Kingdom Keepers VII (37 page)

He shows it to Finn, and the others gather around.

“The drawings made with the invisible ink could easily have been these same images,” Philby says. “Wayne’s carving in Club 33 is like a piece of this stair thingy.” Philby traces the lines engraved in the metal surface of the back of the watch with his fingernail. “It hasn’t been cleaned in a long time.”

“Dad hasn’t worn that for as long as I can remember. It must be very old,” says Wanda. Maybe a memory hits her, or maybe it’s this day, but she suddenly looks as if she wants to speak, but can’t. She reaches out for all of the Keepers, and they fall into a group hug that lasts through laughter and tears, but suffers from the gravity of the moment, the inescapable feeling of finality.

“He would have hated to miss this,” Wanda says.

And led by Wayne’s daughter, they all begin laughing, louder and more fully than any of them has laughed in days.

T
HE SECURITY PERSONNEL FINISH
sweeping the room for listening devices and give the okay. Everyone around the table watches as Joe sees them out and locks the main door to the Disney Archives. Returning to sit at the head of the library table, he addresses the group, which includes the Keepers, the two Fairlies, Brad, and Becky Cline, who oversees the Archives. Becky holds a large box; a number of oversize portfolios sit beside her on the table.

Joe holds up an enlargement of the photo of Wayne’s watch that Finn now wears. “We have stairs, an eyeball, and some kind of biblical-looking king. We know that when Wayne was given the watch, it didn’t have this inscription on the back. He had it put there. He also wanted the watch passed to Finn. But there’s more. Much more,” Joe says. “Wayne mentioned the importance of time to Finn—”

“And
the
watch to Wanda,” Charlene says, interrupting.

“When he said that to me he held up his watch for me to see,” Finn says. “This watch.” Finn rattles it on his wrist.

“Yes.” Joe doesn’t take well to being interrupted. “There’s the discovery of Tia Dalma’s possible presence at an oil drilling site.”

“Possible? It’s a voodoo doll.” Philby points; the doll lays on the table in front of Becky Cline. “Right, Becky?”

“I’m not an expert in the occult, in witchcraft. However, I’m not altogether unfamiliar with it, either. Certain spells and powers possessed by our villains fall under that category. We have discovered similar items on a few occasions—even on Castaway Cay.” Becky opens the archival gray cardboard file box. Inside are three different twig-and-twine dolls, all extremely similar. “To my uneducated eye, I would say this new doll fits well with these others. But that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“And we have this,” Maybeck says. He’s sitting next to Jess. They’ve both had their heads down, sketching furiously. To look at them, one might think they’re bored and doodling, but that’s far from the truth. Jess holds up a photocopy: the page from the stolen file, with the watermarks and invisible ink. Maybeck holds up another photocopy, of the rubbing that Finn made in Club 33. “Check it out,” Maybeck says.

They have each drawn over their photocopies. Jess has filled in the areas suggested by the water spills; Maybeck has deepened the shading in order to make the rubbed images stand out more boldly.

Silence falls over the table.

Jess presents three images: a set of steps, an eye, and a bearded man sitting. Maybeck’s sheet shows what looks like a chair. Joe silently slides the photo of Wayne’s watch alongside the other two sheets. They all depict the same images.

“Well,” Brad says, “that takes care of that.”

“Becky?” Joe says.

“There’s one fact I can add to the mix,” Becky says. “Despite Wanda Kresky’s assertion, neither Wayne nor any other Imagineer was ever presented with a gold Mickey Mouse watch. Moreover, in Walt’s time, the watches were made by a company in St. Louis. Wayne’s is from New Jersey. It must have been something Walt ordered himself, a custom watch made expressly for Wayne. I find that interesting—from a historical point of view.”

“It speaks to how special Wayne was to him,” Brad says.

Finn turns to Becky, speaking over Brad. “Is there any chance the steps and the eye are used for black magic? Or whatever magic the OTs use—the Disney villains, I mean.”

“I know all about the Overtakers, Finn. Wraiths and all,” Becky says. “Give me a moment.” She leaves the table and heads into the back room.

“The OTs have gone to a lot of trouble to get Chernabog back here,” Philby says. “We should include that on our list. Do we have a list?”

“Yes,” Joe says, making a note to himself. “We are keeping extensive records of all known events. Both for the sake of Becky and the Archives and—” He can’t finish his sentence.

“In case none of us is around at the end of this,” Willa says.

Joe smirks. “You said that. I didn’t.”

“All the OTs we’ve encountered,” Charlene says. “The headless horseman, Madame Leota, the ghost of the Native American—I mean, is that normal?”

“Not normal,” Brad says. Joe shoots him a condemnatory look, and Brad shrugs defensively. “What? Joe, we’re giving Philby a key to the Crypt. We’ve agreed: no more secrets. They’re over eighteen. They can handle it. They
have
to handle it.”

Joe clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

“I’m getting keys to the Crypt?” Philby says, joy rushing across his face.

“We,” Joe says, “and by that I mean some select Imagineers, as well as some chief executives, believe that recent events may—
may
—suggest an endgame on the part of the Overtakers. That this in turn necessitates an aggressive strategy for intervention and cessation on our part.”

“You’re saying it’s now or never,” Willa says.

Again, Joe smirks. “Perhaps. But that adds a kind of melodrama we all feel it’s important to stay away from.”

“Killing Wayne out in the open triggers the endgame,” Finn says. “Funny how no one thought like that when the OTs killed Dillard out in the open.”

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Joe says. He makes a phone call. “We’re in the library at the Archives,” he says to whoever’s on the other end. “Make it a yard west of my GPS fix…Yes. Now is good.”

“What’s going on?” Philby says. He knows this is something tech-oriented.

“Hey, Finn.”

Dillard Cole stands a yard away from Joe.

Charlene screams loud enough to shatter glass. Finn stands up so fast, he sends his chair flying behind him. He takes two steps—and falls to the floor. Philby’s there to grab his elbow and help him up. Joe rolls up out of his chair to block Finn’s approach.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Joe holds Finn and Philby back. “He’s a DHI.”

All anyone hears is Finn’s excited breathing and Charlene’s sniffles.

“Impossible,” Philby says. “You don’t have the proper files. You wouldn’t be able to—”

“His parents lobbied hard for this,” Joe explains. “We resisted at first. Frankly, it struck us as morbid. But they pressed us, despite our concerns and caution. What convinced us to attempt this was their selflessness. They don’t want him for themselves—would rather never see him. They wanted him for you, Finn. A reminder of your friendship, a gift.”

“He’s dead,” Finn manages to choke out; he can hardly breathe.

“Think of him more as a walking encyclopedia, as portal to the Internet. One that looks like your friend, has some of the memories of your friend, but will never replace your friend.”

“Memories? How?” Finn looks around at the Keepers and the two Fairlies. “You were all a part of this?”

“They didn’t know why we were asking, Finn,” Joe says. “Nearly all the data was supplied by the family. Their memories. Home videos. His schoolwork.”

“Joe told me they were just trying to get some background information, you know, to fill in the blanks,” Willa says.

“Dillard is version 1.6,” Joe says, “but you should see him in 2.0. Outstanding. It’s too bad we’ve bunkered those servers and software, but for what it’s worth, he’s actually 1.6.3, thanks to the work Philby’s done. In fact, you all will be upgraded to 1.6.3 before you next cross over. If you think of Apple’s Siri, and move her about five generations forward, that’s what Dillard’s running on. It’s an artificial intelligence software that gets phenomenally close to real-time reasoning and response.”

“RTRR,” Philby says, “is only theory.”

“
Was
only theory,” Joe says. “Disney has no obligation to share the technology while we’re filing for patents, and that process takes several years. So, for now, we have RTRR and the rest of the world will have to wait.”

“It’s Nobel Prize stuff!” Philby says. Turning to the vision of Finn’s lost friend, he tests it. “Dillard, who’s in the room?”

“You, Philby. Amanda—hello, Amanda and Jess.”

They answer in kind.

“Terry Maybeck. Wil—”

“Amazing!” Philby declares.

“Video face recognition,” Joe says. “Like the TSA uses at airports. We’re still building his database.”

“But not his personality,” Finn says. “You can’t build that.”

“No, of course not. Never. Not possible,” Joe says. “But how do you like his voice?”

Finn shakes his head. “I can’t do this.”

“Please, Finn. He’s here to help.” Joe stands, walks around the table, and places his hands on Finn’s shoulders; he leans down and speaks so that only Finn can hear him. “Think of him as a device. A gateway. Try him for a few days. His parents believe he can help with your grief—with your misplaced sense of guilt.”

Finn shakes his head and looks away. “It’s not misplaced.”

“You see,” Joe says, “you do need him.”

The others at the table study Finn and Joe, saying noth-ing.

“You can do this, Finn,” Joe says confidentially. He moves back to his chair and speaks at a normal volume. “The more you talk to him, the more you remind him of things you’ve done together, the more he’ll retain and relate your stories to other events and instances, past, present, and future.”

The door opens, and Becky reenters, her arms full. Dillard crosses the room to meet up with her. “Hello, Ms. Cline,” Dillard says, “I’m Dillard Cole. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She places down her materials and reaches out to shake his hand, but Dillard awkwardly avoids making contact. There’s a breathless pause as everyone in the room waits for her to realize Dillard is a hologram.

Becky gives up on the handshake. “Nice to meet you, Dillard.” She glances toward the door to make sure it’s still locked. “Funny, we have a bell in the back that goes off if someone…and I didn’t hear…Well, anyway.”

Dillard turns robotically toward Finn, who can barely keep from squirming.

“What?” Becky asks, noticing that everyone is looking at her. She wipes her mouth, her nose, as if afraid there’s something unwanted on her face.

“Nothing,” Joe says, also eyeing Finn. “We just wondered what you’d found.”

Dillard takes an open seat next to Willa. Finn can’t stop looking at him.

“Well, let’s see.” The portfolios are oversize. Becky dons a pair of clean white gloves and opens the first. “This is the original cell artwork for—”

“
Sleeping Beauty
,” Willa says, seeing the first sheet. “Wow!”

The artwork is breathtaking—actual images that appeared in the film and are therefore familiar to everyone at the table. Becky works through the stack, keeping a sheet of special protective paper between each cell, moving through the first third of the film.

“Nothing,” she says, returning the material to its box. “Let’s look at this.” She unties the ribbons on a portfolio and opens it. “These are alchemical emblems.”

“Meaning?” Maybeck asks, squinting at the images. The symbols are circles, crosses,
X
’s, tridents, and more.

“The occult,” Becky says.

The Keepers come out of their seats and gather around her.

“The symbol for the letter
L
,” Jess says, pointing but not touching. “That could be from this woman or king or whatever it is. Maybe that line is his beard.”

“But the
L
is backward,” Maybeck says. “I don’t think so.”

“We’re close,” Finn says.

Dillard remains in his chair, Jess’s drawing on the table before him. “This figure is the Egyptian hieroglyph for ‘throne,’” he says, his hologram finger pointing to the boxlike glyph the Keepers have been calling “stairs.” The comment, directed at no one, silences the room.

“This is the eye of Horus, the all-seeing eye,” Dillard continues. “It is a symbol of protection, health, and royal power, commonly associated with the pharaoh, another hieroglyph that therefore moves us toward an Egyptian translation.” His finger slides lower and to the right. He’s pointing at the human figure.

“Am I missing something here?” Becky asks Joe while looking directly at Dillard, who is sitting up as straight as a pharaoh himself.

“Show her,” Joe instructs Finn.

Finn swipes his hand through Dillard’s hologram. Becky startles, jerking so hard in her chair, she nearly tips over. “Good gracious!” she gasps.

Joe gives her a brief history of Dillard’s hologram.

Finn stares at Joe and says, “The Dillard I know struggled to get C’s.”

Joe smiles. “I told you we’d upgraded him. He’s not like you or me, Finn. Through the server he has access to Wikipedia, to dozens of extensive Disney databases and reference materials. He’s a virtual Einstein. We’re working on moving the tech-nology to your DHIs.”

“Wait a second.” Maybeck sounds outraged, but also impressed. “Are you saying we’re going to be smarter as DHIs than as our normal selves?”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” snaps Philby, winking at Maybeck.

“Ha-ha,” Maybeck fires back.

“Right now,” Joe says, “Dillard has access to more knowledge than any human ever will. What he lacks is intuition. That human trait is impossible to program. We believe we—UCLA, actually, one of our partners—are coming closer to an AI model that teaches itself unique responses, ones that approximate intuition. But right now, Dillard is a fiber-optically generated reference library—a historian, weatherman, bundle of facts.”