Kingdom Keepers VII

by Pearson, Ridley

  His grief has turned to anger. Wayne deserted him when Finn needed him most. He wonders if this was the betrayal Wayne himself warned of, if there’s some irony he’s supposed to take away from his mentor’s death. It seems selfish of the old Imagineer to abandon the Keepers, his creations. Granted, his sacrifice had a purpose, yet Finn can’t find it in his heart to forgive him. Not yet. Despite being surrounded by his best friends, he feels so alone. It’s like the time the Overtakers brainwashed his mother, but somehow worse, because there’s no hope. The hole inside him is deep and dark. Wayne had no right to push him to its edge.

  The Dillard announces, “There are seven possible hiding places on the tree trunk. Most are intended as knotholes or woodpecker holes, and are small two-inch wide indentations recessed two to four inches deep. The largest is seventeen inches wide and is located near the top of the tree.”

  “Where did you find this out?”

  “A posting on the Web site www-dot-w-d-w-radio-dot-com.”

  “Do you have access to any information about renovations done on the tree in the four months prior to Walt Disney’s death?”

  “Searching,” the Dillard says.

  The boys continue to climb. Finn’s in no hurry, given the high likelihood of encountering OTs.

  “There were limited modifications during the conversion to Tarzan’s Treehouse.”

  They slowly work their way up the stairs.

  “Would Walt Disney have been alive to see the tree?”

  “Yes, it is one of the early attractions, along with the Tiki Room and this, the Jungle Cruise.”

  “All right then,” Finn mutters. He spots a knot-hole in the tree and inspects it. Empty. “I don’t see how it could be in one of these without being found a long time ago.”

  They pass Sabor, a painted lioness, poised to strike. Finn keeps an eye on the creature, whose menacing look cuts him deeply. He thinks back to a time when he wouldn’t have given the image a second thought, a time when he was considerably younger and the Disney parks were a source of pure amusement and joy. How things have changed. He’s not merely suspicious of inanimate objects like the Sabor, he anticipates trouble. He plans for it. Finn is realizing, perhaps too late, that he and the Dillard have entered what could be a perfect trap. There is only up and down, no alternate exists.

  “Dillard, monitor the big cat.”

  “Are you referring to the sculpture we passed?”

  “The same,” Finn says.

  “I request additional input.”

  “You aren’t anything like Dillard.”

  “Is that a question?”

  Finn sighs. “Monitor the cat for movement. Eyes. Breathing. Anything.”

  “It was crafted in 1999 of fiberglass. The sculptor was—”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Finn says, interrupting him.

  “I am familiar with that expression.”

  “Monitor…the…cat.”

  “I detect hostility in your voice.”

  “If anything moves anywhere around us, I want to know about it.”

  “The bougainvillea three yards from the base of the tree—”

  “Anything threatening. Anything that might…” It’s difficult to explain to a computer that vines can turn into snakes and sculptures into animals. Finn would have to reprogram the computer’s logic, teach it to anticipate the illogical. He and the other Keepers live in a world where the rules have been rewritten, a world so outside the accepted parameters of human experience that it sounds unreasonable to other people, even crazy. And for a computer like the Dillard, it simply does not compute.

  Finn senses the possibility the tree offers; it was built at a time when Walt would have had access; it’s an iconic attraction; best of all, it fits well with the Osiris myth. He’s on the lookout for a hidden door, a seam he might pry open to reveal a box, a jar. A piece of paper torn from a masterpiece.

  The encounter with Minnie left his head spinning—her claim that she tore up the original illustration on instructions from Mickey, her reference to Mickey’s pointing at his head. Each time the Keepers think they know something, they’re challenged to rethink it. Facts reinvent themselves; stories are rewritten. The uncertainty that goes with being a Keeper pushes him to want to give up, to surrender to the external forces, but he hasn’t given in yet, and he’s not sure why.

  They reach a landing where some of Tarzan’s furnishings are on display. Finn studies each item carefully, knowing the best place to hide something is often in the open. How clever it would be to put the thirteenth piece inside a pepper shaker or coconut. But the transition between Swiss Family Robinson and Tarzan’s Treehouse was decades after Walt’s time in the parks. It is foolish of Finn to be wasting his time here.

  Returning his attention to the tree—the all-important tree!—he sees the Dillard half-turned, transfixed.

  “Dillard, what is it?”

  “Technically, I do not have eyes in the back of my head. However, I am able to simultaneously monitor up to eight security cameras, or to put all the cameras into a rolling view.”

  “I don’t need an owner’s manual,” Finn says.

  “Humor,” the Dillard says. “I detect motion in camera A-37. Camera A-37’s view is below us, encompassing the lower stairs and the Sabor statue you instructed me to monitor. Eye motion was detected in the Sabor forty-six seconds ag—” He holds up a finger, interrupting himself. “Motion detected in front right paw. Motioned detected in front left paw.”

  Finn looks into the tree’s green canopy. He pushes back the tendrils of terror wrapping around his legs, slowing him down, climbing and twisting higher through his hologram. He’s flooded with the poison; his DHI sputters and spits photons like a Fourth of July sparkler. He’s lost all clear when he can least afford to. It has happened more often since Wayne’s death, forcing him to face that his grieving is not over; his emotions are winning the battle within him.

  “Dillard, is there a way to slow the cat? To stop it?”

  “Processing. A body of water. A tranquilizing gun. A net. A pit trap.”

  “Here. On this attraction!”

  “Bow and arrow, twenty-six steps from your current location. A vine, six meters. A chest of drawers and vanity, two ladder-back chairs, and a table at the next landing.”

  “Got it,” Finn says. “Keep up with me. When the cat charges, stand your ground. Hold it back if you can.” The Dillard, being only projected light, cannot be injured. The Sabor doesn’t know that.

  “Understood.”

  “Can you find me if we separate?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Hold off the Sabor, and find me.” Finn is feeling winded. His blue glow has lessened to a fine line, suggesting he is more his human self than a hologram. The activity of the climb and the panic caused by the big cat rattles him. He needs a few seconds to steady himself, a few seconds when he’s not consumed by self-defensiveness and fear.

  He checks behind him. The Dillard has stopped and turned, facing the Sabor as it slinks around the tree. The cat stops, tongue hanging wetly from its maw. Finn ascends, losing sight of the Dillard, whose presence has stopped the cat, buying Finn some needed time.

  How much time, Finn has no way of knowing.

  A KISS CHANGES EVERYTHING.

  As the knowledge that she climbed the Small World spire in the middle of an earthquake sinks in, Charlene drops to her knees and kisses solid ground in front of Philby, Jess, Maybeck, and the rats.

  A plane flies overhead on final approach, lights blinking on its wingtips. The lights are reflected on the ground in front of Charlene, off a faint, thin, shiny smear in the shape of an elongated S. Charlene presses her cheek to the pavement, sighting along the S in both directions.

  “Are you okay?” Maybeck asks, his outline glowing a vibrant blue. He is tall and strong, entirely all clear. She feels safe with him close by.

  “I’m not sure,” she says.

  “Charlie!” he drops to a knee. “Are
you hurt?”

  For all his rough-and-tumble persona, Maybeck has a thoughtful, caring side that Charlene loves. She attributes it to his Aunt Bess, one of the sweetest, most generous women Charlene has ever known.

  “It’s not me. I’m fine!”

  “We shouldn’t stay out in the open like this,” Philby says.

  “Wait!” Charlene makes sure Maybeck is paying attention as she points out the residual slime line on the pavement. “Snake.”

  Maybeck takes note. “But snakes aren’t slimy. That’s a myth. They look slimy, they can feel slimy, but they’re dry.”

  “Not if they just came out of the wet grass,” Charlene says, walking him along the line she has sighted.

  “Maybe there was spilled ice cream in the grass,” Philby says.

  “Or suntan lotion or something,” Jess adds.

  “But the track dries out,” Charlene says. “And it points that way.” She gestures into the far distance, toward Casey Jr.

  “So there’s a snake in Disneyland,” Philby says. “Big deal. It’s California, Charlene.”

  “Terry,” Charlene says, “put your head down on the path.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “That’s right, come on. Just do it.”

  Maybeck debates arguing with her. He kneels.

  “All the way down.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m waiting, Terry.”

  Maybeck flattens his cheek on the blacktop. “Satisfied?”

  “Look directly up the snake line, like you’re sighting along a sort of curving arrow. Good. Now look up, ever so slowly.”

  Maybeck’s eyes move—and he freezes. He raises and lowers his head repeatedly. Charlene smiles.

  “Now are you interested?” she asks.

  “So this has nothing to do with the snake.”

  “We won’t know until we get there,” Charlene tells Maybeck.

  “Where?” Philby asks, staring curiously at the ground.

  Charlene is about to speak, but it’s Jess who answers. “There!” she says. She stands slightly away from the others, as she often does. Jess, the ephemeral spirit, reluctant to speak, to join in, a bit of the wounded-bird look to her powerful eyes. Her pale skin is more like kitchen cling wrap, her formerly grandmother-white hair now red as that of a classic Irish lass. Jess, the girl who remained Maleficent’s prisoner for an unhealthy amount of time, the young woman captured and kept from all contact in a solitary space within Disney’s Animal Kingdom. She doesn’t ask for pity but seems deserving of it.

  And the others follow her now without question. Jess and Charlene lead Maybeck and Philby on a short walk to the far side of Fantasyland, where Jess points up along a closed-off path with her thin hologram arm and delicate wrist.

  “There’s a building up there,” Maybeck says. “You could see its roofline from back by Small World. It looks like a ski chalet or something. Who knows what it is actually? Wish we had the Dillard with us.”

  “Hey, I know!” Philby says defensively. “It’s the Skyway Station. There used to be a tram here, like a gondola in the park.”

  “My dream. My sketch,” Jess says. “I drew a ski lift. A gondola.”

  “Like that. Yes,” Philby says.

  “So what now?” Jess inquires. She has a knack for actually saying what everyone else is thinking.

  Philby takes a long look at Jess, unable to dismiss her past history with both Maleficent and the Overtakers. Charlene saw something, sure, but it is Jess who has led them directly to this place. It’s always been obvious why the OTs want Jess. Her ability to foresee the future is a powerful tool; her sketched dreams have repeatedly helped the Keepers steer clear of trouble or solve a puzzle. And she’s close to Amanda, whose telekinetic power has saved the Keepers multiple times.

  Philby has not forgotten about the repeated warning of an “enemy within.” The Keepers don’t discuss it much, but it hangs over them nonetheless. Jess could just as easily be a candidate as any of the rest of them. Philby adopts an extra-cautious stance as they approach. Is it impossible that Jess might betray the Keepers? Philby wonders. Maybe it’s only as impossible as becoming a hologram in your sleep or dreaming parts of a future you’ve already been told will happen.

  Philby studies Maybeck, who’s clearly all in with the discovery of the Skyway Station. He looks ready to climb the hill and flush out the Overtakers. Charlene also looks hungry for battle. Gone is the L.A. actress; Charlie’s back to being a misplaced cheerleader eager to justify time away from the gym. She wants—needs—to prove something about her ridiculously good looks, her physical abilities and her oft-overlooked brainpower. Rarely the young woman others believe she is, there are times like this when she rises to an occasion, when the brightness of her blue outline creates an aura of stark determination around her. She wants to get started.

  “We wait,” Philby says.

  “Excuse me?” Maybeck reacts irritably, his chest swelling, eyebrows arching. Remy and Django also offer upraised noses, inquisitive expressions. The rest of their kind follow, surrounding the Keepers with expectant faces, and Philby finds himself the center of attention.

  “What if the OTs are up there?” Philby says. “What if they’re counting on us exploring? We’d be walking straight into a trap, like the zip line on the cruise.” Philby keeps one eye on Jess, watching for her reaction. If she’s against his plan, she doesn’t show it. Why this makes him all the more suspicious of her, he doesn’t understand.

  * * *

  The Dillard displays no fear because he has none. His holo-gram’s “personality” is not programmed for fear, anxiety, remorse, or affection—human qualities difficult, if not impossible, to translate into computer code.

  Instead, he makes eye contact with the Sabor and drops playfully into a prone position. The Sabor cants its head in curiosity, its animosity challenged. Its eyes brighten, its bloodlust gone. The Dillard rolls to the railing, like a cub playing. He covers his head with his hands and the distracted Sabor gently paws him, claws retracted.

  A paw swipes through the Dillard, and the Sabor drops to its belly, engaged. It tries again; and again, nothing. The claws extend, the cat’s expression now one of frustration. It goes after the Dillard repeatedly, one paw, the other, maddened by the lack of contact, increasingly aggressive and hostile.

  The Dillard’s internal counter has recorded eleven seconds since engaging with the big cat. The Dillard eyes the railing, rising to his knees. The Sabor’s hackles rise as it lurches back on its haunches, obviously threatened. The Dillard’s hologram passes through the railing and jumps. The cat leaps but misjudges the height and takes a bad fall.

  Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…

  The Imagineers did not program pride, but the Dillard is a fast learner.

  * * *

  Higher up in the Tarzan tree, spying a sapling close to the railing that might bend under his weight and serve as a kind of express elevator—going down—Finn rushes to an extended landing that functions as a balcony. As he is about to take the leap, he looks back for the cat and sees instead a wink of golden light above one of the branches overhead, just out of reach.

  With one leg poised to climb out over the railing, Finn stops, his muscles willing but his brain refusing. He fights his own instincts, trying to ignore the golden wink, but he can’t. Finn returns to the tree and jumps for the branch. Too high. Looking around, he sees what looks like a treasure chest wedged against the main trunk nearby. He drags it over to serve as a step stool. On tiptoe, he thrills at what he discovers: a hieroglyphic eye made of fine golden wire embedded in the tree bark. A great workman must have installed it; judging by the streaks of sap that leak like snail trails below the inlay. The symbol has weathered decades. Its placement is surely no accident.

  Finn looks for any sort of hiding place for the missing piece of Mickey. The connection between the Osiris myth’s missing thirteenth piece and the wood of the throne in the complete hieroglyph encourages him. He jum
ps and grabs a branch immediately above, pulling himself up just as the drumming of heavy cat paws rises like a chorus behind him.

  Finn’s hologram can’t experience an adrenaline rush, but he feels the pulse of associated heat flooding his veins and again struggles to maintain all clear, cursing himself for not letting go of Wayne’s tragic death. Not a good time to have an up-close-and-personal encounter with a Sabor bent on defending its realm.

  Riding the tree limb like a saddle, Finn brings his legs up in time to avoid the fangs of the roaring Sabor. The beast snaps at air, falls, rights itself, and leaps again.

  Finn looks down at the trunk he used as a stool, hoping beyond hope that the Sabor lacks common sense. But no. The cat springs up onto the chest as fluidly as rushing water.

  Clinging on for dear life, Finn scoots away from the snapping jaws and comes face-to-face with a golden arrow. He concentrates and feels his limbs tingle—a good sign!—as he tries to work out the location to which it points. The tree limb he’s standing on narrows quickly. He dares not venture much farther out. There’s no sign of a trapdoor or hiding place. So why the arrow?

  The answer comes in a burst of joy. Only Walt Disney or Wayne could have thought up such a clue! The synthetic leaves on the tree limb erupt in a sea of green, some large, some small—and some missing. The branch ends as if had been broken years before. From below, it would look like a gnarly, storm-bitten stump, two dead twigs extending like skeletal fingers. From above, the wounded bark looks exactly like three knuckles, a thumb, and an index finger pointing into the distance. Finn sights down the length of the branch, ignoring the Sabor’s increasingly loud growls. He follows the line to the end of the extended index finger that points due north and he marks in his mind’s eye the same directional line on the ground below.

  Thrilled by his discovery, Finn spins around on the branch. The Sabor’s wet nose is close enough for him to make out its leathery texture. The cat’s mouth opens wide, spit flying as it roars.