(I'm sorry, but I forgot to upload chapters on . I've been posting in AO3, and I wait until I can edit chapters with my husband before posting them here because it's harder to edit on than AO3. )
Chapter 5
That night, he fell asleep reading the journal entries. They were all loquacious and meticulously detailed to the point of rambling. Each and every one. From the similarities in style, Fenton postulated that the original Scrooge taught his son how to write, and the trait was passed on just as much as the genes were. However, the entries he read didn't contain any new information that Mrs. Quackfaster hadn't told him. Aside from a description of the disasters and the days following them, the journals were constantly talking about a "her" without a name or indication of whom the writers were talking about. Once more, Fenton had to hypothesize that the "her" must be referring to the mermaid who had cursed the McDucks, although there was no description nor a retelling of the original story. However, there were some vague mentions of a coin, but nothing definite.
He did not get through all of them, but he did try to go in chronological order starting with the earliest, opposite of how Mrs. Quackfaster told the stories. When he woke up, his face pressed against one of the papers, he took his time to eat a light breakfast—there was only enough cereal in the cupboards for half of a bowl—while reading the rest of the papers.
Once he finished the journal entries, he took out a piece of paper and started writing down a few notes:
Lighthouse—Why is it the epitome of all the stories? Why do all the mermaids go there? What is its significance? How old is it? Who built it? Who maintains it now? Why did Scrooge McDuck close it down several years ago?
Duckburg—Why so many disasters? Is this a dangerous area? Why did McDuck decide to settle here? Why are there mermaids seen around here but nowhere else? Is it the same mermaid? Are there multiple mermaids?
Gold Coin—Where is it now? Does Scrooge McDuck have it? Why did the first Scrooge McDuck not give it back? Can it be returned now? Does it have magic? Would that break the curse? Would that save Duckburg from more disasters?
Fethry Duck—Where is he now? What happened to him during the time he disappeared? Why is he so interested in mermaids? Did they take him? Why did Scrooge McDuck adopt him? Where did his journals go? Did someone take them? What information would they have that someone would want to take? Or destroy?
Fenton thought things through before adding a few more categories:
Scrooge McDuck—What other family does he have? Family tree? Why does he stay in Duckburg? If the curse is real, why not live away from the ocean? Who is Scrooge McDuck really?
The mermaid—Who is she?
As he wrote down "The mermaid", he had so many questions he wanted to know about her, but none of them had anything to do with the investigation. But he still wrote down "Where can I find her? Why is she here? What's her name?"
He couldn't help starting to write down the question, "Did she chose to show herself to me or was it a mistake?" but stopped partway and crossed it out. He looked over his list, seeing how many questions he had written. It seemed like an impossible task to find out everything and in just one weekend. Once Monday rolled around, he would be back under Gyro's thumb and he wouldn't have any time to look for the mysterious mermaid.
With a lot of ground to cover, Fenton pulled out his laptop and booted it up, cleaning off the screen and keyboard while he waited for his desktop to show up. He then clicked onto his Internet browser and started at the top of his list. He searched for information on the McDuck Lighthouse, going through several websites that had the same information. It had been built in the early 1800s by Fergus McDuck, that time period's current heir to the McDuck name. Other than that, there was little told about its history besides dates of renovations, including when the basements were put in as well as the aquatic observatory, which had happened long before Fethry had used it for his own research. This was surprising to Fenton since he didn't think that such renovations on a building—especially renovations that would be under water—could have been undertaken with that day's technology.
Yet the lighthouse still stood.
The websites did state that the McDuck Lighthouse was still closed to the public but acted as if it could open up any day. The main website for the McDuck Lighthouse even offered a mailing list to inform patrons when they would be back in business. They gave no reason for being closed nor had any social media presence to offer updates on their situation.
They simply had closed up three years ago and that was that.
Fenton wished he had known more about this, then he could have asked Huey about it. But then he thought how closed-lipped the boy was in regards to certain information, and he wondered if this was another taboo subject for the McDuck family.
He then searched for anything about the McDuck Lighthouse and mermaids, but all he got was pictures that had mermaids and lighthouses and a bunch of fantasy novels, but nothing that could help him. He then typed in "mermaids" and "Duckburg," which came up with more articles than his last search. Most of them were newspaper articles from the 80s that happened after the hurricane. Some were quite interesting, tourists telling about stories they heard or their own eye-witness accounts of mermaids, but it all sounded hokey and stuff that usually ended up in the tabloids. And there was nothing about the McDuck Lighthouse in any of them. He still copy and pasted a few of them that might be useful, but otherwise he moved on.
He went searching through Duckburg's history, coming up with a disturbingly lack of information on his hometown. There were a lot of websites about tourist destinations and things to do in Duckburg, and he had to dig through a lot of advertisements just to find anything historical. There was the website on the Duckburg Historical Society Museum with Mrs. Quackfaster's face on the homepage. There were a few other resources but none of them had anything about mermaids. Nothing suspicious at all.
But Fenton couldn't help but think that the lack of information on the Internet was even more suspicious. Why wasn't there something out there? Even if it was some kids talking about it on social media. Or some wacko talking about mermaids and conspiracy theories or something like that. That would make sense. But nothing?
It was as if someone had either erased a lot of information about Duckburg from the Internet, or, perhaps more likely, it never made it to the world wide web. Either scenario seemed unlikely. Fenton had grown up in a world where access to information through the computer was common. Not being able to get more than enough information was a foreign concept for him.
Perhaps he just needed a more specific search. He tried looking for stories on the McDuck family, specifically regarding mermaids, the lighthouse, and a gold coin. Again, he was given either a lot of fantasy stories and art or shops that sold mermaids, gold coins and lighthouse figures. He then went diving into any stories regarding the McDuck family, and again he was given a bunch of websites that had nothing related to his search.
When he made a general search for mermaids, opposite from before, he was given so much information about the myths and legends as well as modern stories and movies that he just closed up his laptop and gave up. Whatever information was out there for him to find, he wouldn't be able to get it the easy way. For once, technology would not be his friend.
But where could he go next?
At that moment, he looked up and saw his mother's car keys and a piece of paper on the table.
"The shopping," he recalled, putting away his computer.
His mother often took the bus to work if he needed the car, and if she left him her keys, that meant it would be quite a big shopping trip. He scanned the shopping list, seeing that it was long. She had also left her credit card under the paper for him to pay for everything. Since he had hit a brick wall in his research, he might as well get out of the house and do the shopping.
He took the car to the super market and took his time grabbing everything on his mother's list. He occasionally added other things, not anything extravagant, but things for meals that even he could make with his limited cooking skills. He also grabbed some sweets, specifically ones he knew his mother loved. His mother would never get them for herself, not as long as she was supporting the two of them during his internship, so Fenton did it for her. Not that it was a kind gesture since the money he was using was his mother's.
It was another reminder how much of a burden he had been, and he couldn't wait for his internship to be over and start making money. Once he paid off his student loans, he was going to make sure to pay his mother back plus interest for all that she had done for him.
He ended his shopping trip in the produce section, the memory of the disappearing apple making him think of what Huey said about mermaids and fruit. On a whim, he got a lot more fruit than what his mother wanted. If anything, it would mean he and his mother would be eating more healthy.
As he was driving home, he took a different route, one that went on a highway along the ocean. He wondered how he could live so close to such an immense and beautiful body of water and not really looked at it. He didn't have many memories of going to the beach or swimming in the ocean, not unless friends invited him or his mother's family had a gathering there. He had a small recollection of walking along the surf with his webbed feet getting wet and sandy while holding the hands of his mother and father when he was very young. That was before his father left them, leaving his mother the sole responsible parent.
Perhaps that's why his mother never took him to the beach.
He turned off the highway, coming around to the marina where everyone in Duckburg kept their recreational water vehicles. There were sail boats, dingies, rowboats, yachts, motor boats, fishing boats, and jet skis, tied and moored to the wooden docks, taking up almost a mile of waterfront. It was a beautiful Saturday, so it was obviously busy with people, boats trying to come in and out of their spots while the coast guard and marina workers helped to direct the traffic until they were out into open waters.
It was then that Fenton caught sight of an old, bedraggled sign hanging from a post that looked to have had at least a decade's worth of sun-damage to the paint. But Fenton was still able to read, "Boat for hire. Fishing, whale-watching, skiing, scuba diving, and more. Ask for Donald Duck." The "and more" part had been written below a few words that had been crossed off. Fenton barely finished reading the sign before passing it, his mind churning over the words.
Donald Duck. Where had he heard that name before? Wasn't that the name of Della's twin brother?
What was a nephew of the richest man in town doing on a boat, wasting his time earning small-time change catering to tourists?
There was still plenty of time in the day. It would be perfect to find out. And he could ask a few questions about Fethry Duck as well.
He quickly returned home, put away all the groceries and fixed himself a large lunch for on the go, adding a few more pieces of fruit before heading back down to the marina. He had to park over a block away with how many people were there, and immediately found the sign he had read, wanting to see what was crossed off.
It was hard to make out. Whoever had done it had used marker rather than paint, but Fenton was sure that it had once said, "Mermaid tours." There was also a cartoon mermaid next to the crossed out words, now too worn out to be seen by the passing cars.
At the marina information desk, Fenton asked for directions to Donald Duck's boat. The worker in the booth smirked and pointed to the farthest corner of the marina where older and smaller boats were moored. "Keep going until you hit rocks. Then turn," the man said with a laugh.
Fenton headed in that direction, observing the people working around their boats. The longer he walked, the less there was to look at until he came to the strangest water vehicle he had ever seen. It was part-tugboat, part-houseboat, and part-something else. It was a wonder that it remained afloat with how much care it needed.
"Uh…hello," he called out, approaching the boat. "Is anyone…er…home?" He looked at the laundry that was flying from a clothes line, hung from the smoke stack down the dock and wondered if Donald lived there. There was the smell of cooking fish and soap. Loud music played from inside.
"Hello?" Fenton called out one more time.
A head popped out from the door leading inside the house part of the boat, one that looked very familiar but at the same time didn't. He looked almost like Huey but with a different hair style.
"A customer!" a voice shouted and disappeared. "Uncle Donald! You've got a customer."
The music cut out and then the strangest voice Fenton had ever heard shouted out, "A customer! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy."
"Now, Uncle Donald. You need to be professional," the child said, his voice muffled but still clear to Fenton. "You need to upsell him. Use that Duck charm of yours to reel him in."
Fenton almost ran at that point. He had been so excited to have a lead in his investigation that he hadn't thought about paying Donald. He just wanted to talk to him, perhaps ask a few questions about Fethry.
"Welcome to Donald Duck's tours," the child said bursting through the door, followed by a grown-up in a dark sailor outfit. "Captain Donald Duck welcome's you aboard." The child had a smooth way about him, acting as if Fenton were more than just a visitor.
"Uh…well…I'm sorry but I just came by to talk to Donald Duck," Fenton said in an apologetic voice.
The child's face fell dramatically. "So, you're not a customer?"
"Uh…Yes, yes I am," Fenton said, thinking he might be able to pay for something. He used a twenty the other day at the museum, but he had some ones and maybe a five squirreled away in his wallet.
"Then get up here, pal," Donald said, pulling him up the wobbly plank of wood that leaned against the boat. "What can we do for you?"
"Ah, ah, Uncle Donald. Let's show him the packages," the child said, grabbing a handful of laminated papers as if it were a menu in a restaurant. "Now, you look like a fishing man. The Gold Package comes with four hours of reeling and relaxing and we throw in free bait. And since it seems that you came empty handed, equipment rental comes at twenty-five percent off."
Fenton blinked as the child continued to explain the different fishing packages before interrupting, "You're a lot different than your brother."
This startled the child, and he lost his train of thought. "Huh?"
"Huey. He's your brother, right?" Fenton asked. "You two look a lot alike, but you two…uh…act so differently."
"That's because we're all unique, little snowflakes," the child said blithely.
"What's your name?" Fenton asked.
"Louie." And like an adult, he held out his hand to shake Fenton's.
"So, what can we do for you?" Louie asked, getting back to business. "Since you know Huey, I'm guessing you're not here to go fishing."
"Uh…no," Fenton said. Although he liked eating fish, the idea of putting a worm on a hook, then trying to deal with a slick, wet fish afterward didn't appeal to him. "I was thinking about…" He tried to think of the list that was on Donald's sign, telling his brain to absolutely not mention mermaids. "…whale-watching."
"Whale-watching?" Louie repeated, eyebrows going down. "Usually we just get fishermen, but yeah, we can do a whale-watching package. How many hours do you want to go out for?"
"Uh…well, here's the thing," Fenton said, putting on a humble smile. "I don't have a…lot of money."
Louie narrowed his eyes. "How much?"
"Well…" Fenton quickly pulled out his wallet, searching for any green. "I've got…three, four, nine, twelve dollars and…some change?"
Louie took a deep breath as if trying to calm himself down before snapping his fingers. "Uncle Donald, make him walk the plank."
Even though they were docked and there was no plank, and Donald was not making a single move toward Fenton to do so, Fenton still waved his hands frantically. "And…and I have…lunch! I have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, some apples and oranges and…" He dug through the paper bag he had put all his supplies in, not realizing that a Hostess box had been left in there while he was unpacking. "And…I have chocolate cupcakes."
"Chocolate cupcakes!" Donald shouted. "Deal!"
"What?!" Louie screeched before grabbing his uncle's sleeve and pulling him away. Even though he whispered, Fenton could still hear every word he said. "Okay, it's bad enough that you take all those fishing geezers out for free, but you can't afford to do the same for any stranger who brings you food."
"But they're chocolate cupcakes," Donald said, folding his arms. "And he's paying."
"It's barely enough to pay for gas," Louie said. "If you want me to help you out with your business, then you have to get some paying customers."
"But he said he knew Huey," Donald said.
"That's probably just a ploy," Louie argued. "He probably just used Huey's name to get on your good side."
"Uh, that's not true," Fenton said. "Huey stops by my work all the time for help on his science projects. I'm a scientist."
"See," Donald said. "He's a good guy, and he's been helping Huey. And it's not like we have anything else to do today. And we didn't bring lunch."
Louie rolled his eyes. "Fine. Go broke for all I care." He threw his arms in the air and walked back inside.
"Welcome aboard," Donald said, shaking Fenton's hand.
"Uh…thank you," Fenton said, not realizing until that point how nervous he had been. His muscles were tense and it took him a while to force them to relax. "I really don't need to be out very long. Just an hour or so."
"Let's get crackin'," Donald said, grabbing the bag of food from Fenton and heading into the house.
Within a few minutes, Donald had gotten his boat's motor running, which sounded sick and clogged, and Fenton wondered if he could offer to fix it up since he was practically riding for free. Soon, they were on their way, going slowly while within the marina limits but once in open ocean, they went at a steady pace that couldn't be called slow, but wasn't fast either. The three of them were up at the top where Donald steered the boat, and the wooden walls only muffled the noise of the motor a little, just barely enough for them to talk.
"So, what kind of whales are you looking for?" Donald asked as he used one hand to make himself a sandwich and steered with the other.
"Not any kind in particular," Fenton said, smudging the truth. "I'm not picky."
"We'll head out to sea and sea what we can find," Donald said, laughing.
Louie rolled his eyes at the terrible joke.
"Uh…what about the lighthouse?" Fenton said. "Do you have a lot of sightings of whales there? Or any other…sea life?"
"Dolphins like to hang out there," Louie said, looking to his Uncle. "But we don't often go in that direction."
"Oh…is there a reason?" Fenton asked tentatively.
Both Louie and Donald didn't reply. The atmosphere felt a little heavy, and Fenton hadn't even breached the questions he wanted to ask Donald about Fethry.
"Who wants a cupcake?" Fenton asked, opening the box.
Chocolate solved everything.
And as their mouths were full of cake and gooey cream filling, Fenton decided to set up for his real questions.
"Oh, my mother was talking about you and your sister the other day," Fenton said, playing with the wrapper of his cupcake but not eating it. "She said she went to school with you."
"Who's your mother?" Donald asked, finishing his cake and eyeing the box for another one.
"Maria Cabrera." Fenton handed the cellophane wrapped treat to Donald, trying to stay on his good side. "She's actually your cousin Gladstone's age."
"That's nice," Donald said in a tone that either he didn't care or he didn't remember. Maybe Donald wasn't very social in school.
But Fenton had come all this way and had gotten this far; he had to ask the questions.
"My mother also mentioned your cousin Fethry," Fenton said.
In an instant, Donald shut the motor of his boat off. The sudden lack of noise and the boat stopping and rocking in the water was enough to put Fenton on edge and Louie's eyes to widen.
When Donald looked to Fenton, a rage had overtaken his light-hearted expression and attitude that Fenton took a step backward.
"Why are you asking about Fethry?" Donald demanded.
"Uh…I just…wanted to know more about him," Fenton said uncertainly. "I mean, your family is…a little famous in Duckburg. Isn't it common for people to be curious about the McDuck family?"
"But you're not asking about the family. You're asking about Fethry," Donald said, his fists clenching. "Who are you? Why are you on my boat?"
Fenton shirked back. The way Donald held himself, how his fists were raised, his footing and the set in his beak, he wondered if the sailor was going to attack him. "I—I work in Fethry's lab. I mean, I work with Gyro in the lighthouse. I found some of Fethry's things, and I just wanted to know more about him."
"Wait, you work for Uncle Scrooge?" Louie asked, his eyes widening even more.
"That's it!" Donald shouted. "Get off my boat now."
"Uh…here?" Fenton squeaked, looking out the windows. They were at least a mile away from shore, and although the ocean seemed very calm, he wasn't the best of swimmers.
"Now!" Donald shouted, jumping up and down. His tone seemed to say that he was only going to give one warning.
"Uncle Donald, you can't do that," Louie said, stepping in.
"I don't want him on my boat," Donald yelled.
"But what if he gives us a bad Yelp review," Louie said, waving his arms. "That would be very bad for business." He looked over his shoulder, nodding his head slowly at Fenton.
Fenton copied the action. "Yes. I do not feel that I have had the best experience with this business," he said uncertainly.
"There must be something we can do to change your mind," Louie said, his voice placating.
Fenton looked up to Donald, whose feathers were starting to lay flat again. "Don't…throw me overboard?"
"It's bad for business," Louie agreed.
"He's working for Uncle Scrooge," Donald argued.
"Who doesn't?" Louie asked. "Uncle Scrooge employs almost half the city."
"Look, I don't know what this is about, but I'm just an unpaid intern," Fenton said, using a placating voice. "I didn't mean to cause a stir, but whatever is going on between you and your uncle, I don't have any part of it. I was just curious about Fethry and his work in the Aquatic Observatory, that's all."
Donald looked nonplus about the honesty before backing down. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck before turning the boat's motor back on with a splutter and set his eyes on the horizon to continue their journey.
"So, I'm guessing that you're not looking for whales or anything?" Louie guessed once the tension returned to normal.
"Uh…not really," Fenton admitted. "I'm sorry for deceiving you. I just wanted to find some answers."
"About Fethry?" Donald asked, his voice still sounding suspicious.
"Yes." Fenton decided to take a chance and added, "You see, I was going through some of his old research, and he mentioned some journals. I thought that the journals would have more of his research in it, but I don't know where they are. And I would also like to talk to Fethry about some his work. He had quite a few fascinating discoveries, and it would be an honor to pick the brain of someone so brilliant."
More lies. He had no idea what kind of person Fethry was or what kind of research he had done, but he needed to dispel Donald's suspicions. If he saw Fenton as the scientist that he was, perhaps he would disclose some information.
But instead, it seemed to make Donald more suspicious.
"I don't know anything about Fethry's journals," Donald said, remaining focused on steering the boat.
"Well, maybe I could talk to him?" Fenton said. "I haven't found any way of contacting him, so could you perhaps give me his phone number. I'm sure as a fellow scientist, he would be interested in what Gyro and I have been doing in the lab."
"Psh, doubt that," Louie said with a snort.
Donald glared but Fenton quickly asked, "Why is that?"
"Cousin Fethry isn't a real scientist," Louie said. "He was just some crackpot who pretended to play scientist, using that Aquatic Observatory as if he really knew what he was—"
"Don't talk about Fethry like that," Donald chided, turning his anger onto his nephew. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"What? It's why we don't talk about Fethry," Louie said. "He's crazy, thinking that there were mermaids and sea-monsters and witches and stuff, and he thought he was going to save the city, and that's why he's—"
Donald clamped a hand over Louie's beak, glaring balefully at the child. "Don't say another word, or I won't let you back on my boat."
When Donald released Louie's beak, the boy looked apologetic but not afraid. "Sorry, Uncle Donald."
Donald returned to steering the boat. "Fethry left three years ago and didn't tell us where he was going. I haven't heard from him since. As for his journals, you're chasing a white whale. Fethry did write a bunch of journals, but they weren't what you think they were."
Fenton had the feeling that Donald really cared for his cousin, and that a part of his anger wasn't just trying to keep a family secret, but something else. "What was in the journals?"
Donald shrugged. "To be honest, Fethry was a little…eccentric. He was really into the stories of the mermaids from Duckburg history. All he did was write down every story he ever heard, no matter how stupid they were. To be honest, Della made up most of them just to prank him, but he didn't care. He wrote them all down."
"Oh, so the journals are about mermaids?" Fenton said, trying not to sound too excited. After all, nothing so far had come from his asking around. If what Donald said was true, then the journals didn't have anything that could help Fenton. But then again, Huey was told by Fethry that mermaids liked fruit.
"Yeah, sorry to disappoint," Donald said. "Fethry always was interested in the ocean and animals, but I'm afraid he didn't do any real research in the observatory. He just liked helping out and teaching the kids about conservation and that kind of stuff. He may have been a little weird, but he was a really great guy."
"It sounds like it," Fenton said, smiling. Even though they were cousins, Donald talked about Fethry as if he were a little brother. "So, is it because of him that you had the mermaid tours?"
"Huh?" Donald was caught off guard and he fell into the helm of the boat, causing the rudder to turn sharply to the left.
Everyone shifted and wobbled until Donald could right their direction.
"Mermaid tours?" Donald said with a laugh. "Where did you get such an idea?"
"Well, it was part of your sign," Fenton said, deciding to be bold. He decided to use the same lie he gave Mrs. Quackfaster. "I have a niece who is really into mermaids. If you can still give the tour, I'd love to find out more for her birthday. She would really love it."
"Mermaid tours?" Louie said with a snort. "Uncle Donald, did you really do something so cheesy?"
Donald frowned before shrugging. "It brought in customers. I would show them around the bay, tell them all the stories and about the sightings of the mermaids around the lighthouse. It made me money, but it became unpopular."
"But you could still do it, right?" Fenton asked. "I'll pay for it. I'll bring more than just lunch."
Donald chuckled before looking around the windows at the ocean. "This looks like a good spot to stop. In fact, it's part of the mermaid tour."
Fenton watched as Donald turned the motor back off and headed to a map that was tacked to one of the wooden walls.
"This map shows all my usual routes," Donald said. "Don't tell anyone. These are secret. The best places to go fishing are the blue ones."
Blue smiley-face stickers dotted the map all along the coast around Duckburg and some out in deeper water.
"The green are the places best to find whales and dolphins. I've been doing this long enough, I can make sure at least one sighting each time," Donald said with a bit of pride. "I was going to take you to a pod of gray whales nearby that I saw here yesterday. They should still be in the area." He tapped the map close to a green sticker. "And the pink ones are the mermaid tour."
Most of the pink stickers were around the lighthouse, a few along the coast but one far out to sea, surrounded by green stickers.
"That's where we are," Donald said, pointing to the lone pink sticker. "The Singing Rocks."
"The Singing Rocks?" Fenton asked, having never heard of the phrase before.
Donald gestured for Fenton to follow him and headed back down to the deck. The sea air that blew around them was tinged with the smell of exhaust fumes and something burning. A bit of smoke wafted from the boat's motor.
"There," Donald said, pointing to a large outcropping of rocks that had risen from the ocean. It looked to be about twenty or thirty feet across and the same width; the rocks created a nice, little island that someone could climb or sit on. The highest point was only about four feet out of water.
"It's mostly underwater in high tide, but a lot of the locals come here to dive. There's a pretty, little reef along the ocean floor here," Donald said. "And besides the lighthouse, this had been the place where most of the mermaid sightings have been. But they've only happened at night."
"Why only at night?" Louie asked, hopping onto the side of the boat, twisting so his feet dangled over the water, sometimes dipping into it.
Donald shrugged. "That's when people have heard music coming from these rocks," he said. "Boats and ships that have come this way, sometimes lost in fog or in the dark and can't find their way, hear the sound of singing near here. And then these rocks begin to glow with a soft, ethereal light enough for the sailors to see. Although some stories vary, some say that the singing and the light lure the ships to break bottom against the reef, sinking their ships where the mermaids could drag the sailors to the murky depths of Davey Jones's locker. But some people have said that the light and singing have saved them from drowning or helped them find their way back to the coast in foggy nights or if the lighthouse wasn't lit."
"Why the two different stories?" Fenton asked. "I mean, is there historical evidence that any ships have sunk here?"
"Not to my knowledge, even before the lighthouse was built," Donald replied. "In fact, very few sightings of mermaids happened before the lighthouse."
"What do they look like?" Fenton asked. "I mean, from the stories. Do any of the stories have a clear description of the mermaids?"
"Aren't they just girls with fish tails instead of legs?" Louie broke in. "Ridiculously pretty girls."
"Well, not necessarily," Donald said. "Mermen have also been sighted, but not as frequently. And they aren't all pretty."
"Okay, so they're descent. But it's not like any of them are super ugly," Louie argued.
"Again, not always the case," Donald said. "Some of the stories tell of sea hags and elderly women with the tails of eels or eight tentacles like an octopus, and their mouths full of teeth like a shark's. I've even heard some stories about sea monsters that did the bidding of the mermaids and could control the very waves of the ocean."
"Where did you hear all these stories?" Fenton asked. "Didn't you say that your sister made them all up?"
"I said she made up half of them," Donald said, putting his hands on his hips. "The others I heard from fishermen. I've been on these docks for years, and they tell me things they won't tell the tourists. Some of the stories I won't repeat because they set my tail feathers on end."
"Did—did any of them describe a mermaid with…blue and white curly hair? And a long tail. A very long tail?" Fenton hadn't realized the words had left his mouth until it was too late. He immediately regretted them, but then again, hadn't he asked the same question of Mrs. Quackfaster?
"Hmmmm," Donald hummed, mulling over the question. "I don't think so. Nothing like that. I don't know. None of the fishermen give that much detail. But, you know, it's probably from drinking too much or heat stroke. After all, mermaids aren't real, are they?"
Fenton laughed. "No, I guess not."
Donald seemed to scrutinize Fenton for a while as he took out an apple—one that Fenton had brought—and a knife and began skinning the fruit. He tossed the skins into the ocean. As he carved the fruit, he called to his nephew, "Hey, Louie, will you go get my fishing pole? Since we're out here, might as well do some good, eh? Catch some dinner."
"I guess," Louie said, heading for the part of the boat with stairs leading down below deck.
Once the youth was gone, Donald moved closer to Fenton and said in a hushed, deep voice, "I don't know what you're fishing for, but stop it."
"Huh?" Fenton asked, jerking away a little.
"Forget about Fethry, forget about mermaids, and forget about anything to do about my family," Donald said, his voice half-way to threatening. "People like you who snoop into things that you shouldn't, bad things will happen to you."
"Are you threatening me?" Fenton asked. He worried about the answer.
"No, I'm warning you," Donald said. His voice sounded sincere. "My uncle keeps his secrets in any way he can. His family is loyal, and there are others that are his eyes and ears. It would be best if you left things alone."
"Is that what happened to Fethry? Did he not leave things alone?" Fenton asked, concerned. "Is he okay?"
Donald finished skinning his apple, flicking the last of the red bits into the ocean before standing up and biting into it. At that time, Louie came up on deck, carrying a tackle box and a pole.
"Thanks Louie," Donald said, taking the things. "Hmmm, it looks like a storm is coming our way. We can only fish for a while, then we better head back."
Louie, who had retrieved his own pole, spent his time looking at his phone rather than the water, and had almost lost his fishing gear several times to his inattention.
Fenton had sat on the edge of the boat, gazing into the water, watching small fish rise to the surface to nibble at the apple skins. He also took an orange and peeled it, saving the peel instead of throwing it in the water. He wondered if mermaids would like oranges. That led him to wondering if his mermaid was watching him. No, she wouldn't be. He had only seen her around the lighthouse. How would she know that he went to the marina and was now on Donald's boat.
Although Fenton and Louie didn't see anything—and voiced their opinion—within the hour, clouds had appeared on the horizon, the wind picked up and waves two feet high were rocking the boat.
"Time to go," Donald finally announced after catching not even a single nibble, but still seemed more at ease after the bit of fishing. They all went back up the stairs to the helm, and Donald started the motor, which coughed, sputtered, but did not come to life as it had two times before. "What is going on, you sonnofa—" Donald's speech elapsed in a mixture of sailor talk, swearing and unintelligible babble as he kicked the helm before racing back down to the motor to hit it with a wrench.
"Wait a minute," Fenton called out, grabbing the wrench before Donald could harm the motor more than it was. "I think I can fix it."
"Huh?"
"Well, I was just building an engine for a deep-sea mini-sub for Mr. McDuck, and I think I know what's wrong with your motor," Fenton said, stepping forward and bending over the contraption. He couldn't help but wonder why the motor wasn't in an antique museum; it looked far older than the boat…or at least most of the boat. Perhaps it was the original engine for the water vehicle before it had been bastardized and sewn together like some sort of Frankenstein's monster.
"Well, be my guest," Donald said, stepping aside. "But if you can't fix it in half an hour, I might have to call the coast guard for a tugboat. This isn't a good place to wait out the storm."
Fenton called for more tools and went to work, focusing on the task at hand even when the rain started coming down. At one point, he was hanging out over the boat, straddling the motor, and asking for one tool after another. He had to take it apart quite a bit to find the culprit: a loose nut. All it required was a good cleaning and to be tightened, and they could be on their way.
"Just one more thing," Fenton said, holding out his free hand. "Screw and Phillip's head."
Just as Donald was handing over the part and tool, a particularly large swell hit the boat broadside, and the boat bucked up and down. Donald and Louie were knocked to their feet, but Fenton, who was hanging on the side, felt his body get kicked up in the air, and he came down hard, hitting his arm against the side of the boat and breaking his grip. As he slipped into the ocean, his beak slammed onto the side of the motor, knocking him half-senseless before a wave pulled him under.
Instinctually, Fenton held his breath and kicked with his legs to swim to the surface. But he didn't get far until his head hit against the bottom of the boat, and he realized he was underneath it. He scrambled sideways to get away from the boat, but the waves were still knocking him around, and the boat bounced on top of him, driving him downward where he hit his head against a rock. This time, he felt his body struggle to remain conscious and his lungs to retain what air they still had. He weakly knew he needed air, but he had little strength or thought to do anything about it.
Then he felt arms wrapped around his chest, pulling him through the water. He was moving fast, and his thoughts were to thank Donald for coming after him in such hazardous weather.
But he had been underwater for too long, and his lungs burned to open up and let anything inside, even the very ocean that would kill him quickly. He struggled and a hand gently pressed against his beak, keeping him from inhaling any water. That cleared his head enough that he opened his eyes and realized that he was still moving through the water very quickly, much faster than anyone could swim with their arms holding onto him. He looked down, seeing that the hands wrapped around his chest were covered in blue feathers. Beyond his feet, he saw the flash of a tail as it undulated up and down, propelling them through the water.
And then Fenton's head burst through the surface and the hand unclasped his beak. He breathed in air and some water, coughing and spluttering as his lungs worked without his knowledge, and he breathed in more air and water. He coughed and wheezed as his rescuer pulled him through the violent waves. When he felt something solid underneath him, he reached his hands and feet out and came into contact with rough rock. Only then did he look to his rescuer, his mind already devised who it had been.
It was her. The mermaid he had seen outside the lab. She stayed at his side, grabbing his shirt and pulling him farther ono the Singing Rocks, sheltering him from the waves that were growing bigger and stronger by the minute, that threatened to dash him against the stones. He looked her up and down, seeing how her white feathers turned to blue, then gave way to coral and gold-colored scales below her navel. Her back grew a green sail—like a sword fish's—starting near her shoulder blades and went down her spine. Most of her tail was in the churning water of the ocean, and he couldn't see how long it was.
"It's you," he said stupidly, reaching out to touch her, to make sure she was real.
She turned to him, her eyes wide at his fingers.
He took his hand back, not wanting to scare her, but was surprised when she grabbed his hand. They both were now secured in a sheltered part of the Singing Rocks, but the water level was rising and soon the waves would find them again.
"It's you. You're a mermaid," Fenton repeated, not sure what to say. What did one say to a fantasy? "C-Can you understand me?"
The mermaid nodded.
"Fenton! Fenton!"
At his name, Fenton realized that Donald and Louie must be looking for him. He hoped they hadn't gone in the water to get him. Even the best of swimmers could die in this storm.
"I'm over here," Fenton said, standing up and waving at them. "I'm okay."
"Hang on," Donald shouted. "Stay right there. I'll move the boat around and throw you a life preserve."
Fenton sat down hard when he was pulled back to a sitting position, the mermaid looking worried and shaking her head.
"It's okay. They're just helping me," Fenton said.
But the mermaid looked even more afraid. She reached out, her fingers pressing against his bill. He couldn't see, but it felt like she was trying to force something into his mouth.
He pushed her hand away. "What is it?"
She opened her beak, moving it as if she were talking, but nothing came out.
"Can you speak?" Fenton asked, recalling the oldest of mermaid stories, the one that nearly everyone had heard of growing up, even those not from Duckburg.
The mermaid's face twisted, frustrated. She tried pushing whatever was in her hand in Fenton's mouth again, but once more Fenton refused to open his mouth. He pulled her hands away.
"What are you trying to do?" he demanded. He had no idea what was going on, and even though the mermaid had saved him, he was reluctant to let her put anything in his mouth. "What is it that you want me to eat?"
The mermaid shook her head. Her face turned and her eyes widened as she spotted Donald's boat rounding the Singing Rocks. She pressed the object into Fenton's hand and scrambled over the rocks, diving down into the water. Her tail slithered after her like a snake's for several feet before a round, oar-like fluke brought up the rear and disappeared under the surface.
Fenton remained sitting, the water now up to his stomach, as he took in his interaction with the mysterious mermaid, he felt his body go into shock. Or maybe that was because he almost died.
"Fenton! Are you okay?" It was Louie, shouting from Donald's boat. The motor was droning with a better note than before, so whatever Fenton had done had brought it back to life.
"I'm fine," Fenton said, standing up. The waves were now so big that even the Singing Rocks couldn't shelter him and he braced himself with the tallest so he wouldn't get swept away.
"Catch this," Louie yelled, picking up a life preserver and tossing it as far as he could. It landed ten feet away from Fenton.
Taking the chance, Fenton swam toward it. He should have been afraid, but he wasn't as he swam as best he could toward it. Somehow, he knew that the mermaid was watching him, making sure he would make it to the boat safely. Even so, he made it to the life preserver without help, looping it around his head and one arm.
Louie pulled on the rope attached to the preserver and Fenton kicked his legs until he was at the side of the boat. Climbing up a small ladder, Fenton toppled inside, breathing hard and feeling as if he would never be dry ever again.
"We got him, Uncle Donald," Louie shouted to the helm.
With one last sputter, the boat's engine roared as if it were a speedboat, and they headed back to the marina.
Fenton almost shouted for them to go back. The mermaid must still be there. She wouldn't leave. He was certain she was back at the Singing Rocks. But she had disappeared before Louie or Donald saw her, so she did not want to be seen.
So why did she show herself to Fenton? Why did she save him? Why was she following him?
And then he remembered the object she had pressed into his hand. He had closed it into a fist the second she had, holding onto it tightly so he wouldn't lose it. She had tried to put it in his mouth for a reason he could not guess. Even now, he didn't want to open his hand to look at it for fear that the rocking boat would knock it out of his grip or even for Louie to see it and discover what had happened.
"Come on. Let's go inside," Louie said, tugging on Fenton's elbow. "There's some blankets down below."
Fenton followed and after being knocked about by the ocean and almost drowned, the small, cramped quarters of below deck actually felt warm, cozy and safe. He sat down on a plastic covered bench while Louie retrieved a blankets to wrap around Fenton and managed to make some hot chocolate even with the boat being tossed around by boiling water in a coffee maker. He moved about the boat expertly, leaning into each wave.
"Sorry, I don't know how to make coffee," Louie said, handing over a cup of hot liquid with a lid and a straw, convenient so to prevent spills. "Are you okay? I thought that we had almost lost you."
"I'm fine," Fenton said. "It wasn't you or your uncle's fault. I'm not blaming either of you."
"Well…that's good," Louie said, pouring himself a cup of hot chocolate. "But it was crazy that you ended up at the Singing Rocks. It was almost forty feet away from us."
Fenton squeezed his cup of hot chocolate, the warm liquid in his belly made him realize just how cold he was, and he began shivering. "Yeah, that was really lucky. I'm not sure how that happened."
"Probably an undertow," Louie guessed. "Which means you were darn lucky. Some currents can take you really far away. It's good that you were able to get to the Singing Rocks, or you could have been drowned."
Fenton nodded his head, his mind wandering to the mermaid. She really had saved his life. With the storm and hitting his head several times, he may not have been able to swim back up to the surface. But instead of helping him into the boat, she had taken him to the Singing Rocks. Why? Was it to hide herself? But then why stick around and let him see her? By her behavior, she acted as if she wanted to communicate with him. But she had no voice.
His thoughts went to if she had lost her voice, like in the fairy tale. Had a sea witch taken her voice? No, there's no such things as sea witches. But then again, there weren't supposed to be mermaids. But according to the story, the mermaid traded her voice for human legs, but this mermaid still had a tail.
Fenton erased the idea of the fairy tale. It seemed silly. But he couldn't help but wonder why the mermaid was appearing to him. Did it have to do with the other legends? Was she the mermaid that the Scrooge McDuck from centuries ago had stolen from? Was she here for the gold coin? And did her appearance foretell disaster for Duckburg?
He had been deep in thought for several minutes, and it took him a while to realize that Louie was talking to him again.
"What was that?" Fenton asked, shaking his head. He touched his forehead, having not felt until then the lumps on his skull from where he hit it. Perhaps the shock was wearing off because his head was aching as much as a migraine.
"I said that I've heard about a mermaid with a long tail," Louie said. "Just like you said before."
"You have? Where?" Fenton asked, leaning forward.
"From my mom," Louie said. "She's always telling weird stories about mermaids, but it wasn't until you mentioned a mermaid with a long tail that it came back to me. There was one story she used to tell me and my brothers a few years back."
"What was it about? How did the story go?" Fenton asked.
Louie looked upward as he recalled from his memories. "I can't remember the beginning, but the mermaid in it was part sea-snake, and she could wrap her tail around things like a monkey or an anaconda. She would squeeze her victims to death as she dragged them down to the bottom of the sea where she would feast on them."
Fenton grimaced at the macabre story.
"Yeah, mom wasn't into the cutesy stuff," Louie said with a sour face. "You should hear her ghost stories. Anyway, your description sort of reminded me of that. I thought it was weird because I thought my mom was the only one to come up with the idea."
"Well…maybe I picked it up somewhere," Fenton said. "As I recall from my mom, Della liked to share a lot of her stories."
Louie shook his head. "Not this one. Her best stories she kept for us."
Fenton felt a little disappointed. He had hoped that perhaps Della had seen his mermaid before and maybe had more information about her, but it was just another story.
"But also, she often based her stories off of Cousin Fethry's drawings," Louie said, his voice hushed. His eyes cast upward where his uncle was at the helm.
"Fethry's drawings? You've seen them?" Fenton asked.
"Well, no. But Mom talked about his journals a lot. She said she could count on him to help inspire her for her best stories," Louie said. "Those stores, they felt the most real."
The most real. Did Della's stories tell more fact than fiction? Had he been wrong about his mermaid all this time? Yet that didn't tell him anything about Fethry or the journals. But did that matter now? He had seen the mermaid. He had evidence in his hand that she was real. Shouldn't that be enough for him?
But what about the legend that mermaids bring disaster? If that were true, shouldn't he tell someone? But if they weren't true, would he just cause a panic? Or would they think he was just crazy?
Deciding he still needed to investigate, he asked, "So, do you think your mother might know where Fethry's journals are? She seems to be the only one who I've heard to actually have seen them." Besides Huey, but he didn't want to bring him into his investigation. He had a feeling if he did, Huey could get into trouble.
Louie shrugged. "I guess you could ask her."
"Okay. Where can I talk to her?" Fenton didn't dare ask for her number. He couldn't just ask a kid for his mom's telephone number, could he? Not to mention, she was a McDuck. It felt a little like asking a celebrity for their phone number.
Louie tilted his head. "You've never met her? Don't you work at the lighthouse?"
"Uh…in the basement," Fenton said. "Does she work at the lighthouse?"
"She's the keeper," Louie explained. "It's her job to make sure everything is working correctly and that the light turns on every night and on foggy days. If something goes wrong, she goes there right away and fixes it."
This surprised Fenton. He would have thought a lowly worker would have done something like that, and it felt weird that the niece of a billionaire was doing such a menial job. Maybe she liked it.
"She goes up there every Sunday around five for her routine check, although she's probably there now because of the storm, but you don't look up to visiting with her at the moment," Louie said.
Fenton hated to put something off, but he agreed with Louie. Not only was he cold and wet, but his head was throbbing. He tenderly felt around his skull, finding two bumps, one of them was still bleeding. He certainly didn't want to get into a conversation with Della Duck at that moment.
At least it was Saturday, so he would only have to wait until tomorrow to talk to her.
"I think I will talk to her," Fenton said, drinking the rest of his hot chocolate, feeling the warmth seep into his bones. He wanted to go to sleep, and it was a struggle for him to stay upright.
Not long after the end of their conversation, Donald docked his boat at the marina, the storm still battering them so much that the sailor had a hard time mooring his vehicle.
"Do you want some help?" Fenton offered.
"No, you go home and get some rest," Donald said, chiding him as if Fenton were one of his nephews. "You need to take care of yourself. And next time you come boating with me, I'll provide the lunch."
Fenton smiled, sensing a kind spirit inside Donald despite his gruffness.
"And don't forget to review our services online, preferable via social media," Louie said. "And for everyone you recommend to us, we give you ten percent off your next purchase. At least, when you pay full price."
Fenton chuckled before waving and leaving, racing to his car to get out of the wind and rain. All-in-all, it wasn't a bad trip. Well, the falling overboard and almost dying was bad, but he had learned a lot and had seen the mermaid again. And he felt a strong desire to go looking for her, to see her again. She wanted to tell him something, and he wanted to know. She looked so sincere and worried that he felt a strong desire to help her out. And he wondered if he returned to the Singing Rocks, if she would be there.
When he was secure in his mother's car, that's when he finally opened his fist, the muscles and tendons stiff and full of cramps from his constant tension, but when he finally opened his fingers, he found a large, white pearl in his palm.
Donald expertly tied one knot after another, securing everything down in his boat lest they slide around. Then he went below deck to secure a few more things before he could leave. Although he felt just as comfortable living on his house boat—and occasionally slept there—he wasn't staying during this storm. It seemed bad luck, especially with Fenton's close call.
As he went below deck to finish up before leaving to his apartment, Louie followed him, asking, "Are you going to tell Uncle Scrooge what happened?"
"No," Donald stated sternly, his mood darkening at his uncle's name.
"But you're supposed to," Louie said.
"I don't care."
"But what if something bad happens," Louie protested. "You know what could happen if he found out."
"If Uncle Scrooge wants to keep his secrets safe, then he can do it himself," Donald said. "But I'm done with helping him. Not after what happened with Fethry."
Louie put his hands in his hoodie, fingering his phone. It wouldn't be hard to send an email or a text. Just a quick word about Fenton and the questions he had. He could even do it blindfolded and Donald would be none the wiser.
"And I forbid you from telling him," Donald said.
"But I—"
"I'm not kidding, Louie," Donald said. "It happened on my boat. I decide if I tell Uncle Scrooge, not you."
Louie was about to argue that Donald wasn't his father, despite the fact that he was just as good as one. Della was…Della, and while she tried hard, there were times she wasn't the greatest of mothers. So her brother had stepped in and became the "responsible" parent. Louie and his brothers knew him and loved him just as much as their mother.
That is, until Fethry, and the McDuck clan became divided. And nobody talked about it. Or told Louie and his brothers anything. Uncle Donald moved out and lived in a shabby apartment close to the docks. He never asked Uncle Scrooge for anything and never came to visit. As for the boys and Della, they still lived in the McDuck Manor, looking down on Duckburg from the highest hill just west of the city.
"Is that clear?" Donald asked, eyeing his nephew.
"Yes, Uncle Donald," Louie said, nodding.
Uncle Donald smiled and ruffled Louie's hair before returning to work.
But what Uncle Donald didn't know was that Louie had planned on his uncle making him promise not to say anything. He had planned on it and had reacted accordingly. He may respect his uncle, but he didn't want to be like Donald. He wanted to be a part of Clan McDuck, and that meant that his loyalty was to his Uncle Scrooge.
It was why he planted the idea for Fenton to go visit his mother.