Kingdom Keepers VI

by Ridley Pearson

“Honestly?” Finn said, “you are…you look…I think you’re more you without all that stuff on your face.”

  “Duh. Hence the expression ‘natural.’”

  “As in: way hotter.” Finn blushed. The elevator doors opened; he stepped out and walked away.

  Maybe everything was getting better. Charlene didn’t believe that a person could change overnight, but in that last meeting, something about Philby seemed different. Like he’d lost at least some of his aloofness and bossiness. The tension between him and Finn had subsided as well, almost wasn’t there. She assumed it all had to do with Maybeck’s being in trouble. The team came together when in crisis mode.

  Finn and Charlene awaited Maybeck’s DHI. When it failed to cross over, Finn tried texting Philby but didn’t get a reply.

  They headed back to stateroom 816. Charlene recalled Willa’s words about not “having a life,” and frowned. Belonging to something felt good to her.

  As they were admitted into the stateroom by Willa, Philby called out.

  “So?”

  “Nothing,” Finn said. “I texted you.”

  “Texted me? I don’t even know where my phone is. My laptop froze. It took me until maybe a minute ago to cross him over.”

  “Well, we were halfway back here by then. So he crossed over without our being there.”

  “Terrific!” Charlene said in frustration.

  Philby’s freckles were covered with foundation; baby powder in his hair turned it a milky strawberry blond. Even without the baseball cap, his own mother wouldn’t have recognized him.

  Looking up from his laptop, he saw Willa for the first time. She’d been in the room for the past ten minutes.

  “You look…wow,” said an astonished Philby.

  “What about Maybeck?” Finn asked. No one seemed to hear him.

  “Wow as in good, or wow as in bad?” Willa asked, setting a trap most boys Philby’s age would have had no idea was waiting. But Philby was smarter than most, by a long shot. He seemed to understand immediately: if he said she looked prettier, it implied she didn’t normally strike him that way; if he said she looked older—which she did—then he was telling her she looked girlish the rest of the time.

  “As in, no one will recognize you. That’s the point, right? You did a good job.”

  “Earth to Philby!” Finn said. “What about Maybeck?”

  “The fact is,” Philby said, “if Maybeck crossed over, no one was there when it happened.”

  “Because you didn’t answer my text.”

  “It doesn’t matter why,” Philby said. “It just is.”

  “Well, if I crossed over feeling like he’s probably feeling,” Finn said, “the first thing I’d do is look for a place to hide. He couldn’t have gone far.”

  The girls looked toward Philby, expecting him to counter Finn or object as he’d been doing for months.

  “Go on,” Philby said, acquiescing.

  “There isn’t a lot of choice of where he can go,” Finn said. “He’s not going to drag himself up that staircase. And he’s not going to get very far across the Atrium without someone seeing him, without someone trying to help—only to find out their hands go right through him. At that point Security’s called, I think, and it’s Uncle Bob’s problem. If Bob spots any of us, or gets hold of Maybeck’s hologram… He has the authority to shut us down completely. At that point, we’re toast.”

  “They’ll shut down our server,” Philby said. “We do not want that. Our one chance to defeat the OTs…they can’t harm us.”

  “So,” Charlene said, recapping, “no stairs, no Atrium. If he sticks to the wall, he could get down to the Shore Excursion Desk. Maybe hide back there—”

  “That place is occupied every living second of every living day,” Philby said.

  “The Royal Palace,” Willa said. “It’s huge. It’s empty a lot of the time. There are waiter stations, tables, a ton of places to hide.”

  “Great idea!” Philby said, nodding.

  “They close up between meals. I know that for a fact,” Finn said.

  “All the better for hiding,” Willa said.

  “All the trickier if we’re supposed to go looking for him,” said Charlene.

  “Yes,” said Finn, “but we’re arriving at the locks—the ceremony. Everyone will be out on deck, even the crew.”

  DAZZLED BY RAYS OF SUNSHINE streaming out through a few stray clouds like Hollywood searchlights, the sound of an off-key brass band, and the snap of flags in the wind, the Disney Dream crept forward into the waiting mouth of the new locks of the Panama Canal. Governors and politicians had been brought aboard for the inaugural ceremony. A canal pilot controlled the ship while the dignitaries occupied a forward deck just below the bridge, standing with Captain Cederberg in his starched whites, as well as Captains Mickey and Minnie, both dressed in festive south-of-the-border costumes and sombreros.

  Over three thousand passengers and crew jammed every available stateroom balcony and open deck on both sides of the eleven hundred and fifteen feet of painted steel. Miniature flags—U.S. on one side, Panama, the other—waved from the ship and ground. Cameras flashed. Video rolled, professional and amateur alike. Tens of thousands of locals cheered.

  Among those celebrating was a sturdy girl with dark hair that carried a few streaks of bright red highlights. While the other passengers were fully focused on the crowds below and on the spectacle, Mattie Weaver was on a mission. It was no easy task studying every face, every profile. She moved like a spy, her arm raised and waving, her eyes never straying from the passengers surrounding her. She moved slowly, one end of a deck to another. Deck 4 to Deck 11. Then 11 to 12. The sports area. The stern. Somewhere she would find him. The allure of the celebration would prove too enticing. He would not have the willpower to resist.

  * * *

  “We’ve got him!” Clayton Freeman informed Uncle Bob. The men sat thirty feet below the water’s surface in the air-conditioned confines of the Security offices.

  With Bob’s attention jumping from one closed circuit camera image to another on the five hi-def television screens, with his earbud carrying the voices of twenty members of his staff and crew working to protect the Disney Dream on a historic day in foreign waters, with five recent e-mails from the FBI warning of threats to the ship, Bob failed to hear his right-hand man.

  “Sir!” Clayton Freeman said, trying again. “I’ve got the stowaway!”

  “What?!” Bob said, practically falling out of the chair as he lunged forward. He pressed a button on a wire and spoke into the radio microphone. “Stand by all for redeployment.” To Clayton, he said, “Go!”

  “The RFT, sir. The laundry. You remember—”

  “I remember!” Bob said. “Tracking the stolen laundry electronically…blah, blah, blah… As you can see, Freeman, I’m a little busy trying to keep my passengers and ships safe from terrorist threats, fake or not.”

  Thankfully, the FBI listed all five “threats” as “Reduced Risk.” The company would not have gone forward with the inaugural had there been any “Legitimate Risk” cautions. Bob rubbed his forehead wearily.

  “It’s just that—”

  “Not now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you can handle it on your own,” Bob said, capitulating. He knew Freeman wanted the stowaway as badly as he did—though the timing couldn’t have been worse. “So be it.”

  “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

  “Now that you’ve interrupted me…what exactly do we have?”

  “Vibe, sir. Whoever is wearing that stolen costume entered Vibe five minutes ago.”

  Bob directed a camera image from Vibe onto the upper right corner of the second screen. The club was empty. He switched views to Vibe’s outside deck. It was packed with so many kids that they looked like a single tanned body with several dozen heads.

  “Looks like if you hurry,” Bob said, “you’ve got your boy.”

  “Or girl. Yes, sir.”

&nbs
p; “Well? Get the lead out!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  An elated Clayton Freeman hurried from the office.

  * * *

  Finn and Charlene descended the empty amidships stairs. Everyone was outside. The Keepers were due to be on shore with the captain as the ship reached the lake, about two hours away.

  “Storey should be there by now,” Finn said, slightly out of breath.

  “With Philby and Willa. In the galleys.”

  “Yes.”

  Deck 7…a landing…Deck 6…another landing…

  “I lost a bracelet,” Charlene said, repeating the excuse they intended to use if caught.

  “Correct.”

  “As if I would ever wear a bracelet.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m not a bracelet girl. Forget it.” She kept up with Finn easily. “They’re going to tell us they turn everything in to Lost and Found.”

  “Yes, and we’re going to politely ignore them.”

  “You think he’s hurting?” Charlene asked.

  “Maybeck?”

  “No, the Pope!”

  Deck 5…

  Finn stopped abruptly. Charlene bumped into him. For a moment they were extremely close, both breathing heavily, eye to eye. Finn stepped away.

  “Yes,” Finn said. “I mean, I would think so. Just as I assume Jess was hurting when she returned.”

  “You can’t stop thinking about her, can you?”

  “Who?”

  “Yeah, right,” Charlene said.

  “Charlie!”

  “Don’t call me that,” she protested. “The others, sure. But not you, okay?”

  “Because?”

  “It makes me sound like a boy. I don’t want you thinking about me as a boy.”

  Finn swallowed. “O-kay.”

  “Not ever,” she said, closing the distance between them.

  “Maybeck,” Finn said.

  “I know,” Charlene said breathlessly. She led the way down to the next landing, then further, to Deck 4.

  On Deck 3 they kept their heads down in case there were cameras watching. They moved through the shops toward the Atrium, sticking to the starboard side of the ship. Less busy here.

  As they faced the wide-open expanse of the lavish Atrium, Finn threw his arm out like a gate. Not a person in sight. Not a sound or vibration. The ship’s propeller was barely turning.

  “What?” Charlene said, much too close to his ear. His skin rippled with gooseflesh. Think! Finn chastised himself.

  “I don’t know,” he said in a hush.

  “Well, that’s convincing.”

  “Something’s…” he said. “Something’s wrong.”

  “It looks fine to me.”

  Finn slipped his Wave Phone out of his pocket. He sent a text to Philby:

  trap! search is all yours

  we forgot about obvious

  Char and I on way to med center

  “We are?” Charlene said, reading over his shoulder.

  “The OTs know Maybeck is down,” he said, waiting for her to connect the dots. Searching her eyes. When she failed to look as if she understood, he added, “The DHI appearances are printed in the Navigator every day, meaning the OTs know when our holograms are making appearances. That means they also know when we aren’t allowed out of our staterooms.”

  “I still don’t—”

  “You and Willa were hanging with Maybeck earlier. You were protecting him. But now…”

  “There’s a nurse with him at all times.”

  “The OTs may be slightly afraid of us. But a nurse? I mean, come on!”

  Charlene’s face bunched.

  Finn nodded. “That’s what I’m talking about. This is the perfect time to kidnap him.”

  Charlene took off running. Finn hurried to catch up, but was no match for her speed.

  * * *

  Mattie Weaver found Vibe’s interior empty except for a Cast Member behind the bar. The outside deck was another matter.

  Bodies were crowded together so tightly, you couldn’t slip a piece of paper between them.

  She drew a deep breath, knowing he was out there, knowing what had to be done.

  It was never easy for her. Harder than anyone knew. That blast of energy, draining and filling her all at once. Like a strobe light flashed in her eyes from an inch away. Like a slap in the face, or a punch in the gut.

  Worse, it wasn’t so controllable. That’s what the freaks who controlled the Fairlies were trying to figure out. How could she harness it? How could they use her? At parties for foreign diplomats? In train stations where they suspected a bomber? At political functions? To manipulate the stock market? They needed her, and by now they would be looking for her, big-time. For now, Mattie felt safe—though at every port, she panicked, terrified that they’d board, looking for her.

  She shook her head clear. She had work to do. The fact that she couldn’t control her powers meant that in a flesh jam, like the one out on Vibe’s deck, she might experience a dozen connections. More! It would feel like being spun in the dark wearing a blindfold, only to peek out every few seconds. It would make her sick. It would be frightening.

  But when…if…she found him, it would all be worth it.

  * * *

  From Deck 11, passengers waved at the Panamanians greeting them. Crowds estimated at more than ten thousand lined up along the first lock alone.

  Cheers rose over the Disney music blaring from shipboard speakers. Disney characters waved down to the crowds.

  Both sides shot video and took pictures of the historic event.

  Robotic tugs crept forward, matching the ship’s crawling speed, keeping it centered in the new, wider canals.

  A miniature Disney blimp—an unmanned drone—hummed above the scene. There were many hours yet to go, but if the rest of the day lived up to the start, it was going to be one of the greatest celebrations ever.

  * * *

  Storey Ming led Philby and Willa down the I-95 corridor, having instilled in them the importance of walking with purpose. If a Cast Member looked lost, he would be easily spotted as an outsider. To give the impression they were old hands, the three carried on a conversation, complaining to one another about not being topside enjoying the festivities. They passed no officers, only other Cast Members who paid no attention to them. Eventually, Storey Ming directed the two into a companionway of steep stairs.

  “This is where I leave you. You go down two landings.” She continued with directions to the bakery, from which they could make their way to yet another companionway leading to the ship’s stores—the warehousing of the dry goods.

  “I know my way from there,” Willa declared. She remembered a visit to the galleys a few days earlier.

  “Up to the galley,” Storey said.

  “Yes.”

  “The main galley serves both the Royal Palace and the Animator’s Palate. You don’t belong there, so if someone stops you, tell them Herman sent you on an errand.”

  “Herman?”

  “One of the chefs. No one messes with what Herman wants,” Storey said. “He…Willa? What’s wrong?” The girl had gone an ashen pale.

  “Nothing,” Willa said, clearly lying.

  Philby placed his hand on her shoulder. “It won’t happen again. I promise.” He explained to Storey, “She and Finn were attacked by doughboys the last time she was in the galley.”

  “Doughboys?”

  “Giant doughboys,” Willa whispered. “Freaky doughboys.”

  “But you all,” Storey said, “have been attacked by all sorts of creatures, right?”

  “The doughboys are creepy,” Willa said. “You know how some people don’t like snakes? Give me a snake any day over a doughboy.”

  “Everything’s good,” Philby said encouragingly. He briefly repeated the directions to Storey, making sure he had them right. He thanked her.

  Together, Philby and Willa headed down the steep metal stairs. A moment later, they faced
the door to the bakery.

  “You okay?” Philby asked.

  “No,” Willa answered, “not really. I mean, of all the places, it had to be the bakery, right?”

  “We can’t look scared,” he said.

  “You mean I can’t look scared.”

  Philby said nothing.

  “But I am. They were…creepy.” She paused. “And huge.”

  “We have to look as if we belong.”

  “As if.”

  Voices arrived behind them—someone coming down the stairs.

  “Now or never,” he said.

  “Never?” she asked.

  Philby opened the door.

  The ship’s bakery was all stainless steel and white tile. Large commercial kitchen appliances crowded the interior. A petite woman and a large man, both in uniforms, white aprons, and chefs’ hats, looked up from their duties.

  “Herman wants us,” Philby said, pointing across the room.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Willa said.

  “Not bother,” said the man in a foreign accent. He smiled. He was missing a front tooth.

  Willa was fidgety, remembering the twin six-foot doughboys that had attacked her and Finn with butchers’ cleavers. Philby held the door for her; they passed into the galley—a vast space of preparation tables and, along the back wall, huge ranges and ovens. Willa had been here before; but for Professor Philby, it was like a research field trip—he was instantly fascinated by the size and scope of the ship’s kitchen. Then it struck him: they had work to do.

  “Empty,” Willa muttered from behind him. “They’re all up on deck for the inaugural.”

  Philby tried not to sound surprised. “As expected.”

  “You wish.”

  “It makes sense they’d be given a few minutes to join the celebration.”

  “Leaving us alone in here.”

  “All the better.”

  “You wouldn’t think that if you’d been here with Finn and me.”

  Philby withheld comment.

  They had a long way to go to reach the waiter entrance to the Royal Palace. The galley was divided into cooking and preparation areas for all the different aspects of a meal: main courses, salads, desserts, beverages, all connected by a waiter-collection area—an endlessly long stainless steel counter with warming shelves above and storage shelves below. Philby and Willa walked this pickup area atop spongy, slip-proof, black-rubber floor mats.