"Raiders of the Lost Archive"
Episode #TQC-0101
By Miss Ang

"Beware of pretty faces that you find
A pretty face can hide an evil mind
Be careful what you say, you'll give yourself away
Odds are, you won't live to see tomorrow..."
~ "Secret Agent Man"

"Mail call!" Launchpad McQuack cried out, bursting into the Mallard residence with an armful of papers.

"COOL! Anything for me?" Gosalyn blurted, careening down the stairs and nearly colliding with her father as he came out of the kitchen. "Maybe my new skateboarding magazine ..."

"I'll take those, thank you," Drake Mallard said calmly, plucking the pile from his friend's hands. "Bill ... bill ... junk mail ... have you seen me, no, I haven't .... bill," he reported, tossing each paper over his shoulder. "Gosalyn's magazine .... letter from SHUSH ... and a postcard for Launchpad from your friend Fenton. I think that's about it." With that, Drake sat down on the couch and slit open his letter. "Wonder why SHUSH would bother to send me a letter through snail mail instead of by Messagequack?"

Gosalyn shrugged, perusing her magazine. "Beats me ..."

"Could it be because SOMEONE tried to see if she could send herself a jelly sandwich in it?" Drake grinned disarmingly, pulling Gosalyn's magazine down with one finger. "HMMM?"

"Well, maybe, but she wouldn't be too too sure... a-heh..." Gosalyn chuckled nervously.

"Mm," Drake rolled his eyes and unfolded the grey marble paper inside of the envelope. Almost instantly, his brows lowered in confusion and his bill dropped slightly. "What? ... But I ... Oh ..." He stammered.

"What's wrong, D.W?" Launchpad asked, trying to peer over his friend's shoulder. "Did they mix up your order for those gas gun cartridges or somethin'?"

"No," Drake said slowly in disbelief. "It's my Aunt Wilhemina... she's... she's dead."

"Wilhemina?" Gosalyn blinked, hopping up onto the couch and giving her father a hug. "I never met her ... but geez, Dad, I'm sorry..."

Drake put one arm around his daughter slowly, then scanned the rest of the letter, still in shock. "I don't understand. She works in the Archives of SHUSH. That's hardly a dangerous job... what could have happened?"

"Sounds like a job for Darkwing Duck," Launchpad suggested.

"Especially since Willie's the one who got me involved with SHUSH in the first place," Drake nodded solemnly. "I mean ... the letter says it looked like natural causes, but she was the healthiest woman I ever met... I don't understand this. It must be foul play."

"Or FOWL play," Gosalyn augmented.

"You're picking up on my puns," Drake said dourly, "and it's kinda frightening me. .... But come on... Let's get ready, the wake is this evening and I want us all to go, so I can have a chance to say goodbye ... and figure this out."

"Were you close?" Gosalyn frowned, holding her father's hand as he got up and headed for the stairs.

"Well ... not really close like you and your grandfather were. We were more like friends." Drake replied numbly, rubbing at his collar with his free hand as they stumbled up the stairs. "She was the only one in my family who really supported me."

"Yeah, DW," Launchpad piped up, scanning his postcard, "how come we never hear about your family?"

"Because you don't," Drake said simply. "End of discussion. Heroes are supposed to have vague and mysterious pasts, and I'd like to keep it that way! Can we please get off the subject? I don't want to be late."

"Sorry," Launchpad said dimly. "I guess it wouldn't cheer you up to hear that Fenton ran into your cousin Maui, then..."

"Maui?" Drake slapped a hand over his eyes. "Great, all I'd need would be for him to show up at Aunt Willie's wake... what a nimrod..."

Gosalyn blinked, staring at the postcard curiously, then decided that discretion - in this case, at least - was the better part of valor, and headed for her bedroom. "Dad, do I have to wear that frilly black thing?"

"No ... actually, you can wear your black jeans. It'd be better."

Gosalyn and Launchpad exchanged confused shrugs, then headed off to their rooms.

At the wake, the two of them quickly discovered Drake's rationale. Many of the people attending were SHUSH employees, all wearing suits and ties, even the women. At first, Gosalyn actually felt somewhat awkward at being underdressed, but then she caught sight of the "guest of honor".

The wake was open-casket, and for good reason. Wilhemina Mallard looked perfectly fine, as if she were merely resting in a deep sleep, a slight smile across her beak. The only thing that betrayed her former occupation as a SHUSH agent was the silver eagle logo pin on her lime green t-shirt. She wore slightly frayed dark blue jeans, large, clunky plastic costume jewelry, and old-fashioned green hi-top sneakers with stars at the ankles and rainbow laces. Her hair had been swept up in a ponytail, and purple eyeshadow adorned her eyes.

"Wow," Launchpad whispered, looking her over. "I guess it's a good thing she only worked in the Archives."

"SHUSH would never have allowed for her to break the dress code if she weren't the best archivist they had," Drake agreed respectfully. "She was a walking, talking history file. She knew everything in that archive, and even stuff that they'd banned from being put in. They're gonna be bad off without her."

"Ah, Mr. Mallard, I presume?" J. Gander Hooter smiled, extending a hand. "My condolences about your Aunt, she will be sorely missed..."

"Mr. Hooter," Drake nodded as they shook hands, feigning partial ignorance. "Aunt Willie told me about you a few times - what a nice guy you are."

"Did she, now?" J. Gander smiled faintly, then frowned as a burst of sobs issued from one corner of the room. "If you'll excuse me ... I think our new archivist needs some moral comfort..."

Drake blinked. "New archivist?"

"She probably had an assistant," Gosalyn reasoned. "You should go meet her. You never know when Darkwing Duck might need her help unraveling the case!"

A slow smile spread across Drake's beak. "You're right," he whispered. "Among all of this, I'd completely forgotten about my theory. Wait here."

"No problemo," Launchpad nodded. "I'm gonna go grab another ladyfinger offa the horse do-overs tray."

As Drake neared the corner of the room, he saw J. Gander craning his neck upwards, trying to console a young woman who was at least two feet taller than Drake himself. Her strawberry blonde hair - so vibrant that it could pass for pale pink - was covered by a netted veil, and her carefully manicured hands clutched at the matching purse dangling at the waist of her tasteful, yet trendy black dress. A tiny red rose was pinned at her shoulder, setting off the ruby at the end of a delicate string of pearls. Drake did his best to choke back a whistle. Morgana, he reminded himself. You've got Morgana.

"She was, like, my best friend," the girl sobbed into a black silk handkerchief. "She taught me everything she knew..."

"I know, Ms. Frisson, I know," J. Gander nodded sympathetically, stretching an arm up to pat her hand. "We shall all miss Wilhemina..."

"I can't believe it, though, y'know?" Ms. Frisson sobbed, daubing delicately at her pale blue eyes. "One minute I go to get her a mochaccino from the vending machine, I come back, and she's ... well ..."

"It was, indeed, very odd, but we have been assured that it was from natural causes."

The girl sniffled. "At least she didn't suffer ..."

"Pardon me, I'm sorry to leave you, but I need to get back to headquarters. There are pressing issues that need my attention."

"I understand, Director Hooter," she nodded, wiping her eyes once more before kneeling down to give the diminutive old owl a hug. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Ms. Frisson."

As J. Gander retreated, the girl sank into one of the mortuary's heavily-padded armchairs, her thin limbs seeming to disappear in the upholstry.

"Ah, can I get you a drink of water, fresh tissue?" Drake volunteered helpfully.

"No thank you," she sniffled. "I don't think I've seen you around the building... who are you?"

"A relative," he offered. "My name's Drake. And you are?"

"Jeanie, Jeanie Frisson," she smiled weakly as he shook her hand. "Were you close?"

"She was more like a friend than an aunt," Drake repeated himself, for about the twentieth time that afternoon.

"Oh. So did she ever tell you what she did?"

"The archives? Oh, yep, but she never told me she had an assistant."

"Well, she just took me in a few months ago when I moved here from Quackahula Island," Jeanie replied. "It was hard to find work there since the natives started causing trouble."

"I see..." Drake nodded. "I have family there, too..."

Jeanie blinked, straightening her posture immediately and looking around the room. "You know Maui?" She asked, fumbling in her purse for a tube of lip gloss and applying it hastily.

"Yeah, unfortunately. He's my cousin."

Jeanie's posture sank back down a notch and she put the gloss away with a sigh. "He referred me to Wilhemina ... inadvertently, you might say."

"Through his little ... detective thingie?" Drake inquired disdainfully.

"You don't approve?" Jeanie observed, catching the sarcasm in his voice.

"Not really. My family was never one for vigilantes and such, so Maui's kind of the, shall we say, odd duck in the family. But somehow the rest of them are all okay with it." Folding his arms sulkily, Drake sank into the armchair next to Jeanie. "Small wonder he's not here."

"Sometimes small wonders are good, though, right?" Jeanie winked, as her tears subsided.

"I take it you didn't get along either."

"Oh, no," Jeanie laughed. "We ... we were acquainted for a while. But ... I don't like to talk about it."

"I ... see," Drake said slowly. "So... you like working for these guys?" He gestured to the room full of SHUSH agents.

"Yes, you learn the most interesting things. However, there's a couple of things I've been wondering. I haven't seen head or tailfeathers of that mysterious Darkwing Duck here, and everyone said he might drop in, since he knew Willie..."

"Hmm, you never know, he might, yet," Drake mused. "What's the other thing?"

"The rest of your family isn't here."

"Might have something to do with the Darkwing thing," Drake muttered, burrowing a little deeper into his folded arms.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just ... I don't think they liked Willie very much. The whole vigilante thing apparently applies to SHUSH members, too..."

"Well, that could be reasoned, with all the secrecy involved," Jeanie deduced, as her eyes darted to the door. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going ... paperwork ... you know SHUSH, all about paperwork!" Without another word, she dashed for the back door.

"Odd," Drake blinked, scratching his head as he got to his feet.

"HEY! It's the Drakester, the odd one out, the black sheep! How goes it?"

Drake nearly staggered back into the chair under the weight of a hefty slap to the back. "Hello, Maui," he said blandly. "Odd one? You'd be one to talk."

"At least I have a job," Maui Mallard countered, straightening his blue ball cap. "Might not be one that the family cared for, but hey, what're ya gonna do. It pays."

Drake cast a disdainful look at his cousin's loud Hawaiian shirt. "I see you don't care much that Aunt Willie's gone."

"Well I didn't have time to change on the flight," Maui said sadly. "Besides, she liked bright colors. Thought I'd liven the place up. .... Least you went casual. Those two over there with you?"

"My friend Launchpad and my daughter Gosalyn," Drake muttered, doing his best to be polite.

"You got married and I wasn't invited to the wedding? Where's the missus?" Maui frowned. "Or is she, you know ... like Mom and Aunt Willie..."

Drake shook his head. "There's no missus, nimrod, she's adopted," He snapped. "And your mother... please don't get me started ... she was a sacrifice to a volcano for a group of island neanderthals."

Maui frowned. "Look, Mom was trying to do a travel documentary, like she always did. Wasn't her fault she fell outta the tree and they found her. Besides, there's proof that the Muddrakes have brains at least one level beyond neanderthal capacity."

"Right," Drake nodded. "Look, Mau, it's been fun, but I gotta go. I do have a job, you know, and it's about time I went and got down to it."

"See you later," Maui waved, heading for the fruit punch.

"Hopefully not," Drake growled to himself.

"OH! I forgot to ask," Maui adjoined, running back over. "Did you see a tall girl, pale pink hair ... big eyes ... figure to die for .... probably weeping her eyes out real fake-like?"

"Uhhhhhhhh, you just missed your ex, pal," Drake repled. "And she wasn't crying any crocodile tears, either, they were real."

"Ex?" Maui howled with laughter. "Drakey... Frizzie is no ex." He shook his head. "Just let me know if you see her again. I'm staying at Canard Towers..." With that, he pressed a stickie note with his phone number on it into his cousin's hand and hurried off.

"Let me guess," Gosalyn frowned. "You two don't get along."

"How did you know?" Drake asked earnestly.

"He reminds me of Fenton, and you hate Fenton." Gosalyn giggled. "Come on, let's go, I'll let you take us to Hamburger Hippo."

"How considerate of you," Drake rolled his eyes, waving a discreet farewell as they passed Wilhemina's casket one final time before heading out the door. "You know ..." He chuckled, "I always did wonder exactly what it was about Fentonino that set me on edge when I saw him."

Outside in the parking lot, Jeanie Frisson tapped her foot impatiently as she stuck her thumb out over the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi cab. "I don't believe this," she sighed.

"Hey! Jeanie!" Drake waved merrily. "What's going on?"

"I need a cab and they're all ignoring me," she sighed, slumping down on a bench outside of the mortuary. "I mean .... what a day."

"I can give you a ride," he offered, gesturing towards the Mallard family station wagon.

"Really? That's so kind of you," she smiled, as Launchpad held the door open for her. "Thanks."

"This is my friend Launchpad," Drake said cordially. "And my daughter, Gosalyn."

"Hi," Gosalyn said quickly, diving into the back seat beside Launchpad and retrieving her new magazine.

"You just missed Maui," Drake continued, starting up the car and pulling onto the street. "He came in right after you left and had to --" He paused as he noticed Jeaniee looking out the window nervously. "Is something wrong, Jeanie?"

"No, not at all," she stuttered. "I just heard from some people that this was a bad part of town..."

"Naaaaaaah," Drake chuckled. "Whoever it was was just trying to scare you, or something. ... Where do you want me to drop you off?"

"SHUSH would be fine - if you know where it is," Jeanie coughed politely.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Drake beamed, pulling down a side street. "So .... lots of filler paper involved in taking over as Chief Archivist, I assume."

An awkward pause filled the car, broken occasionally by the rustle of a page from Gosalyn's magazine. "Yes," Jeanie said at last. "I'm not quite looking forward to it."

Drake rolled his eyes, remembering the thousands of forms he'd had to fill out in triplicate to become a bonafide SHUSH agent. "I know what you mean," he chuckled.

"You can't know until you've seen SHUSH paperwork," Jeanie replied bluntly, pulling a file from her tiny clutch purse and beginning to file her nails. "So ... "

"Here we are," Drake finished, pulling up to the door of the massive building. "Ah ... good luck, I suppose that's the best I can say in our case?"

"Our case?" She smiled coyly. "Why, ah ... thank you, Mr. Mallard. It was a pleasure meeting you. And thank you so much for the ride. Would you like some money for gas?"

"Please, it was barely a mile," Drake scoffed, trying not to preoccupy himself as Jeanie extended one slender leg out of the car and onto the pavement, then the other. "Ah ... maybe I'll see you again."

"You might," she suggested with a hint of a smile, closing the door. "If you're ever around, look me up." With a wink, she walked away from the car and back into the whirlwind, protocol-driven world of SHUSH Central.

"She seems nice, DW," Launchpad volunteered, as Gosalyn clambered into the front seat.

"Yeah," Drake said absently, pulling discreetly into a back alley. "LP, take the car - and Gosalyn - back home."

"Aw, DAAAAD!" Gosalyn whined, throwing her magazine onto the dashboard in reproach.

Ignoring his daughter's comment, Drake stepped out of the car and slunk over towards the SHUSH building. "I'm going ... exploring."

"H-h-here's your evening edition, boss ..." A shaky hand held out a copy of the St. Canard Tribune towards the figure skulking in the dark red armchair.

"Good," a deep voice snapped, as its owner snatched the newspaper and yanked it into the confines of the shadows. "Hmm. New statue of the mayor, big surprise. Big museum to-do about ancient Mesoamerican jewelry. Ho hum, la di dah. Blah, blah, blah .... Police record ... ooh. I think I've hit a new high. Fourteen write-ups for petty crime alone."

"Impressive...."

"Did I say you could COMMENT?" The figure in the chair snapped, as his subserviant shrank back from the armchair with a faint jingle of bells. ".... Obituaries. Ooh. Better than the funny pages. Lessee.... 'Wilhemina Mallard, archivist, deceased of natural causes....' Willie? No kiddin'. If it's any indication...."

"Huh?"

"I bet she worked for SHUSH. And .... no archivist there would mean lots of lovely little toys free for the taking."

"Ooh, toys!"

"Not your kinda toys, Quackerjack." Negaduck lowered the Tribune and rubbed his hands together. "My kinda toys. .... Get the boys. We're going ... exploring."

Inside SHUSH Central, most of the back corridors were dark, due to more than half the staff attending Wilhemina's wake. In the darkness, the shadows seemed frozen, cold in their own sort of mourning, until the click of a flashlight broke the somber mood.

"The Masked Mallard surveys the scene, showing no shame as he creeps quietly through the corridors of SHUSH ...." Darkwing narrated to himself in a whisper, his body pressed flat against a wall, the flashlight illuminating the edges of his beak. "Wait a second." He reached over and flicked on a light switch, flooding the hallway with light. "What am I sneaking around for? I'm an agent here!" Shrugging, he began to wind his way down the maze of carpet. "Now, let's seeeeee.... where to begin?" Pausing for a moment in thought, he leant against the wall, stuffing the flashlight back into the boundless folds of his cape. "Aha. I'll start in the employee break room! .... No, no. .... J. Gander's office! .... Nah. Nobody there. Oh well." He straightened his hat and set out down the hallway. "I guess I'll just see where I end up..." Turning a corner, he came face to face with a large, black door. Hung upon it was a cardboard sign, embellished in colorful stickers, marker scribbles, and stencilled lettering in flourescent poster paint: SHUSH ARCHIVES. DO NOT ENTER. thank you.

"I guess that'll work," Darkwing blinked, pushing open the door.

As soon as he entered the archives, Darkwing could see why his late aunt had done so much with her wardrobe to conflict with company dress codes. The walls were lined in a very rudimentary fashion with stark grey metal file cabinets and steel doors that led to massive vaults of old equipment and materials. The floors were polished black linoleum, with the occasional scuff mark from Wilhemina's tennis shoes. Two tables set up in the corner brought the only color to the room - one of them decked out to the hilt with postcards, cutout collages from magazines, and the odd knick-knack. Even before Darkwing drew close enough to it, he knew the name embellished on the name plate of the desk - Wilhemina Mallard.

Curious, he approached the other desk, more moderately fashioned with a pile of popular magazines, a colorful mug that served as a pencil holder, a blotter covered in doodles, and a small portable Duckman CD player. Hesitantly, he reached out and popped the lid, inspecting its contents - a self-made mix CD of Top 40 music.

"This must be Jeanie's desk," Darkwing whispered, carefully pulling open one of the drawers. Nothing much, save for a few letters and papers, and a smattering of neon Post-It notes. Reaching forward, Darkwing turned on the small lamp atop the desk. Instantly, a gleam of light off of something caught his eye, and he looked towards one corner of the desk, where an intricately carved paperweight was holding down a pile of release forms for some sort of early model weapon. One of the papers bore the signature of one of his colleages, Dr. Sarah Bellum. "Huh. Interesting..."

Upon further inspection, it appeared to be fashioned from a dark-grained wood, polished to a perfect sheen. The paperweight was a perfect model of an island Tiki god, complete with comically immense mask, grass skirt, and spear. In the figure's free hand was a round talisman of some sort. Squinting, Darkwing pulled out his magnifying glass in an attempt to see what was inscribed upon it. "Looks like some sort of ..."

"Hey! What're you doing in here?"

Darkwing nearly dropped his magnifying glass, fumbling with it before stuffing it haphazardly into his jacket. "Jea -- uh, Miss Frisson! I mean, ah .... I am the terror .... eh .... heh ...."

"Darkwing Duck, finally," Jeanie breathed a sigh of relief as she jogged towards him through the door of one of the vaults. "I was hoping you'd show up. .... How did you know my name?"

"I, ah, just came from Miss Mallard's wake," Darkwing lied. "I heard a lot about you from Director Hooter."

"Aha. He must have been telling you about how Willie .... you know. Passed." Jeanie said quietly.

"Yep..." Darkwing sighed, pulling out his gas gun and patting it affectionately. "She's the one who sent me this puppy."

"I seem to remember her bragging about that. And an earlier prototype that shot ... bugs," Jeanie reminisced, making a face. "I've seen that one, too..."

"Hm," Darkwing nodded, feigning interest. "Say ... is it just me, or is it ... odd that Wilhemina would pass away so suddenly?"

"Well ... I was just about to ask you the same thing," Jeanie frowned. "I mean ... I was telling J. Gander this morning. I just went to get her a cup of mochaccino, and when I came back..." She sniffled, then launched into a series of loud, tearful sobs. "It was terrible!"

Awkwardly, Darkwing reached out and patted her hand before offering a purple handkerchief. "I know, I know ... I'm sorry." Somewhere in the back of his head, he could hear an echo of his cousin's voice... "Probably weeping her eyes out real fake-like...." Quickly, he pushed it out of his mind. The tears he'd seen at the mortuary had certainly been real, and these sobs could easily be a result of hysterics ... "There, there," he said quietly, ushering her to a chair. "It's alright. You've come back here too soon, I think. You should go home, separate yourself from work for a while." With a glance at the desk, Darkwing added, "It's easy to see how things here could remind you of Wilhemina. You need to rest, come to terms."

As her sobs winded down, Jeanie gave one last, reluctant sniffle and looked down at him plaintively. "Thank you... but I still think ... this may have been ..."

"Foul play. I know. I've entertained the thought, myself."

"I can't help but feel I should do something for her," Jeanie continued, wiping at her eyes before tucking the handkerchief into the pocket of her jeans.

"No, no, that's what I'm here for. Your job is to make sure she's remembered, Miss Frisson."

"Thank you ... if there's anything --"

Jeanie's gratitude was interrupted by the sound of a crash from down the hall, followed by a yelp.

"What was that?" She gasped, jumping to her feet.

"I'll find out," Darkwing called over his shoulder, already halfway to the halls. Jeanie followed close behind, neglecting to lock the door in her flight.

"I think it came from down there," she suggested, pointing to the left as they reached a fork in the hallway - the same fork that Darkwing had entered at.

"No, I'm sure it was from the right."

"No, no, left," Jeanie asserted.

"Listen," Darkwing snapped, hands on his hips, "I'M the hero here, and I'LL say where it came from! And I say it's RIGHT!"

"Whatever you say, I suppose, but I'm going left."

"What are you, my second sidekick?" Darkwing griped, pulling out his gas gun as he peered into the now-dark hallway. "Odd," he muttered, "these lights were on before..."

"What?" Jeanie asked, already starting down the left-hand corridor.

"Nothing. You go take your little left-hand turn, there and find absolutely nothing. I'll meet you back at the Archives," Darkwing instructed, setting off staunchly down the hall. Pulling out his flashlight, he began to search for the switch. The beam caught on the floor for a moment, and Darkwing picked up a hint of cloth out of the corner of his eye. Sweeping the light across the floor, his gaze fell on a long, thin strip of black silk lying on the floor. Picking it up, he examined it carefully - it appeared to be a mask, with thin slits for the eyes. "Negaduck," he said grimly, putting the mask in his pocket. "But what would he be walking around unmasked for?"

Humming quietly to herself, Jeanie searched the hallway, peering into doors that led to briefing rooms and broom closets alike. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

As she rounded one particular corner, she felt a pair of arms grab her around the waist and drag her down to the ground, binding her wrists before tying a green cloth around her eyes. "HEY!!!!!!!"

"Muhahahahahaahaaaa....." A gravelly voice chuckled. "I assume you're the resident archivist. Excellent. Boys! Go look around."

Jeanie frowned. "Look, I don't know who you are --" Her voice trailed off as she managed to open her eyes despite the tightness of her blindfold. "But ... you might want to rethink your blindfolds." She smirked as Negaduck's masked face came clearly into view.

"Huh?" After a moment's confusion, he tore away the blindfold, enraged. "What th' ... But ..." Clearly visible in the length of green silk were two thin, mask-like eye slits. With a snarl, Negaduck tossed it on the floor, grabbing Jeanie by the wrists. "Whatever, sister, you're still coming with me. Let me into the archives."

"I don't have the keys," Jeanie replied nervously. "They're giving them to me t-tomorrow..."

"Well, then, you're still coming with me." With that, he started to pull her down the hallway towards a window. "You'll cool your heels at my hideout for a while, and tomorrow morning you'll come back here and get me what I want."

"I dunno who you think you are," Jeanie blurted, gaining courage, "but nobody gets into those archives but me."

"Which is why I'm letting you get what I need, weren't you listening?" Negaduck smirked, shoving her out the window into the bushes. "Come on."

"What about the ... boys ... you were with?" Jeanie asked. Maybe this can buy some time so Darkwing can come get me.... I need to get back to that vault!

"They can handle themselves," Negaduck rolled his eyes, pulling Jeanie onto the back of what must have been the strangest motorcycle she'd ever seen, parked next to an antique car decked out with lightbulbs, lightning-shaped tail fins, and miles of electrical wiring. "Besides, they've got their own getaway car." Chuckling, he jumped onto the motorcycle and kickstarted the engine. It warmed up with a throaty, satisfying purr that grew steadily into the growl that could only be the sign of a well-crafted vehicle. "Me - I ride in style. Now... what's in those vaults?"

"Nothing you want," Jeanie countered, watching the pavement whizz by beneath her as they headed down the street. I could try and jump off, but without my hands to catch me ... no, I'd better not...

"Well, I'll find out sooner or later. So you may as well tell me before we get to the hideout," Negaduck growled. "I've got lots of fun ways to get you to talk."

Darkwing frowned as he snuck down the hallway. I could have sworn I just heard Quackerjack's voice, but it was coming from the other way. What if Jeanie *was* right? But the mask ... His gaze strayed to the cloth still clasped in his hand. Maybe they all split up. And I'd rather catch Negaduck. He's the bigger of the fish.... A smile spread across his face as he caught a slight movement in the shadows. In an instant, Darkwing pounced with a flying kick, and his foot caught against someone, but before he could blink, he felt two hands take hold of his ankle, and suddenly he found himself slammed hard against the linoleum.

"HEY!" He hollered. "What ... who ....?"

"You'd do well to stay out of my way, you know," a voice said calmly.

Darkwing struggled to get to his feet, but found his chest pinned by what felt like some sort of rod. "Who are you? Let me up, you mysterious miscreant!"

"It's no use, Darkwing Duck." The voice intoned. "The girl is none of your business. She is mine." In the blink of an eye, the strange weight was gone from Darkwing's chest. He felt the black blindfold torn from his grasp, and by the time he found his flashlight, all he could see was a flicker of black and blue at the corner of the hallway.

"The girl," he muttered, rubbing at his head before putting his hat back on. ".... Jeanie!" Racing down the hallway, he finally came to the corner where Jeanie had left him. "JEANIE!" He hollered. Stumbling down the passage, he winced as he caught sight of a swathe of purple cloth. "Another one of those silly masks?" He wrinkled up his beak as he picked it up. "No eyeholes .... hey. This is my handkerchief!" Swallowing, Darkwing looked towards the open window, only to see two sets of burnt rubber marks in the parking lot. Climbing through the window, he pulled out his trusty magnifying glass once more and inspected the treads. "Only three sets of tire lines.... spacing on these two would indicate maybe a 1972 Quackillac, bad condition because of the transmission fluid leak here in the parking spot .... broken bits of glass .... slight trace of phosphorescence .... Megavolt and the Fearsome Four, I'd expect...." With that, Darkwing turned his attention to the sole treadmark to the right. "And this can only be Negaduck's wheels... same treads as the Ratcatcher..." Putting his magnifying glass away, Darkwing hurried over to a pay phone on the corner. "Launchpad! ... Come and pick me up. I need to get to the tower, quick."

"Ah, you might not wanna do that, DW, Maui's on his way to the house. He just called."

Stifling a groan, Darkwing rolled his eyes. "Fine. Just come and get me."

Jeanie winced as Negaduck grabbed at her wrists, yanking her off of his motorcycle and shoving her into a corner. "You could be a little more polite with ladies, you know," she quipped, sitting down on a crate. "What is this place, anyway?"

"Abandoned factory," Negaduck muttered, looking around. "I'd much rather be somewhere that doesn't resemble a warehouse, but .... hey, what am I telling you that for?" Glaring at Jeanie, he folded his arms. "So. Archives. Spill the beans."

"Well ..." Jeanie smirked. "What'll you give me if I tell?"

"Oh, for .... I won't give you anything! Don't you get it? You've been kidnapped. Kidnapped people don't have rights." Negaduck rolled his eyes. "You gotta be the dumbest SHUSH agent I ever met. And that's saying something."

"Thanks. I think," Jeanie muttered, as Megavolt's Quackillac came rumbling into the hideout with a sputter and a wheeze. "What... oh. I take it those are 'the boys', right?"

"Ugh." Negaduck ran a hand over his eyes. "At least tell me you brought something!"

Megavolt climbed out of the car, cradling something in his hands as Liquidator, Bushroot, and Quackerjack piled out of the jalopy. "Well," he began, "I found something.... but ...."

"Gimme that!" Negaduck pried his subservient's hands open to reveal a small blacklight bulb. "Megavolt," he said calmly. "What. Is. This?"

"That's Blackie," Megavolt said affectionately. "He's my first blacklight refugee...."

Negaduck muttered a few choice curses under his breath, then grabbed the rat by the collar and hauled him down to eye level. "You went into SHUSH Headquarters and ALL YOU BROUGHT ME ...... was a LIGHTBULB?!?!"

"Um ... there was a very nice potted hydrangea I almost took," Bushroot volunteered timidly. "But he was happy there..."

Liquidator held up his hands. "No C.O.D's...."

"Obviously," Negaduck seethed, turning towards Quackerjack. "And YOU?"

"I got mauled, boss," Quackerjack whined, pulling out a mangled set of his enormous novelty teeth. Dropping them on the floor, he rolled up the sleeve of his jester's costume to reveal a very large bruise. "See?"

"Dripwing," Negaduck observed.

"No, that's just it!" Bushroot stammered. "I was there, too ... ! The other guys were trying to find the Archives, but I went with him, and ... there was this guy .... "

"Guy?" Negaduck's eyes narrowed to bloodshot slits. "You'd better explain this. I won't have someone else muscling in on my territory!"

"He was all dressed in black, see," Quackerjack winced at the memory. "And he had this stick thingie that he was doing weird stuff with, like those foreign movies."

"Yeah, like Cowering Lion, Secret Serpent," Bushroot agreed. "It was creepy. And he had this mask."

"Did it look like this?" Negaduck pulled the green cloth from beneath his jacket.

"Yeah, only it was a different color. I think it was blue."

"No, it was red!" Quackerjack argued.

"Purple?" Bushroot shrugged. Everyone stared at him. "Sorry. Just going for the happy medium."

"Well, whoever this guy is," Negaduck growled, "He isn't gonna be happy when I get to him."

"Good," Quackerjack whimpered, nursing his arm. "Hey ... who's that?"

"This, boys, is our key to the archives. She's gonna tell us how to get in," Negaduck grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Once we manage to persuade her, that is. She's been kinda shy."

Jeanie frowned, seemingly lost in thought.

"Hey sister. Isn't that your cue to say something idiotic like, I dunno, 'Oh, Darkwing Duck will save me'? It usually is," Negaduck prompted.

"I know that guy," Jeanie said at last. "He was looking for me."

The Fearsome Four stared at her. "Looking for you?" They all exclaimed.

"Yeah, he was definately after me. Not any of you. So don't go feeling priveledged." With a grin, Jeanie slid her hands out of the rope that Negaduck had bound her with. "As for the Archives, yeah, I'm getting the keys tomorrow. That wasn't a lie. Otherwise I'd have what I want and be on a jet to Paris faster than you guys could even blink. So if you think I'm going to tell you how to get what I should rightfully have, I don't think so."

Negaduck's jaw dropped as he stared at his captive. "But you ..."

"Call me Jeanie. And just trust me boys, you'd do better to let me go. You don't want what's in that vault. You don't need it. You wouldn't know what to do with it if you did. And sure as you're born, you do not want Cold Shadow on your tail. Trust me on this one." With a smirk, she pushed a lock of hair out of her face, brushed off her flared jeans, and headed towards the door.

"Cold Sha --- was that the guy?"

"Yeah. That was the guy. Now outta my way, Shorty." Pushing Negaduck aside, Jeanie strode towards the four remaining supervillains standing in the doorway of the factory. "You've got more petty crimes to pull, I'm sure, don't waste your time chasing after me."

That did it. Negaduck rolled up his sleeves and raced up to her, grabbing her once more by the wrist and throwing her to the concrete. Placing one webbed foot square on her stomach, he leaned into her face and sneered, "I'll have you know I'm Public Enemy Number One around here, Jeanie. And who are you? You're nobody. You're just some dame with delusions of grandeur. Besides, you'd never know how to outwit Darkwing Duck. He works a little differently than this Cold Souffle guy of yours. I say we ..." He winced. "Work together. We can each take what we want." Ugh. I don't want to, but it's the only way to get past Cold whatshisface. And who said I'd really let her have anything?

Jeanie frowned, rubbing the bottom of her bill in thought. Hmm. He's got a point. Darkwing seems like a bumbling idiot, but then, so did Cold, at first glance. I'd say ... "Whatever." She shrugged, as they shook hands.

"Excellent."

"So ...." Launchpad raised his eyes towards the ceiling of the station wagon as Drake drove them back to the house. "This girl you gave the ride to, she got kidnapped by some mysterious guy working with Negaduck?"

"Well, no, Negaduck and the Fearsome Four kidnapped her," Drake clarified. "But your powers of deduction are at least a little stronger today. I am pretty sure that whoever that weirdo was that pinned me in the hallway was working with Negaduck. Probably a diversion."

"Well, could it have been a FOWL agent?"

"No, Negaduck would never work with FOWL, it's against his Public Enemy Number One principles," Drake chuckled. "And this guy was too smooth to be an eggman. Too small to be Steelbeak. Judging from the glimpse I got of him, I think he was about my size."

"Is it anyone we've met before?" Launchpad shrugged, pulling a candy bar out of the glove compartment and unwrapping it.

"Hmm.... very possible. He moved a lot like those ninjas we met in Kung Pao city. Remember that? I haven't fought people like that since I was working with my old master, Goose Lee." Drake mused. "But no ... Goose never would have done that pinning thing.... this was a different doctrine of karate or something.... I've never seen anything like that. I'll have to go through my casefiles at the tower. I have a feeling that once we find out who it is, we can find Negaduck."

"Good idea, DW," Launchpad said through a mouth full of chocolate. "Wanna bite?"

"LP, you're going to spoil your dinner." Drake said mockingly. "And no thanks... I'll have enough indigestion stomaching Maui." As they pulled into the driveway, Drake caught sight of his cousin, playing volleyball in the front yard with Gosalyn. "Oh, great, if he wins Gos over, I won't have anyone else to side with me, here..."

"I don't really see what's so wrong, DW, Maui seems like a nice guy."

Drake groaned as he passed a hand over his eyes. "Uh huh. Yeah. Everybody loves Maui.... And Launchpad?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to call me DW, okay?"

"Oh, heh heh..." Launchpad tossed the candy bar wrapper in the ashtray before stepping out of the car. "No problemo."

"Drake! There you are. Where ya been, buddy?" Maui called out, serving the volleyball towards him. "Catch!"

Drake leapt up into the air, but just as his hands were about to contact with the ball, it put on an odd spin and hurtled towards Launchpad, landing squarely in his hands. "What was that?" Drake spluttered, as Launchpad handed him the volleyball with a shrug.

"You learn things when you play beach volleyball on a regular basis," Maui grinned, as Drake hit the ball back in a violent spike. Diving towards the ground, his cousin shot out a fist and hit it in a perfect save over to Gosalyn. She caught it in her hands and spun it on her finger, grinning.

"You guys are awesome," she gushed. "Dad, you and Maui should play a game together or something."

Drake and Maui exchanged glances. "How about it, huh, cuz?" Maui asked. "I mean, it has been a long time since anyone in the Mallard family hit around the old ... erm ... volleyball-skin together."

"There's a reason for that," Drake muttered, heading for the door.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!" Gosalyn moaned. "Come on!"

"Well, Mallard competitive spirit tends to run a little high," Drake chuckled nervously. "I'm afraid if one of us wins, the loser will be sulking for the rest of his stay here in town."

"Yeah, you better believe ..." Maui stopped, swiping the volleyball from Gosalyn. "WHAT was that? Ohhhhh, no, I'm sorry, the loser will be sulking even after his cousin gets on the plane back to Quackahula!"

"Yeah right," Drake sneered, positioning himself behind the volleyball net and rolling up his sleeves. "I can take whatever you can dish out."

"Hope you're hungry," Maui grinned, setting up for a serve.

"This is gonna rock," Gosalyn grinned, as she and Launchpad settled in on the steps.

"Well, you better get to bed, Gos. You got school tomorrow," Launchpad advised with a yawn, coming out of the kitchen with a pair of soda cans.

"Yeah ... " Gosalyn nodded, heading for the stairs. "They still at it?"

Launchpad peered out the living room window. "Ah, yep. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to suggest that game, kiddo."

"Well, you know Dad. He'll probably pass out from exhaustion or get hit on the head or ..." Suddenly, Gosalyn caught sight of a letter being slid through the mail slot. "Hey ..." Running to the mat, she picked it up, recognizing the SHUSH stationery from that morning. "Launchpad, let me run those sodas out to Dad ..." Opening the envelope, she wrapped the paper around one soda can, tucking it into a foam cozy. With a yawn, she ambled out to the backyard. "Dad, you missed a piece of mail this morning, I think you'd better look at it. Urgent, like a bill or something." She winked, then hugged him. "G'night."

Drake bent down and kissed his daughter goodnight, ruffling her bangs. "Night, sweetie," he smiled, watching her run back inside. After she was gone, he extracted the paper from the soda cozy and scanned it quickly. "Um, Maui, I just remembered, I should get to bed ... I have to work the early shift tomorrow morning. Can we pick this up tomorrow?"

"Why don't we just call it?" Maui grinned.

"But you're winning!" Drake whined.

"By twenty-seven points," Maui adjoined. "Give it a rest, Drakey, you're no match for a Quackahula Beach Volleyball champion, three years running..." He tossed the ball up and down, then spun it back and forth on his fingers as Gosalyn had. Then he did something Drake had never seen before - he began to throw the ball from hand to hand in an odd sort of pattern, then tossed it up in the air, jumped, spun around, and kicked it back over his head and past the net to fall through the basketball hoop in the corner of the backyard. "Make that twenty-eight."

Drake stared at his cousin in awe for a few moments. "Nice footwork," he said slowly. "Say ... you're not in town on business, are you?"

"Well, tell you the truth, I was hoping to check up on someone - a gal I knew that went straight. Needed to make sure she was staying that way."Maui shrugged. "But I haven't been able to find her. Went over to SHUSH this afternoon, but ... Hey! Drake! Where are you going?"

"Sorrygottagolookatthetimegoodnight!" Drake blurted, dashing into the house.

Maui blinked, scratching his head. "Weird," he muttered, fishing around in his pocket. After extracting his key-laden yin-yang keychain, he made his way towards his car. As he got in and started the engine, he nearly shed his feathers as he realized that there was a long-haired woman sitting in the passenger seat, dressed in a blue bikini top and hawaiian print skirt. "Babaluau," he whispered. "You scared me." Pulling out of the driveway, Maui managed a quick glance at his friend. "What're you doing here???"

"You need guidance," the lithe woman smiled. "There's something you need to understand, something you need to piece together. Did you ever wonder why your cousin is an outcast from the family?"

Maui frowned. Tiki goddesses, he griped inwardly. They can never tell it like it is. "I dunno. He's a dork?" Babaluau shot him a burning glare. "Okay, okay! So maybe that isn't it. ... I don't know."

"Maui. Think. What haven't you told the family about that could get you in hot water?" Babaluau ran her blue-gloved fingers through her long, auburn ponytail and smiled.

"Well.... only ...." In a flash, it was clear. The light Maui had been about to run turned green, and the tiki goddess vanished. "Sweet Babaluau!" Maui exclaimed, turning a sharp corner. "I gotta get there before he does! He doesn't know ...."

Darkwing's eyes darted back and forth as he tiptoed his way through darkened SHUSH hallways for the second time that day. Slipping his hand into his jacket, he fingered the item he'd received - a copy of a ransom note for Jeanie's release from Negaduck. Knowing that odious opposite of mine, he'll just go straight to getting the ransom for himself, Darkwing deduced, heading for the archives. But what kind of ransom is this? He wrinkled up his beak, then pulled out his lock-picking equipment as he reached the archive door.

"Here I come, Jeanie," he whispered, pushing the pick into the lock. At the slightest pressure of his hand, however, the door swung open to reveal Negaduck standing in the center of the archives, a shotgun trained on Darkwing's head.

"Boo." He grinned. "How did I know you'd never be able to wait until tomorrow? You really oughta work on your predictability, Drabwing."

Darkwing gulped, hands above his head as he wriggled his wrist, trying to loosen one of his acidic cufflinks. "Well, maybe I just knew you knew I knew that we ... that you ... that I ... "

"Oh, please," Negaduck laughed, checking the clip on his weapon as he advanced. "And you'll notice there's no elaborate escape trap this time. I'm just going to finish you off the way I should have five billion times before." Grinning sadistically, Negaduck pressed the barrel of the gun to Darkwing's forehead. "Heh. Nighty-night, Darkwi --"

A flash of silver flew between the two of them, cutting off both Negaduck's words and the barrel of his shotgun.

"Hmm. Well, I always was planning to get this thing sawed-off..." Negaduck shrugged, taking the gun down to inspect it. In the instant it took him to let down his guard, two pairs of webbed feet flew at him and knocked him to the ground.

Darkwing stooped to pick up the shotgun, and found that his hand brushed against another. Looking up, he found himself finally face-to-face with the mysterious ninja from that afternoon. He was clothed in a black samurai jacket and pants, the only accent of color the purple mask around his eyes and the matching sash around his waist. The two of them regarded each other silently for a moment.

"Hey, Maui," Darkwing said coolly.

"Hey, Drake," Cold Shadow replied with a smirk, leaning on his bamboo staff. "I'm sorry about earlier. Didn't really hit me till just now..."

"Well, it sure hit me," Darkwing chuckled, putting a pair of handcuffs on Negaduck. "Help me drag this guy out?"

"Sure," Cold Shadow grinned, taking hold of Negaduck's feet.

"Shadow!" Jeanie cried, springing out of the archive vault, frayed rope around her wrists. "Thank goodness..."

Cold Shadow couldn't hold back the smile that sprang across his bill. "You're okay. Good... I was worried. You still holding down the fort?"

"Of course. I promised you, didn't I?" Jeanie cooed. "They sure didn't get anything out of my vault!"

"Good. Make sure it stays that way ... I think Darkwing Duck here needs to give me a tour of his city."

Darkwing blinked, surprised. "My city," he echoed. "For once, someone got it right. ... Hang in there, Miss Frisson. We'll see you around, no doubt." With a grin, he led Maui out of the archives and down the hall, the two of them dragging an unconscious Negaduck between them.

Jeanie giggled as she picked up the tiki paperweight from her desk and admired it with a smirk, pulling a second miniature talisman from her pocket and setting it in a niche on the statue. "No doubt at all, boys," she whispered. "No doubt at all..."

"So," Darkwing shrugged as he led his cousin out into the night air, "how did you know?"

"Isn't it obvious? You told me about giving Frizzie a ride to SHUSH. No non-employee would know the way. Annnnnd, I heard that the infamous Darkwing Duck didn't show at the wake. Plus, well ... you do have the family beak, and that's a mark against you, too." Cold Shadow shrugged, polishing the tiny talisman on his staff. "How'd you know?"

"Please. The volleyball game made it obvious you were the same nitwit that clobbered me in the hallway this afternoon," Darkwing griped. "You make it soooooooo easy!"

Cold Shadow chuckled nervously. "Oh yeah. ... Sorry about that."

"Sure you are. Just as sorry as you were when that spike hit me in the head."

"Well I still say I won." The ninja folded his arms imperiously.

"No, you didn't!" Darkwing spluttered, as they made their way to the Ratcatcher.

"Yeah I did. Twenty-seven points!"

"Did not..."

"Did SO..."

End Casefile #TQC-0101