Kingdom Keepers VII (16 page)

“True. I forgot that part.”

“And you said a blue polo.” Jess nods to Finn, who is, in fact, wearing a blue polo. “That did it for me. I was dreaming about…I saw Finn in my dream,” she says, lowering her head demurely, “in a blue shirt.”

“But Finn isn’t crossed over,” Charlene says bluntly, “I am.” She reaches one arm through the other to demonstrate her current state as a DHI. Jess looks hurt by Charlene’s combative tone, and averts her eyes to the ground. “Philby is debugging version 1.6.”

Finn addresses Philby. “Tell me you weren’t thinking what I was thinking, after what Charlie told us.”

“I admit, it crossed my mind,” Philby says.

“Whoa! Wait a sec,” Charlene says. “If he’s going, I’m going.”

“I need you here,” Philby says. “I’m in the middle of coding. We won’t get chances like this. If Finn goes, it’s with someone else. You and I are busy.”

“That would be me,” Maybeck says over the intercom. “A magic lantern? A giant snake? I gotta see this.”

“That’s an effective team,” Philby says.

“Can we go?” Amanda asks too hopefully. “Jess and me?”

“I can’t reroute you once you’re crossed over in this version. That’s what Charlene was saying. I’d need to return you. You would then need to wake up, signal me, and go back to sleep. It’s complicated. And most of the time—for us, anyway—it’s pretty rugged trying to get back to sleep after crossing over. I’m usually wired. I think we all are.”

“But we could try,” Amanda says. “As long as it doesn’t slow you all down.”

Maybeck’s voice fills the headphones. “It would be awesome to have Amanda’s ability to ‘push,’ and Jess’s future vision along for the ride.”

Willa calls out a warning: a Security patrol appears to be making the rounds, including a door-to-door check. Moments later, Maybeck confirms. Philby runs for the master light switch on a control board. “Behind the green!” he shouts.

As a group, the kids move toward the immense green screen, which hangs a foot in front of the back wall. They slip behind it single file.

When the lights pop, the building fills with the kind of darkness found only in outer space or inside intestines. “Not you!” Philby’s winded voice calls. “Mandy, Jess! I can see you back there!”

The glowing DHIs look like one large luminescent blob behind the green screen cyclorama. Philby hurries, stumbling and tripping in the dark. He meets up with the Fairlies, opens a protective case on wheels, and directs them to climb into the virtual coffin. He locks them inside, twisting the last butterfly clasp shut as he hears the door to the soundstage open. He drops face down and belly crawls around and behind the wheeled case in which he’s hidden Amanda and Jess.

“Cover up!” Philby hisses to Charlene. She wraps a soundstage quilt around her to mute her glow.

The guard’s flashlight sweeps the cavernous space. The man is sniffing the air, a hound following a scent. Perfume? Philby wonders. The aroma of theater lights as they warm? Human sweat? Because by this point Philby is a geyser.

The guard moves across the soundstage toward the green screen concealing the Keepers.

The door sounds like a brush sweeping the floor as it opens.

“You with me?” a gruff male voice calls.

“Coming,” says the guard nearest to the green screen.

“We got the Wells and the TDB to do, floor by floor. You want me to die of nicotine starvation?”

“That’s your curse, not mine. And it’s against the rules, FYI.”

“Yes,
Mom
. Sometime
this lifetime
would be nice.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Food! Turkey sandwich?” the gruff voice calls. Philby hears the sound of him sniffing as well.

“See? I’m not insane. And it smells fresh!”

“It’s probably the lights. This look like the commissary to you?”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly, what?” The gruff voice is unhappy and impatient.

“It’s warmer in here. Did you notice? Noticeably warmer, like the lights have been on.”

“So they shot something in here today.”

“They did not,” the closer man answers. “Nothing scheduled.”

“You work too hard. Gotta get a life.”

“Or you, not hard enough.”

“That stings.”

“Fresh food. Warmth, from the lights. What’s that add up to for you?” The guard has not stopped moving. Philby, lying on the floor, can see the man’s black running shoes through the gap beneath the case. He’s getting closer.

“I have no idea where you’re going with this,” the gruff man says. “You want me to turn on the lights? Or can we get out of here?”

The flashlight’s beam paints an arc across the gray concrete next to Philby’s left leg. Philby pulls into a ball behind the case, losing his view of the man’s shoes.

“I’m telling you: someone’s been working in here tonight! I walked this stage not three hours ago. It wasn’t this warm in here and it didn’t smell like Chick-fil-A!”

“Probably Joe and his team. It’s their job. How about we do ours and walk the Wells?” The gruff voice pauses. “What’s with you, anyway?”

“Joe and his bunch had the conference room booked in the Wells. Do you read
any
of the memos?”

Talk about smell: Philby can make out the man’s cologne or deodorant, a sickly combination of fruit and musk. He’s that close.

The guard bumps the case. A girl’s muffled voice emits a cry of surprise.

Then: silence. Total silence. The kind of silence that runs shivers up and down Philby, who twists his neck to look up at the back of the case. If he needs to run, he wants the benefit of a head start.

He hears the
click, click
of the case’s butterfly clasps coming unlocked.

Not good. The girls are in there.

“You hear that? Come over here!” the guard calls to his partner. At the same moment, he lifts the lid of the case warily, only an inch or two.

The DHIs of Amanda and Jess erupt out
through
the lid of the box, waving their arms overhead and bending from side to side, cooing and wailing in eerie tones. As the shocked guard jumps back and yelps, dropping the lid, the girls continue to writhe, visible only from their waists up, glowing, swaying.

The man cusses and swings a nightstick at the girls—Philby sees the end of the stick overhead—but hits nothing but air.

“Gho-o-o-o-osts!”
he yells at the top of his lungs.

In theory, the two men must have run from the soundstage, but in physical terms, Philby thinks it must have been closer to flying. The time between the guard’s cry and the slamming of the door clear across the vast building approaches the speed of light.

The two DHIs hug and giggle.

Philby stands. “That was brilliant!” he says, sounding more British than usual. His childhood accent—a consequence of his having grown up in England—comes out when he’s nervous.

Charlene and Finn emerge from behind the green screen. When Finn asks what happened, Amanda and Jess break into hysterical laughter.

Over the next few minutes, Philby preps Charlene for her green-screen work; Willa repositions herself, climbing a ladder on the back of Stage 6 in order to reach its roof, where she becomes the only lookout; Finn returns to his dorm room and climbs into bed, well accustomed to calming himself in order drift off to sleep and cross over.

Amanda, determined not to be left out, and giving everyone the sense she and Jess are keeping something to themselves, pressures Philby into returning the two, which will put them in their beds in Mrs. Nash’s house. Then she wants Philby to cross them over into Disneyland. Philby makes no promises.

Willa, who operates on the same cerebral plane as Philby, has requested he photograph Jess’s illustration and text it to her. She promises to “begin analysis” immediately from her rooftop perch, using her smartphone.

In a ten-minute period, the Keepers have delegated the needed responsibilities among them, assumed those responsibilities, and taken steps to spread themselves across a continent in order to rejoin forces in Disneyland, where, if all goes well—and too often, it doesn’t!—they will seek answers to questions that have yet to be asked. All they have is Finn’s blue shirt somehow telling them they must go tonight, and a magic lantern emitting steam-driven alphabet soup phrases that mean nothing to anyone.

Just another night as a Kingdom Keeper.

M
AYBECK AND
F
INN CROSS OVER
at the Partners statue on the plaza in front of Sleeping Beauty Castle. As soon as they’re stabilized, Maybeck drags Finn by the arm into the shadow of the Jolly Holiday café.

“Cameras,” he whispers. “Philby’s worried about the cameras.”

Disneyland’s already protective Security team may be on a state of heightened alert, given that recent activities point to Overtaker movement and interference. Park Security wouldn’t target the Keepers, but they aren’t about to overlook a couple of kids inside the park after closing, either.

“Got it,” Finn says, shaking loose Maybeck’s strong grip. He looks down at where Maybeck’s hand was. “Don’t do that again, okay? It pulled me out of all clear.”

“I scared you,” Maybeck says proudly.

“Startled. The only advantage we have, Terry, is staying pure DHI. If we go even a little bit solid…not good.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

An apology from Maybeck would typically be cause for a national holiday, a parade, and fireworks. The glee on Finn’s face expresses this. Maybeck shifts closer to the street leading into Adventureland.

“We’re close,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“So, let’s get going.”

“Not that way. We’re going to head toward the front gates.”

“Why?”

“Because if anyone saw us as we crossed over, we can’t afford to lead them into the Bazaar. We’ll be trapped. It’s called the art of deception.”

“But if they can follow us on camera, how does deception help? What does it matter? That’s stupid, Whitman. The enemy here is time, not park Security. We’ve got to hurry. The only thing your deception does is waste time.”

“We head away from our destination,” Finn explains. “Then we get backstage where there aren’t cameras following our every move. Look, arguing about it wastes even more time. Follow me.”

Finn sets out down Main Street. Maybeck keeps a step behind, grunting his displeasure. Finn cuts to the right, staying in shadow; arriving at a white wall, he walks through it, Maybeck right behind him.

“How cool is it to be one of the Keeps?” Maybeck says, forgetting his earlier aggravation.

They’re in the woods of the Jungle Cruise. Finn heads off to the right, in the direction of the docks.

“Okay, I get it,” Maybeck says. “You could have said we were going to sneak around back of the Jolly Holiday. Good idea.”

“What have you done with the real Terry Maybeck?” Finn asks.

“Ha-ha. Very funny. Credit where credit’s due.”

“Since when?”

“Charlene,” Maybeck says. “Since Charlene.”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Changes things, doesn’t it?”

“You, too?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I can be a real jerk,” Maybeck says, seeing Finn’s reaction. “Have been, at times. But my life has been radically different from any of you guys’.”

“Understood. No argument.”

“Charlene accepts me for who I am. You know? And I don’t exactly get it, but that makes me want to be different from who I am. Better. Not sure that makes sense.”

“It does.”

Maybeck feels exposed, like he’s lost his pants or something. In that moment, a thread connects him to Finn, and it’s as though electricity is being exchanged between their DHIs, as though something strange is happening. He senses it’s a moment he will not only remember but treasure for a long time. Friendship is an elusive, gooey thing; it shrinks with the cold, expands in the heat; it has ways of vanishing right before your eyes; or of appearing out of nowhere. This is a moment—right now—in which it proves sticky.

“Let’s do this thing,” Maybeck says. “Let’s go rub ourselves a genie!”

Finn doesn’t speak, but despite his silence, despite the v1.6 software and projection, despite the fact that they come from different worlds and were thrown together only by chance, he shows excitement, acceptance, and…

Finn takes off across the open concourse, glows briefly, and then is absorbed by the darkness of the Bazaar. Maybeck follows at a run.

Inside, Finn can see by the glow of his own DHI. A newcomer to the Bazaar, Finn moves to his right, arriving at shelves of hammered brass plates, cups, and pitchers. He might be able to convince himself that the pitchers are the lantern he seeks, but there are a dozen of them and they’re tall and narrow, nothing like Jess’s sketch.

Maybeck passes behind him. “This way,” he says, though he has no more clue where he’s going than Finn does. Yet, he leads them to a small alcove, more like an open closet containing a low table. A bejeweled lantern sits atop it. On the wall above it is a sign, but the area’s too dark to read it.

“You suppose I just rub it?” Finn asks Maybeck.

“There’s something not right about this,” Maybeck says.

“The jewels? I don’t remember any jewels in her drawing.”

“Something else, I think.”

Finn’s hand pauses over the ancient oil lamp. He lowers his palm and rubs it. Nothing happens.

“Try again. Are you thinking of something you want?”

Finn removes his hand, pauses. He rubs it again.

Nothing.

“Well, that’s awkward,” Maybeck says.

“It isn’t real. It’s a tourist attraction. Nothing more.”

The voice does not belong to Maybeck.

Finn turns to see Jafar, Aladdin’s nemesis, standing with his legs spread wide, arms crossed, his red-lined robe flowing, scepter in hand. His parrot, Iago, perches on his left shoulder, shifting its head back and forth inquisitively.

Maybeck gives in to his bad habit of swearing at such moments.

The Keepers have faced Jafar before to bad results. Finn wants nothing to do with him. With Maleficent’s death, Jafar is among the most powerful sorcerers in all the Kingdom, capable of levitation, fire breathing, and transfiguration; his scepter can hypnotize with the barest gesture from its master. Even his parrot is smarter and more dangerous than he looks.

“Keep clear,” Finn says, reminding Maybeck to keep fear out of his DHI.

Easier said than done; Finn’s hands and feet tingle, causing him to wonder how vulnerable he might be to attack.

Most troubling of all, Jafar, an expert at impersonation, has not bothered to put on any disguise. He apparently has no use for such a ruse, which suggests he has no reason to attempt to manipulate the two boys.

Which suggests he intends to kill them.

“No way I’m clear,” Maybeck whispers in a rare admission of weakness.

It’s a complication they didn’t need. Finn had hoped to make a run for it, possibly through the wall to his left into the hat display beyond.

“I wonder what it is you wished for,” Jafar says. His inquisitive eyes bore into Finn, as if Jafar is attempting to read his thoughts.

As long as Finn can keep the sorcerer’s mind active, he can buy time for himself and Maybeck. “I killed Maleficent.”

Turns out not even a sorcerer can keep surprise from his face.

“I tore her heart out.” Finn reaches over to Maybeck and demonstrates, sliding his hand into Maybeck’s DHI shoulder. “I’ll do it to you if you make me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yes, you do. Our mission is to end you. We didn’t understand that at first—we’re just
kids
, after all,” he says sarcastically. “No one has ever told us straight out. They didn’t hire us as assassins. We think of ourselves more as bounty hunters. Capture you. Bring all of you to justice. But it’s not as if you’ll go willingly. It’s not as if there’s any other justice for murderers.”

Maybeck has stopped breathing. Still as stone, he stares at Finn as if it’s the first time they’ve met and he’s not sure he likes this guy.

“Tia Dalma tricked me into killing my friend,” Finn confesses. He struggles to get his words out. “I will end her for it.”

The tingling has receded; Finn knows he can endure any amount of magic or ill intent this wizened old man can dish out. He has Dill on his side; he has Lady Justice.

He takes a step forward. Jafar involuntarily takes a step back, and Finn knows he has him. The sense of power he experiences is its own poison; it’s how the Overtakers must feel, and he wants nothing to do with them, nothing to do with the assumption of personal power. He makes it about Dillard, about working toward a greater good—not vengeance, but liberation. He’s a freedom fighter, not a hired gun.

The slight bluish glow from his DHI reveals a set of muddy prints on the concrete floor, a trail Finn hasn’t seen until now. He does not dare to take his eyes off Jafar for another millisecond, but he processes what he’s seen and counts his blessings that Jess and the Fairlies are on their side. Her drawing showed cat’s paw tracks going in two directions. Another glance at the floor confirms it: there’s a concave arc of prints traced on the concrete.

How to communicate what he’s discovered to Maybeck?

He addresses Jafar. “There is a song—music—my parents play. One of my dad’s favorites.” He shoots a look at Maybeck to make sure he has his attention. Maybeck has not moved. All good. “Turn, Turn, Turn.” Another glance to Maybeck; this time Finn sweeps his eyes to include the floor. Is Maybeck paying attention? He appears to be in a trance. “Iago!” Finn calls to the parrot. “The band was called the Byrds.” He pauses and quotes, “‘To everything, turn, turn, turn.’” Another hot glance at Maybeck and then the floor.

“Why should I care for such a song?” Jafar says irritably. Finn has rattled him with the news of Maleficent’s death. But he and the remaining Overtakers must have assumed such an outcome. Or has Tia Dalma been in touch and assumed control but withheld the truth of the tragedy from them? Will she, could she, cause division in their ranks?

Perhaps there is a way to defeat the Overtakers other than violence.

Maybeck speaks. “Was it vinyl?” he asks Finn. “A vinyl album?”

“Yes!” Finn says.

“Played on a turntable?”

“Yes!”

“Quiet!” Jafar strikes the floor with the base of his scepter. The eyes of its snake’s head glow.

“Don’t look!” Finn admonishes, lowering his gaze, knowing Jafar has the advantage now. The snake’s head can and will hypnotize them if they slip even fractionally out of their DHI state. Unable to see Jafar, he cannot possibly anticipate what might come next. He must remind the sorcerer that he is still of substantial value alive.

Finn says, “My wish is a powerful one.”

“And I will hear it before you die,” Jafar says.

“Unlikely,” Finn says.

“We’ll rip your lungs out,” Maybeck tells Jafar. “We’ll watch you suffocate.” Maybeck knows such bravado will win a telling and condemning look, Finn realizes, watching his friend take a step toward the lantern. Maybeck reaches for it.

“Unhand that!” Jafar roars.

“It’s just a tourist attraction,” Finn says, moving to screen Maybeck with his body. Maybeck isn’t rubbing the lantern, but wrestling it back and forth in an attempt to turn it right or left. He lets go.

“Zilch,” Maybeck says.

Finn can hardly believe it. “But it must—!” he gasps.

“No,” Maybeck says.

“Silence!”
Jafar thumps his scepter again. Behind him, pieces of jewelry fall from the displays, and as they strike the ground, the necklaces break and stretch and morph into black snakes. Slithering into a writhing knot, they roil on the ground at Jafar’s feet, hissing and striking at each other, so eager are they for a kill.

“Relieve yourself of the trinket!” Jafar instructs Maybeck.

“Was the song
rock
or folk?” Maybeck asks.

“Ah!” Finn says.

The snakes unwind, fan out, and approach the boys. Finn steps back, bumping into the table holding the lantern. Maybeck smacks into the wall, and he and Finn start poking and pulling the stones that comprise it.

“Stop!”
Jafar opens his mouth and spews a stream of molten fire. It hits the wall next to Maybeck and begins to spread. Maybeck falls, reaching for a tassel hanging from the sign to catch himself. He grabs hold of it, his fear giving weight to his DHI. The tassel pulls down and stops.

The concrete floor spins beneath their feet.

Maybeck jumps away from the snakes, landing on top of the table that bears the genie’s lamp. He and Finn, along with the lamp, table, and wall behind them, have spun 180 degrees. They’re on the other side of the same wall, the Bazaar and Jafar safely behind them. They find themselves in a tunnel, with flaming torches like sconces lining its stone walls.

“Took me a second,” Maybeck says. “Turn, turn, turn. Turntable. The floor. How’d you know? I must be tired.”

“Nice job with the tassel.” Finn is propped on the opposite end of the short table, looking down at the snakes that made the trip with them.

“Yeah. That was certainly my first choice.”

“Jafar’ll be—”

“Whitman!” Maybeck stabs the air, indicating something behind Finn. It’s the head of a cobra, pinched in the crack in the moveable wall like a shoe keeping a door from closing. Its head is the size of a football, its body like a fire hose. To the naked eye, it appears stationary, but the head is
moving
away from the gap in the wall. The cobra is pushing through to their side.

“—right behind us!” Finn cries, finishing his thought while leaping away from the wall. Half the small snakes immediately swim toward him in an undulating wave of shiny skin. “Come on!”