Just then the door to the library burst open and Sir Edmund, Dr. Navel and a crowd of explorers burst in.
“There they are!” Sir Edmund shouted.
“Ah, Sir Edmund, good to see you,” the professor said. “The children are packed and ready, as you can see. I was just giving them some parting advice.” He smiled at them. “And some reading.”
He handed Celia the small leather book from his chair. She looked down at the spine. It was engraved with a symbol of a key.
A HISTORY OF THE GREAT SCRIBES OF ALEXANDRIA, the spine said in gold lettering. BY CLAIRE S. NAVEL, PHD.
“Mom,” Celia whispered.
He handed Oliver a small leather book as well. This one didn’t have a key symbol on it. Just a picture of a llama.
“A llama?” Oliver complained. “A Guide to South American Flora and Fauna?” he read. “By Dr. Ogden Navel, PhD. What’s flora and fauna?”
“It means plants and animals,” Dr. Navel said, smiling. “I wrote that book the year you were born.”
“Why not just say plants and animals, then?”
“Because they’re explorers,” Celia said. “That’s why.”
“I trust you will respect the child labor laws,” the professor said to Sir Edmund, “and give Oliver and Celia some time to rest and do their summer reading. They must get ready for the sixth grade, after all.”
Sir Edmund just snorted at the professor, and then looked at Oliver and Celia.
“My plane is fueling now. We’ll leave right away.” He turned and left the room with an angry wave of his arms.
Dr. Navel rushed to his children and dropped to one knee in front of them.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from this,” he said, and he was crying. “I swear, when you get back, you can watch whatever you like. I won’t make you come to a Ceremony of Discovery ever again.”
“Deal,” said Celia. “You owe us big-time.”
“Things will be back to normal soon,” he promised. “Work hard this summer. Sir Edmund can’t hurt you right now. Not with everyone watching. And maybe when you get back, I will have found your mother.”
“Oh, Dad,” Celia said. “I don’t think she wants to be found.”
He didn’t answer her, just hugged her again and hugged Oliver.
“Good luck,” he said.
“You too,” said Oliver.
“Remember what I told you,” Professor Rasmali-Greenberg called out.
“Remember the premium channels,” Celia responded.
The explorers stepped out of Oliver and Celia’s way as they passed, making a path to the door.
“What now?” Oliver whispered, slinging the backpack onto his back. “Do we run?”
“No,” said Celia. “What would Agent Zero do?”
“Call his stunt double,” Oliver answered as they left the Explorers Club and climbed into the big black limousine.
Sir Edmund sat directly across from them, still wearing his tuxedo from the ceremony. On his lap sat a lizard the size of a small dog. It had on a purple collar with a silver tag. The lizard was yellow and brown and studded with hard little bumps that looked like armor. It had a flat face and an expression like it just ate a raw onion. It smelled like it too.
“Celia and Oliver,” Sir Edmund said. “This is Beverly.” He reached over and plopped the lizard right onto Oliver’s lap. Her claws curled and gripped onto his leg. Oliver winced but didn’t want to show Sir Edmund that he was in pain.
“She is a Heloderma horridum, which means, basically, horrible armor. You’ll be responsible for looking after her now. She gets very nervous when she travels.”
“Where are we going?” Celia said.
“Oh, you’ll see soon enough,” answered Sir Edmund. “I think you’ll find it . . . educational.” He laughed and popped a fried beetle into his mouth.
The lizard stared up at Oliver’s face, flicking her tongue.
“Ummm, does she . . . ummm . . . bite?” Oliver asked.
“Oh, I hope not,” said Sir Edmund. “She’s horribly poisonous.”
Oliver went pale as the doors locked and the limo sped away toward what was going to be a very long summer with a very big lizard.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
It is my duty to inform you, before we meet again on Oliver and Celia’s next adventure, that some of what you have just experienced with the Navels is entirely true.
There really is an Explorers Club in New York City much like the one I have described, and although they are not the same, its banquets are perhaps more strange than this tale has revealed. The real one is not actually on Seventy-fourth Street and no one lives on the 4½th floor. They do, however, possess a stuffed bear.
There really is a group of Poison Witches somewhere in Tibet who prey on the unsuspecting traveler, though their criminal ways have nothing to do with the Bön religion. There really are oracles and sky burials in Tibet and the Lost Tablets of Alexandria did exist, though some have found their way into museums. The existence of the yeti has never been confirmed and I have not yet met a talking yak, nor visited Shangri-La, but since I do not have access to the secret files of the Explorers Club, I can’t state for certain that they do not exist.
I am leaving it to you, the daring reader, to determine the rest of what is true and what is false.
Please let us know as soon as possible what you discover.
Send old-fashioned letters to:C. Alexander London
Care of: Philomel Books
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014 USA
Or write us an e-mail, report your discoveries, and track Oliver and Celia’s adventures by visiting:
www.calexanderlondon.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. ALEXANDER LONDON is an awardwinning author of nonfiction for grown-ups, an accomplished skeet shooter, a master scuba diver, and a fully licensed librarian. He has watched television in twenty-three countries and survived an erupting volcano, a hurricane, four civil wars, and a mysterious bite on his little toe in the jungles of Thailand. Currently, C. Alexander London lives in Brooklyn, New York.
www.calexanderlondon.com
We Are Not Eaten by Yaks Page 20
