The Missing Mallard [Or, Duck, Macalley! Duck! ]

by Robert Dahlen

  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 pr
ime 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 day
s 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.”