The Return: Disney Lands (23 page)

“What exactly are they attempting to do?” asked a quiet woman sitting next to the art director.

The art director interrupted. Her words were spoken as if she feared the
answer. “What are the chances that what we’re hearing now has to do with the oil? The
observations?”

Jess blinked, suddenly confused. The chairperson noticed and spoke kindly to her.

“You have been given your user name and password. I suggest you read the minutes of the past six—no, seven—meetings as soon as possible. Immediately, actually. Report back to
me when you’ve completed that
assignment.”

“Of course.”

“I see where you’re going with this.” The computer man was staring hard at the art director; he’d seemingly blocked out everyone else at the table. “Tesla. Wayne
Kresky. Kids disappearing from the carousel. The
events
. What you’re calling the oil.”

“Is it even possible?” the art director asked, and then repeated softly, “Is such a thing possible?”

“One
of the points you will read about,” the chairperson said to Jess, “is a series of disturbances within certain attractions, a quality to the air, what we call
‘oil.’ It’s required us to shut down those attractions on many occasions, claiming refurbishment. We’ve had to work hard to ascertain that the attractions are still safe for
our guests.”

Jess nodded, trying to process, to put it all
together. “I need access to the basement archives in the Tower. The dorm,” she said.

Heads turned; the attendees’ eyes met, silently checking with one another. In the end, the chairperson spoke for them.

“You know about the incident? That was you?”

“Not me. But yes, I know about it.”

Some more quick eye conversations took place.

“I’m not going to rat them out, so don’t even
ask.”

“Fine. Given your compliance with the secrecy clause, I don’t see a problem in providing you access. But only you. No friends. No discussion. And you will supply us with a full
accounting of what it is you’re after, why, and what you find. We’ll find an archivist to assist you.”

“Sounds good,” Jess said.

“What else do you know about all this?” The quiet woman sounded accusatory.

“Nothing leaves this room, is that right? Or are some of you allowed to share what we talk about with others?”

“We only share with one another,” the chairwoman said firmly. “Mind you, actions may be taken as a result of that sharing. The point of the Tink Tank is to envision a future
for the company. That includes making the present a safe and agreeable place, one that will allow the
best creativity to flourish.”

“Look,” Jess said, “I don’t know how any of this works, but I do know that if Walt’s pen can’t be found in One Man’s Dream, then everything the Kingdom
Keepers—the DHIs—have done for the company...well, it never happens. Right? They
found the pen
, and they saved the Magic Kingdom, so obviously it gets there somehow. But when
you study archival photographs—and
when I dreamed it—the pen wasn’t, isn’t, there. Something changes that.” She paused, remembering. “Wayne left them a message,
too. ‘It’s about time.’”

The quiet woman gasped. The computer guy looked at Jess with an intensity that made her turn instinctively away.

“We’ve already talked about this,” Jess said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I realize that. I’m not trying to waste anyone’s
time. But the point is, at
least
I think
the point is, that something’s going on with them—Finn and the Keepers—that has to do with time, with the carousel. It has to do with the Overtakers, too.
They aren’t dead. They’re back. But honestly, I don’t know anything about that. Not really.”

“It’s intriguing,” the computer man said. “Well worth sharing. I think I can speak for all of us in
thanking you.”

Around the table, heads nodded.

“But when you say the ‘original DHIs,’” Jess said, “what exactly does that mean?” She faced the chairperson, who seemed to deliberate carefully before
answering.

“There are six new version 2.8 DHIs in development.”

“Two-point-eight?!”

“They’re something special,” the computer guy said. He looked like he was holding back an impulsive
grin.

“And the originals? What happens to them?”

“No need for us to dwell on that now,” said the chairwoman briskly.

“What...happens...to...them?” Jess said, her demanding tone unmistakable.

“They will be decommissioned, of course.” The chairwoman gave a brief, exasperated sigh. “When Mickey or Minnie, when any of our characters receives a refresh, the originals
are sent to the
Archives for safekeeping. Becky is a member of our little group.” She nodded at a small woman in spectacles toward the end of the table. “It’s all handled with kid
gloves, I assure you.”

Decommissioned
. The word echoed inside Jess’s head.
Archives? Sworn to secrecy!
That meant she couldn’t tell the Keepers; couldn’t alert them.

She started to speak but was cut off.

“Is there a way
to shut down the DHIs for now?” The film director addressed this question to the entire group.

The computer man answered. “If they’re projecting without the cooperation of the Imagineers, they’ve gained access through a back door or a hack. Finding it could take time.
The easiest way would be to shut down the projectors themselves.”

Jess felt like she had an ice cube stuck in her throat.
These people were, for the sake of the company, going to shut down the Keepers. Her friends. They were going to stop them just as they
reached the heart of the mystery.

“I believe it’s best for the safety of all concerned,” said a woman who hadn’t spoken until then.

“Though as we all know, the same projectors are used for the version 2.0 guides currently in the park. They’re wildly popular
and a strong source of revenue.” The computer man
made it obvious he thought his own suggestion had its drawbacks.

The art director spoke next. “What if we find out when the DHI hosts are most popular? We could then shut down the projection system entirely for the remainder of the time.”

“That’s the first good idea I’ve heard,” said the man with trendy glasses. Jess felt a rush realizing
he looked as much like Bono as Bono. “Is that
doable?”

“Filters?” the art director asked. “Is there any way we can screen the earlier versions, but allow the current ones?”

“Not really,” Mr. Computer said. “Two-point-oh is a build out of 1.6, so it’s not an option.” He turned to the chairwoman. “Let’s try Connie’s
suggestion. Full shutdown, limiting 2.0 to only its most popular hours.”

“I remind
everyone
,” the chairwoman spoke directly to Jess, “that we’ve sworn and signed an oath.” She seemed to be reacting to the man’s use of a
proper name, but Jess would find out later that that was how the chairwoman closed every meeting. On this first day, Jess took it in a deeply personal way.

Heads nodded.

Jess nodded too, though inside she felt light-headed and dry-mouthed.

Decommissioned
.

T
HE SIZE OF THE INDOOR ARENA
, the
noise level and excitement before the hockey game even got started,
vibrated up through one’s feet and into one’s bones like a passing subway train. The air was chilly and smelled of popcorn and hot dogs. About half the seats were occupied; many
spectators wore jerseys displaying unpronounceable names with more consonants than vowels. Vendors in yellow neon vests shouted out “Beer!” and “Cotton
candy!”

Players for the Anaheim Ducks and the St. Louis Blues skated by, passing in a blur around the ice in pregame warm-up mode. Searchlights swept the rink, throwing starlike shadows off each player.
The overhead scoreboard flashed with colorful advertisements and messages to fans:
GET READY TO MAKE SOME NOISE
!

Tim made a point of having Jess go down Row HH first. He went behind her,
followed by Amanda. Jess waited for men to stand and women to tuck their legs out of the way as she inched along. She
found the proper seat and plunked down.

“Wow!” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” Tim said, smiling at her.

“You shouldn’t have treated us,” Jess said. “Must have cost a fortune.”

“Mr. Dry gave us his four season tickets. He couldn’t use them tonight.”

“
The
Mr. Dry?
Assistant head of school?”

“How many do you know?”

“Four?” Amanda said, overhearing and leaning across Tim in a way Jess didn’t appreciate. “Mr. and Mrs. and two kids. But there are only three of—”

“Jess, Amanda, meet Nick Perkins.” Tim motioned to the boy sitting next to Jess. Younger by several years, judging by his size, he showed little emotion, his eyes and facial
expression
both carefully controlled.

“—us.” Amanda said hello, followed by Jess.

Nick nodded faintly. He seemed more interested in what was happening on the ice than in making two new friends.

“He can be shy,” Tim whispered into Jess’s ear.

“Do I look like I care?” she whispered back.

“You care. Believe me, you care. You thought I brought you here to see ice hockey? I hate ice hockey!
I’m a lacrosse guy any day.”

Jess turned to face the boy to her left. “Tim tells me I should speak to you. He says you’re shy, but I don’t believe it.”

“He says you and Amanda are the real deal.”

“Whatever that means.”

“Disneyphiles.”

“Well, that part’s true.”

“You know the Kingdom Keepers.” Nick paused. “Tim says you can get a message to them.”

“Did he?” Jess realized
the boy was either older than he looked or exceptionally smart. Maybe both. What had Tim gotten her into? “I suppose anything’s possible,”
she said, not wanting to confirm her friendship with the group. For their sakes, not hers.

“I’m the rumor guy,” Nick said.

“Is that right?”

“BigEars-dot-biz.”

“That’s you?”

“And my four employees.”

“Employees? Seriously?”

“W-2s
and all. We do a little bit better and I’ll have to provide health insurance.”

How about babysitting? Jess wondered. Even if she gave him a few extra years, he couldn’t yet be fourteen.

“I’ve never been big on rumors,” she said.

“There are plenty about you and Amanda.”

“I’ll bet there are.”

“And the Kingdom Keeper ships. Like Fimanda. Charbeck. That Willa and Philby...well,
that they argue a lot.”

“That’s putting it mildly. They’re both too smart.” Jess chuckled.

“Apparently Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride was shut down because of them.”

“Makes a good rumor, doesn’t it? Listen, if you’re going paparazzi on my friends, I am so out of here.” Jess spun to her right and hissed, “What were you thinking,
Tim?”

As she stood, a hand on her shirt tugged her back down.
It was Nick. “Hey!” she punched him. Hard. “You do not touch me or my clothes!”

“Everything all right here?” A hockey fan, an adult sitting behind them. Jess nodded and pulled herself together.

“Fine. Thank you.” She glared at Nick. Lowered her voice. “That is
not
okay.”

“The Legacy,” Nick said.

Jess looked at him, puzzled. He opened his mouth to say something more, but at that
moment, the public address system announced the National Anthem. Thousands of people stood. The men pulled off
their hats. A recording artist named Lily Oyer, whose first solo release had dropped two days earlier, belted out a rendition that drew thunderous applause. The teams were introduced. It was too
loud to think.

Nick followed the game, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Jess
had disappeared for him. The other seventeen thousand people in the arena were similarly transfixed—it was a sellout
crowd now.

Jess leaned to her left. “What about the—”

But Nick held up a hand, silencing her. “Did you see that forecheck?”

“I know rain check, blank check, paycheck. Any relation?”

“Do you know
anything
about hockey?”

“It’s played on ice. Each team has...six...players.
They jump over walls a lot. Not sure what that’s about. There’s a puck down there somewhere, though I can’t
actually see it most of the time. The goalies look like they’re wearing fat suits. The fans sound like they’re really, really angry.”