Crowns of the Kingdom

Chapter 11: Myriad Legions

Ideas, as any creative person will agree, are not merely the products of the minds that conceive them. The good ones have a life of their own—some might even say a will of their own. Artists of all kinds speak of the irresistible drive to create, as though a resolve other than their own spurs their imaginations. The experience of having a notion come from seemingly nowhere and captivate one's thoughts, demanding to be developed, is a common one. Minds are as much subject to ideas as vice-versa.

The Dispirations, at least until Maleficent took them into her service, were what remained of those ideas that had failed to impress upon their creators their need to be, and been lost, their own will to persist the only thing sparing them from total dissolution into the formless matrix of Inpotentia. But they were not the only unrealized ideas inhabiting that void of awesome potential. What of those brainchildren that made it further? The ones remembered, even if they were never cultivated, or the ones partially developed? What of the dreams that did become reality, only to later fade into obscurity, remembered largely through hearsay?

As the aftereffects of Maleficent's spell continued to weaken the intangible barriers between "is" and "might be," one such being sat up and took notice.


For several long minutes, the only sounds were the chirps of the Sea Wolf's instruments, the muted rush of currents outside, and six very alarmed heartbeats. There was no need for anyone to say it, because they were all thinking it: What are those things?

The creatures massed about the Rocket Crown came in a bewildering variety, no two quite alike. Most were dark-colored, blending into the dimness until they darted into the glare of the spotlights, but here and there were glimpses of sickly pale, like ghosts sliding through the water. The horde was spangled with flashing reflections from their eyes and spots of phosphorescence like those of deep-sea fishes. Indeed, many of them resembled, to a greater or lesser extent, some of the uglier creatures of the abyss—viperfish with teeth like a battery of sewing needles, cavern-mouthed anglers and gulper eels, translucent squid with outrageously long tentacles and bulging eyeballs. Others were goblinesque, with grasping webbed hands and glowering slimy faces, undeniably aquatic despite their humanoid shapes. Still others looked like bizarre hybrids of two or more forms, the whole somehow more frightening than the mismatched parts.

None of them were very large—two to three feet long seemed to be the average—but the sheer number of them, combined with the horror of their appearance and their clearly aggressive demeanor, more than made up for their lack of individual size. To venture among them would be suicidal madness.

"This is Maleficent's doing," Mickey said with steel in his voice. "Goofy, were you able to find a diving suit?"

"Mickey!" gasped Minnie. "You're not planning on going out there, are you?"

"Someone has to," he said. "We need that crown, no matter how hard she tries to stop us. Well, Goofy?"

"Aw, shucks, Mickey!" the gangly dog whimpered. "I don't want you goin' out there and puttin' yourself in harm's way either!"

"I promise I'll be careful," he replied gently. "And anyway, have you noticed how those creatures are staying away from the crown itself? If I can just reach it, everything should be all right."

"I don't know," Donald said dubiously. "That's a pretty big if. Those things look really mean…and there's thousands of them!"

"It's a risk I'll have to take. So, Goofy—the suit?"

"Right," Goofy sighed, returning to the heap of miscellaneous equipment that had tumbled out of the storage lockers. The thing he rummaged out of the pile could almost as easily have been a spacesuit, with a spherical helmet, iron-encased boots, and a long air hose in lieu of an oxygen tank. It looked old enough to have been manufactured by Jules Verne himself, but fortunately well maintained, like a treasured family heirloom.

"Nice work, Goofy!" Mickey said, trying to sound perky and optimistic. "I'd like to see a puny little fish bite through that!"

"Are you sure it's safe?" asked Daisy. "It looks practically antique! Will it even fit you?"

"Only one way to find out," said Mickey, taking the buff-colored suit from Goofy—and immediately collapsing under the weight of all the ironwork. "Yikes! This thing weighs a ton!"

"Oh, Mickey! Let me help you!" Minnie cooed, rushing toward him. Donald joined her, announcing with some pride that this was a task he most definitely was trained to perform.

The diving suit was very complicated to put on; each piece was reinforced with watertight seals where it joined its neighbors, and these had to be clamped in place with screws and bolts. Under the pressure of deep water, the slightest leak would be disastrous. It seemed far too baggy at first, until they realized that the extra room was for air to be pumped in through the hose, not only for breathing but to counteract that same pressure. It really was a lot like a spacesuit, even if some of the problems it was designed to tackle were the opposite of those found in the vacuum of outer space.

It wasn't comfortable to wear, although Mickey was sure he'd be able to ignore it once he was outside the submarine and had more important things to worry about. The helmet was especially awkward—too small to accommodate his ears in their normal position, it forced the iconic appendages to fold against his head in a way that wasn't too bad for now but would almost certainly become a pinching ache later on. He knew it couldn't be helped; a more capacious globe would have been impossible to balance for the extra weight and girth. His manual dexterity was much reduced by the thick gloves, making it a lucky thing that he wouldn't need much of it to carry Wart's crown out, and the Rocket Crown back.

The other end of the air hose was attached to a pumping device that was, happily, rather less old than the suit itself, and ran on electricity. Daisy found the airlock leading to the outside, with a small circular aperture between the inner doors for the hose to run through. There was no such hole in the outer doors, leading them to conclude that they were meant to remain open while someone was working outside. Donald worked out the airlock control pad, and suddenly it was time for Mickey to go and face the swarm of mysterious marine monsters guarding the crown.

He tucked Wart's crown under one arm, stood before the airlock, and faced his comrades. "Well…" he said nervously, trying to think of some brave words.

Minnie lunged forward to hug him as best she could through the bulky diving suit. "Just be careful!" she commanded him in the very fierce voice she used when she was scared and trying not to be.

"You got it, Minnie," Mickey replied. "Oh, and Donald? Until I get back, you're in charge."

Donald nodded and opened the airlock, and Mickey strode inside. It was small, about the size of an office cubicle, and looked smaller through the eight-inch circle of glass that was Mickey's window on the world while he was wearing the diving helmet. Goofy started up the air pump, and the suit began to swell. Then Donald closed the airlock doors, the little round aperture pressed snugly around the hose, and Mickey gulped, feeling a bit claustrophobic on at least two levels, and anxious to get this over with.

There was a mechanical grumble, and seawater began pouring into the airlock through pipes in the walls. Mickey shifted his grip on Wart's crown, hoping the moisture and salt wouldn't ruin the velvet and ermine, and focused on remaining calm as the chamber slowly filled. The water rose up around him, all the way to the ceiling…and then the outer doors of the airlock slid open and Mickey Mouse sallied forth.

Walking was an exercise in strength and patience, because for all that it freely flows, water is many hundreds of times as dense as air. The weight of the diving suit, keeping Mickey's feet firmly planted on the sea bottom, didn't help matters. He pressed on, the air hose paying out behind him, plodding toward the Rocket Crown and its ferocious-looking sentinels.

It wasn't long before they reacted to his presence. The first one to break ranks and charge at Mickey was one of the hybrids, a blue-grey monster with numerous crablike legs and a fringe of jellyfish tendrils. It scrabbled menacingly at him with all of these, and if not for the protection of the suit he would have felt quite endangered. As it was, he was able to brush the creature away with little effort and continue forward undaunted. A few more followed up with attacks of their own, to no greater effect. Feeling better about the prospect of walking among them, and getting the hang of maneuvering in the cumbersome suit, Mickey picked up his pace a little.

Now that he was no longer so timid of the eerie beasts, Mickey took the opportunity to regard them with a little objectivity. That Maleficent was responsible for their presence, possibly even their existence, was definite, but what were they? The sheer variety of their shapes was astounding, the only commonalities being that all were fearsome, and all looked right at home in the ocean. As Mickey drew closer to the main part of the throng, he became aware that some were not even animal in nature, resembling animate tangles of seaweed or—strangest of all—small eddies and whirlpools that somehow had an existence independent of the water around them. In fact, he realized, glancing around the shifting cloud of their bodies, they seemed to represent anything and everything that humanity had ever found to fear about the sea.

They grew more agitated the closer he got to the crown, but no more attacked him, though they did try to prevent him from passing by clustering more tightly between him and the prize. They were reckless in their movements; as he watched, a dusky shark-like fish crashed headlong into something pale and soft-bodied…but instead of glancing off each other, the two fused into one creature, with some features of both. Perhaps that explained the hybrids, but it added another dimension of mystery to the beings.

Shaking his head to dispel the bafflement, Mickey plowed on through the seething wall of monsters attempting to bar his way. The further he got, the more concerted their efforts to hold him back became, but in the diving suit he massed more than any ten of them, and they seemed to have lost the will to attack him outright. He soon reached the eye of the storm, the area immediately surrounding the Rocket Crown where the creatures, for whatever reason, dared not go.

Even in the harsh, actinic glare of the Sea Wolf's spotlights, it was lovely, its simple, clean-lined design well suited to the ultramodern look of Tomorrowland. With its slender points molded in the shape of the Moonliner and joined by arcs of pearly orbs evoking distant moons and planets, it was the perfect representation of the world of the future…and of Disneyland's second decade, when Tomorrowland was the hottest area in the park. Back in the Fifties and Sixties, of course, everyone had assumed that the most immediate, dramatic technological improvements would be in the area of transportation and space exploration, hence the profusion of vehicle-based attractions. Hardly anyone had expected that communications and computing would advance the fastest.

Mickey approached the Rocket Crown and prepared to merge it with Wart's crown, when an abrupt change in his surroundings caught his notice. He was suddenly, devastatingly aware that the monsters had stopping circling and arranged themselves in a dense formation around him, each one directly facing him, and motionless save for the flutter of gills and whatever movements were needed to maintain its position. Waiting…

His pulse leaped, but there was really no other course he could take. He lofted Wart's crown defiantly, letting them all get an eyeful, and then brought it into forceful "contact" with the intangibility of the Rocket Crown.

As before, there was an explosion of brilliant light, radiating from the two crowns in a surge of sheer white-gold glory, accompanied by shockwaves that drove the looming creatures back several feet and even rocked the Sea Wolf a bit. Mickey stood firm until the display was over, glanced down quickly to confirm the Rocket Crown in his hands, and then turned to make a mad dash for the safety of the submarine before his opponents recovered from their shakeup.

Only, naturally, he couldn't dash. The water was too thick, the diving suit far too weighty. Before he made it three steps, they were upon him in a mob of teeth and claws and tentacles, and all he could think was that he should have known it had been too easy…


Aboard the Sea Wolf, the rest of the Sensational Six were in a state of near panic over Mickey's predicament. They could no longer see him for the throng of attacking creatures, but there was no missing the Rocket Crown when it tumbled out of the fray, glinting in the stark spotlight. Then it too was lost to sight as a contingent of aquatic horrors descended upon it.

"What'll we do?" Goofy wailed. "We gotta help Mickey, but there aren't any more divin' suits!"

"Can we pull him back using the air hose?" asked Minnie.

"That's a swell idea!" said Goofy. "Hang on, Mickey, we're gonna reel ya back in!" He scrambled over to the airlock and yanked on the hose with all his might, to no effect.

"Stop that!" Donald snapped. "If it was loose enough to move, it would leak! We'll have to find another way."

"What about the torpedoes?" suggested Daisy. "We can blast those hideous little freaks right out of the water!"

"No way!" said Minnie. "We'd be sure to blast Mickey too! We need something more precise…like a miracle!"

Pluto, who had been nosing around in the piled equipment from the storage lockers, sat up and barked sharply. The others looked over to see the tawny dog holding a harpoon in his teeth.

"That's great, Pluto," said Daisy, "but how will we get it out there to be of any use?"

"I've got it!" said Donald. He snatched the spear from Pluto, took a hard look at the disturbing scene outside, and ran to a circular hatch in the side of the submarine, tossing his hat to one side. Working quickly, he opened it and made as though to crawl through.

"Donald, what are you doing?" Minnie gawked. "That's not a—a torpedo tube, is it?"

Donald gave her a look of understated terror. "If you've got a better idea, I'd really like to hear it. This is the only way I can think of to get outside in time to help Mickey."

"That's crazy!" Daisy burst out. "Just because you're a waterfowl doesn't mean you have gills! Donald Duck, I forbid you to…under no circumstances are you to…" She trailed off, staring hopelessly at her petrified but resolved boyfriend, who had probably never done anything this courageous before in his life, and might never have the guts to do so again, especially not if she made it any harder on him than it already was. She stepped forward shyly. "Go get 'em, tiger."

"Thanks, Daisy," said Donald. "The launch button is on the main control panel. It's the big red one." He hoisted himself up into the tube. "Until Mickey and I get back, you're in charge." Then he pulled the hatch closed after himself.

Daisy made sure it was secure before heading up to the operator's platform. To her credit, she hesitated only briefly before pressing the launch button and sending the duck she loved whizzing like an unprotected arrow out into the unforgiving environment of a deep sea teeming with unfathomable enemies.

"Daisy?" Minnie called up to her in a voice thick with worry. "Are you all right?"

"Minnie," the other responded softly. "We are both the luckiest girls on Earth."

"Wow!" Goofy exclaimed, watching out the portholes. "Look at Donald go!"

Mickey had been right, back in Frontierland of 1955: Donald was indeed the best swimmer of the six of them. It was partly anatomy, partly training, and partly pure stubbornness that made him so. Unencumbered by anything more than the harpoon and the shirt on his back, he maneuvered easily through the water, jabbing furiously at any creatures he encountered. He estimated that he could hold his breath for three minutes, at which point he would have to make for the airlock, with or without Mickey, and trust the others to manage things after that.

Minnie's idea to retrieve her sweetheart by means of the air hose had been a good one, needing only a slight modification concerning the location of the one doing the retrieving. Donald kicked his way over to the long lifeline, grabbed it with his free hand, and hauled on it. There was no resistance whatsoever, and his surprise at discovering this gave way to shock when the severed end of it, streaming bubbles from the pump, emerged from the knot of frenzied monsters. He quickly knotted it off a few feet from the end, to prevent any more air escaping uselessly from the submarine, and charged into the swarm, hellbent on rescuing his best friend by any means necessary.

Thirty seconds and counting.

Several beasts assaulted him before he had quite reached the main mass of them, lashing out with a horrendous array of natural weapons. It was then that Donald began to feel the first pangs of real fear—not mere nervous dread, but genuine terror—for every blow the creatures landed brought with it not only a physical sting, but also a mental one, an instantaneous experience of sensory misery shot directly into the most vulnerable part of his psyche. Donald had to suppress the reflex to holler in pain and fright, lest he run out of breath right then and there.

He laid about himself with the harpoon, his free hand, and both feet, and was rewarded when his adversaries retreated, hissing with displeasure. His victory was only temporary, however. Before his disbelieving eyes, the creatures huddled together, wrapping various appendages around each other as though participating in a disturbing group hug, and then merged with each other, their forms melting together like chunks of wax in a double boiler, until they were one composite monster, as large and as fearsomely armed as all its individual components combined. With an alien shriek of rage, it lunged at Donald, bristling with fangs and spines and razor-edged fins and whiplike tentacles and malice.

Panic took over, and the duck fled before his attacker, adrenaline propelling him forward at speeds normally associated only with sail-backed sport fishes—directly toward the main cluster of creatures. As he approached, his pursuer snapping at his heels, a few of them noticed and turned ominously to face him, leaving him sandwiched between perils. Operating on pure survival instinct, Donald made a sharp upward turn at the very last instant, and the horror chasing him plowed right into the crowd of its fellows, dispersing many of them. Donald pulled up short, realizing that the immediate danger was over…and caught a glimpse of Mickey, trapped in the center of the horde.

The mouse was still barely holding his own against the monsters, but he was in serious trouble. For starters, he had only one hand to fight with, since the other was occupied with clamping his severed air hose shut. (Either he hadn't had the presence of mind to tie it, or he hadn't been able to.) Even with that hole plugged, the diving suit was seeping fine bubbles from every joint, and there was a minute crack in the glass of the helmet. Several creatures were clinging to Mickey, worrying at the suit in a relentless effort to tear it wide open, while others battered at him from all sides, breaking his concentration.

Donald took in all this in the split second before the scattered beasts closed in again, cutting off his view of his friend. With new resolve, he adjusted his grip on the harpoon and literally dove into the fray, ignoring the snatches of pain they dealt to him…and the faint nagging he was beginning to get from his lungs. He had been outside the submarine for going on two minutes at this point—two minutes of strenuous activity.

His opponents were savage, to be sure, but not half so savage as Donald Duck when he was angry. And few things made him angrier than threats to his loved ones. He wasn't sure what effect—if any—his aggressive flailing was having on the creatures other than to shove them out of the way, but that was enough for him. In very short order, he had broken through the barrier and come within arm's reach of the struggling Mickey.

"Donald?" Mickey gaped, his voice sounding oddly tinny from inside the helmet. "Are you crazy? What are you doing out here with no—"

Donald tried to communicate, via frenetic hand gestures, that he was there to help and had only about a minute of air left, and doubted that Mickey had much more than that, but he didn't feel he was getting his meaning across. It didn't help that both their attentions were divided between each other and the persistently attacking creatures, more of which were fusing together into larger, ever more outlandishly equipped monsters.

"Don't worry about me!" Mickey commanded as an armored beast plowed into his helmet, lengthening the crack in the glass. "Find the Rocket Crown!"

Nuts to that! Donald thought, wishing he could say it out loud. He was really starting to feel the lack of oxygen, and surmised that Mickey was too, judging by the way he was slowing down. Water was beginning to leach, one slow droplet at a time, through the crack in the diving helmet. It was a wonder the glass plate hadn't already shattered altogether under the pressure. Something almost as large as Mickey himself, with suckered tentacles and blade-like claws, attached itself to him and began methodically sawing at the material of the suit.

"Go!" Mickey shouted breathlessly.

Donald firmly shook his head, darted in close, seized the cut end of the air hose with his free hand, and made a mad break for the submarine, desperation providing him the strength to move at speed even with such a weighty cargo…not quite enough speed, however, to outdistance the swiftest of their assailants for long. As the first wave of pursuing creatures overtook them, Donald lost his grip on Mickey, who quickly sank once again to the sea bottom.

By a surprising turn of fortune, he landed not two feet away from where a small group of the monsters were flocking around the Rocket Crown. They seemed to be trying to make off with it, but having no success because of a certain lack of organization. Mickey didn't waste the opportunity to retrieve his prize, even though maintaining his hold on it required both hands, and that meant there was nothing holding the air hose shut. Not that it mattered much by now—water was trickling in at a dozen places already where the creatures had damaged the suit, and those places were growing in both size and number under the ministrations of the thing with the bladed claws. Hedging his bets, Mickey held his breath while he still had some good air left, held the crown close to his chest, and waited for Donald to reach him again.

Donald, meanwhile, was in the process of executing what he thought (hoped) was a fairly clever escape plan. The length of air hose still attached to the Sea Wolf was swelling like a balloon behind the knot he had tied in it—those aboard had not switched off the pump. Not bothering to fight off the monsters except as necessary to keep moving—he had come to realize that the only real safety from them was in the confines of the submarine—he made a beeline for the hose, grabbed the slack end of it, and just as directly returned to where Mickey was huddled, protecting the Rocket Crown with everything he had left. Donald made a loop of the hose around Mickey, held on tight, and jabbed the harpoon into the inflated portion.

It worked! The resulting air jet, with a little steering, carried them straight for the sub and its invitingly open airlock, much faster than Donald could swim even on his best day. He was exhausted and his head was pounding and his lungs were burning for air, but he couldn't suppress a smirk of victory as he risked a look back over his shoulder to see the creatures falling behind. They were going to make it!

He had reckoned without the blade-clawed beast, which was still clinging to Mickey and which, just as they came within mere yards of the airlock, sliced through the loop of hose binding the hapless mouse to the makeshift vehicle and began dragging him off in the opposite direction!

Donald screamed out the last of his air in dismay and made a swiping grab for his friend, but caught only the Rocket Crown, which Mickey had dropped in the shock of being abducted. In the next instant, the jetting bubbles drove Donald into the airlock. Before he could act in his weakened, oxygen-deprived state, the doors closed, separating them.


"Okay!" Minnie piped. "The outer doors are fully shut! I'm going to open the inner doors!"

"Wait!" Daisy protested. "Don't you have to drain the airlock first?"

"There's no time!" was Minnie's frantic reply. "We'll just have to get wet!" She stabbed at the control panel in consternation. "Come on! Override, override!"

After an interminable moment, the airlock opened, spilling a couple thousand gallons of water into the submarine's cabin, along with the Rocket Crown and a very bedraggled, half-drowned Donald Duck.

"Oh! Poor baby!" Daisy squealed, hurrying through the sloshing brine to her boyfriend's aid. He coughed up about a pint of seawater and sat up wearily. "Oh, you brave, heroic duck!" She showered him with kisses.

"But where's Mickey?" Minnie demanded. "Donald, he was with you! I saw him! Where is he?"

Donald snapped back to full alertness. "Mickey!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet and stumbling through the now swampy cabin to the starboard portholes. The others followed, dreading what they would see.

The creatures were still there, milling about rapidly as though distressed. A few of them, including the blade-clawed one, lay motionless on the ocean floor among the disconnected pieces of the ravaged diving suit. But of Mickey Mouse there was no visible sign at all. He seemed to have vanished without a trace.

"No," Minnie whispered, tears beginning to spill from her eyes.

To Be Continued…

A/N: This chapter represents a personal record for me: the longest and probably the most intense action sequence I have ever written. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I made myself nervous writing it, either, even knowing what the outcome would be. I can only imagine what it must be like for all of you out there in Readerland, sitting on a cliffhanger like this one, which is why I will make every effort to get the next chapter out quickly so you don't bite your nails too deeply fretting over poor Mickey's fate.

On another note, I confess to invoking Cartoon Physics for a few of the events in this chapter. So if you notice something that seems implausible according to cold, hard science (I'm looking at you, DemonicK!), it was probably deliberate and not worth worrying about.

Anyway, there's more action-y goodness to come! Stay tuned!