Crowns of the Kingdom
Chapter 8: Launching Phase Two
Everyone occasionally forgets something which, if they had remembered it, would have saved them a lot of time and trouble. Mickey alighted on the drawbridge of Sleeping Beauty's Castle and immediately smacked his forehead.
"What is it, Mickey?" asked Minnie.
"I forgot that it's 1965 now. I just climbed down the front of the Castle when I could have taken the stairs inside!"
"Considering what you've been through today—this decade—I think you're entitled to a little absent-mindedness," Minnie giggled. "Now come get re-acquainted with some old friends!"
Central Plaza was abuzz with joy and laughter. There was a conditional quality to it—not so many had yet been rescued from Inpotentia, after all—but it was a welcome sound all the same. The characters that had been passing time in Fantasyland flooded out to greet the new arrivals, their amnesia apparently cured by the jump ahead in Disneyland's timeline.
Mickey watched the noisy reunion with satisfaction: the slobbering tongues and sniffing noses of Lady and the Tramp and their gang on one side, and the Dalmatians on the other; Cinderella's Fairy Godmother trying to embrace all three of Aurora's at the same time; Wart giggling and ducking under a mock attack from Peter Pan while Merlin danced a jig for the amusement of all and sundry. And of course, there was no shortage of hugs and thank-yous for him and the rest of the Fab Five.
All the same, Mickey couldn't help being anxious for those yet to be rescued. "We've still got a long way to go," he murmured to no one in particular, and suddenly all he wanted was to lie down and take a nap, maybe even call it an early evening. The day's breakneck pace was finally catching up with him—all at once, it seemed. Mickey hadn't felt such a bone-weariness since…gosh, since the Fifties (the real Fifties), when he was working fourteen-hour days in order to make all the public appearances demanded of him and still manage to crank out several short pictures every year…
And some people thought celebrities lived a life of ease.
Now, as then, rest was a luxury he just couldn't afford. The Disney Family was counting on him, and if any characters were forced to languish in Inpotentia one second longer than necessary, it wouldn't be because of any self-indulgence on his part!
"Oh, no, you don't," Minnie said abruptly, steering him away from a quartet of ebulliently grateful penguin waiters. "Mickey Mouse, you're going home and getting some sleep tonight, like the rest of us!"
There was a brief pause. "How did you do that?"
"I've been taking mind-reading courses at the community college," Minnie deadpanned. "Mickey, you crazy rodent…after seventy-five years together, don't you think I've got you figured out? You and your heroism—you'd keep plugging away at the quest until you dropped from sheer exhaustion. I recognize that look in your eye."
"I appreciate it, Minnie, I really do, but how could I rest knowing that so many of our friends are still—"
He was cut off by Minnie's kiss, planted right on his lips as if no one were watching. For several amazing seconds, Mickey was in Heaven and all was right with the world. Even after she pulled away again, he felt like he might float away, buoyed upward the emotional helium that is romantic bliss. And he found himself completely unable to argue with her.
"On the other hand," he slurred happily, "whatever you want is okay too."
"I knew I'd make you see the error of your ways," she giggled. "Now let's get out of here before they go back to killing you with gratitude." She took his hand and began leading him beneath the Castle archway.
"Shouldn't we tell them we're leaving?" asked Mickey.
"Nope," was the nonchalant reply.
"But they'll all wonder—"
"Let 'em wonder. I want you all to myself for a little while, and I'll never get it if I don't grab it now."
Mickey jumped a little, startled, and turned to stare at his girlfriend as they continued to walk through Fantasyland. There was something unusually…intense, perhaps even fierce, in her tone and expression. "Minnie…?" he said quizzically.
"Mickey Mouse," she replied, her eyes smoldering under their half-closed lids, "have I ever told you that you are hot stuff when you're being a hero?"
She leaned in to kiss him again, as night fell over the partially restored park.
There was nothing there until a sliver of darkness in the air twisted into the haggard form of Maleficent. Then there was a stone-walled room, sparsely furnished and dimly lit by greenish flames that crackled in iron braziers. Keeping her lair just outside of reality made its sanctity, and her privacy, absolutely secure, but it also meant that the lair itself had no reality apart from her subjective opinion that it did.
Maleficent staggered across the floor and slumped into a grim granite throne, panting heavily. Her sojourn as a lost idea had drained her, and the effort of shrugging off the fatigue and maintaining her poise in order to taunt that mouse had taken yet more out of her. The emptiness of Inpotentia seemed to cling to her, diminishing her, threatening to make her unreal even in a time and place where she definitely existed.
A shrill caw announced the arrival of her faithful familiar, the raven Diabolo. He circled the room once before alighting on the softly glowing orb atop Maleficent's staff. Wearily, she stroked his glossy feathers with two fingers.
"My pet," she sighed, "I confess—that was very nearly my undoing. Perhaps I should have swallowed my pride and asked for help from the other villains."
Diabolo narrowed his eyes and croaked a denial.
"Yes, I suppose you're right," said Maleficent. "Indeed, whom could I have trusted? Surely no one whose own existence would have been threatened by the time shift would have agreed to help bring it about. And that leaves precious few of any competence."
She reviewed them silently. None of that early breed were really suited to her plans. The men, from fat Stromboli to bombastic Captain Hook, were all too petty in their wickedness and too unsubtle by far. Lady Tremaine had the right sort of style but was much too small of ambition—the extent of her aspirations was to be mother-in-law to a prince! The Queen of Hearts, of course, was nothing but a buffoon, too easily flattered to be reliably evil. That left the other Queen, whose guile, magical talents, and capacity for pure spite would have made her an ideal ally…were it possible to drag her away from her precious looking-glass for twenty minutes.
"Do you know, my pet, save for you, I am truly alone in this world?" Maleficent mused. The notion didn't bother her as such, except on a practical level. If she had had a reliable accomplice, maybe she wouldn't now be sitting in her lair exhausted, feeling the nothingness of Inpotentia sucking at her being. She actively willed the feeling to pass.
It didn't pass, which was how she knew that it wasn't merely a feeling. Something—something that was nothing—really was clinging to her. Diabolo suddenly sensed it as well; his feathers bristled and he made a low rasping noise.
Maleficent sat up a little straighter. "Reveal yourself," she hissed.
There emerged in the dim space of the chamber a vague shimmer, as of heated air, accompanied by a sound so faint as to be almost subconscious. To the extent that Maleficent could detect it, it seemed to consist of a horrible wailing that constantly, tunelessly changed pitch. It was like something trying desperately and hopelessly to be musical. It was really atrocious!
"How intriguing," Maleficent said through teeth gritted against the cacophony. "What manner of creature are you?"
The…thing…did nothing so organized as to be dignified with a word like communication, but a flood of impressions assailed Maleficent's mind. It was hunger, desperation, yearning, bitterness. It was a fragment of the essence of Inpotentia—a tiny idea that had never been realized. Once upon a time, someone had gotten a few bars of original music stuck in their head, just long enough for it to develop a persistence of self, and then forgotten all about it without having so much as hummed it aloud. Killed before it ever had a chance to be born, it had become a ghost of sorts—the wraith of a melody, fueled by its own despair and envy. To keep the meager semblance of existence that was all it had, it had been forced to hum itself, over and over, until it lost its own key and degenerated into the discordant yowl that insinuated itself into Maleficent's consciousness though her ears could scarcely perceive it.
It was utterly pathetic, and yet…
Maleficent smiled slowly, understanding why so many dark sorcerers chose to command the undead. How hideous to be a ghost, to be consumed by—nay, to be composed of—such raw, frantic, obsessive anguish! How lovely, then, to be the master of a ghost, to manipulate that mindless, bleeding desperation to one's own ends!
The situation had just taken a promising turn.
"Can you understand my words?" she asked the creature.
Not only could it understand them, it seized them like a lifeline, for they represented the one slim saving grace for a lost idea: acknowledgement. It would hold Maleficent's attention any way it could.
"Then hear this, little lost thing: Serve me, obey me, and I will provide you the means to attain that which you crave. Do you agree?"
It did, it did! The non-music became, for just an instant, marginally less sour.
"A deal is struck," Maleficent said hastily, before the thing's attention could wander. "Now, the first service I require of you is information. Are there other things like you?"
The idea-ghost was stronger now, more coherent, its responses almost verbal. …yes…
"Can they be brought here?"
…yes…
Her eyes practically glowing with excitement, Maleficent leaned forward in her seat. Diabolo cawed as his perch shifted under his feet. "How many are there?" the Wicked Fairy asked.
The wisp was a moment in answering, as though taking time to find the right concept. When it did, it was just what Maleficent was hoping for.
…Countless…
Scarcely had the sun risen over Disneyland (an early rising, in the summer) before the word went out: Mickey says to gather in front of the Castle at eight o'clock. The extant members of the Disney Family, who had been more than a little confused at the abrupt disappearance of their leader the previous evening, were relieved to learn that things were getting back on track. So they gathered, without a peep of complaint at the earliness of the hour.
Mickey was already there when they first started arriving, but he didn't call a greeting or acknowledge the characters in any way. He was walking about Central Plaza, inspecting the small trees with an aura of pensive concentration that muzzled any urge to speak to him. The gathering grew in anxiety as it grew in size, each new arrival exposed to Mickey's odd behavior.
With no more than ten minutes until eight o'clock, Mickey suddenly blinked and straightened up, as though he had been sleepwalking. Looking sheepish, he hurried to the Castle drawbridge with a soft "Sorry about that, folks," and took up a position sitting on one of the guard walls. From his perch he scanned the area as though making an accounting of those present, still appearing deeply thoughtful. From time to time, someone achieved eye contact with him, at which he would smile and wave a little.
Jiminy Cricket was the first to pluck up the nerve to approach the uncharacteristically distant mouse. "It's almost eight now, Mickey," he said in a conversational tone.
"Yep," Mickey agreed.
"What happened last night?" Jiminy persisted. "You disappeared on all of us!"
Mickey made an impish grin. "You might say I was kidnapped…and there's the dirty rotten scoundrel who did it now! Perfect timing, Minnie!"
Jiminy was confused for only an instant. "Oh, I see," he said knowingly. "I won't pry."
"Mickey Mouse, are you spreading around the secrets of our love life?" Minnie playfully accused her boyfriend, arms akimbo as she strode up to him.
"Well, he asked," Mickey shrugged. "Anyway, it's time to get down to business!" He stood up on the guard wall and waved his arms, commanding attention. With all eyes upon him, he cleared his throat and began.
"First of all, let me apologize for vanishing so suddenly last night. Someone with more sense than me wanted to make sure I got enough rest. I hope all of you got enough rest too, because the rest of the Fab Five and I are moving ahead with the quest without any more delays and…and we might need help from any of you at any time." He inhaled deeply before continuing, before uttering the words that he had hoped would never be necessary. "As of this moment, consider yourselves on call. The Disney Family is officially in a state of crisis."
Stunned stares met his pronouncement. They had come up with what some characters jokingly referred to as a "doomsday contingency plan" in the early Nineties, but no one had really believed it would ever be needed. No matter what was going on in the world, or even in the Disney Corporation, it never seemed to interrupt the characters' normal way of life. Disneyland had proven itself a true haven…so perhaps it made sense that what had finally brought the Disney Family to the state of crisis that they had never anticipated, was a grave threat to the park itself.
"Is it battle stations, then, Mickey?" asked Prince Philip grimly.
"No, not yet," Mickey replied. "But it may come to that, and soon. Maleficent's back in action now, and she's already declared her intentions to oppose me—us."
"But of course," John Darling sniffed. "It's only to be expected from the likes of her."
"What does that rotten old banshee think she needs revenge for, anyway?" wondered Anita Radcliffe crossly, setting her arms akimbo.
At that point, the entire assemblage began trailing off into disparaging chatter about Maleficent. Mickey had to give a two-fingered whistle to get their attention again.
"C'mon, fellas, try to be a little more disciplined!" he pleaded. "I know my usual way of running things is to, well, not run them, but this is different!" Chastened, the characters quieted down.
"As I was saying," Mickey continued, "Maleficent is back, and her little jaunt in 'Inpotentia,' as she calls it, hasn't done a thing to sweeten her temper. She hasn't given up on trying to ruin us, and I don't know what she'll do now that we're thwarting her original plan. But I do know that we'll need solidarity and teamwork like never before if we want a chance of prevailing against her.
"Here's the plan so far: The five of us—" He indicated himself and the rest of his core team. "—will continue to look for the crowns. I know the search would go a lot faster if everyone pitched in, but it's safer to keep our efforts low-key until we know more about what Maleficent's up to. It would be too conspicuous to have all of us roaming around at once. But I do have specific jobs for a few of you."
He fixed Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather with his resolute gaze. "Ladies, you know Maleficent better than anyone else. I want you to patrol the park and keep your eyes open for any potential sign of her. In fact, if you find anything out of the ordinary—for 1965, that is—let me know about it as soon as possible."
He turned next to Merlin, who stood up a little straighter in response to the attention. "Merlin, your library of magical volumes is unmatched in the known world. I'm giving you the job of research. Look up everything you can about time manipulation magic and anything that might relate to that 'Inpotentia' place."
"I certainly shall, Mickey," said Merlin, "although I feel I must inform you that it's not a place, exactly, more of a—"
"I know, I know," Mickey said in a slightly harassed tone. "Find out what you can. I may give you more topics to research later on as well…so I'm authorizing you to recruit as many assistants as you need. I trust your judgment. Everyone else get that?"
There was a collective murmur of affirmation. Merlin, trying to inject a little humor into the businesslike atmosphere, half-turned and began eyeballing the crowd with a speculative, conniving expression.
"And there was one more thing…" Mickey said, tapping his chin in thought. "Oh, yeah! I need a crown!"
The puzzled silence that followed was broken by the Queen of Hearts. "What's wrong with the one I gave you?"
"Nothing!" Mickey assured her. "But I think I…used it up. It's a little awkward to explain."
He had discovered it much earlier that morning, when a nagging memory of something out of place prompted him to ascend the Castle parapet and inspect the turret where the Mouseketeer Crown had been restored. The thing out of place had been the Queen's crown, perched neatly on the narrow tip of the spire, mirroring in miniature the Mouseketeer Crown at the base. He had attempted to take it, only to feel, as soon as he touched it, the same sense of tension that had connected the two crowns back on Tom Sawyer's Island. The two were still linked somehow, and Mickey thought it imprudent to mess with them. This meant, of course, that he would need another physical crown to absorb the essence of the next symbolic crown. But he didn't think he could explain it to someone who hadn't been there when the Mouseketeer Crown was collected.
"You can use my crown," Aurora offered, holding out the delicate golden tiara that she wore.
"Oh, no, dear!" Fauna gasped, setting a restraining hand on Aurora's arm.
"It's very generous of you, dear," said Flora, "but we made that crown with our magic to be a symbol of your status as a princess. We cannot allow you to give it up so readily."
"Maleficent would be sure to use it against you somehow," Merryweather clarified.
Mickey had to agree with the three Good Fairies' judgment. They were all in the mess they were in because Maleficent had discovered how to attack symbolic crowns. (Of course, all crowns are symbolic to an extent, but when an object has magic imbued in its very make, it is more susceptible to magical manipulation.)
"What about the boy's crown?" wondered Archimedes the owl with a meaningful nod at scrawny young Wart. "At the moment, it's not symbolic of anything other than the fact that he's too small to wear it!"
"That's not a bad idea," said Merlin. "Provided Wart doesn't mind, of course. What do you say, lad?"
"Sure, I-I guess so," came the diffident, slightly apologetic reply. "But I don't have it right now. We'd have to go get it."
"Great!" said Mickey, hoping to sound encouraging. "You do that, and we'll meet you back here soon. As for the rest of you, well…watch out for yourselves and each other, and try not to let what's going on get under your skin too much. And stay well-rested. And don't be too shy to let me know about any ideas you might have." There was a long gap in the monologue. "I guess that's all."
Uncertainly, even reluctantly, the gathering began to break up. Too many emotions, in too short a span by the timepiece of memory, had left them all ragged around the edges, and it was only in front of Sleeping Beauty's Castle, within easy sight of the Mouseketeer Crown, that they could be sure the year 2005 was real, and not some group delusion.
"Gosh," Mickey mused. "I hope I didn't upset everyone too much."
"They'll be fine," Donald said dismissively. "Now let's get this show on the road!"
They returned to Frontierland, in the hope that they would be able to pick up the trail to the second crown in the place where they had found the first one. The idea had a certain mythological appeal, anyway. But they were quickly sidetracked. Their path to the loading dock for the rafts to Tom Sawyer's Island took them right alongside the construction barrier for the nascent New Orleans Square, behind which something was thumping, loudly. And there was a muffled scream.
"Uh-oh," Mickey observed. "Sounds like trouble. We should investigate."
"Shouldn't we call someone else to investigate and keep on with the quest?" suggested Minnie. The thumping continued, joined by a rattling. "We don't want to lose too much time."
"Calling someone else will also take time," Mickey reasoned. "We're here now."
He located an access door in the thin temporary wall and fiddled it open. The space beyond was a mélange of construction in progress, of unpainted superstructure and half-paved ground. The noise was coming from an aluminum shed, probably built from a kit and being used to store tools and spare parts. The door was held closed with a padlocked chain, against which something was straining to get out.
More thumps. More rattles. Another muted scream.
"What do you think it is?" Goofy whispered to Donald, who sweated profusely and gulped in fear. Pluto assayed forward carefully, his nose working like a piston, until another movement inside the shed made the padlock jump with a bang, spooking him.
"It sounds like…" Minnie whimpered, "…a monster!"
A shriek of rage emanated from inside the metal structure and the whatever-it-was redoubled its efforts to escape. Even Mickey was backing away apprehensively by this point, remembering that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and that even though proverbs are metaphorical, the reason metaphors are effective as literary devices is that everyone understands the truisms contained in their literal meanings.
The weak link turned out to be the padlock itself, which hadn't been latched properly. The chain went flying, the shed doors burst open, and the fiend lurched out into the daylight.
It was feathery. It was glittery, where it wasn't covered in dust and grime. It was wearing high heels and coughing.
"And just who are you calling a monster, Minnie Mouse?" Daisy Duck demanded, catching her balance.
To Be Continued…