Smells Like Dog (28 page)

Homer looked it over to make sure it was his. “Why didn’t you keep it?”

“You need to rebuild that library, right? I know you were hoping that the coin would be worth a lot of money so you could sell it to a museum. But I don’t know where Madame put that coin. So you could sell the compass instead.”

Homer hated the idea of parting with his compass. “I guess you’re right.”

They sat in silence for a while. Once again, Homer found himself wide awake in the middle of the night. Distant skyscrapers twinkled beneath a spring moon. The creepy park trees cast gnarled shadows on the water. Dog stuck his nose in Homer’s wet jacket sleeve. Homer, soaked from head to foot from his plunge in the lair’s pool, started shivering. When Lorelei reached out to pet Dog, Homer broke the silence.

“Is that why you gave me the compass? Because you want Dog? Well, you can’t have him,” he said, wrapping his arms around Dog’s fat middle. “Don’t try to take him. I won’t let you.”

“I know.” Lorelei draped her arm across the boat’s railing. She sighed. “I won’t try to take him. I shouldn’t have done that. I just didn’t want to be poor, ever again.”

For the first time since meeting her, she seemed like every other kid, not the self-sufficient, carefree girl he’d met on the street. Maybe it wasn’t so great living in a warehouse. Maybe it wasn’t so great being on your own, with no one to cook for you, or help you study for spelling tests, or tuck you in at night. “What are you going to do now?”

“Well…” She tapped her feet. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I have an idea.”

“What?”

“I know about Dog’s secret. And you know about the lair. Why don’t you come and live there with me? With Twaddle dead and Madame in jail, no one will know. We don’t need Rumpold Smeller’s map. There are lots of other treasures out there. Whatever we find we can keep and we’ll be the richest treasure hunters in the world.”

“I don’t want to be that kind of treasure hunter,” Homer said. “I’m going to donate all my treasures.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.” She stroked Daisy’s tail. “Then I suggest we make a gentleman’s agreement. If I promise to never tell anyone about Dog, will you promise to never tell anyone about the lair?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to live there. I could move right in. Who’s gonna stop me? Madame will be dead or she’ll be in jail. But I can only live there as long as no one else knows.” She smiled. “With all that equipment, I’ll have a jump-start on my treasure-hunting career. And with Dog, you’ll have a jump-start on your treasure-hunting career. So whadda you say?” She held out her hand. “Shall we keep each other’s secret?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Homer. I came back for you, didn’t I?”

“I think you came back because you ran into that wall and you didn’t have the remote so you couldn’t get out.”

The corners of Lorelei’s lips turned up slightly. “That’s not true. But I guess you’ll never really know, will you?”

“If you ever try to take Dog, I’ll tell the world about the lair,” Homer said.

“And if you ever tell the world about the lair, I’ll take Dog.”

Homer reached out his hand. “You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.” They looked into each other’s eyes as they shook—a firm, serious shake that was tenderized by understanding.

Homer told Lorelei to drop him off at the tortoise beach, since that was the only part of the lake he was familiar with, and he figured he could find his way from there. She pulled up to the muddy bank and he and Dog climbed out. Lorelei leaned over the boat’s railing. “Maybe we’ll meet on the treasure trail someday. I couldn’t ask for a more worthy opponent, Homer W. Pudding.” Daisy climbed onto Lorelei’s shoulder. “Hey, next time you come to The City, look us up. You know where to find us.”

A wave crashed onto the bank as the boat sped away, but before she was out of earshot Lorelei yelled, “I’ll send your uncle’s stuff to your farm.”

“Don’t forget to send me the coin if you find it!” Homer yelled back. But the boat had disappeared into the dark. Homer looked down at Dog. “I sure hope Mrs.
Peepgrass doesn’t ask me to write a report on my field trip.” Dog twisted his long body and chewed an itchy spot on his hind leg. Chilly air crept through Homer’s wet jacket and he started shivering again. “Let’s go find Ajitabh and Zelda.”

“Grrrr.”

Homer whipped around. Dog’s entire body went stiff as he looked at the lake. Oh no. What was happening now?

Homer and Dog backed out of the mud and up a grassy slope as Edith, the giant mutant tortoise, slowly crawled out of the lake and collapsed. She closed her eyes and moaned the moan of someone with a horrible stomachache. Her legs splayed, her chin resting in the mud, she burped. Homer grimaced. She burped again.

Then, she vomited up a book.

T
he moment the reptile book landed in the mud, Dog started sniffing the ground. Before Homer could stop him, he ran down the slope. Edith, eyes closed and breathing heavy, paid no attention as Dog snatched the slime-covered book and carried it back to Homer. Homer wiped the cover on the grass, then read the title:
Rare Reptiles I Caught and Stuffed.

The map!

He looked around. Lorelei was long gone and no one else seemed to be in the park. He sat in the grass,
a comfortable distance from Edith, and balanced the book on his knees. Dog leaned on Homer and watched as Homer opened the book.

Fortunately, the book hadn’t been inside the tortoise long enough for her stomach acid to eat through the cover. Page one looked normal, just a bunch of writing and a black-and-white photo of a Cross-eyed Devil Frog. Page two looked normal. Page three, four, five… “Look,” Homer whispered. Dog cocked his head. Homer pointed to the upper right corner of page six. The photo’s title read:
PYGMY COCKTAIL LIZARD
. But someone had pasted a piece of map over the lizard’s photo, cut so that it fit perfectly. The little rectangle contained the map’s legend and the mapmaker’s initials:
R. S.
A shiver darted up Homer’s spine. Just as he had guessed. His uncle had cut Rumpold Smeller’s map into smaller sections and had hidden them throughout the book.

He ran his hand over Rumpold Smeller’s initials. How many people had searched for this map? How many had dreamed of finding the long lost treasure? How many had lost their lives because of it? Mr. Twaddle. Uncle Drake. Rumpold himself. How many others? This was not a toy or a daydream. Possessing the map was dangerous but at least it was Homer who possessed it, rather than someone who would use it for personal gain.

He put his arm around Dog’s neck. “You’re the one
who found it. One day we’ll be able to tell everyone the truth. But for now we’ll have to find a good hiding place for it. Until we’re ready to use it.”

Dog licked Homer’s face.

Edith moaned again. Homer might have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t been a carnivorous killing machine.

Dawn trickled through the park’s spindly trees. What if Lorelei came back? No telling what she’d do if she caught sight of the book. “We’d better get out of here.”

They were on the wrong side of the chain-link fence so they followed it until they found a loose seam. Homer squeezed through, then pulled the fence open for Dog. Together, they hurried through the park, retracing the steps they’d taken earlier with Lorelei. A street map was posted at the park’s entrance. Homer ran a finger along the map until he found the police station. With Mr. Twaddle dead and Madame la Directeur in the hospital, there was no one to press charges. The police officers would have to let Ajitabh and Zelda go.

Taxis and buses drove past, starting their morning routes. Dressed in overcoats and carrying briefcases, the first wave of office workers charged down the sidewalk. After an eight-block walk, Homer and Dog arrived at the police station just as Ajitabh and Zelda were walking down its front steps. Ajitabh’s face was scruffy with stubble and Zelda’s silver hair needed a good brushing.
She held out her long arms. “You’re both safe,” she said, wrapping Homer in a hug. “But you’re soaking wet. What happened?”

What happened? What a question!
If Homer had been the original Homer, the writer who had lived so very long ago, he might have spun the night’s events into a ballad that would be sung for centuries. Or he might have written a best-selling novel. But how could he tell the tale without including the lair?

“Um, we got caught in some sprinklers. What happened to you?”

Ajitabh ran his fingers over his mustache, smoothing it into place. “No one from the museum showed up to file trespassing charges. And of course they had no evidence that we were involved in the museum thefts.” He took off his flight jacket. “You’re shivering. Put this on.”

Homer peeled off his wet jacket and slid his arms through Ajitabh’s, which was warm with the inventor’s body heat. If only he had a new pair of pants to change into. And shoes. Dog didn’t seem one bit cold and his fur had already begun to dry.

“I say, you look rather ruffled,” Ajitabh said. “Why didn’t you go home?”

“Well…” Homer zipped up the jacket.

“You didn’t go searching for that lair, did you?” Zelda took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped a
smudge of dirt from Homer’s forehead. “Not all alone. That would have been too dangerous.”

“I didn’t look for the lair.” He hated lying to his uncle’s friends. “But look what I found in… Madame’s office!” He held up the reptile book.

They sat on a nearby bench. Ignoring the honks of passing cars and the stares of pedestrians who had never seen anyone like Zelda, they gazed at the pages of the book. Ajitabh took a sharp breath. “Brilliant spot to hide it, by Jove. Who would think of looking in such a boring book?”

Zelda ran a long finger over one of the map pieces. “Good thing the sprinklers didn’t ruin it.” She tilted her long neck and gazed down at Homer. “What made you look through a book about reptiles?”

“Um, no real reason. I just picked it up. It was kind of an accident.”

Ajitabh and Zelda shared a long look. Then Ajitabh laughed. “Sometimes the best things are found by accident. I discovered that I could make cloud cover only after my self-cleaning teakettle exploded.” He slapped Homer’s back. “Well done, my boy. Well done.”

“Yeah,” Homer said, looking down at Dog, who lay across his shoes.
Well done.

“You must keep it safe,” Zelda said. “It’s the most coveted map in the treasure-hunting community.”

“I know.” They were looking at him again, their brows furrowed. The responsibility of protecting the map suddenly overwhelmed Homer, like a math test he hadn’t studied for. He shoved the book at Ajitabh. “You take it.”

Ajitabh held up his palms. “Oh no, my boy. Zelda and I have too many enemies. You, on the other hand, are the perfect person to guard such a map. No one would suspect that Rumpold Smeller’s map would be on a goat farm.” He gently pushed the book back onto Homer’s lap. “But you must keep it secret until the time is right for you to begin your quest.”

“When will that be?” Homer asked.

“Ah, the impatience of youth.” Ajitabh slapped Homer’s back again. “It will be soon enough. Now, we’d best be getting you to your family. No need for you to ride the train. I’ll take you back in the cloudcopter.”

“That’s great, because my train ticket’s completely ruined.” Homer dug the soggy slip of paper from his pocket.

Since Zelda could not comfortably fit into a taxicab or bus, they walked back to the museum. Dog trotted alongside Zelda’s big black boots, his leash secure in her giant hand. Homer held the book tightly beneath his arm. He’d never had so many secrets to keep. It certainly felt as if he’d begun a new chapter in his life, like
starting a new grade in school, or moving to a different town, only better.

A janitor was dragging a pair of garbage cans down the walkway just as Homer and his entourage reached the museum grounds. The janitor left the cans next to the curb. Homer spotted his sister’s duffel and rescued it. He also retrieved his father’s cap from the bushes. Then he walked to the fake VIP entrance and grabbed the stuffed squirrel.

“What about the coin?” Ajitabh asked.

“Madame still has it,” Homer said. “I don’t think I’ll ever see it again.”

Ajitabh nodded. “We’ll be sure to get you a new one.”

Both cloudcopters sat undisturbed, camouflaged by fog and shrubbery. Zelda stretched her goggles over her forehead and tied her cloak beneath her chin. Homer felt a twinge of sadness as he realized that he was going to miss her. “I almost forgot,” he said. “Uncle Drake wrote in his letter that you can tell if something is a forgery. Can you tell me if this is a real Galileo Compass or a fake?”

Zelda swept her silver hair behind her shoulders, then removed a magnifying glass from her black bag. She took a long look at the compass. “This is the real thing, Homer. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, and I’m always not mistaken, this is the original. Didn’t Drake tell you?”

“The original?”

“Yes. The first one. Made by Gallileo’s grand-nephew.”

“Wow.” Homer forgot all about being cold and wet. “Can I sell it? Can I get enough money to build a new library?”

“You can get enough money to build two new libraries. I’m sure the Museum of Science and Technology would love to get their hands on this. Would you like me to handle the transaction for you?”