Kingdom Keepers V (9781423153429) (31 page)

By carefully examining the top corners of the journal's yellowed pages, Finn identified a section somewhere past the book's middle that showed added wear. The pages had clearly been read more often than the rest. He turned to the section, heedful of the fragile nature of the paper and its contents. These pages seemed to be dealing with the character of Chernabog. There were some odd notes:

There were references to instruments:

Then came an illustration of some stone steps, followed by a blank page with a doodle in each corner. Or maybe not a doodle, but a pictogram or hieroglyph––if so, not like hieroglyphs Finn had ever seen.

On the last of the thumb-worn pages, a creepy sounding passage:

Finn flipped ahead through the section of worn pages. More notes and arrows and numbers. More musical references. A confusing jumble of gobbledygook.

But his possession of the journal filled him with delirious happiness. Retaking the journal had been the primary assignment. Here they were at the first stop of a half dozen ports—the second day of fifteen—and they'd already retrieved the journal.

Translating its pages would have to wait. He assumed Wayne would want it scanned and emailed to the Imagineers for further analysis. So much to do.

The fireworks finale erupted overhead like he was in the middle of Mortal Warfare about to retake the castle. Explosions and, as he reached the door, showers of falling stars and colors—music echoing across the water from the ship. Cheers rose from the adoring crowd on the beach.

He knew that music. Orchestral. Majestic. Uplifting. Inspiring. Tried to associate it with a particular Disney movie because of its familiarity. Searched the hard drive of his mind for where and when he'd heard it and found the fingers of his right hand dancing against the damp leather of the journal.

Piano! he thought. This particular piece he'd learned for his piano teacher back when he'd still been taking lessons. Back before the Keepers.

Thoughts of the piano lessons recalled images of his mother's face. Finn recoiled with the memory. He felt physical pain in his gut and wondered where the nearest bathroom was. His mother, the green-eyed traitor. His mother, another of Maleficent's captive slaves. He should have killed the fairy while he'd had the chance; should have demanded his mother's release and her return to her former self. He understood that regardless of his DHI assignments or missions, this one calling preoccupied him like no other. He could leave tracking the OT server to Philby. With the journal in hand, his own mission had changed.

Slowly his fingers worked the orchestrated piece's central melody. Instinctively. Subconsciously. He caught a piece of the sheet music in his mind's eye and nearly was able to make out the composer's name at the top of the page.

Stra…vin…Stravin…

The distant purr of airplane engines snapped him out of it.

* * *

Philby and Willa watched as Charlene made her move.

“Did you see that?” Willa asked.

“I did.”

“Where did she come from?”

“The south side of the runway,” Philby answered in his typical Professor Philby way that angered Willa.

“Talking to you is like talking to a computer.”

“My laptop has a speech component. The dual processor allows—”

“Enough! I have no interest in dual anything. A friend of ours just ran behind a taxiing plane, did a home plate slide under the back of a mini truck, and is currently suspended from what looks like a spare tire.”

“I have eyes,” he said.

“And you're telling me that doesn't impress you?”

“She's the gymnast. Who did you expect to do something like that?”

“What is it with you?”

“What is
what
with me? It's Charlene. She does stuff like that. Remember the time outside Wonders of Life?”

“Sometimes you really bug me,” Willa said, contorting herself to get out of the seat and to the door.

* * *

Charlene clung to the spare tire on the truck's undercarriage, not fully understanding how she'd gotten there. Her back only inches from the asphalt, her fingers dug into the tire tread's hard rubber, each bump in the road threatening her grip. She disliked her own impulsive tendencies, but had never figured a way around them. She heard a call for action and she acted. It was only in the aftermath of such actions that she had the chance to reflect on her own stupidity.

The truck rolled on—thankfully slowly, no doubt in part because the driver chose to drive with the lights off. The fireworks had been in the midst of the grand finale as she'd reached the truck, possibly explaining why no one had seen her: who could resist a grand finale?

The cruise passengers would be headed back to the ship now. The all-aboard was thirty minutes after the fireworks; the
Dream
would sail in exactly forty-five minutes. Anyone not on the ship at that time would miss the rest of the cruise.

The truck turned left, leaving the roadway unexpectedly. It bumped off the asphalt, and Charlene lost her grip. She fell into sand on her back and the truck pulled away without her. She rolled into the nearby bushes and tried to collect herself as the truck's brake lights flashed red and the brakes squealed. The truck slowed to a stop in an area heaped with piles of sand and gravel. The driver cut the wheel sharply; the truck stopped again and then began backing up.

Movement to Charlene's left. She leaned back behind the cover of the vegetation.

“Psst!” she signaled when she saw it was an out-of-breath Willa. Behind her, equally out of breath, came Philby.

The two hunkered down next to Charlene and tried to speak.

“What…were…you…thinking?” panted Willa.

“I wasn't,” said Charlene. “That happens with me sometimes.”

“They're backing up to a boat,” Philby said.

“To deliver the crate to the
Dream
,” Charlene said. “There's no way we're going to stop it.”

“We're at a distinct disadvantage,” said Philby. “They outnumber us, and the boat is a Boston Whaler, so it's not like there's anywhere to hide on it.”

“What's in the crate?” Charlene asked Philby.

“As if he knows,” said Willa, still not pleased with Philby.

“I don't know,” Philby admitted. “But if I had to guess, I'd say it's a bear.” The girls looked at him skeptically. “Notice the air holes top and bottom. Whatever it is, it's alive. The size of the crate suggests an animal in excess of six feet and, judging by the difficulty six guys had in moving it, three to five hundred pounds—i.e., a beast.”

“But why so secret?”

“I'm as confused as you are. The presence of the Cast Members suggests it's legit—”

“Unless these are the same Cast Members Finn saw with Tia Dalma,” said Charlene. She quickly recounted what little she knew of Finn's encounter, which wasn't much.

“If they're legit,” Philby said, seemingly ignoring for now what Charlene had just told them, “then the secrecy would be easily explained: the company wanted to bring a surprise onto the ship and didn't want guests knowing about it. A performing lion, maybe, like in Vegas?”

“And if not legit?” Charlene pressed.

“Then we've got trouble,” Willa said, “because whatever's in there is big. Big as in dangerous. More hyenas? A wild boar?”

“Presumably to be used against us,” Philby added.

“So planning something big.”

“If this is the work of Overtakers, we've never seen anything like it.”

“It is,” came a voice behind them.

All three jumped.

Maybeck slipped in alongside of them.

“You about scared the pee out of me!” Charlene complained.

“I caught Luowski in a shed.” He gave them the shorthand of his encounter with the school bully.

“Luowski's on the ship?” Willa gasped. “The OTKs?”

“I went back to have another ‘chat' with him,” Maybeck said, “after the plane took off, but he was gone. He'd smashed out some boards at the back of the shed.”

“We need to know what's in that crate,” Willa said.

“If one of you could get to sleep the minute we're back on board,” Philby proposed, “I could cross you over before whatever it is is unpacked.”

“Can I remind you we have no idea where they're taking it, and the ship just happens to be huge?” Charlene said.

“If I can get into ship security's camera files we can follow the crate,” Philby stated.

“Can you?” Maybeck asked.

“We won't know until we try.”

A
silent alarm sounded in Philby's head as he and the others boarded the ship: their key cards tracked their every movement. When they left the ship; when they returned. When they entered their rooms; when they left. The main dining rooms kept track of guest attendance (although the other food areas did not). If the shipboard security cameras could be used to track the arrival of a secret crate, what about the arrival of five key card–holding kids? In the wrong hands, such information put the Keepers at risk.

As celebrities, their staterooms were not registered in their names. Only key officers knew how to track them down. These included the heads of entertainment, security, and what was called hotel management. There was no question the Beach Blanket Barbecue had been arranged by an officer; who else could convince the captain to stay extra hours on Castaway Cay? There seemed little doubt that whoever had arranged the extension had connections to the Overtakers. And since this had to be a highly ranked officer, it seemed likely that the Overtakers might now have knowledge of the Keepers' staterooms. That meant there was nowhere safe on board.

Nowhere.

Philby didn't want to freak out the others, so for now he kept this realization to himself, but as he reentered the ship he was already scheming about ways to use some of the empty staterooms for DHI sleep during crossover in case the OTs had plans to kidnap them or attempt to trap them in SBS. With too much to do and with too little time, he pushed his concern aside and focused on crossing over Charlene in hopes she could follow the mystery crate.

He texted Finn:

i need to see it


There was no need to mention the journal by name; Finn would know. He was excited to get a look at it to find out what was so important to the OTs to risk stealing it in the first place. He might have wondered why Maleficent would keep it on her person, but then again she was such a control freak it really didn't surprise him all that much.

“Welcome back,” the steward said as Philby ran his key card past the sensor. “Did you enjoy the fireworks?”

“Oh, yes!” Philby answered. “They were much more than I expected.”

The steward smiled at him, then welcomed the next guest. Philby crowded in with others awaiting the elevators, then broke free of the pack and climbed the stairs.

meet u @ the room


…came Finn's reply.

Good, Philby thought. Finn was okay and was either back on the ship or would be soon. That was a load off his mind. Without the crate and the mystery plane, without Luowski being seen on the island, without Tia Dalma's involvement, it might have felt to Philby like their mission was nearly over. They needed the GPS data on the OT server, but he expected that any minute. Then it would be a matter of finding and disabling the OT server.

Given the recent developments, the recovery of the stolen journal didn't merit celebration the way it might have. There were too many variables—too much going on that needed explaining. The ship was not safe, whether Wayne and the Imagineers knew it or not. Maleficent had brought the battle to the ship, and as much as he didn't want to think about it, there was no better place to get rid of someone than by throwing the person overboard at night.

Or five people, one by one.

The cruise had been promoted as featuring the DHIs. So far he had faced two DHIs trying to dispatch him. Was it a Murder Cruise?

We should have stayed behind on the island, he thought, catching a glimpse of the beautiful Castaway Cay as he reached Deck 4. He looked down over the rail at the churning water. For the next two days there would be only this one way off the ship.

* * *

Finn sensed eyes on him as he boarded. He didn't know if it was because the stewards were greeting passengers, or a guest had recognized him, or the lenses of security cameras were recording him, or if it was just his own paranoia. But there it was, and he had to deal with it.

The journal was tucked under his shirt into the back of his waistband. His mission was to copy its contents and transmit it to Wayne. But a second element to the mission revealed itself: finders keepers. Until this moment, as he felt the power of a thousand eyes watching him, he'd not bothered to consider that Maleficent would want it back. Not simply want it, but do anything to get it. Its importance to her could not be overstated.

He felt like a thief with a world-famous jewel in his pocket. He felt like a target. Suddenly, everyone was the enemy: the nice steward who'd just welcomed him, the girl at the elevators giving him a warm smile, the old lady with the walker and the bad sunburn glaring at him as he tried to slip past her.

The boarding passengers hit gridlock at the elevators, packing in tightly. The smell of body odor mixed with barbecue sauce was a dreadful, toxic sweet-and-sour blend that made him want to retch. Someone farted, and Finn thought he might hurl. He finally broke through the throng and reached the staircase, his hand at his back protecting the hidden journal. He climbed the stairs slowly at first, but he had that creepy, spine-tingling sensation, convinced someone was right behind him.

Arriving at the landing on Deck 4—more guests awaiting the elevators here—he noticed two uniformed crew members enter from the outer decks. They looked right at him and turned in his direction. Finn held the banister and began climbing calmly toward Deck 5 (there were rules against running) but felt his heart rate soar as the two fell in line behind him—also climbing the stairs calmly.

At the next landing, he got a look at their solemn faces and felt a jolt: the one nearest the banister had been in Tia Dalma's cabana.

He tried keeping his pace calm, but took two stairs at a time in an attempt to put distance between himself and the other two.

They stayed with him.

It felt as if the journal were burning a hole in his back.

At Deck 5 the two officers separated. The one he thought he recognized stayed behind him.

His throat went dry. His skin itched. He should have thought to pass the journal off to one of the others; he'd been a fool to carry it aboard himself. Maleficent would be furious at Finn's use of Triton's crabs to sabotage her. He could barely swallow. He was not about to lead this officer to his stateroom! Worse, a ship's officer could go anywhere he wanted to, had access to much more of the ship than Finn; it wasn't like Finn could slip into an area the officer wasn't allowed.

He glanced left, right, and up, where he spotted a girl stopped on the stairs staring at him intensely. The moment they met eyes she started down toward him.

“O…M…G!” she said loudly. “Are you one of those hologram thingies? You're, like, in all the parks, right?” He made his voice sound like a robot. “Hell-o! My name is Finn. Can I show you around the park today?” She skipped stairs hurrying down to him and stopped, blocking his way.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the officer climbing toward him.

The girl reached out and took him by the wrists and shook both arms, wildly excited to meet him.

“This is so awesome!” she said. Then, looking down at her hands, she added, “But how come I can touch you?”

He caught her glance over his shoulder. Then she reached around him and put her hand right into the small of his back. Finn wrestled to be free from her, but she pinned the journal there and hugged him, giggling.

With both arms wrapped around him, she leaned back. “Sorry, but I just
had
to do that!” she proclaimed.

His wrists felt cold where she'd gripped them. He didn't recall feeling her hands as cold, only the lingering aftereffect. It felt strangely like he'd forgotten something, or had lost something. But thankfully the journal was still there.

The ship's officer slowed as he drew near, then walked past Finn, tracking the boy with his peripheral vision. He continued through a door to the starboard deck.

The girl appeared to be watching the officer as well.

“You're right in thinking they mean you harm. I can help,” the girl said in a whisper. She took off through the port doors; her oddly colored hair was what he remembered most—black, with a splash of vibrant red at the bottom.

Finn stared at the twin doors in a stupor. He wanted to call after her, to stop her. But she was gone. For a moment his legs wouldn't move. When they finally did, he bounded upstairs.

He tried to remember her face but couldn't; she was surprisingly unmemorable. Just the weird patch of red hair—out of place on a Disney cruise, where no one stood out like that.

He checked behind him—still no one following. He forced the stress to leave him, understood the importance of copying and transmitting the journal's contents immediately—before the Overtakers managed to steal it back!

Was there even a way to photocopy on the ship? He imagined the concierge would do it for him, or the front desk, but he wasn't about to give the journal over to someone else. A digital camera, he realized. He could photograph the significant pages and email them to Wayne. He tried to think back to what she'd told him, feeling violated for her having known what he'd been thinking.

How was that possible?

* * *

There was an unmarked envelope awaiting him outside his stateroom door. Finn reread the note that had accompanied a key card:

EAT. WON. AN ANGRY DOG.

He stepped inside and closed the door. He locked the journal in his stateroom safe, feeling relief. Back to the note.

The code had to have something to do with the key card—and therefore was a number.

Eat…ate…
eight
! he thought, celebrating his cleverness. He used a stateroom pen to write it down: 8.

Won…one…easy: 8-1.

An angry dog…mean? Nothing came to him. Slobber? Nothing. Wild? Still nothing. He began to get frustrated. Teeth? Eyes? Drool? German shepherd? Doberman? How hard could this be? An angry dog. Attack? Defend? Sic?

Sic…sics…six!

8-1-6.

Worth a try.

Which was safer, he wondered, leaving the journal locked up inside his stateroom safe, or taking it with him? Someone on the ship had the authority and the means to unlock a stateroom safe—certainly guests forgot their four-digit code from time to time. But such access would be limited to very few: maybe the head of security and the captain. Whoever was after it would first have to get into his stateroom and then unlock his safe.

He emailed Wayne photographs of the journal's five middle pages—both sides. Ten pages in all. Then he knocked on the connecting door to Philby's stateroom. Mrs. Philby said, “Come in,” and Finn went inside and asked if it was all right if he left the door open while he was out.

“I locked my passport and some money in my safe, and I don't want anything to happen to it.”

“No problem,” Mrs. Philby said, and added, “Do you know where Dell is?”

Finn had a couple of hunches.

“He came back from the fireworks, didn't he?”

“Left his clothes on the floor of the bathroom, so…yes,” she said, grimacing.

“Probably the Vibe,” he said. “I'll check.”

“Thank you, Finn.”

“No problem.”

A few minutes later and a few decks lower, Finn knocked on the door to 816 and then tried the key card. The door unlocked and he entered. The ship was already under way, and this was his first sensation of it moving as he saw through to the stateroom balcony and the flickering moonlight on the gray water and a girl's silhouette out there.

“No lights,” the girl called out as his finger was about to hit the switch. He recognized her voice. Storey Ming.

“Nice,” he said, joining her, admiring the view.

“It's so appealing…being on the water at night. So beautiful. That's Castaway back there, and over there…I'm not sure. Nassau, maybe.”

“They look so far away.”

“Perspective,” she said. “Distance is so different at sea.”

“Nice code.”

“I thought you'd figure it out.”

“Why am I here?”

Storey Ming lowered her voice, as the neighboring balconies were close. “The GPS transmission device you set up—”

“Philby, my friend, set it up––”

“––pretty much confirms the OT server is aboard the
Dream
. I received a message that while they can't prove it absolutely, they are confident it's here.”

Why would Wayne send a note to her instead of him? Finn wondered.

“So that's next,” he said.

“It must be destroyed or at least taken off-line if our guys are to have a chance in the battle for the Base.”

“I'd almost forgotten…”

“It has been worse the past few nights. Things are heating up.”

“DHIs?”

“The OTs are using their DHIs as decoys. Our guys rush a bunch of OTs only to realize they're holograms.”

“Meanwhile the real OTs are on the opposite side of the Base.”