All these possibilities cluttered Finn’s head as he followed the others outside and into the adoring applause that erupted spontaneously as the DHIs were introduced. He was caught by surprise by the whistles and shouts, the outstretched arms of teens his own age in the front row. A rock-star moment, it was something he and the Keepers only experienced during Disney parades—and even then the roars and adulation were for the parade ensemble, not the Keepers alone. This, on the other hand, was an explosion of appreciation, wild, shrill cries for them.
Sometime in the past few minutes the Dream had cast off, departing Port Canaveral, moving now but feeling as smooth and steady as if still tied up to the dock. Finn felt no shudder in his legs. No sense of movement in any direction. Only the scenery slipping past provided any proof the voyage was now under way.
“D-H-I,” rose the chorus. “Over here!” called out many anxious voices—from all different directions—followed by flashes from cameras held up high in the air. This was a moment many guests had waited for, and they shared their enthusiasm loudly. The adrenaline was running—the cruise had begun.
Overhead, the Funnel Vision screen showed video of the DHIs inside the various Disney World parks escorting guests to various attractions. The popularity of the DHIs had surprised everyone. The Keepers’ lore had a great deal to do with their popularity—all the stories of nighttime battles with Disney villains—and the Sail-Away Celebration programmers took full advantage by intercutting shots of Maleficent, Chernabog, Cruella De Vil, and other villains onto the giant overhead screen.
Boos and jeers cut into the celebration as the crowd caught glimpses of the Overtakers.
Finn, Charlene, Maybeck, Philby, and Willa moved stage right to left facing aft, the screen behind them. They hit their marks as rehearsed. Max, the emcee, quieted the crowd with a new introduction.
“Here we are making our way out into the seven seas, and you all know what that means?”
“We’re cruising!” someone shouted.
“We’re stuck on this ship!” another crowed.
“I’m in heaven!” a girl cried out.
“We’re not alone!” called Max.
A cheer went up from the crowd.
“Please wave a big hello to our sister ship, the Disney Magic, off the starboard side!” He pointed. The crowd turned its attention to where Max pointed, the stern of the Magic—tied up to shore—just coming into view. “It’s rare to get a meeting like this, so please give a big shout-out to her crew. And look for someone special!”
Onstage, the distraction allowed time to drop four lines from an overhead railing above the Funnel Vision screen. Up there could be seen the shadows of men being strapped to the lines.
Suddenly, the Magic’s horn sounded the opening notes of “When You Wish upon a Star.” This was followed, only seconds later, by the Dream’s horn, which continued the same melody: “Makes no difference who you are!” The combination of the two ships complementing the melody made the crowd roar. People screamed loudly. The two ships repeated the signals—the fourteen notes sounding in perfect order. More cheers.
And there he was: Mickey Mouse, outside the Magic’s pilothouse, waving to the crowd on the Dream and drawing an untold number of like greetings. It was a lovefest.
But not for long.
* * *
Willa knew her part. She had little trouble memorizing movement or role-playing. She enjoyed it. She even hoped to do some acting later in high school or college. Her formative years had been almost exclusively devoted to academics. She was a brainiac, and with that came limitations. She didn’t hate studying the way a lot of kids did; she actually enjoyed it—though she never said that aloud. She was self-competitive; she liked sports because she loved trying to outdo herself––more than beating others. She had a good memory, and knew this helped her. Remembering where to stand onstage, when to look where, when to appear surprised or impressed or joyful—a piece of cake.
She curled around the far end of the stage with Maybeck and Philby, turning toward the hundreds of excited faces. The sun, low in the rich sky, shone a dull yellow as it approached a bank of low clouds on the western horizon. It was, by all standards, a perfect day. And yet it did not feel perfect. Looks can be deceiving, she reminded herself. Her complicated brain had collected, assembled, and recombined a variety of events and facts into what could only be described as a grave sense of danger. The torn piece of Maleficent’s robe in a place a character had no business being. The ominous switching out of their DHIs in the Sail-Away party. The sword fight. Who was the choreographer on that one? Maleficent herself?