Smells Like Pirates

by Suzanne Selfors

  “We should get going.” Homer’s watch indicated that it was noon in The City and that it was Friday. “I need to get back for my sister’s sweet sixteen.”

  “Yes, and I’ve got to register for the World’s Spelling Bee.” Hercules gripped his first-aid kit.

  Silence fell over the lair as the intrepid adventurers looked at one another. Was this the end? Was it time to pack up and leave? Homer wasn’t sure what to say to Lorelei. Although he was eternally grateful that she’d saved his life, he still had some doubts about her. She’d been his friend. She’d been his competitor. She’d been his rescuer, his copilot, the yin to his yang. He held out his hand. “Thanks,” he said, “for the great adventure.”

  “Anytime,” she said, her cheeks dimpling. And then she hugged him, real quick. And then she hugged Hercules.

  After gathering his backpack and tucking the bundle of maps under his arm, Homer pushed Dog’s rump up the lair’s staircase. “Do we have to go through that spider-filled tunnel again?” Hercules complained.

  “Once you exit the tortoise statue, you can use the museum elevator,” Lorelei called from the bottom of the stairs. “It will take you to the museum lobby. It’s the easiest way out. My security code is D-A-I-S-Y.”

  “Thanks,” Homer called. It didn’t matter if security cameras recorded his movements now. Or if a museum guide told him that dogs aren’t allowed inside. He’d completed his mission, and he was on his way home.

  “Hey, Homer,” Lorelei called as he reached the balcony.

  “What?” He peered over the railing.

  She stood next to the captain’s chest, the diary in her hand. “Which quest do you think you’ll go on first? It would be really fun to go find that warrior queen’s belt. Don’t you think that would be fun?”

  “Yeah. Definitely.”

  Twice before, he’d said good-bye to Lorelei, wondering if he’d ever see her again. But she’d managed to keep popping back into his life. Good-bye seemed unnecessary. As long as there was treasure waiting to be found, they would keep bumping into each other.

  At least, that’s what he hoped.

  When Homer, Hercules, and Dog arrived at the Mockingbird Hotel, Hercules carried Dog through the revolving door. Homer appreciated the help, though he was amazed that Hercules had any strength left, considering what they’d just been through. Even with success flowing in his veins, Homer felt as if he could sleep for a month. Tucking the treasure bundle under his arm and adjusting his backpack straps, he darted between the glass doors.

  “We’ve got your belongings right here,” the bellhop told Hercules, pointing to a suitcase, a briefcase, and a dictionary, all left behind when Hercules had followed Homer to Lorelei’s lair. Hercules set Dog on the ground, then swept his beloved dictionary into his arms—a happy reunion evidenced by his wide grin. “Your friends are in the tearoom.” The bellhop pointed down the hall.

  Even though the tearoom’s doors were closed, Ajitabh’s voice roared down the hallway. “He is not a traitor! Why the devil would you spew such blasted nonsense?”

  Traitor? Homer and Hercules shared a confused look. Dog, who must have recognized Ajitabh’s voice, bounded down the hall, his folds of skin undulating. Homer and Hercules hurried after, stopping outside the doors to eavesdrop.

  The next voice was low and rumbly, tempered by its ever-present notes of sadness. “You will never convince me that Homer has abandoned our cause.”

  “Nor will you convince me. There’s no bloomin’ proof Homer joined FOUND,” Ajitabh said. A thud followed, as if he’d smacked his fist on a piece of furniture. “I won’t listen to such rubbish.”

  Dog whined and pressed his nose against the door. Hercules and Homer leaned in closer.

  “But it doesn’t loo… loo… look good.” Professor Thaddius Thick was the only member of the society who stuttered.

  “Dang right it doesn’t look good,” Jeremiah Carson said with his western twang. “Those two whippersnappers went straight to that girl and joined her team. Angus saw them. What more proof do you need?”

  “We need to talk to the boys,” Zelda said. “But if they don’t return today, we’ll have to call the authorities and report them missing.”

  “Don’t do that!” Homer cried. He grabbed the door handle and pushed. “We’re here. And we’re not traitors!” Dog barked, as if in agreement. Or perhaps he was happy to see all the familiar faces, because that meant there’d be some petting and some rump scratching.

  The heavy scent of flowers filled Homer’s nostrils as he barged into the tearoom. The room itself was a small atrium. Tropical vines climbed the walls, and potted plants hung from the ceiling. Mismatched chairs and overstuffed davenports were strewn about. A tea cart stood off to the side, its teapot steaming, its trays filled with miniature sandwiches and iced cakes.

  “Homer!” Zelda strode toward him, her cape billowing. She pulled him into a hug. For a moment, he couldn’t see anything but black fabric.

  “You’re going to suffocate the boy,” Ajitabh said. Zelda released her grip, and Homer found himself looking up into a pair of dark, serious eyes. Ajitabh folded his arms. “Well?” he said. “Where the blazes have you been? And where’s Hercules?”

  “I’m here,” Hercules said as he dumped his belongings onto the floor.

  “My dear boys.” Zelda hugged Hercules, then pressed a giant hand to his cheek. “Why are both your faces covered in scratches? What terrible things have you been up to?”

  “We fell out of a hot air balloon,” Hercules said. “And then we…” He bit his lower lip. “Uh, maybe Homer should tell the story.”

  Homer looked around the room. Jeremiah Carson and Professor Thick were seated, plates of sandwiches at their sides. Zelda, who’d been stooping so she wouldn’t hit the ceiling, slowly lowered herself onto a red love seat. Wisps of silver hair hung over her eyes. “Go ahead, Homer. We’re listening.” Ajitabh tapped his boot, his dark eyebrows raised in a this-better-be-good expression.

  Homer opened his mouth, but no words came. How do you begin to tell one of the greatest stories ever?

  “Go on. Tell yir story so ah can git outta here.”

  “Mr. MacDoodle?” Homer hadn’t noticed Angus, who sat in a corner chair, half hidden by afternoon shadows.

  “Aye, it’s me.” He held out a plate and whistled. “Come here, wee beastie, and have some vittles.” Dog pranced over to Angus and inhaled the crustless assortment of cucumber, radish, and cream cheese sandwiches.

  “Gosh, those look good. Can I have some?” Hercules asked. He grabbed a platter off the tea cart and shoved sandwiches into his mouth three at a time, as if he’d taken eating lessons from Dog himself. “I’m starving!” he said through stuffed cheeks. He held out the platter to Homer. When had they last eaten? Homer grabbed two, then two more.

  “What are you waiting for, boy?” Jeremiah Carson stretched out his legs and rested his cowboy boots on a coffee table. “Get on with your story.”

  And so, after swallowing and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Homer told them what had happened. How he’d gone to find Lorelei and get his map back. “I can’t tell you where she lives, because I made a gentleman’s agreement with her,” he added. Everyone nodded, because among honorable treasure hunters, a gentleman’s agreement is as good as law.

  He told them how Lorelei had outwitted Torch and Gertrude. How the team of L.O.S.T. and FOUND had put the map together, and how Hercules had translated the riddle. How they went to the Office of Celestial Navigation, where Angus calculated the coordinates. Then he told them how they used Ajitabh’s submarine to travel to the southernmost tip of Greenland.

  “You found my submarine?” Ajitabh clapped his hands. “Blimey, that’s good news. I was worried Madame had sold it on the black market.”

  “Lorelei might let you have it,” Homer said. He wasn’t sure about this. Now that she was going to be a writer, she might not care about the submarine. “But then again, she might claim finders keepers.�
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  “Finders keepers,” Ajitabh mumbled. “Well, if that’s the case, I can always build another one.”

  Homer told them how Dog found Rumpold’s diary in the captain’s chest, but of course he left out the smelling-treasure bit. And then he told them that Rumpold was actually a she.

  “What a delightful surprise,” Zelda said with a rare smile. “We need more girls in the treasure-hunting world.”

  Then Homer reached the part about how they solved the riddle and how Madame la Directeur tried to squash them with a seaplane. How they narrowly escaped and how he wore Ajitabh’s diving suit and walked along the seafloor. He described the removal of the amber eyeball and the thrill of reaching into the dragon’s neck and finding the treasure. But that was followed by the horror of being caught in a net. “If the whale shark hadn’t crushed one of the pontoons, I probably wouldn’t be here,” Homer said. “And if Lorelei hadn’t used the robotic arms to pull me back to the submarine, I definitely wouldn’t be here. She saved my life.”

  “She did,” Hercules said after eating another sandwich. “I saw it all happen. Lorelei saved Homer’s life.”

  “How did Madame find you?” Jeremiah Carson asked.

  “Tha’s my fault,” Angus MacDoodle said, sliding out of the chair. His kilt flapped against his hairy knees as he strode up to the tea cart to help himself to a cup. “Ah gave Madame the coordinates. She held me favorite telescope for ransom. And then, after she left, ah got worried tha’ she might hurt the wee beastie. So ah came back here tae tell the membership what had happened.” He dropped three lumps of sugar into his cup.

  Homer looked over at Hercules and smiled at the realization that Lorelei had been telling the truth. She hadn’t given Madame the coordinates. She hadn’t been working for Madame after all.

  “If you care about the wee beastie, then how come you locked us on the topmost floor?” Hercules asked. “We might have starved to death up there.”

  “Ah left a note for the cleaning woman,” Angus said. “She would have set you free in the morning.”

  Homer nearly laughed. If they’d waited a few more hours, they could have avoided the death-defying balloon ride.

  “Forgive me for saying, but Homer’s story sounds a bit far… far… far-fetched,” Professor Thick said.

  “His story is true,” Hercules said. “I took notes during the quest. I’m going to write up an official questing report and make each of you a copy.” He opened his briefcase and shuffled through the contents. “I’ve got the form in here somewhere.”

  Ajitabh ran his hand over his beard. “Let me get this straight, Homer old chap. Are you saying that you currently possess the treasure of Rumpold Smeller the Pirate?”

  “Yep.” Homer held out the bundle.

  Jeremiah Carson leaped out of his chair, rushed to the doors, and locked them. Professor Thick hurried around the room, pulling the curtains closed, while Zelda cleared off the coffee table. Then everyone grabbed a chair and gathered around. Wide-eyed and openmouthed, they waited, perched at the edge of their seats. Homer knew they’d each spent countless hours imagining the treasure, but nothing they’d imagined could be as good as the real thing.

  As Homer unwrapped the Jolly Roger flag, the strange little creature fell onto the table. “Be careful with that thing,” Hercules warned. “It could be poisonous.”

  “What is it?” Professor Thick asked.

  “We don’t know,” Homer said. “It came with the treasure.”

  “I’m the fossil expert,” Jeremiah Carson said. “Let me take a look.” He poked at the dead creature with the end of a spoon. “Hmmmm. Eight barbed tentacles, black as a moonless night…”

  “It looks like a squid,” Zelda said.

  “Why, I’ll be hog-tied.” Jeremiah Carson carefully turned the creature over. “You bet it’s a squid, but not just any old squid. It’s a vampire squid.”

  “Vampire?” Hercules stepped away. “It sucks blood?”

  “No.” Jeremiah Carson chuckled. “It got its name because of its bloodred eyes. Don’t worry. The critter’s not poisonous.”

  “Is that all ya found?” Angus asked. “A wee squiddy?”

  “No,” Homer said. “The squid’s not the treasure. Here’s the treasure.” He opened the layers of waterproof wrapping and spread the pieces of parchment on the table. Gasps filled the air, followed by sighs of wonder and delight as the L.O.S.T. membership passed around the maps. Whispers of astonishment arose. Shivers darted down spines. Homer and Hercules smiled. It was a moment to be savored, more delicious than birthday cake.

  “Congratulations are in… in…. in order,” Professor Thick said once all the maps had been viewed. “It does appear that you boys found Rumpold’s treasure.”

  “Dog found it, too,” Hercules said.

  “And Lorelei,” Homer added. “Don’t forget about Lorelei. She also found it.”

  “Then L.O.S.T. must share the booty with Lorelei and her FOUND organization,” Zelda said. “But do you think we can trust her?”

  “Trust her?” Jeremiah Carson spat. “Of course we can’t trust her. That girl’s as wily as a chicken-loving fox with a pair of wire cutters.”

  “She does have a cunning mind,” Ajitabh said as he stroked his pointy beard. “Most impressive.”

  “We don’t have to worry about Lorelei,” Homer explained. “She made a trade. She kept the diary and we get the maps. The diary belongs to FOUND and the maps belong to L.O.S.T.”

  There was much discussion among the adults at this point. Homer took the opportunity to grab some of the petite iced cakes. He dropped a few onto the ground so that Dog could enjoy some vanilla buttercream and lemon sprinkles. Finally, the conversation died down and Zelda cleared her throat.

  “Homer, since you claimed the treasure in the name of L.O.S.T., it will be your responsibility to keep it safe until the membership has decided exactly what to do with it.” She pressed her large fingertips together. “Do you have a safe hiding place?”

  Now that his sister, Gwendolyn, knew about the loose floorboard under his bed, he had no idea where to hide the treasure. He shook his head.

  “L.O.S.T. has a safe-deposit box at the university’s bank. We can store the treasure there,” Ajitabh said.

  “But the safe-deposit-box key is always kep… kep… kept by the current president,” Professor Thick pointed out. “We have no current president.”

  Jeremiah Carson stomped his cowboy boot. “Then let’s get on with it and elect a new president. I’m sick and tired of sitting around this dang hotel. I wanna get back to Montana and unearth me a mastodon tusk.”

  “Agreed,” Zelda said. “There’s no use trying to delay what needs to be done. Lord Mockingbird is gone, and we must choose his replacement. Records keeper, will you call the meeting to order?”

  As Angus poured himself another cup of tea, Hercules pulled a gavel from his briefcase and cleared his throat. “I hereby call to order the eightieth meeting of the Society of Legends, Objects, Secrets, and Treasures.” He tapped the gavel three times, then pulled an attendance book from his briefcase. “With the recent loss of three of our members, Lord Mockingbird the Eighteenth, Gertrude Magnum, and Torch, we currently have a membership total of nine. In attendance are Ajitabh, Zelda Wallow, Angus MacDoodle, Jeremiah Carson, Professor Thaddius Thick, myself, and Homer Pudding. Not in attendance are Sir Titus Edmund, whose whereabouts are still unknown, and The Unpolluter, who never attends meetings.”

  “Seven in attendance gives us a quorum,” Zelda said. “So we can take a vote.”

  “Would someone please make a motion for the first agenda item,” Hercules said.

  Ajitabh rapped his knuckles on the table. “I motion that we vote for our new president.”

  “Here, here,” Professor Thick said as he picked crumbs from his bushy mustache.

  “Giddyup,” Jermiah Carson said. “Let’s do this thing.”

  “Do we have any candidates?” Hercules asked, pen in han
d.

  Everyone looked around. Angus’s slurping and the thwapping of Dog’s tail were the only sounds. Homer raised his hand and was about to say that he thought Ajitabh would make an excellent president when Hercules blurted out, “I move we vote for Homer.”

  All eyes rested on Homer. His cheeks felt as if someone had rubbed spicy peppers all over them. Certainly they’d all laugh and move on. But no one laughed. No one chuckled. They looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.

  “It’s what His Lordship wanted,” Zelda said with a slow nod.

  Ajitabh narrowed his eyes and stared hard at Homer. His long dark hair fell over the shoulders of his embroidered shirt. His fingertips, stained with oil and ink, marked him as an inventor. He was the most brilliant man Homer had ever met. Surely he’d volunteer himself for the job. But after a long pause, he spoke. “I believed that you were too young to be our next president. But after seeing you today, victoriously delivering a treasure the whole world has waited for, I’ve changed my mind.”

  Changed his mind? Homer’s stomach clenched. Dog sneezed, spraying buttercream frosting across the floor. “You’ve lived up to the Pudding name, old chap. Your uncle would be bloomin’ proud. Mockingbird saw your potential. He was no fool.” Ajitabh stood and said, with utmost sincerity, “I nominate Homer W. Pudding to be the next president of L.O.S.T.”

  “I second the nomination,” Zelda said.

  Jeremiah Carson mumbled something, then scratched beneath his cowboy hat. “Well, I guess we could give him a try. How ’bout we do it on a temporary basis. Say, one year, just to test him out.”

  “That’s a goo… goo… excellent idea,” Professor Thick said.

  Angus, who’d been quiet this whole time, grunted. “Git on with it. Ah want tae catch the next train outta here.”

  Homer sank against the back of the chair. Was this really happening?

  Hercules picked up the gavel and tapped it three times. “A motion has been made to make Homer Winslow Pudding the next president of L.O.S.T. on a one-year trial basis. All those in favor?”