Chapter Two: The Invitation“Uh excuse me I’m looking for uh-! Oh sorry ‘bout that! Wait I’m looking for a guy about yay-high uh...ok.”
Despite being over a few feet taller than everyone else, the large, towering duck was ignored over and over again, nearly tripping over the busy villagers that moved sporadically to their destinations. Weeks had passed since the last werewolf attack and the village buzzed with nervous energy. Some spoke in hushed whispers or aimed suspicious looks over their shoulder at anyone who either wasn’t familiar or seemed strange to them. Posters of scary images of what one could assume was an exaggeration of the wolf, were posted all over town and with text that read:
WARNING: Werewolf attack by Canardia Village. Do not approach! Skilled Werewolf Hunters wanted. Reward: 300,000 in gold After looking at one in particular, the tall duck ripped one off from its nail with a frown, rolling it up and putting it in his sack. He intended to show it to his boss later.
The man felt someone brush past him and perked up to catch their attention.
“Heya ma'am,” The red-head man reached for a middle-aged woman with a shawl and a basket of fruits and vegetables. “I’m Launchpad,” He removed his cap. “Know anybody ‘bout this tall,” He raised his hand to about his waist, “Dressed in purple and with an enormous beak?”
“I may, but I don’t recall anyone of that description.” The rabbit woman scrunched her tiny, pink nose inquisitively. “Did you catch their name?”
“Well...no.” He admitted, shoulders drooped.
“Sorry young man,” The female shrugged. “Unless you have a name I can’t help you.” She then went on her way with her cottontail swaying behind her.
Launchpad couldn’t believe it. He’s asked almost everyone in town about the man that was attacked by the werewolf and lived. Despite the threat being prevalent in Canardia, to the point where no one talked about anything else, the victim still slipped out of the conversation completely. It did not help Launchpad’s case that he didn’t even know the survivor’s name.
With a resounding sigh, Launchpad walked out of the marketplace to move on with his to-do list for the oncoming winter ahead. He already had firewood for himself and the master, a fresh kill for supper, and of course other assorted groceries for the following week. While walking, the redhead passed by a modest-looking school, with children running out of its doors when the bell rang. The adult male smiled fondly. He recalled his days back home, learning life skills from the teachers, playing on the school grounds with his friends, and of course idolizing his hero, Jim Starling. Whom he currently served as his most loyal companion.
The redhead then saw from the corner of his eye, two ducklings that seemed to be having a tussle. Or at least, one of them was antagonizing by pushing while the other complained.
“Ow!” The tiny duckling with small spectacles shrank away from the larger child. He held the book bag close to his chest. “Quit it Tank!”
The other child named Tank was bigger and also had a shock of red hair, his beady eyes narrowing predatorily at the smaller.
“Quit being such a baby Honks,” He shoved him, attempted to push him down to his feet. “Just messin’ with ya.”
Launchpad frowned at the all-too-familiar sight of a small child getting bullied by the larger one. While no stranger to being bullied himself, he usually found a way to get even with his tormentors, often killing them with kindness in the form of his mom’s cooking or by his threatening height. Launchpad would scare anyone that would bully him or his friends away. Thinking over his past experiences, he almost approached the two until he hears a whooshing sound fly past him.
Tank was about to pull Honk’s book out of his hands when he saw an arrow freshly jabbed into the dirt by his feet...It had nearly missed them.
“Hey, what the-?!” The bully started, before another flew over his head, making a clean-cut bald spot upon his scalp.
Tank screamed girlishly, letting go of Honk’s book, which sent the smaller duck falling back on his rear. Covering his now balding head, the bully sought to find the source with dark, vengeful eyes but found nothing. He stared down at his victim suspiciously, eyes going red.
“What’s the big idea huh?!”
Honk stuttered, at loss for what words. All he wanted was to calm down Tank and get himself out of trouble as much as possible. Before either duckling could move or speak; like a shadow of the night, a third duckling appeared right between the victim and his bully, her crossbow pointed at the largest duckling’s beak.
“Unless you want a full barber’s cut,” Green eyes challenged red. “I suggest you leave
now.”
Launchpad, who was watching from the sidelines, held his breath, in awe of this girl defending a fellow classmate from further abuse. He considered coming in to de-escalate the situation, but with a disgruntled huff, Tank scoffed at the other redhead and walked grumbling away.
Once the girl was certain the large duckling was out of sight, she let a breath and turned to Honks, offering a helping hand.
“Geez your bro’s really got it out for you today Honk. What, did he fail a test or somethin’?”
The adult’s eyes widened disbelievingly at this information. He understood having a brother or sister wasn’t easy, but even with him and his sister Loopy from back home, they still got along fine. How could a brother treat his own kin like that?
Honks blushed sweetly, although there was a glint of mischief reflecting off his glasses, indicating that maybe he instigated the fight beforehand.
“Thanks Gosalyn.” He accepted the help with a grunt, being pulled up by his best friend.
Launchpad stepped out with arms open wide and looked with genuine surprise.
“That was amazing!”
Both kids startled by the sudden encounter, with Honks behind Gosalyn, shivered and watched while the redhead pointed her crossbow, and examined the newcomer.
“The way you were going,” Launchpad made a stance as though he was shooting a bow and arrow. “WHOOSH! WHOOSH! With him going: ‘What’s the big idea?’” He deadpanned trying to sound like Tank, which made Honker giggle in the back and Gosalyn break out in a smirk.
“Then you said ‘Unless ya want a barber’s cut, ya betta leave’.”
The girl lowered her weapon a little, smiling at the fact an adult was praising her efforts to stand up for her friend. Even her dad would have scorned her to not give “unwarranted haircuts” to bullies, especially since the bully was their neighbor.
“Yea-ayep-yep,” The proud girl dusted herself off, emulating a certain purple-clad mallard she knew well. “All in a day’s work for Gosalyn Mallard! Gotta keep ole Tank on his toes and all.”
“C’mon Gosalyn,” The small boy encouraged the girl to leave with a suspicious glint at Launchpad. “We don’t want your dad to worry.”
The tall duck looked on with a puzzled frown, as though trying to remember something, only then shook his head and stared bewilderingly at the girl.
“Wait...Gosalyn?
You’re Gosalyn?!”
“Uh yeah, that’s my name, what of it?” Gosalyn looked up bemused.
“If you’re Gosalyn, I bet ya know the guy that stood up to the werewolf a couple of weeks ago!” Launchpad looked on excitedly.
Now both kids backed away slowly, which Gosalyn answered carefully.
“Uh...yeah that’s my dad.”
Reaching into his sack, Launchpad took out an envelope while Gosalyn pointed her crossbow. Handing it to her, Launchpad did not seem to mind the weapon pointed at him, aimed a genial smile, in hopes to ease the tension between them.
With a shift of her eyes and a head tilt, she motioned for her best friend to take the piece of parchment. Carefully, tepidly, Honks took the envelope and retreated behind the red-headed girl just as quickly as he peeked out.
“My boss told me to hand it to ‘im, but since I caught you instead, you could give to him could ya? Thanks a bunch miss!”
Lowering her weapon, Gosalyn stored it with a strap on her back and decided that, while the guy was a strange one, did not seem dangerous.
“Yeah
sure, I’ll let my dad know Mr…?”
“Oh yeah! Name’s Launchpad McQuack! Nice to meet ya, but gotta do chores for Mr. Starling. Gotta keep the place warm for winta’.”
“Wait...Starling?” The kid’s brows raised at the name. “Isn’t he that old actor guy?”
“The very same! Well, have a good one!”
With a wave, Launchpad turned away, leaving the two schoolchildren confused by this entire interaction. They walked away, Honker spoke up first.
“How did he know you Gosalyn?” Honker hushed as they walked away for home and to Gosalyn’s dad’s audition. He gave the envelope to her as they talked.
“It’s a small town Honkster,” Gosalyn shrugged, putting the envelope in her sack. “All everyone’s been talking about is the werewolf attack. But you’re right, it’s weird that we’ve never seen that guy ‘round here right?”
Honker nodded. “I’ve never seen him and my mom knows
everyone in the city.”
“Well, he said he knew that old actor guy, and you know how crazy my dad is for him. Who knew he was around here?”
“I’ll ask my mom if she’s seen anybody like them, maybe they just moved here?”
“And I’ll ask my dad about it. But I’m pretty sure he would’ve told me if he knew his “
hero” was living ‘round here.”
Past the school building and in the center of the village, was a town square and a plain, aged building with a poster nailed to the door, portraying an image of a handsome-looking swan with text reading:
ALISTAIR BOORSWAN: BACK FOR HIS NEWEST PASSION PROJECT, “Return To Darkness” AUDITIONS NEEDEDDrake exited out of the door, not without looking back at the person in the building. He wore a thankful gaze and an excited grin.
“Thank you again so much for this opportunity Mr. Boorswan, you have no idea how much this means to me! To be a part of
your production! We’ve needed a new director for months. Thank goodness you came along!”
“Oh please Mr. Mallard,” The person inside called after the young man. “I should be thanking you for
your interest!”
“I’ll make sure to tell everyone. This theater will have seats filled before the season ends, I won’t let you down!”
There were muffled sounds inside the building, which Drake leaned into the doorway to hear better.
“I’m sorry, what was that sir?” Drake asked curiously, his head poked into the room.
“I said I know you won’t. We’ll keep in touch, see you next week!” Alistair said.
“Bye!” Drake said before bumping his large beak on the door frame, muttered irritably, then closed the door behind him.
Drake carried a stack of posters at his side and hummed a familiar tune as he walked down the front steps. The theater was decaying, not just from the lack of physical care, but from the entire Canardian community. No one seemed interested in theater, scoffing it off as a “useless past-time suited only for the aristocracy” or even the more archaic school of thought that it was “a sinful distraction” and other such conclusions that Drake ferverously disagreed with. The theater was the one artistic medium that made the young duck feel like he had a purpose. He could tell stories, entertain the public, and share a part of himself he could not in everyday life. And now with a daughter to look after, he needed the income and wanted to instill the value of art in Gosalyn’s life.
Walking further into the square, Drake took some nails, a hammer, and one of the posters to nail it to the town square noticeboard. Other people carried on their way. Taking another nail out between his teeth, he nailed the bottom part of the poster to keep it secure. Suddenly, a shiver went down his spine at the sound of a slimy, familiar voice.
“Well, look at ya beautiful.~ Still savin’ that theata’ eh? Doesn’t it get tirin’ doing the same thing ova and ova again with no results?”
Drake cringed, but turned slightly to a tall, cream-colored rooster, flashing the most polite smile he could muster.
“I would ask the same thing about you Steelbeak, but considering all of the letters you sent me last week and the week before that, I feel as though my efforts would be fruitless.”
“Heh, you’re funny when you want to be sweetbeak.~” Steelbeak leaned onto the notice board, blocking Drake’s way. “But ya don’t have to
try with a face like that.” He puffed out his chest and fluffed his tail feathers flirtatiously. “You and I, we’re already beautiful in a town full of mediocre, ugly people. How about ya ditch this spot and I’ll take ya somewhere we can both be admired?~”
Drake turned heel with his stack of posters to give them out to people in the square.
“Steelbeak, I’m kind of busy right now, so unless you’re planning on helping, maybe we can try some other ti-” He’s stopped short by the deceptively agile rooster now in front of him again.
“Don’cha know? I
am tryin’ to help. Help ya see that ya don’t need to do this...extra
stuff. Let somebody else do the pappa work,” Steelbeak reached for Drake’s stack in an attempt to pull it out of his grasp. “Afta-all, ya have a kid to take care of and ya need to get out on the town more often. And with me being the best hunta ‘round here, I can protect ya from any beasts roamin’ that dark woods.”
“That’s...very
kind of you to offer but, really I think I can handle myself just fi-” The shorter man struggled to pull his posters out from Steelbeak’s iron grip.
“Make no mistake,” Large hands envelop the smaller ones, making Drake stand stock-still, blue hues staring back at hazel. “I don’t offa’ my ‘charity’ to just anybody ya know. Just the ones that make it worth my time.” He winked conspiringly at the male mallard, whose beak wrinkled in distaste.
“Then I’m afraid,” Drake grunted, pulling the stack of papers close to his chest as he could. “Your ‘charity’ is going to be-” He finally yanked the posters from the self-absorbed rooster. “-wasted!”
Stumbling back three feet away from Steelbeak by the force of pulling his posters back, the aforementioned rooster stared at him, mouth agape, Drake repositioned himself in the middle of the street, calling out to anyone who would hear.
“New play directed by Alistair Boorswan!” He waved a poster in the air. “‘Return To Darkness’ at the Watson Theater! Auditions occurring now!”
Every other person would brush Drake off, ignoring his cries, while others would stop and inquire about the times, the story of the play, and any other information the Pekin duck had at the ready. Steelbeak meanwhile, tried to intervene now and then, only to be ignored by Drake and even some of the passers-by. Getting more and more frustrated with every minute, the tall rooster finally had enough.
“Listen here Mallard, I’ve been patient long enough and you’ve dismissed me every single time!” He squawked angrily once there were fewer people in the street. “Now I need an ansa’ and I want it n-!”
“Hi dad!” A chipper, small voice interrupted. It was Gosalyn, her hair bounced as she bounded towards Drake.
“Hey sweetie!” Drake answered too cheerfully, eyes zero focused on Gosalyn and blocked Steelbeak’s way from approaching his daughter with a free arm. “Would you mind helping me hand out flyers while we walked home?” While his smile was big, his eyes indicated relief at the green-eyed girl’s arrival.
“Oh-” The girl’s eyes went wide once her gaze landed on Steelbeak, she switched gears and smiled too brightly at her father. She reached out for his hand, which Drake took gratefully and both set out in a hurry, leaving a sore, ego-wounded rooster behind.
On the way home, Gosalyn talked about her day at school and Drake spoke of his audition and his new boss while the two handed out posters. The red headed-girl had her own methods, threateningly eyeing a denizen when they were rudely dismissing her dad, to which they would accept Drake’s invitation to audition with terse grins. Drake gently scolded her.
“Gos, I know you’re only helping, but there’s better ways to make people to do what you want without trying to intimidate them...try to
earn their respect.”
“Dad, they don’t respect you!” Gosalyn pointed out. “If those jerks aren’t gonna respond to you by being nice, then at least make 'em take the thing before running off.”
The older duck took a deep breath through his nose and out again. While Drake was well aware of how little the town thought of him, especially after the attack weeks prior: to have that reality hit him in the face in the form of his daughter’s bluntness made it too depressing to bear.
“Gos, the point of rebuilding the theater is to invite the town, have them come in
willingly. Everyone’s been so scared and tense, the town could use a place where they can get lost in the stories and distract themselves for an hour and a half or so.”
“And so you can win them over by being the lead role right?” Gosalyn smirked.
“Exactly-!” Drake started to say before he stopped himself and looked back at his sly daughter with a narrowed gaze.
“Y’know, you’re lucky you’re my daughter or I wouldn’t be so tolerant of your
tomfoolery.” He grinned mischievously before ruffling the little duckling’s hair, which made the green-eyed girl giggle.
After a few more blocks, they were finally home at the far end of Canardia. The last house of the street, just next to the Muddlefoots, whose house was the perfect picture of a middle-class home. The Muddlefoots owned a yellow house with white trim and a red chimney at the top of their brown roof. Meanwhile, the Mallard’s home was but a simple estate, a gray bungalow, no trim, and a brown chimney at the top of their black roof. It was only one story with a front yard. It wasn’t merely enough for Gosalyn, Drake believed, but it was the only home he could afford.
Gosalyn was the first to run and open the door, leaving it for Drake to enter and close with a soft ‘click’ of the lock. Resting the pile of posters that were not given out on the table, Drake sat down for the first time for the rest of the day, letting out an exhausted sigh. Elbows settled onto the table, Drake messaged his left temple with his hand and looked down upon himself. Gosalyn set down her quiver upon it with Drake eyeing her tiredly.
“Sweetie, you know you shouldn’t leave weapons-” He stopped mid scolding, a flash of parchment peeking from the bag caught his eye.
“Daaad it’s just-” Gosalyn turned from washing her face from the pitcher by the washstand. She saw the paper which Drake carefully took from her satchel.
“Oh yeah! Some weird guy wanted me to give you that, it was from that old theater guy you like so much.”
Drake’s perplexed look became wide-eyed at the mention of his idol. Using a knife from the cutlery on the wall, he tore it open and quickly ignored his daughter’s questions as his eyes darted from word to word.
‘Dear sir,
As it is in my interest to get to know newcomers involving themselves in “the craft”, it is my pleasure to welcome you to the world of theater. It has made my heart heavy that the very theater where I first started my career has been left to rot by uncaring individuals with very little vision and skewed priorities, so to hear that a bright young man such as yourself has invested his time into upstarting it again has lifted my spirits and gave me new hope for future generations. I only regret not investing in my own time to replenish it to The Watson Theater’s former glory, as I’ve had other obligations keeping me busy and away from my hometown. Regrettably still, I have not had the pleasure to address you properly. By the time you’ve received this letter, hopefully my manservant will have informed me of your name.
This leads me to say that you are invited to my estate. My servant will arrive at your location with my carriage to pick you up the next time you are available. I wait patiently for your response.
Regards,
J. Starling’
“So what does it say?” Gosalyn inquired who sat in a chair adjacent to her father.
The blue-eyed Mallard buzzed with excitement, read the letter multiple times. Every sentence, every word, every full stop made his heart backflip in his chest. After so many years of admiration, Drake was finally going to meet his hero, his idol, the man he modeled his entire life after! He pinched himself with an “ouch!” to see if he was dreaming, to only find out that no, he wasn’t! This was real, this was Jim’s handwriting, and Drake was invited to his home!
He rolled up letter in his hand and rushed to his bedroom past a confused Gosalyn who trailed behind him.
“Dad! Hello?!” She called out for him and entered his room which was an entire memorabilia and playbills of Jim Starling from every play and every role he had ever performed.
“Oh man, oh man, what to do, what to wear?!”
Drake exclaimed as he fixed his hair in his mirror, patting it and combing it through his fingers. He then stopped and reached into his closet, took out and threw clothes away in Gosalyn’s direction, who quacked as she caught them in her arms. Frustrated, she threw the clothes onto the bed and placed herself in front of her busy father, flailed her arms to attract his attention.
“Hey,
EARTH TO DAD!” She shouted, startling Drake, causing him to look down at her finally.
“Wha-?! Yes Gos?” He blinked.
“What.did.the.letter.say?” Gosalyn spoke slowly with an impatient look.
“Oh, right! Jim Starling heard about the work I was doing at our Watson Theater and invited
me to his estate! Isn’t that incredible?!” He handed the letter back for the girl to read and then brushed past her to look more into his closet.
“I just need the right clothes and hair to make the best impression! Do you think Mrs. Muddlefoot would mind helping out? She’s good at this sort of thing y’know.”
Gosalyn was half listening to Drake as she speedily read the parchment, her expression contorted to a skeptical frown. He brows shot up at the official invite and shook her head, gaze aimed at the excited adult.
“But that doesn’t make any sense, how did he know who you were without even knowing your name? And, who just sends a carriage to a perfect stranger and invites them into their home? If he’s back, why couldn’t he meet you in town?”
Drake smiled shaking his head.
“Gos, Gos, Gos, he’s a celebrity!” He reached out for a particular shirt to examine in the mirror, pressing it against his chest. “He probably doesn’t want anyone else to bother him while meeting me. And well, he heard of the...attack weeks ago but was being courteous only wanting to talk to me about my work.”
There was a weight in the air, both dad and daughter paused, remembered the traumatic event. Gosalyn used a washcloth to clean Drake’s back wounds as well as the scratch on his hand. While she wasn’t reprimanded for being in danger, she did have to go straight from home to school and back without any stops.
“Still, don’t you think it’s suspicious that this guy would suddenly send
you of all people an invite after all this time?” Gosalyn crossed her arms, the letter still in hand. “And why come back if he hasn’t been around in years?”
“I know it’s sudden and you’re probably right about it being...dubitable. But it’s like I always say Gos-” The adult duck hung his last shirt in the closet before walking across his room to his desk for parchment paper, ink, and quill.
“Risk little, experience little.” He sat in his chair and dipped the end of his quill to the bottle of ink. “Life’s not worth living without taking chances.”
Gosalyn looked on with a bewildered look then shook her head with a defeated sigh.
“I’ll start cutting the vegetables. And dad,”
Drake looked up from his response to Jim to see Gosalyn’s worried look.
“Be careful okay? I...I can’t lose you too.”
The adult duck’s face softened and opened an arm out for Gosalyn to take, which the girl hesitated for a moment before running into Drake’s grasp. The male gave a squeeze before relaxing as Gosalyn flinged her arms around his middle.
“Listen, if a giant beast couldn’t best me in a fight, there’s no way a single letter from my idol will keep me away from you. Like it or not,
I plan to stay around for a long time and annoy
you as much as
I please.”
Drake ruffled Gosalyn’s red locks as she half-heartedly complained with laughter, eyes twinkling.
“Haha! DAAAD! Stop!”
Drake kissed on top of her head and cheeks multiple times and the green-eyed girl pushed him, toppling over with laughter. The blue-eyed man joined in after.
“Okay, okay, dad,” She slipped out of Drake’s arms and aimed for the kitchen. “I’ll start with the dinner prep.”
“I’ll be right there sweet pea!” Drake called after her before turning to his letter.
With his gaze focused on the parchment, he dabbed his quill in the ink once more and pressed to the paper.
‘To Mr. Starling-’
