Crowns of the Kingdom
Chapter 21: Rounding Up the Band, Part 2
Mickey tottered as far as Tomorrowland Terrace (completely ignoring the robot Dispiration that was still wheeling about the Monotrail track) and half collapsed into a seat at one of the tables. From that position, the anomalous outline of Space Mountain was hidden behind the comfortingly solid and rightfully placed Rocket Jets, and he could sit and think for a few minutes without its transparent form dominating his attention. Daisy took the seat across from him, sighing in anticipation of a delay. Pluto lay down obediently under the table.
"It must have something to do with the memories," Mickey muttered, hunching over the small tabletop and gently striking his forehead with the heels of his hands.
"Yeah, probably," Daisy agreed airily. "So then, weren't we going to see Sam and Ollie?"
"I need to think!" said Mickey, barely hearing her. "I gotta figure out what this means!"
"Hey," said Daisy, forcibly getting his attention by grabbing his hands and leaning at him over the table. "Conundrums can wait. We already had something important we were doing, remember?"
"I know," Mickey sighed, re-taking possession of his hands. "It's just that…it feels like every time we make some progress on this quest, some other problem or mystery pops up to make things even messier."
"Mickey," she said without a trace of irony, "welcome to life. I can't even get my water heater fixed without about a hundred complications; what made you think an epic quest to save Disneyland from Maleficent would be any more straightforward?"
Mickey cracked a smile. "Well, when you put it like that…"
"Maybe we'll figure out exactly why what looks a glass Space Mountain is sitting over there two years before any sort of Space Mountain should be there, and maybe we won't. As soon as we can get the next crown onto the Castle and move ahead to 1985, it'll be a moot point anyway, right?"
The smile grew a fraction of an inch wider. "I guess I can't argue with that. But I should warn you, I won't be able to stop thinking about it until we do figure it out, and I may bring it up from time to time." Re-energized, he hopped to his feet, and the other two followed suit. "Now, let's go recruit some more musicians!"
Carousel Theater, then as now, was separated from Tomorrowland Terrace only by a broad, open walkway. Nonetheless, the three of them took time and care crossing it, lest they attract the attention of hostile and dangerous Dispirations. They hadn't seen any so far, other than the bizarrely aimless one on the Monorail track, but that didn't mean there weren't more around—Tomorrowland was more complex than it had been in 1965, with more small structures, more nooks and crannies in which smallish things could hide, more opportunities for consummate shapeshifters to camouflage themselves. And it had also changed plenty between 1975 and 2005, making their memories of the details, and hence their ability to tell a cluster of neon tubing that belonged from one that didn't, less reliable.
The theater was spinning—transitioning between acts of its whimsical show—as they reached it, which meant they had to wait a moment for the doors to open. A very long, very tense moment. They kept their backs to the red and white striped wall of the building while they waited, scanning their surroundings for any sign of movement.
Those who seek are likely to find. Something stirred in the doorway of the adjacent building, which housed the Mission to Mars attraction. The building itself gleamed with fresh, clean paint—Mission to Mars was brand new in 1975. But the figures gathering in the sheltering arch of its entrance were definitely not an intended part of the experience.
Mickey, Daisy, and Pluto froze, trying to look like part of the scenery themselves, an effort that was doomed to failure if the creatures emerging from Mission to Mars had any decent vision at all…which they almost certainly did, inasmuch as they clearly had eyes. Eyestalks, at any rate. Or were those antennae? More of the creatures' bodies came into view as they ventured out of the building, revealing bright green, vaguely scaly skin and weedy fingers clutching sinister-looking devices.
"What are they?" Daisy hissed as quietly as she could.
"I think they're Martians," Mickey replied just as quietly.
"MARTIANS?!" Daisy erupted. Several pairs of antennae/eyestalks swiveled their way. "Uh-oh," Daisy apologized.
Fortunately, just at that instant, the theater's rotation came to a halt and the theater doors opened. It took less than three seconds for Mickey to usher the other two inside and dart in after them, slamming the doors shut again in the process. They listened briefly, trying to determine whether the aliens would try to follow, but didn't hear anything out of the ordinary.
"Sorry about blowing our cover like that," Daisy sighed. "It's just that…Mission to Mars is about what Mars is really like, not some science-fiction version with little green men! Those things shouldn't even be here!"
"Daisy, none of the Dispirations should be here," Mickey reminded her. "This whole situation shouldn't be. But I know what you meant…and it doesn't matter. Those things are ideas gone bad, and they change to fit their surroundings, and right now, they're surrounded by—"
"—memories of Disneyland," Daisy finished for him. "I guess little green aliens are no more out-of-place in Mission to Mars than…squid-lobster things are on the Submarine Voyage. It all depends on what people think about when they come here." She pursed her beak. "You'd think after the fireworks and the monkeys, I wouldn't be so surprised anymore."
There was a brief silence before Pluto suddenly made an urgent noise and began pawing at Mickey's knees.
"You're right, boy," Mickey chuckled. "We've dawdled long enough. Let's go talk to Sam and Ollie."
They continued into the quiet theater.
The Haunted Mansion and Pirates of the Caribbean lie at opposite ends of New Orleans Square, which occupies the southernmost portion of the outer shore of the Rivers of America, between Adventureland, Frontierland, and Critter Country (or Bear Country, as it was called in 1975). The most straightforward route between the two attractions is along the waterfront…but Minnie, Donald, and Goofy decided to take the roundabout back way, past the Disneyland Railroad station and through the boutique-lined streets of the Square, with the reasoning that they would be less exposed that way.
It wasn't until they had turned onto Royal Street and found themselves in what amounted to a narrow alley, with two-story buildings looming on either side and plenty of twisting side passages, that the opposite possibility was raised: "On the other hand," Minnie said in a deliberately conversational tone, "if we had gone the other way and any Dispirations had tried to attack us, we would have seen them coming well in advance."
Her point was well taken. The three of them drew together into a triangular, backs-to-the-center configuration that precluded the prospect of anything sneaking up on them, and continued up the street like that. It slowed them down considerably and they tripped slightly over each other's feet every few seconds, but at least they were invulnerable to surprise attacks…which was a good thing, because it was apparent to all three of them that the nooks and crannies of Royal Street were full of Dispirations.
A cursory examination would never have revealed them. Most of them were in their formless state, recognizable only as the suggestions of shadows in full sunlight and whispers of breezes in perfectly still air. The few that had taken on solid shapes lurked on the wrought-iron balconies of the area's second story, blending in with the fanciful themed décor: homunculi made of coiled Mardi Gras beads, with Carnivale masks for faces; skeletal animals bedecked with rooster feathers and gaudy rhinestones; potted kudzu vines sloooooowwwwwwwwly creeping their way up the walls and over the railings of the buildings. But to the three characters inching their way through the avenue, the profusion of the things was obvious.
The Dispirations were watching them as they passed, with eyes like cut gems or clusters of sequins or gaps in leaves or simply eyeballs, as the case might be. They weren't behaving aggressively—so far—but they murmured and chattered suggestively to each other as they watched, in wordless "languages" that sounded like the clicking of dry bones or the rustle of leaves.
"Why aren't they attacking?" Minnie wondered.
"Maybe they're friendly?" Goofy suggested hopefully. "Like that Hydrophobia critter over at Merlin's."
"Not likely," said Donald. "Don't make any sudden moves." His personal theory was that the Dispirations were getting smarter—more foresighted and less impulsive—but he didn't say so in case he was wrong.
By and by, they reached the north end of Royal Street and were able to resume walking normally. By that time, however, the Dispirations were starting to creep out of the side alleys and down from the balconies, the amorphous ones rippling into solidity like their comrades.
"Okay, now we can start making sudden moves," said Donald, and bolted for the entrance to Pirates of the Caribbean.
"Donald! Don't—" Minnie started, but he had already taken off. Moreover, the Dispirations, enticed by his flight, were beginning to give chase in earnest. "Come on," Minnie groaned to Goofy, pulling him by the hand as she broke into a brisk jog.
Donald needn't have been in quite such a hurry—with one exception, these Dispirations couldn't move all that fast. The exception was bad enough, however: a stream of wind that swept over them with a sensation of stifling Louisiana summer heat and the harsh squeal of an out-of-tune alto saxophone. It served as a stern reminder of the true danger of the Dispirations—their ability to pummel one's very senses with a mere touch.
It was with relief that they reached the interior portion of the Pirates of the Caribbean queue and slammed the door shut behind them, shutting the thing out. But they didn't relax just yet—for all they knew, the ride's show building was also swarming with Dispirations. They spent a tense moment just waiting to see if anything would attack them now that they were inside.
Nothing did. To all appearances, the queue was empty except for them. The only sounds to be heard were the usual ones—the slosh of the water in the flume and the bumping of the boats, the mellow ambient music, and the droning of the night creatures from the bayou area ahead.
Music. Right. That was, after all, what they were there for—to recruit some pirate musicians.
"Should we just get in one of the boats?" Goofy wondered.
"I suppose so," said Minnie. "This isn't like the Haunted Mansion—I don't imagine anyone's going to meet us."
"Not anyone we would want to meet, anyway," Donald added.
They made their way through the queue to the loading area, a detailed mock-up of a swampside dock labeled "Lafitte's Landing." Beyond it, to their left as they faced the flume, the bayou scene spread out in all its twilit splendor, dark, cool, damp…and real.
Minnie noticed it a split second before the others, and with a gasp whipped her head to the right to look back up the queue area. Incredibly, all was as it should be in that direction—the stem-to-stern procession of ride boats in the flume, the interior walls of the building, and most importantly, the bold daylight streaming through the windows from outside. Yet where they were standing was outside too, and it was just after sunset. Fireflies darted about the drooping cypresses, flashing their love messages. Lamplight flickered in the windows of the numerous stilt houses. Bullfrogs swam and leapt and croaked their basso profundo songs among the clustered lily pads.
Minnie's gasp attracted the notice of the other two. "Well, this is different," said Goofy, looking back and forth between the two conflicting sets of conditions.
"Let's just get in the boat and take things as they come," said Donald. It seemed the most sensible thing to do.
Once they had boarded, they became aware of another bit of strangeness: the boat, although floating through a real live Louisiana swamp, still seemed to be trackbound, exactly retracing the path taken by the one ahead of it. It was too dark to check for certain, however; any hint of rails or gearworks would be invisible under the surface of the murky, brackish water. Anyway, there were more attention-grabbing things to wonder about…like the large, dark thing that lashed against the water off to their left and then glided away, leaving only a row of small, V-shaped wakes to show its location. Or the small flock of bats that fluttered madly out from underneath one of the stilt houses on their way to an evening's hunting.
By and by, the boat moved out of the open bayou, curving rightwards into a brick tunnel that was barely lit with guttering lamps, where a low voice with a distinct nautical accent could be heard intoning somewhere ahead. As the boat completed the turn, the speaker came into view: a human skull, adorned with a tricorne hat and an eyepatch, mounted on a plaque with two crossed cutlasses. The plaque, in turn, hung from the center of the next arch in the tunnel, beyond which was only blackness. The skull chattered away about the dangers that lay ahead and the recommended means of avoiding the worst of them, heedless of the approach of the three characters.
Something suddenly occurred to Goofy, and his face fell. "Uh-oh," he muttered.
"What is it?" asked Minnie.
"We're about to hit the first drop," he cringed.
"So?" Donald prompted.
"What I mean to say is, are we sure it's safe? What with the swamp bein' real and all?"
The import of his concern hit them. Donald began scrambling about the boat, looking for oars, an anchor, anything that he could use to stop the boat, or at least fight the current long enough for them to work something out (although he didn't really expect to find anything—and, indeed, didn't), while Minnie clambered into the bow and addressed the skull on the arch.
"Um…excuse me? Will we be all right going over the waterfall, or is there some sort of precaution we should take?"
The skull chuckled darkly. "Have ye not been listenin', Missie? If ye want to stay safe on yer voyage, ye best stay seated. And that goes double fer the Navy scallywag behind ye there."
"Hey!" Donald complained, pausing in his frantic search.
"Donald, I think you'd better sit down!" said Minnie as the boat passed under the archway. All three of them planted themselves in their seats and clung to the handgrips for dear life. The boat proceeded to the edge of the drop-off, teetered there for a few agonizingly slow seconds, and then plummeted over the waterfall.
It may not seem that way to first-time riders, but the first drop on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride is quite gentle, and brief enough that by the time it really sinks in that the boat is falling, it has reached the bottom of the slope and leveled off with a modest splash. It is the near-absolute darkness of the tunnel, denying any view of the surroundings, that makes the plunge so alarming.
Minnie, Donald, and Goofy were pretty sure that this plunge would have been alarming even in full sunlight. It was much steeper, much bumpier, and much longer than they were used to…not that the pitch-blackness didn't make the whole ordeal tremendously worse. The boat careened down the transformed flume, jolting off the rough sides and bouncing on large rocks in the bottom of the chute. After almost a full minute—a very long time to be racing down a waterfall under any circumstances—wan light began seeping into the tunnel, just enough for them to see the steep but manageable slant of the fall abruptly end in a sheer precipice a few dozen yards away. There was no way to prevent it—the boat struck a particularly large rock and leapt into the open space. Then came a few heart-stopping seconds of freefall before the small craft came down with a thunderous splash. It drifted, rocking on the waves created by the waterfall and by its own tumultuous descent.
At that point, a casual onlooker would have taken it for an empty boat, for the three occupants had flung themselves from the seats and taken up crash positions in the bottom. Then a white, feathery hand inched over the side. "That's it," said Donald's voice, more rasping than usual. "New Orleans Square is trying to kill us!"
Gradually, the three of them sat up to take stock of their surroundings. They had landed in a large grotto, flooded to a depth of at least a fathom and dimly lit with bluish phosphorescence from some unseen source. The waterfall they had come down was only the largest of several that fed the pool in which the boat floated freely, unhindered by any sort of track or railing. It also seemed to have transformed into a proper rowboat, with a shallow keel, open benches rather than discrete rows of backed seats, and oarlocks on the sides. The oars were missing, however. The air was slightly stale and smelled of salt and mildew. And adventure.
"Well, this sure is interestin'!" said Goofy, always one to try putting a bright face on things. "I wonder what else has changed!"
Donald looked warily about the cavern. Then he muttered something under his breath and began rooting around under the benches with cold fixity of purpose.
"Whatcha lookin' for there, Donald?" asked Goofy.
Donald fixed Goofy with an intent gaze for a moment. "Weapons," he said, and went right back to rooting.
"Oh, my," said Minnie. But she saw the sense of it and joined in the search. Soon, she and Donald had turned up two rusty knives, an 18th-Century flintlock pistol, and a small wooden box containing about a dozen rounds of shot, but no gunpowder. Donald sighed heavily and claimed one of the knives, which still had a semblance of an edge even under the oxidation.
By this time, the boat had drifted into a slow current that was carrying it toward the only visible exit from the grotto—a tall, narrow opening in the stone roughly opposite the waterfall that had carried them in. Their speed picked up the closer they got, and they slid down a much smaller, gentler cataract into the next cavern.
This space was somewhat larger than the last, and the air was slightly fresher thanks to the large gap high in one wall, through which a swatch of deep blue, cloud-daubed sky could be seen. The water flowed through it as a small river, meandering around the fantastic rock formations. Here, too, were signs of life—or what had been life once. The right side of the cavern was heaped with fine white sand, making a sort of subterranean beach that was littered with seashells, wave-rounded pebbles, uprooted seaweed…and four human skeletons, dressed in the rags of breeches and flowing shirts. They lay where they had died, the instruments of their demise—daggers and cutlasses—still protruding from their ribcages and eye sockets. As a scene from the ride that Minnie, Donald, and Goofy knew so well, it was picturesque in a gruesome sort of way. As something that had become real, it was appalling.
"Oh, how awful," Minnie fretted. Goofy patted her shoulders sympathetically.
Donald gripped the haft of his knife. "If there are Dispirations in here," he said, "this is where they'll start showing up."
As if on cue, there was a sudden movement on the beach…but it was only a fist-sized crab, scuttling out of a tangle of kelp. It sidled to and fro, antennae testing the air and sand, before inching over to the nearest skeleton. All the while, the three in the boat watched it suspiciously, almost daring it to turn hostile and sprout eight more claws and a squid beak. Which was why there was no missing it when the skeleton's arm suddenly jerked, swatting the crustacean aside. Then, in horrific slow motion and with a sound like dead tree branches creaking and snapping in a strong wind, the pile of bones began to wrench itself upright.
Minnie slapped both hands over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Goofy didn't bother, wailing in fright and grabbing at Donald for moral support. "What's the big idea? Leggo!" the duck squawked.
The skeleton lurched to its feet, where it stood in an awkwardly knock-kneed stance, its skull lolling to one side as though it weren't quite up to the task of standing. Its arms were competent, however, as indicated by the way it gracefully reached around to its own back, took hold of the cutlass that had impaled it from behind, and yanked it free as easily and fluidly as though it were drawing the weapon from a normal sheath.
By this time, the boat had moved on through the network of caverns and tunnels, leaving the beach astern. But there was no relief for its three passengers, for as the skeleton drew the sword from its ribcage, a singing rasp of metal scraping against bone rang out, far louder than it ought to have been, echoing throughout the entire cave system. And in response to that sound, every long-deceased pirate in those fortuitous catacombs, from the helmsman forlornly trying to steer a grounded wreck through an everlasting storm, to the captain scrutinizing a treasure map in his magnificent four-poster bed, and even the other skeletons on the beach, rattled and twitched and hauled themselves erect. They dropped their rum bottles and prize gemstones and retrieved their swords and arquebuses from their keeping places. And as the little rowboat glided around the bend and into that part of the cavern complex, the undead buccaneers brandished their weapons and hissed, utter malevolence for the three characters burning in the eyes they didn't have.
"What do we do?" Goofy quavered. "We don't have anything good to fight with!"
"Maybe we could pry up the bench planks and use them as clubs," Minnie suggested.
But Donald, scanning the enemy-lined tunnel ahead of them, had a better idea. "No," he said. "Follow my lead." And he hopped up on the right edge of the boat near the bow, leaned over, and grabbed the left edge.
"How's that gonna help?" Goofy started to ask, but Minnie said, "I think I know what he has in mind. You take the middle of the boat, and I'll take the stern."
With the three of them thus perched, the boat rocked perilously under the imbalanced weight. Goofy and Minnie gasped and held on tighter, but Donald's gaze was fixed on the threatening skeletons, which were quivering with violent anticipation. The boat stabilized as the current quickened, and suddenly the closest of the skeletons were only a scant few yards away and drawing back their sword arms in preparation to strike, and then Donald shouted "NOW!" and the three of them hauled with all their strength and body mass, and the boat rolled so hard to the right that its keel began to lift up out of the water. It wobbled on its side for a moment while they continued to pull, and just as they came within striking range of the first skeleton and its blade began to descend toward them, a chance wave gave them the final impetus they needed to capsize the craft and take shelter underneath it. There was a brief sensation of weightlessness and a roar of sloshing water, and then a grim thwack as the sword harmlessly struck the wood.
Once again, they found themselves in pitch darkness, as the ambient light of the caverns was too dim to survive diffusion through the water. The three of them trod water, panting in the small air pocket afforded them by the shape of the boat. A few more sharp, axe-like sounds rang out as the skeletons hacked away at the keel.
"I'm not criticizing your plan or anything, Donald," said Minnie, "but how long do you think we can hold out like this?"
"Long enough," Donald said. "I hope," he added after a beat.
There came a noisy clatter over their heads, followed by an ear-splitting crunch as the skeleton that had just jumped on top of the overturned boat punched right through the hull. The resulting splinter-edged hole allowed in enough light for them to see the bone arm and fleshless fist. All three of them screamed in terror, but there was nowhere to flee to. The skeleton punched again with its other hand, making a second hole, and then both arms began groping blindly around the small, turbulent space. The first target they encountered was Minnie, who screamed even louder in response…and then proceeded to fight back.
First she thrashed so forcefully that the boat veered sideways, close enough to the edge of the chute that the next protruding rock they passed struck the skeleton and would have knocked it clean off the hull had it not been anchored by its arms, stuck through the holes in the wood. As it was, one arm snapped off at the elbow. Minnie appropriated it as a handy bludgeoning device and battered at the other arm until the skeleton lost its grip, skidded off the boat, and sank with rocklike swiftness. All the while, she shrieked like a helpless damsel in distress, with some whimpering thrown in for good measure. It lent a certain amount of surreality to a situation that was already pretty surreal.
After the skeleton's defeat, Minnie came down from her battle-frenzy, huffing and whirling around in the confines of the half-mangled boat to make sure the fight was really over. Then it dawned on her that she was still holding what amounted to a severed arm, and she dropped it with a noise of disgust.
"Wow, Minnie," said Goofy appreciatively, "you shore gave him what-for! Maybe even what-five!" Minnie made a weak chuckle in reply.
The moment of relief didn't last long, however, as another skeleton leapt atop the boat, and then another. The blows of their swords were more than the poor vessel could take after everything it had already suffered, and it began to break apart. The three characters soon found themselves minus their makeshift carapace, and although the two attacking skeletons quickly lost their grip on the disintegrating hull and sank as the first one had, many more still crowded the banks of the underground river, hissing and readying their blades. As if that weren't bad enough, the chute was steadily growing narrower, the flow of the water more rapid…and the ambient light was fading as they approached a tunnel filled with dense sea fog. They drew closer together, huddling at the center of the watercourse in order to evade the imminent attacks as much as possible, and dreaded drifting into that dark tunnel, where visibility would surely be nil and more armed skeletons surely waited…
But before they quite reached it, there was a noise like a small thunderclap and a burst of light, and one of the skeletons virtually exploded, half its bones flying apart and the rest collapsing into a sad little heap. The other skeletons immediately stopped their threatening behavior and turned their skulls to the mouth of the tunnel. A moment later, there came another bang and flash, closer this time, a chunk of rock crumbled out of the cavern wall, and then the skeletons turned on their heelbones and fled. A few flung their cutlasses away theatrically; Donald managed to grab one as it hurtled toward the water. He held it out toward the tunnel and whatever was approaching through the fog, his teeth chattering so loudly that he sounded like a rattling skeleton himself.
It was almost anti-climactic when a cozy skiff, its sail furled, emerged from the tunnel, bearing four fierce-looking but quite fleshly pirates. Two were engaged in rowing, rather crowdedly, one was cleaning the still-smoking barrel of a musket, and the fourth was standing regally in the bow, stroking his red van Dyke beard with one hand while the other rested gently on the basket hilt of a fine sword at his hip. He wore a blue velvet frock coat over a frilly lace shirt, and there was a fluffy white ostrich plume in his hat. Minnie, Donald, and Goofy were overwhelmingly relieved to recognize the Auctioneer, a friendly, courteous sort as pirates went, and a fast friend of theirs.
"Oh!" Minnie exclaimed, raising her arms to wave at the skiff. The sudden motion momentarily forced her head underwater. She bobbed back up, spat out brine, and waved with just one arm, crying, "Captain! Auctioneer! Down here!"
The Auctioneer's eyes met hers, and he burst into merry laughter. "Well, strike me blind and call me a bat! Lads, look who's come calling!" He leaned over the bow at them as the oarsmen stopped rowing. "You know, normally folks bring some kind of boat when they visit these parts." Then he winked and held out a hand to help Minnie into the skiff. The other three pirates followed suit for Donald and Goofy. "All joking aside, Miss Minnie, how did you three come to be flounderin' about in these skeleton-infested waters?"
"It's a long story," said Donald.
"But if you don't mind taking us to see Mandolin Mike, Billy Willkins, and Long Dan," Minnie added quickly, "we'll—"
"An' Scruffy," said one of the crewmen. "Don' forgeh abou' Scruffy."
"Right. And Scruffy," Minnie sighed. "—we'll tell you all about it on the way."
"Now that sounds like a right fine way to spend the evenin'!" said the Auctioneer. "Don't it, lads?"
"Aye, Cap'n!" the three of them chorused.
"As me crewmen say," said the Auctioneer. "But don't start just yet, me buckos. You catch us on the outward leg of a little errand here in the caverns—best save your tale for when we're homeward bound."
"Sounds like a plan to me," said Goofy with a yawn. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I could shore use a breather after all that trouble with those skeleton Dispirations."
Minnie sat up straighter. "But they're not—" she started to say before noticing the keen eyes of the pirates (six eyes between the four of them) and realizing that she was getting ahead of herself. "Never mind. I'll tell you in a little while."
She settled in her seat, leaving no sound in the grotto but the rhythmic slap of the oars, the panting of the rowers, and the sighing of the gentle subterranean breeze.
Mickey, Daisy, and Pluto had to sneak out of Tomorrowland, because the Martians were patrolling the area in twos and threes. This was not much of a problem—for highly technologically advanced aliens (or, at any rate, trans-dimensional beings masquerading as such), they didn't seem to be too bright. It just meant that it took an abnormally long time to get from Carousel Theater to the silvery "circuit-board" gates at the land's entrance, because of all the creeping and backtracking and hiding behind bits of scenery.
"I still think these are the most ridiculous Dispirations yet," Daisy whispered at one point, while they inched their way around a pylon for the PeopleMover track, keeping it between them and the nearest set of Martians. "Even the toy cannons at least looked like something you might see on Main Street. In a shop or something."
Mickey shrugged and motioned for her to stay quiet. To his mild surprise, she did, and a few more minutes of skulking brought them to the overhang at the entrance of the Circle-Vision 360 building. From there, right at the edge of Tomorrowland, it was easy enough to dash around the side of the building into the Alpine Gardens without being spotted by the aliens. From there, all they had to do was move straight across Central Plaza to the Adventureland entrance.
Nothing seemed to be happening in the vicinity of the Enchanted Tiki Room when they arrived, but Pluto made a very small whine as they entered the lanai, and Mickey felt a twinge of apprehension.
"Easy," he told the other two. "Something about this place is…just keep your guard up, okay?"
"Right," Daisy agreed.
The bamboo-frame doors of the Tiki Room itself were closed, but they opened readily at a gentle push. Mickey opened them about a foot and peered inside. He could hardly see a thing—the light inside was low, allowing the birds to catch a nap before their next performance, and his eyes were still adjusted for the brilliant sunshine outside.
"José?" he called softly. There was no reply, only a faint, feathery rustling that was only to be expected in a room occupied by dozens of birds. Mickey called to the attraction's star macaw once more before giving up—José had conditioned himself to be able to sleep through anything except a slender bamboo cane tapping on his perch. With his own eyes adapting to the dim conditions, he opened the doors a little wider and slipped into the Tiki Room, motioning to the other two to follow him.
It seemed a little dimmer than normal inside, Mickey thought, but maybe his eyes hadn't fully adjusted yet. All the birds were indeed roosting on their hanging perches. They probably thought it was a normal operating day, and were waiting for a Cast Member to wake up José and start the show. Mickey maneuvered around the banks of cushioned chairs and benches, found the slender bamboo cane, went over to José's perch, started to lift the stalk upward, and then thought better of it. Handing it to Daisy, he said, "You'd better do it. I just remembered: in 1975 it was always a lady."
Daisy shrugged and whisked the cane against the rainbow macaw's roost a few times. "Come on, José, time to wake up," she said noncommittally. "Come on, up and at 'em; it's show time…in a manner of speaking."
The bird stirred, flexing his toes around the perch and stretching his wings. He yawned in a squawking sort of way, ruffled his feathers, and fixed Mickey and Daisy with one bright eye.
"Hiya, José!" said Mickey. "How are things around here?"
José bobbed his head. "Polly wanna cracker," he said in an uncharacteristically grainy, monotone voice.
"José…?" Mickey said uncertainly. He didn't like the way the macaw's eyes were gleaming as he twisted his head from side to side, looking at them with each in turn. They looked cold and unfriendly.
Daisy suddenly gasped sharply and gripped Mickey's shoulder with a hand like a vise. Her other hand pointed, trembling, toward the ceiling and the dozens of other perches that hung there, each occupied by anywhere from one to five leering, red-eyed tropical birds.
For a split second, Mickey flashed back to the bottom of the ocean, when he had found himself at the center of a swarm of creepy and hostile sea creatures, just waiting for the right moment to charge him. He was definitely getting that same feeling now.
Then the false José let out an earsplitting shriek, and the birds attacked, and the air became a cloud of feathers and harsh cried. From a safe distance, it would have been a lovely sight, all those vivid colors and trailing plumes diving in unison toward a single point, but all that Mickey, Daisy, and Pluto could register was the instant of terrified anticipation before the first round of beaks and claws struck. Then there was nothing but chaos and panic and the peculiar sort of torment that only Dispirations could inflict. The birds were far smaller and less dangerously armed than the fishes had been, but they brought the added horror of having brutal attacks come from superficially familiar faces. And although their claws were weak, and their beaks not much stronger (unless a macaw got in a lucky nip), they were Dispirations, and the merest contact was like having electrodes wired directly into the sour side of a sensory cortex.
Sooner or later, though, survival instinct was bound to take over, and when it did, Mickey and Daisy managed to dive under a row of seats, and then to coax Pluto after them. As a shelter, it was hardly any less confining than a straitjacket, but it was defensible—the Dispirations had to land on the floor and toddle up the aisle in order to reach them, and Daisy still had the bamboo stalk to wield in self-defense. Even so, they had a hard time keeping their fingers away from a persistent toucan, and the parrots found an especially vulnerable target in Pluto's protruding tail. His yelps were all but deafening.
"We have to get out of here!" Daisy exclaimed.
"I know, but how?" said Mickey, neatly summarizing the problem.
"If we could get to the exit, do you think they'd be able to follow us?" Daisy wondered.
"Should we chance it? And risk letting these things loose in the park?"
"Mickey, there are already hordes of Dispirations loose in the park! At least out there, we have a better shot at outmaneuvering them…unless you want to bank on another surprise rescue from Oswald."
There came another agonized howl from Pluto as a flame-colored macaw got hold of his tail. "You're right," said Mickey as soon as the racket died down a little. "First things first, then…where is the exit?" They had become disoriented during the attack, and their vantage point among the chair legs, combined with the severe reduction in visibility caused by the swooping birds, made it almost impossible to tell one side of the symmetrically designed room from another. But finally Mickey caught a glimpse of the glowing green EXIT sign.
"This way!" he said, waving a hand toward it—and jerking it back as a bird raked it with surprisingly sharp talons for a fruit-eater. "If we can just—ow!—make to the end of this row, we'll be almost there!"
It was no simple matter. The space under the chairs was a three-dimensional grid of steel and rattan, cross-crossing to produce a tunnel that varied in width from a reasonable two feet down to about half that in places. As animated characters of a rather slapstick nature, they could manage it, but it would be slow going, and only slightly more comfortable than the blows from the birds. Mickey squared his jaw and began crawling, fending off strikes as best he could while still making forward progress. Next came Daisy, lashing out as needed (and possible) with the bamboo cane, and lastly Pluto, tail tucked firmly between his legs.
After a few minutes, Mickey reached the end of the row of chairs…but several of the smarter Dispirations were there waiting for him, looking more predatory and less cute than they had at the start of the melee, with saw-edged bills and wickedly curved talons. Mickey exclaimed in alarm and shied backward, the main effect of which was to put a crick in his neck because of the confined space.
"What? What is it?" demanded Daisy.
"They've cut us off!" Mickey said, flinging up his only free hand against the onslaught. "We're trapped!"
"Well, that's just great!" Daisy snapped, reacting to the situation, as usual, with more petulance than fear. She recoiled from an extremely aggressive bird of paradise (never was a creature so ironically named). "Where are the Tiki gods when you need them?"
As if on cue (they found out soon enough that it was), an abrupt change came over the Tiki Room. A deep red light, like the glow from a flow of molten lava, suffused the upper half of the room, highlighting the twelve Tiki figures, three per side, that perched on ledges near the ceiling, poised with their arms cocked and ready to pound the drums before them. At the four convex corners of the cross-shaped space, four Polynesian totem poles came to life, the numerous carved faces suddenly shouting "Hah!" in such perfect unison that the building shook with the combined volume of their bass voices. The Tikis began to drum, and the totem faces began to chant, slowly at first, but with gradually increasing speed. Mickey, who had only the most rudimentary grasp of Hawaiian, couldn't understand what they were saying, but it sounded ominous. It definitely wasn't the same thing they chanted during the "Hawaiian War Chant" portion of the attraction's normal show.
"You couldn't have kept your big beak shut, could you Daisy?" he said. The birds seemed no happier about it, breaking off their attacks and clustering about the elaborate fountain in the center of the room, as far from the Tikis as possible.
The chanting and drumming continued to grow faster, and louder, just like in the regular show, obviously building toward a climax. Mickey and Daisy cringed, while Pluto cowered under his front paws. Then that climax arrived—the totem poles ended their chant with another "Hah!" and the Tiki Room was plunged into near-total darkness, and with a rumbling and a ghastly crunching sound, an enormous crack opened in the floor under the three besieged characters, sending them (and about eight chairs) tumbling down in the unknown below. As the crack closed up again, the closest totem pole, fast receding above them, bid them a chummy "Aloha-oi, kahuna!"
To Be Continued…
A/N: I can hear the outcry now—what, no Jack Sparrow? The greatest character to emerge from the Disney stable in years, and she omits him entirely from his own ride? To you I say: don't be silly. 1975 is almost 30 years too early for Jack Sparrow to be making any appearances. Don't, however, get your hopes up for when the story gets to 2005, either—my intention with this 'fic is to focus exclusively on the animated characters and park characters, and everyone's favorite kooky pirate didn't get added to the ride until 2006. And to be totally honest, I would have preferred for the ride to be left alone. Even though I find the PotC movies immensely entertaining, I've gotten a bit burned out on them due to the Disney Marketing Department's decision to pimp them nonstop, and I especially don't like they way they have come to overshadow the triumph of Imagineering that inspired them. It seems disrespectful. So, no Jack Sparrow will be forthcoming here.
On another note, I think I have finally come to accept that I no longer update as frequently as I could when this story was new. Not only are there aspects of my life that have changed, leaving me less time and mental energy to work on it every day, but the story itself has become more complex and more challenging to write well. The bright side is that it's the only fanfiction project on my plate now that "Excerpts From the Diary of Princess Ursa" is finished, meaning that when I am in writing mode, there's nothing competing with it. That knocks out one of the factors that has slowed down my updates in the past.
But we'll see how it goes. Just don't give up on me, okay?
—Karalora
