I’m making my sister watch DuckTales, and she pointed out to me that only male ducks are green. They aren’t this green, only their heads are green, but the wiki calls her a duck so she is.
So I have come to the conclusion that she is trans.
“And now! Channel Three News, with reporter Roxanne Featherly!”
“Good evening. Tonight, we have a special report on the recent terrorist attacks in Paris. Who was behind them, and what did they hope to gain? Later, insiders speak on the realities of working for Glomgold Industries! And Gizmoduck – is he doing more harm than good? All this and more on Channel Three News!”
“Okay, fifteen secs for the intro.”
Roxanne sighed irritably as the bombastic music played, quickly stretching her neck before she went back on air. As the music finished, she straightened her back and took a firmer posture, her eyes trained on the newsreader in front of her.
“At eleven-twenty-one PM, last Saturday night, residents of Paris were abruptly awoken by the sound of explosions, coming from deep below the earth.” Roxanne read. “In what has been described as an ‘unexpected’ and ‘shocking’ terrorist attack, a section of the underground Paris catacombs was detonated and collapsed, causing significant damage to the structures and streets above. According to our foreign correspondents, although nobody was killed in the attack, fifty-six people were injured, with seven left in critical condition.”
The screen behind her changed to display an aerial shot of Paris, showing the partially collapsed streets and buildings.
“It is currently unknown who was behind the attack, nor do we know what they were after. What we do know is that, by strange coincidence, McDuck and his family had arrived in the city just the morning before, and were apprehended by the local police force close to the scene of the incident.”
The screen changed once more, showing a video of Scrooge McDuck wading through a crowd of journalists, trying to get to a car. His expression was one of frustration and embarrassment, trying to ignore the questions and the cameras.
“The police found them trespassing through catacomb tunnels designated as ‘off-limits’ to civilians and tourists. Though it is unknown what McDuck was doing there exactly, it’s safe to presume that his family was at least tangentially involved in the attack, with many people believing that the attack was specifically meant to target him, or that he was trying to stop the attack. Mayor Hogwilde’s theory for McDuck’s presence was notably harsher, speaking in a radio interview the other day.”
A picture of Hogwilde appeared on the screen, beside which was a soundwave image that fluctuated with his voice. “I think, though I stress that I’m merely speculating here, that this is simply another disastrous consequence of Mr McDuck and his ‘adventures’. I’m sure he didn’t intend for this to happen, the same way he didn’t intend to flatten Duckburg with a giant beanstalk. That alone cost almost five billion dollars in repairs, so I dread to imagine what this incident will cost the Parisians.”
“We reached out to the mayor’s office to ask for an interview, in the hope that he would elaborate on these comments, but they declined.” Roxanne continued. “We also reached out to the McDuck estate, but they also declined. With no straight answers from either our resident adventurers or even the Parisian authorities, all we can do is speculate and wonder what, exactly, McDuck was up to. We’re joining foreign correspondent Sam Niell, who is currently in the City of Light…”
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Chanda waited impatiently at the park table, facing the park gate with her arms folded across her chest. The afternoon sun was hanging overhead, the warmth combating the cool spring breeze.
Finally, after an hour waiting, she saw him arrive. He pushed through the park gate and walked towards her, wearing a bright yellow hoodie and an accompanying yellow beanie. He walked towards her with a confident smirk, his hand in his pocket and a backpack slung across his shoulder. Chanda stared at him as he approached, inspecting him with a look of disdain and suspicion.
“So,” Louie asked. “You ready to go?”
“Not until you explain why you’re wearing… whatever the hell this is.” Chanda retorted.
“Ah,” Louie picked at his jacket, grinning. “This is my disguise.”
“…Okay.” Chanda narrowed her eyes. “Ignoring the fact that your idea of a disguise is to change the colour of your clothes and put on a hat, why do you need a disguise?”
“Well… let’s say that the guy we’re seeing might not be on the nicest terms with my family. So, I’m covering my bases.”
“And you think it’s actually going to work?”
“Oh, yeah.” Louie said confidently.
Chanda stared at him for a moment, trying to determine whether he was serious. Then, with a roll of her eyes, she stood up to join him, muttering, “It’s your head.”
The two of them made their way to the nearest bus stop, Chanda following behind her charge with her hands in her jacket pockets. They waited a few minutes for the bus to arrive, sitting beside each other in silence. When it did, they made their way to the back of the bus and sat down.
“…So where are we headed?” Chanda asked.
“You’ll see.” Louie replied enigmatically.
“…And I don’t get to know who we’re seeing?”
“Nope.”
“So what do I get to know?” Chanda demanded frustratedly.
In response, Louie took off his backpack, a smug smile on his beak. He unzipped the main pocket and angled the opening towards her, saying quietly, “You get to know the payout.”
Chanda looked inside, frowning. At the bottom of the backpack was a clump of bubble wrap, encasing something within. Slowly, she reached into the pack and took one, bringing it closer for her to look at, but still keeping it within the bag. Squinting a bit, she could see within the plastic padding was what looked to be a miniature blue sarcophagus sculpture with a jackal’s head, about five inches in length.
“…What is…?” Chanda began to ask.
“That is what’s known as a shabti, from New Kingdom Egypt.” Louie explained, keeping his voice down. “Supposedly, these things were placed in pharaoh’s tombs to be his servants in the afterlife. This one was found in some weird vault-thing in Turkey, but the inscriptions apparently say that the thing was meant for some guy called… Seti the First? Something like that.”
Chanda suddenly looked up at him, her gloominess replaced almost instantly by stunned disbelief.
“Oh, yeah. Welcome to Louie Inc.” Louie said with a grin. “That’s an ‘at least’ figure, by the way, so we can potentially bump that price up to sixty, possibly even eighty with this guy.” He chuckled. “That ten percent isn’t looking too bad now, is it?”
“Where did you get this?” Chanda whispered incredulously.
Louie leaned back in his seat. “Long story short? My family was at this antiques auction, right? And we bought something that turned out to be a counterfeit. A complete fake. And the story behind that is a little convoluted; the real one was supposed to be this all-powerful magic artifact, the guy who sold it expected this other guy to nab it, blah blah blah.” Louie waved his hand dismissively. “I go back to the seller and he’s all, ‘sorry, I didn’t expect someone with a degree of actual intelligence would actually buy this’, and he offered this little thing in exchange for us not letting slip any rumours of… phoney goods.”
“He gave you an artifact worth forty grand?”
“Well, I blackmailed him. Comes down to the same thing.”
Chanda gently put the shabti back in the bag, suddenly and conspicuously aware of just how valuable it was. “Forty…” She murmured, still trying to wrap her head around it. “I could…”
“You could do a lot of things.”
“But that’s enough for… I don’t know, at least three months’ worth of medicine!” Chanda cried. “That’s…!” She looked around, then asked in a hushed voice, “That’s our first gig?”
“Yup. And trust me, it’s only gonna get better from here.”
“…Okay.” Chanda leant back in her seat, a slight smile to her beak. “Alright, Louie Duck. Maybe you’re not as much of a dickhead as I thought.”
---------------------------------------------
Chanda’s heightened respect lasted until they reached Glomgold’s estate.
“What the-” She gasped, stopping dead as they approached the gates, the wrought iron bars emblazoned with an impression of the ex-billionaire’s face.
“Don’t worry about it.” Louie told her dismissively.
“That lunatic?” Chanda hissed hysterically. “The crazy millionaire who tries to kill your family on a weekly basis?”
“Emphasis on ‘tries’.”
“Are you fucking insane?” Chanda grabbed him by the arm, demanding furiously, “He’ll see through this in a second!”
“No, he won’t, I’ve done this before!” Louie snapped, pushing her off of him. “Trust me, this is a watertight scheme! I wouldn’t be doing this otherwise!”
“What if you’re wrong? What if he gets smart and tries to get revenge? You know what that guy has access to, what if he tracks me and my mother down?”
“Uh… well, then it’s a good thing that you are not Chanda Kulavaan today, you… are…”
Louie quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, rapidly typing something while Chanda stared at him.
“…Mataji Ahuja!” Louie finished, looking back up at her victoriously.
“…Did you just search ‘random Indian name’?” Chanda demanded accusingly.
“And now you’re certifiably anonymous.” Louie replied. “Now come on.”
He resumed walking to the gates of the property, adjusting his beanie as he did. Chanda followed him after a moment, looking much warier than she had before. Once they had reached the iron bars of the gate, Louie pressed a button on a nearby intercom and waiting for a response.
“…Wasn’t he fired from his company?” Chanda asked worriedly. “He might refuse to buy it.”
“That requires him to actually understand how bad his finances are.” Louie told her. “And frankly, I don’t think he even understands what money is.”
“…Glomgold Estate.” A female voice spoke through the intercom after a while. “Who is this?”
“G’day, mate!” Louie exclaimed in a bad, over-the-top Australian accent. “This here is antiques collector Phooey Luck. Remember me?”
“Bhagavaan meree madad karo, vah ek moorkh hai.” Chanda whispered, agitatedly running her hands through her headfeathers.
“…Unfortunately.” The woman on the intercom said resignedly. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I just want to speak with your employer, that’s all!” Louie told her cheerfully, leaning against the wall next to the speaker. “I’ve recently got my hands on a real beaut’, and I reckon your boss might want to have a look at it.”
“I take it back. You are a dickhead.” Chanda growled. Louie ignored her.
“I’m afraid Mr Glomgold isn’t here right now.” The intercom woman told them. “Hasn’t been for a while.”
“Ah, no worries.” Louie replied dismissively. “When do you reckon he’ll come back?”
“…I mean, normally he comes back at six or seven, but-”
“Fantastic! We’ll just come back around then!”
“I don’t think you understand, ‘Mr Luck’.” The woman interrupted him as he was starting to walk away. “My boss isn’t at work or on holiday, he’s missing.”
Louie paused. He frowned slightly, then asked, “Uh, what, uh… what do ya mean missin’?”
“I mean that nobody knows where he is.”
“…Okay, well… it can’t be that nobody knows where he is.” Louie said with a nervous laugh, his eyes flicking over to Chanda behind him. “Surely he at least told you where he was, right?”
“Yeah, he told me.” The woman replied irritably. “Said that he was going to Paris to ‘exact his revenge’ or something and that he’d be back by Monday. That was the last I heard from him, and that was five days ago. He hasn’t called or answered his phone, the hotel he’d stayed at said they saw him leave, but he didn’t come back… He hasn’t even posted any insane rants on social media since he left!”
Louie’s smile slowly fell from his face.
“Guy’s missing. I don’t know what to tell you.” The woman said crossly. “Honestly, I figured you and your family would know more than I did.”
“Me-” Louie stammered, losing his nerve slightly. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, uh… that’s… obviously not great, but… I think I left my number or my email with you lot last time I was here, so, uh… why don’t you give me a ring when he comes back, yeah?”
“Sure. I’ll let you know if he comes back.” The woman replied drily. “And when you do, pick an accent that you’re actually good at. Trust me, he won’t notice.”
The intercom switched off with an audible click.
Louie stayed stock still, drumming his finger against the brickwork.
Then, he turned around and started to walk back to the bus stop, trying to avoid eye contact with his companion.
“…So, where does this fall into your ‘watertight scheme’?” Chanda asked sarcastically as they walked.
“Okay, this is just a temporary inconvenience.” Louie said irritably, dropping the fake accent as he turned to her. “All we have to do is wait until Glomgold comes back, then-”
“And how long is that gonna take?” Chanda demanded, glaring at him angrily.
“…I don’t know, like, maybe a couple of weeks? At the most?” Louie guessed. “Like, we saw him in Paris, how long could it take him to get back?”
“Well, I don’t have a couple of weeks!” Chanda shot back. “I have until next month to pay for my mother’s medication, remember? If I don’t have that money-”
“Well, what do you want from me? If he’s not here, he’s not here! What’s the alternative?”
Chanda put her hands in her pockets and looked away, huffing frustratedly. Louie folded his arms and glared back at her, waiting for her to admit that she didn’t know.
“…Look, I’m on a time limit.” Chanda said angrily, repeating herself. “If he isn’t here by next week, we have to sell that thing to someone else.”
“And I will figure it out!” Louie argued. “Trust me on this!”
“Trust you? After that display?” Chanda laughed derisively, waltzing up to him and saying icily, “I thought you said we weren’t equal partners?”
“We’re not.” Louie replied coldly.
“And yet, you want me to trust you like one. You want me to trust that you won’t try to screw me over or, more likely, fuck this up, even when you don’t trust me.”
Louie glared at her, his fists clenched in his pockets.
“Give me the thing.” Chanda demanded, holding out her hand.
“What?” Louie asked incredulously.
“Let’s call this a trust exercise. I keep that thing hidden for us-”
“No-!”
“-while you find someone who’ll buy it. I’m not just letting you walk away with forty thousand dollars.”
“I’m not fuckin’ doing that!” Louie protested. “So what, I’m meant to be the one letting you walk away with- what kind of logic are you running on?”
“The kind that assumes that you’ll decide to cut your losses and just sell the thing online? ‘Cause if you do, you won’t need to pay me for anything? If you weren’t thinking about that just then, you’d be thinking about it later. Besides, what can I do with it? You already know my name, you probably know my address… Even if I somehow convinced someone to buy it from me, it would be trivial for you to get back at me for it.”
She leant closer to him, her beak a mere inch away from his, and her eyes narrowed and dangerous.
“Give it to me, or I’ll take it from you.” She threatened him.
And in that moment, Louie saw in Chanda’s eyes the same thing he saw in Webby’s, Lena’s, and every other girl he’d ever angered – the look of a chick who could break him in half and knew it.
Fuming, but unwilling to get stabbed, Louie slowly slid the backpack off his shoulders and handed it to her.
He kept a hold on it as she grabbed it, telling her in a low voice, “If you screw me over, I will make your life hell. Aaoka’s too.”
He felt a fleeting bit of callous satisfaction seeing her flinch when he mentioned her mother’s name. Her expression tensed, then relaxed as she murmured, “…Right.”
Louie let go.
He watched Chanda leave, throwing the backpack over her shoulders and storming off the opposite direction. For a good minute or so, he just stood there, breathing heavily in humiliation and rage.
Then he spun back around and marched back to the bus stop, kicking a stray drink can into the street as he did so.
---------------------------------------------
Despite Duckburg’s reputation as a wealthy and industrious city, there was no field office to note for the FBI. Merely a small, resident agency located on the outskirts of the central business district. So the office that Nickel had found himself in was not the clean and pristine Washington office that he had been used to, but a small, cramped room that was mostly taken up by filing cabinets. Not that he minded too much – he wouldn’t be here forever, after all.
Mounted on the wall of his office was a corkboard, tacked onto which were various strips of paper. On each piece was a typed-out name, followed by a date.
One of the pieces read, ‘Nightmare Catcher – 1/8/1977’.
Another read, ‘Lich’s Eye – 22/6/1944’.
The latest one, which read ‘Tyrian Cloak – 9/3/2024’, had a red string attached to it. The other end of the string had been pinned to a photo of Scrooge McDuck, which sat in the middle of the board, surrounded by the names of dozens of artifacts, each of which had its own individual file.
The Cloak was the only item that had a string attached to it.
Jack stared at the board, idly flipping his coin as he mused. He heard someone knock on his door, to which he responded, “Aye?”
“Your ‘guest’ is here.” A male voice said from the other side.
“Wonderful. Bring her in.”
Jack turned as the door opened, a conniving smile crossing his beak as he saw his guest walk in, chaperoned by two brawny security guards. The shrunken old beagle barely reached up to half their height, yet there was not an ounce of fear or apprehension on her face – merely a displeased, hateful scowl.
“Ah, Ms Beagle! Lovely to meet you!” Jack told her cheerfully. Looking at the two guards, he told them, “You two wait outside, this’ll only be a moment.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Mr Nickel?” One the guards asked.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “…Does she have a gun?”
“No, sir.”
“Does she have any weapons of any kind?”
“…No, sir.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Jack asked merrily. “Worst-case-scenario, she attacks me, you two come in, drag her off and throw her out. Nothin’ to it! Just wait outside, will ya?”
“…Alright. Let us know if you need anything.” The guard replied uneasily.
Once the officers had left the room, closing the door behind them, Jack gestured to the plastic seat in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
“I’m good.” Ma Beagle replied coldly.
“Eh, suit yourself.” Jack replied nonchalantly, making his way to the other side of his desk and sitting down in the considerably more comfortable fabric desk chair.
“I’m not in the mood to be jerked around, Fed.” Ma Beagle snarled. “You haven’t got me on anything, or you would’ve just arrested me. What do you want?”
Jack turned on a computer in front of him, pressing a few keys to bring up a file on the screen. “Just wanted talk about a mutual problem.”
“Mutual? The hell are you talking about?”
Jack didn’t reply at first, skimming the information before him.
“How long have you lived in Duckburg?” He asked.
“M’ whole life.” Ma Beagle replied.
“So, sixty-seven years…” Jack murmured. “And you first met Scrooge McDuck when you thirteen? In 1969?”
“McDuck?” The criminal matriarch narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you want about that?”
“Just humour me.”
Ma Beagle glared at him suspiciously. “…Yeah. ’69.” She replied slowly. “Marth 18, 1969.”
“And you’ve been fightin’ him ever since?”
She shrugged. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Oh, come off it. Everyone knows about McDuck and the Beagle Boys. It’s been goin’ on for years!”
“Oh, my boys took it on themselves to fight McDuck, sure. But I never told ‘em to do what they do.”
“…Hm. Alright, let’s say they do it on their own. Have they ever been inside the house?”
“A couple of times. They never get far.”
“Would they be able to remember what they saw in there?”
“If you’re so interested in what’s in McDuck’s house, Fed, then why don’t you go ask him?” Ma Beagle demanded irritably. “Why waste my time?”
“Even if he let me in, he wouldn’t give me what I want.”
Beagle’s eyes narrowed. “…Why not?”
“See, what I’m looking for is… sensitive information that McDuck isn’t likely to give up easily.” Jack replied enigmatically. “What I’m hopin’ is that you have that information, or at least know where to point me so I can find it without having to resort to… more difficult measures.”
Ma Beagle stared at him. Jack just shrugged in response.
“Like I said. We have a mutual problem.” He said.
“…McDuck?” Ma Beagle said in disbelief. “You’re after McDuck?”
“I suspect that Mr McDuck has been participating in activities that are counter to the best interests of the American people.” Jack told her. “Obviously, I can’t give exact details to members of the public, but rest assured, I’m doin’ everything in my power to bring him to justice… or at least make sure he doesn’t use his resources for anti-American purposes.
“But unfortunately, I have a problem.” Jack admitted. “And it’s a lack of evidence. I’ve got the background info, I’ve got plenty of hunches, but there’s nothin’ connecting it to him. That’s where you come in. You’re one of McDuck’s oldest enemies. You know him better than I do and, more importantly, you know where his secrets are buried. You help me out, you’ll helpin’ me bring down the man who single-handedly destroyed your family and you’d be doin’ your country a solid. Sound good?”
Ma Beagle stared at him, her expression inscrutable. She bit her lip in thought, her eyes studying him, as if she was waiting for him to break.
“…Alright, Fed.” She said, taking the other chair and taking a seat. “This sounds good and all, but why should I trust you, hm? The amount of trouble your lot have given my boys over the years… I’m still writing letters to Bradly and Bobby, you know.”
“…And they are…?” Jack asked.
“In the slammer.” Beagle shot back. “And have been for almost five years, now.”
“…Okay, those were the two that were busted for holding up bank cars?” Jack asked. “Because all we really did was point the police in the-”
“Not the point.” Ma Beagle leaned over the desk, her expression cold and distrustful. “I’m not helping you on your word that you’ll bring down McDuck. I need somethin’ more than that, and I think you knew that before I walked in here. So, what’s my incentive? The carrot or stick?”
“…Well… that’s pretty straight-forward.” Jack replied casually. “See, once I have what I want, I’ll be using that information to hold McDuck to account for his actions. If he’s found to have breached the law, then it might be decided that he and his family are no longer fit to have access to certain privileges. Including a big one about… oh, the size of Duckburg?”
“…You can get me the deed to Duckburg?” Ma Beagle asked warily.
“I can get it out of his hands.” Jack replied evasively. He turned his computer monitor to her and added nonchalantly, “I can also re-evaluate these testimonies here from first-hand witnesses naming you as the matriarch of the Beagle Boys and the leader behind the anonymous Duckburg drug ring. I’m thinkin’ they might have been coerced, you know?”
“Carrot and the stick.” Ma Beagle leant back in her seat, sighing. She drummed her fingers against her handbag, frowning in contemplation.
“…I’ll think about it.” She told him.
“Splendid!” Jack stood up and extended his hand across the desk, grinning to himself. “Just let me know when you ready, and I’ll get everythin’ ready, aight?”
Ma Beagle stared at the hand for a moment before reluctantly taking it. “…Sure thing, Fed.”
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And that's the end for Part 2 of Aftermath! Only seven more to go!
Thanks to all of you who are still sticking around for this delightfully depressing side story. As a heads up, I don't think I'll be able to update the story as regularly as I've been doing recently. The cost of having a regular income, I suppose. Rest assured though that Aftermath isn't going anywhere - not for a while.
