Kingdom Keepers VII (39 page)

“Would you like to hear an interesting fact?” the Dillard says.

“Sure.”

“Disney Gallery is in the Opera House, one of the first buildings erected in Disneyland.”

“If you weren’t a hologram, I’d hug you!” Finn says.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Yeah. You should. So, do you know which Imagineers are aware of the Mickey pieces?”

The Dillard hesitates, and Finn can imagine some hard drive spinning in an underground room as the hologram searches his vast supplies of data. “No e-mails…no mention in annual reports…Ah! Here is something: a remodeling of the vault in 1998 follows by four months the recovery of the twelfth piece of Mickey.”

Finn makes a note. At times, his mind starts to work so fast, it’s like a locomotive about to jump the rails. He loses the ability to hold his thoughts together; they act like sparks shooting away from the white heat of a welder’s torch. He wants to snag them in their flight, but trying to catch the flashes of thought will only burn him badly, so he watches them go.

“Why is there a vault? Is it for show or for real?”

“Prior to the Disney Gallery, that space housed a bank from 1955 to 1998.”

“This is making a lot of sense!” Finn practically shouts.

Again, no reaction to his raised voice. This is one of the oddities Finn has to get used to: the Dillard lacks emotional responses to what he hears; but when speaking certain words, he has been programmed to make the appropriate facial expressions. The dichotomy confuses Finn, keeps bringing him up short. The Dillard is real—until he’s not.

“More comparisons between Disneyland and Osiris?” Finn says.

“Egypt is one of the world’s oldest agricultural civilizations. The Egyptians lived mainly on grain,” the Dillard says. “Their staple food was bread, which is made from grain. When you ‘bury’ seeds, they sprout, confirming rebirth and life after death. The Egyptians associated Osiris and death with burial and rebirth. There were celebrations and festivals when it came time to ‘bury the seeds,’ in celebration of the resurrection of Osiris.”

“Festivals—parades, fireworks,” Finn says.

“Yes. The similarities are unmistakable. Disney parks, including Disneyland, celebrate every day with parades and fireworks. Grains of many forms, especially wheat, are sold and eaten in the parks: breads, pastries, pretzels, desserts, ice cream cones, snacks, sandwiches, et cetera.”

“The festival of Osiris.”

“Daily,” the Dillard says without emotion.

“But the Disney Osiris is missing.”

“Incomplete would be a better word. Only twelve pieces of the original Mickey illustration have been recovered. The most powerful of the ‘Disney gods’ remains powerless.”

“Allowing others to rise to power.”

“History provides ample testament to the filling of power vacuums.”

“You sound like a textbook.”

“Apologies. My use of vernacular will modify with my exposure to common spoken terms.”

“And again!” Finn says. The Dillard does not respond. “The Imagineers sent you to help me put this together,” Finn mumbles, thinking aloud.

“I am projected, not delivered.”

“Pause.” Now Finn reaches for his mental sparks, corralling as many as possible. He’s immune to any pain from their heat; this is too important. He must not lose any of it; he must retain the ability to explain all the things he’s coming to understand to the other Keepers. On the pad, he scribbles random thoughts; he’ll organize them later. They burst like the fireworks he just mentioned. “Wait!” Finn says to himself.

The Dillard’s head swivels, but he doesn’t speak. He looks like a dog eagerly awaiting a command.

“Resume,” Finn says. He will instruct the Dillard later to “learn” from Finn’s pauses, to evolve into a more conversational companion. For now, there’s a more pressing question. “Search every available database and tell me: Did Walt Disney or Wayne Kresky leave any clues other than the hieroglyphs we discovered in the invisible ink, on the back of Wayne’s wristwatch, and carved into the table at Club 33?”

The Dillard sits motionless for ninety seconds. Finn times the hologram’s blinking, realizing they may signify how the search is progressing. At first, when the Dillard blinks, his lids stay down for a full second. Near the ninety-second mark, he blinks so quickly Finn, can barely spot the action.

“Walt Disney is believed to have created six private documents referenced in his last will and testament as ‘The Manto Manuscripts.’ As you may know, Manto, a daughter of the seer Tiresias, was a prophetess of extraordinary abilities.”

The Dillard is doing his textbook thing again, but this time Finn doesn’t complain. Between Philby and the Dillard, he is surrounded by know-it-alls. After all these years, he is kind of getting used to it.

“The Manto Manuscripts,” the Dillard continues, “include the Stonecutter’s Quill. There is no information available on the remaining five.”

Finn wants to ask who has access to the Manto Manuscripts, where this information comes from, but there’s a more pressing need.

“The Stonecutter’s Quill required 3-D glasses for the recovery of much of its information,” Finn says. “Is there anything like that with the Osiris hieroglyphs, beyond that invisible ink?”

“Information on the Manto Manuscripts is limited. That said, only basic concealment technologies were available at the time. It is logical to assume that use of such technologies would have been applied to the Manto documents.”

“I think I understood that.” Again, Finn finds it hard to keep his thoughts under control. He wills his pen to move faster on the page. The Dillard made his last comment on his own. He wasn’t quoting an information source. The Imagineers have apparently given him such massive bandwidth that he can process data, calculate, and reason at lightning speeds. Finn tests his thesis. “How likely is it that a technology like 3-D glasses would be required to recover all the information in more than one of the Manto Manuscripts?”

The Dillard’s eyelids lower and remain that way, seemingly confirming Finn’s belief that this indicates processing. “There is a forty percent probability of this technology use recurring in another of the documents.”

“Your movements are too mechanical,” Finn says. “You need to be more natural, more fluid.”

“So noted. Whose motions should I emulate?”

“Not any of the girls. Only boys.”

“So noted.”

“Maybeck has good moves, but I think you’d look stupid trying them. No offense.”

“So noted. None taken.”

“Philby’s a little stiff.”

“So noted.”

“You were probably programmed based on family videos. Do you have access to those?”

“Yes.”

“I wish you could project them.”

Nothing.

“Use those,” Finn says, clearing his throat. “Access and study them.”

“So noted.”

The Dillard can become tiresome. “Don’t repeat phrases so much.”

“Copy that.”

Finn laughs aloud. It feels better than his earlier tears. Maybe the Dillard’s parents knew what they were talking about.

* * *

Stage 3 in the Studios back lot is the size of several airplane hangars. Currently, a large section of flooring at its center has been removed, exposing a rectangular tank of black water bigger than a basketball court. A giant sheet of green-screen fabric hangs behind it.

All five Keepers, Amanda, and Jess wear green bodysuits covered with dozens of small metal disks. The Dillard stands beside Finn, looking the way he always looks.

Willa is not thrilled with the way the suit fits. It’s like a second skin. The others look great. She thinks she looks more like a Shar-Pei.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jess says confidentially.

“Easy for you to say. I had no idea you were so fit. You always hide your body.”

“It’s no big deal to me. I mean, I guess I’m more cerebral, always trying to listen in on my own brain.”

“You should have my body.”

Jess nudges Willa’s shoulder with her own and smiles gently. “I’m sure this won’t take long.”

Brad calls out, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. “We need to update your water abilities in order to ensure your safety as DHIs.”

“The fact is,” Joe chimes in, “we don’t know what the OTs may throw at you. It’s important that your DHIs be compatible and upgraded to the highest level of projection we can manage, short of version 2.0.”

“It may be possible, through wire work, to give your 1.6.3 DHIs the ability to leap or jump great distances, run faster, and swim farther,” Brad says, motioning toward the tank, “all while limiting some of the human-body aspects of 2.0 that could compromise the general population or the military, were the technology to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Basically,” Joe says, “we’d like to make you superhuman, but we have to stop short of super. Starting today, though, we’ll be adding enhancements.”

“Now that I look like a piece of asparagus,” Finn says, winning laughter from the other Keepers, “I need to tell you what the Dillard told me.”

“The Dillard?” Maybeck says.

“I’ll explain later,” Finn says.

Joe nods. Finn doesn’t have his notes handy, but he easily explains what he and the Dillard reviewed. The others listen spellbound as Finn recounts the Osiris myth and the way it fits perfectly with the Mickey illustration and its one missing piece. Finn doesn’t want to give away the Dillard’s widespread access to the Imagineers’ files, so he puts it out there as a theory—something cobbled together from his talk with Wayne in Club 33.

“All the pieces of Mickey might be out there in the park,” Finn finishes breathlessly. His words resonate, and then fade in the vast soundstage.

Joe’s obvious reluctance to share such secrets hangs awkwardly in the air.

“You’re close,” he says finally. “We believe the Overtakers did in fact steal the original artwork. And that they tore it up and distributed it so as to make reassembly nearly impossible.”

“Why not just burn it?” Maybeck asks.

“Turns out, it can’t be destroyed. Of course, not even Walt knew this at the time. But it couldn’t be burned or shredded or eaten by acid—and yes, we put a tiny piece through all these tests. There are a dozen theories as to what it all means, but our best guess is that it was indeed torn or cut into thirteen pieces. This may have been possible because of the illustration’s relation to storytelling—Mickey is mythic, after all! In the past several decades, we’ve recovered twelve. They’re currently stored at a secure location.”

Finn says nothing about his knowledge of the Disney Gallery’s vault.

“But now you’ve been able to tie the engraving on Wayne’s watch to the Osiris myth. That’s new. We—generations of Imagineers—have known about the hidden Mickey, have tried to use our guests to help us in our search. We’ve planted hidden Mickeys all over the parks, hoping someone might see something out of the ordinary and report it. Four of the pieces were recovered this way, but that last one has eluded us.”

“I don’t get it,” Philby says. “Why would Walt Disney not share the Osiris myth? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Timing,” Joe says. “Maybe he didn’t want the illustration made whole because it might have been stolen again. He may not have known how powerful that first illustration was. It could have caught him by surprise, even scared him. He was protective of his mouse, of his kingdom.”

“So he gave it to Wayne in case it was ever needed,” Charlene says.

“For a moment like this,” Amanda says, nodding to herself.

“Maybe so. Our guys are trying to see if it means anything at this point, or if, over time, it’s lost its meaning. We’re only missing the one piece. It’s hard to see how the reference to the Osiris myth could help much with that.”

“But it must mean something!” Willa stands on her tip-toes as she speaks. “First the invisible ink. Then the watch!”

Finn clears his throat. “We should get on with the green-screen work.”

The Keepers, Amanda, and Jess shoot him looks that border on disdain. Finn’s expression remains intense, even grim. Amanda is the first to pick up on it.

“Finn’s right,” she says. “There’s no time to waste. We need our DHIs to be as able and capable as possible.”

“Let’s get to it,” Joe says.

Finn intentionally bumps into Philby, who’s about to object, whispering, “We know something they don’t.”

Philby’s lips clamp shut.

“Everything all right?” Joe asks.

“Couldn’t be better,” Philby says.

H
AIR STILL DAMP FROM THEIR SWIM
, the five Keepers, along with Jess and Amanda, cross over onto Disneyland’s Plaza shortly after the fireworks’ grand finale. The Dillard’s projection awaits them. It’s a balmy southern California night. Amid the commotion of departing guests, whose attention is focused on Main Street and the gates, the arrival of the DHIs goes unnoticed by all but a few children. And even with the Disney magic, their parents don’t believe their claims that a kid wearing 3-D glasses materialized out of nowhere.

By previous agreement, the team divides into two groups of four. Philby leads Charlene, Maybeck, and Jess to inspect all the clocks in the park—Wayne has referenced time persistently, after all. Finn takes Amanda, Willa, and the Dillard on a mission to search for where clues might have been left.

The Keepers have agreed that the “king” in the Osiris hieroglyphs must be Walt himself—who else? Any location known to be both original to the park and specifically associated with Walt thus falls onto their list of places to visit. Somewhere in the park, the Keepers believe they will locate at least one other Osiris hieroglyph. Quite possibly, this will identify a missing piece of the torn Mickey illustration. Because of the Dillard’s reference material about the Manto Manuscripts, they have the option of the 3-D glasses, which they hope might reveal the ancient symbol.

“I am now connected to park Wi-Fi,” the Dillard announces.

“What’s with that?” Willa asks Finn in a whisper.

Finn says, “Pause,” and addresses the girls, who stare at the frozen Dillard. “Listen, even though Joe told us about the Dillard’s abilities, they are mind-blowing.”

“‘
The
Dillard’?” Willa asks.

Finn hears concern in Willa’s voice, and wonders if she’s just worried about Philby or if there’s something more. “Yeah,
the
Dillard. Philby is not going be too excited when he realizes the Dillard knows more than he does.”

“I’m
sure
that’s right,” Willa says.

“Hey, you’re all right with the Dillard, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” But she doesn’t sound persuaded.

“Trust me, he’s a big help.” Finn makes sure Amanda’s listening. “We’ve got to remember he’s pure hologram, like our park DHIs. He can’t touch anything, and nothing can touch him. He’s a simple hologram…if that isn’t contradictory. He can’t help us physically, but his knowledge base is bottomless.”

“You are so right about Philby not liking him.”

“He’ll adjust. The Dillard grows on you.”

“Fine,” Amanda says, trying to close the discussion. “So where to?”

“Resume,” Finn tells the Dillard. Willa looks on dubiously. “What location inside Disneyland gives us the highest-percentage chance of finding a symbol hidden by Walt Disney?”

The Dillard’s eyelids lower for five seconds. Then they blink open. “Top three locations in descending order of importance are: Walt Disney’s private apartment at sixty-eight-point-eight percent; the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse at twenty-seven-point-two percent; Pirates of the Caribbean at eighteen-point-seven percent.”

Willa gives Finn a look that prompts him to say, “I know.” Then Finn asks, “Who votes we start at Walt’s apartment?”

The Dillard raises his hologram hand at light speed. Amanda and Willa follow.

“It’s unanimous,” says the Dillard.

Yes, Finn thinks. Willa is jealous, just as he expects Philby will be.

* * *

Philby has assembled a list of clocks and timepieces in Disneyland. They head first to the Haunted Mansion. “The later it gets, the scarier,” is how Philby defends this decision. “Going now is better than going in at two in the morning. Trust me!”

“Charlie and I disagree,” Maybeck says. “We didn’t like our last visit so much.”

“It’s only to look at the clock,” Philby reminds him. “In and out. Besides, the park is in a soft close. It’ll still be running. We’re all right.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jess volunteers. “Terry and Charlene can stand guard.”

“I’m not saying I’m afraid,” Maybeck says.

“No worries,” Philby says. “One of you takes the front, one the exit. Jess and I go in through the back and cut through the ‘chicken-door’ passageway to the clock, since it’s near the front.”

“How can you look so calm?” Charlene asks Jess.

“We’re DHIs,” Jess says.

“But when we’re scared, we’re mortal.”

“When I’m scared, I have my dreams. Nightmares, whatever you want to call them. So this is kind of an opportunity for me.”

“In a sick kind of way,” says Charlene.

“Definitely. Now you understand why I cringe when people call it a gift.”

“I guess I do,” Charlene says. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Let’s go,” Philby says.

He and Jess sneak into the exit, through the unobtrusive door that offers a shortcut through the building for any riders who get too spooked, are too chicken to continue to the end. Moments later, the two are heading for the Doom Buggies. The attraction is surprisingly quiet, given that park hours have just ended. Typically, there would be Cast Members around at this hour, but not tonight. The ride must be “down” for maintenance or cleaning.

The few lights left on cast ghoulish shadows on cobwebs, portraits, and props. The v1.6.3 holograms glow slightly, forming a haze around Jess and Philby as the two slip past the buggies, feeling their way through the gloom.

“You picking up on anything?” Philby whispers.

“Not yet.”

The sound of swirling wind comes from up ahead, swishing in waves like ocean water licking the shore.

“Wraiths!” Philby whispers, his voice cracking with tension. “Hurry!”

Jess follows him, but they’ve lost their all clear, so pushing past the Doom Buggies is slow work. It’ll be just as slow trying to get back out, she thinks, and feels a cold rush of fear.

“There!” Philby spots the grandfather clock to the right. The rush of wind intensifies. He turns. “Jess?”

She’s not behind him.

“Jess?” Torn between the clock and Jess, Philby calls, “I’ll be right back!” and heads toward the clock.

Jess, sitting in a Doom Buggy with her eyes closed, is overcome by a vision of broken earth spewing black smoke and orange fingers of fire. The images shift—she sees flags flapping and wraiths dive-bombing from overhead. Her arms extend to fight off imaginary ghouls. An instant later, her eyes pop open and she catches herself flailing in the dark. It takes a moment to reorient herself.

She spots Philby, wearing his 3-D glasses, standing in front of the grandfather clock. As she joins him, he speaks in his level, Professor Philby voice, the one with a tinge of a British accent. “It’s quite clever, really.” The clock is numbered for thirteen hours, not twelve. “I might have missed the hieroglyph altogether, but I was intrigued by the clock only having one hand, and happened to look where the hand joins the mechanism.”

Jess dons her pair of glasses. On the metal stub that connects the clock’s one hand to the mechanism behind the face is a tiny Osiris hieroglyph, no bigger than a collar button.

“Thirteen,” Jess says, “as in the thirteen pieces of Osiris.”

“Yeah. And a hieroglyph to make sure that number is noticed.”

The wind grows louder and closer, pressing against them. Jess’s hair lifts. Philby wrestles with the door of the clock, but it’s locked.

“If the missing piece is in there, it’s worth breaking it.”

“No,” Jess says.

“I know what to do.” Philby pockets his glasses and kneels. Jess tucks hers away as well. “You watch for trouble!” he calls, trying to sound confident. Philby holds his breath and, confident of his all clear status, eases his hologram head into the base of the clock. His DHI’s faint glow illuminates dust, cobwebs, and a set of tarnished keys. Nothing resembling a torn piece of paper. Next to the keys is a stick of caramel-brown wood, too small to be hiding the missing piece behind it. The chunk of wood seems out of place inside a grandfather clock.

Philby spins his head to look up and see if the bit of wood broke off of something. A black, hairy spider the size of a Ping-Pong ball creeps from a corner. Philby jerks back—
but
can’t move
. His fear of the spider has partially solidified him, sending a band of intense pain through his shoulders where they meet the wood of the clock.

“Hurry!” Jess calls. “Wraiths!”

He feels Jess pulling on him, but he’s frozen, locked half in, half out by his fear. He curses v1.6.3 for its limitations; he’s corrupted in part by his mind’s relentlessness, his inability to turn off his thoughts. The more he thinks, the less chance of all clear. The idea is to let go, to find internal quiet, but quiet is not in his repertoire.

Jess’s voice arrives, muted by the wood of the clock, the increasing roar of wind.

“Think of Willa,” she says. “Your best times with Willa.”

The mention of her name brings a rush of emotion. It’s as if a dark cloth is laid over that part of Philby’s brain that refuses to slow; a gateway to a part of him he rarely explores opens. His feelings. The resulting flood of joy and laughter momentarily blots out all thought, and Philby stops straining against the clock’s hold on him. In that moment of relaxation, he sits back, falling out of the clock, caught by Jess.

The four wraiths are upon them, charcoal ghosts bearing down, arms outstretched and mouths agape. The stream of ghouls aims to suck the life out of them. Philby and Jess duck. The wraiths miss. The kids are up and running scared, weaving through the Doom Buggies, back toward the chicken door, the nearest exit.

Despite her forward motion, Jess sees her hair blow in front of her and knows the wraiths have recovered and are closing in.

“Duck!” She pulls Philby to the floor of the waiting line. Once again, the wraiths miss.

They reach the chicken door and vanish through it. The wraiths smash into the wood, howling in agony and rage.

Once outside, Philby hisses at Jess and motions Charlene off the path. The kids scurry into the graveyard, hiding behind gravestones. The wraiths soar out of the exit line and hover briefly before darting out into the park, looking for the Keepers.

Jess starts to move. Philby whispers, “Stay!”

He’s guessed correctly. Just a moment later, the four wraiths return, hover once more near the exit, and then bleed like smoke into the hallway. Jess, Philby, and Charlene hurry away from the mansion, gesturing to Maybeck, who sees them and follows.

“Fantasyland!” Philby says, and they’re teamed up again.

Maybeck and Charlene demand an explanation of what happened, and Jess and Philby relay the story, panting with shock and nerves.

“They look so transparent,” says Jess, “so ethereal. But when they hit the wall—”

“Yeah. I saw that, too.” Philby isn’t slowing down. “At least we know they aren’t holograms.”

“I think I might have liked it better if they were.”

“And the clock?” Maybeck asks. “What about the clock?”

“The clue was
thirteen
,” Jess says, glancing at Philby for confirmation. “The Osiris hieroglyph means it’s important.”

“It’s a minor clue,” Philby says. “A hint, more like. It’s something to get someone thinking, but not enough to put it all together.”

“It must go back forever,” Charlene says. “Forever and ever. To Walt himself.”

“He wasn’t going to leave this to chance,” Philby says. “Multiple clues ensured that the myth would be uncovered, that questions would be asked. I mean, what if something had happened to Wayne before we showed up?”

“The Imagineers know most of this. They’ve been looking for that thirteenth piece for a long time.” Maybeck sounds discouraged.

“But it’s been left to us,” Philby says. “Specifically to Finn, not the Imagineers.”

They slow, keeping to the shadows, trying to conceal themselves. Calmer now, Philby leads the way toward the Fantasyland clock tower.

“Do you think the Overtakers are trying to stop us because they know what you’re—
we’re
—doing?” Jess asks. “Or just because we’re us and they know we’re the enemy?”

“The OTs created the Hidden Mickey. Maybe they know the Imagineers have recovered all but the one piece of it. That might make them pretty desperate,” Philby says, shrugging and putting a hand to his side; if he weren’t a DHI, he’d have a stitch from all the running. “Obviously, they couldn’t harness the power of the illustration or they wouldn’t have shredded it in the first place. They fear the Kingdom regaining that kind of power. If they figure out that we stand in the way of that, I have no idea what they’ll throw at us.”

“Are you ever optimistic?” Charlene asks.

Philby is about to answer, but then stops and asks instead, “What happened to you back there, Jess? I turned around and you were gone.”

“I had a…moment.”

“And?” says Charlene.

“The ground was burning. There were flags, and…wraiths. The four wraiths we saw, I suppose. I’ve never had one of my dreams come true so fast. I know it means something, but I don’t know what.”

“Maybe it’s not important,” Charlene says sympathetically. Maybeck and Philby exchange a look.

“It is,” Jess speaks with quiet resolve, peering around the corner of a building. “I’ve learned so much since the visions began. How often they happen, how often they take to come true—it’s all part of it. It’s all important. It connects, like one of those Christmas chains you make out of paper loops.”