Chapter 41: A Plan is Needed
Chapter 41
A Plan is Needed
Fluttershy recoiled from the door when she heard the sudden, tinny knock. As she quickly backed away, she bumped into something behind her making her jump once more.
It was only the object covered by the tarp. There was clearly no danger behind herself. But, what of the stranger at the door?
“Hello?” she cautiously asked.
No answer came.
Slowly, the pegasus inched toward the door.
She was stopped by Uncle Scrooge’s cane hooking her shoulder.
“Don’t ye go near that door, lass. It could be danger,” the tycoon warned her.
“But, what if it’s Applejack and Donald trying to get in?” Fluttershy asked.
The beetle atop her head nodded in agreement.
“Or, it could be DiMosco an’ his thugs tryin’ to get in! We need to find out for sure first,” Uncle scrooge said.
That was all Qard needed to hear. With a quiet groan, he managed to lift himself from his seat and set to locking the shed’s door.
“Mr. Qard! What are you doing?” Fluttershy asked.
“The duck is right. We have to keep them out, no matter what,” Qard said, as he started quickly bolting the doors shut.
“But, the others! What if they’re…” Fluttershy trailed off, not wanting to think about what could have happened to her friends who did not make it into the safety of the shed.
“I’m not worried about Donald. He an’ I have been through our fair shares of fights. Often against jokers tougher than those bugs out there. If anythin’, he an’ Applejack have retreated to a safer place,” Uncle Scrooge assured.
Instead of relief, Fluttershy was gripped by fear.
“Then...If they ran away...Who’s knocking…?” she asked.
The knocking on the door sounded again.
Everyone in the shed warily eyed the doors. Fluttershy watched as Qard slowly placed the last bolt to lock the door. In the back of her mind, she could only wonder whether or not her friends were actually outside the shed. But if they were, why had they not announced themselves.
Once again, there was a knock.
“Applejack…?” Fluttershy asked.
“Donald? Is that ye out there?” Uncle Scrooge called.
Instead of the country drawl or a squawking gab, there came a malicious chuckle
“Guess again, old timer,” answered the voice of DiMosco.
The sound of the voice put everyone on edge. Qard reached to take hold of a heavy wrench, before answering the magnate.
“What do you want?” Qard asked.
“Don’t you go askin’ questions you know the answer to. That kind o’ roundabout don’t fly here,” DiMosco chuckled. “‘Course, now that I got y’all holed up in there, no hope of escapin’, I think it’s time we started negotiatin’ like civilized folk.”
“Don’t do it. It’s surely a trick,” Uncle Scrooge told Qard. He walked right to the door to address DiMosco, “Now, ye listen up! There will be no negotiatin’ with an underhanded crook where I’m concerned! Ye hear me, ye stain on a Sunday paper!”
The door before Uncle Scrooge rattled violently, as though it were struck hard. The sudden impact made the tycoon jolt back from the door.
“Butt out, duck. This don’t concern you. Not yet, anyhow,” DiMosco said. “Now listen up, you with the one wing: that little pet project o’ yers is nothin’ but a lost cause at this point. I know for a fact that you ain’t got the means to finish it. An’ that even if ya did, ya don’t have nearly enough time to get it finished.”
“Sniff your dung heap, fly!! Even if I never finish, I’ll see to it you never lay a hand on--” Qard shouted, before he began coughing loudly.
Fluttershy helped the elderly zahak back to his chair. Her attention was brought back to the door by the sound of DiMosco’s voice.
“Stubborn ol’ coot, ain’cha? I can tell that ya got some pretty strong emotional attachment to that jalopy o’ yers. So, I’ll make ya a deal: you let me buy it off ya for at least twenty million times what it’s worth, an’ me an’ my boys’ll have that thing finished, primed and ready to go by the end o’ the week. Ya think you’ll live at least that long, don’t ya?” DiMosco said.
Uncle Scrooge knew that whenever someone offered such a hefty sum for something they called worthless, there was always an ulterior motive. Whatever was in the shed with them, he knew they could never relinquish it to DiMosco.
“There’s no sum that can equate to a man’s dream’s an’ desires. Now shoo, fly!” Uncle Scrooge said.
The tycoon’s ire was roused by another chuckle from DiMosco. Whatever the magnate found so amusing, Uncle Scrooge wished he could wipe that smile off his face with the broad end of his cane.
“I think you of all folks knows that there actually is a sum to dreams an’ desires. Just how big’s yer money bin, exactly?” DiMosco asked.
“None o’ yer goldurn business!” Uncle Scrooge shouted.
“No need to get all hot an’ bothered, old timer. I’m just makin’ a point here.”
“Oh? An’ just what is that?”
“Only that for every square foot in yer midget money bin, every bill, every coin, every precious gem, it’s an addition to the sum o’ yer dreams,” DiMosco said. “You know full well that everyone has their price. An’ by payin’ for theirs, you just gave ‘em the means to fulfill all their heart’s desires. With every bit o’ currency, even the lowest gutter-rat’s dreams come a step closer to comin’ true. A lot o’ folks don’t know it, but money really is the key to happiness. An’ the ones that say otherwise are just foolin’ themselves to try an’ make do with what lousy lot in life they got. So, all you gotta do is name yer price, anything at all, an’ all yer dreams an’ desires can come true.”
Uncle Scrooge wanted to rebut, but he knew that DiMosco was right. Everything that ever made him happy and offered a comfortable lifestyle came from having the money to afford it. And for everything he desired to acquire, he simply had to offer a bag of money to have it in his possession.
He was not ready to admit defeat. He was going to find some way to refute DiMosco’s claim. But, no matter what he thought of, it only proved the magnate’s point.
Fluttershy glanced up to the beetle in her mane. Ever since she found the tiny bug, she felt as if she were doing the same with it as she did with the other animals back home.
The thought of her home made her remember every moment of happiness spent there. Be it taking care of her animal friends, helping Pinkie in Sugarcube Corner, or modeling for Rarity, all of it made her happier than the bits she never seemed to have.
“But, I don’t have any money…” Fluttershy quietly told Uncle Scrooge.
“What was that? If ye’ve somethin’ to say, say it so I can hear ye,” Uncle Scrooge answered.
“I said that...I don’t have any money...But, I’m still happy,” Fluttershy said.
That was precisely what Uncle Scrooge needed to hear. Before he was ever the richest duck in the world, he was a poor boy living in a ramshackle house on the outskirts of Glasgow. Life was often difficult, but rarely was it miserable. Not with the presence of his parents, his three siblings and his uncle Jake. Years later when he amassed his fortune, he had completely forgotten the closeness and comfort his family brought him. Even when he was raising his own nephew and niece, he could never recall such a thing. It was only when Donald was grown and raising his own nephews that he ever remembered what he felt as a child in Scotland.
With that in mind, he knew what he had to get the better of DiMosco.
“Keep your money. There’s nothing you can pay for what I have,” Qard said.
To his side, Fluttershy thought she could see Qard’s eyes soften in the darkness beneath his turban. Whatever it was he meant, the pegasus could tell it was something that had meant a great deal to him. Something that went beyond material wealth. Something that DiMosco could never hope to afford.
“He’ll leave us alone now, won’t he?” Fluttershy asked.
As a business duck, Uncle Scrooge had dealt with all manner of partners. There were those who gave up when they realized that there was no amount they could pay. But, they were the amateurs. There were others who were more cunning and resilient than most in the world of business. And they often knew other ways to acquire what they wanted.
The moment they heard the magnate’s devious chuckling, they all knew that he had something else up his sleeve.
“I hear ya. You folks are them ‘immaterial’ types. Looks like I’ll just have to move on with my life,” DiMosco said. “Oh. An’ since ya don’t care for anything material, I guess ya won’t mind if I keep yer friends for myself.”
Fluttershy gasped sharply. Ever since she arrived at the safety of the shed she feared the worst for the others. Now, that fear had appeared to come horribly true. She knew the hardiness of Applejack and Donald. But, she could not help but think that they both had finally encountered something they could not overcome.
Uncle Scrooge clenched his teeth, held his chest and shook his cane at the door.
“Ye’re bluffin’! I know my nephew! He’d o’ hightailed it outta here, an’ come back to bite ye when ye least expect it! With reinforcements!” he said.
“And Applejack would never let herself get caught. Not when she just learned to buck without her magic,” Fluttershy quietly said.
“An’ Applejack would never let herself get caught, after learnin’ how to buck without magic!” Uncle Scrooge repeated loudly enough for DiMosco to hear.
“Ya think so?” the fly said. “Maurice. Andy. Let the bargainin’ chips breathe, why don’t ya?”
As if some radio had been cranked up to its loudest setting, two familiar voices began shouting loudly.
“--PUT ME DOWN!! PUT ME DOWN!! THEN YOU’LL GET WHAT’S COMIN’ TO YA--”
“--YA OVERSIZED HOUSE PEST!! I’M GONNA BUCK YA WHERE IT HURTS AN’--”
“--MAKE YA WISH YOUR MOMMA NEVER MET YOUR PAPA--”
“--YA CUD SUCKIN’--”
“--SON OF A WAK-WAK-WAK-WAAAAK--”
And suddenly, their voices went silent.
Fluttershy’s color drained. There was no denying it then. Her friends were in trouble, and needed help desperately.
She was about to unlock the door for the others to rescue their friends. But, Qard’s clawed hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“No. No one here goes near those locks,” the elderly zahak said.
“But…” Fluttershy wanted to protest, but the words froze in her throat.
“But nothing. Whatever they’re planning, they need our cooperation. And they know that they will only have that so long as your friends live.”
There was only silence both inside and outside the shed. Fluttershy froze completely at the thought that Qard was selling out her friends for his own gain. Uncle Scrooge glared harshly, wanting to shout and swing his cane. Instead, he placed his hand over his heart to keep it steady, rather than risk more chest pains.
A soft thump sounded outside the shed, as though something had set itself against it.
“Hm…” said DiMosco’s voice, as though he were right up against the shed. “Looks like ya got me again. Negotiatin’ with ya wouldn’t do much good if I snuffed out yer pals here. So, I’m gonna let ya think about this: you two strangers in Kamelut got a mighty fine barter right there in that shed with ya. If y’all let me have it, you get yer friends back. If not, then I can’t guarantee their safety.”
It was an ultimatum of the worst kind. Selling out someone else to save others. Fluttershy looked to the tarp-covered object, then to Qard, who protectively sat by it.
Uncle Scrooge would hear no more of the negotiation. He hobbled to the door where he heard DiMosco laughing. Taking his cane by the bottom tip, he aimed the handle at the door the way a golfer aimed at a golf ball.
He calculated his swing. Going by the height of DiMosco, his target was some three feet off the ground.
Uncle Scrooge wound up, and swung with all his might, striking the metal door.
Outside, DiMosco was flung forward by the seat of his pants, and landed in the sand.
“You alright there, boss?” the ant asked.
Without missing a beat, DiMosco stood up, brushed the sand from his suit and put his hat back atop his head. Once he tidied himself, he turned back to the shed.
“Okay. I wanna close this deal today, so I’ll give y’all a few hours to think it over. When the time comes, I expect an answer. In the meantime, I’ll be keepin’ yer friends here as collateral,” he said
When he was done talking to everyone taking refuge in the shed, DiMosco went to address the others outside with him.
He passed by the Big Bad Wolf, who was trying desperately to remove the tire from around his head. Past him were the ant and the stag beetle, who held tightly to their prisoners.
“Get these bozos outta here. Take ‘em to HQ, an’ wait for me to drop by with any further updates on this here business deal,” DiMosco said.
“Where do we keep ‘em there?” the stag beetle asked.
“Where? Look where HQ is. Soon as they’re there, they ain’t goin’ nowhere,” the magnate answered, as he indicated the flying fortress in the distance.
Upon learning where they were going, Donald and Applejack doubled their efforts to escape. But, even though their captors were insects, they easily kept their hold.
“Let’s get movin’. This little bronco’s buckin’ somethin’ fierce,” the stag beetle said, as he tightened his grip on Applejack.
The farmpony yelped when she felt her back pop.
“Aw, quit yer whinin’. Maurice here’s been practicin’ for his chiropractor’s license. Hey, how about you show these mooks how you fix deadbeats’ backs when we get to HQ?” the ant said.
The two toughs left the others behind. As they departed, DiMosco turned to Big Bad who managed to slip a fang over the edge of the tire around his face. The glutton began viciously chewing it. In seconds, he was free, with shreds of rubber surrounding his feet.
“Hey, boss, why don’t I get us into that shed? I wouldn’t even need to huff an’ puff to blow that thing down,” Big Bad suggested.
He took a single deep breath in, but was barely at a quarter of his maximum air capacity when DiMosco stuck his cane in Big Bad’s mouth.
“Hold it right there, leaf blower,” DiMosco said, “You blow that shed down, you risk damagin’ our merchandise. Now, I like that yer takin’ initiative. But, we’re gonna need somethin’ a bit less forceful.”
Big Bad spat out DiMosco’s cane.
“What’d ya have in mind, boss?” he asked.
“Not quite sure yet,” the magnate said, as he took a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped off his cane. “It’s gotta be somethin’ low key an’ non-forcible.”
“Some way to smoke ‘em out?” Big Bad suggested.
“Now yer thinkin. Go root around through this scrap heap, an’ see what ya can’t dig up. I’ll keep an eye here with Harry,” DiMosco said.
While Big Bad ran off to collect anything that could help his evil endeavors, Harry was frantically searching for more ammo around the rooftop he was on.
He had brought more bullets, he was sure of it. He was never without another clip or two. But, at the moment, the assassin was bereft of ammunition.
Harry hurriedly crawled across the ground, looking for his lost ammo. His head bumped into the one splitted leg of the table on the rooftop, and spilled the glass he was drinking from.
“Ow!” the hornet said.
He immediately pulled a comb from his pocket and scrambled out from beneath the table to fix his hair.
His knee landed in the spilled drink.
“Aw! Rgh!” Harry growled.
He set to work fixing both problems at once, wiping off his knee and combing his hair.
The spilled drink began running toward him.
Not about to ruin his shoes, Harry started hopping backwards. If only he had been paying attention to how near to the ledge he was.
The hornet teetered backwards over the edge on one foot, and looked over his shoulder. Even with the ability to fly, it was a long way to fall before orienting himself.
He was about to buzz himself back to balance, when he saw something. His missing ammo clip was resting on a windowsill just one floor down. Likely, it had fallen when he had his previous close call.
Carefully as ever, Harry pivoted on the ball of his foot and leaned over the edge, until his ankle was hooked on the ledge. Slowly, he buzzed his wings and lowered himself to reach his fallen ammo. Once he had it in his grip, he buzzed his way back up again, loaded his rifle and took his spot to keep an eye on his targets. Anyone who took one step outside of the shed would take their last.
Inside the shed, indecision and animosity mounted slowly.
“Well, I hope yer happy. Ye just sold out my family an’ her friend to keep yer precious shed safe!” Uncle Scrooge said to Qard.
“I bought us time to figure out a way to save them. Had I remained silent, DiMosco would have taken them both to the desert to be killed, and thrown what was left of them to the ghuls,” Qard rebutted.
“Had I spoken first, I’d have-- I woulda--” The tycoon nearly blew up in Qard’s face, but his steadily increasing heartbeat stopped him.
Even if he could have answered, Uncle Scrooge knew there was nothing he could have said to reason with or outsmart DiMosco. In the back of his mind, he feared that what DiMosco told him was true. That he truly was a greater version of himself.
Qard coughed gently and leaned on the object covered by a tarp.
“You don’t have time to argue. If you are going to rescue the others, you need to get out of here. Go through the skylight and follow those bugs to the sky tram. Just follow that flying fortress to find it,” Qard said.
“But, what about you? What will you do all alone against DiMosco and...that wolf?” Fluttershy asked.
“Don’t worry about me. If they do ever come inside here, I’ll make sure they never take what is rightfully my own. Even if I have to destroy it completely,” the elderly zahak said, clenching the tarp in his fist.
As the others were talking, Uncle Scrooge placed a small crate on the workbench and climbed up to reach the skylight. Using his cane, he pushed the opaque glass open and raised it up out of the shed.
A shot fired, and the tip of the tycoon’s cane was shot off.
“Blast it all!!” Uncle Scrooge shouted. He lifted his fist out through the window to shake at the offender, “Ye owe me a new cane!!”
Another shot was fired, which took the cufflink off of Uncle Scrooge’s sleeve. Before another bullet was shot, the tycoon retracted his arm to safety.
“Mr. McDuck! Did he--Are you--” Fluttershy stammered, afraid to ask her own question.
Uncle Scrooge stumbled back down to the workbench and hopped to the floor.
“I’m alright, lass. But, my cane! This was a gift from my sister!” the tycoon said.
“There are wooden pegs, glue and nails over there in those trays. Use them to fix your keepsake,” Qard said, which Uncle Scrooge readily obliged. “As for me. I’m afraid that I’ll have to abandon my own.” He stopped a moment, and stared fixedly at the object covered by the tarps. “I pray that Khabuubhi forgives me.”
Fluttershy watched as Alshuhum Qard slowly removed the tarps from the object in the middle of the shed. What she saw stunned her.
It looked like some sort of flying machine. But, it was unlike any she had seen before in her life. Unlike the usual balloons and dirigibles that were commonplace in her home, this machine had wings. Majestic metal wings that looked fit to soar as gracefully as any bird or pegasus.
“Oh my…” Fluttershy said, as she rounded to the front of the machine to examine the propeller.
The beetle in her mane hopped out and started walking along the edges of the propeller. Up one way and down to the next, before the propeller started tilting slightly under its weight. Thus, the insect went scrambling back to the safety of Fluttershy’s mane.
“Yes. This is my life’s work. A dream shared by me and my friend,” Qard said, as he rubbed his clawed hand on the metal sides of the machine.
“You mean your friend wanted to build it too?” Fluttershy asked.
“Wanted to? He started the project first. In fact, it was he who inspired me to help him finish it,” the elderly zahak chuckled at the memory. Soon, his gentle laughter faded, and he sighed heavily as his one wing drooped.
“Most interestin’,” Uncle Scrooge said, before he started repairing his cane. “Exactly what is it about this contraption that DiMosco wants so badly? It looks like a regular aeroplane to me.”
“This,” Qard emphatically said, “Is no mere flying machine. It was made to be the optimum of air travel! Personal flight for every creature! All could experience the joys we zahaks do!”
Were his face uncovered by his grease-stained turban, Fluttershy knew that Qard’s face would have been rosy with delight. How she wished she could have seen it, if only to share the smile he had passed on to her.
“But, it seems to me that DiMosco could have easily built one of his own. Why would he need yer plane specifically?” Uncle Scrooge asked.
“Because,” Qard said, with a glint in his eye, “Of those stones in the basket next to you, duck.”
Uncle Scrooge looked and saw the same sparkling, white stones that Qard used to illuminate the room by dropping them in water.
Before the tycon could ask, Qard opened the fuel tank on his machine, and revealed that it too was filled with the same stones.
“This is the first flying vehicle in history not powered by something so unstable as magic. These mithra stones are easily created from nothing but sand and light. And output more power than magic when harnessed properly, which can make them last far longer than any magical engine!” the elderly zahak said.
“An’ ye know this from usin’ it before?” Uncle Scrooge asked.
“That’s just it. This is the very first engine of its kind! We in Kamelut typically use mithra stones as a source of light. But, Khabuubhi. He saw an alternative use in them. A greater use that would allow all to soar the skies as far as they wished to go!”
And all at once, Qard’s jovial and jubilant tone slowed to a dismayed sigh, as his wing drooped again.
“Khabuubhi so wished he could fly. When we were younger, I would tease him that ladies preferred a creature who could take them high as the sky. Which was why he added the second seat. For all the dates he would steal from me.”
“And...did he?” Fluttershy wondered.
Uncle Scrooge had finished repairing his cane, and quietly walked over to hear the rest of the story.
For a long while, Qard was silent. Even though his face was hidden, and all that was visible was a dark void with two shining eyes, Fluttershy knew how he was feeling. Like a creature who had the desperate need to confess or convey something. Somepony who wanted to have another help them to carry their emotional burden.
“No…” Qard answered.
He said nothing more afterward. But, he remembered every detail of that horrible day over fifty years ago. Something had gone wrong with their machine. They had gone through every detail. Checked every discrepancy they could find to keep their mithra-powered engine stable. Yet, it was not the engine where any problem laid.
There had been a flaw in the construction they had overlooked, which kept power from being drawn from the mithra stones.
As a young zahak, Qard recalled watching from the ground, and seeing how his friend lost control of their machine. How he flew to save Khabuubhi, and failed to do so.
Even as their machine was plummeting, Qard refused to abandon his friend. They soon crashed to the ground, and his world turned black.
On his back, Qard’s one wing twitched at the memory of when he awoke. He was amazed to find he was alive on the dunes. But, his right wing was pinned under the broken tail of their machine. Before him, Khabuubhi laid motionless in his seat.
Whether he was unconscious or already dead, young Qard did not know. All he knew was that his friend was slowly sinking beneath the sands.
Qard called his name, but heard no answer. No matter how he struggled, he could not pull his wing free. Nor could he move the heavy machine.
Khabuubhi was sinking steadily.
In a desperate move, young Qard took a broken piece of metal and sacrificed his own wing. But, it was not enough.
For as fast as he was, for as determined as he was, he was too late.
The front of the machine sank beneath the sands with Khabuubhi still inside. Heartbroken and frantic, young Qard ran to retrieve the equipment to save his friend. Though he was able to retrieve the remainder of the machine, his friend had disappeared from it. Swallowed by the sands of the desert.
Khabuubhi was gone. The only thing left of him would be his memory. And the dream that he shared with him. A dream that had cost him his life.
Hundreds, possibly thousands of times throughout his life, Qard considered dismantling the machine that took away his friend and ended his own dreams. But Khabuubhi’s dream kept him trying to repair, restore and finish the machine. No matter what part was lost and could not have been replaced. No matter how it would have to be modified or adjusted. He was going to complete it.
Now, at the end of his life, Alshuhum Qard feared he would never fulfill the dream he had inherited.
The elderly zahak coughed and leaned over his machine.
Fluttershy did not know what else to do for Qard. She stood upon her hind legs, and gently hugged him around his waist.
The beetle on the pegasus’s head had to take cover behind her ear to avoid Qard’s hand stroking through Fluttershy’s mane.
Qard rested his hand on Fluttershy’s wing, remembering the feeling of flight.
Uncle Scrooge could fully empathize with what he knew the elderly zahak was feeling. The most worthwhile thing he ever did in his life was look after his departed sister’s children. Years later, he lost one of them in a terrible accident. A pain in his chest then made him realize how far into his own life he had gone, and how little time he may have had left.
He placed his hand over his aching heart. Now, after losing one of Hortense’s children, he feared he had failed her for losing the other.
It would not end that way. The tycoon was determined to keep his promise to his sister. Even if it was the last thing he did. Looking to the flying machine, then to the disparate, assorted junk that was lying about, he knew they had the means to do so.
“Gather what parts ye can. We’re gonna make this bird fly,” Uncle Scrooge declared.
“How? I’ve spent more than fifty years trying to piece this junk back together. What can you expect to do to finish this in time to save your friends?” Qard said.
“We’ll do it,” Fluttershy said. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I’ve been doing things I never knew I could do. All because of the magic my friends have been teaching me. And, I know that our magic will help you finish your machine.”
“What magic? If you hadn’t been robbed of your power, you would have flown already,” Qard rebutted.
“You’ll see,” Fluttershy said, as she glanced to the beetle atop her head.
Though just a bug, the beetle could feel the connection. Something that had drawn it to Fluttershy, which it could not explain. But, it was there. And the beetle knew it was something that went beyond simple convenience.
In a moment, the beetle started choking. It grabbed its tiny throat, spun once on its tiny heel and fell over backwards.
“Is something wrong?” Fluttershy asked.
Her worry grew tenfold when Qard started coughing again. A violent, wheezing cough different from the other times before. Then, a pungent smell reached them.
“Everypony get down!” Fluttershy urgently said.
She and the others all dropped to the sand, as above them a black cloud formed. Somewhere, a rumble of an engine was heard.
Beyond the shed, DiMosco’s devious chuckling came and echoed between the tinny walls.
Somewhere outside, an exhaust tube was attached to the shed. At the other end, a crudely assembled engine was spewing black exhaust into an open vent.
At the engine, Big Bad was turning a crank, powering the machine to belch out more of its toxic fog.
“Ist das nicht ein smoke-en haus? Ist das nicht ein filthy louse? HA!!” Big Bad sang, as he cranked harder on his homemade smoker.
“Ha-ha-ha-haaa! Just goes to show there’s more than one way to smoke a hog!” DiMosco said, as he fanned the exhaust into the vent with his hat.
It was so ingeniously simple. In a few moments, they would smoke out their opponents in the shed for Harry to pick off. Otherwise, they would all succumb to the noxious fumes. Either way, victory was in their grasp.
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An interesting detail here, Scrooge possesses far more wealth than just the contents of his vault. The money in his bin is that which he earned, with his own two hands. 'tis a vault of memories it is, he can recall the exact provenance of every coin in that bin, and how he earned it.
So that's why he keeps it, and why he guards it so fiercely, it's not about the wealth, it's about the significance behind that wealth.
9499644
This is true. But, DiMosco doesn't get that.
It's funny that you should bring up this point about Uncle Scrooge, because I was watching the rebooted DuckTales lately. There's this episode where Don Karnage and his pirate crew make a guest appearance, and they rob Uncle Scrooge right before his eyes. Now, this series already had me going 'No. Uh-uh,' about a million times, but that scene took the taco. I did not believe for one second that Scrooge McDuck would sit idly by and watch his money get stolen.
Writing dialogue is dull to you? Huh. I love dialogue and internal monologue. Talking, whether to yourself or others, are how decisions get made and important information is learned. Without talking, the story would go nowhere. I used it a lot in my first few months of writing, although I've gotten a lot better than narrative since then. I still find writing mostly narrative chapters to be pretty boring, though. I thought this chapter was fun and engaging.
9773580
Glad you think so, kid.