Kingdom Keepers the Return Book 3

by Ridley Pearson

  “Why are you here, anyway? What are you doing?” she asked him, trying to sound naive.

  “We’re doing what we were assigned to do, and that involves not asking questions.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So the Barracks are forcing you to use your abilities just like they always have.”

  His face screwed into a knot. “It’s not like that.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “So what is it you’re supposed to do for them?”

  “If you want answers like that, if you want to join us, you will need to prove yourself.”

  “I don’t want to join you. Who said I did?”

  “I think you do or you wouldn’t look around for one of us at the end of work each night.”

  “I like having company, it’s true. I’ve been alone for a long time. So what? I like that I know a couple of faces here. It’s comforting. But why would I want to join something I know nothing about? Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Prove yourself and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Don’t go all Maze Runner on me, Humphrey! You know I have abilities just like everybody else in this place. Test me? Prove myself? Let me take off these gloves and I’ll prove myself.”

  “Not on me,” he said. “On someone else.”

  “Who?”

  The coffeepot’s hot tray spit, sounding like a snake. A Fairlie came in and opened the refrigerator and found a bag of carrots and chewed loudly. He looked at Mattie and Humphrey and, feeling the tension, left the break room.

  “Do you know a man named Joe Garlington?”

  “Never heard of him.” She tried not to look too freaked-out.

  “Kim Irvine?”

  Other Fairlies passed outside the break room in the hallway, and Mattie had the feeling if she made a run for it, she’d be caught within seconds.

  “Everyone knows Kim Irvine! Not to speak to. I don’t mean that. But I know who she is, what she looks like.”

  Humphrey lowered his voice. “We want you to read her.”

  Mattie barked laughter. “You want me to read Kim Irvine? I don’t even know Kim Irvine! You think I can just touch someone and download every thought they’ve ever had? It doesn’t work like that, Humphrey! It’s very specific. Surgical, you might say. Believe it or not, it’s tricky looking into someone else’s brain.”

  “Master key,” he said. “Your search string for Kim Irvine is ‘master key location.’”

  “Is it?” Mattie said, failing to disguise her surprise. The Barracks Fairlies wanted a master key to the park’s locked doors: stores, utilities, security, administration. That couldn’t be good.

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I…suppose…not. And if I get it, when I get it, then what?”

  “You’ll report back to me.”

  “You sound like them, you know that? Remember when you first came to the Barracks? How weird and military it felt? The grown-ups ordering us around. Making us file reports. All the exercise and stuff? Making us stand in lines like little soldiers? The way they kept reminding us how special we were and how no one understood us the way they did. Remember that?”

  “Your point being?” He sounded upset.

  “They conditioned us!” She heard the sorrow in her own voice, but couldn’t stop it. “You. Me. All of us! Why do you think I had to escape? Because I didn’t want to end up like you, Humphrey. I didn’t want to end up talking and acting like them.”

  Humphrey looked away, as if there was something to see on the break room’s blank wall. The vein in his neck pulsed rapidly. He blinked repeatedly.

  Mattie said, “Look, I’ll do this for you. But then that’s it. No more blindfolds, no more treating me like this. I escaped the Barracks for a reason. I won’t live like this.”

  “We all paid for your escape. Don’t forget that.”

  She recalled how the community had been treated following Jessica and Amanda’s escape. The super-vision. The questioning.

  “Yeah,” she said, “well, I’m sorry about that. But I’m not spending another night in that locked closet. If that’s not part of our deal then you can look for the master key yourself.”

  Humphrey grunted. Mattie took that as acquiescence.

  “Kim Irvine,” Mattie said. “This isn’t going to be easy, you know?”

  “WHY NOW, SO LATE?” Nick Perkins followed Ezekiel Hollingsworth through a Cast Member entrance from South Harbor Boulevard into California Adventure. As a growing eighth-grade boy, Nick, who had once befriended Jess, Amanda, and Mattie as a research expert on all things Disney, needed a few inches before high school. He also needed twenty pounds and a new wardrobe. The chinos and polo shirt gave him a chess club look. He came off as somewhere between ten and fourteen years old; with a mop of brown hair, he was thin and handsome and looked like he belonged in a Harry Potter movie.

  “Because we’re meeting some friends. As to why you: I think you may know the enemy better than I,” Zeke replied.

  “Enemy? Like your brother?”

  Zeke continued without breaking stride.

  Nick waited, then spoke. “Let me just say this, I think you need me.”

  “That’s modest of you.”

  The backstage area resembled a light industrial warehouse park. The attractions occupied three- and four-story, flat-roofed, aluminum-sided rectangular monstrosities. Scattered on either side of the access road, cream-colored house trailers served as small offices and break rooms. There were maintenance sheds, buildings for refrigerated food storage, and gas generators in case the electricity failed. Everything was neat and orderly and surprisingly clean.

  Zeke knew his way around, suggesting he wasn’t strictly a Disneyland Dapper Dan Cast Member. He was likely more experienced in the world of Disney than he let on. His father had been part of the company’s beginning. His brother was attempting to be part of its undoing.

  “You’re Ezekiel, the son of Amery, brother of Amery Junior. Your father—”

  Zeke cut him off. “My father killed himself. He was humiliated, despondent. Only my brother still holds a grudge. Rexx and I see the situation more for what it was. Our father stole Disney acetates—animation cels. They had little or no value at the time, but he stole them anyway, and they fired him, as any employer would do. From then on, his life went downhill. We kids lived through it. He couldn’t let it go.

  “After my father’s death, Rexx moved to India and started a new, prosperous life. I joined the company—I love everything about Disney! It’s just my brother Amery who can’t move on. He seems to believe he owes it to our father to continue what Father started. Call it retribution. Avenging Walt’s curse on him. It’s a fool’s errand. And I’m sick and tired of our family name being dragged through the mud.”

  “Does that have anything to do with why we’re here?” Nick asked, looking bewildered. “Your mother was Bethany Blair Longfellow. She left you and your family after your father lost his job with Disney. That may have contributed to your father’s…condition.”

  “You mean suicide. Astonishing!” muttered Zeke. “You’re wrong. Our mother left us to take the only job available to her at the time. She supported us. All of us! Mother defended Father to the bitter end. Failure like that, for a man of those times…it proved too much, that’s all. It was his undoing. Our family’s undoing. Amery, being the oldest, saw the most. It scared him. Scarred him. Permanently.”

  “Apologies,” said Nick.

  “Here we are,” said Zeke, as if their brief conversation had not taken place. “A Bug’s Land.”

  Despite all the lights flooding the Tower of Terror’s exterior, Nick and Zeke were enveloped by darkness as they entered the nearby jungle area of A Bug’s Land.

  “Can I ask a stupid question?”

  “Keep looking straight ahead.” Zeke spoke so softly his words were nearly lost on the breeze.

  “That ladybug thing back there. I think she was looking i
n the other direction a moment ago.”

  “We’re being watched. That’s Francis. Be respectful.”

  Nick stuttered. “B-but she’s p-plastic. Her head can’t move.”

  “Is she? Are you sure? We’re to wait here,” Zeke explained, “under the only four-leaf clover.” The clovers were the size of streetlamps.

  “Let’s hope it brings us some luck, because I think we could use it.”

  Anticipation is a kind of venom. It seeps into your bloodstream like a toxin, either charging you with the adrenaline of excitement or the poison of dread. Over the course of the next few minutes, Zeke and Nick shuddered with each rattle of palm fronds, every revved engine out on the street or swoosh of birds overhead. A cat crossed in front of them. Nick jumped.

  “Did you see that? That’s bad luck, not good!”

  “It was a gray cat, not black.”

  “Whatever. It crossed our path!” Nick paused, looking behind them at the tall attraction. His rattled nerves forced him to speak. “Did you know the Tower of Terror was inspired by a TV show?” Zeke said nothing. “Also, there are stories that the TV show was based on a freak accident in the early 1950s. Lightning and—”

  “Nick, please.” Zeke, too, appeared on edge, or expectant.

  Nick was hearing things. Squeaking or voices.

  “Be on alert,” Zeke said.

  “Do you really think th—”

  “Shh!” Zeke had had enough.

  Not squeaking, but voices. Definitely voices. High voices, almost too high to hear. But heard they were.

  “Is that them?”

  “Who’s the boy? Do you recognize him?”

  “Do we trust them?”

  “The boy looks trustworthy.”

  “You and boys!”

  “Quiet, please, everyone!”

  All different voices. Nick wanted to tell them to shut up. He wanted to run. Zeke was smiling. The voice they heard ask about trustworthiness was that of a young woman. An agreeable, almost familiar voice.

  “Stand still,” Zeke said. “No sudden movement. No overreaction.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Nick did not move. Zeke seemed poised for the unexpected.

  When it finally happened, Nick nearly screamed.

  NICK RUBBED HIS EYES. He’d heard stories about the Kingdom Keepers. He’d seen plenty of weird stuff since meeting Amanda and Jess, but seeing Anna appear from the shadows off the terrace stole his breath. Anna, of all the characters! She was one of his favorites—he loved Frozen. Now she wore a green fur-trimmed vest over a white shirt and forest-green leather pants.

  “How can I see them?” Nick asked. “How can you see them? I thought only DHIs could!”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret: if they want you to see them, you’ll see them. But it isn’t often they do.”

  “Hello?” Nick said, unsure if an animated character could hear him, if Anna was real or an apparition.

  Anna stepped aside, revealing the incredibly tan Nani, from Lilo and Stitch, who wore a lime-green crop top and blue shorts. Nani waved and Nick waved back timidly.

  “Are you seeing this, too?” he asked Zeke.

  “Son, tonight you will see and do things you’d never believe were possible. And you won’t ever tell a soul.”

  Flynn and Aladdin were next. They stepped out of some thick bamboo. Flynn’s biceps strained the shirt beneath his dark blue leather vest. He had more facial hair than in Tangled and an air of strength and impertinence that seemed to say: Go ahead and try. Aladdin, by contrast, looked wimpy and smallish, which surprised Nick.

  Zeke stretched himself taller and cleared this throat, obviously preparing to speak. He appeared apprehensive. Nick gave him his full attention.

  “I’m Ezekiel,” Zeke said, addressing Flynn, “friend of the Apprentice and the Scullery Maid. You will please introduce me to them.”

  The change in Zeke’s bearing, his formality, and the tone of his pronouncement created a moment of heightened tension. He continued, “You must inform them at once. There is no time to waste! This comes directly from Mr. Garlington.”

  Flynn and Aladdin stood a bit taller.

  “You will please wait!” Flynn said. He nodded to Aladdin, who took off back through the bamboo. Anna and Nani stood by, though Anna had raised her open palm toward Nick. He didn’t believe she had the power of Elsa, but he wasn’t about to test her.

  “Son,” Zeke said to Flynn, “you do not want to treat us this way. You do not want Mr. Garlington looking upon you unfavorably. I have a job to do. We all have a job to do. In a couple of minutes, we’re going to be working together anyway, so this stance of yours isn’t helping.”

  “What will we be doing together?” Nick asked.

  “Mind yourself,” Zeke said harshly, only for Nick’s ears. “Stop ga-ga-ing, Nick. This is serious. It’s business.”

  “I’m talking to characters from my favorite movies, and you’re telling me to get serious?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Nick rocked impatiently from toe to heel. “Okay.”

  “Halt!” Flynn called out as Nick took a careful step toward Zeke.

  “Let him pass!” a squeaky voice called from the direction of the bamboo wall.

  Looking in that direction, Nick saw silhouettes. Vaguely familiar silhouettes. Silhouettes that made the childish glee nearly jump out of him again. But he kept in mind Zeke’s caution. Aladdin was one of the shapes. The voice had been all Mickey. The idea that Disney characters—living, breathing Disney characters—could possibly exist caused him to try to wake himself up. He had to be dreaming. But he wasn’t! Unable to help himself, Nick released a gasp of incredulity as Mickey Mouse emerged from the thick jungle. He wasn’t the tuxedoed Mickey Mouse who hugged kids and signed autographs in the park; he had a smaller head and a longer, more pointed nose. His eyes weren’t the size of soccer balls, like the park Mickey. This was a four-foot-tall mouse standing on his hind legs. He wore a deer-hide shirt and black capri pants covering his fur. Nick had studied archival photos of Disneyland on opening day, of the odd-looking Mickey and Minnie, more ratlike than cute and huggable. But the Mickey in front of Nick wore fire-engine-red shorts that rode high on his waist, yellow shoes, and oversize white gloves. He seemed slightly older but not elderly, curious yet composed. He projected a sense of calm control, but his eyes were deliberately searching, as if he saw more than others.

  “Who called for me?” Mickey asked, giving them an oddly shaped mouse smile.

  Nick was surprised to hear Mickey’s voice. The park Mickey never spoke, and even rumors about the Keepers, and Amanda’s and Jess’s accounts of the events, said that the real Mickey never spoke. The other characters had always served as translators. Perhaps Mickey had changed his mind about not talking, or the technology shift had somehow led to more people believing in him talking, fueling his speech. Whatever the reason, Mickey and Zeke carried on a conversation like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I did,” Zeke said. “Mr. Garlington would appreciate the help of you and the other characters. There is trouble in the Tower. A girl, a human girl, has been taken captive.”

  “The Witches?” Mickey said, cocking his head to the right.

  “Humans. Youngsters. Agents of a menace. This is Nick, who knows the girl and something about the group who may be the ones who’ve taken her.”

  “Hello, Nick,” said Mickey.

  “He…llo.” Nick’s voice cracked.

  Zeke addressed the mouse, who maintained a careful separation from them, with Aladdin and Flynn in between. “Nick is the right age and look to be our agent.”

  Am I? Nick thought, though did not say.

  “Nick will establish the location of the captive and estimate the enemy’s numbers. Your group will block the exits. No one leaves without my permission,” Zeke said.

  “That’s agreeable, Ezekiel. Gee whiz, isn’t this exciting?” Mickey announced loudly, “It’s okay, everyone! Come out, come
out!”

  When nothing happened, no one showed, Nick looked to Zeke for some kind of explanation. But before Nick spoke, the unthinkable happened.

  WHEN MARTY SKLAR, editor of the Disneyland Daily News, chased down Wayne, he had no idea of the events he set in motion.

  As a collector of news, Marty had come across a quirky story.

  “You and your friend Jessica asked me to keep an eye out for any more graveyard vandalism,” Marty told Wayne as they nibbled on strawberry snow cones. They sat comfortably, taking in the view of the Plaza. Since opening day three weeks earlier, the crowds had only grown. Women and young ladies wore dresses or skirts with blouses; young men donned shirts and ties, and their fathers were in sport coats and ties. Lines formed at the ticket counters for each ride, with sometimes a wait as long as twenty minutes. The sound of guns popping carried from the Shooting Gallery, while calliope tunes battled in a conflict of melody and volume.

  “I sure did,” Wayne said. “Did someone raid an-other graveyard?”

  “Not exactly.” Marty slid a folded newspaper across the metal table. “Third column, down at the bottom.”

  It was a city paper with ads for Studebaker convertibles, Jiffy Popcorn, and Lucky Strike cigarettes. Wedged between the ads were a number of small stories.

  BIZARRE BREAK-IN CONFOUNDS POLICE

  MARTHA STANDLER

  Los Angeles Police are investigating a break-in at the morgue of Pacific Hospital, where it is alleged two men subdued a receptionist and subsequently defaced a number of cadavers. Motivation for the crime is unknown and also under investigation, according to sources. A detective who wished to remain anonymous suggested the crimes could be the work of the occult or Communist activity.

  “It may be some kind of ritual or political statement. We ain’t sure at this time,” the detective said. “The investigation is ongoing.”

  Wayne read the piece twice. Then he pushed the paper away.

  Marty said, “I thought it of possible interest on account of the grave and everything. It mentioned the occult and dead bodies and such.”