so?" Huey poked his head out the door and looked around. Gladstone looked around, too, trying to figure out what Huey was looking for. Then he spotted something green lying on the gangplank.

"Hey, twenty dollars!"

Huey's beak broke into a smile of his own. "Yep, it's Gladstone!"

"Don't just stand there! Invite him in!"

"Yes, Uncle Donald," Huey said.

"Come on in, Uncle Gladstone!" Dewey said. The boys led him into the dim-but-tidy houseboat. Donald was sitting in an old rocking chair, a blanket on his lap. He stood stiffly as Gladstone came in, the blanket sliding to the floor.

Gladstone blinked. Once, twice. Then he forced his beak back into a smile.

"Donald!" he said, grasping his cousin by the arms. "It's so good to see you! You haven't changed a bit!"

Donald chuckled. "I was beginning to think we'd never see you again," he said.

"You knew I had to make it here someday!" Gladstone said. "Come on, let's sit a while. We have a lot to catch up on." Gladstone guided Donald back into his chair. He was almost afraid to let go, lest Donald crumple to the floor. One of the kids—Dewey—brought over another chair for Gladstone.

"I see you've done well for yourself since—these last few years," Gladstone said, looking around the houseboat. As he'd noted before, it was tidy. There were photographs hanging on the walls, mostly of Huey and Dewey, along with a few with Grandma Duck and one of Donald's parents. There were a couple of shelves full of old books and knickknacks and a small galley along one wall, well-used but also well-kept. Gladstone spotted a toy boat up on a high shelf and a ball tucked away in a corner.

"We've done ok," Donald said, settling back into his chair.

Gladstone couldn't get over the way that Donald looked like he would snap in half at the slightest breeze. He shook that thought out of his head. "How are the boys doing?" Gladstone said. "It looks like you're doing a fine job with them.

"They're just fine. Doing great in school, not getting into any trouble." Donald looked a little sad. "I couldn't wish—" His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and started again. "I couldn't wish for better kids."

"They must take after their uncle," Gladstone said, which…ok, maybe wasn't really a compliment, what with Donald's temper and his bad luck, but he hoped that Donald took it as one all the same.

Over in the galley, a tea kettle began to whistle.

"Tell me how you got out of Scotland," Donald said.

Then one of the triplets was at Gladstone's elbow, handing him a cup of tea. He wore a look of warning and worry on his face. "Don't excite him too much," Huey whispered.

"It's a long story," Gladstone said to Donald. "I won't bore you with the details, but I did have a little help."

"Help? From who?"

Gladstone waved a hand dismissively. "A couple of kids. It's not important." Gladstone set his tea down on the side table and leaned forward in his chair. "What about you? What have you been up to all these years?"

"Kids?" Donald said, sitting up. "What do you mean, 'kids?'"

"I told you, it's not important—"

"Gladstone?" Donald said. He looked pained. "What did you do? Did you—did you hurt anyone?"

"No! No, of course not!" Gladstone said. "I would never!"

"But getting out of Scotland…" Donald shook his head. "Nobody got hurt?"

"Well, getting out of the country was a little treacherous," Gladstone conceded. "But aside from jumping off of the train—"

"Aside from what?" Donald quacked.

"It wasn't a big deal! The snow was deep enough to soften the fall," Gladstone said quickly. "Nobody was hurt, and it was…better than the alternative." Gladstone shook the image of that alternative out of his head. "But let's talk about you! What have you been up to? I…I see you're still the same sailor you've always been!"

"Yeah," Donald said, slowly settling back into his chair. "We don't get to take the boat out much anymore, but…it's nice to live on the sea."

"Yeah! You always used to talk about that," Gladstone said. "Breathing in the salt air, letting the sea rock you to sleep. I'm glad you finally got to live your dream."

"Well." Donald looked around. "I wouldn't say this is exactly my dream, but. Yeah. Given…what's left…it's nice."

Gladstone stood up and went to the shelf. The things on it were a little dusty, but hey, they wouldn't be knickknacks if they weren't, right?

"Hey, I remember this!" Gladstone said, picking up a small rubber duck. He blew some of the dust off. "I can't believe you still have it! And this—" Gladstone put the duck back down and picked up a square egg. "Wow! Remember when you broke one of these in Uncle Scrooge's office?" Gladstone suddenly found himself getting choked up. He had a family again. Donald, the kids. All this shared history that had felt so far out of reach for so long. "How'd you get all of this out of Scotland?"

Gladstone didn't miss how the atmosphere changed. He could see both boys tense up out of the corner of his eye. Donald took a long sip of his tea and the set the cup back on the saucer in his hand.

"I had some of it in my bag when we left. A few more things made their way back to us in the months after," he said.

"And—" Gladstone stopped at the next knickknack, a model airplane that hadn't belonged to Donald.

It had been Della's.

Gladstone's eyes began to sting, so he put the square egg back on the shelf and took a deep breath.

If Gladstone didn't tell him now, he was never going to tell him. It was now or never.

Gladstone turned around. "But, Don, there's something else," he said, serious and careful and a little bit…scared. Scrooge had been right. Donald was fragile, and news like this…

"What is it?" Donald said, putting his tea down, suddenly looking wary.

"I found…someone. Someone who…someone who made it out of the Revolution alive."

"Who?" Gladstone could see that Donald was trying to sound casual, flippant even, but there was no mistaking the sheer terror behind his eyes.

"I found him, Donald," Gladstone said. "I found Louie."

Donald looked stricken, his world shattering around him. "No," Donald whispered. "No. Louie's dead." He rose out of his seat. "He's dead." Huey and Dewey rushed to his side, gently trying to calm him down and coax him back into his chair. Donald's face was turning all sorts of colors, red then pale then red again. His voice rose. "He's dead!" He turned to Gladstone, his eyes brimming with tears. "Why would you do this to me?"

Huey turned to Gladstone. "You should go."

Gladstone found that he was frozen in place, staring at his cousin. He had expected…well, he wasn't quite sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't this.

Gladstone turned to go, but as he reached for the door handle, he stopped and turned back to Donald, settling back in his rocking chair. He had to. He couldn't leave without one last try. "Come on, Don. I know it's him. I knew the boys just as well as you—"

"Don't you dare," Donald whispered.

"—and with my luck, you know I can't be wrong. Lena and I spent enough time with him to know that."

"WHO?"

Gladstone pressed on, taking the letter from Scrooge from his inner jacket pocket. "We took him to Scrooge—"

"DON'T SAY THAT NAME IN THIS HOUSE!"

"—and Scrooge knows it, too. It's all in here."

Gladstone offered the letter to Donald, but he didn't so much as look at it.

"Get. Out." Donald seethed with anger, his hands balled into shaking fists.

"He has the dime, Don," Gladstone gently said. "Scrooge's Number One. He gave it to Louie for safekeeping, and he still has it. It's him."

Donald…deflated. He sank into his chair and buried his face in his hands, his whole body shaking so hard Gladstone could feel it through the floorboards.

Huey and Dewey quietly showed Gladstone out.