Kingdom Keepers VII (55 page)

W
HEN
E
LSA AND
V
IOLET
return to the catwalk, they find Mickey standing alone.

“Where are the girls?” a shaken Violet asks. She passes Mickey his sorcerer’s cap, which he pulls on. It stands regally atop his head, as though it has found its proper place at last.

Gone
, Mickey says, speaking voicelessly to both of his fellow Disney characters.

“What? Where?” Violet cries.

Mickey blows a farewell kiss. Elsa moves as if to shake him, but Violet restrains her.

“Don’t freeze him!” Violet begs.

“Where did they go?” Elsa shouts. Her words echo. “Jess! Willa!” Elsa looks down, awaiting an answer, but only darkness meets her. “Girls!” she calls again. No answer.

“If they took off that fast,” Violet says, “there must be a reason. We have to stay positive.”

“You cannot be serious! Finn…dust. Willa and Jess have run off! We have to stay positive? How?” Turning, Elsa trips over something—and bends to retrieve Mickey’s conductor’s baton, his magic wand.

Golly
, Violet hears him say.
Is that mine?

“It is,” Violet answers, motioning to Elsa, who hands Mickey the baton and steps back.

Mickey swings it, as if testing its balance. Then, with his free hand, he pulls his cap on more tightly and directs the baton toward the ladder, which sparkles, shimmers—and the ice freezing it in place is gone. The ladder is restored, as they found it, in one piece, secured to the wall.

“You have been missed,” Violet says demurely.

Mickey gives her his best,
Aw, shucks!
look.

Violet has overheard the Keepers discussing Mickey’s importance, his role in what comes next. The endgame, Philby called it. She never figured she would be the one to see it through to its final moments. For a place once filled with such magic, such joy and fantasy, Disneyland feels nothing like that now. The Children of Light have been legend for years. Characters like her have hung their hopes on them. Finnegan alone took on a more than legendary, a truly mythical quality: the leader of the rebels, their heart and soul.

Without wanting to, Violet sees the charred outline on the deck in her mind’s eye. For all her heroism, she has never considered self-sacrifice. She cannot imagine the strength it must have taken for Finn to allow himself to be struck by lightning.

Taking a deep breath, Violet turns to Mickey and speaks aloud. “He cleared the way for you. The Keepers—the Children of Light, the Children of
Life
—they believed in you, believed your powers alone could restore the park to its former perfection. They were guided by a man named Wayne, and by Walt Disney before him. Together, they made this happen. They sacrificed greatly for this chance. I guess what I’m saying is: they believed. And I believe too. It’s time.” She motions toward the ladder.

Elsa says gently, “We don’t know how many of their leaders remain.”

Mickey shakes his head sadly, but does not speak.

“They thought,” Violet says hesitantly, “that if you…if the park could be made whole again, the trouble would pass. The Overtakers, the evil ones who have brought the park to its knees—they’re wounded, if not destroyed. They’ve been set back years, if not forever. If—
when
—you heal the park and seal the earth back up, the evil will be sealed up too. The magic will be preserved.”

Trouble has no place here
, Mickey says silently. Elsa and Violet listen intently, hanging on his every word.
It never has;
it never will.
He looks up the ladder to the open hatch.
You say
the leader…?

Violet averts her eyes and shakes her head.

He flew away?
Violet nods, on the verge of tears.
The
leader, or the one called the Bat God?

“Both, I think.”

I defeated the Bat God once before, you know? Many years ago.

“Yes, I’ve seen it.”

Seen it? You are too young! Far too young.

“I’ll explain later. We must act now. The sun is nearly up. The park must be restored before any children see it like this.”

Lead the way.
Mickey nods, indicating the ladder.

Together, he begins to climb with Violet. Elsa stays behind, giving them room atop the mountain.

From the platform, Mickey and Violet survey the ruined park. Under a gray shelf of clouds, the sun burns in a pink line as it rises on the eastern horizon. Seagulls float not far off.

The park is empty!
Mickey says.

“I think they—the villains we call the Overtakers—took off when Chernabog and Finn…” Violet works to keep the sorrow from her voice. “When they flew away.”

You must not believe the pain, child. Like the magic in this
park, it is only as real as you believe it to be. Hold on to the things
you cherish. Leave behind all you do not.

She kisses him on the cheek. “Can you fix it?”

He giggles his Mickey giggle. It has been forever since she’s heard that sound in films, and she has never heard it in person. It sounds lighter than she could have imagined.

Do you believe I can fix it?

“Yes, I do.”

It’s an awful mess.

“Yes, it is.”

Together they take in the damage: the smoldering fires, the shattered concrete and fallen trees, the destruction at Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.

“It seems so unfair,” Violet says. “The Children of Light should be here. This is their story. I have a feeling they would claim they are only visitors, that we are the ones who deserve to watch you. But that’s another example of their selflessness.”

Mickey puts his white-gloved hand on hers. Then he smiles.
How much do you believe?

“Fully,” Violet says. “Without a doubt.”

Without a doubt.

Mickey likes that, she can tell.

Then believe this, child: the Children of Light are here with
us. We witness with more than eyes and ears. The true test of one’s
faith is not belief, but commitment. From what you say, they have
demonstrated that.

“More often than any of us,” Violet says. “They lived it.” And now at last she cries.

Below them, Elsa sheds tears of ice. They ring like tiny bells as they fall to the deck and burst apart.

Now, now,
Mickey says,
there’s no place for that here.

He lifts his baton and begins to conduct a silent melody, as if leading an orchestra as big as the entire park itself, turning right and left, spinning in circles, childish, gleeful, ebullient. His cap flaps this way and that. Violet and Elsa can hear him laughing. The sound echoes in their hearts.

Sparkles appear like frost on the attractions and paths, and for a moment, Violet thinks Elsa is up to her Winter Queen tricks. But the sparkling frost is light, not ice. As it dances around the park, it restores the park as it was before the Skyway Station battle. Everything about it is new and untouched. The effect is slow to take hold. Magic, like a song, must take its own sweet time. Only the Skyway Station itself is left in ruins: the source of the wounds must be removed forever.

Violet has seen her brother run at speeds that blur her vision. She herself has appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye. Yet, nothing has prepared her for this. All the magic of the princes and princesses, the bears and chipmunks, and even all the power of the Overtakers rolled up together would amount to little compared to the healing power Mickey unleashes.

Daylight breaks among the shooting sparks; radiant beams split the departing storms and spread warm golden light over a perfect Disneyland. In the distance, California Adventure glows. The attractions glisten. The paths shine, smooth and flawless once more.

From a distance, all around the park, the inhabitants of Disneyland reemerge from hiding to see a familiar silhouette standing high atop the Matterhorn, waving what looks like a baton.

One minute he’s there.

The next, in a wink of light, he’s gone.

The wink of light is the restoration of electric power to the park. Streetlamps flicker, but remain on. Neon buzzes back to life. Music floats from unseen speakers. A spotlight focused on the Matterhorn platform clicks on. Mickey steps into the cone of light; he was there all along.

Violet and Elsa are so enthralled by the changes to the park that they miss the growing cloud of colors at their feet and behind them. The shapes sputter and fight to appear.

When finally Violet turns, she screams as she sees Philby and Willa, holding hands; Charlene and Maybeck likewise; and an inconsolable Amanda held tightly in Jess’s arms. They are all there with them, just as Mickey said.

Finn lies at their feet on the deck, unconscious or dead.

Amanda pulls free of Jess and kneels beside Finn. “Help him,” she says to Mickey.

Only Violet hears Mickey’s reply.
I know him not. This kind
is unfamiliar to me. I can heal magic, not flesh.

“He’s not breathing!” Amanda says. “Why bring him back if he’s not breathing?”

Mickey can do no more than look down at her and smile his endless smile.

“It wasn’t Mickey who brought us back,” Philby says. “It was the power coming on. Finn…the lightning strike…Mickey restored the power. I was over at Big Thunder when that lightning struck. I have no idea how I got here. The rest of you?”

As Mickey smiles, the others shake their heads. All but Amanda, who is hysterical. “He’s—not—breathing!” she wails.

Willa turns to Mickey, wringing her hands. “Megara, Rapunzel! Can you bring them here? Can you summon them?”

Mickey lifts and waves his baton.

“Look!” Charlene rushes to the edge of the platform. Out of the smoke from the fireworks Dumbo emerges, sweeping his ears with grace and ease. He’s carrying Megara and Rapunzel on his back. The elephant hovers over the platform as the two women lower themselves and drop to Mickey’s side.

Jess can’t help herself. Through her tears, she waves at Dumbo, who winks and flies off.

Without instruction, Megara and Rapunzel tend to Finn. They work in sync, like two nurses with metaphysical powers.

Mickey, the Keepers, Violet, and Elsa form a semicircle around them. No one knows when exactly they all reach out and take one another’s hands, but it doesn’t matter. In the end they stand, unified.

The powers of the two women are transformative. The color returns to Finn’s hologram. The burned and missing pieces of his DHI body are restored. It’s as if Megara and Rapunzel are retouching a painting made of light.

Mickey giggles, turning each and every head. This time, everyone hears him. He covers his nose in embarrassment and blushes.

Next to Elsa, another orb of light pulses and flickers. The Dillard appears.

“Finn must be coming around!” Philby cries. “Look who’s here!”

The Keepers and Fairlies clasp hands, celebrating the Dillard’s reappearance. Charlene claps. The Dillard merely raises an eyebrow, emotionless as ever.

Finn sits up. Amanda gives a joyful cry and smothers him in a hug. The Keepers hug Megara; Mickey and Philby sneak in an embrace with Rapunzel.

“What has happened here?” the Dillard says.

Laughter rings from the top of the Matterhorn, the sound stolen away by the thunderous grand finale of fireworks overhead.

Finn lifts his arm beyond Amanda’s embrace. The gold watch shimmers.

“Did it work? Did it work?” He manages to swing his head far enough to take in Mickey in his cap, bearing his baton. The peaceful expression on that familiar face seems to light up the sky along with the exploding fireworks.

Mickey and Finn lock eyes.

Finn sees someone behind those eyes he never expected to see again: Wayne—calling to Finn:
My job is done. It’s your kingdom now
.

F
INN WAKES
, opens his eyes, and recoils at the sight of Philby, who is pressing his finger against his lips to indicate silence.

“What the—” Finn catches himself and returns the nod. Together, the two Keepers slip out of the actors’ trailer serving as their dormitory and into a bathroom in the Frank G. Wells Building. Philby waves his hand under the faucet’s automatic sensor, producing a hissing stream of water loud enough to cover their whispered conversation.

“Jess’s latest drawing?” Philby says. “The one after it was all over.”

The Keepers’ past two weeks have been consumed with intensive debriefing sessions conducted by lawyers, archivists, and the Imagineers. Finn had nearly forgotten about Jess’s unexpected nightmare, which led to her sketching a new image in her diary.

“The coffee cup?” Finn asks.

“No, the one after that. It shows you and Maybeck, crouched down near that mirror.” Philby unfolds a copy of the sketch and passes it to Finn.

“Yeah? So what?”

“In it, you look like you’re holding Walt’s pen.”

“Yeah, it does look like that. But that’s not how it happened. Her vision is off. Besides, that was years ago. I was alone, Philby. Once inside One Man’s Dream I tricked my way backstage in order to steal Walt’s pen, and Maybeck wasn’t with me. Other than that,” he concludes sarcastically, “it’s a perfect duplicate.”

“Jess has never sketched the past. Always the future.”

“Sometimes,” Finn says, mulling this over, “she gets it wrong. Even she’ll tell you that. But let’s say she’s right. We don’t know it’s Walt’s pen in my hand.”

“Of course it is.” He pauses. “I need to show you, Finn. It’s not something I can tell you.”

“Okay. But why all the secrecy? Why just me?”

“Because I have my theories. Don’t worry, we’ll tell the others.” There’s an awkward pause. Finn wants to ask, “When?” but doesn’t. Finally, Philby speaks, rubbing his neck uncomfortably, not meeting Finn’s gaze.

“You’re saying you haven’t felt it?”

“I’m feeling things I don’t ever want to feel again: regret, guilt, terror. Which do you mean? Take your pick.”

“Hairs on the back of your neck, rising.”

“That, too.”

Finn has chalked up the sensation to the lingering effects of his near-death experience, his brush with permanent Sleeping Beauty Syndrome. Philby’s confirmation that he has felt the same thing disturbs Finn.

“We know Maybeck melted Judge Doom. You fried Chernabog. But none of us saw what happened inside the Skyway Station after it all went down.”

Finn looks away, twisting his lips. He doesn’t want to revisit the feelings of disruption and panic. “I hear they’re going to tear the rest of it down.”

“I heard the same thing. No more Skyway Station. But that’s not the point. The point is that both you and I feel things aren’t exactly back to normal. And I’ll bet the others feel it too. As long as that feeling’s there, I trust no one, not even Joe.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Finn raises his voice. “We fixed the park!
Mickey
fixed it! We can’t live our lives seeing ghosts around every corner. Or maybe you can, but I can’t.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is to me.”

“No, Finn. I mean the ‘fixed it’ part. I’m not so sure we did. I think it’s more relative.” Philby pulls his hand from beneath the faucet. The water stops. “I have to show you this.” He swipes his hand, gets it running again. “There are cameras everywhere. We know that.”

“You’re freaking me out, Philby. Can’t we move on?”

“Not yet. I’m going to take you to the old Animation building hallway. Now, they could be watching us, so when we get there, I’m going to point out a picture, but I want you to focus on the
reflection
in the glass. Look at the photo across the hall reflected in the glass. Then we’re going to wander around looking at several other photos. When we get back to the one in the reflection, take a good long look.”

“At? Come on, Philby.”

“You need to see it for yourself, Finn. That’s the only way either of us is going to believe it.”

* * *

The hallway in the old Animation building is long and empty. Finn follows Philby’s instructions to the letter. Of all the Keepers, Philby is far and away the least dramatic. Finn might expect theatrics from Maybeck or Charlene, even Willa—though over the years she and Philby have grown so much alike that it’s hard to tell them apart. Knowing this makes Philby’s urgency all the more pressing.

In the reflection, Finn sees a poster-size frame containing a collage of several photos. The two boys begin to wander the hall independently, and Finn makes sure to take his time with the frame in question. Along the way, he studies several other images for a long time, hoping that when he stops in front of the crucial one, it won’t seem suspicious—if Philby’s even right about them being watched.

Then again, Philby’s always right.

The collage commemorates the grand opening of One Man’s Dream at Walt Disney World on October 1, 2001. There are a half-dozen color photos. Finn studies each carefully—and stops at the fifth one he examines.

In the photo, there is a mirror, of a kind often used for putting on makeup or shaving, and identical to the one in Jess’s most recent sketch. The mirror is attached to a crisscross metal armature that can extend accordion-style.

Finn unfolds Jess’s sketch. Her image shows only pieces of shelves. In the photo, they are revealed to be part of an animator’s drawing desk, and the mirror is set up to allow the artist to study his own facial expressions as a guide to help in drawing his characters’ faces. Her vision fits with what Finn sees framed on the wall, but he still can’t make sense of it. He won’t admit it out loud, but he
knows
that it is Walt’s pen in his hand in Jess’s drawing, and that it has no place being there.

After a while, he and Philby leave the hallway and step outside, where the security cameras may observe them but there are no microphones that might pick up their conver-sation.

“A drawing desk,” Finn says. “One Man’s Dream.”

“Close. But not exactly.”

“So? I’m the one who got the pen, remember? I was alone, and I didn’t find it on the drawing table. I found it on Walt’s office desk.”

“In a mug, like the one Jess sketched the first time. Yes. Did you happen to notice the shelves on the drawing table?”

“The books and stuff?”

“And in Jess’s sketch.”

Finn checks.
“Hmm.”

“Her drawing is not of One Man’s Dream. Jess saw you and Maybeck next to a drawing desk, but not the one in the exhibit. It’s
Walt’s real drawing desk
.” Philby takes a deep breath, and then whispers, “‘It’s about time.’”

“Stop quoting that. You need sleep,” Finn says.

“Wayne’s watch,” Philby reminds him. “The address—”

“Is actually the address of the Music Box Company. Like the thing in Walt’s apartment. We’ve talked about this for the past two weeks. I’m sick of it! We’re done, Philby. Done!”

Chirping crickets compete with the sound of traffic. A warm wind blows—judging by the smell, someone nearby is painting. Finn has lost two friends and nearly lost his mother, not to mention nearly losing his own life multiple times. With Wayne gone, with the park restored, he wants out. He has gained friendships worth keeping and working on. Experience, to be sure. But Mickey’s designating him protector and defender of the Kingdom weighs heavily on his shoulders. He wants a break. He needs a break.

“We need to visit Walt’s apartment,” Philby says. “Scratch that. Wayne turned this all over to you, so
you
need to visit Walt’s apartment. But you’re bringing us along for the ride.”

“Because?” There it is again, the reminder it’s all on Finn now.

“I think Wayne left you a recording. If the music box can play recorded music, it can play a recorded voice, too. You know Wayne. Always up to more tricks.”

“Okay. I’m good with that.”

“Say, what?”

“If this will shut you up, I’ll do it,” Finn says.

“Just like that?”

Finn confesses. “The watch and the music box—that New Jersey address—it’s been bugging me. I admit it!”

“If Wayne left you a message, it’s not going to be a pep talk. It’s going to be Wayne asking for you—for us—to do something. That’s just who he is.”

“I said, I’m in.” Finn wants desperately to prove Philby wrong, to board a plane and return to Orlando, but there’s no way he can turn down the chance to hear Wayne’s voice again. Like having the Dillard along, it would assuage some of his grief. Despite himself, there’s a flicker of excitement that burns somewhere within Finn. Wayne—another mission: could it possibly be true?

Professor Philby lays out the rules. “We can’t tell the Cryptos what we’re up to. Amanda and Jess are preparing for their internships. We don’t need to bother them, either.”

“Why so secretive?” Finn says. “Amanda and Jess are part of us now.”

“I’m being cautious. So sue me.”

“What’s the big secret Wayne supposedly left us on this recording?” Finn asks.

“If I knew that,” Philby says. “We wouldn’t have to go there.”

A bolt of excitement darts through Finn. And then he feels sick to his stomach. Each time Wayne has summoned them, the risk to the Keepers as well as to the Kingdom has increased exponentially. If Wayne left a prerecorded message, it could only say that he expected to die—or knew he would be killed.