“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 wou
ld 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.
Thank you very much for reading this tale of Peavley Manor! We would be most grateful were you to leave a review to encourage your fellow readers to take a chance and purchase this story, and to encourage the author to write more tales of Alice and Macalley’s misadventures.
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Other works by Robert Dahlen
The Monkey Queen series:
Of Introductions And Abductions
The Brigadoon Boondoggle
Under The Stars Of Faerie
A Tiding Of Magpies
Redblade
The Crown Of Kylthena
The Skyblade Saga (A Plundered Chronicles Tale):
Skyblade’s Gambit
Skyblade’s Claim
The Peavley Manor series:
Book Fair Frenzy (Or, Macalley Turns The Page)
The Thorn Harbour Road Rally (Or, Macalley Takes the Wheel)
The Missing Mallard (Or, Duck, Macalley! Duck!)
The Tabitha Miles Series
Copper Cove
Acknowledgements
Thank you (again) to Amber Goss for help with the cover and general support. Don’t remind her of all the cheesy fries I now owe her, okay? Thanks.
Thank you (again) to Shei Darksbane for pitching in with the formatting! She continues to be awesome.
Thank you (again) to Madame Askew herself, Jocelynne Simone, for laughing at the jokes.
And thank you to all those in the steampunk community who have encouraged and supported these stories. My gratitude towards you knows no limits!
About the Author
Fantasy and steampunk novelist, unrepentant wisecracker, level 2 steampunk, nerd music buff and penguin aficionado, Robert Dahlen lives in northern California with numerous penguins, various electronic devices stuffed with e-books and works in progress, shelves filled with books, graphic novels, and Disney Infinity and other figures, and two very nice hats. He's been having fun telling stories since March 2013, and he looks forward to doing so for years to come. He is hopefully writing another story as you read this, and he thanks you for reading this. (And he pronounces his last name “duh-LANE”, as in “the rain in Spain falls mainly on Dahlen”, and yes, Maccollin was singing that to a feathered trio at one point.)
The Missing Mallard [Or, Duck, Macalley! Duck! ] Page 5
