The beach on this southernmost tip of Greenland was nothing like the beaches back home, which were made of fine gray sand, clamshells, and the occasional hopping sand flea. Saucer-sized rocks covered this beach, making it difficult to traverse. The rocks rolled underfoot, creating ankle-twisting wedges.
“The air is so dry,” Hercules said. “My sinuses are closing up. And my throat is getting sore. I wish I had a lozenge.”
“My watch says it’s forty-five degrees Fahrenheit,” Homer said. “I thought it would be colder than this.”
“It feels colder,” Lorelei said. “That wind is going to freeze my brain.” She pulled her hood tighter.
The wind did carry a sharp bite. It jabbed its way up Homer’s nose, so he pulled the parka’s collar as high as it would go. He worried about Dog, but Dog showed no signs of shivering. He wagged his tail, seemingly happy to be on land.
Just beyond the beach, the ground was interwoven with patches of thick-bladed grass, grayish moss, and piles of rocks. White-petaled flowers peeked from between the rocks, their yellow faces turned toward the horizon. Lorelei stopped walking and stared at the sky. “The stars aren’t very bright.”
“It’s not going to get any darker,” Homer said. “It’s summer, and we’re close to the Arctic Circle. Up here, the sun rises almost as soon as it sets.”
Lorelei pulled Rumpold’s map from under her parka and unfolded it. “The Draco constellation winds around the Little Dipper,” she said, and they all peered up at the sky. Homer had seen the Little Dipper many times in his own backyard, so it was easy for him to find.
“I see Draco,” he said. “There’s the tail over there. The nose is over there.” His legs began to tremble, but it wasn’t on account of the icy wind. “Rumpold Smeller stood here,” Homer said. “He looked at these same stars.”
“She looked at these same stars,” Lorelei corrected.
“Do you think we should start calling her by her real name?” Hercules asked. “Rumpoldena?”
“No way,” Homer said. “I say we keep calling her Rumpold. She claimed that name, and that’s how everyone knows her.”
“I agree,” Lorelei said. “Lots of girls have names that used to belong to boys. It’s no big deal. A person can change her name if she wants. I might change my name one day.”
“What would you change it to?” Hercules asked.
“Something heroic,” she said. “Something brave and strong—like your name.”
Hercules paused thoughtfully, then said, “A butterfly would still fly without the butter.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lorelei asked.
“It means your name doesn’t define you,” he replied. “It’s what you do that defines you.”
Yeah, like dognapping and double-crossing and stealing, Homer thought. But he didn’t say those things to Lorelei. The moment was too exciting to be ruined by another argument.
The fur on Homer’s hood rippled as he returned his focus to the map. “So,” he said, putting his best reasoning skills into action. “Rumpold stood here, looking up at this sky, and wrote the riddle. ‘Twins of flame above and below.’ We see our dragon above, but where is our dragon below?”
“We should walk around and see if anything looks like a dragon,” Hercules said.
“And see if Dog smells anything,” Lorelei added.
So they walked as far as they could, to the cliffs, then back to the beach. The inlet was small and horseshoe-shaped. Other than scaling the mountains, there was nowhere else to go. Dog ate some tufts of grass and clumps of moss, but he didn’t sniff at anything.
“What about that rock?” Hercules asked. “Do you think that looks like a dragon?”
“It looks like a rock,” Lorelei said grumpily.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Homer held the map up to the sky and recited the riddle. “ ‘Twins of flame above and below.’ Above and below.” He looked at the sky. He looked at his feet. “ ‘An endless mirror between.’ ” He slowly lowered the map and looked at the water. The water in the inlet was calm, the stars reflecting like…
“The mirror is the sea,” he called.
“Oh, that’s brilliant!” Lorelei rushed to his side. “ ‘An endless mirror between.’ If the mirror is the sea, then the other dragon must be below the water. You know what that means?”
Hercules groaned. “It means we’re about to go swimming?”
Homer smiled. “It means we’re about to find sunken treasure.”
But before this realization had settled over them, a rumbling sounded in the distance. Dog dropped a moss clump and turned his face toward the sound. It was an engine of some sort, approaching from the south.
Seabirds fled their cliff-face nests as a seaplane buzzed over the inlet, sending ripples across the water. Homer, Lorelei, and Hercules ducked as it skimmed over their heads.
Homer reached down and grabbed Dog’s collar. Something was terribly wrong. The seaplane took a sharp turn and headed back toward the beach. Homer couldn’t run, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think clearly, as fear filled his entire body from head to feet.
For as the plane approached, the pilot’s face, which was a mere speck behind the windshield, became clearer and clearer, closer and closer, until the wicked smile of Madame la Directeur was in perfect focus.
Run!” Lorelei screamed as the seaplane barreled down on them. Her hood bounced at the back of her neck as she sprinted toward the rocky ledge, her pink hair a dollop of alien color in the muted landscape.
Although still riddled with fear, Homer forced his thoughts to clear. Madame la Directeur had come for the treasure, and she’d do whatever was necessary to get it. There was no time to freak out. Escape was mandatory. He wrapped his arms around Dog and started lifting, but Hercules knocked him aside and scooped Dog into his arms.
“Who’s flying that plane?” Hercules cried.
“Madame la Directeur!”
Dog’s ears and jowls shook with each of Hercules’s frantic steps. Rocks rolled beneath Homer’s boots as he ran—it was like running across a field of bowling balls. The engine’s roar nearly shattered his eardrums as the seaplane swept over his head. A gust of air blew across his back. As the plane banked, preparing for another attack, Homer and Hercules reached the rocky ledge. Lorelei was already on the submarine’s deck. She climbed the ladder and opened the hatch.
“Hurry!” she yelled. “We’ve got to dive!” Then she tumbled down the conning tower.
While Hercules carried Dog through the hatch, Homer pulled the mooring line free. The deck trembled as the engine started. Bubbles formed around the sub. The seaplane’s roar began its crescendo as Madame set it in a direct path for the submarine. A warning light flashed on the hatch and Homer’s ankles suddenly felt cold. The sub had begun its dive. The inlet’s frigid water rose up Homer’s legs. Panic beating at his temples, he struggled up the ladder. His fingers trembled inside the gloves as he clutched the metal rungs. The rising water followed, nipping at his heels. The submarine was almost fully submerged by the time he reached the hatch. An alarm bell rang.
“Close it! Close it!” Lorelei hollered. Seawater flowed over Homer’s face as he gripped the hatch and pulled it down, latching it into place. The seaplane roared overhead, its pontoons skimming the water’s surface. Homer half slid, half fell down the conning tower, landing at Hercules’s feet. Dog waddled over and licked his face.
“She can’t get us now,” Lorelei said from the pilot’s seat.
“She tried to kill us!” Hercules said, taking a puff of his inhaler. “She’s insane.”
“She’s totally insane,” Homer said. The seawater had numbed his legs. As he scrambled to his feet, he lost his balance and bumped into the control panel. Clutching the panel’s edge, his hand brushed over a speaker. The closest button read EMERGENCY FREQUENCY 16. “Hey, I think this might be a radio,” Homer realized.
The airplane engine roared overhead. “Call someone,” Hercules
said. “Tell them she’s trying to kill us!”
“We don’t want anyone to know we’re here,” Lorelei said.
“But we need help,” Hercules argued. “She’s trying to kill us!”
She was. And she wouldn’t stop. Homer knew this. He’d heard her in the lair. “Mayday, Mayday!” he cried as he pushed the button. He’d never used a ship-to-shore radio, but how difficult could it be? “We’re under attack. Mayday, Mayday!” He released the button.
The wait seemed endless, but just as he was about to press the button again, static filled the speaker. Then a voice replied, “Greenland Coast Guard to unnamed vessel. What sort of attack?”
“Unnamed vessel to Greenland Coast Guard. Madame la Directeur is an escaped prisoner. She’s in a seaplane, and she’s trying to kill us.”
“Greenland Coast Guard to unnamed vessel. What are your coordinates?”
Lorelei grabbed Homer’s shoulder and spun him around. “You can’t tell them where we are. We’re not sharing the treasure with anyone else.”
“I’m going to tell them where to find Madame,” Homer said. He held down the button. “Unnamed vessel to Greenland Coast Guard. Madame la Directeur is flying over the southernmost tip of Greenland.” The speaker went silent.
“Do you think they heard you?” Hercules asked.
“I sure hope so,” Homer said.
Lorelei switched on the headlights. “There’s no time to waste. We’ve got to find that dragon.”
As Lorelei drove, Homer sat on the floor and pulled off his soaked boots. Hercules knelt beside him and whispered, “How’d Madame know we were here?”
“Someone must have told her,” Homer said, casting a suspicious glance at Lorelei.
“But that doesn’t make sense. If Lorelei is double-crossing Madame, why would she tell her where to find us?”
“I don’t know.” Homer rubbed his frozen toes. “But what I do know is that we have to protect the treasure.” Sweat trickled down his back. While the air inside the submarine was pleasant, having someone try to run you over with a seaplane would make even the bravest person break out in a cold sweat. And knowing Madame was up there, trying to squash them—well, that made him sweat even more.
“Stop whispering about me and help me look for the treasure,” Lorelei snapped.
Homer and Hercules slipped out of their parkas. Dog shook and kicked his paws, freeing himself of the booties. Then the boys sat beside Lorelei while she maneuvered the submarine along the bottom, the headlights guiding the way.
“It’s here somewhere,” Lorelei said. “Looking for a dragon, looking for a dragon.”
Hercules opened his notebook. “Looking for a dragon,” he repeated as he scribbled.
Homer’s gaze scanned the seafloor. A handful of silver fish darted through the crystal water. If the dragon was buried in sand, how would they find it? Surely the scent of treasure couldn’t travel through water and a submarine window. Could it?
“What’s that?” Homer asked, darting to his feet. He pressed his palms to the glass. “Something’s sticking out of the sand. Right over there.”
Lorelei pulled back on the throttle, and the propellers slowed to a stop. As the submarine drifted, the headlights rested on a strange object. The kids leaned over the console, desperate to get a better view.
If you lived in a world inhabited by dragons, then you wouldn’t be surprised to see them flying across the night sky. You wouldn’t be surprised to see them trampling through burning villages or guarding jewel-filled caves. Those are dragon activities. But a dragon’s head sticking out of the ocean floor? Well, that’s just weird.
Even though Homer knew he was searching for some sort of dragon, when the submarine’s headlights fell across a yellow eyeball and snout, he couldn’t remember how to breathe. And when dizziness swept over him, caused by excitement and the fact that he’d stopped breathing, he forced his lungs to expand. “Do you see that?” he asked with a gasp. “Do you guys see that?”
“Yes,” Hercules whispered as the notebook slid off his lap. Lorelei clung to the steering wheel, staring in silent wonder. Dog pressed his wet nose to the glass and whined, his doggy breath leaving a perfect circle of fog.
“Take us in closer,” Homer said. Lorelei pushed the throttle a smidge, just enough to move them forward a few yards until the dragon head stood directly before them. Homer yanked the anchor lever. Four feet sprang out from the bottom of the submarine, anchoring it into place.
The cold blue water provided a perfect view. The dragon’s head had been carved from an enormous timber. One eye held what looked like a ball of yellow glass; the other eye was closed, as if the dragon were winking. Its long snout was upturned, and its mane stood erect as if caught in a windstorm. Intricate scales ran down the long neck, which disappeared into the sand.
“It’s a figurehead,” Homer realized.
“Oh, that’s a cool word,” Hercules said. “It’s a nautical term for a carved full-length figure or bust that’s built into the bow of a sailing ship.”
“But where’s the rest of the ship?” Homer asked.
“There is no rest of the ship,” Lorelei said. “The riddle is about a dragon, not a ship. Rumpold buried the figurehead on purpose.”
Dog whimpered and scratched on the glass. But his nostrils didn’t quiver. His nose didn’t twitch. There was no treasure scent for him to detect. Even so, Homer was certain that Rumpold’s treasure was within reach. He could feel it calling him like a Siren to a sailor. Homer. I’m waiting for you.
“Remember in the diary where Rumpold said the emperor of China gave her a yellow ball of dragon’s saliva?” Lorelei said.
Homer took a quick breath as the riddle came together. “The dragon’s eyeball! Look at it. It’s yellow and round.”
“Do you think the eyeball is the treasure?” Lorelei asked. “It can’t be actual dragon saliva. That’s ridiculous. What kind of gemstone is yellow?”
“It looks like amber to me,” Hercules said. “My mother has amber jewelry. It comes from tree resin that’s been petrified. Sometimes little creatures get preserved in it.”
“Maybe people once thought that amber was made from dragon saliva,” Homer wondered.
“Is amber a rare thing?” Lorelei asked.
Hercules shook his head. “I don’t think so. Mom has lots of it.”
“Then that eyeball can’t be the treasure,” Homer said.
“The treasure must be behind the eyeball, inside the dragon’s head,” Lorelei said.
Dog whined and pawed at the window. Then a low growl rumbled in his wrinkly neck. “It’s okay,” Homer told him with a pat. “It’s not a real dragon.”
“How do we get into the dragon’s head?” Lorelei asked. “Do you think we can use the robotic arms?”
Homer had forgotten all about the robotic arms. “It’s worth a try,” he said.
The EMPLOY ROBOTIC ARMS button was located on the console between two joysticks. When Lorelei pressed the button, an exterior compartment opened on the left side of the submarine and another on the right side of the submarine. A series of articulating rods unfolded, stretching in front of the observation window like arms. At the end of each arm, a mechanical hand awaited, its fingers lifeless.
Lorelei worked the left joystick while Homer took the right one. “I’m pretty good at this,” she said. “I’m at level eighty-five in Galaxy Games.” Homer, who’d never worked a joystick, had never heard of Galaxy Games. As Lorelei moved hers, the left hand came to life, its fingers clicking hungrily. Homer wiggled his, and the hand balled up into a fist, shot out and punched the dragon’s neck.
“Oops,” Homer said as some rotting dragon scales came loose and drifted to the seafloor. Homer wiggled the stick again, and the hand unclenched.
Lorelei managed to reach the dragon’s eyeball with her mechanical hand, but she couldn’t get the index finger and thumb to cooperate. They snapped at the eyeball like a crab’s pincher. That’s when Homer’s ha
nd balled up into another fist and punched Lorelei’s hand.
“Watch it,” she grumbled. She tried to grab the eyeball again, but the fingers simply slid off. “It can’t get a grip. The ball is too smooth.” She let go of the joystick and spun the seat around. “Someone will have to swim out there,” she said, poking her finger into Homer’s chest. “And since I can’t swim and since Hercules has to take notes, you’ll have to do it. It’s the only way. How long can you hold your breath?”
“I don’t know,” Homer said. He often held his breath in his sister Gwendolyn’s laboratory. The smell of roadkill was beyond disgusting. “I’ve never timed it.”
“Well, you look like you’ve got big lungs,” she said, poking his chest again. “I bet you can hold it for at least a minute.”
“He doesn’t have to hold his breath,” Hercules said. “There’s an underwater suit in the supply locker. It’s one of those old-fashioned ones for walking along the seabed. I’ve seen them in movies.”
“Walking?” Lorelei jumped out of the seat. “Then I’m going out there.”
“Oh no you’re not,” Homer said. He ran to the locker and blocked it. Lorelei tried to push him aside. Then she threw her hands in the air.
“Are you serious? What do you think I’m going to do? Get the treasure and swim away? I don’t know how to swim, remember?”
“Maybe you do know how to swim. Maybe you’ve been lying about that,” Homer said, folding his arms. “Maybe you’ll get the treasure and swim to the surface, where Madame is supposed to be waiting for you. Maybe that’s why you didn’t want me to tell the Coast Guard where we are?”
“For the millionth time, Homer, I’m not working with her.” She stomped her foot. “It feels really bad when your questing partners don’t trust you. What do I have to do to get you to believe me?”
“If you didn’t give Madame our coordinates, then who did? Huh?”
“I… I… I don’t know.”
Homer’s gaze fell upon the embroidered FOUND on Lorelei’s pink jumpsuit. Beware the lost and found. No one had to remind him. He would never ever give her another chance to trick him. “Stay here with Hercules. I’m going to get the treasure.”
Smells Like Pirates Page 18
