Smells Like Pirates

by Suzanne Selfors

  “I’ve flown in a cloudcopter,” Homer said.

  “Yes, but a cloudcopter has an engine,” Hercules pointed out. “And a steering wheel.”

  “Why do you worry about everything?” Lorelei asked. “Don’t tell me you have some kind of phobia about hot air balloons.”

  “Not exactly. I mean, I don’t have globophobia, which is fear of balloons, and I don’t have megaglobophobia, which is fear of really big balloons. I don’t have aerophobia, which is fear of flying, but I am afraid that we might drift into something and get crushed, or we might drift into something sharp and get impaled. Or the balloon might overinflate and explode and—”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, let’s go!” The scaffold rocked as Lorelei stomped her foot.

  As difficult as it was going to be to persuade Hercules to get into that hot air balloon, it was going to be more difficult to persuade Dog. At least Hercules wouldn’t lie on the ground like an overstuffed bag of grain, refusing to cooperate. Or maybe he would.

  “You and I could fly the balloon and then come back and get Dog and Hercules,” Homer suggested.

  “That will take way too long,” Lorelei said. “Besides, we’d have to wait for the building to open, and then how would we get past that woman with the cat-eye glasses?” Her points seemed valid. There was no way out but up. “Why are you just standing there? Rumpold’s treasure is waiting!”

  In order to get Dog onto the scaffold, he had to be blindfolded. Homer tore a strip of fabric from Angus MacDoodle’s pillowcase and wrapped it over Dog’s eyes. Dog struggled, shaking his head and body. “It’s okay,” Homer told his furry friend. “We’ve done crazy things before, and we’ve always survived.” Although that was the truth, it didn’t seem to comfort Dog. He stuck his nose into Homer’s sleeve and whined.

  Once Homer was balanced on the scaffold, Hercules lifted Dog and slid him onto the wooden planks. While Homer whispered comforting words in Dog’s ear, Hercules climbed on board. Then he and Lorelei pulled on the ropes. As the scaffold began its slow ascent, the rigging squeaked ominously.

  “Don’t look down,” Hercules warned. “You could get vertigo, which is a terrible sense of dizziness. I got vertigo once just from thinking about being up high.”

  “I won’t look down,” Homer said, his eyes focused on Dog’s brown head. He’d been in some very high places, like the top of Ajitabh’s tower, where the cloudcopters landed. And he’d stood in the open doorway of Hercules’s plane, staring down at Mushroom Island. But dangling from the side of a thirty-story building wasn’t a stunt for the fainthearted.

  “Heights don’t scare me,” Lorelei said. “Before I lived in the soup warehouse, I climbed dozens of fire escape ladders.”

  “Why’d you do that?” Hercules asked.

  “So I could have a place to sleep.” There was no embarrassment in her statement. Some people might not want to admit that they’d been homeless or that they’d slept on other people’s balconies, but Lorelei was not one of those people. She wasn’t ashamed of the humble places she’d lived.

  Homer’s cheeks flushed red as he remembered the time he’d been ashamed of his family’s small farmhouse. There’d been a new student in school. She’d been real nice to him on that first day, and he’d desperately wanted to impress her. So he told her he lived in the biggest house in Milkydale. She found out the truth, of course. Sure, the Puddings’ little farmhouse wasn’t anything like Hercules’s palace, which was so big you could actually get lost in it, but it was a home. Lorelei had never had a home.

  As much as he distrusted Lorelei, Homer felt a twinge of respect. She was a kid and she’d survived on her own. It was an amazing feat.

  “Don’t look down, don’t look down,” Hercules chanted as he pulled the ropes.

  Homer tightened his grip around Dog. What if someone looked out the window and noticed them on the scaffold? Would that person call the police? But there was probably no chance of that happening, since morning was still a few hours away. So Homer tried not to worry, focusing on the task at hand.

  With a unified sigh of relief, they reached the top of the dome. Hercules transferred Dog safely onto the platform. “There’s no railing up here,” he said. “That’s terribly dangerous.”

  The balloon’s passenger basket was held in place by bungee cords. An electrical cord, plugged into an external outlet, trailed over the basket’s rim and into the basket itself, where a fan pushed air into the hovering balloon. Four ropes attached the balloon to its basket.

  “Lulu Bell’s balloon,” Homer said quietly. He’d read a lot of treasure-hunting history books, paying particular attention to the chapters dedicated to mapmakers. If he’d been in a museum, he would have walked around the balloon, admiring the beautiful painting of the continents across its silk surface. He would have imagined Lulu Bell flying into unexplored canyons, her hair blowing in the wind, her drawing pad perched on her knees, as she created some of the most beautiful, detailed maps in the world. But this was not a museum, and all he could think about was the edge of the platform. He kept a tight hold on Dog’s collar.

  “So, how do these things work?” Lorelei asked as she climbed into the basket.

  “Hot air,” Hercules said, clutching the basket’s rim.

  “Duh. I knew that much,” Lorelei said. As she leaned over the fan, her hair flew straight up. “But this air is cold.” Then she bumped her head on a little tank that was suspended from the center of the balloon. “Hey, this says propane. I wonder…” She reached for the red button on the bottom of the tank.

  Homer took a quick breath. “Uh, Lorelei, I don’t think you should—”

  Ignoring Homer’s warning, she pushed the button. Whoosh! A flame shot out of the tank and up into the balloon, lighting it like a Chinese lantern.

  “That’s how they do it,” she said with a satisfied grin. She pushed the button again and the flame stopped. Then she turned off the fan and handed it to Hercules. “Come on. Get in.”

  “Shouldn’t we talk about this?” Hercules asked as he set the fan on the platform.

  “What’s to talk about? We’re here. Let’s go.”

  “I mean, shouldn’t we have some sort of plan?”

  “The plan is to get off this building and back onto the ground,” Lorelei said.

  “Yes, but—”

  “It’s our only way down,” Homer reminded him as he climbed in.

  Hercules lifted Dog over the rim, then joined them. Without the fan, the balloon had begun to slowly deflate, and part of it draped over Hercules’s head. He dropped his notebook onto the floor, then raised his arms to hold up the balloon.

  Lorelei smiled at him. “Hercules is holding up the world,” she said. “Just like in the myth.”

  On the basket’s floor, Dog shook his head and pawed at the blindfold until it came free. Because the basket was deep enough to block Dog’s view, Homer left the blindfold off. He turned his attention to the propane tank.

  “We need to inflate the balloon,” he said. “Stand aside.” Lorelei and Hercules pressed against the side of the basket as Homer pushed the red button. The flame shot upward, and the balloon expanded. The basket wobbled, straining against the bungee cords, as the balloon lifted to its full height. “Flame on, we float. Flame off, we sink. This shouldn’t be too complicated,” Homer said.

  Hercules gripped one of the ropes. “Let’s hope those don’t become your famous last words.”

  Famous last words is a phrase well known to those in the treasure-hunting community. Chapter 15 in The Worst Ways to End a Treasure Hunt is dedicated to famous last words. Here are some examples:

  “I’m most certain there’s no quicksand around here. In fact, I’d bet my life on it.”

  —Elvis Flutt, mapmaker

  “Rhinoceroses are harmless beasts. Let’s go pet one.”

  —Sir Bellamy Whistle, debonair adventurer

  “These berries are too delicious to be poisonous…. Ackkkkkkk.”

  —Pr
incess Agatha of Russia, amateur anthropologist

  Homer hoped that a new edition would not be printed to include:

  “Flame on, we float. Flame off, we sink. This shouldn’t be too complicated.”

  —Homer W. Pudding, big dummy

  “We’ll keep the flame going until we’re past the skyscrapers,” he said. “Then we’ll turn it off and drift to the ground.” He was trying to keep his voice steady, not only for himself but for Hercules, whose eyes were as wide as teacups. With a nod, Homer and Lorelei unhooked the bungee cords.

  As the basket rose, Dog pushed between Homer’s shins. A rush of fear took Homer’s breath for a moment, but it was quickly replaced by amazement. This wasn’t anything like flying in the cloudcopter, which vibrated and tilted upon liftoff. This ride was as smooth as a sigh escaping from someone’s body.

  Far above the skyscraper roofs, Homer turned off the flame. On the horizon, the faintest tint of pink heralded the arrival of Tuesday morning. The kids peered over the basket’s edge. The bird’s-eye view revealed The City’s mazelike construction. It reminded Homer of something his little brother might build with blocks on the kitchen floor.

  “Watch out!” Hercules cried. Homer whipped around. A building rushed toward them. Correction—they rushed toward a building. How had they lost height that quickly? Behind one of the apartment windows, a man stood in his bathrobe at his kitchen counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee, too sleepy to notice what was going on outside. Lorelei lunged for the red button and pushed it. Whoosh! They rose but not quite fast enough. The basket bumped into a balcony, upsetting a pot of geraniums.

  “That was close,” Homer said as they rose above the building.

  “Too close,” Hercules said.

  “Hey, there’s the speedboat.” Lorelei pointed as the balloon drifted toward the edge of City Park. The park was much bigger than Homer had realized. The lake was the central focus, with the Museum of Natural History at one end and a channel at the other. The channel led to a river, which led to the sea, which led to Rumpold’s treasure.

  “Couldn’t we land here?” Hercules asked.

  “I don’t know.” Lorelei circled around the basket, getting a full view. “There are trees everywhere. We’d get tangled for sure.”

  “Does this thing float?” Hercules asked. “If it does, we could land in the lake.”

  “That would ruin Lulu Bell’s balloon,” Homer said. The balloon was a precious piece of mapmaking history. He didn’t want to be responsible for its destruction.

  “And I can’t swim,” Lorelei said.

  “You can’t swim?” Hercules yanked his notebook from Dog’s mouth. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.” She pouted at him. “You got a problem with that?”

  “No, I don’t have a problem with that. I’m just surprised. I mean, it seems like you can do all sorts of things. Swimming isn’t hard. Are you afraid of the water? That’s called aquaphobia.”

  “No, I’m not afraid of the water,” Lorelei snapped. “I just never learned.”

  Homer ducked as a tree branch nearly gouged his face. “Hey, Lorelei, we need hot air again.”

  She pushed the button, but no flame came out. “Uh, guys, I think we have a little problem.” She pushed the button again and again. “Okay, so it’s a big problem.”

  The bottom of the basket skimmed the top of a tree, then lifted off and skimmed another and another, like a rock skipping across a pond. Lorelei kept punching the button, but the flame didn’t awaken.

  “We must be out of fuel,” she said. Dog pressed against Homer as the basket skimmed across two more trees and then, with a jarring motion, stopped. They were stuck.

  Hercules stepped toward Homer, but as he did, the basket tipped.

  “Stop moving,” Lorelei ordered, holding out her arms like a tightrope walker. “Don’t anyone move.”

  And so they stood there, balancing on top of a tree like a little hat on Gertrude’s head. South America and Australia began to shrink as the balloon slowly deflated.

  “We can’t stand like this forever,” Hercules said from the corner of his mouth. He raised his hands to hold up the world. The basket wobbled.

  “Don’t move,” Lorelei ordered again. But while Homer and Hercules understood the reason for not moving, Dog had no idea what was going on. Since he was only one foot tall, he couldn’t see over the top of the basket. And because he couldn’t see over the top of the basket, he was not privy to the unfolding events. This was a common theme in his life. While the world at ground level was one he could keep track of, the world above the counter and tabletops was often a total mystery.

  So he ambled toward Homer.

  The basket tilted. Lorelei squealed.

  “Stay,” Homer said. “Stay, Dog, stay.” Dog turned around and ambled toward Lorelei. The basket tilted in her direction.

  “Stay!” she ordered. Dog stopped for a moment and cocked his head. Homer knew Dog understood the command stay, so it wasn’t a matter of comprehension. It was a matter of mood. Was he in the mood to stay or was he in the mood to get his rump scratched?

  “Ur.” He twisted his long body and scratched at a flea. The basket shook. Then he straightened and walked a few more steps toward Lorelei.

  “Oh no,” she said as the basket tilted farther. A branch cracked. Dog lost his footing and slid toward Lorelei. Lorelei lunged at Homer, who stood on the opposite side. But her attempt to balance the basket didn’t work, because that was when, with a crumpling sound, the silk balloon folded in on itself and collapsed onto a neighboring tree, draping across it like a scarf. And pulling the basket onto its side.

  Spilling the basket’s contents into the treetops.

  Dog!” Homer cried.

  He grabbed Dog by the collar just before they were cast out of the basket. Somewhere to his right, Lorelei screamed. As did Hercules. But where were they? All Homer could see was a blanket of leaves so thick it looked as if he and Dog could walk right across it. He held his breath, not daring to move. If only this moment could be suspended in time. But gravity, the enemy of those perched at the top of a tree, took control of the situation. A branch broke.

  “Ahhhh!” Homer cried.

  He never let go of Dog’s collar. Even as he bumped from branch to branch, even as his sleeve tore and his eyes were nearly gouged out, he held on tight. Down, down, down they tumbled. Dog yelped. A branch hit Homer’s leg; another scraped his cheek. And then he landed on one of the lower branches, Dog in his lap. They’d stopped falling. Homer breathed a sigh of relief as he caught his balance. All was still. All was safe.

  But then Dog lifted his leg to scratch a flea, throwing them off balance again, and they fell the last few feet to the ground.

  Lorelei and Hercules had already landed. “Everyone okay?” Hercules asked.

  Homer, who lay face-first in the grass, moaned. “I think I broke my entire body.”

  Lorelei sat up and picked a caterpillar off her nose. Then she reached into her jumpsuit to check on the map. “Got it,” she said. Then she searched her pockets. “Hey, where’s my remote control?” As if it had heard her, the remote fell from the tree, landing with a thunk near Homer’s head. Lorelei grabbed it.

  From the way his legs ached, Homer knew some big bruises would soon be making their appearances. He shook leaves from his hair, then got onto his knees and checked on Dog. This was the second time this summer that his best friend had fallen from the sky. “Please be okay,” Homer pleaded under his breath. Dog lay on his side. His belly rose and fell with steady breaths, so that was a very good sign, but otherwise he wasn’t moving. Homer ran his hands over Dog’s back and down each of his legs. Nothing seemed broken. “Dog?”

  “Maybe he just got the wind knocked out of him,” Lorelei said as she knelt next to Homer.

  “But he’s not waking up.” Dog’s ear was flopped back onto the grass so that its soft inside was exposed. Homer gently stroked the ear. “Wake up, Dog.”

  Hercu
les crawled over. “If he’s knocked out, it’s probably a concussion, which is a traumatic brain injury. Concussion comes from the Latin concutere, which means ‘to shake violently.’ ”

  “Why do you always talk like you’re in the middle of a spelling bee?” Lorelei asked. “What’s the matter with you? It’s weird.”

  “I like words,” Hercules said with a shrug. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Traumatic brain injury?” Homer repeated, his stomach tightening. Dog’s brain wasn’t very big, and because of his lack of smell, he already had trouble when it came to finding his way back home, knowing which foods to eat, and knowing who was friend or foe. A conk on the head could add more troubles. A rush of emotion overtook Homer, and he grabbed Dog’s shoulder and shook him, pleading, “Dog! Wake up!” Dog’s jowls jiggled as Homer shook again. “Wake! Up!” Please, please, please, please…

  “Ur.” Dog opened one eye. Then he sneezed and a caterpillar shot out his nostril.

  “Disgusting,” Lorelei said as the caterpillar whizzed past.

  “Dog?” Homer gushed. “Are you okay?” Dog raised his head and thwapped his tail against Hercules’s knee. Then with a grunt, he rolled onto his paws and stood. Homer threw his arms around Dog’s thick middle and hugged. “I’ll never let you fall out of a hot air balloon again. I promise.”

  Lorelei scrambled to her feet. “Since we’re all okay, we’d better get going.”

  Homer and Hercules wiped the last bits of leaves and caterpillars from their clothes. While Hercules gathered his notebook and pen, Homer picked a twig from his hair. “We’ve destroyed Lulu Bell’s balloon,” he said sadly.

  “It’s fine, just deflated. I’ll send a harmonic crystal to the Map of the Month Club. That will cover the cost of any repairs.” Lorelei started across the park. “Come on. It’s a long walk back to the speedboat.”

  Homer grabbed Dog’s leash and followed Lorelei. “I can’t believe I didn’t break anything,” he told Hercules.