We Sled With Dragons

by C. Alexander London

  “I’m sure your parents are very proud of you,” Sir Edmund said, cutting him off.

  “I demand to be returned to my research station in Svalbard!”

  “Of course,” said Sir Edmund. “Just tell us how to read Plato’s map.”

  “You know,” the man with the baseball hat said, “The Daytime Doctor describes insanity as repeating the same action over and over and expecting a different result.”

  “Don’t tell me about The Daytime Doctor. Television is for lazy minds,” grumbled Sir Edmund.

  “Well.” The man stood. “I am not waiting around here any longer. I have important business to attend to.”

  “We’ll text you if anything important happens,” Sir Edmund sneered sarcastically.

  “See that you do.” The man in the baseball cap turned to leave. He stopped in front of the door and turned back to Sir Edmund. “By the way, I heard that the Navels just staged a daring rescue in Djibouti and escaped on a private plane with Corey Brandt. Looks like they’ve gotten ahead of you . . . again.” He smirked and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Sir Edmund looked back to the explorer. “Tell me what Plato’s map says.”

  “How could I possibly read this map?” the explorer whined. “I know nothing about Plato!”

  “He was an ancient Greek philosopher,” said Sir Edmund. “He wrote the earliest descriptions we have of the lost city of Atlantis. Surely you must know something about him!”

  “No.” The scholar crossed his arms. “Nothing.”

  “So you cannot read this map?” One of the well-dressed men leaned forward.

  “No one can!” the scholar cried. “There is no key on it! Without a key, we don’t know which way is north, or how far these places are supposed to be from each other, or what is a city and what is a mountain. The only thing I recognize is the picture of a dragon on the side.”

  “So there are dragons?” Sir Edmund leaned forward.

  “No,” said the scholar. “Dragons were often used to decorate maps. They don’t mean anything. Or maybe they do. Without a key, the whole map is just a pretty drawing. And anyway, like I said, I don’t know anything about Plato’s map!”

  “You’re lying,” said Sir Edmund.

  “I am not,” said the scholar.

  “You are,” said Sir Edmund.

  “I am not,” said the scholar.

  They went on like that for several minutes as the rest of the Council snapped their heads back and forth between one end of the table and the other.

  “Enough.” Sir Edmund threw his hands in the air in disgust and dropped down onto his chair. All the men of the Council turned to look at him. Because he was a very small man, only the top of his head down to his large red mustache could be seen.

  “May I go back to my research station?” the explorer asked. “If I don’t return soon, I will be missed. Someone will come looking for me.”

  “No.” Sir Edmund didn’t even look at the scholar. “You live alone at a research station in the Arctic Circle. No one will even notice you’re gone.”

  He reached underneath the table and pulled out a small stone tablet with squiggles and lines carved into it. When the scholar saw it, his eyes went wide.

  “That’s . . . that’s the rune stone of Nidhogg!” the scholar cried. “How did you get that?”

  “I purchased it from a collector,” said Sir Edmund. “You’d be amazed what you can get when you have millions of dollars to spend.” He nodded to one of his men guarding the door, who came over to the table with a sledgehammer and lifted it high. “Tell me what I want to know, or the stone will be destroyed.”

  “You wouldn’t!” cried the scholar. “That is a priceless artifact. One of a kind. It tells the myth of Nidhogg the dragon, trapped at the root of the world tree, dreaming of release and revenge.”

  “Yes,” said Sir Edmund. “I believe it is also the greatest discovery you have ever made?”

  The scholar nodded.

  “It’d be shame to see it destroyed,” said Sir Edmund.

  The scholar gulped but didn’t answer.

  Sir Edmund signaled the man with the sledgehammer, who tightened his grip and prepared to pulverize the ancient artifact.

  “Wait! Stop!” cried the scholar. “Lord, forgive me. I will tell you what you want to know.”

  The scholar took his fingers and turned the map slowly so that the top and bottom became the sides.

  Sir Edmund smiled widely. What had looked like a rough coastline became a canyon at the top of the world, a dragon perched neatly inside it, looking down at the world below; what had seemed to be a mysterious landmass took on the rough shape of a very recognizable continent, land and sea and mountain looked strikingly familiar.

  “Oh Plato, you clever devil.” Sir Edmund smiled, studying the map. “It’s always in the last place you look.” He laughed to himself.

  The rest of the Council leaned forward, expectant.

  “Gentlemen,” he exhaled. “In his ancient manuscript, Plato described Atlantis as lying ‘beyond the Pillars of Hercules.’ In his time, that was the end of the known world. Everyone believed he meant the passage from the Mediterranean Sea into the Atlantic Ocean, but if there were more than one set of these pillars, a set in the far north, for example, then he could have been describing a great city in the north, which would now covered by the frozen ice of the Arctic Ocean.”

  “Just to be perfectly clear,” one of the men said. “You are saying that Atlantis is somewhere in the Arctic Ocean?”

  “I am saying,” Sir Edmund stood and raised his arm like he was posing for a portrait, “that it is at the very top, that frozen land where the Viking warriors had placed their gods, where children dream of Santa Claus, and where I—”

  “Ahem,” another Council member interrupted Sir Edmund’s speech with an exaggerated cough.

  “Yes, yes,” grumbled Sir Edmund. “Where we will reach our destiny! The North Pole.”

  “And what of the Navels?” a man asked. “We cannot have them get in our way again.”

  Sir Edmund rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about the Navels. I have a plan for them.” He drew a finger across his throat in a gesture whose meaning was perfectly clear.

  13

  WE HAVE A CATCH PHRASE

  “I, LIKE, REALLY wanted to thank you guys for coming back to rescue me,” Corey told the twins. Their parents were chatting with the professor about sea ice and walrus migration at the front of the airplane.

  “I know you guys hate adventures,” Corey added.

  “We don’t hate adventures,” Celia said. “We just like not-adventures more.”

  “Well, I promise when we I get back to Hollywood, I’m going to do something awesome to say thank you.”

  “Like what?” Oliver wondered. Sometimes, what other people thought was awesome, Oliver and Celia thought was boring, dangerous, or both at the same time.

  “How would you two like to see your story turned into a TV movie-of-the-week?” Corey smirked.

  “Network or cable?” Celia raised her eyebrows.

  “Network,” Corey said.

  Celia frowned.

  “Or cable!” Corey corrected. “Whatever you guys say!”

  “Cool,” the twins answered him.

  “Could I be in the movie?” Oliver asked.

  “They’ll hire actors.” Celia rolled her eyes.

  “Will you play me, Corey?” Oliver smiled.

  “Corey will play himself, dummy.” His sister shook her head.

  “Well, I want someone cool to play me,” he told Corey.

  “Someone cool?” Celia laughed. “It’s not Bizarro Bandits!”

  “Well, they’ll have to find your actress on the Nature Network,” Oliver snapped back at her. “Maybe there’s a walrus that can act li
ke a know-it-all.”

  “Maybe Corey’ll just get Beverly to play you,” said Celia. “The lizard’s a lot smarter.”

  “I am smarter than a lizard!” Oliver objected.

  “Guys.” Corey held his hands up in surrender. “Don’t fight. I promise, you’ll both be happy with the movie.”

  “Can we get that in writing?” Celia raised her eyebrows at the teenager.

  “Celia thinks she’s knows everything about the movie business because she watches Access Celebrity Tonight,” said Oliver.

  “Corey, can you put a scene in the movie where my brother loses the ability to speak so we finally get some peace and quiet?” Celia asked.

  “But that never happened!” said Oliver.

  “It’s a movie,” said Celia. “Corey can make stuff up that didn’t happen to tell a better story.”

  “It wouldn’t be a better story if I couldn’t talk,” said Oliver.

  “It would for me,” said Celia.

  “Hey Corey,” Oliver said. “Can you make up a scene where Celia jumps out of a plane and has to walk to the North Pole?”

  “If anyone is jumping out of the plane,” said Celia, “it’s you.”

  “Is not,” said Oliver.

  “Is too,” said Celia.

  “Is not,” said Oliver.

  “Guys! Come on! Don’t fight,” Corey said.

  “Is too,” Celia added quietly, because she liked to have the last word.

  “It seems like you guys argue all the time,” said Corey. “I was never lucky enough to have a twin brother or sister. But if I were, I’d want him or her to be my best friend, not argue all the time.”

  “But,” Oliver scratched his head, “me and Celia are best friends.”

  “Celia and I,” Celia corrected him. “And yeah,” she said to Corey. “We are.”

  “But you guys are always arguing!” Corey said.

  “The Daytime Doctor says that arguments between siblings help young people develop important social skills, like logical thinking, emotional control, and verbal acuity,” Celia explained.

  “She means, like, being clever and talking fast,” Oliver said.

  “Talking well,” corrected Celia. “Not just fast. I learned it from Wally Worm’s Word World: If you have acuity, you’ll speak with ingenuity,” she said. “Ingenuity is like cleverness,” she added, to make sure they understood.

  “Know-it-all,” Oliver muttered.

  “So, uh.” Corey’s forehead wrinkled with thought. “You guys, like, like to argue? And it’s, like, good for you?”

  “Yeah,” said Oliver. “I didn’t really mean that I’d be happier if Celia jumped out of the plane.”

  “And I didn’t mean it either,” said Celia. “I don’t want Oliver jumping out of the plane. I don’t want anyone jumping out of the plane.”

  “Bad news, guys!” Their father walked down the aisle toward them. “We can’t land in Svalbard because there’s too much ice on the runway . . . so we’re going to have to jump out of the plane!”

  Celia turned to her brother. “You totally jinxed us,” she said.

  “What? How did I do that?” Oliver replied.

  “You brought up jumping out of a plane!” said Celia. “On TV, you can’t talk about jumping out of a plane while you’re on a plane. Because then you’ll have to jump out of it!”

  “That’s not a rule,” said Oliver.

  “It is,” said Celia.

  “No,” said Oliver. “You can’t talk about not wanting to jump out of a plane. That’s the rule! And you said, ‘I don’t want Oliver jumping out of the plane. I don’t want anyone jumping out of the plane.’ So this is your fault.”

  “That’s not the rule,” said Celia.

  “Yes it is,” said Oliver. “I know the rules: If you knock on a door and there’s no answer, but it opens slowly anyway, something terrible will be on the other side. If you step onto ice that looks solid, it will crack. And if you talk about how you don’t want to jump out of a plane, then you’re going to have to jump out a plane, like, right then . . . it’s fate.”

  “No,” said Celia. “That’s not fate. It’s called dramatic irony.”

  “It’s fate.”

  “It’s dramatic irony.”

  “Fate.”

  “Irony!”

  “Fate!”

  “Irony!”

  “Guys!” their father interrupted. “This isn’t fate or irony. It’s just what’s happening.”

  “On TV, everything happens for a reason,” said Oliver.

  “But this isn’t TV,” said his father.

  “The rules are the same,” he said. “The TV people wouldn’t make them up out of nowhere.”

  “If you say so,” Dr. Navel said. “When I was your age, we had these crazy things called books.”

  “When you were our age, did your parents make you jump out of an airplane?” Oliver asked.

  “Well no,” said Dr. Navel. “I guess times change.”

  “I guess so.” Celia scowled.

  “There’s more,” Dr. Navel said. “We only have these two parachutes.” He held up two big backpacks with all kinds of straps and buckles on them. “But we have the supplies for four of us to go with a tandem jump.”

  “Tandem?” Oliver looked at Celia, although he really wasn’t sure he wanted to know the meaning of the word.

  “Having two things close together,” said Celia. “Don’t board the ark at random, come two by two, in tandem.”

  “You guys really like Wally Worm’s Word World,” said Corey.

  Celia nodded. Oliver shrugged.

  “With only two parachutes, your mother and I can skydive with one of you attached to each of us.”

  “Which means that Corey can’t come,” said Oliver.

  “Or Qui?” said Celia, glancing back at her friend.

  Dr. Navel nodded. “Or the professor. Or the animals.”

  Patrick the monkey swished his tail, Dennis flapped his little chicken wings, and Beverly flicked her tongue, although what that meant was anyone’s guess.

  “But—” Oliver objected. He didn’t have much more of an answer than that.

  “That’s not fair!” Celia said.

  “I know it’s not fair,” said their mother, coming to the back of the plane. “It’s not fair, but that’s the way it is. Sometimes bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people, and sometimes good kids get chased out of Djibouti by pirates and have to jump out of airplanes without their friends so they can find lost cities in the Arctic Circle. Life is just like that.”

  “I don’t think life is supposed to be like that,” said Oliver.

  “It is if you’re a Navel,” said Celia.

  “It’s okay, Oliver,” Corey told him. “You have to fulfill your destiny now, right? The prophecy needs to be completed. That’s, like, a rule too.”

  “I hate destiny,” said Oliver.

  Corey smiled sadly, and nodded. “But dude, it’s just like commercials. Unavoidable.”

  “But we came to Djibouti to rescue you,” Celia said, turning to Corey.

  “It’s, like, okay.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “The professor and I will take your friends home and look after your pets. I need to go back to Hollywood anyway. I’ve got a movie to make about my coolest friends in the world.”

  “He means us,” whispered Oliver.

  “I know, doofus,” she sniffled.

  “So you go with your parents and save the day,” said Corey. “It’ll make an awesome ending to my movie.”

  “Okay,” said Celia.

  “Okay,” said Oliver.

  “We’ll do it for the movie,” added Celia. “It needs a good ending.”

  “All right, kids.” Their mother clapped her ha
nds together. “We are nearly over the Arctic Circle, so we have to get ready to jump. The plane will lower us to twenty thousand feet.”

  “I promise you,” their father said, “skydiving is a lot of fun when you’re doing it on purpose.”

  The twins glared at their mother, who had arranged for their last skydiving adventure over Tibet, which had not been on purpose at all.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” said Celia.

  “You say that a lot,” her father told her.

  “Yeah, well, everyone needs a catchphrase.” She frowned, realizing that she actually now had two.

  Their parents clipped all the straps and clasps so they were each tied together, Oliver to his mom and Celia to her dad.

  “Bye, Beverly,” Oliver told the lizard. She flicked her tongue, which was as close to a good-bye as a Heloderma horridum could give. “Don’t bite anyone while I’m gone,” he added. “Unless you have to.”

  “Ride a dogsled for me,” said Corey. “Just like Agent Zero would.” He gave Oliver another high-five.

  “See you soon, Celia,” said Qui, groggy from her nap. Her eyes were puffy from sleeping.

  “See you,” said Celia and they hugged. They didn’t say good-bye, we should note, because that is the hardest thing to say to a friend and is best avoided, especially when one friend is about to jump out of an airplane on a dangerous adventure. When they separated, Qui’s eyes were still puffy, but not from sleeping.

  Claire Navel stepped to the door of the plane with Oliver strapped the front of her like he was a baby kangaroo in a pouch.

  “Don’t look down!” she shouted into his ear as she put her feet to the edge. Oliver was now hanging completely outside the airplane. He felt himself being pulled by the wind. He looked down. He kind of had to. That was also, like, a rule.

  The island of Svalbard was just a white speck in the ice-blue ocean far below. In the distance he could actually see the curve of the Earth and the dark nothing beyond.

  Oliver bent his neck around to the side to shout back into the plane at his sister, who was strapped to their father. “Why do I always have to go first?” he yelled.

  “Everyone needs a catchphrase,” Celia shouted back at him.