“I don’t know how to lay this on you,” said Arthur, “but all three of them are dead.”
St. Looie Blues immediately began playing a jazz version of “Happy Days Are Here Again” on his saxophone.
“Stop that!” squeaked Bluebell furiously.
“Whassa matter, man?” asked St. Looie Blues.
“This is nothing to celebrate! We’ve been robbed of our just and terrible vengeance!”
“If they were all the size of this here dude,” said St. Looie Blues, indicating Arthur, “you wasn’t gonna be able to do much more than bite each of ’em on the great toe, anyway.” He went back to playing his instrument.
“Well, what are we going to do?” asked Bluebell in a plaintive whine. “We can’t have come all this way for nothing!”
“Maybe we could kill each of their firstborn sons,” suggested Purpletone. “It’s got a nice religious flavor to it.”
“Maybe we should just go home,” said Royal Blue.
“Never!” said Bluebell. “They still perform the ballet, they still listen to the symphony, they still show the movie!”
“In seventy millimeters, these days,” added Arthur helpfully.
“But how can we stop them?” asked Royal Blue.
“I suppose we’ll have to kill every musician and dancer on this world, and destroy all the prints of the movie,” said Silverthorne.
“Right!” said Bluebell. “Let’s go!”
Nobody moved.
“Arthur, old friend,” said Purpletone. “I wonder if we could appeal to you, as one of the potential survivors of our forthcoming bloody war of conquest, to get us unstuck.”
Arthur sighed. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” asked Royal Blue. “We’ve told you everything you want to know, and you’re not on our hit list.”
“It would be murder.”
“Definitions change when you’re in a state of war,” responded Purpletone. “We don’t consider ourselves to be murderers.”
Arthur shook his head. “You don’t understand. They would murder” you.”
“Preposterous!” squeaked Bluebell.
“Ridiculous,” added Silverthorne.
“Do you have any weapons?” asked Arthur.
“No,” admitted Bluebell. “But we’ve got a lot of gumption. We fear absolutely nothing.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true,” said Purpletone after a moment’s consideration. “Personally, I’m scared to death of banshees, moat monsters, and high cholesterol levels.”
“I’m terrified of heights,” added Royal Blue. “And I don’t like the dark very much, either.”
Soon all of the Sugar Plum Fairies were making long lists of things that frightened them.
“Well, some of us are hardly afraid of anything, with certain exceptions,” amended Bluebell weakly. “And the rest can be bold and daring under rigidly defined conditions.”
“If I were you, I’d pack it in and go home,” said Arthur.
“We can’t!” said Bluebell. “Even if we knew how to get there, we can’t face our people and tell them that our mission was a failure, that we never even got out of your basement.”
“I know you’ve got our best interests at heart, Arthur,” added Silverthorne. “But we’ve got our pride.”
“So now,” concluded Royal Blue, “if you’ll just help free us, we’ll be on our way, leaving a modest trail of death and destruction in our wake.”
Arthur shook his head. “You’re going about it all wrong.”
“What do you know about cataclysmic wars of revenge?” demanded Bluebell.
“Nothing,” admitted Arthur.
“Well, then.”
“But I do know that killing a bunch of people, even if you had the power to do it, wouldn’t keep Fantasia from getting re-released every couple of years.”
“That’s what you say,” replied Bluebell with more conviction than he felt.
“That’s what I know,” said Arthur. He paused. “Look, I don’t know why I should want to help you, except that you’re cute as buttons”—all seven of them growled high falsetto growls at this—“and I don’t think I really believe in you anyway. But if it was me planning this operation,” he continued, “I’d break into the Disney distribution computer and recall all the copies of Fantasia. I mean, it beats the hell out of going to every theater in the world looking for a handful of prints.”
“That’s a great idea!” said Royal Blue enthusiastically. “Men, isn’t that a great idea? Simply marvelous!” He paused for a moment. “By the way, Arthur, what’s a computer?”
Arthur explained it to them.
“That’s all very well and good,” said Silverthorne when Arthur had finished, “but how does it prevent the ballet from ever being performed?”
“I would imagine that Balanchine’s notes—the play-by-play, so to speak—have been computerized by now,” answered Arthur. “Just find the proper computer and wipe them out.”
“And Tchaikovsky’s music?”
Arthur shrugged. “That’s a little more difficult.”
“Well, two out of three ain’t bad,” said Inkspot. “You’re an okay guy, Arthur, for someone what ain’t even blue.”
“Yeah, Gringo,” added Indigo. “My sombrero’s off to you. Or it would be, if I could find a sombrero in my size.”
“Okay, Arthur,” said Royal Blue. “We’re primed to go. Just set us free and point us in the right direction.”
“We’re a long way from California,” said Arthur as he began freeing each fairy in turn. “How do you plan to get there?”
“The same way we got here,” answered Silverthorne.
“In which case you’ll probably end up in Buenos Aires,” said Arthur.
“A telling point,” agreed Purpletone.
“We could fly,” suggested Silverthorne.
“Great idea!” said Purpletone enthusiastically. Then he paused and frowned. “Can we fly?”
“I dunno, man,” said Inkspot, flapping his arms. “If we can, I sure don’t remember how.”
“I’m afraid of heights anyway,” said Royal Blue. “We’ll have to find another way.”
“Maybe we could reduce our bodies to their composite protons and electrons and speed there through the telephone lines,” suggested Bluebell.
“You first,” said Purpletone.
“Me?” said Bluebell.
“Why not? It’s your idea, isn’t it?”
“Well, I thought of it, so it’s only fair that someone else should test it out,” said Bluebell petulantly.
“Maybe we could hitchhike,” suggested Indigo.
“What do you think, Arthur?” said Royal Blue. He looked around the basement. “Hey, where did Arthur go?”
“If he’s reporting us to the authorities, I’m gonna give him such a kick on the shin …” said Bluebell.
Suddenly Arthur appeared at the head of the stairs with a large box in his hands.
“I got tired of listening to you squabble,” he said, carrying the box down to the basement.
“What’s that for?” asked Royal Blue, nervously pointing to the box.
“Get in,” said Arthur, starting to pry them loose from the floor.
“All of us?”
Arthur nodded.
“Why?”
“I’m shipping you to the Disney corporate offices,” answered Arthur. “Once you’re there, you’re on your own.”
“Great!” cried Royal Blue. “Now we can wreak havoc amongst our enemies and redeem the honor of our race.”
“Or at least get a couple of gigs at Disneyland,” added St. Looie Blues.