Crowns of the Kingdom
Chapter 15: Changes of Pace
Disney villains are fond of melodrama and thrive on instantly recognizable tropes of villainy that border on cliché. Thus, the place where they gathered when plotting as a group—a rare occurrence, since one of the defining traits of evil is an aversion to cooperation rooted in pure selfishness—was decked out with black and purple draperies, wrought-iron candelabras, furniture with legs carved to resemble clawed animal feet, and a certain skull motif in the stonework. They almost couldn't help themselves—by their standards, it was high fashion!
Most of their standards, anyway. Someone with a very different, very definite view on what constituted high fashion currently held the floor, and her low opinion of the décor crept into her voice and gestures in little ways. It didn't stop her, however, from using one of the candles to light her cigarette before she started speaking.
"Order, order," Cruella De Vil said vaguely, barely audible over the general chatter in the room. She raised her voice. "Pipe down while I'm talking, you idiots!"
"Maybe I'd better handle this," said Madam Mim from the sidelines.
"You?" Cruella scoffed. "Of course not, darling, you've got no style at all. But I could use something breakable to throw."
Mim searched the pockets of her fuchsia skirt and came up with a cracked teacup. "I have this," she offered.
"It'll do, I suppose," said Cruella, taking the cup. Then she bellowed, "I told you imbeciles to be QUIET!" and hurled the cup full-force at the opposite wall, timing the operation so that the nerve-rattling explosion of cheap china occurred in tandem with the final shouted word. It did the trick—the assembled villains stopped their various conversations dead and gave Cruella their full attention. "That's better," she said.
"You're probably wondering why I've called you all here today. Make no mistake—I don't like any of you any more than you like me. But just at the moment, I like that wretched Maleficent even less. You've all gathered what she's been up to, I hope."
"Aye," Captain Hook confirmed, swirling his brandy glass. "Turning back time all the way to 1955…though to what purpose, I can't imagine."
"Do you really think it's worth fussing over, Cruella?" asked Lady Tremaine. "After all, your presence would seem to indicate that the spell is already wearing off."
"That's not the point, darling," said Cruella with a flourish of her arms that sent tobacco embers flying. "The point is, that dratted fairy defied the Arrangement and went over all our heads. We—"
"Pish-tush to the Arrangement, I say!" J. Worthington Foulfellow interrupted airily. "Isn't it more of a formality than anything else? So we don't, as it were, step on one another's toes in our…activities?"
"Pre-cisely!" Madam Mim cut in, marching out to share the stage with Cruella. "Frankly, I'm surprised I can walk, Maleficent's stomped on my feet so hard. Do you know where Cruella and I were until the spell started wearing off? Nowhere, that's where! We didn't exist, and we knew it! It was worse than sunshine and daisies!"
A low murmur spread through the room, occasionally rising to intelligibility with phrases like "no respect" and "might have been anyone." None of the audience members cared, as such, what happened to Mim and Cruella—or anyone other than their own selves, usually—but allowing Maleficent's latest scheme to run unchecked when she was doing wrong by her fellow villains would be setting a dangerous precedent. It was, indeed, contrary to both the letter and the spirit of the Arrangement. The general thrust of the mutterings gradually shifted to "won't stand for this" and "ought to show her."
"It's working, Cruella…" Mim crooned under her breath, teeth clenched in a showy grin.
Cruella took a long drag on her cigarette before replying. "Maybe a little too well. Time to take back control." She spoke up. "There, see? Not quite so inconsequential, is it?" Her question wasn't directed particularly at Lady Tremaine, but the matronly aristocrat took it as such.
"Have out with it, woman: what do you propose we do?"
"Do?" Cruella repeated innocently. "That's what we're all here to decide, darling! This is a brainstorming session!" She gesticulated wildly as she spoke, flinging clumps of cigarette ash hazardously about the room.
The reaction to this announcement was mixed at best. Mim and Cruella having brought the ramifications of Maleficent's scheme to their attention was one thing; following this up with a demand that they all figure out what to do about it was an altogether different animal. Inevitably, the point came up again that the spell was wearing off on its own, so why, really, should any of them bother to do anything? The debate began to get loud and nasty, even for Disney villains, until something happened to stop it cold.
"The spell is not wearing off on its own," said a smooth, quiet voice from a shadowed corner of the room. Subdued though it was, that voice had the power to cut through the noise, silencing them all. Every head turned toward the corner, where glass green eyes flashed from the paleness of a severely beautiful face.
The Wicked Queen was the first of them all, and in many ways remained the worst of them all, the most imposing in a collection of infamously imposing personalities. It wasn't just that she was precise in her deadliness and absolutely uncompromising in her evil—the majesty of her bearing had yet to be matched by any of her successors. She knew not only how to wield power but how not to wield it, how to turn the world on a coolly delivered word, dispensing with the need for a lot of messy activity. They all looked up to her—this, combined with the rarity of her participation in the group affairs of the villains, secured her their undivided attention whenever she did deign to involve herself.
For a moment, an uneasy calm, electric with anticipation, filled the chamber. Then the Queen, satisfied that all eyes and ears were upon her, continued.
"It is being dismantled. Someone is deliberately undoing it, in stages."
"Are you sure?" blurted Mim, the only other magician present. "Never mind, of course you are. Any idea who's doing it?"
"Who else?" said the Queen enigmatically. "There is only one who possesses the motivation to make the attempt, the drive to persevere, and the power to succeed."
Understanding bloomed in the room like spots of ink spreading on a white cloth. The scattered mutterings began anew, but this time, only one phrase dominated: Mickey Mouse.
"Yes," the Queen said simply, and lapsed into regal silence again.
The others fell silent also, but it was more of an awkward, befuddled silence, punctuated by exchanged glances.
Captain Hook was the first to speak. "This complicates matters considerably. Regardless of our actions—or inactions—we're likely to end up taking one side or the other, even if only by default. I don't know about the rest of you, but I would find that insufferably galling."
There was a general buzz of assent. No one wanted to let Maleficent get away, as such, with her outrageous breach of inter-villain protocol, but the very thought of siding with that goody-two-shoes mouse, even passively, was revolting. Not every ethical dilemma stems from a desire to avoid doing the wrong thing.
Lady Tremaine spoke again, addressing the Wicked Queen. "Your Majesty, do you have confirmation that Mickey Mouse is undoing the spell, or is it merely reasoned speculation?"
"Our certainty in the matter is not to be questioned," the haughty monarch replied coolly. "He has already reversed one part of the spell." She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, as though extending her senses into some unseen dimension of space and time. "And he is about to do so again."
Some of the other villains scanned the air nervously.
It was the same sensation again—the feeling that the entire universe was zooming past in all directions, the crystalline singing of accelerated time. And this time, someone was there to experience it with him. Minnie clutched at Mickey's arm, gasping in astonishment. He gave her a reassuring smile and motioned for her to watch the wonders emerge.
Like a scene from a children's pop-up book, the façade of "it's a small world," with its dazzling gold-leafed accents and famous clock face, spread to its full height and breadth along the northern border of Fantasyland. To the southwest, a spray of Mardi Gras confetti heralded the debut of New Orleans Square, with its fine dining, high-class shopping, and extraordinary atmosphere.
But not all the changes were good. Shortly after the opening of New Orleans Square, there was a moment as unsettling as it was brief, when the sky darkened and a strange, eerie sound, like storm wind moaning through a hollow tree, seemed to emanate from the land itself, rising gradually in both volume and pitch before dying away. The realization of what that wailing sound represented was like a dose of lead in Mickey's veins. He had known this moment would come, but he hadn't expected it to be played out so literally: the park, the very park, was mourning Walt's passing.
He was surprised by how little it actually hurt. If he had somehow been gifted with the foreknowledge that he would have to hear Disneyland itself scream in anguish over its creator's death, he would have expected something, well, a little more soul-searing. But he felt only a fleeting chill of heaviness before the moment passed and the sky lightened again to blue, leaving him blinking away a mere film of tears.
Anyway, there wasn't time to be too upset, as the growth of the park continued unabated. The unfurling of a Jolly Roger from a prominent domed building in New Orleans Square marked the opening of Pirates of the Caribbean. This was followed by a frenzy of change in Tomorrowland—the Carousel of Progress rising out of the ground, already spinning, rows of pylons springing up to catch the PeopleMover track as it unrolled itself in lazy curves, the Rocket Jets, Tomorrowland Terrace, Adventure Thru InnerSpace…the fruits of a wholesale re-conceptualization of the area.
After that, the focus shifted back to the southwestern corner of the park as the second of the beloved New Orleans Square attractions, the Haunted Mansion, coalesced out of black mist in its fenced-off corner. A thick pine forest grew in Frontierland's Indian Village, displacing the wigwams and longhouses and sculpting the landscape into the hills and caves of Bear Country. Some of the trees then toppled in a curiously orderly fashion, stacking themselves into log-built lodges to house the new land's handful of attractions.
The transformation wound down after that; the mid-Seventies had been a slow period for the park's growth, sandwiched between the joyous innovation of the late Sixties and the roller coaster fever that hit Disneyland in the late Seventies. When the flow of time returned to normal, it was more like gently gliding to a stop than like the slam on the brakes it had been after the first jump forward.
Even so, Minnie looked pretty unnerved. "Oh…" she whimpered. "I never realized…" She trailed off, trembling. Pluto nosed her comfortingly.
"Realized what, Minnie?" Mickey prompted.
"That awful sound…it was the park, wasn't it? Crying for Walt."
"Yeah, I think it was," Mickey agreed wistfully. "It really makes you think, doesn't it? It's almost like Disneyland is alive." He let out a tiny chuckle. "I've wondered about that before, but I never really thought about what it would mean."
"I'll be happy when I manage to stop thinking about it," Minnie said dryly. "Let's go back down now."
They turned back toward the access door.
There was a pillar of green fire, and a sliver of darkness into the air that opened up into the tall, angular figure of Maleficent.
"Ah, Mickey. Still plugging away at your heroic quest, I see," she said evenly. "I don't know whether to be impressed or disappointed, but I do know that your persistence has now outlived its usefulness."
Pluto and Minnie sprang into instant action, the former bristling like a wild wolf and emitting the most threatening growl he could muster, the latter interposing herself between Mickey and the mocking Wicked Fairy, arms spread protectively. "Back off, Maleficent!" she yelled. "You're not taking him away from me again, you…you-you-you hag!"
"My word," Maleficent breathed, lips turning up. "Such harsh language. I never would have expected it of you, Minnie. But then, I never would have thought Mickey Mouse capable of murdering his beloved creator…there are surprises around every corner, are there not?"
"Murder?!" Mickey choked out. "Are you insane?"
"Walt Disney was alive. Because of your actions, he no longer is. Fairly damning circumstances, in my opinion."
Mickey felt the Castle parapet drop out from underneath him. The sky was tilting crazily, and a crescendo of white noise was filling up his awareness. It doesn't mean anything; she's just trying to get my goat, he thought. But the guilt was creeping up his spine all the same, poking at his insides with sharpened fingernails: She'll never convince me I'm a murderer. I know I did the right thing by moving forward…but maybe I should have waited, taken the chance to spend some more time with Walt.
Then another, more confident voice spoke up in the back of his head. Funny, it sounded kind of like Oswald. Who are you kidding, Mickey? It was hard enough for you to leave Walt behind as it was. If you'd seen any more of him, you never would have had the guts to give him up again. His thoughts began to clear. He became aware that Minnie was shouting at Maleficent. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard his girlfriend sound so righteously angry.
"…and I don't care if I amuse you, or however you're thinking of ridiculing me today! You will come to regret terrorizing the people I care about!"
"I look forward to seeing your pitiful attempt," Maleficent said smoothly. "It's come to something when Mickey Mouse must hide behind his fragile sweetheart. Till next time, little mice." Pluto lunged forward, snapping, but she was gone in another flare of flames. His teeth closed on empty air.
Minnie immediately spun around. "Don't you dare let her get to you, Mickey!" she said in a voice that was equal parts concern and command. "You have nothing to be ashamed of! You did the right thing, and—"
"I know," Mickey panted, reaching out to scratch Pluto's head for reassurance. "I know. I'm not as easily manipulated as she seems to think."
"You don't have to pretend," Minnie said gently. "I saw your face—she really rattled you." She scowled. "Did you hear what she called me? Fragile!"
Mickey forced a wry smile. "She doesn't know you too well, does she?"
"I should say not! I'd like to see her drive a complete circuit of the Monorail at top speed while being attacked by swarms of little flying robots!"
Her sheer petulance was oddly cheering. Maybe it was a touch of the absurd—she had just come away from a tense face-off with Maleficent, and instead of being breathless with fear or rage or triumph, she was annoyed at having been called names. With a small shudder, Mickey threw off his lingering insecurity and smiled for real. "So," he said casually. "I believe we had an appointment with the ground?"
"Don't say it like that," said Minnie. "That makes it sound like we're about to be thrown out of a plane."
"Compared to what we've been going through," Mickey sighed, "getting thrown out of a plane would be a picnic."
Central Plaza was, once again, a site of jubilation, as characters poured out of Fantasyland to greet their newly restored comrades. The rescued group was a small one (animation had been a slow business in the late Sixties and early Seventies) but this in no way diminished the joyous spirit of reunion.
Mickey let his gaze sweep the area, taking in their faces. He felt his own expression harden slightly, for among those being gleefully greeted were some of the most innocent and inoffensive members of the Disney Family: Duchess and her three kittens, Mowgli, Christopher Robin and the friends from the Hundred-Acre Wood. It came as no surprise, of course, but Mickey realized that he had never actually gone over a mental list of who must still be trapped in Inpotentia…and now, thinking specifically of these childlike souls suffering in that dismal void, he was suddenly filled with a quiet, protective rage against the evildoer who was responsible. He could scarcely fathom the depth of depravity it would take to wish harm on the likes of Marie the kitten, or meek little Piglet.
After the first moment, Minnie and Pluto darted past him to add their welcomes and gestures of affection to the celebration. Mickey hung back, eyeballing the gathering and making a tally: who was present, who had yet to be rescued. He didn't want any more rude awakenings.
He thought of the Dispirations, limitless in number and infinitely adaptable, completely under Maleficent's sway. The Wicked Fairy had amply demonstrated that she was not all talk, and he had no reason to think that would change just because he had managed to jump her nasty psychological hurdle. If anything, she would answer his persistence with ever more insidious and brutal tactics, and with the Dispirations in her service, her threat was more severe than it had ever been.
So far—so far—she had directed her attacks at him and the rest of the Sensational Six. Her logical next move would be to target the innocent bystanders, the characters currently rejoicing in Central Plaza. And I can't protect them all at once, he realized with a sinking heart. But then he looked again, and reconsidered. But maybe I don't have to…
Inside the mouse's ever-busy head, a new plan began to formulate.
The Dispirations were restless, to the extent that they were capable of feeling such things. They milled about the lair like worker bees on a honeycomb, chittering amongst themselves in voices just outside the range of conscious perception. Some still wore the aquatic or robotic bodies they had adopted in Tomorrowland, while others had reverted to their default formless state. A few had even adapted themselves to the environs of Maleficent's fortress, and taken the shapes of rats or lizards.
From the comforting Gothic splendor of her stone throne, Maleficent watched her bizarre servants dispassionately, resting her chin on one hand and stroking an agitated Diabolo with the other. At length, she sat up straighter and said "How strange they are, pet. I cannot help but wonder what drives them, now that they are no longer starved of reality."
Diabolo bristled his head feathers and made a disdainful croak.
Maleficent sniggered. "Jealousy becomes you not, Diabolo. I confess that their performance thus far has been…unsatisfactory, but that may be due as much to poor planning on my part as to poor execution on theirs. I rebuked them for their lack of subtlety while still sending them to assault Mickey Mouse and his companions directly. I really should take my own advice."
She rose to her feet, grasped her staff where it leaned against the arm of the throne, and tapped it sharply on the flagged floor, calling the Dispirations to attention.
"Thus far," she intoned, "we have faced the enemy head-on, with the result that they continue to cry defiance. It is time to try a new strategy. When I send you again into the park, do not seek out our foes. Instead, let them come to you…but make it so that wherever they may go, there some of you will be." She let her voice take on a purring, cajoling tone. "You have nourished yourselves on dreams of the future, and acquired the substance and power denied you for so long. But I have so much more to offer you. There are other dreams here, nearly infinite in scope and ripe for the taking. If you have grown this strong on one small subset of the magic of this place, just imagine what you will gain by partaking of all of it."
She paused for dramatic effect. It was more for her benefit than that of the Dispirations, which were still much too uncomplicated to get anything more out of language than its straightforward meaning. For Maleficent's purposes, that was enough. Excitement—or whatever it was that passed for excitement in their rudimentary minds—swept the multitude like wind, leaving the Dispirations ruffled and noisy in its wake.
Maleficent began once again to open the portal that would release them into the world. "Go, my minions," she said. "I give you all of Disneyland to be your succor and your territory. Take from it whatever you require…in return, I ask only that you remain alert to the presence of our enemies, and attack to destroy such of them as cross your paths."
A sense of affirmation instantly rose from the swarm of creatures. Maleficent smiled, reveling in the absoluteness of her influence over them, and permitted them to pass through the portal. Then she closed it behind them and settled back onto her throne.
Diabolo cawed inquiringly.
"I really couldn't say," she admitted, letting him hop onto her hand. "But I doubt it matters. They seem content to let me do the thinking for them." She sighed comfortably. "That initial setback has turned out to be a blessing in disguise, has it not? I had hoped only to nullify Disneyland's progress, but with the Dispirations under my command, I have the opportunity to do so much more…to remake the park in my own image, as it were. They can be anything I want them to be.
"What do you think, pet? What would Disneyland be like if all the dreams it was built on…were nightmares?"
To Be Continued…
A/N: Sorry once again about the painfully long time between updates. I would make excuses, except that they'd all be the same ones I've used before: writer's block, being extremely busy, getting distracted by other projects, etc. You don't want to hear all that, you just want me to update more frequently! Am I right? Again, I promise to do my best, but my muse is a fickle one, so I really can't promise anything except that I will finish the story. I have the end very clearly in mind; it's the stuff between now and then that's being slow to develop.
In the meantime, my faithful reader and reviewer Aquarian Wolf has launched a wonderful story, "Welcome to the Tragic Kingdom," that I would recommend for anyone who is enjoying "Crowns." AW is a very talented writer with a gift for expanding on the canon depictions of familiar characters, and she gives the Magic Kingdom the dramatic treatment it so clearly deserves and is so unjustly denied by the suits at the Walt Disney Corporation. Go check it out! Go, go!
—Karalora
