“She told you this, and you didn’t say anything?” Donald hissed furiously.
“I didn’t put any stock in it!” Scrooge whispered defensively. “Even if the Templars had been cultists, they’ve been disbanded for centuries! The castle’s been unoccupied since then!”
“You can’t just assume that!” Donald countered. He shook his head angrily, snarling, “Razzle, frazzling-! Every time I think you’ve learned-!”
“I know, Donald! Don’t think I’m not kickin’ myself!”Scrooge growled back at him.
Donald let go and folded his arms crossly. “So. What’s the plan now?” He demanded.
Scrooge took a moment to think about that.
-------------------------------------
Huey’s phone buzzed.
He looked over from the mass of plastic and wires he was tinkering on, sitting over on the ‘electronics’ section of his workbench. Della had retired a while ago, and it was just him and his projects now. He could comfortably stay up late tonight, since the weekend was tomorrow, and he was determined to spend these precious hours working on as many of his side projects as he could.
Again, his phone buzzed.
He checked it, seeing that the notification had come from his friends’ group chat.
Violet
@Huey Duck. Hello. Just confirming that the office visit was uneventful. You didn’t come back to class, so we’ve been speculating on what happened.
Huey winced. He’d forgotten to tell his friends about Nickel. He wasn’t even sure if he should. It seemed like one of those things that only the family had to know about.
After a moment’s hesitation, he sent a reply.
Huey
I’m okay. I wasn’t in trouble. It’s a bit of a weird situation though.
A moment passed, then his phone buzzed again.
Violet
Weird in what way?
Huey sighed. Of course, Violet was going to be inquisitive. Oscar’s icon was showing up on the app now, meaning that he’d seen the messages too. All eyes were on him now.
He didn’t say anything at first. Anxiety held him back and kept him from responding, which he imagined was only concerning his friends further. He slowly typed out his next message, then hit send.
Huey
Can you guys keep a secret?
Violet
With my life.
Oscar
nope
if its something serious mate, then I don’t need to know about it.
odds are good that I’ll accidentally blurt it out to someone
Huey
Ok
Huey switched over to a private chat with Violet, then began to type feverishly.
Huey
Ok, so some FBI agent was in there and he wanted to talk to me about Scrooge
He was really weird. He was doing that thing that police do when they’re overly friendly with a suspect to make him confess to something.
He seemed to think that my uncle had done something wrong and that I could help him somehow.
He didn’t tell my mom or Mrs Beakley or anyone else, so I didn’t have a guardian present, so I’m pretty sure that the whole thing was illegal.
He asked me about what we were doing in Paris and what we were looking for. I think he either already knew why we were there or at least thought that he did.
And he lost his temper and started shouting when I refused to answer his questions.
He wasn’t very professional overall. His suit wasn’t buttoned up or pressed or anything.
But the weirdest thing is that he specifically asked me questions about some of the artifacts we had in the Other Bin
Which should be impossible, because nobody outside the family knows about it
(Im assuming that Webby and Lena have told you about the Other Bin)
I have no idea what he wants or what any of this means
I don’t think any of the adults do either
It's all just so confusing
Anyway my mom took me home afterwards so that he wouldn’t get a chance to harass me again
Huey stopped texting and watched the screen anxiously for a reply. He saw an ellipsis symbol in the bottom, showing that Violet was texting back a reply. After a moment, it appeared on his screen.
Violet
I see.
There was a pause before the next message.
Violet
Your uncle definitely hasn’t done anything wrong? I’m not saying he’d commit a federal offence intentionally, but perhaps it’s something that his company has done?
Huey
I’m certain of it.
That Scrooge hasn’t done anything wrong, anyway.
Jeez, I really hope it isn’t the company.
Violet
What was the agent’s name? It might be worth searching him.
Huey
Agent Nickel. That’s a good idea, actually.
Violet
I can do some research of my own to assist you, if you want. This might not be something you can fight on your own.
Huey
Thanks Violet. I’ll let you know if there’s anything you can do to help us. At the moment, it’s too early to say.
Violet
Understood.
Incidentally, we should probably delete these messages and keep discussions of this offline. If your uncle is under investigation, it would be a small matter for the FBI to acquire text messages that you’ve sent.
Huey
I think deleting messages from a chat is just a visual thing. It doesn’t remove it from the database.
Violet
You’re probably right, but it’s best to take precautions.
Good luck, Huey.
No sooner than Violet had written out her last message that she began deleting her side of the conversation, each message replaced one by one with ‘message deleted’. Huey followed suit until there was not a trace of the exchange, only a wall of generic empty messages.
After a moment, he put his phone away and pushed the mass of electronics to the side. His project could wait. This was far more important.
Swiftly, he got out his laptop, a blank notepad, and a handful of pens, placing them all on his desk. Once the computer was booted up, he typed in ‘FBI agent Nickel’ into the search window, then hit enter.
He sighed irritably as he saw the first round of results. None of them were relevant, just references to some old case about a hollow nickel and a Cold War spy. The next page of results was equally useless, only tangentially related to his search terms.
Deciding to change his approach, Huey filtered the search results to display news articles. He wasn’t going to find FBI databases or a dossier with Nickel’s name on it, but perhaps he could find something in the news about a case Nickel was involved in.
The first page wasn’t useful to him. Neither was the second, nor the third. It was only when he got to the seventh page of results that he finally found something. A headline that gave him pause.
Terrorist pair extradited from UK; FBI director says ‘F.O.W.L.’s days are over’
Huey stared at the headline, slowly blinking in disbelief. He clicked on the article, opening it in a new window. No sooner than he did, he saw the image the article had at the top of the page and his beak fell agape in shock.
Nickel wasn’t in the photo. But front and centre was the Phantom Blot.
The Blot wasn’t looking at the camera, his back turned as he was being shoved inside a car by an FBI agent, amid a crowd of police, secret agents and journalists. Following closely behind him was that F.O.W.L. Egghead who seemed to work with him, looking around wildly and apparently arguing with one of the agents that was handling her. Both of them were handcuffed.
“What…?” Huey murmured, scrolling down to read more.
Today marks the official fall of the notorious terrorist organisation known as the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny (F.O.W.L.), as joint operation by the FBI and Interpol results in the capture and arrest of one of its most notorious members. Known as the Phantom Blot, this enigmatic figure is believed to have been among the highest-ranking leaders of the terrorists and is now set to serve a life sentence in Washington State Prison.
How had he never heard of this? Huey started to scroll deeper, his eyes glued on the screen. He didn’t even know F.O.W.L. had still existed during this time. None of their agents had come after them after the Library of Alexandria, not in all these years had they heard as much as a peep from F.O.W.L. Yet, here this article was, claiming that the Phantom Blot had been operating all the way up to 2022.
He kept reading all the way to the end of the article, pausing only to take note of a particular quote near the end of the article.
“I would like to thank the American Federal Bureau of Investigation, particularly Special Agent Nickel and Assistant Director Charleston, for their invaluable assistance in this operation.” Says Senior Agent Jacques Monroe. “This couldn’t have been done without them.”
Huey frowned, tapping his pen against his notepad. He quickly scribbled down, ‘Phantom Blot arrest – Agent Nickel and Assistant Director Charleston (FBI)’, then moved on.
Once he was done with the article, he returned to the search page and added ‘FOWL’ to his search terms.
He hit enter.
-------------------------------------
Galinha, Portugal
They had been navigating the underground dungeon of Castelo de Cristo for about ten minutes when Scrooge heard a voice behind him shout, “Look out!”
Scrooge yelped as Webby pulled him back, just in time for a scythe blade to come swinging past his face. He stumbled back as the scythe began swinging to-and-fro across the corridor, into and out of a pair of slits in the wall, with two more scythes swinging asynchronously behind it.
The whole party came to a stop behind him as Webby propped Scrooge back onto his feet. “Are you okay, dad?” She asked.
“Aye, aye.” Scrooge muttered, brushing himself off. “Don’t know how I didn’t spot that…”
“You need to be more careful!” Webby scolded him. “We’re in a ruin, remember?”
“I know, I know!” Scrooge growled irritably. He peered across to the other side of the corridor, noticing an empty iron torch sconce not too far behind the swinging scythes. “Hm…” He pointed over at it with his cane, saying, “There. I’d bet my bottom dollar that pulling on that sconce over there stops the trap.”
“Sweet.” May remarked, stepping forward towards the blades.
Immediately, she was stopped by Scrooge’s cane and Donald gripping her arm, crying, “What are you doing?”
“What? All we gotta do is weave between the blades and grab the switch that turns them off.” May explained. “Simple.”
“Yeah, even a simple deathtrap is called a death-trap!” Dewey exclaimed from behind her. “If we’re gonna turn it off, we want to do it without getting sliced by those things.”
May seemed to think about that for a moment. She stepped forward just a little, watching the blades as they swung back and forth.
She knelt down to the ground, picking up a stray brick from the ground. She threw it up and down a couple of times, apparently testing its weight.
Then, with a cry, she threw it up in the air, leapt up, and kicked it with all her might.
Like a bullet, the brick flew through the air, past each of the scythes as they were swinging across the corridor, and struck the sconce, shattering on impact. The iron torch-holder immediately swung around on a vertical axis, like a giant door handle, and each of the scythes instantly froze in place.
May turned back to the others, all of them staring at her with beaks agape.
“How’s that?” She asked with a smirk.
“Nicely done, lass!” Scrooge exclaimed proudly.
“That was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen!” Dewey gushed. “You gotta teach me how to do that!”
May beamed proudly.
Carefully, the family stepped around the scythe blades, ducking under the one in the middle, which had stopped moving right in the centre of the hallway. Once they were safely past them, they continued on their way to the end of the corridor, at which they found another wooden door.
Scrooge carefully pushed it open to the next room, revealing a hall with three dungeon cells on either side, each barred with iron. At the very end of the hallway was a wooden desk and another door that led straight ahead. Typical of a complex like this, with that immediately denoted trouble… but he’d been wrong before.
“Straight ahead?” Donald suggested, though he posed it more as a question.
“Aye.” Scrooge agreed, stepping carefully into the room.
They were about halfway through when Louie spoke up from behind, “Hey, June. I found another one.”
The party turned to see him kneeling down to pick something up from the floor. He stood up, holding another cigarette butt in his hand.
“Another one…” June mused.
“This deep into the dungeon?” Scrooge said concernedly.
June peered into the cell that Louie was standing next to. Reaching out, she pushed the cell door open, the set of bars swinging without so much as a squeak. Webby frowned and stepped into the cell with June, examining the hinges as June inspected the cell’s interior, which consisted of an old straw bed and a thick sheet of dust.
Or at least, so it seemed. As June was inspecting the hay bale, she called out what she found. “The hay here looks fresh. And the dust here’s been disturbed recently.”
“And these joints have been oiled.” Webby added, swinging the cell door back and forth to prove her point. “Like, recently oiled.”
“Someone else has been down here.” Louie breathed.
“That cannae be…” Scrooge muttered anxiously.
“Um…” June spoke up, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “There’s also, um… some of the hay here has blood on it.”
She held up a few strands of straw to show the rest. It was hard to see in the dim light, but Scrooge could just make out a few flecks of crimson upon the otherwise golden fibres.
“…Fresh blood?” Scrooge asked worriedly.
June shrugged, uncertain. “It’s not old.”
A blanket of silence fell upon the family as they considered the implications. Louie stepped back from the cell, his expression ill, muttering, “So- so, what now?”
Scrooge didn’t have an answer.
“…Give us a moment.” Donald muttered, taking Scrooge by the arm and leading him over to the other end of the hallway. Scrooge went with him, frowning as he thought to himself.
Once they were far enough from the kids, Donald whispered to him worriedly, “What do we do? If it isn’t just Goldie down here…”
“I know, I know…” Scrooge murmured.
“And blood? Do… you think Goldie got into trouble?”
Scrooge tapped the handle of his cane as he tried to think of a response.
She’s in danger. We need to hurry.
He opened his beak, then shut it tight. He knew what that voice was now, and he didn’t trust it.
“…Scrooge?” Donald asked concernedly.
“…I…” He said hesitantly. “I don’t think Goldie’s in trouble, no… but… she did mention something…”
“What?”
“She mentioned that she’d heard that there was a… cult… operatin’ out of this castle.”
“…What?”
“Aye. Claimed that they’d kidnapped a young lass, too. I thought it was impossible at the time, but now… I’m wonderin’ if I’d been wrong.”
Donald stared at him for a few seconds before grabbing Scrooge by the collar and pulling him into his face. “She told you this, and you didn’t say anything?” Donald hissed furiously.
“I didn’t put any stock in it!” Scrooge whispered defensively. “Even if the Templars had been cultists, they’ve been disbanded for centuries! The castle’s been unoccupied since then!”
“You can’t just assume that!” Donald countered. He shook his head angrily, snarling, “Razzle, frazzling-! Every time I think you’ve learned-!”
“I know, Donald! Don’t think I’m not kickin’ myself!”Scrooge growled back at him.
Donald let go and folded his arms crossly. “So. What’s the plan now?” He demanded.
Scrooge took a moment to think about that.
With a heavy sigh, he turned around and said loudly, “Kids!”
The kids approached them, all of them looking worried. Scrooge doubted that they hadn’t noticed the argument, but that wasn’t important.
“Hey, uh, I don’t know if I’m…” Louie started to say apprehensively.
“I know, lad.” Scrooge told him reassuringly. Turning to the rest, he said sternly, “Right, kids… I’ve spoken with Donald, and somethin’ definitely wrong here. Someone dangerous is down here, and… well, we don’t know if it’s safe to continue.”
“Are… are we turning back?” Webby asked disappointedly.
“…Not yet.” Scrooge told her. Pointing at the next door with his cane, he explained, “I’m going to scout ahead down there. The rest of you will stay behind here. If I’m not back in exactly twenty minutes,” He said loudly as the kids started to protest. “Then Donald will take you back to the hotel. Do not wait for me.”
“But what if something happens to you?” Dewey exclaimed.
“I’ll be fine.” Scrooge assured him. “Whatever happens, I’ll find me way out. What’s important is that you keep yourselves safe. Understand?”
Webby, Dewey and Louie didn’t answer, all of them looking uneasy. May and June simply looked at each other gravely, then nodded at Scrooge.
Scrooge turned to Donald. “You remember the way back?” Scrooge asked.
“…Yeah.” Donald replied, clearly also uneasy.
Scrooge turned back to his family. “Twenty minutes.” He reminded them. “I’ll be fine.”
With that, he made his way over to the door beside the desk, opening it and stepping inside. He turned back to his family and gave them one last confident smile before closing it on their worried faces.
He turned around, his bravado vanishing to be replaced with grave determination. He took out his pocketwatch, memorised the time, and then began to trapse forward, holding his cane tightly.
He kept his eye on the floor, scanning the stone tiles for any more evidence of trespassers. Eventually, he came to a T-intersection in the corridor, both directions looking identical to the other.
He turned left.
That corridor led him to a flight of stairs, which in turn led him down to another intersection, with a path going straight ahead, and another branching off to his right. Looking between the two routes, he spied something on the floor, a few feet in front of him. Approaching it, he saw that it was a flip-phone of some kind, broken, like it had been stepped underfoot. Kneeling down and picking it up, he saw that the back of it had been plastered over with colourful stickers.
Heard from some of the people here that a girl went missing ‘bout a week ago. Apparently, she disappeared scaling the cliffs near the castle.
He should’ve listened to Goldie.
Cursing under his breath, he stood up and started to make his way down the corridor before him. The corridor took him through two larger rooms, the first one being a square chamber with scorch marks across the walls, and the second being a long, wide corridor with sets of floor spikes popping in and out of the tiles at regular intervals. These were dummy rooms, Scrooge realised, rooms that had no purpose other than to trap intruders. Goldie must have set them off.
Scrooge navigated the traps easily. Whatever trap had caused the scorch marks had either been discharged or disabled, and the pattern the spike trap followed was predictable. At the end of the gauntlet was a corridor, from which Scrooge could feel a draft of cool nighttime air.
Confused, he followed the corridor to the end, leading him to an open door that led outside. Stepping out, Scrooge found himself on the cliffs surrounding the castle, the wind whistling ominously through his feathers. Beside the exit was a crumpled tarp covered with dirt, grass and roots – camouflage, that once covered this door.
Scrooge looked back and forth along the cliffs, frowning. Why had Goldie taken this path out of the castle?
She hadn’t, he suddenly realised. This was the way she’d come in.
Scrooge spun around and started running back the way he’d come, cursing himself all the way. They hadn’t been following Goldie. All this time, they’d been following someone else, someone who wanted to be followed. They’d walked right into an ambush, and Scrooge had been too blind to see it.
He darted effortlessly through the spike trap room and the scorched room, stumbling as he threw his back out with his pace. Gritting through the pain, he forced himself to keep running, making his way up to the second intersection.
He skidded to a stop.
There were three figures in front of him.
Scrooge held himself upright on his cane, panting as he stared at the men before him. They weren’t wearing dark robes, nor did they have occult tattoos, but they were definitely the cultists Goldie had mentioned to him. He could see it in their eyes. They each wore trousers and button-up shirts, as well as what looked to be steel necklaces buried into their navels.
One of them was pointing a hunting rifle at him.
The gunman stepped forth. He was a rooster with pale brown feathers and a cigarette hanging limply in his mouth. “Bem-vindo à Catedral de Baphomet, Americano.” He drawled coldly, speaking Portuguese before switching to English. “You’re coming with us.”
Scrooge glanced past them, towards his family. The cultists noticed, chuckling darkly as one. “Do not concern yourself with them. You should be more worried about you.”
“What have you done to my family?” Scrooge snarled.
“They are not for us to do with.” The leader replied with an evil smirk. “They belong to the Bulezau now.”
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