35
WE CAN’T COOK EITHER
THE YAK KNEW WHERE it was going. It didn’t hesitate and it didn’t look back. All Oliver and Celia could think about was hesitating and looking back. The last few hours felt like a dream. Had they really just seen their mother? Had she really just left them again?
The yak shot up the mountain as fast as a . . . well . . . a really fast yak. There’s nothing that really compares to a yak running at tremendous speed. Except maybe an out-of-control bulldozer covered in fur.
“What do you think she meant,” Celia shouted, “when she said the witches can’t make something? What can’t they make?”
“I don’t know!” Oliver shouted.
When they arrived at the edge of the mountain, the sun was just beginning to set. It was the fifth day. If they didn’t get to the witches soon, their father would be lost forever. The yak stopped. It wasn’t going any farther. Oliver tried to yank it, to keep it going up, but an eleven-year-old who sits in front of the TV all day has little chance of moving a two-ton yak that has just run a marathon. Oliver had never run a marathon. Neither had Celia. The yak’s expression told them that it was not easy.
The children had to go on foot. Celia let Oliver carry the backpack.
“Thanks,” he said sarcastically.
“I’ll go first,” Celia said.
“You will?”
“Yeah. I’m better at stealth than you.”
“Since when?” Oliver demanded just as he tripped over a knobby root sticking out of the ground.
She’s protecting me again, Oliver thought, kind of annoyed. And kind of grateful. He really didn’t want to go first. Those witches scared him.
The twins scrambled over rocks and leaped between boulders. They ducked behind a bush when they saw a group of the council’s large guards pass on horseback. The men were huge. They carried shining swords and were dressed like warriors from another time, some time long ago when people didn’t hesitate to slice children in half with their shining swords.
They climbed as quickly as they could over rocks and ice. When they came to the witches’ camp inside a cave of ice, they ducked behind a boulder and watched the witches in the reflections off the ice. They were reflected back over and over again at crazy angles. It was like being in a funhouse.
The witches had set up their huts in the same circle they had in the valley. They had even set up the satellite dish. They sat around a campfire, cooking. Dr. Navel lay unconscious on the ground next to the fire. He was snoring quietly. Every few seconds, he would groan.
“At least Dad’s still warm,” Celia said.
“He’s almost out of time.”
“What do we do?”
They listened in on the witches.
“Put in more butter! That’s too much salt!” the leader shouted at the one stirring a big pot.
“Don’t tell me how to cook. Everything you make tastes like wood.”
“I wish what you made tasted like wood!” she snapped back. “I don’t even want to say what your food tastes like.”
“Say it, I dare you.”
“Or what?”
“You’ll regret it.”
“The only thing I regret is letting you make dinner!”
“Gimme that TV Guide,” Celia whispered. “We’ll make a trade for something even better than the Lost Tablets of Alexandria.”
With that, she stood up and waved the TV Guide in the air.
“Yoo-hoo!” she shouted out. “Ladies! We’re back!”
The witches stood up, startled.
“Hey!” they shouted, looking in every direction at the reflections around them. Celia was reflected over and over again on the ice, like she was on a thousand different TV screens.
“Which one is she?” one of the witches cried out.
“We all live in a yellow submarine!” sang the musical witch.
“Hush up,” the leader with the turquoise headband snapped. “Navels! So good to see you again. I am happy that strange man you were with didn’t manage to kill you. We never liked him. In truth, we have never been too fond of explorers.”
“You could have told us who he really was,” Oliver said, standing. He liked the way the ice reflected him over and over again. It was the first time in days he had seen himself. He and his sister were really dirty. You never see it on TV, but adventuring is a messy business, and adventurers don’t smell so great either.
“Well, that wouldn’t have been any fun,” the leader answered.
“I wanna rock and roll all night! And party ever-y day!” the singing witch sang.
“You see what kind of entertainment we’re stuck with?” the leader said.
“That’s why we’re here,” Celia added. “We’re willing to make a trade with you.”
“But there are no Lost Tablets of Alexandria. That was our deal.”
“We’ll make a better trade,” Celia said. “You’re bored? What I have here”—she held up the TV Guide—“is a Lost Tablet of Entertainment!”
The witches gasped, and leaned in toward the walls of ice, looking at the TV Guide. Corey Brandt was on the cover, peering over the top of his Agent Zero sunglasses.
“What is this magic?”
“This is a list of everything that is, was, and will be on television. This will tell you where to find Love at 30,000 Feet—for real. You can read plot summaries, you can read interviews with the stars.” She looked at the witch who liked music. “There’s also music television. Twenty-four hours of music videos.”
“Rock and roll all night?” the witch sang quietly. The leader rolled her eyes.
“Yeah,” Oliver said, grabbing the TV Guide from his sister. “And”—he spoke to the leader—“there are cooking shows. So many cooking shows. You could learn how to make deadly yak soufflé. Poison marinated snake casserole. Toxic beetle barbecue. The possibilities are endless. Celebrity Whisk Warriors. Ten Ton Taco Challenge.”
“I like tacos,” the leader said.
“Aren’t you tired of the same old recipes? The same old yak butter stew.” He waved the TV Guide in the air. “Corey Brandt shares his favorite desserts.”
“Sunset High,” the witches murmured. Even witches in Tibet had crushes on Corey Brandt as a vampire. It was Oliver’s turn to roll his eyes.
The leader thought a moment. She tapped her foot on the ground. She looked back at her companions, who nodded eagerly at her. “One moment please.” She gathered the witches around her in a huddle. They chatted and whispered and screeched and consulted.
“Ladies,” Celia said, pointing at her father on the ground. “We’re running out of time over here.”
Finally, the leader turned around and puffed her chest out like she was about to give a long speech.
“Okay,” was all she said, and she nodded. One of the witches went over to Dr. Navel and fed him a greenish liquid from a small clay pot. He coughed and his eyes fluttered. Oliver and Celia stepped out from their hiding places and came into the clearing. Oliver handed over the TV Guide, and the witch opened it, her eyes wide.
“Cooking with Carl,” she read excitedly. “An All-Day Meat-a-thon!”
“Oooh . . . Meat-a-thon!” The other witches rushed to her and gathered around as they walked off into a thick mist.
“Celia . . . Oliver?” their father croaked, sitting up. His voice was scratchy and his head seemed to float on his neck, like he was dizzy.
“We’re here, Dad,” Celia said, rushing to him. “We’re okay.”
“You’re alive,” Oliver explained. “The witches like cooking shows.”
His father smiled up at him with no idea what his son meant or where, exactly, they were.
“We’ll explain later,” Celia said, hugging him. She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “Once we get cable.”
Their father laughed, but his laughter didn’t last long. His jaw dropped and his face went pale again. For a second Celia thought that their father was about to pass out, that the witches had lied, but she followed his gaze around and saw Sir Edmund and the rest of the Council surrounded by guards. They blocked the entrance to the cave.
“You’ve still lost the bet,” Sir Edmund said. “There are no tablets, and therefore, you will give up the title of Explorer-in-Residence and your children will become my slaves. Accounts will be settled at the Ceremony of Discovery.”
He snapped and there was a roar, a rumbling, and a thwomping sound as the wind whipped in all directions. Snow swirled around the cave and the earth shook, like a demon was about to break free from the ice.
Instead, a large cargo helicopter with two spinning rotors popped up from below and hovered alongside the mountain. Its back hatch opened, settling onto the ground, and the Council, the guards and Sir Edmund climbed aboard.
“SEE YOU BACK AT THE CLUB!” Sir Edmund shouted over the roar of the helicopter. “THIS IS FAR FROM OVER!”
With that, the helicopter closed its hatch and peeled off into the night.
Oliver, Celia and their father were alone on the side of the mountain, high in the Himalayas.
Well, not entirely alone.
A mother yeti stood to her full height on a boulder right above the Navels and roared. “Sorry I shot at you!” Oliver called out.
“Shhhh!” Celia snapped.
“It’s okay, guys,” their father said. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”
