She absolutely had to get inside the studio and attempt to cross over Philby, to warn them about the trap. She had to be there to return Finn and Willa if they got in trouble.
She saw her Wave Phone through the glass—her chance to warn them…
If she failed to get inside the studio and return Finn and Willa when they requested, there’d be two fewer Keepers by morning.
And she’d be responsible.
* * *
Maybeck used the second of the four Cast Member ID cards Wayne had given him to collect his steward’s uniform. Wearing the brown pants and shirt of a stateroom steward over his DHI outfit, he cleaned the wood paneling running the forward length of the starboard companionway on Deck 3, from which he could keep an eye on the door leading to the backstage access. Granted, there were any number of ways a Cast Member could access the Walt Disney Theatre. But this door was the most convenient to the area beneath the stage and therefore the one to watch.
Now, for the third time in the past hour, two Cast Members came and went through the backstage door, only for two others to leave a few minutes later.
Shift changes, Maybeck thought. Or repairmen to fix the crate that had broken up, spilling out the dreaded Chernabog. Or maybe couriers delivering orders from Maleficent. Maybe, he thought, he could follow one of these pairs to the green fairy’s lair. Maybe he could bust this thing wide open all by himself. He’d have to leave his post for a few minutes, during which time they wouldn’t know who came and who went. It would be a risk, certainly, but one worth taking.
Being a Kingdom Keeper required flexibility. Creativity and ingenuity. Being a team player was important, to be sure. But for Maybeck, being the hero was more important.
And he sensed a chance to be the hero.
* * *
As holograms Finn and Willa entered one of the unoccupied staterooms in order to get away from the prying eyes of any companionway security cameras. From there it was a matter of following Philby’s description of his having moved through the floor to the deck below. Though in their case, the floor they dropped through belonged to a balcony and delivered them to the balcony below. And then the balcony below that. And finally to Deck 4 and the walking track and overhead lifeboats that wrapped the ship’s entire perimeter.
They landed holding hands. Looking down the length of the vacant exterior deck, Finn felt a small shiver of familiarity. He couldn’t immediately place it, but he’d been here before. With Willa. So much was the same. But not everything.
“The phones,” she said, breaking into his thoughts and robbing him of the moment.
“Yes,” he said.
“Philby.”
“I know.” Finn screwed up his courage to ask. “So what’s up with you and Philby?”
They headed for the middle doors.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“He’s so Philby. He can really bug me.” She asked, “You know?”
Finn didn’t answer.
“What about you with Amanda?” she said.
“Never mind.” Then, softly, “Yes. Lately, he bugs me a lot. But you can’t tell him. I’m trusting you.”
“I know that.”
“He likes you.”
“He likes Storey.”
“Not like he likes you, he doesn’t.”
“Oh, yes he does. Believe me, I know.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Willa said.
“Yes you do,” Finn said.
“Shut up.”
“Will not.”
“Will too.”
He blew off some steam through a heavy sigh.
“What are we going to do if we find her?” Willa said. “Tia—”
“I know who you mean,” he said. “Improvise.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“I was just saying—”
“I know what you’re saying. And I’m saying I’m open to suggestions.”
“I want to get her back. Your mother. I just don’t see…”
“We’ll think of something,” Finn said. “Or not.”
He peered out through the solid door and then proceeded onto the Deck 4 interior landing. It had become second nature, this kind of thing. Willa did the same and they quickly descended the stairs together.
“He’s gone,” she said. “The machine. No more sound. We can get our phones.”
“He likes you, too,” Finn repeated. “And don’t tell me to shut up.”
“Shut up!” she said, bounding down the stairs with what looked to Finn like an added spring to her step.
Minutes later they had their Wave Phones in hand. They left Philby’s where it was.
“Entering the galley’s going to be a piece of cake,” Finn said.
“That’s a terrible pun,” she said.
“I thought it was funny.”
They’d reached the entrance to the Parrot Cay restaurant, through which they could access the galley area.
“If we’re caught,” Finn said, “we’re just trying to get a midnight snack.”
“Got it.”
Walking through the empty, darkened restaurant, where there was typically so much activity, reminded Finn of being in the parks after dark. Neither spoke a word, both of them overcome by the change in the room.
At the far end they found the doorways the waitstaff used while serving the food and clearing the tables. Doorways that led into the galleys. Without speaking, they entered a world of stainless steel countertops and plastic bins. Everything was neat and tidy and stowed away to where not even a hand towel was out of place. The area that stretched ahead of them was divided by task: salad preparation, dish cleaning, stove-top cooking, grill cooking. There were glass-doored refrigerators as big as rooms and soup pots the size of small hot tubs.
“It’s like Alice in Wonderland,” Willa said, “where she shrinks and everything’s bigger.”
Finn had been thinking the same thing, but wasn’t about to admit it.
“It’s not warm enough,” he said.
“You’re right,” she said, as if she hadn’t thought of it. “Not warm at all.”
“Also not the kind of place to hide a server.”
“Is that another pun?” she asked.
“No! I swear! I didn’t mean that one.”
Willa carefully opened one of the glass doors and liberated an egg custard tart. She shoved the whole thing into her mouth. “Umm-ver—dllcous,” she said.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
She tried to say “Shut up,” but only spewed pastry crumbs.
Finn ate a strawberry-topped pastry, and it tasted so good he followed it with a pineapple turnover. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He ate a third and fourth and would have kept going except that Willa gave him the most disapproving look ever and he stopped. “The only OT we have any chance of finding here is Maleficent, and I’d rather not.”
“Makes two of us.” She added, “We’re not getting into the engine room without Philby’s help. It’s not going to happen.”
“The question is, where is he?”
“The question is,” Willa said, “why did everyone trust that girl Storey so much?”
“You sound jealous. It’s beneath you.”
“As if.”
“She helped me. A couple of different times. She’s on our side.”
“And what does a spy do to convince you they’re not a spy?”
Finn said nothing.
“But it turns out they really are a spy. So when the time comes that you really, really need them, that’s when they ruin everything.”
“He’ll show up,” Finn said.
“He’d better,” Willa said, “because we’re running out of options.”
* * *
Maybeck hurried to keep up with the two Cast Members. Down the companionway. A few minutes an
d several decks later, it was out the amidships doors and left toward the pool. Upon reflection, he’d been in too big a hurry. He’d walked right into the trap, whether he’d been set up or not.
“Whoa there!” It was Greg Luowski and another guy. Both dressed as Cast Members. They could have been the two he’d been following or not; he had no way of knowing.
“It’s past curfew,” came a zombie voice from behind him. Older Cast Members. Two guys. But Cast Members for real, unlike the imposter Luowski and his pal. The two new arrivals looked dull in the eyes, as if under a trance.
“Four against one,” Maybeck said. “I hope you have some backup.”
Luowski looked like a tree trunk with a head of hair. Maybeck tried to avoid appearing impressed. But as always, his mouth was governed by different rules.
“You been lifting?” he asked.
“I bench two ten,” Luowski answered proudly in a conversational tone.
Maybeck realized he’d stumbled onto the kid’s weakness: vanity.
“Can curl one twenty. I’m working on that one,” Luowski said.
“You know the thigh cruncher?” Maybeck said, having no idea if there was such a workout machine. “Two forty.” He patted his own thighs.
“Big-time,” Luowski said.
“The better to run with,” Maybeck said. He plowed right through the kid to Luowski’s left. Took him out like a tackling dummy, knocking him flat on his back before the kid had a chance to blink.
For his size, Luowski was fleet of foot. Maybeck’s lead shrank to a few paces, forcing him to change direction. He put his thighs to work on a rising, curving stairway, only to be forced up a steel stairway and then realizing it was the stairway to the AquaDuck slide.
He heard the thunder of people following him and took it to be all four of Luowski’s gang, having no idea if two of them were the couriers he’d followed from the stage entrance. A two-person inner tube float awaited him at the top, the water churning in the acrylic tube of the waterslide. He dove onto the raft, but with no one to operate the tube’s launch it just lay there, stuck atop a conveyor belt, forcing him to climb out and move the raft into the tube. He was off.
Behind him, one of the Cast Members dove into the tube without a raft. He bodysurfed, head up, and came at Maybeck like a torpedo. Behind him was a second Cast Member, feet first. Following up the rear came Luowski and the fourth kid on an inflatable raft like the one that held Maybeck.
He saw all this while moving a million miles an hour in a roaring plume of water like soda in a straw and he, one of the bubbles. The clear water tube ran off the deck of the ship, where Maybeck was suspended 125 feet above the tossing seas below. Maybeck tensed at the sight of nothing beneath him, and the torpedo kid caught up, grabbed the raft, and pulled himself on. Maybeck spun around and kicked, but the guy grabbed his leg and pulled hard. Maybeck slipped on the rubber and nearly fell off, but a sudden turn to the right loosened the kid’s grip and Maybeck broke free. The raft lurched in the turbulent water, skidding up one side of the tube tunnel and across to the next. The rocking slowed him down, and suddenly Luowski and the Cast Member were upon him. The raft squirted out from under him. Luowski had him by the shoulders and climbed on top of him, holding him down in the water. Maybeck’s lungs burned—all three of his pursuers had pieces of him, keeping him from surfacing. He was going to drown.
As a group, they turned a sharp corner, then quickly another, starting down a long straightaway. Again, the water current threw them up opposing sides of the tube. With each swing Maybeck left the water just long enough to sneak a breath. He wrestled and flexed, but with them teamed up on him three against one, he could not break their hold. They flew down the long straightaway, suspended over a sea of lounge chairs. Maybeck anticipated the upcoming drop and curve to the right, after which the tube opened up and he would slow on a final straightaway.
If they still had him by the end of the ride, he was their captive. He did the unexpected. Instead of using his strength to fight them, he used every fiber of his strength to turn sideways in the tube. He accomplished this only briefly, but long enough to use his length to his advantage. He timed his effort to match the start of the drop. Bridging himself across the tube’s diameter, he jammed his feet against one side of the space and the palms of his hands against the other. Then he pushed hard, locking himself across the width of the tube. It acted as a brake, slowing him. The other three, caught in the full force of the water current as the tube fell away beneath them, broke loose and raced ahead. Maybeck’s hands squealed against the Plexiglas, then slipped, and he fell, banging into the tube and rushing water feet first.
As the others slowed, he kicked Luowski’s partner in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He kneed the zombie-voiced Cast Member in his stomach, bending him over, then threw an elbow into the guy’s face and pushed past him.
Luowski was standing in the quietly moving water, hunched forward and waiting for him.
“End of the ride,” Luowski said.
“It’s a spell, you tool. You’re her slave. Think about it.”
“As if…” But maybe—just maybe—he was thinking about it. “By the time the sun comes up, we’ll control the Base. That includes the fiber optics connecting all the parks. And that’s just the first step. You picked the wrong side.”
“You think? No one tells me what to do. I’m here by choice. You? You do everything and anything she tells you to. How’s that feel, big shot?”
“It’s all about to change. In ways you can’t begin to understand.” It sounded memorized.
“You think we don’t know about Chernabog?” Maybeck tried. He’d effectively closed the distance to where Luowski was now only a yard away. He fell back, using the water as a cushion and its flow to his advantage as he collided with Luowski’s strong legs. He kicked the kid in both knees at once.
Luowski’s knees locked.
Maybeck sat up, reached behind both of the boy’s ankles, and pulled at his heels. Luowski went down fast and unexpectedly. He reached out to block his fall, not realizing the water would protect him. Maybeck rolled out of the water trough, scrambled to his feet, and took off at a run down the stairs, leaving the three behind him.
By the time the sun comes up, we’ll control the Base.
He had to get word to Wayne. He had to find Philby.
He pulled out his phone.
Dead as a doornail.
* * *
Finn whispered, “What has a head, thorax, and abdomen, but stands six feet tall?”
“A snowman?” she said, facing the same creature as he faced.
“If it was a snowman wouldn’t it leave wet footprints?” He imagined it was an enchantment. It had a magnified look—its white surface lined with stretch marks like a shriveling balloon.
It was moving toward them in the dark. Three white balls of declining size from the bottom up, stacked one atop the other, but with short, fat legs and strawlike arms.
“Oh, my,” she said. “You’re right.”
“It’s…a doughboy,” he muttered, trying not to sound afraid of the thing. Three balls of flour dough, stacked.
“What is that in its hand?”
“A cleaver. As in—”
“Butcher’s knife.”
“You got it.”
“I hope not.”
“He does not look happy.”
“Are you sure it’s a he?”
“I don’t want to know,” Finn said.
They turned around in unison. Another faceless doughboy, also coming at them. This one was armed with a grill fork—two sharpened tines on the end of a two-foot length of metal with a wooden handle.
“We need to keep our holograms.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Finn said. He tried swiping his hand through the stainless steel cafeteria shelf that ran the length of this part of the kitchen. No problem.
“I realize we can probably walk right through them,” Willa said. “But you first.”
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“How ’bout we test it with the baking racks first?” he said, indicating five-foot-high shelving on wheels. They were designed with slots to accept trays, but with no trays they were open and easy to see through. Finn and Willa each took one and turned back-to-back in order to keep the rolling racks between them and the doughboys.
“Charge!” Willa said, pushing the rolling rack in front of her. Finn did the same.
The weirdest thing happened. The racks collided with the doughboys, but did not meet resistance, nor did they bounce off the doughy flesh. Instead, the white gooey paste that composed their thoraxes and abdomens absorbed the metal, first wrapping around it, then parting and accepting it so that their flesh consumed it.
“Ewww!” Willa shouted. “This thing is—”
“Mine, too!” Finn called back as his doughboy reached around and tried to separate his neck from his shoulders. Finn could not just stand there with a cleaver aimed at his neck. He ducked. The cleaver sliced the air above.
“Whoa!”
Willa cried, having been stabbed through the shoulder with the grill fork. It had passed through her hologram, but her brain convinced her she’d been skewered.
The rest of Finn’s rolling rack was absorbed by the beast like quicksand. A moment later it reappeared and passed through the creature’s back.
“That is…disgusting!”
Finn could picture himself drowning in raw bread dough, suffocated by the bulging belly of the thing and then spit out a minute later. “We need to think of something quick,” he said.
“Olive oil,” she said.
“I don’t think this is the time to discuss recipes.”
“Trust me. My mother bakes a lot. You always put oil on dough. It makes it less sticky.”
“I clearly should have taken home ec,” he said.
“The lower shelf to your right.”
“I see it!” One-gallon plastic jugs of olive oil, lined up like soldiers.
“We need a match,” she said.
The two doughboys had never stopped advancing. Finn and Willa bounced against each other, out of space. Nearly out of their minds.
“Now would be a good time to do this!” she said.
Finn grabbed one of the jugs, twisted off its cap, and spilled oil onto the floor. Then he had an idea—a brilliant idea, as it turned out: he stuck the bottle bottom-first into the chest of the doughboy. The oil glugged out, spilling down the thing. Willa saw his technique and did the same, sticking a spilling jug into her opponent. Oil was everywhere.
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