Kingdom Keepers V (9781423153429) (17 page)

For this reason, when his security officer arrived in person on the bridge, Cederberg paid attention.

“Bob?” Robert Heinemann was known to the crew as Uncle Bob. He was a gregarious man with clear eyes and a boyish voice.

“We've had a report of a double sighting,” Bob said privately. “CM.” Captain Mickey.

Cederberg stiffened.

“Not on my watch, we haven't.”

“Afraid so.” Uncle Bob led the captain to the wing and pointed back toward the
Magic
. “Just below the bridge.”

Cederberg snatched up a pair of binoculars.

He trained the binoculars. “Mickey's on deck exactly as we agreed.”

“Theirs is, yes. Our Mickey was spotted about”—Uncle Bob checked his watch—“seven minutes ago outside Cabanas. It's a double sighting.”

Cederberg faced Bob grimly.

“I called down to Christian,” Bob said, referring to the
Dream
's director of entertainment. “Our Mickey is not on duty and is accounted for. Whoever's parading around Deck Eleven is an impostor.”

“A guest having some fun?”

“According to the report, this Mickey is a dead ringer. If it is a guest, the costume needs to be confiscated.”

“The real deal?” Cederberg bristled. “Not possible!”

“I mustered the crew. Everyone's looking for him,” Bob said, letting Cederberg know he'd followed ship protocol.

“He's disappeared?”

“Yes.”

“He must not be seen abovedecks. Certainly not to stern. Not until we're well clear of the
Magic
.”

“Understood.”

“He has no handler, then?”

“If he does, the handler's an imposter too.”

“Video?”

“Yes. I checked it first, after getting the call. The character walks into view in the area outside Cabanas. He shakes hands with a few of the young 'uns,
talks
to them, and then is lost in the crowd around Mickey's pool.”

“Talks…to…them?”

“We have to stop him,” Bob said. Captain Mickey
never
spoke.

“The aft stairs?” Cederberg said.

“Well…that's the thing, Captain. I mean, that's where one would expect him. But no. Nothing.”

“He can't have just disappeared.”

“No, Captain.”

“It's your job to know, Bob.”

“Well aware of that.”

“Find him. And when you do, I want to question him or her personally before we throw him into the brig. We've been at sea thirty minutes, Bob. We have two weeks to go.”

“Agreed.”

“No more of this. Steady as she goes.”

“Understood.”

“Find him.”

Uncle Bob grimaced. It wasn't going to be easy to find one person out of several thousand, and both men knew it. “Right away,” he said.

* * *

Swish!
The tip of the sword missed Finn's throat by a fraction of an inch. Jack Sparrow—or whoever this was—regarded him with dark, calm eyes. He didn't seem the slightest bit fazed. The sword continued its arc, catching and slicing off the tail of a bandana tied around Dale's furry neck. Finn watched in horror as the piece of fabric floated down to the stage.

A flash of bright light beyond Jack Sparrow blinded him.

The crowd cheered.

As planned, two sword-bearing Cast Members arrived downstage to screen the real Finn as his DHI was projected. This was the moment of substitution—let Jack Sparrow slice my DHI! Finn thought. But something—no,
someone
—was holding him by the ankles. It was one of Sparrow's pirates. He was lying on the stage, making faces to the adoring crowd while not allowing Finn to move. Finn leaned back, away from the next swing of the sword—a real sword. It sliced the air with a hiss.

This guy means to kill me! Finn was unarmed.

One of the Cast Members stepped forward to do battle with Sparrow, but the pirate's sword cut his plastic sword in two.

The crowd went wild. “Go, Jack! Get him, Jack!”

Finn twisted in the grip of the pirate and spotted himself looking back at him. His DHI held a projected sword in hand, programmed for a choreographed sword fight, a sword fight Jack Sparrow either knew nothing of or had no plan to follow. As Jack was distracted by the second sword-carrying Cast Member, Finn fell to the side, dropping to his knees. Jack turned back, mistaking the DHI for Finn. He stepped forward for a thrust, plunging the sword into the chest of the DHI and losing his balance as he met no resistance.

The real Finn reached out and hooked the man's black boot and pulled. Jack Sparrow slammed down onto his back, dropping the sword.

A roar mixed with laughter, the crowd believing it all to be part of the program.

The second of the two Cast Members kicked Sparrow's sword away. It clattered down to the deck. Still partially screened by the Cast Members, Finn
was pulled off balance by the pirate holding him. He fell back, catching the glint of a knife too late. There was nothing he could do to stop himself: he was going to fall upon that upraised knife. He was going to be stabbed.

He waved his arms like a bird flapping its wings. But there was no lift; he continued falling backward.

Then he stopped, something clutching his arms. It was…impossible.

“Dill?”

Dillard Cole, Finn's neighbor and best friend outside the Keepers. How had he gotten on board the ship?

He and Finn were locked by forearm grips—like the Roman soldiers used as handshakes in movies.

“Hang tight,” Dillard said.

He stretched a leg and stepped onto Jack Sparrow's chest as the man tried to sit up. Cheers and applause erupted from the approving audience.

“What are you—?”

“Later,” Dillard answered. “Right now, we've got to get out of here.”

At that moment a woman's voice called out from the speakers. A voice that ran chills down the spine. A voice that could stop time.

* * *

Maleficent's head was the size of a Volkswagen up on the Funnel Vision screen. Her face a hideous green, her chin pointed sharp like a wedge of cheese, her thin eyebrows above her bloodshot eyes. As she smiled, the white of her teeth made the vivid red of her lipstick and the bilious green skin all the more dramatic. A crow fluttered its wings by her ear. She ignored it.

“Good day to you all!” she said in her gravelly voice. “Or up to now it may have been good. Welcome aboard! Your so-called hero—I like to think of the boy as little more than an annoying pest—has been taken care of, I trust? And you there,”—she pointed—“in the booth. Don't bother trying to interrupt me. I'll stop when I feel like stopping.”

She rocked her head left to right, port to star-board.

“Are you listening, people? Looking forward to the cruise? I wouldn't if I were you. Not with fairies like me around. Witches. Villains. Pick your poison.” She cackled. “Poison? That's a thought.” She shut her eyes—her lids were also the same vile green—and reopened them. “You might ask, what do you want? But you'd be missing the point. You'd be missing all the fun.”

The huge screen went black, flickered, then returned to the background pirate scenery it had been displaying only a minute before.

The crowd remained silent until someone whooped playfully from the back. But it was a lonely sound, and no one joined in with him. Instead, curious and anxious faces stared at the screen while characters and Cast Members onstage remained frozen, eyes looking up.

U
ncle Bob replayed the security video several more times, the high-def image greatly magnified. How many times had he recommended more cameras for the new ships? More state-of-the-art technology? His bosses weren't cheap, neither were they nearsighted; they had given him the GPS ID tags, keyless entry locks, and a variety of other technologies he had yet to fully put into place. But the cameras? You could never have too many cameras.

What he saw was a prime example of his limitations. The Deck 4 jogging track consisted of uninterrupted, eco-friendly teak decking encircling the entire thousand-foot-long ship, meaning walking or running three laps equaled a mile. For nearly the entire length of Deck 4, port and starboard, fully enclosed, fiberglass, unsinkable lifeboats hung suspended overhead ready for deployment at a moment's notice. Each motorized boat could safely house and feed 120 guests for over a week at sea. Each had an emergency transmission beacon that activated upon contact with salt water; each carried radios, first aid, blankets, water purification, fishing line, and spare life jackets. A dozen cameras were positioned on Deck 4 to provide quality views of all the lifeboats, allowing security to monitor, manage, and record any emergency evacuation.

Those dozen cameras were six more than any other exterior deck had, and the forward or aft sections of Deck 4 had only two such cameras in place. One was near the bow and was maneuverable 330 degrees, showing both the jogging track and the crew's anchor storage; to the aft, a fixed-mount camera showed a fish-eye view of the track and the stern of the ship.

Bob had caught activity on a recording from the bow camera. He'd missed it the first two times, looking for a person. But during a third look he saw an iconic shadow on the slatted wood deck as it turned to cross the bow. A round dark circle with two equidistant circles atop it. Ears. A head. Mickey Mouse.

Filled with the rare pulse of excitement—Bob loved detective work—he sought the recording from camera 4-9. He matched up the time code. Sure enough, there appeared Captain Mickey, his back to the camera. He walked the jogging path, entering the steel tunnel that housed the jogging track as it crossed around the bow. But he never made it to the bow camera. Never arrived.

He…disappeared, Bob realized, wondering how he was ever going to broach the subject with the captain. He couldn't be using a word like that. Security didn't believe in passengers or crew disappearing; security didn't believe in ghosts; security didn't believe in the “Disney Spirit” haunting a ship (even if the crew did!). Security dealt in facts. Hard, cold facts.

But Captain Mickey had disappeared, the character shadow turning into a blade of black and shrinking from the bottom up, like a fuse burning.

Bob snagged his radio. “Choi? Take Verene and search Deck Four's anchor storage area. Top to bottom. No stone unturned. You copy?”

“Copy.”

Uncle Bob glanced at his watch repeatedly. Peter Choi and Michael Verene were among his best men. If anyone could find the missing character it was these two. Bob was not a superstitious man, but he was practical and calculating: this kind of trouble in the first hour of a cruise did not bode well. He'd hoped for an easy cruise: two weeks through the Caribbean and the Panama Canal. A little slice of heaven. His wife was scheduled to join the ship in Aruba.

Break-ins in the Radio Studio? Double Mickeys? This stuff didn't happen—much less on the same cruise! He hoped it wasn't cursed.

Maybe he was more superstitious than he allowed himself to believe.

He watched on the monitors as his two guys each took an opposite side of the ship as they approached the bow of Deck 4. Smart thinking. A squeeze play.

Nothing. He knew the moment Peter Choi looked into the camera lens and shrugged. Bob didn't require a radio call to understand that particular message. Zero.

Bob recalled his men. He was tempted to view the security recordings one final time, but knew he'd only be wasting his time.

The extra Captain Mickey—a Captain Mickey that had no place aboard this ship—had vanished.

* * *

Finn, Philby, and Mrs. Philby ate dinner at a table for four in the Royal Palace, the central dining room off the ship's lobby, which, according to Philby's mom, was the “most beautiful restaurant I've ever eaten in.” It took elegance to a new level and reminded Finn of something from
Beauty and the Beast
. Cut-glass chandeliers, linen tablecloths, waiters and waitresses dressed formally. The tables went out in circles from a centerpiece like lily pads in a fountain. Finn had sea bass with green beans and two desserts. Philby had a steak with french fries, and his mother “the juiciest chicken I've had in my life.” Finn spent a lot of the time staring at the empty chair across from him, which was where his own mom was supposed to have sat. He thought back to Typhoon Lagoon and tensed as a shiver swept through him. Maleficent had stolen his mom. He didn't know what it meant, not exactly, but feared his mother was under a spell, the same as Luowski. Had Finn lost his mother for good? He felt sick.

Nauseated—knowing it had nothing to do with being seasick—Finn headed back to his room. Mrs. Philby planned to attend the opening show in the Walt Disney Theatre while all five models for the Disney Hosts Interactive—the Keepers—were expected to attend the opening of the Vibe teen center, where, as earlier, holograms would take their place and then mingle with the other teens. Once the swap had been made—holograms for kids—the five teens would be whisked back to their rooms, where they were instructed to stay for the remainder of the evening. By order of the ship's director of entertainment, there can never be more than one of any character visible at the same time. This made for strict scheduling for the Keepers; their itineraries called for long stretches of their being confined to their cabins as their DHIs made character appearances or signed autographs. It was a small price to pay for the free two-week cruise, or had seemed so when first proposed. Now that such confinement was upon them, it felt entirely different. More like jail.

* * *

“What was going on with the Maleficent thing at the Sail-Away Celebration?” Charlene asked Finn. Their looks had been coordinated to match their DHI projections, the “costumes” awaiting them in their rooms after dinner. Charlene looked about eighteen in skinny jeans and a red-and-white-striped tank top. Her blond hair fell to her shoulders and was held in place by a black headband comb, which, intended or not, gave her the look of a princess. Her insanely good looks made her the center of attention, especially for the boys in the Vibe, even though Finn knew she didn't enjoy such fawning. She had an almost desperate desire to be seen as something other than pretty. Finn figured that was an uphill battle.

“We weren't the only ones surprised by that,” Finn said.

“Do you think we'll turn back?” Charlene said.

“No way. No one knows how serious a threat it is besides us. I mean, Wayne would, but he's not here.”

“We could tell him.”

“And we will if we get the chance, but he's one guy. There are three thousand paying passengers. ‘The show must go on,'” he said, drawing air quotes. “Besides, for now it's just a video. Since this is a DHI cruise, they'll think it was planned. At best, someone'll call it in and it'll take a day or two before anyone realizes it wasn't. At worst, it'll be seen as a prank. No matter what, for now, we're on our own.”

“And Jack Sparrow? He could have killed you!” Charlene said.

“Noted,” Finn said.

“Nearly did kill you.”

“Doubly noted.”

“And was that—?”

“Dillard,” Finn answered, though couldn't explain. “The really weird thing is, I called the operator and asked to be connected to his room, and they didn't have anyone by that name.”

“Seriously?”

“He's not registered. And I would have known if he'd been planning to be here.”

“But how's that possible?”

“How's any of this possible?” he asked. He paused. “You know how often I ask myself that? How this ever happened? If this is even happening at all?”

“Me too,” she said. “I think we all feel that way. We keep waiting to wake up and find out it was some kind of bizarre dream.”

“A very long dream.”

Charlene became pensive. “I don't think Maleficent's message was meant for the passengers as much as for us.”

“She wants to scare us,” Finn said. “She probably doesn't know that 2.0 gets around that element of fear. We can take advantage of that. We need to cross over tonight and get a look around as DHIs.”

“The refrigerators,” she said.

“Yeah. Maybeck didn't get the chance to follow up on that.”

“You think that since taking over the parks didn't work out for the OTs, they're trying for something more manageable? Something smaller?”

“I assume the battle for Base is a setback for the OTs. If not, we have to hope the volunteers can hold them off. What you and Maybeck pulled off with the brooms and the capture of the Green Army Men, collecting some of that goo—we've definitely set them back.” He paused, his mind whirring. “Besides, you can't call the
Dream
small,” Finn said, thinking of the ship and looking around the teen center. The area, where no parents or adults were allowed, consisted of several large, colorful sections. One with a giant television. Another with a dozen beanbag chairs. Yet another filled with gaming consoles. The Beatles' “All You Need Is Love” played loudly from overhead speakers. Outside, there was a private pool and sports facilities for basketball, volleyball, and soccer. Finn typically hated stuff dedicated to “kids,” but this was the exception. It was open until one—although he and the others would have to leave before that.

“I suppose it's all relative,” Charlene said.

“I suppose.”

“Don't look now, but that hottie is checking you out.”

Finn stole a look toward the door. He had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. The Asian girl was maybe a year or two older than he was. She wore her soft dark hair like a china doll, her bangs cut level at her eyebrows, her hair falling in twin sheets to her square shoulders. She looked familiar to Finn, and yet not familiar at all. He wondered…

“Is she on TV or something?” he said, looking away.

“Not that I know,” Charlene said. “Though she could be. She's pretty enough.”

“There are Disney Channel actors on board, right?”

“That's what we were told.”

“So maybe that's who she is.”

“Maybe.”

“Like
Lemonade Mouth
or something like that?”

“Hayley? No, I know her. It's not Hayley. But she's crushin' on you.”

“Give me a break.” Hearing the word “crushin'” reminded him once again of Typhoon Lagoon—in a bad way. And Ursula. Amanda. It seemed like a year ago.

“Don't look now, but here she comes,” Charlene said. “Don't forget about Amanda.”

Finn tried to make a face at Charlene, but she'd already turned her back on him and was walking away. He stood there not knowing what to do with himself. He was such a klutz when it came to girls.

“Hey, there,” the girl said. If you put hand cream all over a Nerf ball, that's how smooth her voice sounded. “You're Finn, right?”

She waved her hand and hit him, open-palmed, squarely on the waist.

“Ah!” she said. “The real item!”

“You were expecting?”

“What I expect and what I hope for are two different things. Which do you want to know?”

He tried to swallow, but his throat was plugged with nerves. His voice cracked as he said, “H-hope for.”

“Yes. I was hoping you were you and not the hologram you, although I know the hologram you a lot better. I bet I've toured with you a dozen times if you add up all the parks.”

Finn got this more and more: people who, by touring with his hologram, mistook that they'd spent time with him. She apparently knew the difference, but the look in her eyes was still somewhat dreamy.

“And you are?” he said.

“Thrilled,” she said. “To meet you.” She blushed. “Storey Ming.”

Finn offered her his hand and they shook hands. Hers were calloused. Not what he'd been expecting.

“Clay,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“I work with clay,” she said, explaining her hands. “Dries out my hands. Makes them rough.”

“They're not rough,” he lied.

“You think? They're like reptile skin,” she said. “But I throw good pots!”

“You're a passenger? A guest?”

“A friend. More like you than you think,” she said. “A so-called celebrity—not that you're so-called, far from it; but I am. I'm giving a couple workshops in the middle of the cruise. It's a new thing called All Hands On Deck. Me. There's a painter. Someone doing beadwork. Jewelry. Sea days. You know about sea days?”