We Sled With Dragons (21 page)

“TONIGHT WE PRESENT
this year's Explorers Club Award for Excellence in Exploration to the youngest winners in our club's history,” Professor Rasmali-Greenberg declared to the packed Great Hall of the Explorers Club in New York City a few weeks later.

All the gathered adventurers, explorers, daredevils, and globe-trekkers burst into applause. Even the stuffed animal heads all over the walls seemed to smile down on the ceremony. In fact, the only explorers who were not smiling were Oliver and Celia Navel, standing on the stage at the front of the room.

“I can't believe we're the guests of honor at a Ceremony of Discovery,” Oliver whispered to his sister.

“I can't believe we have to stand here the whole time,” Celia grumbled back.

Their father and mother, each dressed in their finest outfits, cheered the loudest of all the explorers. Neither of them had ever been more proud. The Ceremony of Discovery was a time-honored tradition of the Explorers Club, where fortunes were wagered, discoveries declared, and honors awarded. Some of the greatest explorers ever to have held a compass had stood on this very same stage to receive this very same award. Dr. Navel kept using the sleeve of his tuxedo to wipe away his tears. His wife had to hold him steady.

In the crowd, Sam, who had come all the way from South Sudan, leaned over to whisper to a boy in the red robes of a Buddhist monk, who had come all the way from Tibet, who leaned over to whisper to a boy from the one of the last tribes of sea-nomads on earth, who leaned over to whisper to a girl in a fuzzy wool hat.

The girl, Oliver and Celia's friend Qui, nodded at the boys, all Oliver and Celia's friends from past adventures. She held her hands up in the air where Oliver and Celia could see them from the stage. She wiggled her fingers.

“That's the sign,” Celia whispered into Oliver's ear. “It's time! We have to go!”

“We've haven't gotten our medals yet!” Oliver whispered back.

“And now,” the professor declared to the room, “the medals!” He pulled two shining gold medals from a heavy wooden box. They each hung on bright-blue ribbons and they shined under the gleaming lights of the stage. Oliver's eyes widened.

“We're going to miss the beginning of the show!” Celia said.

“I want to get my Explorers Club Award for Excellence in Exploration medal,” he answered.

“That's a stupid name for an award,” said Celia.

“It is not,” said Oliver.

“It is too,” said Celia.

“It is not,” said Oliver.

“It is too,” said Celia.

“It actually is,” said the professor, smiling down at them then turning back to the crowded room, holding the medals high in the air. “Which is why we are renaming it after our newest patron, whose generous donation to the club has paid for this glorious celebration! Let's have a round of applause for Mr. Corey Brandt and the brand-new Corey Brandt Prize for Excellence in Exploration!”

Corey Brandt strolled onto the stage, dressed in a crisp black tuxedo, sporting a brand-new hairstyle, which had quickly become the most popular hairstyle in the world, and big smile across his face.

“You guys are the best,” he told the cheering crowd. He reached down and gave high-fives to some of the people in the front row. Madame Xpertina, world-famous trans-Siberian motocross racer, fainted. Corey Brandt had that effect on some people. They were usually teenage girls, but he had been famous for long enough not to be surprised by the occasional fainting trans-Siberian motocross racer.

“I'm thrilled to be here tonight,” he said. “To, like, honor my friends, the two bravest kids I've ever met, Oliver and Celia Navel! The greatest explorers in history!”

He gave them a sideways wink and Celia couldn't help but wink back. Oliver gave Corey a thumbs up.

“I'm also excited,” Corey continued, “that tonight we'll see the premiere of my newest made-for-TV movie,
The Accidental Adventures of Celia and Oliver Navel
!”

Again the whole room burst into applause, although this time Oliver and Celia happily joined in.

“If he doesn't speed this up, we're going to miss it,” Celia whispered as she clapped.

“I can tell by their faces that Oliver and Celia are, like, so ready for this to be O-V-E-R, over.” Corey laughed. Celia blushed and hoped the teenage superstar hadn't heard her. He rushed across the stage and shook each of their hands with a formal bow. Then he hung each of their medals around their necks and stood between them, raising their arms into the air above their heads like boxers at the end of a prize fight.

“Woo-hoo!” their mother cheered.

“Hurrah!” their father yelled.

Beverly hissed her lizard hiss and Patrick screeched his monkey screech and Dennis the chicken bwaked his chicken “bwak” from his perch on top of the head of a great stuffed polar bear by the door.

However, near the back of the crowd one man wasn't clapping. He didn't even seem to be paying any attention at all to the ceremony around him. It was easy not to notice him among the gathering of eccentric characters with odd haircuts and elaborate outfits. He wore a conservative black tuxedo, and if he had a strange haircut, one wouldn't know it, because he had a baseball cap pulled low over his head. He didn't look up from his phone, where he tapped away sending text messages, a gold ring glistening on his finger, inscribed with the symbol of a scroll locked in chains.

“Hey, Corey,” Oliver said through his clenched smile, his hand still held in the air above his head.

“Yeah?” Corey said, his face locked in roughly the same expression as the crowd continued clapping.

“Can we go watch your movie now?”

Corey laughed and let go of their hands. He nodded and, with the explorers still cheering, led the twins off the stage and toward the door, where their friends from all over the world had gathered.

“Where are you going?” their father called out and the room fell silent to listen. The man in the baseball cap perked up, finally paying attention.

“We're going upstairs,” said Oliver.

“But we haven't told everyone the story about how we freed the animals from Sir Edmund's zoo!” Dr. Navel threw his hands in the air, dismayed to think that his children hadn't changed at all, in spite of all they had been through.

“We want to watch Corey's movie!” Celia objected.

“It's your movie, guys,” said Corey. “It's about you.”

“You lived through it all in real life!” Their father shook his head. “Why do you want to watch it on TV?”

“Because, Dad.” Celia rolled her eyes. “Stuff is better on TV!”

Their father sighed.

“Well.” Their mother stepped up next to him. “Can we watch it with you?”

Oliver looked at his sister.

She shrugged. “Sure.”

Their mother squeezed Dr. Navel's hand. “Family movie night,” she said.

“That won't be so bad.” Their father smiled. “I'll make popcorn.”

“With nothing gross on it,” said Celia with a firm glare.

“Fried beetles aren't gross!” Dr. Navel objected.

“We have them every time!” Oliver whined.

“Can't we just have melted butter?” Celia pleaded.

“Melted yak butter?” Their father raised his eyebrows.

“Fine,” said the twins.

Their father jumped with glee.

The man in the baseball cap rolled his eyes and sent another text message: “
NAVELS STAYING HOME. AGAIN. NO CHANGE.
”

His shoulders slumped when he read the text he got back. “
KEEP WATCHING. WE WANT TO KNOW IF THEY TRAVEL
.”

“
” he answered.

Oliver and Celia nearly knocked over Professor Eckhart of the Department of Obscure Spiritualities as they rushed from the Great Hall. The crowd of adventurers, explorers, daredevils, and globe-trekkers were left muttering to one another in surprise. They'd never seen anyone abandon their own award ceremony before.

“You know,” Corey told them as they raced toward the Navels' apartment on the 4½th floor, “if you like the movie, I could always make another one.” He grinned back at Dr. and Dr. Navel. “If you have more adventures I can make it about . . .”

Oliver and Celia stopped and looked at each other. Their friends had already gone ahead of them to turn on the TV. Their parents were on the steps just below Corey and the walls all around them were decorated with pictures of famous explorers from times gone by.

Oliver raised his eyebrows at Celia, a hint of a smile forming at the corner of his mouth. His medal, like hers, shined on his chest.

“We'll think about it,” she said, and they continued up the stairs to their apartment, where they could hear the music starting for the made-for-TV movie of the week. Their breath quickened. They had to move fast. They knew that if they ran up the steps two at a time, dodged past the rack of ancient spears, and dove through the door to their apartment with a somersault over the couch to the front of the TV, they might not miss the beginning of their story.

We should be happy to note that they didn't miss a thing.

IT IS TIME,
for now, to leave Oliver and Celia Navel in peace with their friends, their parents, and their cable television. But there is much more for us to discover!

You see, the search for Atlantis is almost as old as recorded history, and most of the theories contained in the story you have read are based on our research into the subject. Plato really did describe Atlantis and argue that it was a real place. Count Olof Rudbeck really did believe that the lost city of Atlantis was the same as the city of the Norse gods, led by Odin, and that its ruins really were to be found in his northern nation of Sweden, while other explorers have imagined that the North Pole is really the final hiding place of the Garden of Eden. Humans love hidden places and imagined lands, and we continue the search for our myths in the real landscape of Earth.

From Shangri-La to El Dorado to Atlantis, we have always been intrigued by places just beyond what we know, and nearly as soon as we think we've found one, we go on to think of others. We long for the blank space on the map to fill with our own dreams, and yet the known world is incapable of bearing our mysteries. Every time we make a discovery, we want to push on to the next one. That is the drive for exploration. There are many things in this book that are based on truth (including the ancient sea dragons!) and many that are pure fantasy. I hope your unanswered questions will lead you to uncover the truth for yourselves.

Or you could always see if there's anything good on television . . .

BOOKS, LIKE ARCTIC
expeditions, are supported by countless people who never get medals hung around their necks. They should. In lieu of a medal, there are a few people to whom I would like to offer my thanks.

The adventures of Oliver and Celia Navel would have remained unknown to the world but for the editorial sleuthing of Jill Santopolo, who has been their champion (and mine) since the beginning and whose hard work has made these books far better than I could have made them on my own. Her aide-de-camp (which is just a fancy way of saying adviser), Kiffin Steurer, has provided wonderful insights, and Michael Green, publisher extraordinaire, brought the tale to Penguin with great faith and enthusiasm. In fact, the entire Penguin family embraced Oliver and Celia with open arms. Thanks go to Casey, Jessica, Scottie, Shanta, Marie, Katie, Annie, Cristin, Stephanie, Julia, Christina, and the rest of the marketing, sales, and publicity teams. Illustrator Jonny Duddle and the Penguin Art Department brought the images of the Navels' world to life, while the copyediting staff improved my writing in ways I cannot begin to express (but I bet they could!).

Penguins may be flightless birds, but I am now convinced they soar.

As always, Robert Guinsler's super-secret-agent experience makes my writing life possible (with a valuable assist from international woman of mystery Kelly Farber and woman of international mystery Aviva). Natalie Robin has long served as my narrative navigator, and I'd have been as lost as Atlantis without her.

The series was improved by Sam Cove and his family, as well as my earliest readers—Chris and Charlie Noxon, my sister, Mandy, and my brother-in-law, Dennis—who provided their own visions and prophecies when I needed mystical guidance. Mandy and Celia are very close kin, while Dennis is more heroic and kind than any chicken I could dream up. Of course, Mr. Xanders, my fifth-grade teacher who made me read
Redwall,
deserves some credit too.

Lastly, such a tale would have been impossible to tell without the care and support of Tim, who makes both adventures and excessive TV watching better, as well as his aide-de-camp, Baxter, a very wise dog indeed.