Free We Are Not Eaten by Yaks by C. Alexander London Page A

after the New Year. Oliver wiped a tear from his eye.
    â€œAre you okay?” his sister asked.
    â€œYeah, just that the wind is making my eyes water,” he said.
    â€œYeah . . . me too,” she said, and Oliver noticed that her eyes were red and teary also. “I wonder where we’ll land,” she added. “They took all of Dad’s maps and books.”
    â€œAt least we still have this,” Oliver said, and pulled the scrap of paper with their mother’s note and sketches and the ancient Greek writing from their father’s pocket. It flapped in the wind. “Let’s put it in the backpack. So it doesn’t get lost.”
    â€œI think that air marshal and that stewardess were working for Sir Edmund,” Celia said.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYeah, they seemed to know each other and the man next to me who started it all. He was definitely a spy. And they both had matching rings on, rings that made me think of Sir Edmund’s emblem. They were different, but they reminded me of it. They were these jeweled keys.”
    â€œWould Sir Edmund really want us killed?”
    â€œWhat do you think?”
    Oliver remembered what Sir Edmund had said about their father, and he knew that Sir Edmund would do anything to get what he wanted. That’s how he got rich. Their parents always said that discovery was its own reward. Sir Edmund thought reward was its own reward.
    â€œIf we don’t find these tablets, then he’ll win the bet with Dad . . .ʺ
    â€œI don’t even want to think about it. If he’s willing to throw us out of an airplane to get what he wants, imagine what he’d do if we were his slaves!”
    Oliver shuddered at the thought. Celia looked glum.
    While adventures that took them away from the television were bad, forced labor for Sir Edmund every vacation until they turned eighteen would be even worse. The bet their father had made for their freedom was totally unfair. And Celia couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d fallen right into Sir Edmund’s plans. In the library, he had said something about a Council, about his plans for the Navel family. She couldn’t make sense of it at all. It was more complicated than trying to pick up a TV show in the middle of the season.
    â€œSo.” Celia decided to change the subject. Secret Councils and ancient documents were her father’s concern, not hers. She was just trying to make sure they got back home alive. “Can we steer this thing?”
    Oliver reached up and pulled on one of the cords attached to the parachute. The raft swung hard to the left and tilted, nearly dumping all three of them over the edge.
    â€œNot without killing ourselves in the process,” Oliver said.
    â€œLet’s not do that again,” Celia said.
    â€œI agree,” said her brother, looking toward the ground far below. “I hope landing doesn’t kill us anyway.”

11
    WE DISCUSS THE LOCAL NEWS

    AFTER ABOUT FIVE MORE minutes drifting through the sky, the bottom of the raft started to skim the snowy boulders and jagged trees on the edge of a mountain.
    â€œWe’re almost down,” Oliver said. “I hope we don’t get stuck in a—ouch!”
    â€œAre you all right?”
    â€œA tree branch just poked me in the butt,” he said as he shifted uncomfortably. They saw their father’s limp body jolt. For a second, they thought he was awake, but it was just another branch whacking him from underneath. “Dad’s going to have some bruises.”
    â€œI hope he’s not mad,” Celia said.
    â€œHe’d be dead if not for us,” Oliver said. “And we nearly died because of him . . . as usual . If anyone gets to be mad, it should be us.”
    Suddenly, with a terrible crunching, cracking, breaking noise, the raft smashed through a sheet of snow, scraped off a boulder and, suddenly rolling and spinning, became like a sled, screaming