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

by Robert Dahlen

  “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?”

&nbs
p; 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!”