“I figured it out,” she said mysteriously.
“Why are you lying to everyone?” Homer asked. “Why are you doing this?” She flicked a piece of kelp off her shoe. Then she looked away. “Lorelei? Why are you doing this?”
“Because I need L.O.S.T.”
“Why?”
“You know why.” She crammed her hands into her jean pockets. “I want to be a famous treasure hunter.”
“But you don’t need L.O.S.T. You’ve got the lair and all of Madame’s stuff—her treasure-hunting equipment, her speedboat, her gadgets—everything.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got your treasure-smelling dog. That is a million times better than any gadgets.”
A clam shot water right into Dog’s nose. He shook his head and sneezed.
Lorelei picked up her backpack and leaped out of the way as a wave washed over Homer’s brand-new boots. Not a drop of seawater managed to seep inside.
“It doesn’t matter if one of us needs L.O.S.T. more than the other. What matters is that it’s my birthright, not yours.” Homer clenched his fists. “That coin belongs to me. Uncle Drake’s chair belongs to me. You had no right to come here.”
“I can go wherever I want,” she said. “It’s a free country.”
They looked into each other’s eyes, equally determined thrusts to their chins. He remembered when he’d first met her. How she’d given him and Dog free tomato soup from her soup cart and how she’d given them a tour of The City. She’d been so nice.
He tried, but he couldn’t keep the words from bursting out. “I thought you were my friend!” Dog, hearing Homer’s despair, pressed against his leg.
In the dusky light, Lorelei’s pink hair was the brightest spot on the beach. But with Homer’s words, her face turned beet red. She turned away. Homer’s heart pounded in his ears. Another wave washed over his boots. Dog scampered from the wave and wandered to the dry sand, where he picked up another piece of driftwood.
Neither Homer nor Lorelei said anything for a long while. What else could Homer say? He’d told her how he felt. And she didn’t seem to care. Daisy the rat scurried along the water’s edge, then crawled up Lorelei’s pant leg and perched on her shoulder. The rat stared at Homer, her nose twitching. I remember you, Daisy seemed to say.
“Homer! Lorelei!” Zelda called from the sandy bank. “It’s time.”
Lorelei turned quickly. “Look, Homer, only one of us can win, so why don’t we make a pact?”
Homer narrowed his eyes. “What kind of pact?”
“If I win, then you can come and stay at the lair with me. We’ll have L.O.S.T. to help us and we’ll have Dog. Imagine how much stuff we could find if we worked together. It would be the greatest partnership ever.”
“Is that what you want? To be my partner?”
“It’s an idea.” She folded her arms. “What do you think?”
A breeze whistled across Homer’s ears. He might have considered a partnership, but not now. Not after the lies she’d told to the membership. How could he trust her? “I don’t want to be your partner. But if I promise to let you come on my quest with me, would you go back in there and tell them the truth?”
“Oh, you’re going to let me come on your quest? Do I get to carry the equipment? Do I get to make the coffee or scoop Dog’s poop?”
“That’s not—”
“I’ve never had anything, Homer. Don’t you get that?” She kicked a clamshell, almost knocking Daisy the rat off her shoulder in the process. “I want everyone to know who I am. All those people who passed me in the street and never bothered to buy soup. All those people who told me to get out of their way. Who never bothered to ask if I needed any help.” Her voice caught for a moment. “L.O.S.T. will help me become famous.”
“But you can’t tell anyone about L.O.S.T.”
“I know that. But L.O.S.T. will give me a better chance of finding treasure. I’ll be rich.”
“You have to take a vow,” he said. “If you join L.O.S.T., there’s a vow that you won’t use your treasure for fortune. You have to give it to a museum or a university, so everyone can enjoy it.”
Lorelei chewed on her lower lip. “You’d do that?” she asked. “If you found treasure, you’d give it up?”
“Yes. That’s the point. It would be for everyone.”
“Homer! Lorelei!” Hercules ran across the sand, his helmet wobbling. “The meeting has resumed. You’d better get back in there before Lord Mockingbird has a stroke.” He glanced nervously at Lorelei’s rat, then at the ocean. “You shouldn’t stand so close to the water. Rogue waves are a well-known phenomenon. They swoop right in and take you out to sea.” He ran back toward Zelda’s cottage.
“Are you going to tell them the truth?” Homer asked Lorelei.
She said nothing.
“Then you’re not my friend anymore.”
If words had a flavor, those words would taste as sour as goat milk that had been left out in the hot sun. It hurt Homer to utter such sour words, but what hurt him even more, as Lorelei stomped off, was the suspicion that she didn’t much care.
Inside the kitchen they stood side by side, awaiting their fate. Homer, in his professional adventurer gear, his loyal dog at his feet. Lorelei, in her jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers, her thieving rat on her shoulder.
The faces that looked up from the kitchen table could have been members of a firing squad. Would they shoot him down, right there and then? Did he have a chance against Lorelei? Zelda gave Homer a reassuring nod, but she nervously wrung her hands.
Lord Mockingbird, perched at the top of the phone book pile, waved a skeletal hand in the air. “Get on with it,” he snarled.
Hercules cleared his throat and read from a piece of paper. “Let it be known that during the seventy-ninth meeting of the Society of Legends, Objects, Secrets, and Treasures, two individuals, Homer Winslow Pudding and Lorelei…” Hercules paused. “Have you chosen a last name?”
“Not yet,” she said.
He continued. “Homer Winslow Pudding and Lorelei have each placed a claim on Drake Pudding’s chair. In accordance with Inheritance Bylaw 18.2, the current president, His Honor Lord Mockingbird the Eighteenth, has created a challenge for the competitors.”
Lord Mockingbird had created the challenge? Both Homer and Lorelei shared a quick glance. Lord Mockingbird might have been a great mapmaker in his day, but now he was clearly feeble of both mind and body. Maybe that was an advantage. Maybe the challenge would be super easy.
Hercules continued. “In accordance with His Lordship’s instructions, His Lordship will be the only person to know the whereabouts of the membership coin, which he will hide somewhere on the planet.”
Somewhere on the planet? Homer ground his teeth. That didn’t narrow things down. But he knew one thing—that if he could find the place, then Dog would take over and sniff out the coin.
“Three clues to the coin’s location will be delivered to both competitors tomorrow at noon,” Hercules said. “Opening the clues before noon will result in disqualification.”
Dr. Gertrude Magnum, her jewels glinting in the lamplight, smiled sweetly at Lorelei and Homer. Jeremiah Carson, however, leaned on the table and scowled. “I want to make sure this here’s a fair deal. You’ll give the same three clues to each kid?”
“Don’t bother me with details,” Lord Mockingbird said.
Lorelei stepped closer to the table. “If this is supposed to be fair, then Homer can’t take his dog with him.”
Homer’s mouth fell open.
“Wh… wh… why can’t he… he… he…” Professor Thick struggled to finish the sentence. “T… t… take the dog?”
Lorelei tapped her sneakers on the wooden floor. She pursed her lips. Was she going to tell? Surely she wouldn’t, because if she told Homer’s secret then he’d tell her secret. The authorities would sweep into the lair and take all the stuff that Madame la Directeur had stolen and all the stuff she’d created. A self-destruct button was a very
dangerous piece of equipment that no one, especially not a twelve-year-old kid, should own.
“He shouldn’t take the dog because…” Lorelei’s shoulders slumped. “Because my rat can’t carry as many things as his dog.”
“That’s a good point,” Dr. Gertrude Magnum said. “We do want this to be fair.”
“If the girl wants a dog, then she can go get herself a dog,” Jeremiah Carson said. “Nothing’s stoppin’ her.”
“Exactamundo,” Lord Mockingbird said, pounding a withered hand on the table. “Enough blathering.”
Lorelei stuffed her hands into her jean pockets. Homer smiled victoriously. He would have patted Dog’s head, but Dog had once again settled beneath Lord Mockingbird’s chair.
“Is the meeting adjourned?” Gertrude Magnum asked, her bracelets jingling as she raised her hand. “I would like to get home to my cave fish. They so miss me when I’m gone. I make a motion that we adjourn the meeting.”
“You’re a flibbertigibbet,” Lord Mockingbird said. Then he smiled a toothless smile. “Membership Bylaw 30.3. Read it.”
Hercules searched through a pile of papers until he found Membership Bylaw 30.3. “In the event that the competitors are under the age of sixteen, and therefore cannot legally drive or fly their own vehicle, a current member of L.O.S.T. will be chosen to act as a guardian for each competitor. This guardian will provide transportation for the competitor and will do whatever necessary to ensure the underage competitor’s safety and that the underage competitor does not cheat. However, the guardian cannot supply the competitor with the answer to the challenge.”
Homer looked down the table. He couldn’t believe his luck. He’d choose Zelda, of course, and then he’d have access to her cloudcopter. “I choose Zelda,” he cried, his hand shooting into the air.
“No way! I choose Zelda,” Lorelei said.
“I said it first.”
“So?”
“Zelda,” Homer said confidently, “of course you’ll help me, right? Not Lorelei.”
Zelda opened her mouth, but Lord Mockingbird silenced her. “Quiet! Too much jibber jabber.” His little legs dangled off the edge of the phone book stack. “Bylaw 50.7.”
Hercules found Bylaw 50.7. “In the event that two underage competitors request the same guardian, then names will be drawn from a hat.”
Lord Mockingbird held out his black top hat.
“What?” Homer and Lorelei blurted at the same time.
“I beg your pardon?” Zelda said. “Surely it makes sense that I act as Homer’s guardian. I am, after all, responsible for the boy. His parents sent him to stay with me for the week.”
“Bylaws,” Lord Mockingbird said, pointing a shaky finger down the table. He grabbed a piece of paper, yanked the quill from Hercules’s hand, and, leaning so close to the paper that his nose almost touched it, he scribbled some words. Then he tore the paper into pieces and dumped the pieces into his top hat. “Choose,” he said, holding out the hat to Lorelei.
Homer was beginning to suspect that Lord Mockingbird was another person who did not want him to join L.O.S.T. Shouldn’t mapmakers stick together?
Daisy the rat, still perched on Lorelei’s shoulder, stopped cleaning her tail and peered curiously into the hat. Lorelei squeezed her eyes closed, then reached inside. Sweeping her fingers through the pieces of paper, she whispered, “Please oh please oh please.” Then she pulled one out. Her eyes widened as she looked at the paper. A huge grin spread across her face. “Zelda!” she cried, holding the paper out so everyone could see. “I got Zelda. Fair and square.”
Homer, feeling sick to his stomach, leaned against the wall. Color drained from Zelda’s already pale face and her shoulders slumped. She didn’t bother to push her long silver hair from her eyes. Surely she wouldn’t help Homer’s enemy? Because that’s what Lorelei had become. “Zelda?” Homer asked.
She sighed, pain pulling at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “I’m sorry, Homer. I am a sworn member of L.O.S.T. I must respect the bylaws.”
Homer held back tears. He refused to cry. But this was a terrible turn of events.
“Well I’ll be,” Jeremiah Carson said quietly. “I sure feel sorry for ya, Homer. You got a bum deal, no doubt about it. But maybe you’ll get my name. If you get my name, then we’ll be sure to win what’s rightfully yours. We won’t stop till the fat lady sings.”
“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Gertrude Magnum said with a snort.
“If… if… if you get my… my… my name,” Professor Thick said, rubbing one of his large ears. “I’ll help… help… help.”
Torch said nothing.
“Get a move on.” Lord Mockingbird shook his top hat, then held it out again. Lorelei stepped aside, still smirking at her piece of paper.
Everyone waited, gazes darting between the top hat and Homer. Only Dog didn’t watch, his eyes closed, his chin resting on the floor. Homer closed his eyes, reached out, and stuck his hand into the hat. As his fingers shuffled through the papers, he thought about Dr. Gertrude Magnum. She was an expert on caves, which could come in handy. One might assume that because she wore so much jewelry, she was the kind of person who didn’t like getting dirty. But Homer’s gaze rested on her hands. They looked kind of like a farmer’s hands—stained, the nails chipped and crammed with flecks of dirt that wouldn’t come out even after a good scrubbing. Clearly she’d climbed and dug her way into caves. She wasn’t afraid of hard work. It might not be so bad drawing her name from the hat.
He thought about Professor Thaddius Thick, who seemed like a nice person. Homer didn’t know much about Egyptology, so having Professor Thick around could also come in handy. But imagine how long it would take for the professor to explain something.
He certainly didn’t want Torch. She clearly despised him. That left Jeremiah Carson, Homer’s best option. Jeremiah was an outdoorsman, evidenced by his tanned and weathered skin. His broad shoulders and muscular forearms indicated strength, which Homer could use. And he seemed to genuinely like Homer.
Please oh please oh please, he thought, his fingers grasping a piece of paper. Then he opened his eyes and read the name.
And read it again.
19
The Name From the Hat
Hercules?” He turned the paper to the other side, then turned it back. “Hercules?”
Hercules stopped writing. “Me?”
Lorelei’s laugh ended in a snort. “You got stuck with the kid in the helmet.”
“But Hercules is the records keeper,” Homer said, his face scrunched in desperation. He thrust the piece of paper at Lord Mockingbird. “He’s not an adventurer. And he’s only fourteen.”
“Me?” Hercules said again. “No, not me. I take notes.”
“He takes notes,” Homer said, nodding like a bobblehead doll. “Notes. That’s what he does.”
“What a relief,” Torch said, leaning close to Professor Thick. “Last thing I want to do is help one of those sniveling brats.”
“Lord Mockingbird,” Zelda said, leaning across the table. “Hercules is not an adult. Surely it is better to have an adult act as Homer’s guardian.”
Lord Mockingbird grunted. “He’s old enough. And he took the oath of membership.”
Hercules sank into his chair. “I did. I took the oath.”
“But he is not old enough for a driver’s license,” Zelda pointed out.
“He’s got that butler who’s always driving him everywhere,” Lord Mockingbird said. “That’ll do.”
A dizzy sensation grabbed hold of Homer’s head. He closed his eyes for a minute and steadied himself with a hand on the wall. At the speed of light it was all going terribly wrong. Hercules was scared of everything. A quivery shell filled with fear. How could he possibly do what might need to be done?
“We’ll get the clues tomorrow?” Lorelei asked. “At noon?”
“Indubitably,” Lord Mockingbird said.
Lorelei folded her arms. “I don’t want Homer here when I get
the clues. I’m real good at figuring things out and I don’t want him following me.”
“Me? Following you?” Homer said.
“Yeah. That’s right. So you go to Hercules’s house and wait for the clues there.”
“Rectified!” Lord Mockingbird shouted. “Meeting adjourned.”
“Tough break, kid,” Jeremiah Carson said. “Well, I’d better be heading on down the trail. My doggies are plumb tired out, and it’s a long way to Montana.” Then he shook Homer’s hand. “Take care of yourself, kid. I sure hope I’ll be seeing ya at future meetings.” He gave Lorelei a nod, then headed down the hallway.
“Wait,” Homer called, not about to give up. He pleaded with Lord Mockingbird. “But Hercules is afraid of my dog. How can we go on a quest together?”
The remaining pieces of torn paper floated onto Lord Mockingbird’s shoulders as he plunked the top hat onto his head. Then he stretched his withered legs and slid off the phone books. Standing, he only reached Homer’s waist. “Toodle-loo.”
“No, wait,” Homer begged. Dog crawled out from under the chair and watched as the little man scurried away.
Gertrude Magnum rose from her chair. Her earrings swayed as she squeezed herself around the table. “Best of luck to you,” she said, patting Homer on the shoulder. Then to Lorelei she said, “And best of luck to you, my dear. It would be nice to have another female onboard. There are so few of us in the treasure-hunting community.”
Torch walked past with only the briefest of glances. “Whatever,” she said as she carried her hawk down the hall.
Professor Thick scratched his beard. “Does… does… doesn’t seem right. Dray… Dray… Drake wouldn’t have liked this.” He got up from his chair and walked around the table, where he shook Homer’s hand. He opened his mouth to say something else but changed his mind, shrugged, and headed down the hallway.
Zelda’s front door closed.
For a moment, no one in the kitchen spoke. Homer leaned against the wall, Dog at his feet. Zelda sat perfectly still, her eyes focused on her fingers as she strummed them on the table. Lorelei petted her rat. Hercules read and reread the bylaws.
Smells Like Treasure Page 11
