Kingdom Keepers: The Return Book Two: Legacy of Secrets (12 page)

“Not if you’re wearing that invisibility suit,” Tim said. “You look like you’ve been dipped in something. Clothes would help.”

The three girls snarled at him. “Pig,” Amanda said. “The thing is, it’s a good idea, Emily, but Nick kinda found us last time.”

“You two never really explained this whole Legacy of Secrets thing,” Emily said to Amanda and Jess. “I admit—I’m a little confused.”

“Didn’t we? Sorry! If we had it figured out, we could explain it,” Amanda said ruefully.

“Basically,” Jess said, “it comes down to some kind of plan—as yet to be determined—that explains the formation of the Overtakers. The Disney villains—”

“Wanting to run things,” Tim quipped.

“I know it sounds preposterous,” Amanda said, “but it’s legit. The Keepers, the Overtakers, the whole thing. Two of our friends died fighting them, both incredible people. Died, as in gone. As in heartbreaking, aching loss. And here’s the thing: if we can tell the Keepers about the Legacy of Secrets, about Hollingsworth maybe being behind it, if they’re able to understand this before it ever happens…You see?”

“Are you saying those two wouldn’t have to die?” There was awe in Emily’s voice.

“I’m saying history and time are the same. If you mess with one, maybe you mess with the other.” Amanda crossed her arms, holding herself as if cold. “And you’re right, Em. To do that, we need Nick’s help. But how to find him?”

“He’s a sneaky guy,” Tim said.

“Can’t you send up the Bat Signal or something?” Emily asked playfully.

Tim took her literally. “Actually…maybe I can!”

T
HE COSTUMES CHOSEN
by Maybeck, Charlene, and Willa before crossing over into the Disneyland of sixty years prior were formal enough to allow the three to attend the Opening Day VIP reception at the Golden Horseshoe. Philby and Finn, whose DHI projection costumes were too casual, wanted a view of the goings-on without the risk of being seen. They decided to hide out on the Mark Twain Riverboat.

Inside, the party was just getting started. It led off with a rousing performance of saloon tunes by Betty Taylor and four high-kicking dancers on a small stage, which faced out onto the mock Western saloon. A pianist, trumpet player, and drummer, all clean-cut men dressed in white shirts and ties, occupied the small orchestra space and faced the performers. Bookending the stage were four box seat compartments. Additional balcony seating, marked off by a gleaming white banister, wrapped around the room.

Overhead, the smoked glass chandeliers helped convince guests that they’d stepped into a bygone era—the irony of which was not lost on the two-dimensional visitors, who kept to the left wall beneath the balcony as Wally Boag slipped seamlessly into a comedy sketch. Dance hall girls in frilly skirts mingled.

“There,” Maybeck said, cocking his head toward the front table. By wearing a hat inside he drew attention to himself—not proper etiquette in 1955, but he had no choice: it was part of his projected image.

In the direction he pointed, Walt and Lillian Disney occupied a small table. They appeared to be hosting two other guests.

“Anyone up on history?” Willa, the bookworm, asked.

“History of the U.S. women’s gymnastics team,” Charlene whispered, hoping to win a smile.

“Don’t look now,” Maybeck said, “but half the men in this place are looking over here.”

“It’s Charlene,” Willa said. “You’re too pretty, girl.”

Charlene’s more advanced hologram could actually blush. The two-dimensional Charlene simply smiled. “I’m the one staring, believe me. How amazing is this? We’re in Disneyland—
the
Disneyland—on the second day it ever existed. We’re looking at stuff people only wish they’d seen. They make up stories about these days, and yet, here we are! I want to freeze this moment!”

“The history lesson is this,” Willa said. “If the couple sitting with the Disneys looks familiar, it’s because I’m pretty sure the guy is Ronald Reagan, future governor of California and president of the United States. At this point, he’s a big deal radio host and film actor, which explains the seating arrangement. Mind you, it may not be him, but it’s pretty cool if it is.”

“Thrilling,” Maybeck said sarcastically. He sounded bored out of his mind.

“You can be such a killjoy!” Charlene said, glaring at him. “We are living history.”

Willa was not to be browbeaten. “Not just living. We are part of history. Who gets to say that? The rest of the guests are probably business and community leaders, their husbands and wives, and some of Walt’s creative team. They have a lot to celebrate. They had fifty thousand paying guests in the park today. Huge crowds! Disneyland is open and running and making money. That’s got to feel good.”

“Again: fascinating,” Maybeck quipped. “So where are the idiots who got all up in my face? ’Cause if they aren’t here, I suggest we make like shadows and follow them out. If Charlene draws any more attention, we’ll be the main show.”

“I wish you wouldn’t tease me like that,” Charlene said.

“He ain’t teasing, sweetheart,” Willa said, trying to sound Western. “We’re drawing way too many looks.”

“If nothing’s happening, we should get out of here,” an unusually nervous Maybeck repeated.

The crowd applauded. Waitresses dressed as saloon girls and carrying small trays slipped between tables, taking orders and delivering drinks.

“It’s all so low-tech,” Willa said. “You know? The attractions are like amusement park rides—a steamboat, wagon, and mule rides—only Peter Pan’s Flight and a couple of others show you what’s to come. And things like this…I get why it seems fun. No one was doing this kind of reproduction back…now. But it’s—”

“A little dated?” Charlene said, causing them all to laugh.

An emcee came on stage, and introduced and thanked the Disneys. The applause was thunderous. Maybeck made the mistake of trying to clap, his hands passing through one another. A simple error that might have meant nothing, except for a well-dressed man with slicked back brown hair who looked like Leonardo DiCaprio. He saw the illusion occur, and his jaw dropped.

“Oh, shoot,” Charlene said.

“I see him,” Maybeck told her.

“He’s coming over here.”

“Yeah, and if we take off, we’re going to disappear or look like three flags hurrying toward the door. That’s nothing but trouble.”

“I’ve got this,” Charlene said, taking three quick strides toward the handsome man and intercepting him before he reached Maybeck and Willa. Away from the wall, she’d placed her two-dimensional form into a three-dimensional space. It was a huge risk. If she could keep the man six to eight feet away, he might not notice her flat face and body. No one had seen such projections before; the human mind didn’t know to see their images as incorrect. It was an advantage. But too close and there was no hiding.

“Hello, there,” Charlene said. She stopped the man cold. “Or should I say, ‘Howdy’?”

He bowed his head slightly. “Pleased to meet you.”

“You won’t go giving away our secret, will you?” she asked.

“What secret is that?” he asked.

“Mr. Disney arranged a little treat for the guests,” Charlene said.

That surprised and intrigued him. “Do tell!”

“A new ghost.” She waved her arm so that his hand passed through her. “Impressed?”

He took a startled step back, keeping his distance. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”

“Well, if you had, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise now, would it?” She paused. “Enjoying the party?”

He couldn’t speak. He reached out for her, but she stepped back.

“Me?” she said, as if he’d asked. “All but the smoking.” The man held a cigarette burning between his fingers. “I find it a disgusting habit. My prediction is that fifty years from now, it’ll turn out to be the cause of heart disease, early death, and spiraling national health-care costs. That’s just a wild guess. Still, you might want to consider it.”

He looked at her curiously. “I…ah…”

“Enjoy the show.”

Wisely, Charlene chose to back away rather than turn around to return to her friends. Managing a two-dimensional self made her feel like Joy in Pixar’s
Inside Out
, during the abstraction chamber scene. Her friends at school talked about envying girls who were paper thin. In truth, it wasn’t so great.

“Way to go,” Willa said, as Charlene put her flat back against the flat wall.

“Check it out!” Maybeck said, a little too loudly. He directed their attention to the wings of the stage, where they saw two boys, arms out, preventing the emcee from entering. The emcee was not pleased; the boys were giving no quarter. “You think that’s them?”

“Could be,” said Willa, keenly interested and edging forward.

“Why stop the singer?” Charlene said. “Unless…”

“They have another show in mind,” Maybeck finished for her.

F
IVE MINUTES EARLIER,
from their perch aboard the Mark Twain Riverboat, Finn and Philby had seen four Cast Members, all boys, approach the Golden Horseshoe. Philby expressed the same reservations about the boys as Maybeck had, believing they looked similar to the ones at the studios.

Now Finn spotted a group of well-dressed adults coming quickly toward the saloon on foot. At first, he’d thought they were just people late for the party and eager to reach the building. But something about them put him on guard. There was a man at their center with two women and three men surrounding him like a security detail. Those in the detail were younger by far than the man they protected. The 1950s dresses and suits gave the whole thing a theatrical feel; it was hard for Finn to see it as anything more than a scene in a stage play or musical. Like at any second the group would burst into song and start dancing.

Finn found the displacement into a time six decades earlier as difficult an adjustment as he did his two-dimensional projection. Was he alone in this? he wondered. Willa and Charlene seemed to be enjoying wearing their fancy dresses. Philby and Maybeck were unbothered by the change. All the Keepers seemed in awe of being part of the park’s beginning.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Focus. This group of adults was real. So were the four guys dressed as Cast Members, who’d already disappeared inside the Golden Horseshoe.

“Listen to them talking,” Finn told Philby. “It’s not exactly like they’re friends, but they all know each other.”

“The guy in the middle’s the boss.”

“I can’t see him perfectly from here, but the guy in the middle is Hollingsworth,” Finn said. “I’m pretty sure that’s the guy from the firehouse.”

“Could be. The others obviously work for him. Not just the men, the women, too. See how they’re paying such close attention to him? They’re being overly attentive.”

“You’re being professorial again.”

“Can’t help it, I guess. It’s like they’re either in awe of him, or he scares them.”

“You guess?” Finn said. “Okay. So a guy and some employees. And four possibly fake Cast Members leading the way. What’s that spell for you?”

“Disaster,” Philby said. “Whatever’s about to go down, it can’t be good.”

S
ENSING A LULL
in the entertainment, the excited audience inside the Golden Horseshoe returned to its loud conversation. The saloon played host to high-pitched laughter, shouts of joy, and more laughter.