Kingdom Keepers III(122)
“I’m done with these early morning tech-rehearsal calls.”
“You and me both.”
“Think they’ll cancel the show if they can’t get it right?”
“Dah! Who are we talking about? Of course they’ll cancel. And then you and I will be laid off until they resolve it.”
“You think?”
“No. I know.”
“But what are we supposed to do about it?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“But I am asking you.”
“But you shouldn’t be.”
Back and forth they went, sniping at one another. Charlene dared not move for fear the chain might rattle or clank against the fire ladder and give her away.
Unless or until they moved, she was trapped here.
And if she didn’t get up to the top soon, then Finn would be in serious trouble.
* * *
Wearing a Security guard costume, Maybeck watched from stage left as the Evil Queen turned into the Hag from Snow White as a bubbling cauldron appeared in front of her. She summoned “the forces of evil” to turn the dream into “a nightmare Fantasmic!”
This was Finn’s cue, the only time the title of the show was mentioned from the stage. It was also significant that this seemed the mission of the Overtakers as well—to turn the dream into a nightmare—to stop Jess’s dreams. It all made so much sense all of a sudden. Everything Wayne had asked them to do at Magic Kingdom and Animal Kingdom focused laserlike into the storyline of Fantasmic! The good becoming bad; the bad wanting to ruin the dreams. It was as if Fantasmic! were the outline for an Overtakers’ charter of evil.
One thing seemed certain: whatever happened here in the next few minutes was to be cataclysmic, irreversible, and it would affect the Kingdom Keepers for a long time to come. Without any real evidence, Finn knew this to be true.
Because someone’s going down, he thought. And it had better not be us.
* * *
Philby had changed the timeline, blocking Mickey’s trapdoor lift and Maleficent’s flashy exit. Maybeck or Amanda or Willa—or all three—would still have to stop the Cast Member playing the Brave Little Tailor Mickey from getting in the way, but Philby had no control over that.
What he could control…
Philby’s arm stung. It felt as if someone had pricked him on the inside of his elbow.
His head swam; he felt lightheaded and slightly sick to his stomach. His arm burned and his vision blurred and he looked down to see a computer mouse in his hand and he couldn’t remember why he was holding it.
There was still something incredibly important to do.
A dragon?
What did he know about dragons?
He blinked rapidly, reaching for his arm and trying to remove whatever was making it sting so badly there—it felt like he’d been climbing a tree and had caught a splinter in his arm—but his fingers came up empty.
Fire. It was something to do with fire. Stopping the fire? Starting a fire?
There was a pounding on the door to his right.
Where was he?
A show was happening onstage beyond the window. The colors were beautiful—the lights amazing.
A man’s face appeared in the glass. Some older dude wearing a ball cap. He looked frustrated as he tried to cup his eyes to the window, but he clearly couldn’t see in. Something told Philby the glass was treated with a mirror surface on the outside, but he wasn’t sure how he knew this. He wasn’t sure how he knew anything. Why was his brain suddenly void of all the random thoughts that always filled it? He spent his every waking hour awash in numbers and facts. He drowned in them, morning to night. Yet now, ever since that stinging in his arm had started, things seemed much more peaceful. Dreamy.
He felt tired. He didn’t like the feeling at all.
The woven office chair he occupied was unusually comfortable. As comfy as a couch.
What could a little nap hurt?
The door jiggled again. Someone wanted in.
Philby stood to open the door, but caught himself when his hand was only inches away from the door knob.
I’m not supposed to open that.
He didn’t know why, exactly. Just that he wasn’t supposed to.
He looked back and saw the flat panel. The computer mouse.
Something to do with fire. And dragons. Or was it only one dragon?
His parents had lectured him about drugs and about drinking alcohol. He had no interest in either. Drugs and drinking messed up your mind and Philby valued his mind far too much to go experimenting with its chemistry. He understood chemistry at an advanced level. He understood a lot of things that not many other kids his age understood and he took great pride in that fact.
Yet he felt drugged. Or drunk. He didn’t know the difference, so he wasn’t sure which. That is to say, he didn’t feel himself. Something strange had overtaken him from the moment he’d felt that sting on the inside of his elbow.