Kingdom Keepers V

by Ridley Pearson

  “Pardon me for living.”

  “Pardon me for being a girl, but I think I can manage.” Willa entered the next space—a refrigerator. Maybeck stood guard, checking his watch to make sure they wouldn’t be late to the Sail-Away Celebration. He coughed loudly as an older kitchen worker approached pushing a hand truck laden with bricks of butter.

  “Don’t just stand around,” the man told him. “There’re more hand trucks on the dock. Get the lead out!”

  “Yes, sir,” Maybeck said.

  The man looked at him curiously. It occurred to Maybeck—a little late—that maybe the use of “sir” was overdoing it.

  “I’ll take these for you,” Maybeck said, putting a hand on the hand truck, trying to stall.

  “Bucket brigade?” the older man said. Suddenly, a smile lit up his grizzled face. “I like it. That could be more efficient. Good suggestion…” He studied Maybeck’s ID. “Charles.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Listen up, everybody!” the man hollered into the room of workers. A moment later he’d instituted the bucket brigade principle to the loading efforts—one person wheeled in a hand truck carrying the food while another person took over the hand truck and put the food away.

  “Just perfect,” Willa said, having overheard and now seeing what Maybeck had started. “Only one person at a time inside the coolers. That was brilliant. Nice work. Now we’ll never get into the rest of them.”

  “Never say never,” Maybeck said.

  “As in, not today,” she said.

  “Admittedly,” Maybeck said, “we’ve hit a setback.”

  “You’re an idiot,” she said.

  Maybeck grimaced. He knew he deserved it. But then divine intervention took over. A worker removed a black crate filled with heads of lettuce from the third refrigerator and set it atop a pile of cardboard boxes marked FRESH FRUIT. The top flap of one half of the plastic lid held a torn strip of fabric pinched in its corner. Another worker arrived and picked up the crate before Maybeck could think.

  “Hey,” he said to Willa, “I need you to tip over those cranberry juice crates.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Now, please. As in, this moment.”

  He moved to his right.

  Thankfully, Willa, his teammate, obeyed. She pretended to stumble, throwing her shoulder into the crates of cranberry juice, tumbling them across the central aisle marked by yellow warning lines. Those lines meant that the lane must stay clear at all times. Several workers rushed to help her, including the man carrying the lettuce. He set down the container and hurried to Willa’s side.

  Maybeck crossed the aisle behind the confusion and snatched the torn piece of fabric from where it was pinched. He slipped it into the pocket of his kitchen uniform and was about to help Willa when something in the opposite direction caught his attention. There, down the long corridor stacked with crates and boxes, the open doors of the refrigerators and freezers belching a white fog, he saw a pretty girl staring at him. Just out of college, maybe. Dark hair. Dark eyes. She looked away as he glanced in her direction.

  But she’d been staring. Staring coldly at him. Curiously.

  More like the stare of a spy.

  * * *

  White shorts with a woven black belt. Ankle socks with a red fuzzy ball sewn at the ankle. White deck shoes. A collared, pale blue golf shirt with DISNEY CRUISE LINES embroidered on the upper left side. Firm posture. Bright smile. Charlene adjusted the Cruise Line headband in the reflection of the elevator glass, licked her lips, and double-checked the name on the ID that hung from the pale blue lanyard: Cecily Fontaine.

  Cecily? Really? And Fontaine? Does she look like a fountain or something? Who came up with such stuff?

  “It’s starting,” said one of the other girls, a tall, thin, sharp-nosed girl with insanely long legs. Charlene followed her out of the elevator and down a hall to a bar that wasn’t open at this hour. There were a dozen young people dressed as she was along with a half dozen other Cast Members dressed in dark blue shorts and white tops. These, it turned out, were the handlers for the characters who were not in on the meeting.

  “Okay, so listen up, everyone! This Sail-Away is different today—”

  “Just like everything else about this cruise!” said one of the Cast Members. She brought the others to laughter.

  The leader acknowledged her with a nod. “Yes. It’s true. This passage won’t be like anything we’ve done before. Everything’s a little bit different.” She then silenced the girl with a glance; she didn’t want other interruptions. “And today’s Sail-Away includes the introduction of the DHIs—the Disney Hosts—”

  “The Kingdom Keepers!” someone else said. Again, more laughter.

  “Yes. They are being briefed separately. Their entry will come after Jack Sparrow, but before Minnie and Mickey. The cue is the end of the song, on the lyrics”—he checked his clipboard—“‘living the adventure.’ Does everyone know his or her marks at that point?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Does anyone not know his or her marks?”

  No one raised a hand, though Charlene’s was halfway up before she pulled it back down.

  “For those of you just joining us today for the first time, we have Danny, Kyle, and Cecily. Raise your hands, please.”

  Charlene raised hers and pulled it right back down.

  “For today you’ll be in the back row. Clara will fill you in. You’ll watch her. We won’t ask anything too demanding of you just now. Tomorrow’s performance is different. We’ll integrate you more fully at this afternoon’s rehearsal.”

  Charlene, like the rest of the Keepers, lived her life with one eye open. Between the OTKs and the OTs themselves, nowhere was safe. She and the others were under what felt like perpetual surveillance. So when the hair on her neck tingled, she peeked to her right and caught the tall, thin girl staring at her.

  Green eyes.

  The girl wormed a smile at her. Fake and insincere.

  Charlene smiled back, equally void of emotion, but her gut twisted.

  “We will switch out the DHI models who are on the cruise with us and replace them with their holograms. I’ll go over that choreography, and we’ll rehearse it with stand-ins in a minute because we want it executed flawlessly. One minute, Captain Jack and his pirates will be in a sword fight with the models. The next, Jack will gain the advantage and go for a killing blow to Finn, one of the DHIs. His sword will pass through the hologram, which should be quite the crowd-pleaser. The hologram is programmed to then battle Jack to stage left and off. It should be terrific fun. So, if there’re no questions right now, we’ll get started. Let’s take it from ‘living the adventure.’ On your marks, everyone!”

  By five in the afternoon guests had already begun to gather on Deck 11, which had a view of the Funnel Vision screen and a stage where a Cast Member named Max was already warming up the crowd with trivia questions and T-shirt giveaways. For the arriving guests, the afternoon had been spent unpacking, eating, and then eating some more. With the Dream at capacity for the Panama Canal passage, more than three thousand passengers were wandering the ship. Many hundreds arrived to Donald’s Pool to participate in the Sail-Away Celebration, a triumph of song and dance to set the tone for two weeks of endless entertainment. There were dozens of programs of every kind for every age throughout the ship at any given hour. Several times a week Cast Members threw events like this: celebrations, feasts, and parties. It was impossible for even the most cynical and skeptical not to be impressed.

  The Sail-Away Celebration was intended to set the bar high, to let guests know this was not going to be anything less than the most magical and memorable trip ever. The show was lively, colorful, and infectious. The Cast Members smiled and exuded energy. The giant outdoor movie screen above them set backdrops and delivered effects. Dozens of hidden speakers boomed with song. From the opening moment, the crowd was mesmerized, clapping and singing along with a dozen dancing performers and appearanc
es by a wide variety of Disney characters, all of whom elicited cheers.

  Backstage, hidden inside the housing for the ship’s forward smokestack, Maybeck, Willa, Finn, Charlene, and Philby stood ready for their signal. Though they had managed to gather for their required rehearsal following the ship’s drill, there had been little time to share their experiences of the previous hours. As a group they did not know of Wayne’s call nor of Philby’s successful installation of the GPS transmission unit; nor had they heard of Willa and Maybeck’s discovery of a possible piece of Maleficent’s cape. In fact, the only message that they had managed to communicate between them was Charlene’s warning that a part of the upcoming show pitted Jack Sparrow against Finn in a sword duel that called for Jack to stab Finn’s hologram—a piece of programming that, should it go wrong, might have obvious unwanted side effects for the real Finn.

  With no time to do much of anything about that possibility, the five now stood, mentally reviewing the choreography they’d gone over only minutes before, a clever bit of distraction and substitution that had some small pyrotechnics grabbing the crowd’s attention while the DHIs took the place of the Keepers—holograms in place of kids. They planned to slip behind the back row of performers (a row that was supposed to include “Cecily Fontaine,” but did not) right at the moment of DHI projection. Only the real Finn was to remain onstage. He’d be engaged in a sword fight with Jack Sparrow. His switch to hologram was a bit more tricky: two Cast Members would grab swords and step up to take on Jack, defending and screening Finn. By the time they stepped away, the real Finn would be gone, replaced by his DHI. But timing was critical. Finn focused, reminding himself of his positions onstage and the timing they’d just rehearsed.

  His heart beat quickly at the idea of Jack Sparrow swinging a sword at him. He couldn’t be sure Jack Sparrow would be played by a Cast Member. What if the DHIs were not the only ones being substituted?

  All these possibilities cluttered Finn’s head as he followed the others outside and into the adoring applause that erupted spontaneously as the DHIs were introduced. He was caught by surprise by the whistles and shouts, the outstretched arms of teens his own age in the front row. A rock-star moment, it was something he and the Keepers only experienced during Disney parades—and even then the roars and adulation were for the parade ensemble, not the Keepers alone. This, on the other hand, was an explosion of appreciation, wild, shrill cries for them.

  Sometime in the past few minutes the Dream had cast off, departing Port Canaveral, moving now but feeling as smooth and steady as if still tied up to the dock. Finn felt no shudder in his legs. No sense of movement in any direction. Only the scenery slipping past provided any proof the voyage was now under way.

  “D-H-I,” rose the chorus. “Over here!” called out many anxious voices—from all different directions—followed by flashes from cameras held up high in the air. This was a moment many guests had waited for, and they shared their enthusiasm loudly. The adrenaline was running—the cruise had begun.

  Overhead, the Funnel Vision screen showed video of the DHIs inside the various Disney World parks escorting guests to various attractions. The popularity of the DHIs had surprised everyone. The Keepers’ lore had a great deal to do with their popularity—all the stories of nighttime battles with Disney villains—and the Sail-Away Celebration programmers took full advantage by intercutting shots of Maleficent, Chernabog, Cruella De Vil, and other villains onto the giant overhead screen.

  Boos and jeers cut into the celebration as the crowd caught glimpses of the Overtakers.

  Finn, Charlene, Maybeck, Philby, and Willa moved stage right to left facing aft, the screen behind them. They hit their marks as rehearsed. Max, the emcee, quieted the crowd with a new introduction.

  “Here we are making our way out into the seven seas, and you all know what that means?”

  “We’re cruising!” someone shouted.

  “We’re stuck on this ship!” another crowed.

  “I’m in heaven!” a girl cried out.

  “We’re not alone!” called Max.

  A cheer went up from the crowd.

  “Please wave a big hello to our sister ship, the Disney Magic, off the starboard side!” He pointed. The crowd turned its attention to where Max pointed, the stern of the Magic—tied up to shore—just coming into view. “It’s rare to get a meeting like this, so please give a big shout-out to her crew. And look for someone special!”

  Onstage, the distraction allowed time to drop four lines from an overhead railing above the Funnel Vision screen. Up there could be seen the shadows of men being strapped to the lines.

  Suddenly, the Magic’s horn sounded the opening notes of “When You Wish upon a Star.” This was followed, only seconds later, by the Dream’s horn, which continued the same melody: “Makes no difference who you are!” The combination of the two ships complementing the melody made the crowd roar. People screamed loudly. The two ships repeated the signals—the fourteen notes sounding in perfect order. More cheers.

  And there he was: Mickey Mouse, outside the Magic’s pilothouse, waving to the crowd on the Dream and drawing an untold number of like greetings. It was a lovefest.

  But not for long.

  * * *

  Willa knew her part. She had little trouble memorizing movement or role-playing. She enjoyed it. She even hoped to do some acting later in high school or college. Her formative years had been almost exclusively devoted to academics. She was a brainiac, and with that came limitations. She didn’t hate studying the way a lot of kids did; she actually enjoyed it—though she never said that aloud. She was self-competitive; she liked sports because she loved trying to outdo herself––more than beating others. She had a good memory, and knew this helped her. Remembering where to stand onstage, when to look where, when to appear surprised or impressed or joyful—a piece of cake.

  She curled around the far end of the stage with Maybeck and Philby, turning toward the hundreds of excited faces. The sun, low in the rich sky, shone a dull yellow as it approached a bank of low clouds on the western horizon. It was, by all standards, a perfect day. And yet it did not feel perfect. Looks can be deceiving, she reminded herself. Her complicated brain had collected, assembled, and recombined a variety of events and facts into what could only be described as a grave sense of danger. The torn piece of Maleficent’s robe in a place a character had no business being. The ominous switching out of their DHIs in the Sail-Away party. The sword fight. Who was the choreographer on that one? Maleficent herself?

  In Willa’s mind, it was not a matter of if it would go wrong, but when. How? For some reason, the Overtakers were always the ones to make the first move. She could not remember a time the Keepers got the jump on them. They were always on the defensive. Always looking over their shoulders, wondering what might happen next.

  Only once, on Tom Sawyer Island, had the Keepers broken through to capture Maleficent—but it had not gone as planned and nearly cost them dearly. Willa wanted the shoe on the other foot—she was tired of being the victim.

  For this reason she found herself on full alert. She didn’t know about any of the others, could not speak for them, but sensed they too were in a state of hyperawareness.

  And that moment was at hand.

  It happened quickly. There was some impromptu dancing to the theme song from Pirates of the Caribbean. It spread out to the perimeter walkways that circled the deck and ended in sheets of thick Plexiglas that served as a wind barrier. The Funnel Vision screen showed the rising masts of a pirate ship with rigging running in every direction, flags flapping, sails bulging. Suddenly, a pirate jumped from atop the smokestack, sliding down a rope. The blending of the real pirate against the projected image was so convincing that at first your eyes wanted to believe he was up on the screen, part of the film. But as he landed on the stage and the crowd recognized him, an enormous cheer went up.

  “Jack Sparrow!”

  He drew his sword and rushed Finn.

 
Other pirates flooded the stage from the same door the Keepers had used. But it struck Willa that there were too many of them. One or two might have made sense on such a crowded stage, four or five if you wanted to give the impression of an insurmountable army. But eight or ten? Talk about overkill. And if overkill, then Overtakers.

  Max, the emcee, now relegated so far to stage right that he was nearly being pushed off, also looked perplexed at the sight of so many pirates. Holding the microphone to his mouth, having just called out Sparrow’s name, he was stuck, frozen. He seemed ready to announce something more, but the sight of so many pirates left him speechless.

  That was how Willa saw it from her perspective.

  In fact what was going on in Max’s head at that moment was self-doubt. The internal panic that he’d gotten it all wrong, had missed some vital piece of information important to the scene. He froze, not out of any fear concerning the pirates, but fear he’d lose his job if he messed this up. Why exactly were so many pirates swarming and storming the stage, and what was his role in the skit? How could he have missed such an important detail?

  Willa looked to her right, doubly surprised when pirates arrived from her left as well. Where had they come from? Another four pirates! A piratical convention. Sailor Goofy and Nautical Minnie found themselves pushed away from center stage, which was, as it turned out, the mother of all signals.

  Minnie never—ever—had been pushed anywhere or been anything but the center of attention. Neither Jack Sparrow nor any of his men would ever, could ever, come close to her royalness—not highness but Minnie-ness, a bloodline of pen and ink lines that went back decades.

  The moment Minnie stumbled, a collective gasp soared from the otherwise excited crowd. It was as if the queen had lost her crown. The collective mood turned instantly dark and angry.

  Jack Sparrow was booed loudly.

  Willa was at the perfect angle to see Jack’s face twitch at the sound of the jeering, the perfect angle to see the man’s lips part, revealing gold teeth. He adored the chorus of disapproval. It was no act: he adored it.