No one is quite sure why the late Trenton Fotheringay had such a great affection for ducks. It does seem to the casual observer that his behavior was what could be expected from a man who would name his daughters Hesperia and Antigone. However, his obsession did not manifest until after they were born, which leads me to believe that it was a natural reaction to having to deal with two daughters who spent their days coming up with creative ways to hate one another.

His obsession took the form of a collection. Trenton Fotheringay amassed an astonishing amount of duck figurines, art featuring ducks, books about ducks, housewares adorned with ducks in some manner, and even furniture shaped like ducks. It should come as no surprise to learn that he was a vegetarian. He kept his ever-expanding collection in his study, where he would often retreat following yet another daughterly quarrel.

The elder Fotheringay left this mortal coil some years back, most likely with a sigh of relief. He exacted his revenge on his only heirs, the daughters, by leaving all his possessions - including his mansion, his investments, and his collection of duck paraphernalia - to the both of them, to be owned and administered jointly.

As time went on, the daughters tried on numerous occasions to reach a rapprochement. All those attempts failed, almost always loudly and either caused by or resulting in much consumption of alcoholic beverages. Finally, Hesperia and Antigone agreed to hire a manager to handle their financial affairs. Her first task was to dispose of Trenton’s duck collection.

This is what brought my valet Macalley to the Darbyfield library on viewing day. A distant cousin of his, Maccollin, had been hired to organize the sale. The manager had persuaded the Fotheringay sisters to take a vacation to the Tirnogs during this time, and had accompanied them to minimize their squabbling and prevent potential diplomatic incidents.

Maccollin had asked Macalley for his assistance in preparing for the sale. Macalley had confided in me that “assistance” meant, in this case, that he would have to do a significant portion of the work. Even so, family was family, and more importantly, Macalley had set the condition that in return for his help, a portion of the proceeds were to go the Darbyfield Public Library Fund.

It had not been the quietest of weeks for me. I had been busy with charity functions, a stubborn shower valve, and supervising the gardeners who had replanted the flowerbeds on the front lawn. I longed for nothing more than a few days of peace, a chance to catch up on my reading. Not having my reliable and versatile valet on hand did not seem peaceful. Still, I would dance a waltz with an unbathed goblin in a hailstorm to support our small but wonderful library, so I gave Macalley my blessing to assist Maccollin with the sale.

The event was to take place over three days. Monday would involve a viewing at the library, to give the buyers a look at the scope and contents of the Fotheringay collection. The duck items would then be moved to G.H. Wollenhall’s, our local steakhouse, where most of them would be sold off on Tuesday. The choicest items were to be held for an auction on Wednesday.

I had given Macalley a ride to the library, in part because I had an odd urge to see this collection for myself. I knew there were would be a great number of ducks for our perusal. What I hadn't expected, or even attempted to imagine, was the sheer size of the crowd. Every spot within 500 yards of the library where one could park a motorcar or a carriage had been taken.

Even after that discovery, I was slightly stunned when Macalley and I stepped into the library. There were humans from across the lands of the Crescent Sea and beyond, ogling every little item as if it were a 24-carat diamond, comparing notes and swapping stories. Elves examined eiders, trolls talked about teals, and a princely pixie in a scandalously revealing outfit pondered over a pintail.

The sight of so many people was overwhelming enough, but then I beheld what they were scrutinizing with such eagerness. There was table after table filled with duck items. There were somewhat practical things such as bookends and teapots, decorated ties and sweaters, and whimsical pieces such as a portrait of Elfking Barkbirch with the head of a duck, which I suspect would make listening to his long-winded proclamations much more tolerable. One shelf was filled with a selection of books and other duckish paper ephemera, and a large glass display case held some well-crafted if odd-looking jewelry. Several buyers were carefully examining an armchair with a duck's head mounted on the back.

“Ye gods, Macalley!” I exclaimed softly as we started to wander the floor. “I never expected this large a turnout for…”

“Ducks?” Macalley said.

“Exactly.” I shook my head slowly. “They are a respectable sort of bird, but what about them triggers such enthusiasm?”

A man with a truly impressive set of graying muttonchops glanced up from a candelabra. “You're not a fan of these feathered marvels?” he said to me.

“I have no strong opinion either way,” I replied neutrally.

“Or perhaps you mean, eider way!” The muttonchopped man chuckled.

I smiled quickly and politely. “Have we had the pleasure?”

“Ah. Manners.” He held out his hand. “Arthur Storch.”

“Alice Peavley.” I shook his hand.

“From Peavley Manor?” Storch smiled. “That must be Macalley, then!” Macalley nodded quietly.

“You've heard of us, then?”

“Oh, yes! My local newspaper, the Copper Cove Courant, has published some of the accounts of your exploits from the Times.”

“They have?” Out of politeness, I fought back the urge to raise an eyebrow.

“Yes! I quite enjoyed the one about the baking contest. They're a welcome change from those Weston Easterly stories. But we were talking about ducks, weren't we?”

“Indeed.”

“Adorable creatures.” Storch tapped his head. “I contracted a love for the dear things when I was young. I found it oddly endearing that they would swarm me for a handful of breadcrumbs at the pond.”

“Is that so?” I said, again with a politeness that I must admit was slightly forced. I was not in the habit of feeding our feathered friends. I will not speak in mixed company of the last time I tried, and what those blasted birds did to my second best pair of boots.

“Indeed.” Storch paused briefly. “I know it must seem odd to the casual observer. I care not what they think. The sight of those dear birds brings my heart joy, and I hope it always will.”

“Do you collect duck items?”

“I do, though not to the degree old Trenton did. But who could? He had deep pockets, and would spend gleefully on whatever he…”

Storch paused and stared at a painting of a weary looking woman of early middle age. She sat in a chair by a pond, surrounded by ducks. “An interesting choice of subject matter,” I observed.

Macalley cleared his throat. “I do believe that the woman shown in the painting is Fotheringay’s wife, Ethelind.”

“Wife? Whatever became of her?”

“Once she had finished posing for the painting, she ran off with the artist.”

“Ah.” I found myself unable to blame Ethelind, but I opted not to share that thought aloud.

“An interesting work nonetheless,” Storch said. “It might—”

“Retract that at once, Glitterglim, you scoundrel!” We turned our attention away from the painting and towards the far end of the library. The speaker, a rather short woman with waist-length braided blonde hair and a red pantsuit, was pointing a finger at the pixie we had seen earlier.

“I must beg your pardon,” Glitterglim said with a smirk. “What offense have I caused today, Peirea?”

“Your remark!”

“About ducks?”

Peirea swept her hand towards the back wall, where a figure was being displayed in a glass case set upon a pedestal. It was a small golden duck, lovingly detailed, with miniscule black gems for eyes. It might have been a trick of the afternoon sun, but it seemed to me to be glowing.

“This is a mallard, you simpleton!” Peirea snapped. “A mallard! Not just another duck!”

Glitterglim feigned a yawn. “They’re all ducks to me.”

“I’ll fry you like a rasher of bacon!” Peirea shouted, fire in her eyes.

“Not in here!” A short, plump, graying woman in a green dress stepped between the pixie and the pyromancer. “Not in this library!”

“But—” Peirea started to say.

The woman folded her arms. “I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you,” she said crossly. I was glad that I had never been on Clarinda Tapping’s bad side. She was the head librarian, and she brooked no interruptions in the library’s operations, be it overdue books or rude patrons.

Glitterglim chortled. “You can tell who she’s siding—”

Clarinda spun and glared at the pixie. “That’s enough,” she snapped. “Keep it up, and both of you will be ejected and banned from the sale and auction.” I held my breath for a moment, but then Glitterglim nodded and walked away, as Peirea slunk off in the opposite direction.

“I do say,” I murmured.

Clarinda sighed. “Duck collecting can bring out the worst in people. No offense meant, Master Storch.”

“None taken. If you’ll excuse me?” Storch tipped his hat to us and set off to examine a stand that held walking sticks and umbrellas.

“But it can also bring out the best people.” Clarinda smiled. “How are you today, Alice!”

“Very well.” I smiled back. “Quite the turnout!”

“And good afternoon, Macalley!”

“Good afternoon.” Macalley glanced at the golden duck. “That one seems to be attracting a good deal of attention.”

“I know. It’s helping out the ticket sales.”

“Ticket sales?” Macalley raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.

“We decided to hold a raffle to raise funds, with the drawing Tuesday after the dinner. That golden duck is to be the grand prize.” I could hear the joy in Clarinda’s voice as she added, “We’ve sold over 200 tickets so far!”

“Marvelous!” I said.

“But someone I know hasn’t bought any yet.” There was a twinkle in Clarinda’s eye.

I laughed. “I suspect someone is dropping a hint!” I said as I reached for my purse.

 

A few minutes later, Macalley and I stepped out of the library, my raffle ticket claim stub in my purse. “Only the one, madame?” Macalley said as we walked to the motorcar. I was headed home, to renew my acquaintance with the delightful, daffy Dilly Dell, while he was to help Maccollin move the Fotheringay collection to G.H. Wollenhall’s.

“Just for a lark,” I told him as he opened the motorcar door. “And a good cause.”

Macalley raised an eyebrow. “You’re not worried that you might actually have to find a space to display that duck, madame?”

“Not at all, Macalley. I never win these raffles,” I said with a grin as I started the motorcar.

 

Macalley, always thoughtful, had a small array of cold cuts and cheeses laid out in the icebox, along with wheat crackers and a bottle of white wine left to air out. I had a quick supper, then settled into my favorite chair with a full glass at my elbow and a delightful book in hand. Some might find this setting uninspiring or dull, but for me, it was a quiet moment of paradise.

The newest misadventure of Dilly Dell, a naive wood elf trying to find her way in the big city, was to have been a perfect end to my day. I had just started the third to last chapter, trying to figure out in my mind how Dilly would escape her latest romantic quandary and debating if I should have a second glass of wine, when the telephone rang.

I rolled my eyes. “It never fails,” I said to myself as I slipped a bookmark into the book and set it aside. I hurried over to the telephone and tried not to sound too put upon as I answered with a “Hello?”

“Good evening, Madame Alice.”

Macalley’s voice was as steady as ever, but the mere fact that he was calling at all pushed any irritation out of my mind. “Good evening, Macalley,” I responded. “How is the duck migration coming along?”

“I’m afraid I shall need you to come to the library at once.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“A situation that I cannot discuss over the telephone has arisen.”

Knowing Macalley, I realized that “situation” was quite probably an understatement. “I’ll be right over,” I told him. I hung up the telephone and hurried to the garage, grateful that I hadn’t gotten to that second glass of wine.

 

Macalley was waiting outside the library when I arrived. There was also a group of trolls in red outfits who were carrying items out of the building, loading them into a trio of carriages for transport to the steakhouse. I stopped the motorcar nearby and walked over to Macalley. “Good evening, madame,” he said quietly.

“Good evening.” I glanced at the troll porters. “Things seem under control here. Why did you need me?”

Macalley glanced at the library door. “I can explain why inside,” he said.

I nodded and followed him into the library. The meeting room had been almost emptied, but the glass case that had held the golden duck was still there. However, the duck was not.

Standing next to the empty case was a gnome. He was, physically, a near opposite to Macalley with his rotund frame and his shoulder-length hair. He was fussing with his tie as he spoke to a troll porter. “Your cousin?” I said softly to Macalley.

“Alas,” he whispered.

The gnome saw us approaching and hurried over to join us. “Macalley?” he asked. “She’s not with the local police, is she?”

“Hardly. Madame Alice? My cousin Maccollin. Maccollin, this is my employer, Alice Peavley.”

“A pleasure,” Maccollin said as we shook hands.

“Likewise, I’m sure. What happened with the golden duck?” I asked.

“My assistant Grash—” Maccollin pointed at the troll. “—contracted with a local crew of porters to handle the moving of the Fotheringay Collection. It seems that one of the crew might have stolen the duck; they have gone missing.”

Grash cleared his throat. “I do believe that the thief was posing as one of the crew.”

“Regardless.” Maccollin fixed his stare on his cousin. “We have contacted the police, but they’re not moving quickly enough. We need to locate the stolen item before word spreads and we have to refund what was spent on the raffle tickets. And I know that you can get things done, Macalley.”

“I understand, Maccollin. One moment.” Macalley beckoned me to join him in the hall.

“What is it?” I asked as we stepped out.

“Madame Alice…” Macalley paused. “Did you happen to notice anything unusual about the missing mallard?”

I thought it over for a moment. “It did seem to be...glowing?”

Macalley raised an eyebrow. “You saw it too, then. If that is the case…”

“Then there might be sorcery involved. And if there is…” I smiled. “I know who can assist us.”

 

It was fortunate for us that Aurielt, Darbyfield’s resident wizard, was a night owl. Their preferred schedule might not have been suitable for most of their clients, but it was perfect for our needs. We drove the motorcar to their home, explained the situation while swearing them to secrecy, and brought them to the library.

Aurielt was rather unimposing for a wizard, short and hefty, with spiky black hair and a plain navy blue robe; however, I knew from earlier dealings that with them, appearances were deceiving. They carefully tapped the interior of the glass case with their wand. “You were right, Alice,” they said. “There is something magic about that duck.”

“You can tell just by examining that case?” I asked.

“When an artifact is powerful enough, it leaves traces of dwimm wherever it is brought.” Aurielt slowly swung their wand around. “And this one...how in the world did it wind up with Fotheringay?”

“He won an auction for it some twenty years ago,” Maccollin said. “The bidding was quite fierce, from what I’m told.”

Aurielt nodded. “I’m not comfortable with an artifact with this level of power being anywhere near Darbyfield.”

“I take it none of us should be?” I said.

“Spot on. But there is one good thing about it being that powerful.”

“And that is?”

Aurielt drew their wand back and smiled. “Since the thief didn’t put it in an enchanted case or otherwise try to shield it, I can follow the trail it left. We’ll use your motorcar.”

 

Macalley was at the wheel of the motorcar as we drove through the night. Aurielt was in the seat next to him, their wand glowing eerily as they swept it through the air and shouted directions. I sat in the back seat, holding on to the duck’s glass case.

Aurielt soon had us pull off the main road and onto a trail. Macalley had to slow the motorcar down in the darkness as we bumped along. “Stop here,” the wizard said after a few more minutes. They spoke softly, and their wand lit up.

Macalley applied the brakes. “Shall I come with you?” he asked.

“I’ll just need Alice’s help. Stay here, in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

Aurielt hurried into the woods. Macalley opened the glove compartment and handed me a portable torch. “Be careful, madame,” he said softly.

I smiled at him. “I will.” I switched on the torch and, juggling it and the glass case, followed Aurielt.

It only took a minute to find them. They were standing by an empty cloth sack and not one duck, but two. One was the golden duck we sought. The other was a gadwall, brown with black-tipped wings, that looked up at me and quacked when I arrived. “There you are,” Aurielt said. “Hold that case open for me, would you?”

I lifted the case’s lid. Aurielt took the empty sack in their hands and used it to grab the golden mallard much the same way that Macalley would use oven mitts on a fresh-baked tray of croissants. They turned to me and dropped the duck in the glass case. They tapped the lid with their wand; it slammed shut and glowed briefly. “That’s it?” I asked.

“That’s it.” Aurielt straightened up. “The case is sealed for twelve hours. Don’t open it unless you have to.”

“Why?” I asked as I followed them back to the motorcar.

“Just in case. One never knows what aftereffects handling a magical artifact can have. I’d check further on it, but I have to be in Thorn Harbour early on Tuesday for my airship flight.”

“Important magical business?”

“If only. No, it’s a family reunion. I’ll have to deal with aunts and cousins asking why I don’t have a real job.” Aurielt chuckled.

Macalley was standing near the motorcar, studying the ground intently, squinting in the dim moonlight. He looked up as we approached. “You were successful, madame,” he said as he opened the door to the back seat.

“Indeed.” I climbed into the motorcar, setting the glass case next to me. “We have acquired a duck.”

“A pair of ducks, it appears.”

I turned my head, following Macalley’s gaze. The gadwall duck we had seen in the woods was perched on top of the windshield. “That could make driving a bit difficult,” I said. “But why is it doing that?”

“He may think we're heading for a moonlight drive to a lake, perhaps.” Macalley waved a hand towards the mallard. “Shoo. Depart at once.”

The duck glared at Macalley but did not budge. “Stubborn, isn’t he?” I said.

“Allow me.” Aurielt pointed their wand at the duck. “I’m in a hurry, gadwall. Go find someone else to quack at.” The duck recoiled, flapped its wings, and flew off into the night.

“That was surprisingly effective,” I said.

“Never cross a wizard who has to be awake at 5:00 AM.” Aurielt grinned as Macalley started the motorcar.

 

We returned the golden duck to Maccollin and his crew, who were exceedingly grateful and not too notably distraught at paying Aurielt their fee. We drove the wizard to their home before heading back to the manor, where I finally had that second glass of wine and a chance to finish my Dilly Delling before I set off dreamland.

As a result of my rather late night, Tuesday dawned far too early for my taste. I woke with a slight but still noticeable headache. I thought that perhaps some morning air would help to clear my cranium, so I rose from my bed, donned my robe over my pyjamas, and walked over to the glass door to the patio. I pulled the shades open, intending to enjoy the sun for a few moments before breakfast.

There was a gadwall duck sitting on the patio rail. He looked me in the eyes and quacked loudly.

I managed not to appear surprised or intimidated as I pulled the cord that rang the servant’s bell. Seconds later, Macalley opened the bedroom door. “Good morning, madame,” he said.

“Good morning, Macalley. Would you come here, please?”

Macalley joined me at the patio door. “It appears we have a visitor.”

“We do. Tell me, is that the same duck who attempted to accompany us last night?”

Macalley squinted. “I believe it is, madame. The beak is somewhat familiar.”

I rolled my eyes. “Tell me, Macalley. Why am I being followed by a duck?”

“I might have certain skills, madame, but I fear trying to understand ducks is not among them.”

“And this duck in particular. I would think that ducks usually just want food, water, a place to swim and perhaps the company of other ducks. None of those are readily available on my patio.”

“Perhaps if we fed this duck, madame, it would depart.”

“What do ducks eat?”

“Anything they can fit into their beaks.”

I glanced at Macalley. “Seriously?”

“In my youth, I once observed a duck trying to eat a frog—”

I grimaced and held up my hands. “Spare me any further details. Do we have anything tamer we can feed to our feathered visitor?”

“We do have some old croissants.”

“Perfect. Bring one out to this gadwall along with a small bowl of water.”

“Very good, madame.” Macalley glanced at the duck. “It seems rather interested in your activities.”

“A masher duck,” I said with enough sarcasm to wither plants. “How droll.” I massaged my temples.

“Do you need a morning remedy, madame?”

“What I need are those bloody shades closed. I have no desire to have that voyeur ogling me while I dress.”

“I concur.” Macalley closed the patio door shade. As he checked the other shades in the bedroom, I heard the duck quack a quack of what I assumed was either annoyance or disappointment.

 

At that point, I think no one would blame me had I sworn off ducks the way a new teetotaller declares themselves uninterested in tipples. However, Maccollin had arranged for G.H. Wollenhall’s to host not just the Fotheringay sale but also a dinner for the many duck enthusiasts who had gathered in Darbyfield. Macalley was to assist with the serving and had, at my request, wrangled an invitation for me. Since I considered the prime rib at Wollenhall’s an acceptable substitute for heaven’s manna, I was willing to sit through any and all nonsense to enjoy a meal there.

We had no further issues with the visiting gadwall, and we set off that afternoon for the steakhouse. The main dining room was being used for the selling of Fotheringay’s less desirable items, but even for those, we could see as we entered that business was brisk. Many of the duck collectors were smiling as they paid for their prizes, and a few curious locals who had wandered in had purchased an item or two.

A group of about seventy items was arranged on several tables by the entrance to the dining room. I could see the painting that Storch had pointed out the day before among them. These were the items that were to be auctioned off on Wednesday, with one notable exception. The golden duck that Aurielt had helped Macalley and me find was there, in its glass case, waiting to be awarded to the raffle winner.

Wollenhall’s had a large banquet room for dinners and other special celebrations. I had expected to be the first to arrive, and had slipped the third Klondike and Canfield novel into my purse just in case. To my surprise, the room had filled up nicely, as the other guests had checked their purchases and settled in, exhausted after a hard day of shopping.

A second surprise was when I found that Macalley, ever thoughtful, had seated me next to Clarinda. We were interrupted more than once by people coming up to pay their respects, but aside from that we had a pleasant white wine and the most delightful chat.

It was also a long chat, as I realized when I checked my watch. The dinner was more than an hour late in starting. “I wonder why it’s been delayed,” Clarinda said.

“Perhaps—ah,” I said as I saw Macalley poking his head out of the doors to the kitchen. I waved him over. “Macalley?” I asked as he joined us. “What’s happened to our dinner?”

“There have been some issues with the ovens,” Macalley told us quietly. “They’re working now, but prime rib does take time to—”

He paused as a loud burst of laughter carried across the tables. I could see several of the duck enthusiasts sharing a laugh, and calling out for more wine. I could also see the four empty bottles at the table. “Macalley?” I said slowly. “Whose idea was it to serve this much wine?”

“Rest assured it was not mine, madame.” Macalley scowled. “It’s possible that Maccollin was not aware that this much was being consumed.”

I glanced at another table and saw the snifter. “And brandy?”

“And brandy.”

There was a loud cheer from yet another table. I looked over. “And whiskey?”

“And whiskey.”

Clarinda covered her face. “Macalley?” I asked nervously. “Are most of the other guests drunk?”

Macalley looked around the room. “As skunks, madame. However, food is about to be brought out, and it will hopefully help sop up the alcohol and minimize its effects.”

I nodded as the steakhouse’s waiters and Maccollin’s trolls carried tray after tray out of the kitchen. The bread was warm and smelled delightful, the baked potatoes were loaded with sour cream and chives and bacon, and the salad had not wilted. Maccollin himself carried out the roast, with the head chef behind him ready to slice.

They set the tray with the roast down at a table across the room from mine. It was then that I noticed Eldric Bludergard, that cuckoo without compare, was in attendance, with his somewhat untrustworthy valet Stibbins by his side. “Since when is Bludergard interested in ducks?” I asked myself out loud.

“He’s always been swept up by fads,” Clarinda said. “Remember the baking contest?”

“A valid point, Madame Clarinda,” Macalley said. “If you two will excuse me?”

I nodded, and Macalley withdrew. “This has all the ingredients for an evening we’ll regret,” I murmured.

“Oh, don’t be such a gloomy Gus, Alice!” Clarinda said. “The food looks delicious. Could you pass the dressing?”

I glanced at another table and froze. “It may have to wait,” I said.

Had Macalley been aware that Maccollin had sat Peirea and Glitterglim at the same table, he might had done his best to separate them. However, it was too late to do so, and the two of them had jumped to their feet and were glaring at each other. “Retract your remark, human,” the pixie said coolly.

“Why should I?” Peirea said. “You are a willfully ignorant fool!”

“Because I can’t tell breeds of ducks apart?”

“And can’t be bothered to learn!” Sparks were flying off Peirea’s hair. “There are so many wonderful ducks, and mallards are the best of all!”

“Mallard? Bah!” another guest said. “Nothing outclasses the teal!”

“Teal?” thundered another guest as he started to stand. “Everyone knows the finest duck is the coot!”

“Who are you calling a coot?”

“You dare—”

“Honored guests!” The quarrelers fell silent as Bludergard rose to his feet, clanging a spoon against his wine glass much as a best man at a rather trying wedding reception would, and punctuating his remark with a loud hiccup.

I winced. “This cannot possibly go well.”

“Alice!” I could hear the reproach in Clarinda’s voice. “Let him have his say. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, you know.” I nodded and held my tongue as Bludergard resumed his speech.

“Look at us!” he said, swaying slightly. “Quarreling over such trivial things. Which breed is best. We all love these marvelous creatures, and no breed should be placed above another.” I could hear murmurs of “Hear! Hear!” from the crowd.

“Is this how we honor the memory of Trenton Fotheringay, the greatest of us all?” Bludergard continued. “We should respect each other’s opinions. We should focus on what brings us together.” I could see people nodding in agreement or dabbing at their eyes.

Next to him, Stibbins nodded and lifted his wine glass. “Well spoken, guv’nor!” he said.

Bludergard snatched the glass from his valet’s hand and held it high. As Stibbins glared at him, he said, “I propose a toast to that most marvelous of birds!” This was met with another, louder round of “Hear! Hear!”

“Honored guests…” Bludergard paused and smiled drunkenly. “To geese!”

Stibbins sighed deeply. “Not so well spoken, guv’nor.”

As Bludergard drank Stibbins’ wine, most of the other guests glanced at each other, then at him. They began to mutter threateningly. “Clarinda?” I said. “Your clock analogy failed to take into account that one that always runs several minutes slow is never right.”

“There is that,” Clarinda said as the guests began to reach for their plates. “I fear the worst—”

“Madame Alice? Madame Clarinda?” Macalley popped up behind us and pointed towards the kitchen doors. “I think a hasty retreat might be in order.” We nodded, jumped to our feet, and hurried for the kitchen as the first baked potato soared through the air.

 

It took us longer than we expected to work our way through the kitchen, as everyone employed there was rushing past us to the banquet room, trying to stop the chaos. Clarinda had spotted the rear door, but Macalley pointed out that the door to the dining room was closer, so we followed him through that exit.

At first, all seemed calm there as we emerged from the kitchen. That illusion was shattered when we saw the auction items. The assistants who were supposed to watch over them were absent; presumably they were in the banquet room with the others. Even in the dim light, we could see that the golden duck was gone. Again. “How—” Clarinda started to say.

I heard the footsteps, and saw a figure fleeing through the door, though it couldn’t be identified in the dim light. “After them!” I shouted as I dashed off, Macalley on my heels.
It was a quiet evening, and we could hear the footsteps as we ran through the streets of Darbyfield. We followed them to an alley. I paused at the entrance as the footsteps stopped. “Macalley?” I said faintly.

“Perhaps caution is advised, madame,” he said. “The thief could be waiting for us.”

I squared my shoulders. “Caution won’t get the duck back,” I said as we headed into the alley.

We stopped after a few steps. The open glass case lay on the ground in front of us. Next to it was the golden duck, laying on its side. “It appears you were right, madame,” Macalley said.

“Thank heavens. But why did the thief abandon it?”

“The more pressing question is getting the duck back into its case. If you would assist?”

I nodded and picked up the case. Macalley removed his dress jacket and used it to wrap the duck securely. As he did, I could swear that in the distance, there was a somewhat annoyed quack.

 

Clarinda was waiting in the dining room for us when we returned to G.H. Wollenhall’s. “Thank goodness!” she exclaimed when she saw the golden duck. “What about the thief?”

“They absconded without their prize,” I told her.

“At least we have a bit of good news to offset the bad.”

“How so?”

Clarinda motioned towards the banquet room. I peeked inside and gasped.

The food fight had been quite fierce indeed. All of the tablecloths were covered in debris and stains, except for one that was still smoldering. Chairs head been knocked every which way. Wine was spilled, salad had been flung, the roast had a face-shaped dent. The wall behind where Bludergard had stood was splattered with sour cream and chives, and I imagined that his suit would require a cleaning of legendary proportions. Only one chair remained upright and in use; its occupant, a rather elderly man, was slumped back and snoring. “He slept through all that?” I said. “I envy that ability.”

“So do I,” Clarinda said. “But Perkins will need to be notified of the news when he’s awakened.”

“News?”

“The management of G.H. Wollenhall’s is furious with us. It’ll take several days to clean up the banquet room.”

“And the auction tomorrow?”

“It’s off. We’ve been barred from ever coming here again.”

I gasped. “Oh merciful heavens!”

“Have no fear, madame,” Macalley said as he joined us, Maccollin by his side. “An exception has been made for the two of you, as you were not involved in the proceedings.”

I sighed with relief. “Bless you, Macalley!”

“You’re welcome, madame. But I must point out that we now need to find a home for the auction on very short notice.”

“Indeed.” Maccollin wrung his hands. “Many of the guests have plans to leave on Thursday. The auction must take place tomorrow. But where can we…”

He paused and stared at me. I saw the gleam in his eye. Is he about to say what I fear he’s about to say? I thought.

“Madame Peavley,” Maccollin said, “might I impose upon you to use your manor as the setting for tomorrow’s auction? The weather should be splendid, so we can set everything up on your front lawn.”

He was, I thought.

Macalley cleared his throat. “It will be an inconvenience,” he said, “but we must remember that this is for a worthy cause.” I could hear what he wasn’t saying, that Maccollin was family and needed our help.

I sighed softly. “Very well,” I said. “I shall play host to this auction.”

“Splendid!” Maccollin smiled. “The other guests are outside. Shall we join them and share the good news?”

 

The crowd of duck enthusiasts was a mess. All of them had clothing with varying degrees of stains. Some still had lettuce leaves or potato skins clinging to their hair, and one woman’s up-do now somehow incorporated a baguette. Yet even in their various states of dishevelment, they all applauded when Maccollin told them of the new location for Wednesday’s auction.

“Well, that’s that—” I stopped and looked down, realizing that I was carrying the golden duck. “Ah. One bit of unfinished business.”

“Which is?” Clarinda asked.

“The raffle. To give this away.”

“I almost forgot!” Clarinda chuckled. “We held the drawing while you and Macalley were retrieving this duck.”

“So who…” My voice trailed off as I realized that every eye in the crowd was upon me. I felt a chill run down my spine.

“Congratulations, Alice!” Clarinda smiled. “You won the raffle. The golden duck is yours.”

The crowd applauded politely, but I felt a knot in my stomach. I didn’t want the bloody duck to begin with, and now that it had been stolen twice I had a great reluctance to have to store it in my manor. “Macalley?” I whispered.

“Yes, madame?”

“Remind me not to tempt fate like that again.”

“Very good, madame. Perhaps there’s some room on the fireplace mantel.”

“On the—” I stopped as my mind raced. “I have a better idea,” I said with a smile. I opened the case and removed the duck.

“Pardon?” Macalley said.

I turned to the duck collectors and held the golden mallard up high. “I have a special announcement!” I said loudly. “Instead of keeping this marvelous prize for myself, I shall add this to tomorrow’s auction, and donate all the proceeds from its sale to the Darbyfield Library!” My smile widened as the crowd cheered and Clarinda beamed with joy.

The duck fans dispersed, and Macalley and I headed for my motorcar. “A most splendid solution, isn’t it?” I said to Macalley as I sat down, the golden mallard in my lap.

“May I speak candidly, madame?”

“Certainly.”

“I do have my concerns about this. Who’s to say that there won’t be further untoward occurrences tomorrow?”

“Oh, I’m sure nothing is going to go wrong.”

I regretted saying that last sentence as soon as it had left my lips. “Madame…?” Macalley said as he started the car.

“Don’t remind me, Macalley.” I hid my face in my hands.

 

It was after dark when we returned to the manor. We hid the golden duck in a place where it would not be found, and then I discovered that Macalley had secured some undamaged prime rib from G.H. Wollenhall’s for my dinner, along with a raspberry and chocolate dessert cake. Afterwards, there was a nice red wine, and the first few chapters of the third Klondike and Canfield novel. None of that helped settle my worries about the auction to come, and it was quite some time before I could finally fall asleep.

Wednesday dawned bright and early, much to my dismay. I rose from my bed with a great deal of reluctance. As I tried to stretch the sleep away, I found myself thinking, of all things, of the duck who had been on my patio the day before, and wondering if it was still there. I knew it was likely to have fled for wetter pastures, but I had to be sure. I donned my robe and opened the shade to the patio door.

There were two ducks on the railing, keeping a good distance apart from each other. The gadwall duck from Tuesday looked up briefly at me and quacked faintly. The new arrival was a black and white pintail duck with an expression that struck me as being somewhat shifty. Its eyes landed on me, and it burst into a frenzy, flapping its wings and quacking as if it were getting paid for the effort.

I think I came close to deafening Macalley from my incessant tugging at the servant’s bell. “Good morning, madame,” he said as he entered the bedroom.

“Good morning for them, perhaps.” I pointed at the patio.

“Ah.” Macalley glanced at the ducks. The pintail saw him, froze in place, and ceased quacking.

“Macalley? Why do we now have two ducks upon the patio?”

“Many have tried and failed to understand the psychology of ducks, madame.”

I sighed, loudly, for dramatic effect. “Very well, then. I suppose we'll need to scrounge up some water and breakfast for these moochers.”

“Breakfast will not be an issue, madame.”

“How so?”

Macalley adjusted his spectacles. “Maccollin and his crew are already here and setting up for the auction. They procured a rather large box of pastries. One or two can be spared for our guests.”

In spite of my annoyance over how the day was starting, my ears did perk up. “Might this box have included danishes?”

“Several might have found their way to the dining room table, madame.”

“Splendid work, Macalley!” I grinned. “Close this shade, if you would, and put the kettle on.”

“Very good, madame.” As Macalley went to work, I caught a glimpse of the pintail. It seemed, oddly enough, to be drooling.

 

It should come as no surprise that after that, I craved a quiet day reading in the study. I was eager to find out how Klondike and Canfield, Cascade City’s finest detectives, solved the murder of Count Ottaviani. Alas, I knew it would have to wait.

I rushed through getting dressed and breakfasting to be ready for the start of the auction. I had decided to wear a bright red dress with gold trim and a black cloche hat with a red band. I had chosen that dress because it was full-length, and would cover my unstylish but practical boots. I suspected that I would be doing a lot of running about today, and I had no desire to do so in heels.

I stepped onto my front porch after breakfast to take a look at the proceedings. The troll crew that Maccollin had hired was working quickly and efficiently, and they were staying out of the flowerbeds, which was all I could ask for. They were busily setting up chairs for the bidders and guests, tables to display the items that were to be auctioned, and a podium from which Maccollin would conduct the proceedings. A small table had been placed by the podium, and Grash was sitting there with a ledger book and a magnifying glass that was glowing faintly. A jeweler’s loupe was within reach.

“Ah, Madame Peavley!” Maccollin said as he walked up to me. “Good morning to you!”

“Good morning,” I replied politely.

“I see you’ve noticed Grash’s equipment.”

“I have, yes. Is that to inspect the items being auctioned?”

“Hardly.” Maccollin pointed at the magnifier. “Some of these items are expected to fetch quite a high sum, and our guests might feel uncomfortable carrying that amount of money around. They have certified credit chits from their banks, and those tools are to authenticate the chits and transfer the funds to pay for their acquisitions.”

I nodded. “Quite clever!”

“Very.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Is it…?”

“Still safe,” I whispered back. “We won’t bring it out until the time is right.”

“Excellent. If you’ll excuse me…” Maccollin strode across the lawn to talk with a pair of trolls. I nodded and walked over to the front gate as the first of the would-be bidders arrived.

I fulfilled my role of gracious hostess as best as I could, greeting each bidder politely and guiding them to Grach’s table. They checked in with the troll, who verified their identities and their creditworthiness. They then examined the items up for auction, chatted idly with one another, or lunged for the remaining pastries.

The appointed hour soon arrived, and Maccollin took the podium, gavel at the ready. He moved the proceedings along at a brisk pace, neatly summarizing each item before beginning the bidding. Once the final bid had been placed, the item was carried to Grach’s table where payment was arranged, and the next item was brought to Maccollin to restart the process.

I sat behind the podium, on the front porch of my manor house, watching the auction in silence. Clarinda had told me the night before that she would be in attendance, but she had apparently been delayed. I kept glancing towards the road, hoping she’d show up and ease the monotony I was becoming trapped in.

As a joyous Arthur Storch won the bidding for a walking stick with a brass duck for a handle, I saw two trolls at the front gate glaring at a familiar face. I jumped from my seat and hurried over. “I beg your pardon!” I said.

One troll turned towards me. “Yes, Miss Peavley?”

I pointed at Vic Ray, who was standing near the gate. “Is there some sort of problem?”

The trolls glanced at each other. “We’re under orders from Maccollin, ma’am,” the one troll said. “We’re not supposed to allow spectators.”

I folded my arms and gave the trolls my best imposing glare. “This gentleman resides on my property,” I said. “He is always welcome here. And if Maccollin should complain, I shall correct him firmly.”

“Very good, ma’am.” The trolls stepped aside.

I turned to Vic. “I’m so sorry,” I said softly to him. “This auction business is making everyone crabby.”

“Even Macalley?” Vic said.

“I do believe I saw him raise an eyebrow earlier.”

Vic chuckled. “It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it? All these people and their carriages and motorcars. Quite a scene.”

I sighed. “I know, Vic. But it’s for the library.”

“And you couldn’t find a more deserving cause.” Vic took a puff on his pipe. “I had to keep Bernadette penned up today, though. All this ruckus would be unsettling for her.”

Bernadette was Vic’s prize goat. He tried to walk her almost every day, as he believed it improved the quality of the cheese he made from her milk. Having sampled his goat cheese in the past, I found his logic in this matter impeccable. “We can’t have that,” I said. “Her cheese must not be imperiled!”

“Ah! I need to bring you a sample from my latest batch!”

“Thank you!” My smile was quite genuine. “I shall ask Macalley to pick up more crackers!”

“Speaking of crackers…” Vic grinned and pointed with his pipe at the podium. “What in the world is that painting being auctioned off?”

“It’s of Trenton’s ex-wife and some ducks.”

“She ran off with the painter, right?” Vic shook his head. “She had even worse taste than whoever is bidding on that.”

Maccollin struck the podium with his gavel. “I think that painting was just sold,” I said.

“Who’d be foolish enough to buy that thing?”

“Eldric Bludergard.”

“I’m completely unsurprised. Hullo, Macalley!” Vic said.

“Good afternoon, Master Vic,” Macalley said as he approached us. “Madame Alice, I regret to inform you that your presence is needed. We must retrieve the...star of the show.”

“Best get going, then.” Vic tipped his hat to us. “I’ll bring the cheese by later.” I smiled and nodded as he ambled off.

 

Macalley and I made sure that trolls were in place to guard all the doors, and that no one had snuck into the house, and that all the shades were as closed as they could be, before the two of us slipped inside through the rear entrance. I was past giving a fig about that blasted duck figure, but the vault where it was being temporarily stored held other things that were precious and rare indeed, and I wanted to ensure that no one aside from the two of us knew of their existence until the circumstances were right.

We retrieved the golden duck without incident, closed the secret entrance to the vault, and walked to the front door. “Shall we?” Macalley asked.

“One moment.” I peered through the peephole in the door. “It looks like the coast is actually clear. Everyone seems to be behaving themselves.”

“Perhaps it’s due to the lack of wine.”

“Excellent point.” I stepped back from the door. “You go ahead, and I’ll wait for the proper moment to bring this bloody thing out.”

Macalley raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “A bit melodramatic, madame.”

“Let’s give them what they came for.” I grinned. Macalley nodded as he opened the door and stepped outside.

I pushed the door halfway shut and peeked at the peephole again. Maccollin was just finishing up another round of bidding, and the winner seemed quite pleased as he collected his diamond-studded duck tie pin. As he walked over to pay, Maccollin glanced at his cousin and waved him over. They conversed quietly for a moment; Maccollin then nodded and turned back towards the crowd.

“May I have your attention, please!” he shouted. “We have reached the time to put the last item in this auction up for bid!” He punctuated his remark with a bang of his gavel. “I would like to bring out our host for today’s auction, Madame Alice Peavley, with that work of great beauty and mystery, Fotheringay’s Golden Duck!”

“Piling it on thick, are we?” I muttered to myself as I hoisted the glass case that held the mallard in question. I pushed the front door open with my foot and stepped onto the porch, holding my breath.

Everyone and everything fell silent as I emerged from the house, brandishing the golden duck for all to see. All eyes were upon the mallard as I strode to the podium.

“The prize of Trenton Fotheringay’s collection!” Maccollin said. “Just look at the craftsmanship! The wondrous detail! The eyes of black diamond!”

The headaches this thing has caused everyone the last three days, I thought as I set the duck upon the podium. Thankfully, this is it. Once the bidding for this is done, we can get back to normal.

I backed away from the podium as Maccollin continued to extol the golden duck’s virtues. There was an empty seat in the front row, so I took it without looking. I glanced to my left and realized the horrible mistake I had made, for Bludergard was there. He grinned and greeted me quietly, tapping the painting he had won earlier. I nodded and mustered up a smile as Maccollin finished speaking.

He banged the podium with his gavel again. “Are we all set?” he said. “Excellent. We’ll start the bidding at…”

Maccollin’s voice trailed off as we heard the quacking.

The two ducks who had haunted my garden, the gadwall and the pintail, flew from opposite sides of the roof towards the podium. They stopped inches apart, hovering by the glass case, quacking fiercely at each other.

Maccollin sighed. “You’re interrupting things,” he said wearily to the ducks. “Shoo. Go away.” He waved his gavel at them.

The ducks looked at each other, then at the auctioneer. They dove upon Maccollin, quacking angrily. He dropped the gavel with a yelp and threw his hands over his face, falling to one knee as the ducks closed in.

“I say!” Bludergard exclaimed. “What a jolly good show!”

“It’s not a show,” I said as I rose from my seat. “Macalley? How do we—”

Before I could finish, there was a loud thump from behind us, near the front gate. I looked over and saw the trolls there sprawled on the ground, dazed but unhurt, and an amazing sight next to them.

It was a giant automaton, with a round brass body on surprisingly narrow legs. It had a face with rounded ears, beady black eyes, a big black nose and a fixed smile that seemed oddly cheerful. It opened its mouth and growled in a happy, high-pitched whine.

I was so shocked by the automaton’s appearance that I failed to notice the man standing next to it at first. He was clad from the neck down in silvery armor; a long black cape billowed out from behind him. “Greetings!” he bellowed. “I am Professor Argentium! Tell me, peons, what do you think of my newest creation?”

“It’s somewhat endearing,” I murmured, “in an odd way.”

“Except for its massive size,” Macalley added, “and its sharp steel teeth.”

“There is that.”

Argentium swirled his cloak in a manner that I assume was meant to be intimidating. “Prepare to face my...Quokkatron!” He snapped his fingers, and the automaton took a step towards the podium.

“Could something like that cause any damage?” I asked.

“Such as the flowerbeds?” Macalley pointed. “This Quokkatron could...Madame?”

I rushed past him and towards Argentium, silently glad to have worn my boots. “I do say!” I shouted at the Professor.

Argentium winced and glared at me. “Have we had the pleasure?”

“Alice Peavley. This is my manor, Professor. And that automaton of yours is about to tear up my flowerbeds!”

“Now look here—”

“We just had those gladiolas planted last week!” I pointed at Argentium. “Either you restrain your Quokkatron, or I will have to ask you to leave!”

Argentium sighed and raised his hand; the automaton stopped in its tracks. “Now, madame,” he said, “is this any way to treat a bidder?”

“What?” I’m afraid my jaw dropped.

“I am fully registered. Have Maccollin check the listing.”

Macalley glanced at his cousin, who had grabbed the walking stick Storch had bid on earlier and was now swinging it at the ducks. “I’m afraid Maccollin is otherwise engaged at the moment,” he said calmly. “Shall I ask his assistant?”

“If you would be so kind.”

Macalley moved over to Grash’s table and spoke quietly with him. The troll consulted his ledger. “The Professor is registered,” he said after a minute. “The listing shows him and a guest.”

“Very well.” I faced Argentium as Macalley rejoined me. “You may have a seat. But not in the flowerbeds.”

“Thank you.” Argentium tipped his hat. “I assume that the Drake of Sonroda is still up for auction?”

“Pardon?”

“The golden duck upon the podium.”

“Ah. We plan to start the bidding once we can get the ducks away from Maccollin.”

“Excellent.” Argentium smiled, and I felt a faint shudder running down my spine. “I look forward to winning this auction.”

“Think again, you tin-plated ninny! It’s time to meet your doom!”

There was a flash of smoke and fire. As it faded, I turned and saw that a man in a knee-length white coat was standing near the bidders. As he lowered his goggles and cackled loudly, Peirea, who was standing next him, smiled as flames curled around her fingertips. “Egad,” Argentium said. “It’s Doctor Octavo!”

“You remember me!” Octavo said. “How delightful!”

“I’m surprised they let you out of the home for this.”

“Who said they did it voluntarily!” Octavo reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a hand cannon that appeared to be glowing.

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Bludergard smiled and clapped his hands. “So many bidders!”

Argentium raised an eyebrow. “Friend of yours?” he asked me.

“Hardly.” I pointed at Octavo. “Put that away at once!”

The Doctor glared at me. “And who the devil are you?”

“I am Alice Peavley, your host. And you and your assistant will behave yourself while you are on my property!”

“Peavley, Peavley...yes! I’ve read the stories in the Courant!”

“They let you have newspapers in the home?” Argentium snapped.

“Oh, you’d be surprised!” Octavo cackled again. “So how are things in the crafting devices to spread fear and chaos business, Teddy?”

Argentium snorted. “Don’t mock me, Oliver. At least I have something to show for my efforts.”

“A giant mechanized quokka?”

“This automaton is the highlight of my career!”

“I’d hate to see the lowlights!” Octavo chuckled.

“That does it!” Argentium dug into a pocket. “Duck or no duck, I’m going to—”

“Egad!” Octavo pointed into the crowd.

“Really, Oliver?” Argentium sighed. “Another pointless—”

He stopped when we heard the sound, like the popping of a giant water-filled balloon. There was a flash of light, and when it had gone, a pixie was standing there. She was tall and blue-haired with majestic wings, dressed in a green gown that the word “ornate” doesn’t quite do justice to. I swear that sewing it must have driven half a dozen seamstresses mad. She held a wooden staff that was not so much carved as grown, with a monstrously large emerald embedded in the tip. Next to her was Glitterglim, the pixie who had referred to the golden mallard as “just another duck”. “Macalley?” I said faintly.

He squinted at the pixies. “I believe that is Countess Gylburnt from Korigan County.”

My head started to reel. “What the devil is Tirnog royalty doing here?”

“She may have wanted to get away from the Fotheringay sisters.”

“One could hardly blame her.” I glanced over at Grash. “Is she registered?”

The troll looked up from his ledger. “Her and our other new arrival,” he said softly.

“Should I be worried about all these villains who are after this duck?” I asked Macalley.

“Only the ones who lose the bidding,” he replied.

The Countess surveyed the crowd. “If it isn’t Doctor Octavo,” she said with a smirk. “They’ll let anyone into these auctions, it seems.”

“Greetings, Countess!” Octavo shouted. “You’re looking quite devious this afternoon!”

“A fine compliment coming from you. I think.” She looked to the side. “Ah. Professor Argentium. Have you achieved coherence yet?”

“I would destroy you where you stand,” Argentium snapped, “had I not made a promise about the flowerbeds.”

“Gladiolas?”

“Planted this past week.”

Gylburnt nodded. “Not that the clockwork wombat you brought along is going to do much destroying anyway.”

Argentium reddened. “It’s a quokka, you cursed tree-hugger!”

“It seems oddly adorable. Does it crush your enemies by hugging them to death?”

“I’ll be glad to demonstrate. Oliver? Could you pop over here for a moment?”

Octavo swung his hand cannon towards Argentium. “I’ll give you and that brass hamster a pop!”

“Quokka!” Argentium raised a clenched fist.

I sighed and marched up to Octavo. “Doctor?” I said sweetly. “You’re here to bid on the golden duck, right?”

“Uh...yes?”

“Well, you’re welcome to…” I dropped the sweetness and smiled sharply. “Once you put that thing away. And tell your assistant to stop mocking the pixies.”

Octavo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Very well,” he muttered as he pocketed the hand cannon. Peirea scowled and ceased the nose-thumbing she had been directing at Glitterglim.

“And you—” I pointed at Argentium. “Remember your promise.”

“Fine.” He shook his head.

I marched up to Gylburnt. “Countess…”

The pixie raised an arched eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Alice Peavley. I am your host, and this is my manor.” I folded my arms. “I assume you’re also here to bid on that bloody duck. If you wish to do so, you and your assistant will not attempt any shenanigans. The other bidders, the staff, the spectators, the Quokkatron, the gladiolas, the ducks chasing the auctioneer around the grounds...they are all off limits. If you or anyone else try anything, they will lose their auction privileges.”

Gylburnt smiled. “Such spirit! When humanity is destroyed, I’ll make sure you’re among the first.”

I glanced at Macalley. “Have I just been complimented?”

“It’s hard to—” He paused. “Madame Alice? I fear we are about to have a calamity.” He pointed at the podium. “Ye Gods!” I exclaimed.

Maccollin had been running around madly, trying to escape the two ducks who had been pecking at him. The pintail was closing in, and he was looking back at the duck instead of where he was heading, which was the podium. He struck it at great speed, and it toppled forward, falling on top of him. The glass case that held the Drake of Sonroda hit the ground and popped open; the golden duck bounced onto the grass.

Glitterglim glanced at Gylburnt as the golden duck came to a stop; she nodded. He ran towards the duck, shouting, “Have no fear! I shall protect the Drake of Sonroda from thieves and scoundrels!”

Before anyone could stop Glitterglim, never mind comment on his obvious lie, he grabbed the duck. It started to glow.

As we watched, the glow flowed from the duck to the pixie. Glitterglim started to shrink, his body changing shape and becoming rather feathery. In seconds, he was a rather confused looking duck with a green head. “I was not expecting that,” Octavo said.

“Macalley…?” I said slowly.

“A moment.” Macalley walked over and lifted the podium off Maccollin, putting it back into place. “It’s obvious that this Drake of Sonroda is enchanted. It turns those who would handle it into duck.”

“And it changed Glitterglim into a mallard.” I couldn’t help but smile. “It has a sense of humor.”

“Which may make it more dangerous.”

“A valid point.” I walked over to the duck. “But why didn’t it affect me last night...ah!” I exclaimed as the reason came to me.

“Madame?” Macalley asked as he helped Maccollin to his feet. The auctioneer looked rather dazed, and was alternating between lunatic giggling and shouting about ducks.

“Have you seen the gavel, Macalley?”

“Over there.” He pointed towards the ground behind the podium as he led his cousin away.

I thanked him as I retrieved the gavel and hurried back to the podium. The bidders were glancing at each other, and Octavo was openly glaring at Gylburnt, who was trying to coax Glitterglim away from the other ducks.

The gavel made quite a satisfying sound as I hammered the podium. “Attention, please!” I shouted. The clamour died down as I continued, “I can tell that some of you would happily obtain this duck without going through the bother of bidding. I would recommend against it.”

I bent down and picked up the duck. The crowd gasped, though I could see the smile on Gylburnt’s face. It faded quickly when I tucked the golden mallard under one arm and straightened up.

“You may have noticed,” I said, “that I am not a duck. This is because until this auction concludes, I am the rightful owner of this artifact, and Macalley is my only designated agent. The curse only affects those who try to take the Drake of Sonroda against the will of its owner.”

“So this means…” Argentium said slowly.

“You’re keeping the duck?” Bludergard exclaimed.

“Goodness, no. I don’t want this thing within a hundred miles of Darbyfield.” I glared at Bludergard. “This means that should any of you lay your hands upon this duck without bidding on it and winning the auction, you will meet the same fate as Glitterglim.”

Octavo, Argentium and Gylburnt all looked at each other. They all sighed loudly. “Very well, then,” the Professor said. “I shall gain possession of the Drake of Sonroda honestly.”

“For once,” Peirea added.

“Splendid!” I smiled and rapped the podium again. “Macalley?” I said softly. “I like this gavel. Perhaps I can purchase this from Maccollin as a souvenir?”

Macalley gestured towards his cousin, who was seated on the ground, bobbing back and forth, flapping his arms as if they were wings. “I fear he’s not in any shape to discuss the matter, Madame.”

“Oh dear. Then who shall conduct the auction?”

“A moment.” Macalley walked over to where Maccollin was sitting. “Cousin?”

Maccollin looked at him with a rather unfocused gaze and a smile that was only slightly mad. “Ducks?” he asked.

“Are you all right? You seem to be a bit indisposed.”

“Ducks.”

“Shall I handle the auctioning of the Drake of Sonroda in your stead?”

“Ducks! Duckduckduckduck ducks!”

“I assume that’s an affirmative.”

“Ducks.” Maccollin closed his eyes and started humming.

“Very well then.” Macalley walked up to the podium and held out a hand. “The gavel, madame?”

I gave it to Macalley and moved alongside the podium. “The bidding will start at 300 crowns,” I said as I held up the duck. “Remember that the proceeds for this item will benefit the Darbyfield Library, and thus you are encouraged to bid generously.”

“A library?” Gylburnt raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t mock libraries,” Argentium said. “I built my first automaton in one.”

“Is it still standing?”

“The automaton or the library?”

“Both.”

“Neither.”

Macalley pounded the gavel on the podium. “Perhaps we can save the reminiscing until after the bidding is concluded, Professor?”

“Splendid!” Bludergard raised his hand. “I bid 300 crowns for that delightful duck!”

“Oh, will you shut up?” Octavo pulled out his hand cannon and stuffed the tip into Bludergard’s nose.

Bludergard swallowed. “Would it be possible to retract my bid?”

I stormed up to Octavo. “Doctor, for the last time, put that hand cannon away.”

Octavo chuckled. “I think not!” he exclaimed as he pointed his weapon at me. “I’ve found a flaw in your logic, Peavley.”

“Indeed?” I stared at the hand cannon, glowing blue at the end of its barrel.

“If anyone touches the duck, they become a duck. But not if they touch the duck’s owner.” Octavo smiled cruelly. “It’ll be just as easy to steal you.” Peirea stepped next to him, flame sparking off her fingers.

I meekly raised my hands. “The thought had not occurred to me,” I said.

“You shall accompany me to my carriage. From there, we shall discuss the terms for your release.”

I looked back as my mind raced. Gylburnt was flexing her fingers. The Quokkatron was rising up on its hind legs. Odd as it may sound, I was not as concerned for my own well-being as I was for the other attendees, and I had to act to keep them safe. “Doctor?” I said slowly. “I think there may be a flaw in your logic as well.”

“How so?”

“Let’s say I was to put up a struggle to keep from being abducted.” I held up the golden duck. “You or your assistant might grab this by accident. That would be unfortunate.”

Octavo paled. “You wouldn’t.”

“Let’s test that theory.” I pointed the duck at his face, holding its beak just a few inches from his.

With a sigh, Octavo pocketed his hand cannon. “Was the bidding at 300 crowns?”

“Hmmm.” I glanced at Argentium, who was stroking his bearded chin. “That theory about the duck might be true...but I doubt it could turn an automaton into a waterfowl.”

“You wouldn’t,” I said. “You made a promise.”

“I can afford to pay to have your flowerbeds replanted...once the Drake of Sonroda is mine.” He smiled as he started to raise his hand.

“Argentium!” The voice came from above our heads. “I strongly recommend that you keep that quokka on its leash!”

The professor winced and started to swear colorfully. “What in the world?” I said softly as a shadow fell across the front lawn.

There was an airship, 600 feet long if it were an inch, hovering less than forty yards above the manor. The envelope was painted a splendid shade of red, with gold trim; the cabin that hung below it was a brown color, apparently for contrast. As we watched, a cabin door opened up and a rope ladder was tossed out. “Is that a name painted on the cabin?” I asked.

“It appears to be…” Macalley raised an eyebrow. “‘Dawn’s Reckoning’.”

“I recognize that name,” I murmured. “With all these villains about, it’s no wonder he showed up.”

Octavo’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking!” he shouted at Macalley. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“He’s not joking, Octavo!”

The voice from above belonged to a gentleman who was climbing swiftly down the rope ladder. He was tall and broad, dressed in black and red, with darkly tanned skin and a head that was bereft of scalp hair. I’d like to think he grew out his impressive handlebar moustache to compensate for that. It was long, dark, and curled at the tips; had money ever been tight, he could make a living by hiring that moustache out as a towel rack.

“It can’t be!” Octavo shouted.

“It is!” The moustached man grinned. “Weston Easterly, at your service.”

“Back off! Take that overinflated airbag and go!” Octavo drew his hand cannon and aimed it at me. “The Drake of Sonroda is mine!”

“Hardly.” A red beam of light struck Octavo in his hand, sending his weapon bouncing away along the ground. For a moment, I was worried that one of the other rogues in the crowd might grab it, but it landed at Macalley’s feet. I sighed with relief.

Octavo glared at a young, smiling gnome who wore a blue wizard’s jacket. She was balancing on a flying carpet as she swooped down from the airship towards us. “Spindrift!” he hissed.

“Oh, you remember me!” the gnome said. “How sweet!” She pointed a wand with a glowing red tip at Gylburnt. “I wouldn’t try anything, Countess,” she said. “Your diplomatic immunity doesn’t apply if you attack innocents.”

“Perfect!” Argentium chuckled. “Now I can—”

Spindrift sighed and pulled a flask filled with a glowing blue liquid fr0m her belt. “Don’t make me use this, Professor,” she said. “Seriously. Those gardenias are quite lovely.”

Easterly swung off the rope ladder, landing next to Macalley and crouching as he scooped up Octavo’s hand cannon. “Your pardon,” he said politely as he turned towards me. “You must be Alice Peavley!”

“Yes, I am,” I said.

“I’ve read about you in the newspapers—”

“Everyone here has.” I somehow managed not to roll my eyes.

Easterly blinked. “I suppose. A pleasure to meet you and Macalley all the same.”

“So why have you darkened my skies with your airship?”

“Why else?” He pointed at the golden duck. “I’m here to bid on the Drake of Sonroda, and keep this enchanted relic out of the hands of these villains!”

Gylburnt gasped loudly, mostly I suspect for show. “How dare he!”

“Is he registered?” Argentium snapped.

“One of my assistants should have done that for me,” Easterly said. “Perhaps we can check with Maccollin?”

I glanced over and saw that the gnome was now crouched on the ground, holding a deep and intense philosophical discussion with the three ducks. “I’d recommend talking with his assistant instead.”

“I’ve already checked.” Grach looked up from his ledger. “Easterly is registered, but his credit is still unverified.”

“Is it now?” Easterly pulled a red and black credit chit from his pocket and walked over to the troll. “This should cover it.”

“Hmm.” Grach examined the chit with his magnifier. “You have authorization to use this chit?”

“My patron has authorized me to obtain the Drake of Sonroda by any means necessary.”

“I knew it!” Octavo pointed at Easterly.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Any legal means. Stop trying to stir up trouble, Oliver.”

“That’s Doctor Octavo to you!”

“Doctor?” Peirea said. “Perhaps we should try to outbid Easterly first, then destroy him?”

“Stop defending Easterly!” Octavo snapped.

“But I’m not—”

“We all know you have a crush on him!”

Peirea folded her arms. “Not in your wildest dreams. Or his.” As Octavo grunted and looked away, I saw Peirea glance furtively at Spindrift, who seemed not to notice.

Gylburnt laughed. “Your assistant is soft, Octavo!”

“And yours is quacking and covered in feathers!” he snapped.

“Compared to some of my prior assistants, it’s a step up.”

“Can we get on with it?” Argentium folded his arms. “I have havoc to wreak this evening.”

“I'd recommend against doing so here,” Easterly said. “This is such a quiet place.”

“It was until you lot showed up,” I muttered.

“There! You see—”

“And that includes you, Easterly!” I snapped. “This auction was intended to be for duck enthusiasts, not villains and their sworn enemies!”

“‘Villain’ is such a harsh term,” Gylburnt said.

“What term should I use, then?”

“‘Destined future ruler of Tirnog, conqueror of the lands of the Crescent Sea, and subjugator of humanity.’”

I shook my head. “That might be a bit too long, Countess.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Alice!” I glanced over towards the fence and saw Clarinda, getting out of her blue motorcar. “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t get this old thing to start. I…” Her eyes widened as she looked around at the spectacle that had sprung up on and above the front lawn. “I was going to ask if I missed anything,” she said half-dazedly, “but the answer to that is rather obvious.”

“Hello, Clarinda! A moment.” I walked up to the podium. “Macalley?” I said as I extended a hand. He gave me the gavel, and I loudly and happily struck the podium with it. “Your attention, please, honored guests!” I shouted.

Every eye was on me as I said, “The auction will resume shortly. Before it does, though, I want to introduce someone. Clarinda?” She smiled and waved as I continued, “This is Clarinda Topping. She is the head librarian at the Darbyfield Public Library. The funds raised from the sale of this lovely, annoying golden duck will help her make our local library the pride of Darbyfield. Therefore, you are encouraged to bid early and often, and you are reminded that any further attempts to sabotage the bidding will meet with her personal disapproval.”

Argentium winced. “One does not muck with librarians,” he muttered.

“Why?” Octavo asked.

“I mentioned that I had destroyed a library. A junior librarian there swore revenge, and thwarted my next three schemes.”

Octavo paled. “Who was she?”

Argentium answered by pointing at Spindrift, who was still swooping about on her flying carpet, wand at the ready. Peirea had to quickly cover her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“In light of the increased interest in this blasted mallard,” I said, “we will restart the bidding. The opening bid will be 500 crowns.” I started to hand the gavel to Macalley, but I pulled it back and smacked the podium with it again. “Yes, I must have one of these,” I said softly with a grin.

 

To my surprise, the bidding proceeded from that point without incident. Octavo and Bludergard dropped out early, Argentium soon after that. Gylburnt kept trying to outbid Easterly, but he kept topping her, and by the time all was done, he had won with a closing bid of an astonishing 3650 crowns.

Spindrift kept a sharp eye on the pixie countess as the funds were successfully transferred. “So do we grab the duck and run, Wes?” she said to Easterly.

“Let’s not take any chances,” Easterly said. “You’d make a terrible duck.”

“I think I’d make a wonderful mallard.” Spindrift grinned and, as Easterly turned away, winked at Peirea, who blushed fiercely.

“Shall we?” I said. Easterly joined me at the podium, and I held the Drake of Sonroda up for the last time. “Congratulations!” I said as I handed him the duck. I was both relieved and disappointed when he didn’t transform into one.

“Master Weston?” Macalley handed him the glass case. “This might be useful.”

“Thank you, Macalley!” Easterly opened the case. “This should make things easier…”

He raised his head as a happy, high-pitched mechanical whine cut the air. The Quokkatron opened its adorable mouth, revealing row after row of adorable sharp teeth, as Professor Argentium climbed on its back. “The auction is over, Peavley,” he said, “and so are my promises.”

“You may wish to reconsider,” Easterly said grimly as Spindrift circled towards the Quokkatron.

“Flowerbeds or no flowerbeds, I will have that—”

Argentium stopped and winced as Vic walked up to the fence. “Hullo again, Alice!” he said, holding up a wheel of goat cheese. “Has Macalley secured the crackers yet?”

“Goat cheese!” Argentium screamed. “My secret weakness!” His Quokkatron whined as it spun, vaulted the hedge and hurried down the road, out of sight.

“Really?” Easterly said, shaking his head.

“Don’t complain if it worked, Wes. Besides, we all know that Argentium is lactose intolerant.” Spindrift flew over to Octavo. “Time to head back to the home, Doctor.”

Octavo sighed. “Must I? I was so hoping to bring doom to these innocent villagers.”

I smiled at him. “We never engage in doom before our afternoon tea, Doctor.”

“Well put, Madame Peavley.” Octavo glared at me. “Be sure to wear those same boots when we meet again so you can quake in them! Peirea!”

The pyromancer nodded meekly as she joined Octavo. He held up a hand, and there was a burst of smoke and fire. When it had faded, the two were gone, leaving behind distant footsteps and a scrap of paper, which Spindrift quickly picked up and stuffed in a pocket.

Gylburnt sighed and walked over to Maccollin. The gnome had curled up in a ball and fallen asleep as the trio of ducks nervously paced the ground nearby. The countess picked up the mallard and cradled him. “Time to go, Glitterglim,” she said; the duck nodded.

“What will become of him?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m sure that a court sorceress will be able to restore him to his true form.” Gylburnt smiled cruelly. “And his debt to me will be that much harder to repay.” I shuddered as she gestured and vanished in another flash of light.

“So Glitterglim was transformed into a duck when he tried to steal the Drake of Sonroda?” Spindrift said.

“Precisely,” I answered.

Spindrift exchanged a glance with Easterly. She guided her flying carpet over to Maccollin, landing softly. She stared at the gadwall. “I may regret this,” she said as she tapped the duck with her wand.

The gadwall glowed, grew swiftly in size, and shed her feathers. As the glow faded, a troll in a green vest and a matching top hat shook her head and brushed the hair on her forearms back into place. “It took you two long enough to figure it out,” she muttered.

Easterly sighed. “Glynella…”

The troll rolled her eyes. “I’d heard that Octavo was nearby! I was trying to keep Skrab’s bloody duck safe!”

“Skrab?” I asked.

“Right. The enchanter who created that duck.” Glynella folded her arms. “I did what I did to keep it out of the wrong hands, no regrets.”

Easterly pointed at the rope ladder. “We’ll talk about this later, Ella.”

The troll nodded and grabbed the ladder. “Thanks for the grub, Miss Peavley!” Glynella said as she started to climb. “I wasn’t mashing on you, honest!” I nodded and, in spite of myself, smiled.

“We’ll be going, then.” Easterly walked over to the ladder. “Madame Peavley, on behalf of my patron, who seeks to remain anonymous—”

“You mean Lady Sylvetta,” I said, “as part of her program to keep rare magical artifacts under lock and key.”

“What?”

“You’re not the only one who reads the newspapers.” I smiled sardonically. “Please give her my regards, would you?”

“Of course. A pleasure meeting you and Macalley, Madame Peavley. Spindrift?” Easterly started to climb up the ladder.

“One moment, Wes.” Spindrift flew up to us. “How have you been, cousin?” she said to Macalley.

I gaped at my valet. “Are all the gnomes of the Crescent Sea related to you?”

“Thankfully, no,” Macalley said to me. “I am doing rather pleasantly, Petula.”

“I was so sorry to hear about Clarence, Hiram. I’m glad things are going well for you here.”

“Thank you.” Macalley seemed to smile ever so slightly.

Petula returned his smile. “What about Maccollin?”

Macalley glanced at Maccollin, who was being carried off by two troll porters. “He will eventually get over this, I suspect. The commission he’ll be making from this auction will help.”

“Wonderful. We’ll be staying overnight for some minor repairs. Are you free for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Not dinner tonight?”

“I’ve made plans.” Spindrift winked and smiled. “See you tomorrow, bright and early!” She pocketed her wand as she flew off, circling Easterly as he climbed the rope ladder up to the airship.

Macalley stroked his goatee. “That does leave one lingering question.”

“And that is?” I asked.

“There were three attempts to steal the Drake of Sonroda. If all three led to someone being transformed into a duck...then who is that last duck who is still loitering on our front lawn?”

I looked over at the pintail, who seemed to be trying to avoid our gaze. “I would think that it would be the person who tried to make off with the duck last night,” I said. “But who would that have been?”

“Your pardon.” Bludergard, carrying the painting he had won at auction earlier, walked up to me and Macalley. “Your chat has reminded me that Stibbins went missing after that set-to at G.H. Wollenhall’s last night. By any chance, have you seen him?”

Macalley and I glanced at each other. I sighed and pointed at the pintail duck.

“Egad!” Bludergard walked over and peered down at the pintail. “Is that really you, Stibbins?”

The duck stared at Bludergard and quacked softly. “Serves him right for what he did,” I muttered.

“He looks quite pleasant as a duck!” Bludergard chuckled. “I dare say it might be an improvement!”

Stibbins quacked indignantly, flapped his wings, and lunged at Bludergard’s nose. “Stibbins!” Bludergard shouted as he turned and ran. “Can’t you take a joke? Help! Help!” Stibbins flew after him, nipping at his extremities.

“Perhaps I should speak to my cousin about this tomorrow?” Macalley said.

“Just as long as I’m left out of the conversation.” I shook my head. “I’ve had more than my fill of ducks. The only time I wish to be confronted with a duck from this moment on is if it’s accompanied by orange sauce and a fine burgundy.”

“An excellent pairing. In the meantime, I do believe that I have a spare baguette that will go well with Master Vic’s goat cheese.”

“Marvelous.” I smiled. “Vic? Clarinda? Do join us.” We headed for the front door as the other bidders departed, Dawn’s Reckoning sailed off, and Bludergard’s cries for help faded into the distance.