The Return: Disney Lands Read online

  “Dude.” The inflection Maybeck used when voicing the one-syllable appellation could convey disgust, irritation, snobbery, inquisitiveness, scorn, awe or, as was the case here, enthusiastic proclamation. He’d found something, and it obviously had to do with the standing lamp he held in his hand. Finn hurried over, kneeling beside Maybeck, facing the music box’s side panel and its two controls.

  One was a small lever: on/off. The other, an arcing metal band, allowed speed adjustment. The numbers corresponded to metronome settings, from 40 thru 208. Grave to Prestissimo.

  “What am I missing?” Finn asked.

  Maybeck waved the standing lamp across the side of the box. Light and shadows moved like a time lapse across the polished wood surface, dully reflecting back Maybeck and Finn’s searching expressions from the polished wood.

  “I’ve got nothing,” Finn said.

  Maybeck’s long index finger tapped the far end of the curving scale, just past 208. “Look again.” He moved the light more slowly.

  A flash of brass-colored light caught Finn’s eye, and he almost choked on his indrawn breath.

  “Now you’ve got it!” Maybeck said.

  Finn leaned in, rubbing DHI shoulders with Maybeck.

  “How did you ever see this?”

  “Artist’s eye, dude.” That particular use of dude was arrogance, but Finn didn’t mind, because Maybeck had earned it. Carefully scratched into the metal with a pin or some kind of sharp tool, written not just by hand, but by the hand of an older man, was the number they’d been looking for.

  1313

  “‘Set to 1313,’” Finn quoted. He didn’t always feel his hologram heart’s steady thumping, but he sure did now.

  “Full throttle,” Maybeck said. “There’s no number past that one.”

  “So we set it to the max.”

  “Exactly.”

  “The carousel,” Finn said, his voice the barest whisper. “Jingles.”

  “If Philby’s right, you know what this means? We’re going to time travel.”

  “We? You mean me.”

  “Oh, yeah. We,” Maybeck said. “Giddy-up-go, Jingles. Yee-hah!”

  “You are crazy.”

  “Yeah, well, before we start tripping through time, I’m going to write a little sonnet on your arm. Whatever we do, we’ve got to remember what got us here. There. Whatever.”

  “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.” Finn almost laughed at their role reversal, but spoke the words anyway, the words he’d heard so often over the last few days. Words he no longer believed because he’d been there. “There’s no such thing as time travel.”

  “Says the kid with a pen drawn on one arm and a message on the other. You’re afraid.”

  “Oh yeah,” Finn said, his finger on the on/off switch, the speed set to 1313. “I’m terrified.”

  “WHAT THE—?” The inappropriate last word Maybeck used to end the sentence went unheard, thanks to rousing applause from a smattering of people. “Finn?”

  “Yeah. Hang on,” Finn said, inspecting his own black-and-white arms. “Okay. I’ve got this.”

  He clearly remembered being inside the television on the stage of Carousel of Progress. The fuzziness of his earlier attempt at memory was gone. It was as if the hypnotist had snapped his fingers, bringing Finn back—he remembered everything from his first ride on Jingles until now.

  This picture tube felt even smaller, but basically the same. It was facing a busy Town Square, not a live audience. He also remembered the circus music playing on King Arthur Carrousel as he and Maybeck had arrived out of breath. The same music from Walt’s apartment. He remembered people’s faces trained up into the canopy of the carousel wondering about the sudden change in background music. He remembered timing his climbing onto the back of Jingles so that he and Maybeck arrived at the same instant.

  Taking Maybeck by the arm, Finn turned him. “We’re going to take three giant steps sideways, and jump. We’ll land hard, so be ready for it. Follow my lead once we’re out.”

  “Out?” Maybeck seemed paralyzed.

  “Terry! Focus! Three steps. Shoulder to the glass.”

  “What glass?”

  “Trust me.” Finn pulled Maybeck back, stepping carefully. Then they spun to the side, and jumped through—and out!—of the television. Landing on and rolling across some asphalt, they got up and ran. They were full-size, though black-and-white.

  Hordes of people milled around them, but none struck Finn as park guests. No, these were workers. Not Cast Members, but construction men. Even stranger, he didn’t see a single female worker.

  “This way!” Finn followed his instincts, leading Maybeck backstage near the firehouse. A moment later, they ducked beneath a fire escape, and Maybeck stopped to examine his black-and-white arms.

  “Welcome to the world of two-dimensional DHIs,” Finn whispered.

  “Seriously old-school.”

  “I think we’re looking for someone with a sign.”

  “What does the sign say? ‘This way to insanity’?”

  “Do you remember Jingles?”

  “Who?”

  “That’s what I thought.” Finn considered Maybeck’s answer carefully. It seemed that his friend’s memory had been wiped in crossing over. His had not. But this was not Finn’s first journey.

  He reached over and patted Maybeck’s lower back. The hologram of his hand moved through the spot where the IAV documents should have been concealed; Finn touched his own back and made contact with the folder.

  Apparently he and Maybeck had transitioned differently. Which meant that someone might be controlling the event.

  Though a part of him resisted the logic of what he was seeing, it was only a small part. Finn understood, this is the past. Early Disneyland, early attractions, not the same park he knew. There were no guests. The construction workers wore dated clothing. They were dated people.

  If he’d made this connection before, Finn didn’t remember it. Maybe whoever had led them here and controlled their jump through time was protecting him from going bonkers, as he and Philby had discussed. Or perhaps whatever was happening was more unpredictable than the Keepers could imagine.

  “I think he’ll be looking for us,” Finn said, sudden understanding dawning. “The boy with the sign is here. Out there.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Maybeck said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “but I’d like to go home now.”

  Smiling stiffly, Finn whispered, “I hate to tell you this, Maybeck, but I think we’re just getting started.”

  When they dared take another look into Town Square, they did so furtively.

  “You know what this is?” Maybeck said in a belligerent tone that implied he knew he was wrong. “It’s a film set. Talk about old-school! They must be setting up for a shot.”

  “Those aren’t film cameras,” Finn said, peering into Town Square from beneath the staircase. “You see how boxy they are? They’re television cameras and monitors.”

  “A TV shoot?”

  “Not a TV shoot,” Finn said with emphasis, “the TV shoot. At the time, which I suppose is now, it was the largest live TV broadcast ever.”

  “No, no,” Maybeck said. “I know this. The largest ever was…Wait a second! What the heck are you saying?” Only he didn’t say heck. “Disney…land?”

  “Isn’t open yet. Opening day is going to be broadcast. More like Disney lands. Disney arrives on the scene.”

  Maybeck didn’t seem to be breathing.

  “Don’t worry,” Finn said. “When we go back, you won’t remember any of this. Just like I didn’t.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Right! You don’t remember that either!” Finn chuckled to himself. “This is awesome!”

  Maybeck shook his head dismissively, studied his DHI again. “Come on, Finn. Is this some kind of prank? You and Philby messing with me?”

  “More like the Imagineers messing with us. Walt’s pen, Maybeck. I
t’s all about Walt’s pen.” Finn showed him the faded drawing on his right forearm, and Maybeck’s eyes widened.

  “I remember that drawing.”

  “Good! Then whatever happens to our memories doesn’t go that far back.”

  “The pen,” Maybeck uttered reverentially.

  “If we don’t find Walt’s pen, if we don’t manage to get it so eventually it ends up in the One Man’s Dream, then all this”—Finn gestured out at the bustling park, coming to life before their eyes—“comes crashing down. Whether it’s the earthquake, the fire, or something else, the park will be destroyed, because we won’t be able to stop the OTs.”

  “This can’t be real,” Maybeck muttered.

  “Because we’ve never been part of strange stuff in the parks?” Finn said sarcastically.

  “There’s strange, and then there’s this.” Maybeck held up his black-and-white hand, and waggled it back and forth in Finn’s face.

  “Television!” Finn said. “The files we’re carrying deal with the transmission of color television.”

  Maybeck’s face lit up, then fell as he reached for the small of his back. “Mine are gone.”

  “Yeah, I know. I checked. We’ll bring them next time.”

  “Next time? Seriously?”

  “Completely.”

  “And this time?”

  “We’ve got to find the guy with the sign,” Finn said. “But if people see a couple of two-dimensional, black-and-white projections running around the park, they’ll freak. The longer we stay hidden, the better.”

  “So why wasn’t this guy waiting for you—for us—this time?”

  “How do you know he wasn’t?”

  Maybeck crossed his arms. “Don’t do that, man. That’s spooky stuff.”

  “There was no Carousel of Progress on Opening Day,” Finn said softly. Maybeck shook his head, confused.

  “Meaning?”

  “I think the first time I did this it was a test run. I’ll explain later. If this guy was out there in Town Square, if he was watching for us, then he saw us head this way. I think you’re onto something.”

  “I am?”

  “Yeah. We wait. I think he’ll come to us.”

  “Wait for how long?” Maybeck tried to keep his voice steady, but Finn could tell he was nervous.

  “However long it takes,” Finn said.

  IT TOOK SEVEN MINUTES. The boy in the cap had not shown up in Town Square, where the boys’ attention was fixed, but in a folding lawn chair behind them. Finn practically jumped out of his holographic skin when he spotted him. He looked to be a year or two older than either Finn or Maybeck. He was dressed in work clothes that he’d owned for several years. His boots were scuffed and had leather soles, not rubber. Finn noticed this detail in particular. He had that everyman, common face.

  “About-face,” Finn whispered to Maybeck. They turned awkwardly, as one.

  “Is that the boy?” Maybeck said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “The same.”

  “Why’s he just sitting there?”

  “No clue.”

  “Why doesn’t he say something?”

  “No clue.”

  “Should we wave?”

  Finn and Maybeck waved. The boy waved back.

  “Well,” Maybeck said. “This is creepy.”

  “Yup.”

  “Does he look familiar to you?” asked the artist, squinting critically at the boy’s features.

  “He looks like an extra from Newsies,” Finn said, taking in the flat-topped cap, the suspenders holding up pants that stopped at the knee.

  “Not his costume. Him.”

  “I don’t think that’s a costume.”

  “Him! Look at his face, you idiot!”

  “Maybe a little,” Finn admitted, looking more closely. The boy was staring at them, amused. He hadn’t moved.

  “More than a little. Did we see him in a photo or something? Maybe in Walt’s apartment?”

  “Could be. I suppose we could ask.”

  Now the boy in the chair motioned for them to come to him, a smile breaking out across his face.

  Maybeck spoke so softly Finn had to guess at his words. “We’re DHIs. He can’t hurt us. Right?” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “Not exactly,” Finn said. “Stuff can hurt, so be careful.”

  “Okay, got it.” Maybeck stepped away from the concealing wall and, with Finn following him stride for stride, walked up to the boy, who remained seated, legs crossed at the ankle, fingers steepled together.

  “Howdy,” the guy said.

  Finn didn’t answer. He leaned forward and slipped the folder into the boy’s hands. “The other one didn’t cross over.”

  “Transmit?”

  “We call it ‘crossing over.’”

  “No fooling? And who do you mean when you say ‘we’?”

  “The five of us.”

  “Five? I only see two. Where are the rest?”

  “They’re hiding,” Maybeck said.

  With his head buried as he examined the papers Finn had delivered, the boy spoke. “Holy smokes! This is fab!” Finn understood the comment was meant for him.

  “I’m glad,” Finn said.

  “I’m just curious. Where’d you get the keen rags?”

  “Our clothes?” Maybeck said. But Finn shook his head slightly to shut Maybeck up.

  “Costume shop. Tomorrowland,” Finn said.

  “Makes sense, I guess. So you broadcast from over there?”

  Finn realized this guy didn’t know much, maybe even knew less than him and Maybeck. He tried to sort it out.

  “You drew on my arm, right?”

  The guy had no clue, and was not embarrassed to show it.

  Finn decided to put the facts out there. “We brought you the file. So, can you please tell us what’s going on?”

  “Are you who wrote me?” the guy asked.

  “Maybe you’ve got the wrong boys and we’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Maybeck sounded ready to hurt this kid.

  “What do you think is going on?” the boy asked.

  “By the look of it, the cameras and all, it’s 1955,” Finn said.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Finn and Maybeck exchanged a look. Ahead of them, the boy continued flipping pages, his eyes scanning rapidly through the folder.

  “The cameras,” Maybeck said. “The TV thing. Opening Day. It’s almost Disneyland Opening Day.”

  “Heck, yes!” the boy said, and smiled again. He had a warm face, clear and welcoming.

  “July?”

  “The fourteenth. The fog kept it cool this morning, but it’ll be a real scorcher later.”

  “Thirteen thirteen. The code for the music box. It sent us here, to this day.”

  “I don’t know what you’re saying, boy. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That makes three of us,” Maybeck said.

  The kid closed the file. “What other papers?”

  “There’s more.”

  “Over in Tomorrowland?”

  “Not exactly,” Finn said.

  “Pretty close, actually,” Maybeck said.

  “I can bring them,” Finn offered. “Maybe tonight.”

  “No!” delivered sharply by a boy with nervous eyes. “I need time. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Give me two days. Can you do that? The seventeenth of July. Understand? That’s when we—you—can begin the real work.”

  “The real work?” Maybeck asked.

  For the first time, the boy looked concerned. His brow wrinkled, and his gaze moved from Finn to Maybeck, then back.

  “Listen, boys, this is new to me. It’s a bona fide gas, but my noggin’s a little fuzzy.”

  “What does that mean?” Maybeck said, sounding alarmed.

  “Your name?”

  “Maybeck.”

  “Like the architect, Bernard Maybeck! Impressive.” He considered Maybeck for
a long time. He looked at Finn. “I don’t want to frighten you boys. It’s important you not be frightened. Maybe tell your friends to come out of hiding.”

  “Not now,” Maybeck said. “Maybe later.”

  “Ditch the costumes next time. No need to look ridiculous.”

  “Next time,” Finn muttered, shaking his head, trying to keep himself calm; trying to keep himself all clear. “I think,” he whispered to Maybeck, “this is the guy who draws the pen on my arm. But not for a few more years.”

  Maybeck looked at Finn like Finn had lost it completely.

  “You brought us here,” Maybeck said to the kid. “You must know something.”

  “Just following what I was told,” the boy said.

  “Two days,” Finn proposed.

  “Copacetic! You understand?” the boy said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Maybe not,” Maybeck said. Finn put a hand on his arm, cutting him off.

  “Yeah, we do. I will bring you the other folder in two days.”

  “‘Days are nights. Nights are days.’ You wrote that.”

  “We didn’t write anything!” Maybeck complained.

  “You’ll be waiting for us.”

  The guy hoisted the folder. “I should be, all things considered.”

  Finn found himself amused. “We’ll be here. At least four. Hopefully all five.”

  “That’s good leadership, Finn.”

  Finn winced at use of his name. A name he’d not provided. He put a hand to his DHI forehead, whispered, “Oh my gosh!” under his breath. He felt his consciousness swoon. He’d been hit, hurt and worse, while a DHI, but he’d never fainted.

  He fought the sensation, telling himself that he couldn’t experience a loss of blood pressure if he didn’t have blood. The feeling grew clearer: he wasn’t passing out, he was freezing up, like a computer crashing.

  “…eeh…ne…ou…hu…uuu…re.” If that was his voice he was hearing, it was emerging at half speed. He sounded like a comedian pretending to be drunk. He tried again. “…ehh…no…” A complete meltdown. He was looking up at Maybeck; he was lying down, his body prone. Sparkles filled the space around Maybeck’s face, flitting about like a swarm of fireflies.

  Maybeck’s giant black-and-white face was leaning over him. Finn sat up. Maybeck offered him a hand.