“Watch out!” Hercules cried as a tugboat honked its horn. Homer was about to yank the steering wheel, but the autopilot did it for him, avoiding a collision.
“It’s crowded,” Homer said with surprise. They passed barges carrying lumber. A ship stacked with huge metal containers sat at a dock, where an orange crane unloaded the cargo into waiting trucks. As a cruise ship glided past, its passengers leaned over the railing and stared at the strange submarine. Sailboats, speedboats, and fishing boats joined the parade. Speckles appeared now and then, circling the sub like a border collie.
“Hey, I think he’s guiding us,” Homer said.
When they reached the junction of the river and the ocean, the waves grew choppy. After a few minutes of turbulence, the water calmed and brilliant blue spread before them all the way to the horizon.
“Wow,” Hercules said.
“Look, Lorelei, it’s the ocean.”
But Lorelei didn’t look.
The Seaweed Processing Biofuel Unit began to hum, and as it did, the fuel meter changed from half full to nearly full. “It must be sucking in seaweed,” Homer said. “And turning it to fuel.”
“Cool,” Hercules said.
What was really cool was seeing above and below the water at the same time. Schools of fish swam past, darting and weaving in a synchronized dance. Seagulls rested on the surface, their orange feet gently treading water. Speckles swam into view, his red ball balanced on his nose. Then he stopped and stared into the distance. A shudder ran through his body. Was he hearing the call of the vast ocean? He’d lived in a zoo all his life. Was he feeling the thrill of freedom?
His ball forgotten, Speckles darted off, his tail waving as if saying good-bye.
“I think Speckles is leaving,” Homer said.
“What?” Lorelei pushed Dog aside and darted to her feet. “Speckles?” She rapped her knuckles on the glass, louder and louder. “Speckles! Don’t leave without saying good-bye. Speckles!”
The whale shark turned around and swam back. He circled the sub, then pressed an eye against the glass, right where Lorelei stood.
“Go,” she whispered with a trembling voice. “Go be free.” She waved sadly. Speckles circled one last time. Then his massive polka-dot body gradually faded into the distance, as if he’d turned into water. Lorelei sighed.
“I bet he’s happy,” Hercules said.
“Yeah, I bet he is,” Homer agreed.
“Have a good life,” Lorelei said quietly. Then she sat in the other seat, her bare feet resting on the console. “If you drive this slowly, we’ll never get there.”
“I’ve got the throttle pushed all the way forward,” Homer explained.
“Well, it’s not fast enough,” Lorelei complained, folding her arms. “We have to go faster.”
Even though Homer was glad Lorelei was no longer grieving in the corner, he didn’t entirely welcome the reunion with her bossy side. “How am I supposed to go faster?” he asked.
“What about this?” Hercules asked as he opened a small compartment on the console. Inside, a button was labeled HYPER-SPEED. “Hyper is a Greek word,” Hercules explained. “It means ‘excessive.’ ”
“Hyper works for me.” Lorelei reached out with her finger, but Homer grabbed her wrist.
“Uh, shouldn’t we talk about this?” he asked. “That sounds really fast.” While it was reassuring to have the autopilot at the helm, what would happen if the autopilot failed? Lorelei was a city girl. Hercules lived in a gated private community. Homer was a farm boy. Not a drop of sea blood could be found in any of their veins. “Maybe we should rethink this.”
Lorelei raised her eyebrows and stared at Homer. Hercules nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Dog snored. “Rethink? Are you serious?”
He was serious. They were about to do something very dangerous, and danger was not Homer’s middle name.
But then again, everything he’d done since his uncle’s death had led up to this moment.
Lorelei and Hercules watched Homer carefully, waiting for his response.
He closed his eyes, filling his mind with an image of Uncle Drake. You can do this, his uncle’s voice whispered. You’re my nephew. You’re a Pudding through and through. Homer’s eyes flew open, and he smacked his hand on his thigh. “Let’s do it!” He reached out and jabbed the button.
It was just like one of those science-fiction movies where the captain says, “Warp speed ahead.” The view through the observation window went blurry as the submarine jolted forward. Homer and Lorelei, who’d forgotten to fasten their seat belts, tumbled out of their seats, ending up on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Dog, who didn’t have the luxury of a seat belt, flew across the sub and landed on Homer’s chest. Wham! It was pretty much like having a meteor fall from the sky. Homer wheezed as his breath shot from his lungs.
After checking to make sure Dog wasn’t hurt, Homer looked out the observation window. “Wow. We’re really moving.” The submarine cut and jumped across the sea’s surface like a dolphin gone berserk.
“I think I’m getting seasick,” Hercules announced. “Really, really seasick. Somebody better get me a bag or something.”
Dog lay on his side and moaned. His tongue hung out like a discarded dishrag. Homer’s stomach went into a knot, and a cloud of dizziness swaddled his head. “I’m getting seasick, too.”
“I bet the ride would be smoother if we went below,” Lorelei said.
“Below?” The word squeaked out of Hercules’s mouth.
“You got it.” Lorelei said as she strapped herself into a seat. “This is a submarine, remember?” She punched the button labeled SUBMERSION. Engine off, battery on, and down, down, down they went. The ride immediately settled to a smooth swoosh. The black dot on the autopilot screen blipped steadily, following its preordained path. The seasickness abated.
Time passed. Fatigue settled over the crew. Except for Dog, no one had slept since the little naps in the Office of Celestial Navigation. Hercules slid his notebook under his head and stretched out on the floor. “We’ll take shifts,” Lorelei said. “You sleep first.”
Although Homer didn’t trust her, his eyelids were heavy and his brain felt foggy. He curled up on the floor and tucked a life vest under his head. The humming of the battery, the gentle snores from Dog, and the congested wheezing from Hercules created a soothing, floating melody.
Homer drifted away until it felt as if his body were as liquid as the sea itself.
Madame la Directeur stood in the Museum of Natural History’s Grand Hall, her upper lip curled with contempt. She’d taken the basement elevator to the main floor. There was no reason for her to crawl through that spider-filled tunnel like some kind of rat. She deserved better than that. I used to rule this place, she thought. It would be nothing without me.
Morning visitors strolled around the lobby, museum maps in hand. They gazed in wonder at the Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton that reached halfway to the vaulted ceiling. They gawked at the mammoth that stood near the grand stairway and the glass-encased giant squid that spanned the length of a wall. Ticket-takers, cashiers, and museum guides busily went about their duties. Not a single employee paid any attention to the woman in the professional treasure-hunting gear who stood beneath the pterodactyl, her face hidden in the shadows of her Panama hat. I was your boss, she thought. I was your queen!
A man walked past. His name tag read MR. WOOD, MUSEUM DIRECTOR. Madame’s foot darted out. Brochures tumbled from Mr. Wood’s hands as he landed on the marble floor. His glasses flew across the room and shattered against a tyrannosaurus thighbone. How dare he try to take my place. Then, without an apology, she stepped over Mr. Wood and walked out the museum’s front doors.
As she strode down the sidewalk, she tried to make sense of her current situation. The girl had followed directions and had stolen the map from Homer Pudding’s house. The girl had continued to follow directions by agreeing to work with Gertrude and Torch. Everything up to that point had g
one as Madame had planned. But why would the girl hand the map over to Gertrude and Torch? That made no sense. She was supposed to keep it safe until Madame arrived.
It was possible that the girl was a simple creature without much intelligence. Yet she’d survived on the streets for many years, so she wasn’t stupid. She was up to something. But what?
There was no doubt what the Pudding kid was up to. He wanted the map back. What if he’d told the other L.O.S.T. members about the lair’s existence? They’d swarm the place like locusts. Madame couldn’t go back there. It would be too risky. She’d have to find a new place to live. As soon as she got her hands on Rumpold’s treasure, she’d move far from The City. Maybe to a tropical island where she could work on her tan. Why not buy an entire island? Then she could do whatever she wanted.
Madame crossed Main Street and turned onto Success Street as a police car drove past. She didn’t miss a beat of her determined steps. She’d already outsmarted them. A stack of newspapers sat on the sidewalk, the paperboy shouting, “Escaped prisoner on the loose. Read all about it.” Madame kicked the stack over as she hurried by.
It was not much farther until she reached the marina where Gertrude’s yacht was moored and where Torch was trying to piece the map together. Madame’s fingers wiggled with anticipation. Finally, after all this time, the map would be hers. And as soon as she found the treasure, L.O.S.T. would beg her to come back. They’d beg her to be their leader. And she’d laugh in their faces—I don’t need you. Then she’d give herself a new name—the Treasure Queen.
As the Treasure Queen, Madame would rule the treasure-hunting world. From her throne on her private island, she would plan future quests. She would employ an army of minions—ruthless men and women who cared not for international laws or treaties, who would stop at nothing to collect the desired treasures and bring them back to their queen. A film company would make a movie about her and then a television series, and everyone would be jealous of her riches, power, and fame. She’d license the rights to Treasure Queen action figures and bobblehead dolls—maybe start a Treasure Queen clothing line.
The train station loomed on the other side of the street. Madame wouldn’t have given the building a second glance had it not been for the man sitting on a bench just outside the station’s main entrance. The man’s feet reached only halfway to the sidewalk. He had a telescope tucked under his arm and a plaid suitcase beneath his feet.
Madame stopped so abruptly that she nearly caused a pedestrian collision. Angus MacDoodle hadn’t been seen in public in more than a decade. He was supposed to be in hiding. Why would he be in The City? “Angus?” she hollered.
Angus MacDoodle, who’d been reading the train schedule, looked across the traffic and spotted Madame. He mumbled something, slid off the bench, and hurried into the station.
Madame la Directeur gave chase, running against the traffic light and darting between taxis. “Out of my way!” she ordered, pushing people aside as she entered the building. A cacophony bounced off the brick walls. Trains whistled, espresso machines steamed, a loudspeaker announced arrivals and departures. Where was he? She cut through a line at the ticket booth, stepping on a little boy’s foot and elbowing an old lady in the process. Then she spotted him. He was about to board a train. Picking up speed, she reached out just in time to grab the telescope from beneath his arm.
Angus whipped around, his red braids soaring. “Give it back.”
“Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Tha’s none of yer business,” he said. He stepped toward her, his eyes blazing. Then he pointed to a newspaper kiosk. “The police are lookin’ for ye. Give it back or ah’ll make a fuss.”
She stepped away, her grip tightening on the telescope. Then she stepped close to a track and held the telescope over it. “I’ll drop it,” Madame threatened. “Tell me what you’re doing here or I’ll drop it and it will break into pieces.”
Angus took a sharp, worried breath. “Ye’ve always been a troublemaker. Ah was glad whin they kicked ye out of L.O.S.T. Ah never liked ye. Never.”
“Well, you’ve always been a strange little man, and I’ve never liked you, either.” She narrowed her eyes. “But you’re a hermit, and hermits don’t like cities. What are you doing here? Tell me.”
“Ah’m going away. Those kids found me. Ah dinna care nothin’ about those kids and their map.”
“Kids?” Madame raised an eyebrow. “Map?”
“Ah dinna care about it. Ah’m going far away whir no one will bother me. Where ah can watch the stars in peace.” He skirted around her and tried to grab the telescope, but she simply held her arm higher.
“Did one of the kids have pink hair?” He nodded. “And did the other kid look like he’d eaten too much birthday cake?” He nodded again. “And was there a dog?”
“Aye. A wee basset hound.”
Madame couldn’t believe her luck. Fortune, who’d been ignoring her lately, was smiling upon her once again. Had she not run into Angus, she would have wasted time with Torch, putting together a map that was obviously a fake. That Lorelei girl had proven to be a master of deceit. She’d distracted Torch and Gertrude by creating a forgery, all the while keeping the real map for herself. Perhaps the girl deserved a second chance. Such deception was admirable. She might make a good minion for the Treasure Queen.
But not the boy. Homer Pudding still had to go.
“Tell me about the map,” Madame la Directeur insisted.
Angus MacDoodle grunted, then folded his arms and glared at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “It was a celestial map,” he said. “Ah read it for them.”
A celestial map? Yes, of course. Rumpold Smeller was a pirate, a man of the seven seas. It made perfect sense that he’d chart his buried treasure by the stars. “You calculated the coordinates?”
“Aye.”
With an amused smile, Madame la Directeur relaxed her arm and held the telescope in front of Angus’s reddened face. “I’ll make you an offer. The telescope for the map’s coordinates. Do we have a deal?”
“All aboard!” a conductor yelled. “Last call for the train to Gnome. All aboard!”
“I bet the stars are beautiful in Gnome,” Madame said. “But how will you watch them without your beloved telescope?”
Angus glanced nervously over his shoulder. Then he wrapped his hands around the lens and gave Madame the coordinates.
“Are you certain they are correct?” she asked, leaning over so their noses were nearly touching. “Because I will find you if they are wrong.”
“Dinna insult me, woman.” Angry spit flew from Angus’s lips. “Ah know the stars better than anyone else in the world. Of course ah gave ye the correct coordinates.” She released her grip, and he reclaimed his telescope. Then he scurried past the conductor and climbed onto the train.
A blanket of steam surrounded Madame as she stood on the platform.
The treasure was almost hers.
Despite their progress across the ocean, Lorelei’s mood remained gloomy. Her pale, frowning face reminded Homer of Zelda, who was always draped in sadness. It’s a well-known fact that if you spend too much time with someone who is sad, you start to feel sad, too. The sadness floats around and gets in your hair and on your face. Then it seeps into your thoughts. So Homer tried to keep his brain busy by studying the console’s buttons and gadgets. At least his toxic rash was all better.
It was Lorelei’s turn to sleep, so Homer took watch in the pilot’s seat. The problem with traveling at hyper-speed was that sightseeing was difficult, even with the headlight beams on high. The submarine zipped through the water so fast, Homer couldn’t get a good look at ocean life. And just like a car traveling down the highway, collecting bugs on its windshield, the sub’s observation window collected jellyfish. Poor jellies. Unlike fish, they couldn’t swim out of the way. Splat!
“Ooooh, there’s another one,” Homer said as the tentacled creature slid down the glass. “Too bad this th
ing isn’t powered by jellyfish guts.”
Hercules sat next to Homer in a copilot’s seat, with Rumpold’s map draped across his lap. “This riddle still doesn’t make much sense. ‘Twins of flame above and below. An endless mirror between. In heavenly eyes the stars do shine. Behind saliva hides what you seek.’ ”
“Some of it makes sense,” Homer said. “We know it’s the Draco constellation, so the dragon has heavenly eyes, right? ‘In heavenly eyes the stars do shine.’ We’ve figured out that line.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
Homer cringed as another jellyfish hit the windshield, leaving a gooey smudge the size of a pillow. “Wow! That was the biggest one yet. I never knew they could get that big.”
“What about the other lines?” Hercules asked, his gaze focused on the map. “What about the first line, ‘twins of flame’?”
“Well…” Homer paused. He’d never had much luck with games involving wordplay. On stormy nights back on the goat farm, when the power went out, the Scrabble board usually made an appearance. His sister, Gwendolyn, always won because she used mysterious scientific words. If anyone challenged and said, “Gwendolyn, nurftle isn’t a word,” Gwendolyn would say, “Of course it’s a word. It’s a word all taxidermists know.” And then she’d end up on a triple-word square and her score would soar.
Just once, Homer had tried to cheat. “Ybkzurp is a word all mapmakers know.” But Gwendolyn had a hissy fit, and Homer had to change his word to burp. Gwendolyn won.
Homer read the riddle again. “Well, dragons breathe fire, so that might be the flame part. ‘Twins of flame above and below.’ So we know that there is a dragon in the sky, and if the dragon has a twin, then it must be a… dragon on land.”
Smells Like Pirates Page 15