They passed more rocks, and some guy with a cape holding a horn. The horn sounded.
“That isn’t supposed to happen,” Maybeck said. “That’s not part of the ride.”
Philby looked worried.
They approached another gateway into the next scene.
“That was way too easy,” Philby mumbled, half expecting the next Audio-Animatronic mannequin to spin around and chal enge them.
“Agreed,” Maybeck said. He passed the sword to Philby, who took a quick look at it, then passed it back.
“We’l deal with that once we’re out of here,” he said.
As the bow of the boat passed the gateway a creepy voice cal ed out.
“What’s this?” came the voice from a white-bearded old man in white clothes. He didn’t look like any robot; he looked real. “How dare you come here! Stop! This is Trol Country. Begone! I cast a spel …”
At mention of “a spel ” Maybeck snapped his head around to check with Philby.
“I heard it,” said Philby.
The scene’s events were happening quickly now—too quickly.
An incredibly ugly trol appeared at the old man’s side.
“Yes, yes. You’ll disappear. Disappear! Bye-bye!”
“It’s them,” Philby said, for it seemed to him the script had to have been written by the Overtakers themselves. Spel s. Disappearance. Everything the Overtakers wanted for the Kingdom Keepers.
“‘Bye-bye,’” Maybeck quoted the man. “That can’t be good.”
The boat suddenly spun around to face backward.
They fel away fast, fal ing down a surging waterfal .
“I hate going backward!” Philby announced.
“Makes two of us,” Maybeck said.
“GURR-OWLLL!” roared an animal from behind and above their left shoulders. Maybeck instinctively ducked. “I am not seeing this!” Philby declared as a live polar bear slashed his huge paw through the air—right where Maybeck’s head would have been.
The bear came back the other way just as Maybeck found the wherewithal to lift the sword. He sliced the bear’s left arm nearly in half. Smoke rose as sparks zapped from it. A bunch of wires dangled from the stump.
“But I could have sworn it was real…” Philby said, realizing the bear was no longer alive, but just an Audio-Animatronic.
Another roar, ten times as loud as the first. Philby dove into the bottom of the boat. Maybeck leaned away.
A second polar bear, standing eight feet tal on its rear legs, bent over and shoved its teeth right into Maybeck’s face and snapped, trying to get a bite of him. Maybeck screamed and dropped the sword. It rattled around in the bottom of the boat, and Philby grabbed hold of it.
The bear’s mouth bit into the side of the boat and stopped. The bear’s left paw grabbed the boat as its right clawed for Maybeck, and caught his shoulder.
Maybeck screamed horribly and reached for the wound. Philby reacted instinctively, doing the one thing he’d always been told not to do: he stood up in a moving boat. In part, he was trying to save Maybeck. In part, he was trying to be Maybeck.
He jabbed the sword at the bear. The beast saw it coming and reared back, taking a swipe at Philby. Only then did Philby realize that the bear’s rear legs were fixed to the display—it couldn’t come after them. But the bear hit the sword. Philby clutched his left hand around the grip to hold onto it and was spun like a turnstile.
He flew out of the boat.
But instead of thunking down onto the opposite display, Philby landed softly—too softly.
He lifted his head to see Maybeck’s eyes go impossibly wide. Maybeck grabbed Philby’s feet and pul ed.
“Get out of there!” he said.
Philby tried, but he couldn’t move. Something was holding him. He rocked his head, not real y wanting to see…
Gnomes!
There had to be a dozen of them. Tiny things, no tal er than a ruler— alive! —with old-man faces and warts, and long, disgusting noses and weird ears. They supported Philby—they had caught him. But now they held onto him, claiming him as a prisoner, while Maybeck fought to keep in the boat.
Gulliver’s Travels, Philby thought.
The boat continued moving, leaving Philby behind.
Philby was wrenched at an inhuman angle, his shoulders held by the intrepid gnomes, his feet by Maybeck.
He swatted at the gnomes. One of them stabbed his hand with a miniature gnome knife—it was like getting poked by a knitting needle. Thankful y the Imagineers hadn’t armed the gnomes with sharpened weapons. Philby banged the sword over to his right, where it connected with a clank. He knew he must have hit a gnome when he felt his right shoulder jolt free. Philby next slapped the blade over his left shoulder, and now he was clear. But Maybeck had not let go; he’d moved to the back of the boat as it had moved forward and now had nowhere left to go.
Al at once, Philby was being dragged half in, half out of the boat, with six angry gnomes racing on their miniature feet in a flurry to catch up to him.
The polar bear grew smal er and smal er, framed by the tunnel as the boat continued moving.
Maybeck final y hauled Philby into the boat just before they entered through the next scene’s gate—where Philby would have been knocked free and left behind.
There were trees. It was a rocky cave. The narrator said something that Philby couldn’t make out. He was trembling from head to toe.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You saved us, not me!” said Maybeck, in a rare display of humility.
Just as Philby thought he’d regained his balance, the boat dropped away, out from under them. It raced down an incline and into yet another scene. It was night. They were on the ocean under the northern lights, with an oil rig to their left.
“Cold!” Philby said, warning Maybeck, who understood what a drop in temperature meant.
Maleficent.
Darkness.
“We’re almost through,” Maybeck said.
Thankful y, a sea vil age appeared, not the green witch. Not this time.
Standing onshore were Wil a, Charlene, Finn, Jess, and Amanda. A ship’s horn sounded.
“You guys get al the fun!” Wil a complained.
“Yeah, fun!” Maybeck said, pul ing his bloody hand away from his wounded shoulder.
Finn reached out and helped the two to shore.
29
THEY HID BEHIND MEXICO’S Mayan temple, where they thought it unlikely they’d be found. Wila proved herself worthy of her Girl Scout merit badge by cleaning up Maybeck’s wound. It looked nastier than it was—the line of deep scratches had stopped bleeding.
“First, I have some bad news,” Finn said. He told the others about his experience at Lost and Found, how he thought he’d touched the fob inside the locker, but that they’d have to wait until morning before trying for it again.
A depressing silence settled over the group.
“My mother is going to freak when she can’t wake me up,” Philby said.
“Mine too,” said Wil a.
“Jel y can never get me out of bed,” Maybeck said, “but she’l remember the last time. This won’t be good.”
“I wish there was something I could tel you,” Finn said.
“If we’re trapped here,” said Charlene, “shouldn’t we make the most of it?”
The others looked at her with total surprise. Charlene was usual y the whiner of the group.
“Excuse me?” Wil a said.
“I mean…if there’s nothing we can do about it, if we have to be here anyway…and it seems to me we do…then shouldn’t we try to find Wayne or something? What about the sword? Isn’t that why we came here in the first place?”
“Somebody pinch me,” Maybeck said.
“Charlene?” Wil a said. “Is that real y you?”
“Get off my case,” Charlene protested. “Listen, we’re al in big trouble, okay? Our parents, our aunt,” she said—“and our guardian,” she added, addressing
Jess and Amanda—“they’re al going to lose it when we can’t be woken up. And if we do get back there—tomorrow morning—we’re going to be in big trouble because they’re going to know it has something to do with us crossing over. Who knows what happens after that? Right? I mean they could contact Disney or something, and maybe the program gets shut down again. Maybe we lose our places as Disney Hosts. I don’t know. I’m just saying if we’re going to do something, it probably should be tonight, as in right now, because my mom is going to put handcuffs on me or something. I’m going to be grounded for eternity.”
“It’s al wrong,” Philby said, tracing his fingers along the blade of the sword, which was lying atop his crossed legs.
“Wel , maybe you have a better idea,” said a disgusted Charlene.
“Sorry, not you, Charlene,” Philby said. “The sword.” He motioned down at it. “The sword is al wrong.”
“How can a sword be wrong?” Amanda asked.
“Wayne gave us the box,” Philby said, “and the box became the sword…or the cross. But if it’s a sword, I think this is the wrong sword. If it’s a cross, maybe the clue is: France.”
“The only thing we got in France,” said Charlene, “was a lot of hassle.”
“But if there are Overtakers guarding France, couldn’t that mean something?” Jess asked.
“Of course it could,” Finn agreed. “We won’t give up on that.”
“But I’m tel ing you it’s the wrong sword,” Philby said.
“There he goes again,” Maybeck said.
“And that’s got to be significant.”
“Wrong how?” asked Amanda.
“The Maelstrom is Norway, so the sword should be Norwegian, right?”
No one chal enged him.
“But it’s not. It’s an Irish sword.”
“And you know this, how? Speaks with an Irish accent, does it?” Maybeck said.
The others chuckled.
“Norwegian swords have circles of metal, like a doughnut, above the grip, not crosses. And you see this round shape, like a coin, at the center of the cross? It happens that that’s an Irish design. It’s an old Irish sword—very old. And what makes it particularly strange is that there’s a fly in the coin on one side, and a shamrock on the other.” He passed it around.
“Engraved,” Jess said, handing it to Maybeck.
“No, not engraved,” Maybeck said. He picked at the coin with his fingernail and caught an edge. “It’s drawn on Scotch tape, clear tape that’s been stuck on.”
“Wayne,” Finn said.
“Irish. Fly,” said Philby. He held out his hand to Charlene. “It’s a clue.”
“Fly Irish?” Wil a said. “Isn’t there an Irish airline?”
“Maybe the airline sponsors one of the World Showcases,” Finn said.
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Philby cautioned, working Charlene’s phone. “Wouldn’t he have drawn a plane if he wanted us to go searching Irish airlines? But it’s a fly. A housefly.
Why?”
“SWAT?” Maybeck said. “Like a police SWAT team?”
“You are such a… boy,” Wil a said.
“Better than the alternative,” Maybeck said.
Philby looked up from the phone. “Wiki lists a bunch of things for The Fly.”
“This is so Wayne,” Wil a said. “I hate to say it, but this just seems so exactly what Wayne would do. You know? I mean, when does he ever just leave a message like: Maleficent is under Pirates? He’s always so—”
“Careful,” Finn said. “He makes sure no one could figure it out but us. It’s too much for one person to process. But the five of us—”
“Seven now,” said Charlene.
Philby read from the phone. “Okay…there were a bunch of movie versions—”
“I love that movie!” said Maybeck, interrupting.
“Hush!” said Wil a. “Let him speak.”
“A short story. There’s a magazine…a U2 song—”
“That’s it!” said Charlene. “U2’s an Irish band.”
“And you would know this because?” Wil a questioned her.
“My parents listen to them al the time. Definitely Irish. And they’ve been around for like forever.”
“Okay, people,” Finn said. “Are you tel ing me that Wayne, who is approximately nine thousand years old, would have any idea who U2 are?”
“I’m just saying: it’s a song,” Charlene said. “And the words are wicked. It’s al about stars fal ing, and secrets, and human consciousness. It’s heavy stuff. Eclipses and friends and…it could easily be some kind of message.”
“I can Google the lyrics,” Philby said. “But there’s more here. There’s a Dave Matthews song
—”
“Sweet,” said Charlene. “I know that song too!”
“—and a poem by a guy named Blake,” Philby continued.
“Wil iam Blake,” said Amanda. “He’s British. Northern Ireland’s part of Great Britain. Al of Ireland was part of Great Britain before Irish independence—so we can’t rule out Blake.”
“And a Simpsons episode.”
“I love the Simpsons,” Maybeck said. “There’re a couple where Bart is the Fly.”
“Blake,” Amanda said, “A dead poet. Dead for a long time. Dead as in can’t be changed.
That’s Blake.”
“An old dead poet?” Finn said. “That’s got to be near the top of our list if Wayne’s behind this.”
“The Dave Matthews song is about being saved,” Charlene repeated. “How much more do you need than that? Wayne needs to be saved.”
“Wayne wouldn’t have a clue who Dave Matthews is,” Finn insisted.
“You can’t know that.”
“I do know that,” Finn said. “And there’s no way he’d know about U2 either.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Charlene protested. “Everyone knows U2.” Philby angled the phone in the limited light. “Here’s the poem.”
“Read it,” Finn said.
Philby looked around. No one objected.
“Okay….
‘Little Fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush’d away.
‘Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
‘For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
‘If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death;
‘Then am I
A happy fly.
If I live,
Or if I die.’”
For a moment, no one said a thing.
“Whoa,” Maybeck grunted out. “Heavy.”
“Note to self,” Charlene said, “the U2 song is about stars fal ing and secrets being kept. I mean: come on, people!”
“And this is about life and death,” Finn said.
“And dancing and drinking and singing,” Amanda added, “al of which happen in Epcot and the other parks.”
Wil a said, “It’s the part about how thinking is the strength of life, that gets me. And about how not thinking is death, and how as long as that’s true, he’s happy. That is so Wayne. And I think he’s tel ing us something deeper—”
“Oh, please, give it a rest,” said Maybeck.
She ignored him. “That it’s not about him. It’s not about whether he lives or dies but that he wants us to figure this out—to think.”
“Flying,” Philby said.
He won everyone’s attention.
“Don’t you see?” he continued. “Wil a’s right: it’s about thinking. It doesn’t matter if it’s the poem or a U2 song. It’s a fly. It could be something in The Land, or A Bug’s Life over in Animal Kingdom. But think about it. Fly. Right here in Epcot: Soarin’ is about flying. And…” He pul ed out and unfolded
a sheet of paper from his back pocket, and read it. “Soarin’ just happens to be on the maintenance list for areas with unexpected temperature drops.”
“You carry that thing with you?” Maybeck said. “What are you, a Boy Scout?”
“Finn and I took a big risk col ecting this data. I intend to make use of it.”
“Mission: Space!” Finn added. “It involves flight.”
Philby checked the sheet. “Also on here.”
Jess touched her forehead and closed her eyes. Amanda noticed the reaction, though the others were too excited to spot it.
“And on Test Track you go fast enough to fly,” Wil a said.
Philby nodded. “Ditto,” he said.
“There’s that Star Wars ride where you’re in a space pod,” Maybeck said. “Over in Hol ywood Studios.”
“I don’t have that data,” Philby said.
Maybeck scoffed.
Amanda leaned into Jess. “What’s wrong?”
“Not sure.” With her eyes closed she reached out in front of her, like a blind person groping in the dark. Then her eyes popped open. “That was strange….” she whispered.
While the other kids continued talking—arguing, was more like it—Amanda probed Jess’s sudden confusion with an inquisitive look. Jess shook her head. “I saw something—a pattern.
Three rectangles. Just for an instant.”
Finn had the attention of the others. “We keep the sword with us. It has to have something to do with either finding him or finding the Overtakers,” he said. “It’s got to be a clue.”
“Of course it’s a clue, Whitman,” Maybeck said. “The question is, what are we supposed to do about it?”
“We have the entire night to check it out,” Charlene said. “We can sit here for six hours, or we can actual y do something.”
“For instance?” Maybeck said.
Philby spoke up. “Check out any ride, any exhibit, any pavilion, that has to do with flying and that shows up on the maintenance list.”
“Spaceship Earth,” Wil a said.
“That goes onto the list,” said Philby, confirming its existence on his list. “And Finn, yes, we should keep the sword with us. But it should be you: that’s what Wayne would want. He could have gotten the fly message to us without al the sword stuff, so the sword must be important.”
Kingdom Keepers III Dinsey in Shadow Page 20