Smells Like Pirates

by Suzanne Selfors

  “Then fill it out,” Ajitabh said, grabbing a pen off the nightstand. “Fill it out and banish those two collaborators.” Hercules took the pen and began to work on the forms.

  “I didn’t give her the map,” Homer said. “She’s either lying or someone else gave it to her.” He grabbed the phone and dialed again. The phone rang and rang. Just when he was about to give up, someone answered. “Squeak, is that you?”

  “Hi, Homer.”

  “Squeak, go to Gwendolyn’s laboratory. Tell her I need to talk to her. Please.”

  “Uh-uh,” Squeak said. “It’s scary out there.” Homer couldn’t argue with that. Squeak was only five years old. Gwendolyn’s laboratory was like something from a Frankenstein movie, complete with skulls hanging from the ceiling and eyeballs in glass jars.

  “Squeak,” Homer said, “did anyone come to the house yesterday? Anyone… weird?”

  “Mom says I can’t have a pet rat,” Squeak said. “I want a pet rat.”

  Homer took a deep breath and squeezed the receiver. “Did you meet a girl with a pet rat? Did she come to the house?”

  “The rat climbed up my arm,” Squeak said. “It tickled.” Then Squeak started to hum the theme song from his favorite cartoon.

  “Did the girl with the rat talk to Gwendolyn? Squeak, stop singing and listen to me. Did the girl talk to Gwendolyn?”

  But Squeak wasn’t listening anymore. He muttered something about a butterfly on the windowsill, then hung up. Homer groaned. His brother’s attention span was about as long as a bee’s stinger. Homer turned to face the others, who were waiting with expectant expressions. “She was there,” he said. “Lorelei came to my house.”

  “But how the devil did she get the map?” Ajitabh asked. “Surely you hid it in a secure location.”

  “Uh, yeah, it was in a good place.” Homer pushed his bangs from his eyes. Looking back, he realized that a loose floorboard beneath his bed probably wasn’t the most secure location. But he didn’t own a safe or a vault. And he’d wanted to keep it close. “Gwendolyn was looking for her birthday present. She must have found the reptile book, and then she gave it to Lorelei.” He clenched his fists. “Gwendolyn had no right to do that! That book belonged to me! If she thinks I’m getting her a sweet-sixteen present after what she’s done—”

  “Hey!” Hercules interrupted. He pulled a piece of paper from Dog’s mouth. Then he wagged a finger at Dog. “Do not eat the official documents.” He held the paper by its corner. “There’s dog slobber all over this. I’ll have to do it again.”

  Ajitabh paced the room, his hands behind his back. “It is evident that Lorelei filched the map. But a piece of this puzzle doesn’t quite fit. How did she know you had the map? I thought only Zelda and I knew.”

  “I don’t know how she found out,” Homer said.

  Ajitabh stopped pacing and stared out the window. “I know what you’re thinking, Homer. You want to recover the map. You want to go after her.”

  “Yes,” Homer said.

  “As your mentor and your friend, I forbid it,” Ajitabh said sternly. Hercules looked up from his scribbling, a stunned expression on his face. Dog took the opportunity to snatch another piece of paper. “I absolutely forbid it.”

  Homer sank onto the bed. “But it’s mine.”

  “She told us not to interfere,” Zelda said. She wrapped her cape tightly around her shoulders, her head a mere inch from the ceiling. “She threatened to reveal L.O.S.T.”

  “But she also said for me to come find her.”

  Ajitabh folded his arms. “The reason we’ve kept L.O.S.T. a secret is to protect our quests so that those with unsavory motives don’t get wind of them, so that we can uncover treasures and get them to their proper places without the risk of others stealing them. If our identities were to be revealed, then there would be no L.O.S.T.”

  “But if Lorelei finds the treasure, she’ll keep everything for herself.”

  “The map is gone, Homer. You must accept that and move on.”

  Homer darted to his feet. “I can’t accept that! I promised my uncle I would find Rumpold’s treasure.” It was the last promise he’d made to his beloved uncle Drake. And he’d made it during Drake’s final visit to the goat farm. Now Drake was gone. All Homer had were memories and that promise. “My uncle died because of Rumpold’s map!”

  Once again, silence descended. Homer’s whole body felt shaky. Zelda reached out and touched his arm. “I know your heart is breaking,” she said. “Heartbreak so early in the morning is a tragedy indeed. But do not despair. You will learn to live with it. My heart has been broken countless times.”

  “This is a dark day for L.O.S.T.,” Ajitabh said as he headed toward the door. “I will change into my travel clothes and pack my bag. It’s best to get you back to Milkydale as soon as possible.” And with that, he opened the door and left.

  “We must stand united,” Zelda told Homer. “Your uncle would have wanted it that way.” Then she also left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Homer frowned. Sure, his uncle would have wanted the members of L.O.S.T. to stand united. But what about the promise he’d made to his uncle?

  Dog sat at Homer’s feet, whining for attention. Homer slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around Dog’s neck. Everything had fallen apart. The map that held his dreams and aspirations was gone. The girl who had once been his friend had deceived him again. Having lost its president, two other members, and a famous treasure map, L.O.S.T. stood on the verge of collapse.

  I’m sorry about your map,” Hercules said. He collected all the documents and returned them to the briefcase. “You must be pretty mad.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” Homer grumbled.

  “Do you think she’ll find the treasure?”

  Homer’s stomach clenched. Lorelei was brilliant. She didn’t let anything stand in her way. “Probably.”

  “Then we have to stop her!” Hercules exclaimed with a burst of courage. Despite his fearful disposition, he’d proven himself to be courageous in times of need—like when he’d jumped out of an airplane to save Dog’s life. “We can’t let her get away with this. You defeated her before. You can do it again.” He grabbed an inhaler and took a hit.

  “Dog defeated her, not me,” Homer reminded him. “Dog ate the membership coin. That’s the only reason why Lorelei lost on Mushroom Island.”

  “The point is, you were victorious. And you’ll be victorious again. I’ll help you.”

  “How can you help me? Don’t you have to get ready for the World’s Spelling Bee?”

  Hercules frowned. “Oh, right. Well, I can help you for a while, but I will need to get home so I can officially register. I have to get my parents’ signatures.”

  Homer tapped his fingers against his thigh as he thought about the situation. It would definitely be nice to have another person by his side. Lorelei was a formidable competitor, and while Dog could sniff treasure over garbage, he wasn’t so good at figuring out who was friend and who was foe. But then Homer remembered something. “Ajitabh ordered me not to go after Lorelei.”

  “I don’t think he can do that.” Hercules pulled a file from his briefcase and began to thumb through its contents. “You were given full membership, and with full membership come all the full rights of membership.” He stopped on a document, read silently, then thumbed through more documents. “I don’t think Ajitabh has the authority to tell you what to do.” His finger stopped again. “Yes, here it is.” And he read: “ ‘Statement of Democratic Principles: Let it be known that L.O.S.T. is a working democracy, and therefore no one member holds authority over another. Exception made only if a majority vote is reached.’ ”

  Homer stopped petting Dog’s ear. Ajitabh and Zelda were not a majority. He didn’t have to follow Ajitabh’s orders. This was great news.

  “Well?” Hercules asked. “Are we going to look for her?”

  We? Homer turned away from his friend’s eager gaze. He couldn
’t take Hercules along. Lorelei would be in her lair, and he had made a gentleman’s agreement to keep the lair’s location a secret.

  “I think I should listen to Ajitabh,” Homer lied. “We should both listen to him and go home.”

  “You sure?”

  Homer tried to sound sincere. “Yes. I’m sure. I’m totally sure. I don’t want to upset Ajitabh. And I don’t want to upset my parents.” He waited, hoping he’d been convincing.

  “Yeah, okay. It sounds kinda dangerous anyway. Torch scares me. And that hawk of hers could peck our eyes out.” Hercules scratched behind his ear. “I was hoping we could hang out. Do you want to come and stay at my house? There’s still a couple of weeks left before school starts.”

  Under normal circumstances, Homer would have jumped at the possibility of staying with Hercules at the Simple mansion. But under these circumstances, with his future crashing down around him like a demolished building, he didn’t think anything would be fun. The world had turned dark and stormy.

  After dragging Dog out of the bathroom, where he’d been drinking from the toilet, Hercules took a shower. As the water ran, Homer hurriedly dressed in his jeans and plaid shirt. He stuffed his pajamas, robe, and mourning attire into his backpack, along with Dog’s vest. There was no room for the top hat, so he’d have to carry it. Then he attached Dog’s leash. “You ready to go get our map?”

  “Urrrr.”

  A receptionist stood behind the counter in the hotel’s lobby. There was no sign of Zelda or Ajitabh. “Can I leave a message here?” Homer asked as he set the top hat on the counter. The receptionist handed him a piece of Mockingbird stationery and a fountain pen.

  Dear Ajitabh and Zelda,

  Don’t worry and don’t try to follow me. My parents said I didn’t have to come back home until my sister’s birthday, so that gives me five more days. I’ve decided to explore The City. I will meet you back here before Saturday, but if you can’t wait for me, then Dog and I will take the train home. We’ve done it before.

  Homer

  He folded the paper and handed it to the receptionist. “Could you please make sure that Ajitabh gets this?” She nodded and tucked the note into the mail slot for Ajitabh’s room.

  “Ah-hem.” Someone cleared her throat. The cleaning lady stood behind Homer, a whisk broom swinging from one hand, her other hand clutching a wheeled garbage can. “You shouldn’t pollute,” she told Homer. Then she whisked the top hat into the garbage.

  “I didn’t pollute,” he said as the receptionist helped another guest. “That’s my hat.”

  “You did pollute.” She pointed into the can. “The evidence is right there.”

  “But—”

  “Pollute,” she said. “P.O.L.L.U.T.E. Proof of Lost Leaves Us Totally Exposed.” She took a spray bottle from her apron pocket and spritzed the counter. Then she wiped it dry with a rag.

  “Proof of lost leaves us totally exposed,” Homer repeated slowly. He narrowed his eyes. “You know about…?” He couldn’t say it.

  “Of course I know about L.O.S.T.,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’m The Unpolluter.”

  No one had ever met The Unpolluter, the most mysterious member of the society. Could this be one of Lorelei’s tricks? “I don’t believe you,” he said. “How much did Lorelei pay you to try to get information from me?”

  “That’s a very good response. Never admit to knowing about L.O.S.T.” She set aside her cleaning supplies and rearranged her plastic shower cap. Its elastic band had left a red imprint across her forehead. “I hope you won’t be like your uncle. He left messes everywhere. I was constantly cleaning up after that boy.”

  “What do you want?” Homer asked.

  She scratched her mole. “I need your help.”

  “My help?”

  “The girl is tricky. She’s cunning. I’m not sure what she’s got hidden up her sleeves. I suspect she’s got plans the likes of which we can’t even imagine. I may have to get rid of her.”

  Homer gulped. “Get rid of her?” Except for the humongous mole, she looked like such a nice old cleaning lady. “Do you mean, get rid of her?”

  “Yes.” The Unpolluter looked over her shoulder, then leaned closer to Homer. “She knows too much for someone who is not a member.”

  “Wait a minute.” The leash slipped from Homer’s fingers. “You can’t get rid of her.”

  “My sole job is to clean up messes so no one learns about L.O.S.T., and right now, that girl is a great big mess.” She wiped her hands on her grimy apron. “Of course, if there’s a way you can keep her from blabbing, you’ll save me some work.” Then she collected her supplies and began to wheel the garbage can back across the lobby. “Good luck,” she called as she disappeared around the corner.

  Before Homer could call after her, the revolving door spun and the bellhop stepped into the lobby. “I’ll take your backpack, sir,” the bellhop said with a tip of his red hat. “You’re gonna need both arms to carry that dog of yours.”

  Dog stared at the door and whimpered. Homer wanted to whimper, too.

  PART THREE

  FOUND

  HEADQUARTERS

  It is common knowledge that in order to be a serious villain, you must have a lair. But not just any old lair. It should be a really cool, state-of-the-art, storybook kind of lair. Only with that sort of lair can a villain expect to become feared and famous.

  Now, I’m not suggesting that you become a villain. Au contraire—villainy is an expensive, time-consuming, and lonely lifestyle. It is not for the tenderhearted or sweet-tempered. If your goal is to be popular and get invited to lots of parties, do not become a villain. If you like to go out in public without people booing you, throwing rotten fruit at your head, or fleeing from you in terror, do not become a villain. However, if you relish the thought of being alone and you have a single goal in mind and are willing to do anything to reach that goal, whether it be ruling the universe or becoming the richest kid in the world, then villainy might be an option.

  It appeared, to Homer, that Lorelei had chosen the villain lifestyle. She didn’t care about having friends, which was why she’d stolen from Homer on three different occasions. She was willing to do anything to become the most famous treasure hunter in the world, including lying, stealing, and cheating. And she was the current owner of an amazing lair. He needed no more proof than that. Lorelei had gone to the dark side.

  Lorelei’s lair had once belonged to Madame la Directeur. It lay in the bowels of the Museum of Natural History, which happened to be a short walk from the Mockingbird Hotel. And so, leash in hand, backpack on back, Homer began the trek down the sidewalk. Dog was blissfully unaware of the destination. If he’d known they were about to revisit the place where he’d come face-to-face with a mutant, carnivorous tortoise, he most assuredly would have plopped onto his belly in his “I’m-not-budging-and-you-can’t-make-me” stance. But since he was unaware, he practically pranced, his ears and jowls swinging in a carefree way. Homer, however, was filled with trepidation. How would he get the map? How would he keep Lorelei from blabbing about L.O.S.T.? And worse, if he failed, how would he face Ajitabh and Zelda?

  After a few minutes of worried walking, during which Homer almost persuaded himself to turn back, the museum loomed into view. A pair of towering lion statues sat at the museum’s entrance—noble guardians that greeted all visitors. Homer wiped the back of his neck. Was it the muggy August air that had made him all sweaty or was it fear? If only he’d had the time to come up with a plan. Even a half-baked plan was better than no plan. “What am I going to do?” he asked Dog.

  Dog stared up at one of the lions and growled.

  Tourists waited in line at the museum’s ticket booth. A horse and carriage pulled up to the sidewalk and deposited more tourists, who ran up the steps, cameras in hand, sunglasses and sun hats bobbing. Homer wished he could be an ordinary tourist, off to explore the museum’s exhibits, instead of a L.O.S.T. spy, off to stop a rival treasure-hunting orga
nization. For a brief moment, he yearned for the good old days when he’d known nothing of danger except for the occasional slip in the mud or collision with a dodgeball.

  “Grrrr,” Dog growled at the other lion.

  “Come on,” Homer said with a tug of the leash.

  There were two ways to get into the lair. One was by water, via City Lake. A channel opened at the edge of the lake, in an area accessible only by boat. This channel led directly into the depths of the lair, where it formed a pool. The channel, however, was blocked by a heavy gate, upon which hung a sign.

  This sign, put there by Madame la Directeur when she’d been the lair’s owner, kept curious boaters from peering through the gate. The gate itself could be opened only by remote control—a special universal remote that Lorelei now owned.

  The other way to get inside the lair was through a giant tortoise statue, which sat in the museum’s basement. The easiest route to the basement was to walk through the museum’s main entrance, then take the elevator. But this option was not available to Homer. First, the museum had security cameras posted throughout, and Homer didn’t want Ajitabh or Zelda to be able to track his movements. Second, dogs weren’t allowed inside the museum.

  So, to get to the tortoise statue, Homer had to use the more difficult route, and that is why he and Dog followed the museum’s north wall. This was the wild side of the building—no parking spaces or sidewalks, just a lot of shrubs and trees. Homer stopped at the wall’s midpoint and kicked aside an ivy vine. A metal grate had been set into the ground. Dog’s ears went limp, and he looked up at Homer with his sad eyes.

  “I know you don’t want to go in there, but we have to,” Homer said. “Too bad I don’t have your glow-in-the-dark vest.” Too bad he didn’t have a flashlight or his uncle’s night-vision goggles, either. He’d been in such a hurry to pack for his VIP tour of the map club that he hadn’t thought about bringing his treasure-hunting gear. After all, this was supposed to have been a fun-filled trip, not a clandestine quest to retrieve a stolen pirate map.