“You will do what must be done, or suffer the consequences,” Tia Dalma whispers. With that, she stabs a twig into the doll’s belly. The man buckles over, groaning in agony. “Yes,” she says. “You must obey the Black Mamba.”
Tia Dalma works the doll. It is routine for her; she could do it in her sleep. Only the pesky Kingdom Keepers—five teenagers empowered by hologram technology who serve the good of Disney—are not fully susceptible to her black magic. The effects of her powers on the young people sent to defeat her are wholly unpredictable. Otherwise, she might have prevailed already, she and the other dark masters, the ones who have come together to overtake the parks—the entire Disney kingdom—for the good of bad, the dark of night, the sake of corruption and control. And don’t forget the three Ds: Danger, Desire, and Death.
The worker responds to Tia Dalma’s manipulations like a child’s remote-controlled robot, pivoting and walking stiff-legged in time with the relentless, rhythmic clanging toward the machinery, the dials and tanks, pumps and pipes that sit like an open sore amid a swill of mud. The muck oozes around the man’s bare feet as he reaches the metal tangle. He is not without consciousness: to a point, he can think for himself. Tia Dalma has taken control of him physically and impaired him mentally; they work as smoothly as dancing partners, like a well-oiled machine.
The man marches directly to a control panel of digital readouts so bright that Tia Dalma can make out their neon greens, ambers, and reds from where she lurks in the shadows of the jungle. He acts without haste as she raises the doll’s right arm, giving his brain a cue to work the controls.
Immediately, the wheezing of pressurized pipes rises like a chorus. Steam valves cough; the generator revs to keep up with the demand for electricity. Three of the green displays turn amber; two of the amber, red. A wiry man with slicked-back hair and a tattoo of a snake that winds from his wrist to his neck approaches her worker. The supervisor wears a DayGlo orange hard hat, distinguishing himself from the yellow hard hats of his team. He barks angrily at the worker.
Three more amber displays become red. The supervisor rants, gesticulating at the panel, and moves in to correct the changes his worker has made.
Tia Dalma lifts the doll’s arms, pushes the hands together, and lowers them fast, like a sledgehammer driving down a tent spike. The supervisor collapses to his knees. Her worker smashes the man’s back a second time; now he’s down on all fours, shouting. Four other workers emerge from a small trailer.
All the green is gone from the panel, replaced by amber, red…and flashing red. The sounds intensify. Tia Dalma doesn’t understand the process—she is no mechanical engineer—but by the look of it, steam and chemicals are being injected into the ground, flushing or pressurizing the cavity far below and causing it to disgorge its valuable natural gas. Some form of extraction that goes well beyond her limited knowledge. Whatever the case, the worker’s efforts are charging the well with added pressure; she needs no gauge or display to tell her that. The earth beneath her feet is trembling now, more strongly than she felt from the top of the temple.
The four men rush toward her worker, hollering. The ground shakes so violently that one of the men loses his balance and falls, comically. It feels to Tia Dalma like the earth itself is sliding. Shifting.
She works the doll’s feet and arms in a flurry of inhuman gestures that knock the other three men aside. They go down like bowling pins, and then jump to their feet as the supervisor recovers and stands.
Her priorities set, Tia Dalma turns her worker, holding him upright as the three men attack him from behind. She hears the cracking of her worker’s bones, but keeps the doll steady; it will not yield. The worker swings at the supervisor. The wiry man soars through the air, crashing hard into a rusted pickup truck.
The sight stops the other three men. In an instant, they understand that they are dealing with something cursed, something from another realm. They back up as Tia Dalma turns her worker and marches him forward. Two of the three men hesitate. The other runs, screaming.
Her worker’s legs are broken in several places, the bones showing through the skin—and yet he walks on, undeterred.
The vibration in the earth gives way to shaking, and the shaking to quaking. Tia Dalma steadies herself, reaching out for a palm tree. Behind her, other trees begin to fall, their roots torn from the loosening soil.
From a bird’s-eye view, a ring of destruction emanates outward from the drilling rig, with ever-expanding concentric circles formed by rippling shock waves. The jungle growth inside this ring falls silently, as though a wind has toppled everything taller than a few inches. Birds, snakes, and other creatures scatter. On and on the ring spreads, like ripples in a pond in the wake of a stone’s splash.
As the leading edge of the ring reaches the temple compound, dust rises. The earth collapses, folding inward, swallowing the surface whole.
Against the backdrop of a low rumble, so terrifying that the very birds take flight, can be heard the cackle of a witch doctor’s cruel laugh.
There, in the midst of the mud and grime, as the drill tower teeters and collapses, Tia Dalma has her dull-eyed, broken-boned worker dancing an Irish jig in celebration.
TIA DALMA OBSERVES HER WORK BY NIGHT, an artist in the privacy of her studio.
She studies the destruction she has caused. The gray stones of the temple lie on the ground, wearing a crust of dirt and debris. The grass and plants that once surrounded the temple look as if they belong on an ancient gravestone.1 The temple, at one time tall, and proud as the forces of nature it was modeled after, now is little more than a child’s broken tower of building blocks. Water trickles through the blocks and pieces of the once majestic pyramid, the very stream that defeated the Beast, Chernabog, years before. A miasma of evil fills the dusty air. This was a place of sacred ritual, untouched by the commoners, now desecrated by outsiders—worse, foreigners—who have no right to be here. The tears in the earth scream like wounds, spitting hate. Who knows what ancient powers have been released?2
A snorting, heavy-breathing sound summons Tia Dalma closer—the sound made by a ferocious bull trapped in a branding chute. Despite all the magnificent horrors her eyes have seen, many of her own making, she approaches with trepidation and unusual reserve. But this is hardly a usual situation. Only as she nears the grating noise does it dawn on her that these catacombs have been dormant for thousands of years; that high priests perhaps more powerful than she (a terrifying thought in itself) utilized them as a place of banishment for thieves, those unwanted outcasts deemed a danger to the greater community.
Danger. Desire. Death. Evil spirits would have been expelled to this labyrinth, led into its tangled tunnels with no hope of finding their way out.
Until now.
In all her impatience, Tia Dalma thinks, she may have liberated these festering forces. She may have inadvertently torn the lid off Pandora’s box. Tia Dalma is not one to experience chills of fear rippling up her spine, and yet the sensation invades her now, as unwanted and unfamiliar as disease. The very location of the labyrinth, below the earth, its proximity to the realm of fire and darkness that has fed her all these years, allows a faint possibility to enter her mind: she could be standing atop an access to the Underworld. A portal to the kingdom of Hades himself—one so powerful, so ultimate, that she would be made to look the infant by comparison.
She wants no contact with Hades. Briefly, she considers running. Tia Dalma—flee like a frightened child? Unthinkable! Inexcusable! And yet…the urge is there, ever present and gnawing her brain raw.
She lays one bare foot in front of the other. She has carved her own way through this murky world, no doubt troubling the likes of Hades—assuming powers she might have been better off leaving to others, misusing those powers, abusing, torturing. He might smile at what she has done. Pain could raise a chuckle. But in the past she has forgiven, nurtured, nursed, and assisted those in need: violations, all. She has allowed herself to act—dare she even
think it?—human. If caught, she will be punished. Pulled deeper into the realm through the cavernous cracks in the earth that spread before her.
She must hurry! A power such as this knows no compassion, has no sense of time. Should he find his way out, she—and perhaps those she seeks to liberate—will be fugitives from his all-encompassing wrath for time immemorial. Never safe, always on the run.
The solution is plain to see: she must free her associates and search for a way to cause an even bigger earthquake, something to fold the dirt and stone back in on itself, closing off the very chambers she has now exposed.
But for now, her skin crawling, she marches steadily forward, only yards from the nearest exposed tunnel. She must peer inside—which goes against every fiber of her being.
She must free the Beast.
IT’S NOT JUST THE OTHER KEEPERS—Philby, Maybeck, Willa—who are in the back of Maybeck’s van. Brad is there too. Brad, the Imagineer technician responsible for all the studio green-screen work involved in digitizing the Keepers’ actions and speech to create their holograms. Brad, who worked with them during the upgrade to DHI version 2.0, stabilizing their holograms. He’s maybe thirty now, but still has a youthful face, dark hair, and thick eyebrows. He works calmly but intensely, making sure that each Keeper is comfortable lying down on a few yoga mats.
Finn is shoulder-to-shoulder with the fiercely intelligent and sometimes brooding Willa. At their heads, Maybeck lies sideways across the van. Next to him, and immediately behind the front two seats, is Philby, also sideways on the floor.
Brad climbs into the driver’s seat and turns the ignition. “For the past three years,” he says, “it’s been mostly exercises. Right?”
His words trigger memories and images for Finn, most of them good. He pushes past the pain of losing Dillard to the harrowing events of the cruise, and past those to the long year spent battling Maleficent in all four of the Disney World parks. As a team, they’ve come through a great deal together and grown closer as a result. They battled back the dolls of It’s a Small World and endured the rage of Judge Frollo; they’ve had crushes and learned to distinguish them from real feelings; they’ve experienced loss, rage, determination, and frustration as they’ve battled the Overtakers.
The reality-TV crew that broadcast their actions without their knowledge during the second half of the cruise has come and gone. For a time, their show drew the highest ratings of any program on the Disney Channel. The only good that came of it—if you can call it good—is that television executives in L.A. noticed Charlene’s all-American good looks and gymnastic athleticism and gave her a shot at the big time. She’s had several guest appearances on Good Luck Charlie, and there’s talk she may be offered a starring role in a new Disney Channel show. The thought that Charlene could be the next Hannah Montana is a little off-putting to all the Keepers, especially Maybeck, who texts with her constantly and hasn’t been himself since her departure. They’ve all missed her, but for Maybeck it has been agony.
“This is not an exercise,” Brad continues. “There’s been a breach in security at the Studio Archives.”
“But wait,” Willa says, “aren’t they in—”
“Burbank. You’ll be crossed over onto the Disney Legend outdoor terrace between the Team Disney and Frank G. Wells buildings. Finn has the Return.”
Finn taps his pocket, ensuring that the small fob-size remote device Brad is referring to is where it belongs. Items in pockets cross over; handheld objects are less predictable: sometimes they make it, sometimes not. It’s crucial that the Return crosses over successfully; it’s what enables the Keepers to trigger their emergence from their hologram state. Although the Imagineers could return the DHIs manually, the Keepers have learned through hard experience that initiating their exit themselves is critical to their survival.
It is not an exact science. Research into the DHI phenomena of crossing over into hologram form is ongoing, and conducted by te very people who created the DHI program in the first place.
The best explanation the Imagineers have so far offered the Keepers is that crossing over involves each Keeper’s consciousness making a jump “into” his or her hologram at the moment of drifting off to sleep. In that fragile moment between wakefulness and slumber, a kind of portal opens to supercomputers operated by the Disney Imagineers running artificial intelligence software. The Imagineers believe that each DHI operates in a dream state controlled by the sleeping Keeper. This hypothesis is at least partly confirmed by the all-too-real fact that while crossed over, a Keeper can get stuck—in what they call the Sleeping Beauty Syndrome, or SBS. If a DHI is not returned, the sleeping host is trapped in what appears to be a coma while the spark of waking consciousness is unable to make the jump back to the sleeping body.
“You’re being dropped into a hot zone,” Brad cautions. “Fair warning: this isn’t like crossing over at the Hub in the Magic Kingdom and going off searching for OTs. Tonight, you’ll be dropped into the middle of an active operation. The security breach is a well-organized raid. It’s imperative that it be thwarted. We are Code Jiminy.”
A collective gasp. On a scale from one to five, Jiminy is code for the second-highest threat level, surpassed only by Tink. Its invocation authorizes the Keepers to use any means necessary to accomplish the specified goal, including “loss of property”—an Imagineer euphemism for the destruction of Disney characters. Tink allows further for the destruction of physical property, attractions, and systems within the park, as well as for the use of “enhancers”—meaning, dark magic and specialized implements of destruction.
This new military-style regimen is a direct result of the ordeal in Mexico that cost Dillard his life. Since the Imagineers adopted it, the Keepers have never been authorized to go beyond Code Alice, the second of the five levels. By establishing the higher risk level, Brad is warning them that they’re being dumped into a dogfight.
“Mission objective?” Philby asks. The Professor wants to get the facts straight.
“Protect assets; restore video surveillance; determine the target or objective of the raid.”
“Layout?” Philby, again.
“You will cross over onto the terrace. There’s a Starbucks in the corner of the lobby of the target building. The doors are straight ahead. Inside the lobby, the Archives’ entrance is forty feet ahead and on your left.”
“‘Restore video,’” Finn says, quoting Brad. “So, will we go dark once inside?” The holograms need to be projected. If a Keeper goes into “DHI shadow,” their hologram disappears, and the Keeper becomes invisible to others, which can be a blessing or a curse.
“We can’t confirm. Currently, we have eyes on a few spots in there, so I suppose it’s more a case of you encountering extended DHI shadow.”
“Until and unless we fix the cameras that aren’t projecting,” Philby says.
“Correct.”
“So, basically,” Maybeck says, “we won’t know what’s going on until the Overtakers are throwing everything they have at us.”
“Basically,” Brad says.
The van rolls. The Keepers rock from side to side on the yoga mats.
Finn says, “Everyone okay with this? It’s voluntary, you know.”
No one speaks up.
“All right, then,” Brad says. “Good luck.”
FINN AWAKENS TO THE HUM of traffic. Overhead, flashing jet lights punctuate a colorless night sky void of stars. He’s lying on a stone terrace. A hand holding a wand looms over him. He rolls out of the way before a curse is landed, only then identifying the hand and wand as part of a bronze statue—a ten-foot-high replica of the Disney Legend award, the emblem of imagination: Mickey’s gloved hand hoisting his powerful wand skyward.
The image sticks in Finn’s mind; he thinks it’s no coincidence that the DHI server has crossed them over to this particular spot.
Maybeck and Philby appear at nearly the same instant. They both react defensively to the ominous wand hovering over them
, scurrying out of the way, only to realize that it’s immobile. Nearly in unison, all three glance in the direction of the Frank G. Wells Building; ghostly wraiths swirl in and out like angry bees around a hive. Possessed demons march like zombies toward the door. It’s like nothing any of the boys has seen before, and the sight temporarily paralyzes them. Finn finds himself checking his pocket for the Return.
“What are they?” Maybeck asks.
Professor Philby answers. “Wraiths and demons. Possibly from the Haunted Mansion. More likely Princess and the Frog. Dr. Facilier and his ‘friends on the other side.’ Makes one think of New Orleans, and therefore Tia Dalma. Chernabog summoned harpies and all sorts of ghouls. What’s important to us is that wraiths are immortals and remain so as long as they can find humans to feed upon. That would be us—or so they will think, since I doubt they’re versed in hologram technology. They’re agile—can jump over fifteen feet. Apparently this variety can fly as well. They feed through their palms. Drain your soul by placing their hand to your heart. As much as I’d like to think they can’t drain a DHI’s heart, it’s the life energy they crave, and we are, after all—”
“Energy,” Finn says.
“Light energy. Yes.” Philby considers their situation. “Since we’re highly concentrated arrays of photons, I’m pretty sure they can suck us dry if they want to.”
“And if they do, we’ll be where, exactly?” Maybeck asks.
“SBS, I suppose,” Philby says, sounding more like a scientist than a possible victim: Sleeping Beauty Syndrome.
Finn shudders instinctively. “Fascinating.”
Maybeck snorts.
“A demon, on the other hand,” Philby continues, “to be distinguished from daemon—is a spiritual, paranormal entity. It takes human form and can be conjured and/or controlled. Demons first appeared—”
“Save it,” Maybeck snaps, pointing to the base of the statue.
Kingdom Keepers VII Page 3