By Royal Command by Charlie Higson

a great unruly mass.
    They had not been going for five minutes, however, when they came to another pocket of cloud. James watched everyone ahead of him disappear into a white wall and he could do nothing but follow them. In the confusion, the group became scattered. There was shouting from all sides but it was impossible to tell who anyone was or which direction to go in. Then James spotted Miles scooting purposefully off to the right, and went after him, assuming he knew where he was going. He soon realised that Miles was lost, however, as the sounds of the skiing party faded behind them. James called after him and speeded up.
    ‘Hey, Miles, you’re going the wrong way!’
    He saw Miles turn and fall and he swooshed up to him, stopping in a flurry of snow.
    ‘Oi, watch out!’ said Miles. ‘You’ve covered me. And what do you mean by shouting at me like that? You made me fall.’
    James apologised. It was simpler than protesting.
    ‘I think my damned ski’s come loose,’ said Miles, and he started tugging at his bindings.
    ‘Don’t,’ said James. ‘You’re making it worse. Let me.’
    ‘I can manage, thank you,’ said Miles and he pushed James out of the way.
    James could do nothing but stand there watching as Miles fumbled and cursed at the straps and refitted his ski agonisingly slowly. The sound of the others had been swallowed up in the fog and James was becoming increasingly worried that they wouldn’t be able to find them again. He peered into the murk and strained his ears, but he had lost all sense of where they were. When he turned back Miles was taking a drink from his flask.
    ‘That won’t help,’ said James.
    ‘Warms you up,’ slurred Miles.
    ‘It also gets you drunk,’ said James. ‘I don’t think it’ll be very safe to be drunk up here in these conditions.’
    ‘What do you know about it?’ said Miles. ‘I don’t expect you’ve ever taken a proper drink in your life.’
    James didn’t respond to this jibe and merely said that they should hurry up. At last Miles got shakily to his feet and slipped the flask into the pocket of his wind-cheater.
    ‘This way,’ said James, turning round.
    ‘No, it’s this way,’ said Miles.
    ‘No,’ said James, ‘you were heading in the wrong direction.’
    ‘Don’t tell me what I was doing,’ said Miles. ‘I’m a much more experienced skier than you.’
Before James could stop him, Miles stubbornly set off almost straight down the slope, so fast that he was quickly out of sight. James had no choice but to follow him. He was getting very scared, but, left to himself, Miles might get into serious trouble.

6
    There is More Than One Way to Come Down a Mountain
     
    James skied furiously after Miles until he had caught up with him. The snow here was deep and perfectly untouched, so he knew that they couldn’t be going the right way. He tried to get this through to Miles, who shouted him down and then veered off at a sharp angle – taking him even further away from where James reckoned the rest of the party should be. Almost immediately Miles cried out and when James caught up with him he saw he had skied in among some trees and got snarled on a root.
    James skied over to him and dragged him to his feet.
    ‘This is madness,’ he said. ‘You’re coming back with me, back to the others.’ He physically twisted Miles around and shoved him in the other direction. Miles grumbled under his breath, but carried on.
    They were traversing the mountain here and could walk on their skis between the trees. It was slow going and tiring with it.
    For several minutes they picked their way along. The trees thinned and gradually James’s hopes rose that they would soon come across the others.
    But then Miles stopped again.
    ‘What is it now?’ said James.
    ‘A rope.’
    Miles picked up a frayed end of rope. James saw the other end tied to a tree.
    ‘It marks the edge of the run,’ said James. ‘We must have crossed it somewhere up above. We’re