We Are Not Eaten by Yaks
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1 - WE MEET THE RELUCTANT RESIDENTS
Chapter 2 - WE HAVE AN UNBEARABLE BANQUET
Chapter 3 - WE GET NO LOVE AND NO BEARS
Chapter 4 - WE DEBATE DEATH AND CABLE
Chapter 5 - WE DECLARE A DISCOVERY
Chapter 6 - WE WITNESS A WAGER
Chapter 7 - WE HEAR FROM A YAK
Chapter 8 - WE FEEL THE GRAVITY OF THE SITUATION
Chapter 9 - WE SEE A SHUSHING
Chapter 10 - WE AREN’T EVEN AT THE WORST PART
Chapter 11 - WE DISCUSS THE LOCAL NEWS
Chapter 12 - WE LEARN ABOUT LAMAS AND LEOPARDS AND LIFE ITSELF
Chapter 13 - WE BLAST SOME BLESSINGS THROUGH THE AIR
Chapter 14 - WE HAVE A TV DINNER
Chapter 15 - WE WONDER WHY THE LAMA SPEAKS FRANKLY
Chapter 16 - WE SEE A BRAND-NEW RERUN
Chapter 17 - WE DARE A DEAL
Chapter 18 - WE NOTICE WHAT THE NOTE’S NOT
Chapter 19 - WE DESCEND INDECENTLY
Chapter 20 - WE DON’T QUESTION THE WISDOM OF RAINBOWS
Chapter 21 - WE KNOW HE’S NO LAMA
Chapter 22 - WE’RE SHOWN SOME SHAMANS
Chapter 23 - WE ARE TRAPPED
Chapter 24 - WE’RE BEING WATCHED
Chapter 25 - WE’VE GOT A UNIVERSAL REMOTE AND WE KNOW HOW TO USE IT
Chapter 26 - WE’VE HAD QUITE ENOUGH OF TUNNELS AND BAD GUYS
Chapter 27 - WE’VE GOT TO TRUST THE YAK
Chapter 28 - WE SHARE A DISAPPOINTING DINNER
Chapter 29 - WE WONDER WHAT CELIA’S UP TO
Chapter 30 - WE DIDN’T PLAN FOR THE PLANE
Chapter 31 - WE WISH THIS WAS A BETTER STORY
Chapter 32 - WE ARE FAMILY
Chapter 33 - WE VISIT AN OLD FRIEND
Chapter 34 - WE VISIT A NEW FRIEND
Chapter 35 - WE CAN’T COOK EITHER
Chapter 36 - WE DON’T DO “DERRING-DO”
Chapter 37 - WE’RE AT OUR LAST CEREMONY
Chapter 38 - WE ARE NOT THE KEY
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PHILOMEL BOOKS
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To Getting Lost
“I am averse to writing about adventures, for I dislike them.”
—ROY C. ANDREWS,
Arctic explorer and president of the
Explorers Club from 1931 to 1934
1
WE MEET THE RELUCTANT RESIDENTS
IF YOU DID NOT KNOW what business took place inside Number Seven East Seventy-fourth Street, you might look up from the sidewalk toward the light flickering in an upper window. You might see two eleven-year-olds pass by that window, their faces pale and thin, with dark circles around their eyes, and you might imagine that they are the lonely and neglected children of wealthy socialites, forever trying to escape from their dull and pointless days.
But you’d be wrong.
Number Seven East Seventy-fourth Street is home to the old and exclusive Explorers Club, which is the most important society of adventurers, explorers, daredevils and globe-trekkers in the world. The two children who sometimes pass by the windows are reluctant residents of the 4½th floor of this club, and it is their story which concerns us here.
Now, most children would love to live on the 4½th floor of the Explorers Club. Most children would thrill to learn the mysteries and secrets shared among the explorers, and most children would love spending every evening hearing tales of danger and distant lands from the adventurers, explorers, daredevils and globe-trekkers who passed through those grand halls.
At least, that’s what the adventurers, explorers, daredevils and globe-trekkers kept telling the Navel Twins.
Celia and Oliver Navel, it must be said, are not most children. They did not like mysteries or secrets, tales of danger and distant lands, nor did they like adventures or exploring, and certainly they hated trekking the globe. While other boys might have turned green with envy because Oliver Navel had celebrated his ninth birthday in a cursed graveyard on the edge of the Sahara Desert, Oliver turned green with a stomachache because of the sweet-and-sour caterpillar cake he was served, which tastes even grosser than it sounds.
And while most girls might have screamed with jealousy that Celia had been given a Mongolian pony for her sixth birthday, Celia could not stand the smell of horses. In fairness, I believe that the horse could not stand the smell of her either. Whatever the case, the horse had to be returned to Mongolia with a formal apology from the Explorers Club, and Celia Navel was banned from ever entering the country, which suited her just fine. She did not like wild animals or exotic places. Nor did her brother.
The Navel Twins liked television.
They liked television more than anything else in the world. They would watch for hours and hours without a break, and it didn’t even matter what they were watching as long as the comforting glow of the TV flickered across their eyeballs.
That little box contained worlds! Nature shows gave them nature. Dramas gave them drama. And cartoons about talking llamas gave them talking llamas, which one could hardly find in the “real” world anyway. They never wanted to miss a show for anything as boring as school, or dinner parties or going outside to play, and definitely not for trips to places like Mongolia.
Unfortunately for them, Oliver and Celia lived at the Explorers Club with their parents, Dr. and Dr. Navel. Well, they actually only lived with their father, Dr. Navel, as their mother, Dr. Navel, had gone off to find the Lost Library
of Alexandria, which she believed had never been lost, and had, herself, unfortunately been lost in the process. Though a search party searched for her, no trace had yet been found. Two of the explorers sent to find her even disappeared themselves.
Sometimes, when there was nothing to do during commercial breaks for one of their shows, the twins would talk about their mother.
“You ever miss her?” Oliver would ask his sister, popping cheese puffs into his mouth like it was no big deal, but really holding his breath for his sister’s answer. Looking at Celia was almost like looking at a picture of his mother. Celia had the same little nose and giant eyes. She had the same pale skin and dark hair. Oliver had a face more like his father’s, but his hair and eyes were the exact same as his sister’s. Both of them had dark circles under their eyes from staring at the screen all the time.
“It’s her own fault,” said Celia. “If she’d just stayed home with us, she’d never have gotten lost.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think—”
“Shhh,” Celia cut him off, “Ten Ton Taco Challenge is back on.”
Oliver didn’t say anything after that, because he loved Ten Ton Taco Challenge and because he could tell his sister didn’t like talking about their mother. Oliver secretly missed his mother a lot. Celia’s secret was that she hated Ten Ton Taco Challenge. She was only watching it now because the sound of frying tortillas kept her from thinking about the Saturday morning their mother left.
“Good-bye, Oliver,” she had said. “Good-bye, Celia.” She kissed them each on the forehead.
“Uhuh,” both kids grunted because cartoons were on and they did not appreciate interruptions. It was hours before they even noticed their mother had gone and taken her big backpack with her. She was always going off somewhere. That was the thing with having explorers for parents. They were always coming and going, looking for the Ancient City of This or the Lost Library of That. Oliver and Celia could not have known that that kiss on the forehead was the last time they would see her.
Some kids might have taken a lesson from that, and stopped watching so much television, but not Oliver and Celia. After their mother left, they watched even more. A television could do a lot of what a mom did, anyway, like telling stories and keeping them company when they were lonely. And even better, if they got tired of it, they could just turn it off, which you couldn’t do with a mom at all. Of course, they never did get tired of TV. It drove their father crazy.
“Too much television rots your brain!” he complained. He was standing in his usual spot behind the couch with his arms crossed in their usual upset way.
“No,” Celia answered without looking away from the screen. “Mongolian Horse Fever rots your brain.”
Dr. Navel sighed. Celia was right of course. She’d caught Mongolian Horse Fever from that horse he gave her for her sixth birthday. They’d barely gotten her to the hospital in time.
“Well,” he said, changing the subject. “We have a dinner to go to. It’s in honor of your mother.”
The twins stood slowly. They couldn’t argue with him about their mother. Ten Ton Taco Challenge would have to go on without them.
“Another banquet,” Celia groaned.
“There will be a prince, and a hot-air balloonist, and a deep-sea diver,” Dr. Navel said excitedly.
“Ugh,” Oliver and Celia said together and deflated like two hot-air balloons crashing into the sea.
2
WE HAVE AN UNBEARABLE BANQUET
PLEASE TAKE NOTE that the activities of the Explorers Club are as secret as they are exciting, and take care not to discuss the affairs we are about to witness too loudly or in the company of those who love to gossip or appear on afternoon talk shows. We who love adventure have a special privilege to witness the calamity, the disasters and the dangers that befall Oliver and Celia Navel, who would have much preferred to be left out of this story altogether. Too bad for them.
Every year for the past three years, the Explorers Club held a grand dinner on the anniversary of their mother’s disappearance, and every year for the past three years Oliver and Celia were the only children sitting at the long banquet table under the stuffy portraits of old explorers. In fact, for their entire lives, they were always the only children at the Explorers Club.
Their parents held the prestigious title “Explorers-in-Residence,” which meant that their whole family lived at the club. They went to all the speeches and lectures and dinners at the club, and Oliver and Celia often had to go with their father to make new discoveries around the world so that they wouldn’t lose their prestigious title and get kicked out onto the street. Finding a new apartment that could fit all of their parents’ collected artifacts, like cursed arrowheads and medieval torture devices, would be very difficult.
Their mother’s disappearance made keeping the job even harder for their father. He and his wife had always been a team, and explorers who disappeared never kept a good reputation for long.
“Perhaps she got lost in a good book,” Edmund S. Titheltorpe-Schmidt III joked once the food had been served. He popped a greasy chunk of alligator potpie into his mouth and laughed uproariously at his own joke.
The twins had never liked alligator potpie, nor did they like Edmund S. Titheltorpe-Schmidt III, or Sir Edmund as he (thankfully) insisted on being called. His wealth paid for missions of exploration all over the world, though he usually only used the discoveries to make himself richer. He bragged about having dinner at the White House and Buckingham Palace and the summer residence of King Faisal of Saudi Arabia. Rumors said that he had bought his membership in the Explorers Club, rather than earning it by climbing Mount Everest or discovering ancient ruins.
“I wish we could sell him our membership,” Celia grumbled to Oliver. She hated that she was missing the best TV hours of the day for this stupid dinner.
Sir Edmund also claimed to be an expert in cryptozoology, the study of mythical, rare and fantastical animals. He claimed to have a master’s degree in cryptozoology from Oxford University, but he had never shown anyone his diploma.
In spite of his wealth, his powerful friends, and his dubious degree, Sir Edmund was a very short man. He was always glaring into the children’s faces with his bushy red mustache and his breath that smelled like boiled carrots and stale feet. Or like stale carrots and boiled feet. The twins could not decide.
“I do not know how such a family as the Navels could hold the title Explorers-in-Residence,” he complained as they settled in for the main course of the dinner: Nigerian monkey curry, “when one of them has not managed to explore her way home after three years. Perhaps it is time for them to relinquish the title to a more qualified explorer.”
“If only,” muttered Oliver to his sister.
“Then we could live in a normal house,” whispered Celia. “And we wouldn’t have to miss the best shows to go to stupid dinners.”
They both sighed at the thought. They longed for a life with cable television and without the endless Explorers Banquets. It was the day before summer vacation. They shouldn’t have to get dressed up and listen to adults argue.
“My wife,” Dr. Navel said to Sir Edmund, “is on the trail of the greatest source of ancient knowledge in the universe. The Library of Alexandria held thousands of documents from all over the world: books of magic and power and priceless objects and treasures. No one knows what became of its wonders when it burned down. Finding out will take some time. And until then”—he smiled at his children next to him—“we will be brave and wait patiently for her return.”
The twins’ mother had always thought that the Great Library had simply been misplaced, like a pair of glasses or a set of keys, and that it was waiting patiently to be found and put back to use. She had believed this even though everyone else in the world did not.
The twins believed the Masterpiece Showcase movie they saw about it that said that the library and its thousands of books, scrolls and artifacts were destroyed in a fire two thousand years ago
. The idea that all its mysteries had been hidden someplace else for all those years seemed crazy.
Oliver wondered who would want to find something after all that time. He once found a sandwich he’d left at the bottom of his locker for the whole school year. It smelled terrible and had somehow grown fur. Explorers, though, were obsessed with old lost things, the older and more lost the better. They never seemed to mind the smells.
“I hope you will not go off searching for the Easter bunny, Dr. Navel,” Sir Edmund sneered at the twins’ father. “What would become of your poor children?”
His sudden explosion of laughter made the Navel Twins wince and shift nervously in their seats.
“I’m reminded of Colonel Percy Fawcett.” He chewed loudly while he talked. “Colonel Fawcett disappeared into the Amazon in nineteen twenty-five looking for the Lost City of Z. Did you know that he took his oldest child, Jack, with him? I imagine they fell victim to cannibals or venomous snakes. At least your mother had the good sense to abandon—excuse me, I mean leave you safely at home.” He took a big gulp of his sickly sweet Ethiopian honey wine. “Don’t worry, children,” he said, and smiled. “If your father misplaces himself like your mother did, I would take responsibility for your upbringing personally.” He laughed again and stuffed another stringy piece of monkey meat into his mouth. Oliver had never thought of the word personally as a curse word before, but the way Sir Edmund said it made his skin crawl.
“I wonder if he has cable,” Celia whispered to her brother.
“He’s not even an explorer,” their father said to himself while Sir Edmund banged on his glass to get the waiter to bring him more honey wine. “He’s a businessman and a . . . a . . . a charlatan!”
The children had to assume from their father’s tone that it was a terrible thing to be a businessman or a charlatan, let alone both at the same time. Even if they didn’t know what a charlatan was (and who does?), for their part, being an explorer wasn’t so grand either. It had cost them their mother and no end of headaches.