Kingdom Keepers VII (28 page)

Maybeck reaches out, but his hand passes through her DHI arm. “Okay,” he says. “I feel it, too.”

“Don’t mess with me!” She’s angry.

“I’m not messing with you. But Maleficent’s gone, Charlie.”

“We don’t know what she’s capable of. What
gone
even means with her. Besides, the Evil Queen’s attraction is right next door.”

“Say what?”

“Snow White’s Scary Adventures. It’s up on the left there,” Charlene says, pointing. Maybeck stops walking, and she stops beside him. “Guess who wouldn’t seem out of place at all if she were seen around here?”

“As in, cruising the castle walk-through and spying on kids?”

“The Cryptos are convinced that the Queen and Tia Dalma and…you know, the Beast…escaped the temple. Right? If they’re back in the park, where will they go? Tia Dalma to Pirates, the…
big boy
to Fantasmic!, and the Evil Queen to the next door on the left.”

“She’d bring Finn here if she caught him,” Maybeck says. “We’re going to look for her in the walk-through.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Maybe so. After that, we’re going to her ride, and to Pirates and Fantasmic! if we have to.” He takes her by the arm, confirming she’s no longer pure DHI. “You stand guard. I’ll go through.”

“No way! What if you get into trouble? How am I supposed to know?” Charlene asks. “It’s a bad plan. Besides, no offense, but I’m the action figure here.”

“Seriously? You’re going to go there?”

“We stay a team,” she says. “That’s the whole reason we’re in this mess—Philby shouldn’t have crossed Finn over alone.”

Maybeck nods, and they start off again in the direction of the attraction. “She uses witchcraft, conjuring, and transfiguration,” he says. “The body changes, but not the eyes. The eyes are always the same.”

“You might be able to see something like that, but I can’t,” Charlene says.

“You’d better trust me if I do.” He steps back, allowing her to lead him to the door of the walk-through.

* * *

“The train,” Jess says, opening her eyes.

Amanda calls out for Philby, who backtracks begrudgingly, dragging his feet as he returns to them.

“What?” he says.

“I saw them running for the train,” Jess says. “They’re together. Finn and Willa.”

“Brilliant!” Philby says. “It’s the perfect way to get around the park—the least exposure by far.”

“I’m not always right,” Jess reminds him.

“This time you are,” he says.

“The train whistled a minute ago,” Amanda says, pointing in the general direction of Big Thunder Mountain. “Over there.”

“You sure?” Philby asks.

“No. But I think so.”

“Are you always so honest?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder he likes you,” Philby says. His professor brain engages as his DHI eyes fix on a distant point, one only he can see. “The next stop is Toontown. If we hurry, we just might make it.”

* * *

An oak-trimmed glass case holds a large leather-bound book open to the page upon which the Sleeping Beauty story begins. It’s colorful, all simple drawings and fine calligraphy.

“‘In a faraway land, long, long ago,’” Charlene reads aloud.

The walk-through is an authentic castle passageway: thick stone walls, dim and shadowy lighting, and narrow windows set back in deep embrasures. Charlene’s words bounce and echo in the narrow space. One small window is positioned just above the bookcase. No light streams through; the glass is pitch-black, giving Maybeck a bad feeling.

“Let’s keep moving. I don’t think we want to stand in any one place for too long.” Charlene nods. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, cleansing breath.

Maybeck performs a similar exercise, attempting to maintain all clear. Being stuck in v1.6 is like being held back a year in school—something Maybeck knows about from personal experience. The limits frustrate him; he’s constantly forced to remind himself that he’s not in 2.0, that he’s bound to the restrictions of the new system’s predecessor.

They move on, passing more leather-bound pages that advance the fairy tale, as well as small stained-glass windows.

A few minutes later, they find themselves back outside.

To their right, the lights in the Castle Heraldry Shoppe flicker repeatedly, pulling them in that direction.

Charlene leans her head through the door. “Weird…there aren’t any Cast Members. It’s empty.”

Maybeck takes a look, then steps inside with her. “Hello?”

“You think it’s closed?” Charlene says.

Maybeck eyes a vertical glass case with a red velvet backdrop; it contains a shield emblazoned with a lion crest and a multitude of swords and axes. At the top of the case is mounted a dragon gargoyle holding two drinking goblets in the claws of its forefeet. Its lower right talons grip a curled snake. Maybeck finds the image disturbing; he feels certain it must be symbolic but has no idea what it might mean.

“Cups can signify punishment being doled out,” Charlene says over his shoulder, startling him. “The Bible is filled with references to cups and God’s fury. The contents are bitter, not fit to drink. Sometimes blood.”

“Cheery!”

“The snake represents the underworld. The fact that the dragon has killed the snake probably means the dragon is good, that it’s conquered the underworld.”

“
She
, not it. We know who the dragon is,” he counters, “and she’s not good.
Was
not good.” He pauses, staring into the darkness, and then speaks again, slowly. “If Maleficent conquered the underworld and was the judge handing out sentences in this one, what does that mean, now that she’s dead? More important to us: if she had control of the underworld, could you actually kill her, or is it more like mole whacking? You know, is she just going to pop up somewhere else?”

“It’s just a symbol, Maybeck.”

“It’s Disneyland,” Maybeck says, resolutely. “Nothing is ‘just’ anything. Everything has meaning, including this.”

They continue along the corridor, down the stairs.

“You think the Queen took over her powers,” Charlene says. A statement, not a question.

“After seeing this, I’m not sure anyone took over anything. How can you kill something that’s already dead? If you’ve conquered the underworld, you’re playing on their field, not ours.”

“So Finn killed her, but not really?” Charlene gasps. “Are you
kidding
me?”

“I’m just saying…it’s possible. Anything’s possible.”

A crash of breaking glass knocks Charlene and Maybeck to the floor and sends them scrambling backward. A full set of armor—about five feet tall and of Japanese design—hauls a samurai sword out of the display case, loosing it from its scabbard. The Asian Warrior breaks his trailing foot off from his pedestal and lumbers forward, taking giant steps despite his diminutive height. He brings the sword down onto Maybeck’s arm with such force that the blade chips a piece of the stone beneath the boy’s holographic limb.

His failure to sever the arm catches the Asian Warrior by surprise. His helmet rocks from side to side in curiosity, the gaze of his invisible eyes trained first on Maybeck, then Charlene.

Maybeck is slow to move, hindered by his injured leg, but not Charlene. She springs to her feet and cartwheels in front of the warrior, distracting him. Arriving at the shattered display case, she takes hold of an Arabian sword; it’s smaller, lighter, curved—more to her size and liking than the long samurai sword would be.

In the time it takes the Asian Warrior to hoist his sword, Charlene connects with a blow, knocking him off balance and causing him to stumble. Maybeck crab-crawls backward out of danger.

Charlene wields the sword nimbly, slicing left and right. The warrior blocks the first of her attempts, but the samurai sword is too long, too slow to defend the next stroke.

Another crash to their right. A four-foot tall set of armor with a white plume on its helmet marches stiffly toward Charlene, a sharpened lance in its hands. Charlene feels suddenly, uncomfortably aware that she is wearing next to nothing. The Asian Warrior regains his balance, raising his samurai sword. Charlene turns, facing an empty space between the lancer and the warrior.

A blur from the display case—Maybeck; he’s in midair, a sword in hand. He slices off the end of the lance and collides with the smaller knight, knocking him to the floor. The creature breaks apart: arm and leg armor in scattered pieces, breastplate.

Charlene spins to face the Asian Warrior, blocking a sword strike intended for Maybeck. She and the warrior go at it, swords clanging, the warrior advancing confidently with each contact. Charlene loses ground one step at a time; she’s backed up toward the wall. Another few steps and she’ll be trapped, with too little room to maneuver her weapon in front of her.

She catches a glimpse of movement behind Maybeck.

“Terry!”

Maybeck spins, and lucks out—he’s holding his sword exactly where it’s needed. A six-foot-tall set of knight’s armor wearing an elaborately decorated helmet has broken loose from the corner. Armed with an ax from the Lionheart case, the knight is prepared to reduce Maybeck to mince pie.

Swish!
The ax slices the air.

Maybeck’s limbs tingle; there’s no way he’s all clear. He makes sword contact with the ax, defending himself and trying to hold his ground, but the knight is big and strong and entirely encased in heavy armor. The one or two blows Maybeck manages to land seem to stun him only briefly. It’s like chopping at a tree trunk with a kitchen knife.

“We…get—get them,” Maybeck stutters to Charlene, “to…to hit each other…and, and maybe…we get out of this.”

She’s fighting for her life. The Asian Warrior advances steadily, its joints loosened up now, the samurai sword swinging effortlessly.

Maybeck adjusts, moving back in order to stand shoulder to shoulder with Charlene.

“Can you all clear?” Maybeck asks.

“No idea,” she answers. “Doubt it.”

“We have to!”

They each block a blow, metal clanking on metal. Maybeck’s no match for the behemoth. An attempt to decapitate him mercifully strikes the Lionheart case as Maybeck ducks, or the boy would be talking from the floor.

“How quickly can you…can you—all clear?” He’s stuttering, struggling to calm himself and drive the needles from his limbs.

“Don’t know.”

“We…it’ll have to b-b-be…basically—instantly. Can you do that?”

“Can try!” she says between parries. “When?”

Maybeck uses his artist’s eye to measure the timing of the blows from each set of armor. Charlene’s opponent is faster than the knight confronting him. Maybeck defends two blows in the time Charlene defends three.

There will come a moment when both swords strike at the same time once more. That is the moment at which they must dematerialize.

“Wait for it…” he says. “Steady…”

The two sets of armor draw back their swords in unison.

“Now!”

Charlene closes her eyes and takes a calming breath.

She hears her sword and Maybeck’s sword clank simultaneously onto the floor. In achieving pure DHI state, their hands could no longer hold them. Partners, she thinks.

The warrior and the knight swing their weapons fiercely. But the blades swipe right through the projected light of the holograms. The clap and clangor ring and sing in the narrow confines of the room, loudly signaling their mutual destruction. The ax cleaves the Asian Warrior’s chest; the samurai sword finds a gap in the knight’s chain mail, slicing into his throat. The two collapse and fall bloodlessly, a mingled pile of empty steel and leather. Mere pots and pans banging down on kitchen tile.

Charlene throws her arms around Maybeck in a full-fledged embrace. It’s a hug of victory, of rejoicing, of thanks.

Maybeck doesn’t know how any of this works, not really. But he knows that a moment earlier they were pure DHI, invulnerable and undefeatable. They’re far from that now, for he feels her, holds her, and revels in the armor’s defeat while a nagging voice—his own—whispers gravely in his ear.

“The Overtakers are stronger here.”

T
HE TRAIN’S STEAM WHISTLE
sounds for the second time. Finn and Willa grip the transom of the last car, tuck their legs up, and ride along.

The track bends to the right. Finn had hoped to ride to the park entrance, but his plan is foiled by the occupied rear bench, which keeps him and Willa from climbing over and into the car. They can’t very well be seen holding on to the back of the last car as the train pulls out of the next station, Mickey’s Toontown, so they’ll have to get off. Hopefully he and Willa can find a way to sneak out of Toontown and work their way back to the train tracks farther up the line, Finn thinks. The stop he wants is without question the park entrance.

As the train slows, Finn and Willa lower themselves and get their feet moving to match the train’s speed. They finally let go and move to join the disembarking passengers with no one the wiser, and Finn leads Willa under the train bridge and onto the entrance path for Toontown.

Seeing the gigantic It’s a Small World entrance to her right, Willa cringes. “I’ll never look at that ride the same way again,” she says.

“None of us will.”

“I’m afraid to go in there.”

“No kidding.”

“You, too?”

“Not exactly
afraid
,” Finn answers honestly. “Apprehensive? Cautious? I don’t think I’ve been back since the dolls came alive.”

Willa says, “Hey, Toontown should be closed for the fireworks by now. What’s with that?”

“No idea.”

“You think they’d change that? They
never
change that!”

“I think we need to forget about it and get behind Small World if we’re going to get back to the train. We can cut over by Roger Rabbit’s Car Toon Spin and disappear into the woods.”

“That makes sense. But the thing is, Finn, Toontown should be closed.”

“Forget about it!”

“It has so many character attractions, it’s like an army base for the good Disney characters.”

“A place the OTs would keep under watch.”

“Exactly.”

“Hadn’t thought of it that way,” Finn says. “You’re right. So, let’s make it harder for them to spot us. But we can’t lose sight of each other.” Finn gradually moves away from her. Her concern about Toontown has set him on edge. He knows better than to think that any Keeper is ever completely safe in the parks. And at a time like this, they are at a heightened risk.

The ambush comes from behind, led by a strange-looking guy and a group of six gangly weasels costumed like people and walking on their hind legs. The guy acts like he owns Toontown the way a sheriff owns a Wild West town. A bizarre figure with a pale, rubbery face and oversize eyes, the man wears a black undertaker’s suit. His weasel-bodied minions aren’t much to look at either.

Willa, the Keepers’ foremost Disney historian, spots them and signals Finn. After a few moments’ reflection, she recognizes the man as Judge Doom, from
Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
He’s an obscure character, but his role as a sadistic executioner is well documented. He must have emerged from the Car Toon Spin, or maybe he’s been following them since Toontown station. Near the station is the tent hosting the Mickey’s Magical Map show. Its original plotline included Judge Doom and other Disney villains, all of whom were eventually scratched from the storyline. There’s nothing more troublesome than an out-of-work villain.

Willa moves closer to Finn.

“You know who that is?” she says.

“Negative.”

“Well, I do!” She gives Finn a capsule biography. “His arrival can’t be considered coincidence. He’s on a mission. He’s the closest thing the kingdom—and the Overtakers—have to an assassin. He loves money, and will do anything for it—including kill a pair of sometimes holograms.”

It’s the “sometimes” part that has Finn worried. If he or Willa loses their all clear, it’ll be a disaster. The idea of a known killer following them turns his stomach sour. If something horrible were to happen to any DHI, there’s no telling what might become of the associated kid asleep back in the studio. The idea of being stuck in a permanent coma is so chilling for Finn that he misses a step, stumbles, and has to recover.

“Get out of here! Head for the train tracks,” Finn says. “I’ll meet you.”

“What if Wayne’s here?” she cries. Most everyone in Toontown is a friend to the Kingdom; it would make a good hiding place for Wayne. “Judge Doom may not know about us. He could be after Wayne!”

“Not know about us? He’s looking
right at us
!” Finn contemplates their predicament. “I know we’re supposed to be in pairs, but we’ve got to separate. You get to the tracks!”

Finn moves more deeply into the Toontown cul-de-sac, keeping Goofy’s Playhouse on his left. His plan works: Judge Doom follows him. But Finn only counts three of the wiry weasels.

Inside, it’s a madhouse, a press of bodies with the smell of soiled diapers and perspiration hanging in the air. Families jostle and hurry to reach attractions before the park’s imminent closing. Impatience, fatigue, and foul tempers show on the parents’ faces, while the kids look half asleep and ready to cry.

Finn has a choice to make; he decides to err on the side of self-preservation, knowing the Cryptos won’t like hearing he has made a show of himself. The Disney Hosts Interactive have been shut down for the night. The appearance of any DHI will raise eyebrows.

Finn focuses on remaining all clear as his DHI passes through the guests like a ghost. Many are too self-absorbed to see him or, if they do, to believe what they’ve seen. Seconds later, he’s put a physical wall of park visitors between himself and Judge Doom, a human shield. Finn is relieved to have Doom’s visage shielded from him; the guy’s rubbery face is so horrid, a mask of creepily too-flexible flesh with high cheekbones and fat lips.

And Finn just can’t get Willa’s mentioning Wayne out of his head.

Finn’s DHI continues through the crowd, passing through everyone in his way. He wins some oohs and ahs, but is surprised by how little notice is taken. At twilight, he’s more a shadow than a person, a spectral vision rather than reality.

Finn is approaching the Chip ’n Dale Treehouse when he feels a powerful force turn his head to his right. Mickey’s House looms before him.
The missing Mickey
: Wayne’s primary concern during their covert meeting in Club 33.

Finn glances back quickly: no sign of Judge Doom. He walks between the house and its separate garage, passes a
CAST MEMBERS ONLY
door, and, walking around back until he’s out of view of the guests, steps up and through the building’s exterior wall and into a passageway.

He’s inside.

* * *

Willa is not about to let Finn fend off Judge Doom alone. Slowing, she glances back. Of the six weasels she counted before, three are now following her. For now, she’ll have to think with her feet, hoping to outmaneuver or outrun them.

The three weasels resemble walking cartoon figures and, as such, cannot avoid attracting attention. Quickly, they draw a small crowd. Is this something she can use against them?

Willa stops, turns, working to retain her full DHI.

“Hey, fellas!” she calls out. More guests turn. Parents grab their children by the hands and spin them, making sure they don’t miss what appears to be part of the Disneyland show.

Willa remembers these six more clearly now: they are Judge Doom’s Toon Patrol. In the movie, they are indestructible in battle, but end up laughing themselves to death.

She focuses on Finn’s pinprick of light at the end of a dark tunnel, inwardly superimposing the image across her vision. Taking a deep breath, she walks up to and
through
the three weasels, making them spin around as they try to follow the path of this strange being that has just walked right
through
them. She reverses direction and repeats the effect—now she has the Doom’s minions literally spinning in circles. This wins laughter from the crowd, and from the Toon Patrol as well.

The stunt works against the creatures briefly, but the cruelest looking one, who she recognizes as Psycho, sees through her ruse.

“Boys!” he says. Psycho reaches out for her, but swipes his paw right through her hologram. He looks at his own hand, eyes bugged out in confusion.

Willa doubles back through their group again. Two of the weasels bump into each other; she jumps clean out of the way, maintaining her all clear so that they bang their heads together, and watches as their knees wobble. Adults in the crowd gasp. The kids applaud.

Psycho remains standing. “Hey, little girl!” He charges her.

Willa steps out of the way; she’s no Charlene, always itching for a direct confrontation. She kicks the weasel from behind. The crowd erupts in cheers. More people join the throng surrounding the four: now it’s a full-on show.

Psycho pivots and backhands Willa across the cheek. He makes contact; her head snaps to the side.

The force of the blow shows Willa she’s failed to maintain her all clear. She attributes this not to the violence, but to the look in Psycho’s eyes. His name befits him: he’s wild, crazed, ready to tear her head from her shoulders. She doesn’t appreciate being called “little girl,” either; the insult triggers her temper even as it reminds her of her mortality. She’s vulnerable, and she has to remember that. She has to calm down. But that’s impossible.

Psycho strikes her again—hard. The crowd is evenly split; the kids cheer loudly; the adults are uncertain of just what they are watching. Willa lowers her shoulder and hits Psycho in the gut, driving him back into the other weasels, who look dazed, still recovering from their head thumping. But none of them are laughing, and that’s the only thing that can kill them—Willa knows they’re otherwise indestructible.

Finn told her to head to the train, but plans change. How can he expect her to leave him? She has a choice to make. It’s never really a choice at all.