“Philby and Willa are in the plane.”
“What plane?”
Charlene said impatiently, “Come on! Let’s go!”
* * *
His Wave Phone in hand, Maybeck ran west toward the island’s landing strip, responding to Philby’s summons. Fireworks punctuated the sky to his left, the pace of the explosions increasing: the show was nearing its frantic finale. He hurdled a fallen palm tree that blocked the narrow path. Two abandoned Pargos were trapped on the near side of the fallen tree.
He’d added up the propane tank and Luowski’s igniter: spark to gas, gas ignites. He’d wanted to tell Luowski that there was no gas to ignite—he and Tim had dismantled the tank’s connection to the CO2 lines. But Philby’s rule was to never share intel with the enemy; such arrogance nearly always backfired.
He arrived at the eastern end of the landing strip, a wide swath of asphalt between him and the stage-set airplane tucked into the jungle at the corner. The other plane—an actual, functional, twin-engine plane—was the center of a flurry of activity, as Cast Members crowded around its rear door, all struggling with something Maybeck couldn’t see. Warning beeps signaled as the micro truck backed up slowly toward the airplane’s rear door. The Cast Members were hissing orders at each other; no one seemed to be in charge.
He smelled burning rubber and saw a faint line of smoke smoldering at the edge of the runway’s blacktop, then realized he and Tim had found only half of whatever system had been engineered. The discovery enraged him. He regretted leaving Luowski locked inside the shed. The headphones meant a radio. A radio meant he’d left Luowski with the ability to communicate.
At nearly the same instant Maybeck came to this realization, the pilot signaled a Cast Member and shouted something at him. The Cast Member immediately spun around, searching the runway’s jungle perimeter. He then shouted at the others, his voice carrying through the percussive detonations in the sky.
“We’ve got company! Hurry it up!”
What to do, and how to do it? Maybeck wondered, scanning the scene. The presence of Cast Members confused him. Cast Members had proven themselves to be allies of the Kingdom Keepers—facilitators, support––even though Wayne had once warned to be wary of them. There was no way they would side with the Overtakers; they loved the parks and the Disney magic more than anyone.
His world was turned on its head. Maybeck tried to make sense of it. Maybe the Cast Members unloading the plane were as afraid of the Overtakers as he and the other Keepers were. But then what about Luowski? The boy’s involvement meant trouble, plain and simple. The Cast Members could be impostors, the same way he and the Keepers had posed as crew members. Too many possibilities.
He watched as a large crate was unloaded from the plane and into the back of the truck. Four of the Cast Members tried to move it, but it required the strength of all six. Two of the Cast Members secured a back gate on the truck and slapped the side.
The truck moved off slowly, the driver careful of its contents.
* * *
“She’s gone,” Finn whispered to Charlene from where they hid beneath Tia Dalma’s cabana. “She and the others must have gotten away when I was with Maleficent.”
“Philby needs us,” she reminded.
“They planned this carefully. All of it at once. The beach party had to be their idea.” The damp journal sat on the sand.
“We can do this later, right? We need to help Philby and Willa.”
“What did she mean about my mother being human?” he asked Charlene.
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“Why would she say that? The ship’s in danger. This journal is why.”
“Are you listening to me? Philby needs—”
“Jafar and Tia Dalma are characters. No one will think anything of them being on board.”
“Did you hear what I said about a plane landing? Willa and I overheard all of it. Some box—”
“There’s a Disney Villain show, isn’t there? Didn’t I read about that in the Navigator? A stage show. That could be it.”
“Are you going to shut up and listen to me?” she said.
“Hmm? Yeah. Sure. A plane. A box. I got it.”
“Being put onto the Dream.”
“Philby’s on it,” he said. “It’s what we do, Charlie. We each take care of our own assignments.”
“You’re just lying here in the sand. How can that possibly help?”
“I was attacked by Jafar’s serpent staff. It’s the real Jafar. The real Tia Dalma. The real Maleficent was trying to kill me out there. She talked about a change of leadership…the natural order. But why the ship? Why confine yourself—your team—to such a limited space? As big as the Dream is, it’s no theme park.”
“It is a theme park, but it’s a theme park that goes somewhere.”
Finn sat up so quickly he threw sand on her. “It does go somewhere!”
“Lots of places. Aruba. The canal—”
“L.A.!” he said.
“They’re trying to get to the West Coast. They’re trying to get to Disneyland,” Charlene said.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Brilliant!” It was an unassuming kiss, but on the lips, and it paralyzed him.
Charlene seemed dazed. She reached behind his head, pulled him to her, and kissed him hard and long. When she let go, when she backed off, she said, “I thought so.” She smiled at him.
Finn could hardly breathe. He didn’t want this. Why had he allowed it to go on so long? He wanted Amanda.
“I don’t know. I just…had to.”
“But that isn’t us.” Again, he envisioned Amanda.
“I know. But…I just knew it would be like that.”
He wasn’t about to ask her “Like what?” because he knew exactly what she meant. It was like the kiss he’d shared with Storey Ming. Definitely not a middle-school kiss. He fought back a smile. What was it with girls, anyway?
“Disneyland,” he said.
She nodded, still breathing hard. She clearly wasn’t thinking about Disneyland.
He brushed sand off the journal. “This is what Wayne wanted. We must protect it.”
“Philby needs us.”
“Go if you want.”
“Come with me.” There was a deeper meaning to her invitation, and they both knew it. She didn’t want to leave him.
He, on the other hand, wanted her out of here.
“I need to keep this safe,” he said. “I can’t risk it being retaken. They didn’t want us knowing what was going on here,” he said, looking up at the floor of the cabana. “Jafar’s staff was supposed to make sure of that. Tia Dalma made them bring the Cast Members to her. Why?”
She said nothing. Her eyes were focused on his lips.
“I’m going inside,” he said.
“What if she’s in there?”
“She’s not. I need to study the journal before heading back to the ship. Maleficent took it off the ship with her. Why take such a risk unless they needed it for something? It’s too dark for me to read. But in there…”
The gaps in the floorboards revealed the flickering candlelight.
“The fireworks are ending. We need to get back onto the ship.”
“All the more reason to figure out what was so important.” He patted the journal.
“Make it quick,” she said.
“Yeah.” He waddled in a crouch to the open beach, stopping alongside the stairs and turning to look back.
She mouthed “Thank you” and tapped her wrist, indicating for him to hurry.
Finn climbed the stairs silently. Each cabana was divided in two with separate access. He eased the door open. Empty! The massage tables had been pushed to either wall, creating a space between them. On the floor was a pentagram drawn in chalk. There was a dead frog pinned by its limbs in the center pentagon; each of the triangles contained a small terra-cotta cup. There were dead moths in one; what looked and smelled like fish guts in another; a fl
ower floating on oil in a third. Alongside the star was a sock puppet–like stuffed creature, with elbow macaroni on its head like horns. The doll was stained by green and mustard-colored dust. A red candle had dripped wax onto the floorboards. The whole thing gave Finn the creeps.
He scooted onto the nearest massage table and opened the journal, its pages stained, the writing smeared because of its exposure to the seawater. The parts written in pencil were blurred and sometimes illegible; he could make out the notes written in ink. It mentioned someone named Stravinsky. Finn knew the name—a Soviet general? an athlete? an author? He couldn’t place it.
There were pages of sketches that included shooting stars and brooms, monsters and Mickey’s sorcerer’s hat. Whoever had made the notes had drawn arrows connecting ideas to sketches and ideas to ideas. Some were numbered and circled. Some carried asterisks. It would take someone like Philby a long time of study to begin to piece together the concepts and the intentions. For Finn, it came off as a kind of second language; one that included verse and coded footnotes.
By carefully examining the top corners of the journal’s yellowed pages, Finn identified a section somewhere past the book’s middle that showed added wear. The pages had clearly been read more often than the rest. He turned to the section, heedful of the fragile nature of the paper and its contents. These pages seemed to be dealing with the character of Chernabog. There were some odd notes:
There were references to instruments:
Then came an illustration of some stone steps, followed by a blank page with a doodle in each corner. Or maybe not a doodle, but a pictogram or hieroglyph––if so, not like hieroglyphs Finn had ever seen.
On the last of the thumb-worn pages, a creepy sounding passage:
Finn flipped ahead through the section of worn pages. More notes and arrows and numbers. More musical references. A confusing jumble of gobbledygook.
But his possession of the journal filled him with delirious happiness. Retaking the journal had been the primary assignment. Here they were at the first stop of a half dozen ports—the second day of fifteen—and they’d already retrieved the journal.
Translating its pages would have to wait. He assumed Wayne would want it scanned and emailed to the Imagineers for further analysis. So much to do.
The fireworks finale erupted overhead like he was in the middle of Mortal Warfare about to retake the castle. Explosions and, as he reached the door, showers of falling stars and colors—music echoing across the water from the ship. Cheers rose from the adoring crowd on the beach.
He knew that music. Orchestral. Majestic. Uplifting. Inspiring. Tried to associate it with a particular Disney movie because of its familiarity. Searched the hard drive of his mind for where and when he’d heard it and found the fingers of his right hand dancing against the damp leather of the journal.
Piano! he thought. This particular piece he’d learned for his piano teacher back when he’d still been taking lessons. Back before the Keepers.
Thoughts of the piano lessons recalled images of his mother’s face. Finn recoiled with the memory. He felt physical pain in his gut and wondered where the nearest bathroom was. His mother, the green-eyed traitor. His mother, another of Maleficent’s captive slaves. He should have killed the fairy while he’d had the chance; should have demanded his mother’s release and her return to her former self. He understood that regardless of his DHI assignments or missions, this one calling preoccupied him like no other. He could leave tracking the OT server to Philby. With the journal in hand, his own mission had changed.
Slowly his fingers worked the orchestrated piece’s central melody. Instinctively. Subconsciously. He caught a piece of the sheet music in his mind’s eye and nearly was able to make out the composer’s name at the top of the page.
Stra…vin…Stravin…
The distant purr of airplane engines snapped him out of it.
* * *
Philby and Willa watched as Charlene made her move.
“Did you see that?” Willa asked.
“I did.”
“Where did she come from?”
“The south side of the runway,” Philby answered in his typical Professor Philby way that angered Willa.
“Talking to you is like talking to a computer.”
“My laptop has a speech component. The dual processor allows—”
“Enough! I have no interest in dual anything. A friend of ours just ran behind a taxiing plane, did a home plate slide under the back of a mini truck, and is currently suspended from what looks like a spare tire.”
“I have eyes,” he said.
“And you’re telling me that doesn’t impress you?”
“She’s the gymnast. Who did you expect to do something like that?”
“What is it with you?”
“What is what with me? It’s Charlene. She does stuff like that. Remember the time outside Wonders of Life?”
“Sometimes you really bug me,” Willa said, contorting herself to get out of the seat and to the door.
* * *
Charlene clung to the spare tire on the truck’s undercarriage, not fully understanding how she’d gotten there. Her back only inches from the asphalt, her fingers dug into the tire tread’s hard rubber, each bump in the road threatening her grip. She disliked her own impulsive tendencies, but had never figured a way around them. She heard a call for action and she acted. It was only in the aftermath of such actions that she had the chance to reflect on her own stupidity.
The truck rolled on—thankfully slowly, no doubt in part because the driver chose to drive with the lights off. The fireworks had been in the midst of the grand finale as she’d reached the truck, possibly explaining why no one had seen her: who could resist a grand finale?
The cruise passengers would be headed back to the ship now. The all-aboard was thirty minutes after the fireworks; the Dream would sail in exactly forty-five minutes. Anyone not on the ship at that time would miss the rest of the cruise.
The truck turned left, leaving the roadway unexpectedly. It bumped off the asphalt, and Charlene lost her grip. She fell into sand on her back and the truck pulled away without her. She rolled into the nearby bushes and tried to collect herself as the truck’s brake lights flashed red and the brakes squealed. The truck slowed to a stop in an area heaped with piles of sand and gravel. The driver cut the wheel sharply; the truck stopped again and then began backing up.
Movement to Charlene’s left. She leaned back behind the cover of the vegetation.
“Psst!” she signaled when she saw it was an out-of-breath Willa. Behind her, equally out of breath, came Philby.
The two hunkered down next to Charlene and tried to speak.
“What…were…you…thinking?” panted Willa.
“I wasn’t,” said Charlene. “That happens with me sometimes.”
“They’re backing up to a boat,” Philby said.
“To deliver the crate to the Dream,” Charlene said. “There’s no way we’re going to stop it.”
“We’re at a distinct disadvantage,” said Philby. “They outnumber us, and the boat is a Boston Whaler, so it’s not like there’s anywhere to hide on it.”
“What’s in the crate?” Charlene asked Philby.
“As if he knows,” said Willa, still not pleased with Philby.
“I don’t know,” Philby admitted. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s a bear.” The girls looked at him skeptically. “Notice the air holes top and bottom. Whatever it is, it’s alive. The size of the crate suggests an animal in excess of six feet and, judging by the difficulty six guys had in moving it, three to five hundred pounds—i.e., a beast.”
“But why so secret?”
“I’m as confused as you are. The presence of the Cast Members suggests it’s legit—”
“Unless these are the same Cast Members Finn saw with Tia Dalma,” said Charlene. She quickly recounted what little she knew of Finn’s encounter, which wasn’t much.
“If t
hey’re legit,” Philby said, seemingly ignoring for now what Charlene had just told them, “then the secrecy would be easily explained: the company wanted to bring a surprise onto the ship and didn’t want guests knowing about it. A performing lion, maybe, like in Vegas?”
“And if not legit?” Charlene pressed.
“Then we’ve got trouble,” Willa said, “because whatever’s in there is big. Big as in dangerous. More hyenas? A wild boar?”
“Presumably to be used against us,” Philby added.
“So planning something big.”
“If this is the work of Overtakers, we’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It is,” came a voice behind them.
All three jumped.
Maybeck slipped in alongside of them.
“You about scared the pee out of me!” Charlene complained.
“I caught Luowski in a shed.” He gave them the shorthand of his encounter with the school bully.
“Luowski’s on the ship?” Willa gasped. “The OTKs?”
“I went back to have another ‘chat’ with him,” Maybeck said, “after the plane took off, but he was gone. He’d smashed out some boards at the back of the shed.”
“We need to know what’s in that crate,” Willa said.
“If one of you could get to sleep the minute we’re back on board,” Philby proposed, “I could cross you over before whatever it is is unpacked.”
“Can I remind you we have no idea where they’re taking it, and the ship just happens to be huge?” Charlene said.
“If I can get into ship security’s camera files we can follow the crate,” Philby stated.
“Can you?” Maybeck asked.
“We won’t know until we try.”
A silent alarm sounded in Philby’s head as he and the others boarded the ship: their key cards tracked their every movement. When they left the ship; when they returned. When they entered their rooms; when they left. The main dining rooms kept track of guest attendance (although the other food areas did not). If the shipboard security cameras could be used to track the arrival of a secret crate, what about the arrival of five key card–holding kids? In the wrong hands, such information put the Keepers at risk.
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