Naturally, it started raining at about the point they had to get off the bus and walk the last part of the journey.
After his experience with the cramped coffin, not to mention his time in the warehouse that had eventually been the site of the Unknowing, Daffy hated the rain. He also still wasn’t accustomed to it splattering the lenses of his glasses. Pausing under an overhang, he grumbled as he fished for a handkerchief to wipe the lenses. “You’d think one of the perkth of being the chothen thervant of thomething called the Eye would be my vision fixthing itthelf. Thith ith highly inconvenient.”
“Switch to contacts,” Alex suggested. He pulled his cap a little lower over his forehead and popped the collar of his coat up to expose as little skin as possible.
“I’m not sure I want to be thticking my fingerth in my eyeth. That theemth like a fatht track to going completely blind.”
Alex hummed. “Hey, if you did, would you still belong to the Eye?”
“I—” Daffy stopped and thought about it. Would he? Without conscious thought, he reached out to the Ceaseless Watcher for the answer—and in response got a stabbing headache that made him drop the glasses.
“Whoa!” Alex stooped and retrieved the glasses, then wiped them down for him before handing them back. “You okay?”
“Yeah, jutht—headache.” Daffy rubbed his forehead and slid the glasses back onto his face. “Which theemth like it might anthwer your quethtion. The Eye doethn’t want me to think too hard about that, tho I bet it would work. I’m not going to exthperiment with that, though.”
“No, no, I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” Alex assured him. “Mostly I was just wondering if it was something Jonny could use in his podcast. You don’t mind that, do you?”
Daffy shook his head and fished out the pork pie hat he wore in whatever cartoons he needed to. “It’th the leatht I can do. I’m glad it’th going tho well.” Hunching his shoulders, he muttered, “At leatht thomething ith.”
Alex unfurled a large black umbrella and held it up. With their dark coats and dark hats, they blended into the gloom and rapidly approaching night well enough. “Do you have even the least little hint of what we need to do here?” he asked.
Daffy swallowed the urge to get defensive. There was no petulance or sarcasm in his voice—he was genuinely asking—but it stung all the same. “Up to thith point, I wathn’t sure. I’m thtill not one hundred perthent thertain. But…well, like Bugth thaid, it’th harder to thee through the Dark. Thith clothe I can…get a better view.”
“Right. Great. Then what?”
“Then we improvithe. You’re good at that, aren’t you? Ithn’t that half of what being a Game Mathter ith, ith reacting to thomething your playerth have done that you weren’t exthpecting?” Daffy paused to check his bearings. “Like cathting Fireball directly on themthelf?”
Alex didn’t answer for a minute. Finally, he said quietly, “Do you usually have that happen?”
Daffy frowned up at him. “Not outthide of cartoonth, generally thpeaking.”
“No, not—I mean, the whole…knowing stuff you’re not supposed to know. Even if you listen to my podcast—we just recorded that episode last week. It won’t come out for a while yet.”
And Daffy didn’t listen to Alex’s podcast, any more than he listened to Jonny’s; he meant to, but he’d only been out of his coma for a week and a half and there was a lot to catch up on. He sighed and shrugged. “I’m thtarting to get uthed to it.”
The rain did not appreciably let up as they trudged across the North York Moors. Alex looked around him. “Why here, anyway? Seems like it gets its share of sun.”
“It’th a thertified Dark Thky thite,” Daffy answered automatically. “Lethth light pollution. And the thpot we’re going to ith pretty inactheththible to the general public, tho it’th a good plathe to hide…I guethth.”
“Oh. Great?” Alex didn’t sound terribly sure. “Should it be this…dark? Even with the rain?”
“Alexth, we’re fathing down the Dark. Of courthe it’th going to be dark.” Daffy shot him a glare. “The clother to what we’re looking for it getth, the worthe it’th going to be.”
“Fair point,” Alex allowed. “So how do you fight the Dark?”
“Induthtrial grade flashlightth?” Daffy shrugged, then grimaced. “Which we didn’t bring. Bugth didn’t exthactly give me a lot of time to plan thith. Like I thaid, we’re improvithing here.”
“Shame you couldn’t bring Foghorn Leghorn instead,” Alex said.
Daffy stopped dead and narrowed his eyes at Alex. “That’th not funny.”
Alex’s eyebrows, just barely visible in the gloom, shot up. “I didn’t mean it to be. I would imagine a rooster would be a lot more useful than an office drone.”
Daffy was about to rejoin with something bitingly sarcastic when the Eye helpfully informed him that Jonny had not repeated all of their conversations to Alex—or even most of them. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice even. “Jonny didn’t tell you why I wath thtaying with him, did he?”
“He…said there was a murder, but…he didn’t really elaborate on that,” Alex said slowly. His eyes widened. “That was Foghorn Leghorn?”
“Yeah.” Daffy cocked his head at Alex. “You don’t theem thurprithed. You knew Toonth could die?”
Alex nodded. “Did you ever meet Jenny Foxworth? She lived in my neighborhood when I was a kid, her and her mum—I think her parents were divorced. She used to babysit me, and she paid me to catsit for Oliver when she had to go back to the States for Fagin’s funeral. I heard about Roger Rabbit, too—that was, what, three years ago? I just…I’ve never heard of one actually being murdered. Outside of the whole…Dip thing.”
“Well, now you’ve heard of two,” Daffy said dryly. “Granny wath murdered too. Wile E. Coyote…that’th a little more complicated. Thame with Maxth Goof and Woody Woodpecker. Porky ithn’t dead, but—”
“Wait, wait, what happened to—you’re losing me.” Alex frowned. “What did—you told me about Wile E when we were investigating the Trophy Room, but what about Woody and—who’s Max Goof? Goofy’s son?”
“Yeah. Woody…thort of became the Dithtortion. And he took Maxth, and Maxth thort of…took Woody’th plathe. It’th complicated. But they’re…they’re gone, but they’re altho not.” Daffy rubbed the spot between his eyes. “Thith doethn’t actually make much more thenthe to me.”
Alex licked his lips, but didn’t say anything. Daffy sighed. “Come on. Thith way.”
They tramped forward a few more feet before Alex spoke again, quietly. “What’s gone for a Toon?”
“What do you mean?” Daffy asked, the question more than half mechanical.
“Just…you usually hear those two words together. Dead and gone. Kind of implies they’re two different things, you know? Dead is they won’t…what’s the distinction for a Toon?”
Daffy had his theories, but he’d never really thought about it. He was thinking about it now, though. He took a quick breath. “Dead meanth they won’t be making any more cartoonth. Gone meanth their cartoonth will never be aired again. The important part, though, ith that there’th another phrathe you hear a lot—gone but not forgotten. There’th only one way to forget a Toon, and that’th for their cartoonth to be Vaulted.”
He stared straight ahead, not really seeing anything even if there had been anything to see. “It wathn’t Walt who came up with it. It wathn’t even Eithner. Every thtudio hath a vault where they put any filmth they don’t need to acthethth too often. Cartoonth that are thtill being aired, and movieth that are thtill being thold even if they aren’t in theaterth anymore—thothe thtay in the Dithtribution Thenter. The oneth they don’t share, the oneth they don’t talk about—thothe go in the Vault. The Thenthored Eleven are in there. The Warnerth were kept there for a while. Goodnethth knowth Dithney hath put a few filmth in their vault, too. It’th a good way to forget thingth that tarnish the reputation of a thtudio—or a Toon. But if all the cartoonth are put in the Vault…that’th when a Toon who’th gone thtartth to be forgotten. Ethpecially if they aren’t rebooted. Rebooting ith—”
“D-Daffy. Daffy!” Alex slapped Daffy upside the head, not hard enough to do any real damage but enough to break his flow.
“What?” Daffy wasn’t sure whether to be angry or afraid. Had Alex seen something he’d missed?
But when he turned to look, the expression on the man’s face wasn’t scared—or annoyed. Just concerned. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to—look, save your energy, maybe? I, uh, I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to stop this on my own if you burn all your power on trivialities.”
“My p—” Daffy blinked and became aware of the lingering taste of static on his tongue. “Oh. I…didn’t realithe I wath doing that.”
“Figured.” Alex shoved the hand not holding the umbrella into his pocket. “Sorry for slapping you.”
“It’th fine. I’ve had worthe.”
“Yeah, but that was in cartoons, right? ‘S not real.”
Daffy snorted. “Pleathe. Camerath or no camerath, I got puh-lenty of abuthe. Remind me to tell you thometime about the year Yothemite Tham tried to therve roatht duck for Thankthgiving dinner.” He turned his head slightly. “Come on. It’th thith way. Drop back a little bit. I don’t want you getting caught in the backthplash.”
Alex obediently—Daffy suspected for one of the few times in his life—fell back, and Daffy led him on.
They were on a path winding through open fields, which were miserable with all the rain; Daffy was thankful Alex hadn’t made a crack about it being great weather for ducks, probably because he recognized that Daffy was not enjoying himself at all. The path disappeared into the trees, which were close enough together that Alex was able to fold up the umbrella while also somehow making it even darker. Daffy wordlessly put a hand behind him, and once he felt Alex’s hand close around it, he veered a sharp left and left the path behind. The shadows grew darker, closer, and far more intimidating. Daffy’s heart was beating rapidly, but he made himself keep going. He had to. This was their one shot.
He found himself humming that stupid song from Hercules under his breath.
Suddenly, he stuttered to a halt as awareness swept over him. “Shh,” he hissed over his shoulder.
“I am shushed,” Alex hissed back.
Daffy ignored him and released his hand, carefully, then took another step forward and summoned the confidence of Duck Tracy. “Come out, you….mitherable beatht!”
The shadows…shifted.
Daffy couldn’t help but gulp as a figure stepped down from the crook of the ancient, gnarled tree. Some small part of him that was holding on to rationality recognized it as an oak tree, and that same part of him clocked the tree to the left as a graceful ash and the one to the right as a menacing thorn. The surrounding trees were yew—so not just old trees, but important ones, symbolic ones. There was, somehow, just enough light for Daffy to properly make out the figure as the exact same one he had seen in the picture on Bugs’ desk—had it only been that morning? Looming over him, wearing a dark purplish grey cloak lined in deep crimson and sporting a monocle, was a Great Horned Owl.
Alex made a tiny noise that might have been a suppressed scream and might have been a whimper and—to Daffy’s relief—took a step back. The owl, fortunately, ignored him.
In a deep, contemptuous voice, he said, “Archivist. You think I am miserable?”
“I’ve heard breaking your monocle tendth to do that to you,” Daffy managed to choke out. “They’re exthpenthive, I imagine.”
“Hmm.” The Grand Duke of Owls—whose monocle was indeed cracked in the exact way the photograph had been—pulled it off and tossed it at Daffy, who managed to dodge it. “It won’t matter once the Dark rises in place of the sun.” He cocked his head at Daffy and sneered. “I suppose you think you’re going to stop it.”
“That wath the plan, yeth.”
The Duke laughed. “Oh, Archivist. You know so little. Whatever Granny did to disrupt our attempt four years ago, it did little more than delay things. Any day now Maxwell Raynor will send word through one of his minions, and Mister Pitch will come.”
“Thorry to butht your bubble, but Raynor ith dead,” Daffy shot back.
The Duke froze. “You lie.”
Daffy circled his face with one hand. “Ith thith the fathe of a duck that would lie to you? Polithe raid, almotht two yearth ago now. Eddie Valiant’th granddaughter wath involved—and you know if a Valiant ith involved, it’th theriouth. Maxthwell Raynor ith dead, along with five other thervantth of the Dark, and whatever planth he had died with him.”
The Duke sneered. “Well, then. I suppose it falls to me to bring the Dark into the world…all. On. My. Own.”
“Think again, Jack!” Daffy balled his hands into fists and hunched his shoulders. “I might jutht be a thitting duck, but I’ve got powerth and I know how to uthe them!”
At that, the Duke openly laughed, derisive and contemptuous. “Do you now. You want powers? I’ll give you…powers!”
He took a deep breath and began to swell…and spin.
The trees around them waved and bowed, the rain picked up—the oak, ash, and thorn remained intact, but the others whipped violently in the wind, cracking and flinging twigs everywhere. The Grand Duke of Owls was not just the darkness, but the rain, the wind, the storm itself; storms could be destructive, but they were also, crucially, dark, and this one was coming on with a vengeance. Alex yelped from somewhere behind him and, from the sound of it, was struggling to keep his place. Daffy withstood the storm—with difficulty—but panic was starting to gnaw at him. He never should have brought a human here, whatever Bugs said—he should have made Alex stay back—he should have taken more time to think about this—he couldn’t stop this, he wasn’t enough, he couldn’t—
Daffy Duck, you gotta crow, and you gotta crow now!
Daffy cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and reached for the Ceaseless Watcher as well as a trick he’d learned from an old friend. “COCKADOOOOOOOOOOOO…”
He’d always had a good voice, and he used it to the best effect he could. This time he could hear as well as taste the static accompanying it. Maybe this wasn’t a traditional use of the Eye’s power, but the Eye was certainly helping him. The Duke’s spinning faltered, and Daffy knew he had him. He let out another crow. “COCKADOOOOOOOOOOOO…”
The wind and rain died away as the Duke’s spin halted, then reversed. He let out a scream as he grew smaller—and smaller—and smaller—as the clouds overhead broke up and the trees stopped their rattling and the sun, golden and yellow and glorious, flooded the clearing with light.
The Duke screamed and spun and shrank…and then, suddenly and abruptly, he was gone. Not normal sized, not even tiny and insignificant—completely, totally, one hundred percent gone. As if he had never been.
Daffy staggered, his energy leaving him in a rush, and caught himself against the ash tree. There was a rustling, and then Alex was at his side, hand under his arm, tentatively.
“What,” he said shakily, “and I cannot overstate this, the heck just happened?”
Daffy shrugged one shoulder tiredly. “It’th my job to bring up the thun, I guethth.”
There was an odd sensation, as if reality had shifted one degree to the left, and a low creak that did not sound like a tree. Daffy looked up at the oak tree and saw, to his complete lack of surprise, a strange yellow door slowly opening.
“Nice going,” Max said, leaning in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest and his ankles crossed casually.
Alex made that small, strangled noise of surprise again, but Daffy squeezed his arm as comfortingly as he could and straightened. “How long have you been watching?”
Max shrugged. “If you couldn’t see through the Dark, what makes you think I could? I hate that guy, though. Thought you would be heading up this way to stop it and figured I’d be nearby in case you needed an escape.”
“Uh…?” Alex shuffled behind Daffy.
“It’th fine,” Daffy assured him, even though that was at least partially a lie. “Alexth, meet Maxth. Maxth, thith ith Alexth. He’th helping me out.”
Max gave him a nod. “I know who he is. Sick podcast, man. Love the hoops you make ‘em jump through.”
“Uh…thanks?” Alex’s voice was a little higher than usual.
Max smirked and straightened. “So. Save you a few hours and a couple hundred pounds? I owe you one for looking in on PJ.”
That had been months ago, but Daffy wasn’t arguing. “Whaddya thay, Alexth? Want to take a trip through thome twithted, thpiraling corridorth?”
Alex swallowed audibly. “Sure, why not? Sounds like a party. If nothing else, maybe I can give Jonny some tips.”
“That’th the thpirit.” Daffy nodded at Max. “All right. Let’th go home.”