As always, thanks to my wonderful editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!
This was a tough one, guys. Sort of a "make it up as I go along" deal, with my editors suggesting big rewrites. As a result, I'm not 100% confident about it, but in the end it's just a fanfic, and you guys have been patient enough. More importantly, we're getting closer to the big confrontation and finale!
There were a great number of bad things happening all at once, and Mickey had no idea how to handle it. Perhaps if it was merely one or two bad situations, his clever mind would have found a solution, but here and now with all of this? The exact opposite happened – his brain short-circuited, leaving him without words and without thought. Minnie, at least, could think and speak, but it wasn't going to solve everything that was happening. "What," she finally spoke up, in shaky disbelief, "are you doing here?"
Mortimer had changed greatly since last they saw him, and given that they'd destroyed his thieving livelihood and outed him as a criminal, this wasn't terribly surprising. His once proud showman clothing was now replaced with stitched-together rags and shoes too small for his huge feet. There were bags under his eyes, the eyes themselves were sunken in, and while he was already rail-thin to begin with, he appeared to be even thinner now, as if all it would take was a gentle breeze to send him to the ground. Yet despite looking like yesterday's trash, he had the confidence of a sultan, with a glitter to his eyes and a proud stance to his walk. He now sported a long black cane, not for an ailing back but for ailing showmanship. He eyed the two, eyed the carpet, eyed the crowd, and then turned around, bowing dramatically.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice as grating and booming as it had been so long ago. "I hope you've all enjoyed the show! This is but a mere glimpse into the future, a sneak peek of what I, Mortimer the Magnificent, will bring to the stage!"
The crowd broke into wondering applause, praising the act, with some naysayers saying they could "totally see the strings holding the carpet up." Some eager patrons tossed coins at Mortimer's feet, and he quickly scooped them up before clearing his throat. "Now, if you'll excuse us, my actors and I need to rehearse the next performance." He then cast a dirty smirk back at Mickey and Minnie. "Isn't that right?"
Mickey's mouth finally closed, and he bit down hard on his lower lip. Awful as Mortimer was, one couldn't say he didn't know how to win an audience. Mickey and Minnie were just shouting about genies and wishes – if they thought what happened was real, they might break into a frenzy to grab the lamp for themselves, not to mention Pluto still wasn't safely returned. He glanced at Minnie, who was so angry at both men that parts of her face were turning red. There would be no time to explain Mickey's words before he fell. With a hard, bitter sigh, he grumbled, "Yes, Mortimer." Maybe in the time they were apart, Mortimer learned a trace of humility or kindness.
Mortimer put a hand to his ear. "What was that?"
Nope, he was still a jerk in every way possible. "Yes, sir." Boy, if there was a time to test controlling Mickey's anger... Mickey shook his head and turned to his flying carpet – which now was flopped on the ground as ordinary as ever. Grateful for small miracles, Mickey rolled up the carpet and held it in his arms.
Mortimer twirled the cane in his hands before starting to walk, giving little waves to the adoring crowd and promising them a bigger and better show next time. Mickey and Minnie followed behind, with Mickey whispering, "How much you wanna bet Daisy knew he was here and thought this would be funny?" But this got no reply. Minnie was glaring daggers at Mortimer's back, but the fact that she wouldn't even look at Mickey said he wasn't the only one she was furious at. This was going to be a long day. Mickey gulped, and kept quiet for the rest of the walk.
Mortimer himself said nothing until they approached a dilapidated shack that reeked of dead fish, though given the town's main source of food and money, he at least couldn't be blamed for that. But when he opened the door and the smell somehow got worse, they found it much easier to blame him. It might have been a store once upon a time, given the large empty shelves and scattered tables and broken chairs, and a weirdly placed door on the floor. But Mickey ignored all of this, as there in the center of the room stood the three beagle bandits, along with the pup they'd stolen. "Pluto!"
Mortimer snapped his fingers, closing the door. "Gentlemen, release the hound, if you would."
"Whatever you say, boss," said the tallest one, with muscles so big they threatened to rip out of his rags. They dropped Pluto to the floor, and he instantly sprinted towards his master, licking his face in gratitude.
Mickey let the carpet drop, and hugged his pet tightly. "Aw, Pluto, I'm glad you're okay..." But this joy was short-lived, and he glowered at Mortimer. "Wait a minute, these crooks work for you?"
"They're my associates," Mortimer corrected, strolling up to the smallest table in the room. "They provide the brawn, I provide the brains. Ever since our little mishap, when my assistant quit on me..."
"When Mickey took the lamp," Minnie said, her words dark and deep. Minnie was startled at her tone of voice – he hadn't seen her this angry since the incident with the Imp.
"Tomato, tamata." Mortimer waved a hand, taking a seat. One beagle took out a cigar, the second lit it, and the third popped it into Mortimer's mouth. "It hasn't been easy to pull myself back up. It's rather difficult to do a magic act without magic. But, I am a man of opportunity! I decided to take my one-man show and make it an ensemble."
Mickey understood fairly easily. "Instead of making Minnie steal for you, you get these guys to do it."
"I'd like to think of more as... temporary acquisition with the intention of redistributing for differential profit."
"Using big words doesn't change what you're doing!" Minnie barked, hands on her hips. "Whatever scheme you're planning, we won't be a part of it!"
Mortimer puffed on his cigar briefly, eyebrow raised. "Huh... you weren't nearly as mouthy when you were working for me. Seems we've both changed since we last saw each other." He tapped his fingers on the table, his brain already scheming and plotting.
"Yeah, she's become stronger and better and wiser and more independent," Mickey said proudly, "And you've gotten even slimier." He hoped that would ease some of Minnie's anger, but it didn't even crack a smile. He'd clearly messed up big time.
"That's some gratitude from the man who saved your skins." Mortimer pointed at them with his lit cigar. "I could have let the crowd rip you apart to get their hands on our little lady, or have you already forgotten what happened when you stole her from me?" At this point Mickey and Minnie mutually decided that correcting him was pointless, as he was determined to see things only from his point of view. "I'd say you owe me. In fact, it's what I'm saying right now."
"Uh-uh, no way." Mickey crossed his arms. "If you think we'd help you rob anyone, you've lost your mind. We're here for a very important mission, and we don't have time to waste with criminals! Minnie, Pluto, let's get out of here and meet back at the ship."
But just as Mickey touched the doorknob, Mortimer said, "I suppose that mission might become more difficult if I told the town the truth?"
Mickey stood still, eyes almost popping out of their sockets. Yes, looking for a single scrap of paper in this town would probably become much more difficult if they were constantly being chased by a greedy mob. "You... you... you..." He couldn't even come up with a decent insult, he was so shaken. He looked to Minnie for help, but she was now putting the majority of her wrath on him, and he darn well knew why – he could merely wish for the last piece, and he'd have it in his hands, then they could flee the town. There was nothing preventing him from doing it right now – save for Mickey's emotional baggage.
With every passing second that he didn't do this, Minnie got angrier and angrier, until she finally stomped hard on the wooden floor. "You're such an idiot!" she yelled, but instead of slapping him again, there was a puff of pink smoke, and she was gone, retreating back into the security of the lamp.
"Minnie!" Mickey held up the lamp, upset and helpless. "C-C'mon, don't be like that! I'm sorry, I can explain..." But this was not really the time or place to do it. The Beagles quietly clapped, perhaps mystified by the magic without knowing if it was real or not. Mortimer was probably not the type to hire anybody smarter than himself. Mickey swallowed, and then looked up at his captor. "I... I meant what I said. I am not going to steal for you."
"Now now, whoever said you'd be stealing for me?" Mortimer mused, entertained by the break-up before him. "I bet you'd be pretty lousy at it anyway, bleeding heart and all. I just want you to be my assistant at my next show tonight. You'll just be handing me my props, and telling the crowd how great I am, maybe some groveling and worshiping at my magnificence. And serve as my footstool. And get my refreshments."
"Not the tiniest bit bitter how you ended up, are you?"
"Not in the slightest." Mortimer dragged out a long spew of smoke. Jose was always courteous to do small puffs and keep the smog out of his friend's faces, but Mortimer exhaled right in Mickey's direction. "One show, and then you're on your way back home. We have a deal?"
Mickey looked at the lamp, looked at the carpet, looked at Pluto – who was whining and shaking his head no – and then looked at Mortimer. He'd been fairly naive when he first met Mortimer, but now Mickey had been through many adventures, faced many villains, and knew the world wasn't as fair as anyone wished it to be. He didn't have a single doubt that Mortimer was planning something, and if by some golden chance Mortimer was telling the truth and he was free to go, Mickey's conscience couldn't let Mortimer and his "friends" continue stealing from the town. If Mortimer hadn't learned his lesson the first time, it was Mickey's responsibility to teach him again.
And how much of it was avoiding a dreadful conversation with Minnie about feelings he wasn't ready to handle? More than he cared to admit.
"All right. You've got a deal." Mickey held out his hand, and Mortimer stood up to shake it, both men convinced by the time the last trick was played, they'd be the victor.
The rest of the crew was having a much more pleasant time, although compared to what Mickey and Minnie had been through, almost anything could've been an improvement. Donald had taken up the outskirts of the town, where businesses made their living aiding wandering travelers. He wasn't having much luck in finding the last piece, but the people he talked to were friendly, the weather was peaceful, and his mood was calm, so why worry? They'd find it sooner or later. The question he meant to ask Mickey was still on his mind, but it was in a far away place, only visited when he wondered if Mickey was having any success, be it with the date or finding the piece.
He turned a corner, ready to start a new branch of investigating, when he spotted Daisy sitting on a rickety wooden chair, sipping an expensive drink, and flipping through a book, using her snake as a bookmark. Donald suspected, correctly, that Daisy had conned her way into getting all three. He rolled his eyes and then walked towards her, sticking his finger in the book and lightly pulling it back. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Reading one thousand and one ways to please your man," Daisy quipped, enjoying the scarlet hue in Donald's cheeks. "Kidding. Mostly."
Donald decided his fragile heart wasn't ready to ask further on that. "I mean, why aren't you helping us locate the last piece of the map? Spell? Map spell?"
"I outsourced the job," Daisy replied, jabbing her thumb to a rabble of small children who were now eagerly searching under every rock, pile of garbage, and alleyway to find a lost treasure. "I told them whoever finds that piece for me will get my kingdom's worth of gold."
"You don't have a kingdom."
"And thus, they won't get any gold, fiddle de dee."
Donald took a minute to ask himself why he cared so deeply about this terrible woman, before remembering that he really had no say in who he liked. "Okay, it would be easier to get more help... not that I really approve of lying to children... but what if we tried a more honest approach on a bigger scale?"
"Eh." Daisy leaned back into her chair, resuming her read. "What's the hurry? If Mickey's right that the Phantom Prince's own power is killing himself, maybe we can just wait it out and the big bad will die before we have to do anything." She flipped the page, and the snake followed along.
"Or, he could hurt or kill Mickey's parents before we get there," Donald growled, a few sparks of lightning appearing his head. "Do you really want to take that gamble?" Or was she just messing with him, as was her favorite hobby? An idea came to him then, a sudden and rather powerful one, and one he probably couldn't have pulled off before the Cave of Wants.
Daisy gave a little laugh. "You do know how I love a good gamble, and-" Any lies, deceit and manipulation were dismissed when Donald tugged the book away, so he could kiss her on the beak. A few of the nearby children squealed their disgust, and Daisy was so stunned she dropped the book, her snake bouncing off just in time. When Donald pulled back, he rather enjoyed the shocked, flustered look on Daisy's face that typically would have been on his. The tables had turned.
"I know you're going to keep up the lies and tricks," Donald said, still blushing but having a bit more and confidence over his beating heart this time around. "So, the way I see it, if I cut you off before you lie and trick, everything works out for the best."
Daisy, she of pulling other people's strings and making games out of lives, had never been so thoroughly trounced before. "You... you really think you can keep that up?"
Donald leaned in, one eyebrow up. "Care to try me, fiddle de dee?"
Yes, yes she did, boy did she ever want to try. Naturally at this inopportune time, one of the smaller children skipped up to the ducks, tugging on Daisy's sleeve. "Miss?"
"This had better be the most important information in the world," Daisy said without breaking her eyes off Donald's intense gaze.
"I was just wondering, can we stop looking when it's time for the magic show?"
The love spell was broken temporarily, as both ducks now had enough worldly wisdom to know that whenever there was magic, trouble wasn't far behind. "What magic show?" Donald asked, hoping that for once magic might lead to something new and not life-threatening. He could already hear Horace crying out "I CALLED IT!" in his head.
"There's going to be a big magic show tonight," the child answered, smiling brightly. "Everyone wants to go see Mortimer the Magnificent!"
Donald stared at the child, then slowly turned his eyes toward Daisy, who shrugged innocently. "If I said I didn't know, would you believe me?" She then gave the kid an affectionate ruffle of his hair. "Sure, go see the show, have fun." With a giddy giggle, the child skipped off to tell his friends.
Donald ran a hand down his face, feeling stress build in every bone in his body. "We have to find Mickey and Minnie and warn them. From what they've told us about that guy, he can't possibly be up to any good. Let's just hope he doesn't know anything about the last piece, or we could all be in serious trouble."
Daisy closed her eyes, using her Eye to locate her pals, and when she opened them, she stifled a chuckle under her hand. "About that... trouble's already found them, looks like." Before Donald could form a plan, Daisy held up her finger. "Hang on. Let's go round up the others...but we'll watch the show."
"What?!" Donald balked, a hand to his chest. "Why would we do that? And your first reason better not be 'because it'll be funny'."
"Don't be so callous, Donald. That's my second reason."
A stage had been set up in the middle of the small town, crudely constructed as if it were made by someone for the first time who pretty much had no idea what they were doing – Mickey accurately guessed that the Beagles had created it, with Mortimer using his silver tongue to convince them he shouldn't do a lick of work. Props, pulleys and mirrors were set up behind the curtains for the upcoming illusions, and Mickey helped move this and that to eavesdrop on conversation between the thieves. While Mortimer dazzled the crowd with his works, the Beagles would ransack the empty homes, and hide their loot in the trapdoor under Mortimer's not-quite-house. But every once in a while as Mickey made the final adjustments, he could feel the prying eye of a Beagle on the lamp.
Even if they didn't wholly believe in real magic themselves, curiosity was a dangerous pull. Mickey wasn't surprised, and in fact counted on this greed. He had sent Pluto away to find the others, warn them if he could. The sun was starting to set, and a crowd began to gather. Mortimer strolled up, dressed to the nines, humming a made-up show-tune as he inspected each of his props. "Looks like I'm ready to go!" He snapped his fingers. "Assistant, I'm parched."
"Pain in the butt, is what you are," Mickey muttered under his breath, taking a jug of water and a cup off one of the tables to pour Mortimer a drink.
Mortimer grabbed the cup and downed it in one gulp. "Now, don't forget to smile! Every audience loves a smile. It won't be a long show, but then again, they might ask for an encore. So, show those pearly whites!"
The only way Mickey could even fathom smiling at the moment was by picturing Mortimer falling off the stage and into a suddenly sprouted field of cacti. "I don't think anyone wants to see that smile."
Mortimer tsked, approaching the closed curtain, the murmurs of the crowd breaking through. "Must we be so uncivilized to one another? Sure, we've had our differences..."
"You enslaved a girl and abused her in order to make money." Mickey's voice couldn't be dryer if he was deprived of liquids for seven days and seven nights.
"...But that was then, and this is now." Mortimer paused, as his goons slid out to do his bidding. "Oh, boy... you don't think we're that different, do you? You can't con a con."
"I am nothing like you!" Mickey said sharply, fists clenched. "You didn't care that you were causing Minnie pain, you treated her like a slave! Nobody deserves that! She's not a tool for people to use, she's a person, and she should be free!"
"Can't help but notice that she's still in the lamp," Mortimer said as he popped out a frilly ruffle on his collar.
Mickey inhaled sharply. "You have no idea what I've been through and what I need. The way things are with her and me, and the way they were with her and you... they're totally different!"
"Okay, so they're different," Mortimer admitted, but before he parted the curtain, he cast his assistant a devious smirk, his buck-teeth glittering in candlelight. "But does that make it better?"
Time can stand still for people for many reasons. Falling in love, being told sad news, or in Mickey's case, being metaphorically punched so hard in the stomach he could taste his intestines. He staggered, nearly losing the strength in his legs. Mortimer kept Minnie in the lamp out of greed, and Mickey did the same out of love, so – so – so – no, it wasn't any better. He had been so reluctant to use wishes and become yet another wicked master that he had simply locked Minnie away in a different cage. It had been just as Donald warned about their potential future – Mickey had never actually asked Minnie about this, gotten her opinion, as he was so consumed with what he was sure was love and faith that he didn't even question what he was doing was right. He didn't want to let her go – but he had pushed her away.
Mortimer was announcing himself to the crowd, getting applause and cheers. Mickey's body moved without his mind acknowledging it, standing rigidly next to Mortimer as his brain continued to unravel. He had tried to protect her without asking if she wanted to be protected. He had stripped her of the only unique power she had, taken away her ability to help those she cared for. Mortimer was saying something about how great he was and how Mickey begged to help out, and Mickey barely heard him. He also failed to register his friends in the crowd, who were startled at the haunting look on the prince's face.
Mickey's self-loathing spiraled deeper and deeper, forgetting all about the plan he had tried to set up to expose Mortimer and get away scot-free. He moved methodically as Mortimer went through his tricks, making a box vanish, pulling vermin out of a hat, guessing cards, all quite routine. He should have just been content to be the Son of Scheherazade, as the real him only made things worse. Even when he tried to do good, he did bad. He didn't deserve Minnie. He didn't deserve to be alive.
"Now, for my next trick, I'll need a simple piece of cloth, like a belt! Assistant, if you would so kindly..." Mortimer leaned behind Mickey, reaching over –
Mickey's hand lashed out before his mind acknowledged it, and he was gripping Mortimer's wrist, seconds before it had touched the lamp. Their eyes met, and Mickey understood that this magician intended not to just make magic, but steal it. Mortimer snarled, but kept on a showman's smile. "Why so jumpy, pal? All I'm asking for is a little help!" He then lashed out with his other hand -
Mickey pulled his hand back, then turned, twisted, not intending to break any bones but give his attacker enough time to regret his actions – a technique he'd learned from Horace, having spent many a night under his and Clarabelle's tutelage – before making a run and getting some distance between them. "Here I thought Mortimer the Magnificent was too' magnificent' to need anybody's help!" He heard laughter from the audience – they assumed this was part of a gag, and were better off for it. Maybe Mickey wasn't the best person to have the lamp, but Mortimer was surely no better! This was a new game and a new gamble – Mortimer was after the lamp, but if he exposed its true nature, he'd be in the same trouble he had just threatened Mickey with. Mickey couldn't tell if this was clever manipulation or greedy stupidity.
"Every great act needs a few stepping stones!" Mortimer rubbed his sore wrist, wondering when the kid got so strong. When he'd last seen Mickey in that run-down town, the boy was scrawny and didn't even know how to hold a sword. Where did the muscle come from? "After all, when I'm around, people say they can feel the very earth tremble beneath them!" He twirled his cane around before slamming it to the ground, making the stage itself begin to shake – in reality, it was several trap doors beginning to open. He expected his opponent to yelp, flail, and drop below.
But muscle wasn't the only thing Mickey had gained in his time. His eyes darted about, and then he jumped backward – once, twice, backflipping, techniques he'd gained by training alongside Clarabelle, until he landed on the prop table, though he nearly lost his balance once or twice. "Can't say I know the feeling! Maybe instead of being on the ground, you've got your head in the clouds!"
Only Mortimer's shock kept him from losing his temper. Mickey had yet to realize himself how much he'd changed, but it was apparent to Mortimer, who had only planned to trick a slow, weak kid, not a quick-thinking athlete. Swallowing a growl, he avoided his own traps and grabbed the table by the edge. "If you'd just do what I asked, you'd be on cloud nine!" This was a trick table, after all, and it took one hard push to make it start spinning around. This time Mickey was caught off guard, struggling to keep his balance, understanding here and now that Mortimer wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted. Mortimer spun his cane around, trying to jab Mickey and snatch the lamp in one blow – only to be met with Mickey's sword, and more surprising still, to be met in even combat with it, each blow parried, even when Mickey's back had been turned. After all, clumsy as Goofy was, this was his finest skill, and he'd taken great strain to show Mickey how to protect himself.
Mickey found feel the table beginning to slow down, and as Daisy had shown him time and time again, a distraction was his best bet. If he remembered the trick right... "Maybe I'll take your advice, Mortimer, and just take flight!" With one foot, he slid open a secret compartment, unleashing half-a-dozen doves that quickly flapped around in all directions, knocking the older man over onto his back. When Mortimer could finally see past feathers, Mickey was gone, having run off in the other direction of the stage. If he could just get out of here, maybe think like Donald and use the environment to his advantage -
But that's when he saw the applauding audience at the end of the stage, and his heart sank. He was still stuck. If he dared to step off the stage, Mortimer would reveal the truth. But if he stayed with the act, Mortimer wouldn't relent until the lamp was his again. Why hadn't Mickey seen this earlier? Why was he always so sure he was right? Why hadn't he just done as Minnie begged? Why, why, why was he always so stupid? He was going to lose her – he was going to lose everything!
By this time, Mortimer had gotten back to his feet, the trapdoors closed and the table set straight. He lightly clapped, enjoying the look of agony on Mickey's face. "What's the matter, assistant? A case of stage fright? Happens to the best of us... if only you could wish it all away." Twisting that knife in was extra fun. He had more than enough tricks to play, and it was only a matter of time before Mickey's mind and body gave out. The lamp would be his again, just so long as he pressed the right buttons. Sure, the kid had changed on the outside – but inside, he was still that weak little coward who couldn't do anything on his own. "Now, your little act has given me a great idea of how next to wow my audience... if you'd so nicely put your sword away before you hurt anyone..." Once again, Mortimer knew just the right wounds to open. Mickey shakily returned his blade to its scabbard, his eyes swimming.
What was he going to do? No matter what, Minnie would suffer, and it was all his fault. Why couldn't he do anything right? Why did he even bother leaving the palace? He'd been nothing but a spoiled, worthless, cruel master, just as all of Minnie's other masters had been. He was worthless.
"And for my next trick," Mortimer announced, pushing a thin box on wheels to the stage, "I will defy the mystic wonders of the afterlife, and possess the powers that only the gods can attest to!"
No worth, no life, no love, he was nothing nothing nothing -
"My assistant will climb into this box." Mortimer opened up the top, and pulled out a sharp saw. "And I will cut him in half! No need to be squeamish, he'll make it... probably." He winked to the crowd, and they enjoyed the joke.
Mickey swallowed, automatically turning to the box, raising his foot, ready to crawl in, stupid, worthless, hopeless boy -
And then he felt a piece of popcorn bop his nose. He blinked once, twice, and then heard the owner of the treat call out, "Boooring! C'mon, let's see some real magic!"
Mortimer spun around, surprised and angry. "Hey! Who said that? … And where did you get popcorn in a fishing town?!"
Clarabelle lightly tossed another piece of popcorn up and down in her hand, her eyes on Mickey but her voice on Mortimer. "You call this magic? This one's so obvious. You've got a fake set of legs in the second part of the box."
Mortimer's mouth dropped, and he fumbled to put the saw back inside. "I... I can assure you, there's nothing like that, if you can just wait a minute..."
"And that last trick?" There went Daisy scoffing, as she stood in front of the crowd. "Anyone else see the hidden panel under the table? That's where the doves came from, obviously. Where's the real material?"
Mortimer scrambled to push the table with said panel away from the stage. "Hold on a second! That was just... you were seeing things!"
"Jose, wonder and hope in all things eternal," Panchito crooned, strumming his guitar, "I only wish we could see some real magic, aside from the sparks in your eyes."
"Panchito, whose radiance is envied by the sun and moon both." Jose lazily put an arm around his friend's shoulder. "I'm afraid the only miracle we'll see tonight, is if this bum can actually entertain us."
The crowd begun to whisper about, getting very disappointed by the reveals they were hearing. Mickey held his breath, worrying that Mortimer would recognize his hecklers – only to remember that, when Mickey had confronted Mortimer in their last battle, he'd only known about Goofy and Horace. As far as Mortimer was concerned, he was being harassed by complete strangers. Horace was in the crowd, but he was making sure to stay hidden, snickering at how things were falling apart, with Pluto making a similar expression at his feet. Mortimer flailed as he tried to recover his wits, tripping over hidden switches and exposing a mirror when he stepped backwards.
"What about the kid?" one more voice asked, and there stood Donald, a smile on his beak and a twinkle in his eye. "You got anything worth showing? It's not too late!"
Mickey met Donald's face, and his heart stopped drowning. What had he been doing? Licking his own wounds as if that would solve anything? Mickey still had breath in his lungs, feelings in his soul, and a clever brain that rarely stopped. No, it wasn't too late – as long as he was alive, he could still learn. He wasn't alone, and so long as he kept fighting, he wouldn't stay alone. He touched the lamp on his belt, and his fingers curled. Just because a story ended, didn't mean the characters stopped living.
Mortimer growled, holding the cane in his hands so tightly it threatened to break. "Better think twice, kid! You know what'll happen if they learn the truth!"
The truth was so many things, some good, some bad, and it always would be that way. Mickey held the lamp in both his hands, looking at his own golden reflection shine. "The truth? The truth is... sometimes... I can be a real idiot." Pink smoke began to drift out of one end. "Sometimes I don't listen to others when they've got things to say... And even worse, sometimes I don't think they have anything to say. Sometimes I try to do the right thing without checking if it's right. I make mistakes. I'm going to keep making mistakes. But if that's the only way I'll learn... then I'd better be prepared to make a lot more!" He held the lamp up to the sky, smiling wide. "So if what I'm going to do is a mistake... then I'll learn everything I can from it!"
"I WISH FOR THE FINAL PIECE OF THE MAP TO APPEAR IN MY HANDS!"
The lamp suddenly erupted with pink smoke, swirling all around Mickey then shooting forth into the sky. There came a melodious giggle. "As you wish, my Master!" And in a brilliant glow that awed all in the town, a rainbow wind twisted all around Mickey's now open and outstretched hand – when the colors cleared, a familiar piece of paper laid in his palm.
As the smoke faded, Minnie now stood next to Mickey, her beautiful smile back in its rightful place. She didn't say anything just yet – she doubted she'd be heard, as the audience went into roaring applause and huzzahs, the crewmembers joining up together at the front of the crowd to wave at their friends. Mortimer stood in place, stunned that his "brilliant plan" had fallen to pieces, more-so than he knew, given the shadows inching around behind the closed curtain. Mickey's scar glowed for a brief time, and there was a hint of exhaustion to both mice, but both things seemed to matter very little compared to gazing at each other's eyes.
"I'm sorry for hitting you," said Minnie.
"I'm sorry for deserving to get hit," said Mickey.
"KISS THE GIRL!" yelled Daisy, this time earning a ponytail-yank from everyone. "Oh, like you guys weren't thinking it!"
It was all fun and glory until Mortimer slammed his cane down on the box for the saw trick, now effectively splitting it in half without the body inside. "You asked for it, kid! Now you'll never know peace again!" He then spun on his heel to address the confused crowd. "You saw it with your very own eyes! This girl is a genie! If you get your hands on the lamp, you'll get untold power and riches!"
Mickey glanced at Minnie, who glanced back at him, and they exchanged a knowing grin. "Oh, all that?" Mickey said, giving the final piece to Minnie. "You can't con a con, Mortimer. That was just another trick. Had the smoke ready under the stage, used some mirrors to make the fancy lights, and hid the slip of paper under my sleeve." Groans of disappointment and booing rose up once again, and some of the crowd, fed up with all the exposed lies, began to depart.
"Honestly, Mortimer," Minnie added, enjoying every single drop of wretched misery on her former master's face, "What kind of grown-man believes in genies?"
Mortimer began to lose what little control he had over his sweat. "N-No! No, it's true! It's all true!" He could see the audience growing smaller, and his panic increased tenfold. "No! Don't leave, not yet! Just gimmie a little bit of time, and I'll prove it, I'll prove it everything!" If they didn't stay, they couldn't be robbed!
"Yeah, I wouldn't worry about that..." Mickey made an overly theatrical bow to Minnie, much like Mortimer had done before. "Minnie, if you please?"
"Gladly, Mickey." Minnie daintily took a few steps backwards, tugging the curtain back enough to expose all three Beagles, hoisting a different weapon, having intended to club Mortimer once the show was done. They paused upon being exposed, and awkwardly waved to the remains of the crowd.
"WHAT ARE YOU MORONS DOING HERE?!" Mortimer screamed, the cane now broken in his hands, which gave him a great many number of splinters.
"Well, uh," the Head Beagle began. "We figured, why bother robbing them, when we could grab a genie and rob everyone everywhere? … 'Course, finding out that it's not real kinda puts a bummer on things."
The audience that had remained behind was now glaring hotly at Mortimer, some knuckles cracking and a few sleeves rolled up. Mortimer knew he was a dead man, but given this was a fishing town, he kept flopping like a water-starved fish. "No, it's real! I know it's real! I can prove it!" He then waved erratically at Mickey, starting to foam at the mouth. "I'll make a wish! Gimmie that lamp!" Mortimer lunged at Mickey, who merely had to side-step, and sent Mortimer crashing down into the street below.
"He's not really under obligation to do anything of the sort..." Minnie fingered the spell piece as if she was just checking out her nails. "But, Mickey, why not be a dear and help him out?"
"Anything for you, Minnie." Mickey waved his hand, and held out his empty palm. "I wish for the final piece of the spell to appear in my hands." And, because it was a wish that had already been granted, absolutely nothing happened. "Hm. Funny, that."
"No! No, that doesn't count!" Mortimer crawled to his feet, staggering, trying to reach for Mickey but now fear and humiliation had zapped his strength. "Wish for something else! I...I... I'm Magnificent...?" But Mortimer had used up the last ounce of good will from everyone around him – the audience for being swindled, and the thieves simply doing their nature of being thieves – and high-tailed it away from the stage, being chased by all sides.
"I can't even begin to tell you how good that felt." Minnie hopped off the stage, grinning and unable to stop.
"I've got a pretty good idea." Mickey jumped off as well, unsure who to hug first. "Thanks, everyone! You really got me out of a bad place, and saved our hides."
"It's what we do." Horace said, high-fiving his wife after. "All things being equal, though, does this mean we'll be hearing more wishes from you?"
"Would make things easier by, I dunno, one-thousand-percent," Clarabelle agreed.
"Yes...and no." Mickey adjusted the lamp on his belt, and faced Minnie. "I've been doing this the wrong way for a long time. When I wished to feel your pain, I was trying to take away your ordeal... but from the beginning, we should've been partners. Working together, instead of me just making a wish or delaying them until the last possible second. I still need your help rescuing my parents... and we still don't know what we'll face...but if you want-"
Minnie held up her hand, cutting him off. "I'm not just partners with you. I'm a member of the great Sinbad the Sailor's crew. Everyone here has their own journey to fulfill, but they are holding it off until they can rescue the Sultan and Sultana. I'm not an outsider, I'm not just along for the ride. I'm one of you... so, just like them, I'll hold off my quest until yours is done. I won't have my freedom until your parents are free, and the Phantom Prince is defeated."
Mickey felt his face burn, in a good way – Minnie was becoming stronger day by day, and it was amazing to see. When she was finally free, she was going to do great things, and the world would be a better place. "How about this, then?" He held out his hand. "From now on, when I want to make a wish, I ask you first. And if you want me to make a wish, you ask me. Every wish will be from the both of us."
Minnie almost shook his hand, but quickly pulled back, holding up her pointer finger. "With the exception being, if we're all about to die, you don't wait and ask."
The rest of the crew loudly and unanimously agreed.
"Seriously, Mickey."
"She speaks the truth."
"Mickey, you're great, but yeah."
"No more Hero Mode."
"Sí, sí, sí."
"Yep, yep, yep."
"Woof, woof, woof."
"I GET IT ALREADY!" Mickey snapped, embarrassed while knowing this was a fantastically good point. "A-hem. I will try not to get myself killed by withholding on the thing that would prevent me from getting killed. Deal?"
"Deal." Minnie shook his hand, and to make extra sure he wouldn't forget this promise, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Mickey went pink, happily so, and started to fall backwards, with Donald catching him.
"Hey, hey, none of that just yet!" Donald snapped his fingers, trying to prevent Mickey from going into a typical love-induced stupor. "We finally have the last piece! We can get to the forgotten kingdom, and take on the Phantom Prince! We gotta get back to the ship and prepare, this will be our greatest adventure yet, we have to be ready for anything, and he stopped listening to me ten seconds ago, didn't he?"
"Kisses are powerful things, so I've learned." Daisy lightly nudged Donald, who gave her an amused look.
The rest of the crew laughed, relieved of so many burdens, and they all began to head back to the ship, with Mickey needing to be carried most of the way. The sun set, and the stars began to glimmer all across the world.
But the stars weren't glimmering over Pete, and the fact he no longer saw them was very low on the list of things that creeped him out. The daily beatings had finally stopped, now that Mickey was going to head straight for them. There was one last plan to play, and like almost everything that had happened since this entire mess began, Pete disagreed with it. "Why can't you just kill them all and be done with it?" he growled once the final measures were put in place. "Keeping them alive will just give them a chance to come back after us!"
The Phantom Prince sat on his throne, his body becoming wispier with each passing day. "It's easy to pass judgment on things you don't understand. All is necessary for my grand design."
"If I don't understand it, why won't you explain it to me?" Pete clenched and unclenched his sore hands.
The Phantom Prince scoffed. "Why should I explain things to a mere servant? I know what is best, as I have always known! If my foolish father had merely done the right thing and given me the crown, we'd still be remembered!" Though it was difficult to see at first, the old sorcerer was wringing his hands. "Once I have both the genie and the Eye, I can give new life to myself, and to the kingdom! Everyone will remember that it is I who ruled, and not my weak sister!"
Little by little, Pete was regretting turning over to the side of a madman. But, if he got to rule his own kingdom, surely it'd be worth it in the end? The beatings, the humiliation, the frustration, it would be worth it all in order to be rich and powerful! Who cared about being remembered, when the present mattered the most? By the gods, he didn't even know the real name of the man he was working for – and on a very disturbing note, did the Phantom Prince even remember his own name anymore? He thought very little of the prince he abandoned, but now he did, as a note of irony – with Mickey wanting to be known as anything but his title, and the Phantom Prince craving nothing but that. What would happen when two ridiculous forces collided?
No matter. Pete would show them all. He was smarter, wiser, better, and he'd have his chance to prove it soon enough. "But this is it? The final part of the plan?"
The Phantom Prince chuckled darkly. "The final part? You could see it that way. As for me... this is only the beginning."