Crowns of the Kingdom

Chapter 3: The Edge of Existence

No sooner had the Sorcerer's Hat settled onto Mickey's head than the void hit him. Not like a wave or a missile or anything that must travel to reach a point; it was simply there: a sense of dark empty vastness so utter, his mind could not fully take it in. It filled the universe, it was the universe, a coldness so cold it burned, a darkness so dark it seared the eyes, a nothingness so bleak it was crushing. He was dissolving into it—

—He was lying on the cement floor of the wood mill, with Pluto licking his face forlornly and Minnie fanning him with her lace handkerchief. Goofy and Donald crouched over him, their faces creased with worry. Donald held the Hat out at arm's length as though it were venomous and would bite him.

"Just take it easy there, Mickster," Goofy said.

"I'm all right," Mickey responded automatically, but in truth, he was all right. Unbelievably, he suffered no ill effects from that ghastly experience, which already seemed a distant memory. "I am all right," he marveled, sitting up and examining his perfectly real and solid hands.

"Good gracious, Mickey, what happened?" Minnie emoted.

"I'm not sure," said Mickey. "I have to try that again. Donald, give me the Hat."

"No way!" the duck refused, holding it high overhead with both hands and standing on his toes for good measure. "Not after what just happened!"

"Oh, I'll be fine. I'm ready for it this time." This, too, was the plain truth, although he didn't know how he knew. Donald, understandably, still looked skeptical. "Please, Donald?"

With a king-sized sigh, Donald handed over the Hat. "Oh, all right, here. But on your head be it!"

"Well, sure!" Goofy broke in, grinning buffoonishly. "It's a hat; where else would it be?"

"Wise guy," Donald muttered. Minnie giggled. For the second time, Mickey Mouse donned the Sorcerer's Hat, his hands trembling at the prospect of—

—a space larger than Space itself, filled with nothing except velvety darkness for as far as the eye could see…which, in total darkness, is not far at all. It was not a place, for place implies points of reference, and what could bear any relation to an infinite void? Nor was it a phenomenon, for phenomena are quantifiable. There is no word for what it was. It just was. It was…a wasness.

Anyone would recognize it, and they would all be right, and wrong. An astrophysicist would know it for the conditions before the Big Bang gave meaning to words like before. A theologian would suppose it to be Limbo. A mathematician would take it for the result of dividing by zero. A painter would remember it as a canvas so blank that even the canvas was not there. All these perceptions would be equally true and equally false.

Mickey Mouse knew only that he did not belong there. It wasn't that it was hostile to him, or he to it. He was not intruding per se, nor was he imprisoned. It simply was not for him. In that inky emptiness he was a stranger, a foreigner, an alien.

Yet at the same time, impossibly, it was somehow…familiar.

Just then, the Voices overtook him.

They were not truly voices, of course, because sound could no more exist in the nothingness than could light. But Mickey's mind was suddenly filled with the impression of quite a lot of people shouting, dozens of them. And not just shouting in general, but shouting at him. To him. Calling him. And he recognized every one of them.

Instantly he understood—or partly understood—and he opened his eyes once again in the cool interior of the Opera House. Panting, staring blankly ahead, he eased the Hat down into his lap.

"What did you find out?" Minnie asked.

"I think I found…everyone who disappeared," he replied. "Maleficent, too. It's like they're in…another dimension…where nothing is really real." Overcome with the mind-boggle of it all, he slid from the woodpile into a kneeling position on the floor. A tiny, nervous laugh escaped him. "I'm sorry I can't explain it any better than that."

The others traded puzzled looks. "I don't get it," said Donald. "How can anyone be in a place where nothing is really real?"

Mickey closed his eyes and scrubbed at them with the heels of his hands, trying to make the concepts and the words fall into place. "It's because of the time warp. They don't exist, because it's not time yet…but they don't not exist, because we remember them. So they're trapped right on the edge of reality."

"Gawrsh! That sounds serious!" Goofy wailed.

"And Maleficent's in the same boat?" Donald asked pointedly.

"Yeah," Mickey replied, allowing a very slight smugness to creep into his voice and heaving over onto one hip. "In fact, I bet her spell went awry because she accidentally rewound her own existence along with everyone else's."

"Well, serve her right!" Minnie opined.

"I couldn't agree more, Minnie. But we still need enough of her to find out exactly what she did, and unfortunately I don't think I can contact her properly through the Hat. We'll have to enlist the aid of someone who specializes in contacting other planes of existence…or semi-existence, as the case may be."

"Gee whiz," said Goofy, impressed. "Who do we know who can do that?"

Mickey allowed himself a sly grin. "Well…since we're about fourteen years too early for Madam Leota, we'll have to pay a visit to Esmeralda!"

Confused stares met the statement…as Mickey had mischievously hoped they would. Even Pluto cocked an eyebrow and an ear and shot his master an explanation-demanding look. "Uh…Mickey?" Minnie said gently. "We're about forty years too early for Esmeralda."

"Not that Esmeralda," Mickey chuckled. "The other Esmeralda!"

"Other Esmeralda?" his three friends chorused.

"To the Penny Arcade!"


The swarthy gypsy woman in the glass booth gave the approaching figures only half a glance as she swept the carefully laid out cards from the counter back into her hand. Just out of curiosity, she cut the deck at random and surreptitiously peeked.

The Two of Spades—oh, dear. Still, customers were customers. Especially these customers!

"Ah! Mr. and Ms. Mouse, how nice to see you! And Mr. Duck and Mr. Goof, likewise, of course."

"Fellas," said Mickey, indicating the gypsy with a sweep of his arms (a careful sweep, as the Sorcerer's Hat was tucked under one of them), "say hello to Esmeralda!"

"Oh, that Esmeralda," the three of them muttered.

"'Oh, that Esmeralda,' you all say," Esmeralda repeated suspiciously. "Why, I wonder? Mr. Mouse, is there some other Esmeralda I should know about?"

"You tell me, Es, you're the fortuneteller," Mickey slyly pointed out. "Which is why we're here—we need your unique talents."

"Clever as always," she remarked flirtatiously, resting her chin on one furled, bejeweled hand while Minnie rolled her eyes. "So, what mysterious influence compels the mighty Sorcerer's Apprentice to seek out the services of a simple fortuneteller, at a special VIP bargain price? Something has occurred to make you desire a glimpse of the future?"

"Actually, Es, the future's pretty clear just now," Mickey said. "What I'm in the market for is more…complicated."

"Oh, really?" the gypsy responded, intrigued. "Do tell. Can it be that even the saintly Mickey Mouse occasionally feels the need to curse his enemies?"

"No!" Mickey burst out, appalled. "Nothing like that! I just need to talk to someone who's not—you know—here."

"You need change for the pay phone?" Esmeralda deadpanned.

"Oh—that's not what I mean and you know it!" Mickey scolded.

"Yes, you are right, I do know it. Can you blame me for having a bit of fun? It is so rare that anyone comes to me for more than a pre-printed fortune card."

"Well, will you help us?"

"But of course, Mr. Mouse! Anything for one as illustrious as you. So it is a séance you are after, is it? I am afraid I cannot perform any charity work. For you…five dollars American."

The group did a double-take. "That…that's all?" said Minnie.

Esmeralda hmphed and tossed her straight black hair as much as she could in the confinement of the booth and the headscarf she wore. "Yes, that is all, Ms. Wealthy Hollywood Cartoon Star Mouse. To all of us, five dollars is not so trifling." She stooped slightly to undo a catch beneath the counter, then carefully swung the front half of the booth outward so that she could exit. She took a moment to stretch her back before addressing her customers again. "Follow me."

They walked two abreast, with Pluto bringing up the rear. Donald took the opportunity to whisper to Goofy, "Five bucks, wow! I could get used to 1955 prices, at least!"

"A-hyuk!" Goofy agreed.

The Penny Arcade looked refreshingly familiar: having changed little in the course of fifty years, it had also changed little in the reversion. The rows of old-fashioned game devices—pinball machines and nickelodeons and marionettes—blinked and glittered like a forest of gaudy lights, an indoor carnival. Esmeralda led them straight to the back, to a door marked "Cast Members Only."

Mickey had to smile. Cast Members. That had been a real stroke of genius—making the show so immersive that even the normal language of business was abandoned in favor of the language of performance.

"Right this way," Esmeralda said, opening the door.

Beyond it was another world. Not literally, of course, although with all that had happened so far that day, Mickey and the others would not have been too surprised if the door had opened onto somewhere other than one of the many "backstage" areas at Disneyland. Still, crossing the threshold was like stepping directly from the Amazon to the Arctic. The machinery that creates magnificent beauty is rarely itself lovely, and what lies behind the scenes at the park is as mundane as the public view is magical. Break rooms, offices, merchandise stockrooms, janitorial closets, all served as a sharp reminder that whatever else Disneyland was, it was ultimately a business, and required businesslike facilities.

What Esmeralda led them to looked like a break room from the outside. On the inside…it still looked something like a break room. There was the bulletin board, there the mini-fridge and sink. But instead of harsh incandescent lighting and linoleum, it was decorated with maroon velvet drapes and fragrant beeswax candles. The round table in the center of the room was made of wood, not Bakelite, and there were peculiar arcane-looking symbols carved into the rim. To one side, a set of small shelves was piled with Tarot cards, astrological charts, and a conspicuously large crystal ball. If this was a break room, it was Esmeralda's personal one.

"Have a seat," the gypsy bade them, indicating six chairs placed around the table. Incongruously, they were break room standard, cheap, constructed out of steel and plastic. As the group sat—even Pluto clambered up into a chair next to Mickey and set his front paws on the table—Esmeralda bustled about the room, setting up censers full of exotic woods and resins and lighting more candles. Soon the room was suffused with a heavy, perfumed glow. Esmeralda took the last remaining seat directly across from Mickey.

"All join hands," she intoned, and they obeyed. "From the moment the séance begins, we must thus remain in contact, or the connection with the spirit world will be lost. Now, concentrate on the one whose presence you require. No—do not speak. No names, only thoughts. See that one in your minds, hear his voice, bring the idea of him here, and he will come here in fact. Clear your minds of everything except the one you wish to call. When your thoughts are all in resonance with one another, your message will fly out to reach him, and he will come. Begin."

Silence fell, and Mickey closed his eyes and did as he had done before—focused on Maleficent. Presumably the others were doing the same, but he wasn't sure how adept they were at such concentration. If they were smart, they would just let the atmosphere that Esmeralda had created carry them…

Esmeralda jerked suddenly, both hands clutching her neighbors' so tightly that knuckle-whiteness spread the length of her fingers from gaudy rings to painted nails. Her head thrashed back and forth, each movement accompanied by a deep moaning groan. Her eyes rolled beneath their fluttering lids. It was impossible to tell what was genuinely part of the trance inducement and what was merely for show, but the five witnesses seated around the table fervently hoped that the vast majority was the former. This was no time for frivolous melodrama!

All at once, the gypsy sat bolt upright as all the candles in the room flared and—against all logic—the temperature dropped sharply. Her head was thrown back, her lips parted. She breathed deeply and, as she exhaled, slowly lowered her head until it was bowed. The candle flames shrank until they were mere droplets of blue-gold light in the fragrant dimness of the room. Then they returned to normal, Esmeralda's head raised and her eyes opened. Except that they weren't her eyes, those dark laughing things, but different eyes—reptilian eyes, bulging and pale, even glowing like phosphorescent fungi in a cave.

Maleficent's eyes.

And it was Maleficent's voice that spoke, emanating though it was from Esmeralda's throat. Her usual haughtiness was overlaid with a haggard weariness, as though she were suffering through some terrible ordeal. "Well ,well, Mickey Mouse." She lingered ever so slightly on the s sound as though speaking with a snake's tongue. "Your tastes in mysticism are broader than I had supposed."

Mickey suppressed his sense of wonder at the gypsy's occult skill and made himself sternly businesslike. "Can it, Maleficent. I didn't call you up for small talk."

"You wish to gloat over my predicament then, I presume. How smug it must make you to see me caught in my own trap…but I must remember to whom I am speaking. Far be it from such a pure-hearted hero to indulge in callous, petty mockery, am I right?"

"Does it matter?" Mickey shot right back. "I think you're smart enough to figure out why I had Esmeralda channel you."

"Indeed," Maleficent said almost before he had finished speaking. "You wish to know what I've done to your precious park, and while we're at it, how you can reverse the spell.

"First, let me make it abundantly clear that I cooperate only because I have, quite by accident, victimized myself along with all your virtuous friends." The Wicked Fairy's voice was heavy now with bitter sarcasm. "Were circumstances otherwise, I would happily watch your desperate, futile endeavors to rescue them from this gloomy state."

"I would expect nothing less," Mickey smirked. "Where are you, anyway? I couldn't see a thing when I was there."

"That would be because there is nothing to see. Nothing real, at any rate," Maleficent sighed. "This is not a place, noble hero, but a state of being—or, I should rather say, of non-being. It is the condition of being…unrealized. Possible, but not actual. But if it makes it easier for your little mind to grasp, by all means think of it as a place—the domain of unfinished ideas, as it were. Even give it a name if you like. 'Inpotentia' has a lovely ring to it, does it not?"

Mickey ignored both the insult and the digression. "Unfinished ideas, huh? But every idea has been unfinished at one time or another."

"Precisely," Maleficent said with a hint of condescension. "Consider the implications for a moment, Sorcerer's Apprentice. Every dream, every dread, every wish, every whimsy, every plan, every plot, every concept, theory, and notion in the history of thought…all has passed through this grey realm. The vast majority, of course, never see the light of true existence. You and I, and all those whom we know, are the fortunate ones. We are dreams that became reality."

"Until you reversed that good fortune by reversing time," Minnie said accusingly.

"You reveal your ignorance of the esoteric," Maleficent replied coolly. "Had I truly succeeded in reversing time, as you put it, we would not be having this conversation, for memory would have regressed to fit and none of you would have noticed that anything was wrong. It would be business as usual in 1955.

"I miscalculated, however. The details of my error need not concern you. Suffice it to say that I ran afoul of my own spell, and thus lost control of it. Instead of being erased altogether, five decades—and their legacy of achievement—were merely trapped between existence and non-existence. Therefore they vanished from your sight, but not from your memory. And therein lies the key to our salvation."

"Wait a minute," said Mickey, sheer amazement blooming in his mind. "You managed to trap time? I didn't think that was possible!"

"My dear mouse, the subtleties of magic of which you are unaware would fill several grimoires. Nonetheless, it is to you that I must entrust the knowledge of my technique so that the damage I have done may be repaired. Is it not ironic that you and I should find ourselves allies in this? Desperation, as they say, makes for strange bedfellows…"

Mickey cringed at her choice of words—there was a mental image he didn't need. He focused instead on Maleficent's uncharacteristic admission of desperation. No matter how great her need, he would have expected her to use trickery to gain his assistance rather than openly confess to being in dire straits. Was it a clue? A red herring? Or had he misjudged the Wicked Fairy, overestimated her poise?

"How did you do it, Maleficent?"

"It was actually very simple—why, half of the work was already done for me, thanks to you."

"Thanks to me? What are you talking about?"

"You need ask? I am disappointed. I speak of the crowns, of course—five exquisite golden jeweled crowns set atop the towers of a fairy-tale Castle that has stood for half a century, each one explicitly a symbol of one decade of that half-century. You know well the power of symbols, Mickey Mouse, having been one yourself for most of your existence. How easily they become inseparable from the thing symbolized. You invested those crowns with meaning until, as far as magic is concerned, they were Disneyland's history. It was an easy thing to steal and imprison that history by stealing and imprisoning the crowns. Likewise, if you restore them to their rightful place, the timeline of this park will be restored."

"So where are they?" Donald demanded imperiously.

Esmeralda's lips twitched into Maleficent's crafty smile. "Patience, my fiery-tempered waterfowl. To be perfectly honest, I know not precisely where the crowns are. I had intended to consign them to oblivion, making my spell irreversible and my victory complete, but when I lost control of the spell, they flew out of my reach. I can say only that they must be retrievable, or else—again—we would not be having this conversation.

"And now, I fear, we have come to the end of the assistance that I am able to provide in this matter. I have nothing more to offer before I allow this charlatan to resume command of her own body, save an admonition."

There was a long pause. "Well, go ahead," Mickey finally prompted.

The reply was curt. "Make haste, Mickey Mouse. We may not have infinite time. I have sensed a dreadful danger in this dismal halfway realm—a danger which might destroy any of us. Dreams may become reality…but they may also be forgotten, and vanish as though they had never been conceived."

Mickey shuddered and swallowed hard, fighting off the memory of a suffocating nothingness that threatened to disperse his being. His hands clenched involuntarily until Minnie and Pluto yelped at the pressure. "I think I know what you mean," he said with a dry mouth, forcing himself to sound calm and detached. "I…sensed something too, when I went looking for you."

"You understand the urgency then. In that case, I leave you to your heroic duty."

"Not just yet, Maleficent," Mickey said, letting a sly edge creep into his voice. "I have something else to say to you first."

"Oh?"

"Yeah! Just you remember, you got yourself into this mess, and if I knew how, I'd rescue all my friends and leave you to sleep in the bed you've made. And that's a promise." And with that, before she could retort, he dropped Minnie's hand and Pluto's paw, breaking the circle.

Esmeralda snapped back to herself. "Is everyone concentrating?" she asked huskily, as though the past ten minutes had not taken place. Goofy immediately screwed his face back up until Minnie nudged him sharply.

"Been and done, Es," said Mickey. "The séance is over."

Esmeralda's face registered surprise just short of shock. "It worked? I'm better than I thought! Maybe I should charge you more…next time, of course. Speaking of which…" She held out her hand expectantly.

"Right," said Mickey. He shoved his hand in his pocket and produced a five-dollar bill, which he almost handed to the fortuneteller before realizing that it was series 2003. He couldn't pay with that in 1955! She would think it a counterfeit—and a laughably clumsy one! "Whoops!" he said, hurriedly sticking it back in his pocket and chuckling sheepishly. "Heh-heh. Prop money. Looks like I'm fresh out of real cash. Can I write you a check instead?"

"Yes, yes, whatever. But only because it is you asking, Mr. Mouse. Next time, you check your movie star wallet before you come asking for help, you hear?"

"Sure thing, Es," said Mickey, hastily scribbling out a check for five bucks and dashing for the doorway before the ink on his signature had dried.

Esmeralda read over the note lazily after the five of them had gone. "Scatterbrained mouse," she mused. "He forgot to write in the date. No matter—I can get ten times as much selling the autograph than if I just cash it! Ha!"


"Well, guys," Mickey said as they emerged back onto Main Street. "It looks like we've got an old-fashioned quest on our hands!"

"Oh, Mickey, do you really think we can find all those crowns?" Minnie fretted. "There's no telling where they all are!"

"Of course we can find them. Maleficent said they must be retrievable. Heck, a little piece of one of 'em is still on the Castle."

"But where do we even start looking?"

"Now, Minnie, one thing at a time. First we tell everyone what we found out. Then we can put together a plan."

"You're right," she sighed. "It's all just so overwhelming!"

"Tell me about it," said Mickey. "The past few hours have been the emotional equivalent of the Tower of Terror. Up and down and up and down again…and sideways and diagonally too!"

"Well, that explains everything!" Donald interjected. "We've crossed over into…the Twilight Zone!"

It was too much. Like a mountain avalanche triggered by the fall of a tiny pebble, all five of them exploded into laughter. It felt indescribably good, having a moment of pure, unrestrained joy after all that had happened that day. When the glee finally subsided, Mickey clapped Donald on the back and said "Thanks, ol' pal. We really needed that. Now let's go tell everyone about our new quest."

Maybe it was the aftereffects of Donald's deliberately lame joke, or his decision to view the monumental task before them as a quest…but as they headed back to Central Plaza, Mickey found his spirits oddly buoyed. Perhaps it was that his career as the star of the Disney Family, while rewarding in its way, was demanding without providing any outlet for the heroic aspects of his personality…and now he was getting a spectacularly broad outlet indeed.

In any case, the late-morning air held a definite tang of adventure for Mickey Mouse, as he made his way down Main Street to bring the message back to his people.

To Be Continued…