Kingdom Keepers(60)

“You don’t look so hot,” Willa told Finn.

“I’m just…nervous, I guess,” Finn said. They had come up with a decent plan on how he might hide inside One Man’s Dream, but he wasn’t eager to test it.

He asked, “What if they count heads? What if they know how many go in and out of the theater?”

Willa considered this and then said, “Nah, they don’t do stuff like that. Maybe they count people going into the park, but not onto the rides. That doesnt make sense.”

“They might.”

“They might, but they don’t.”

The two passed the fifty-foot-high replica of Mickey’s sorcerer hat that stood in front of the Chinese theater and served as a bandstand. They stopped at a kiosk selling pins and film, hats, stuffed animals, and postcards.

One Man’s Dream was crowded with grandparents and mothers with strollers trying to escape the muggy heat. Finn passed several displays dealing with the history of the park and the ways in which the Imagineers had realized Walt Disney’s dream. Willa waited near the entrance, doing a good imitation of a girl waiting for a friend.

One of the displays showed Walt Disney’s second-grade school desk from Marceline, Missouri. Finn studied the desk carefully, wondering if Disney’s “first pen” might be inside. Its wooden top was hinged, with a shallow circular well cut into it for a bottle of ink.

“Not exactly like your desk at school, I’ll bet,” said a woman standing behind Finn. She was very old, with kind eyes, translucent skin, and a faint white moustache. She wore an employee name tag that said CHARLOTTE. Her hair was the color of laundry lint. Her eyelashes were so pale they were almost invisible, which left her eyelids looking like weird flesh-colored cups that blinked down over her eyes like a bird’s. Her voice sounded like the squeal of a pinched balloon.

Finn, who’d hoped to go through the exhibit unnoticed, blurted out, “I—it—didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t say you did, young man.” She looked at him curiously.

“Am I too late to watch the movie on Walt Disney’s life?”

“No, not at all. There’s a final showing in…” She checked her watch. “Well! You’ll have to hurry. It’s just down the hall and to your right. It’s biographical, you understand? It’s not like the Bug movie or PhilharMagic. Nothing like those.”

“I know,” Finn said. The woman’s heavy perfume made him dizzy. It trailed after her like car exhaust. She apparently felt obliged to make sure he made it in time. Together they walked past other displays. Finn caught sight of Walt Disney’s West Coast office—the display Wayne had mentioned.

“Here we go, young man,” the woman said. “Wait here and they’ll show you inside.”

Finn saw another display, this one open to the air, not sealed under glass: a drafting table with a bunch of pens and papers. Wayne had mentioned this as well. Which display? Finn wondered.

The doors to the theater opened. Finn and a few others were shown inside. Finn took a seat near the back.

The lights dimmed almost immediately and the film started. Finn watched a few minutes of it, slouched down in his seat, and then slipped onto the floor. He curled up tightly under the seat in front of him in order to hide. The film ran about fifteen minutes. Finn was already feeling stiff by the time it finished.

The theatergoers exited into daylight. Finn’s heart raced in his chest as he hid and the doors to the outside thumped shut, closing him in. The theater darkened. More sounds: ushers making small talk, people saying good-bye and good night.

Then silence.

Finn, still on the floor, uncoiled and relaxed his tight muscles. Two minutes passed. Five. No sounds at all beyond the almost painful beating of his heart.

He got to his feet, gathered his courage, and called out, “Hello?” prepared to invent some excuse if he raised anyone.

Nothing.

He pushed through the doors and walked back into the main gallery. He tried once more: “Hello?” If discovered, he’d claim he had fallen asleep during the film.

Nothing.

A few lights had been left on, but the ones inside the displays were all off. Finn checked out the drafting table. He was disappointed to read the little sign that described the display. There was no mention of the drafting table having belonged to Walt Disney. It was just one of many drafting tables used by his animation staff. There were a couple pens and pencils, a clear plastic draftsman’s triangle, and some papers scattered around. Finn carefully climbed into the display and opened some small drawers of a cabinet next to the table. All empty.