Smells Like Pirates

  Even in a comfortable room at the Mockingbird Hotel, a good night’s sleep is hardly possible in The City because of the constant flow of traffic and street ruckus.

  Room 15 was a smallish room with twin beds. Images of mockingbirds decorated the quilts and wallpaper. Late last night, the boys had piled the traditional mourning attire in the corner and had changed into their pajamas. Stretched out on a bed, Homer had stared at the hotel ceiling. Had it really happened? Had His Lordship announced that he should be the next president of L.O.S.T.? No one had warned or prepared him. No one had asked if he wanted to do it. It was all very sudden and a bit unsettling.

  Now, being the president of the Society of Legends, Objects, Secrets, and Treasures isn’t exactly like being president of a country or something equally large and important. But it did come with a fair amount of responsibility. Homer had never been president of anything, unless you counted the mapmaking club at his school, of which he was the only member and thus listed as president/vice president/secretary/treasurer in the school yearbook.

  Lord Mockingbird’s recommendation hadn’t gone over well. It was as if His Lordship had recommended that a baboon become the next president. (Baboons, by the way, are highly intelligent creatures that might actually do well in leadership roles if given the opportunity.) There’d been a huge argument among the membership. “I’m not voting for a child!” Gertrude had exclaimed.

  “I don’t thi-thi-think it would be a wise choice,” Professor Thick had stammered.

  “Dang right,” Jeremiah Carson had agreed. “I’m fond of Homer, but a boy can’t handle the duties of the presidency.”

  “That is not necessarily true,” Zelda had said. “It’s important that we consider His Lordship’s recommendation. We need time to think about this.”

  “Let’s discuss it in the morning,” Ajitabh had advised. “We could all use a good night’s sleep.”

  But for Homer, the night dragged on and on like a boring geometry lesson. Had he slept at all? Dog, who was stretched out alongside him, snored blissfully. The City’s noise didn’t seem to bother him. And what worries did he have? No one wanted him to lead a secret organization.

  As the gentle hues of sunrise tickled the window, Homer punched his pillow, then rolled onto his side. Hercules was sleeping across the room, a lightproof mask covering his eyes. The Complete Dictionary of the English Language was tucked under his arm, and his first-aid kit sat next to his bed.

  “Psst,” Homer spat. The night was finally over, and he needed to talk. Hercules didn’t flinch. Homer grabbed a mint off the nightstand and tossed it at Hercules’s chest.

  “What’s going on?” Hercules asked as he sat upright, ripping the mask off his face. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” Homer said innocently. He also sat up. “But since you’re awake, what do you think I should do?”

  Hercules rubbed his eyes. His wiry hair stuck straight out, and a line from his mask ran across his face. “Huh?”

  “What should I do? Should I tell them I don’t want to be the president of L.O.S.T.?”

  “Oh, that.” Hercules scratched his head. “I’m not sure you’ll get enough votes anyway. But if you do get enough votes, I don’t think anyone would force you to do it if you don’t want to do it.” He yawned. “Come to think of it, why wouldn’t you want to be president? It’s a huge honor.”

  “How could I run the organization?” Homer asked. “I live on a goat farm. What would I tell my parents?”

  “That could be problematic,” Hercules said.

  A knock sounded on the door. Dog shot to his paws, a growl vibrating his lower lip. Homer pushed back the covers. After putting on his red bathrobe, he hurried to the door. Ajitabh entered, pushing a wheeled cart. “Brought you some breakfast,” he said. His golden silk pajamas matched his robe. Dog stopped growling and wagged his tail.

  Zelda followed in a long cotton nightgown, her black cape thrown over her shoulders. Her silver hair was tied back with a ribbon. She ducked to avoid bumping into the ceiling light fixture. Even though Homer had known Zelda for a few months, he was still amazed by her stature. She sat on the end of his bed, her expression as sorrowful as ever. “Funerals make me feel so weary,” she said in her low, rumbly voice.

  Ajitabh passed around the breakfast plates, including one for Dog. Everyone but Hercules had scrambled eggs, sausage links, cinnamon toast, and orange juice. Because Hercules worried about food allergies and digestive issues, he ate a plain egg-white omelet and dry toast. Dog gulped his meal the way all dogs do and then stared up at everyone as if he hadn’t been fed in ages.

  Hercules carried his plate across the room and turned the knob on the room’s old-fashioned television set. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but the European Spelling Bee finals are supposed to be televised today. I want to see who my competition is going to be.”

  “Ah,” Zelda said. “You will compete again?”

  “Yes. I want to be the first person in the world to win the World’s Spelling Bee two years in a row.”

  While Hercules searched for the right channel, Homer ate a few bites of egg, but his fork felt like it weighed a ton. “Why would Lord Mockingbird want me to be president?” he asked. “He barely even knew me.”

  Ajitabh settled on the end of Hercules’s bed, across from Homer. “Clearly, His Lordship admired you, and rightly so. You’ve proven yourself to be an intelligent, passionate, and honest chap. We couldn’t ask for higher qualities.” His thin mustache twitched as he smiled.

  “You’re pure of heart,” Zelda said as she delicately nibbled her toast. “That is refreshing, especially in a world riddled with corruption and greed.”

  “What about my age?” Homer asked. “I’m only twelve.”

  Ajitabh’s smile faded. “What’s the matter, Homer?”

  Homer looked away. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t know how to be a president. I’m just getting started.”

  Ajitabh reached out and patted Homer’s shoulder. “Then put the whole matter out of your head. When you’ve grown up and finished your schooling, then you will follow in your uncle’s footsteps and search for Rumpold Smeller’s treasure. By Jove, you may well become our president one day, but in the meantime, the membership can choose someone else.”

  Homer nodded, and his shoulders relaxed. One day, but not this day. What a relief.

  Dog barked. He stood in front of the television set, his tail wagging madly.

  “Hey,” Hercules said, pointing to the screen. “It’s that girl Lorelei. The one with the pink hair.”

  As Homer whipped around, his plate tumbled to the floor. There, in the middle of the television screen, a girl with spiky pink hair smiled and petted a large gray rat perching on her shoulder. A brief sparkle of happiness lit in Homer’s eyes. It was always this way when he saw Lorelei and remembered how they’d been friends. She was the first person to welcome Homer and Dog to The City. They’d explored The City and defeated Madame la Directeur together. But those were the good times. Lorelei had revealed a darker side when she kidnapped Dog. Twice! She shared Homer’s desire to find treasure, but, unlike Homer, she was willing to ruin friendships in the process.

  Homer darted to his feet, eager to see why Lorelei was on television. The smile on her face was one he’d seen before. It held wicked plans between its upturned corners. Lorelei was up to something.

  “Homer, you shouldn’t stand so close to the television,” Hercules warned. “The radiation isn’t good for you.”

  But Homer didn’t care about radiation. And he certainly didn’t care that Dog was now eating his spilled breakfast off the carpet. His heartbeat doubled as the television camera widened its shot. Lorelei stood at a microphone. She wore a pink jumpsuit, the kind that zipped right up the center. Two people stood behind her, dressed in identical pink jumpsuits. One of the people was rather fat, and the other had a hawk on her shoulder. Each held a little Jolly Roger flag.

  “Oh dear,”
Zelda said. “It’s Gertrude and Torch. What are they doing?”

  “And what does it say on their jumpsuits?” Ajitabh asked.

  Homer nearly pressed his face against the screen, trying to read the tiny word. “I think it says FOUND.”

  “Hush,” Zelda said. “She’s talking.” She pulled Homer away so everyone could get a good view.

  A banner ran along the bottom of the screen: MYSTERIOUS GIRL TO MAKE TREASURE-HUNTING ANNOUNCEMENT. Lorelei tapped the microphone. “Is this working? Can you hear me?” The rat sniffed the air.

  The camera widened further to reveal a throng of reporters. “Yes,” the reporters said. “We can hear you.”

  At the sound of Lorelei’s voice, Dog raised his head and looked up at the television screen. His tail wagged twice, then he went back to eating.

  “My name is Lorelei. Don’t bother asking about my last name, because Lorelei is my whole name. L-O-R-E-L-E-I,” she spelled. “And this is my sidekick, Daisy.” She stroked the rat’s head. “I am the president of a treasure-hunting organization called FOUND.”

  Homer sank onto the bed next to Ajitabh. He almost forgot to breathe as he listened.

  “What does FOUND stand for?” a reporter asked.

  Lorelei pursed her lips. “I’m still working on that,” she said. “So for right now, it doesn’t stand for anything. It means what it means. FOUND. Our mission is to find the world’s most important treasures.”

  “Houston,” Hercules said, “we’ve got a problem.”

  Torch and Gertrude waved their Jolly Roger flags, all the while glancing at a plain brown grocery bag that hung from Lorelei’s left hand. She swung the bag as she continued talking. “Some people think that all the great stuff has already been found, but I’m here to tell you that it’s not true. One great treasure remains.”

  “What treasure?” a reporter asked.

  “The treasure of Rumpold Smeller the Pirate.”

  Confusion spread among the reporters. “Who?” “What’s she talking about?” “Did she say something about smelly pirates?” “That’s ridiculous.”

  Torch stepped forward. “Hey!” she hollered. “Listen up and you’ll learn something.” Getting yelled at by a person with a snake tattoo around her neck and a beady-eyed hawk on her shoulder is a bit intimidating. The reporters quieted.

  Lorelei continued. “Rumpold Smeller was the most fearsome pirate to sail the seas, and he took everything he could find. Then he hid all of it in one place. As the president of FOUND, I am about to lead my crew on the most exciting quest of this century, one that will be written about in history books. I will find Rumpold Smeller’s treasure.”

  Everyone in room 15 of the Mockingbird Hotel shared a confused look. Except for Dog, who was licking the breakfast plate clean.

  “You’re just a little girl,” a reporter said.

  Another reporter snickered. “How can you, a mere child, be so sure you will find the treasure? Haven’t others looked for it? Haven’t adults looked for it?”

  Lorelei flared her nostrils. “Many people have looked for it, including a secret organization that is made up of losers, and they better not try to stop me or I will tell the world all about them.”

  Ajitabh leaped to his feet. “She wouldn’t dare.”

  “She’s wicked,” Zelda said.

  “I will find the treasure!” Lorelei cried. Daisy the rat flicked her tail and rubbed her front paws together.

  “You mean we,” Gertrude Magnum corrected as she leaned close to Lorelei. Diamond barrettes sparkled amid her short blond curls. “We will find the treasure.”

  Lorelei scowled at her. “I am the president. Not you. And I have the map. So that makes me the boss.”

  Gertrude’s gaze darted to the grocery bag again. “Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’re the boss. For now.”

  “Map?” Homer’s stomach clenched. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Homer?” Ajitabh said, running a hand over his beard. “When was the last time you saw your map?”

  Hercules was the only person in the room who didn’t know that Homer was in possession of the real Rumpold Smeller map. But he was soon to find out.

  “I saw it yesterday when I got out of bed,” Homer said. “I checked it before I went down to breakfast. I always check on it in the morning. It was right where it always is.” He stepped close to the television screen. As Lorelei stuck her hand into the grocery bag, a dreadful silence fell over room 15 of the Mockingbird Hotel.

  “I am here to announce that I have in my possession the most coveted pirate map in history—the map of Rumpold Smeller the Pirate.” She pulled a book from the grocery bag and held it up. It was the same book that had been hidden beneath Homer’s bed, Rare Reptiles I Caught and Stuffed. His uncle Drake had cut apart Rumpold’s map and had pasted the individual pieces into that very same book. And now Lorelei had it!

  “It can’t be,” Homer whispered, his legs beginning to tremble. “How did she…?”

  Then he remembered a face peering at him from his bedroom window as the limousine had driven away.

  Homer nearly burst into tears.

  Homer lunged for the telephone. It was the old-fashioned kind that plugged into the wall. And instead of buttons, it had a round dial with finger holes. Gripping the receiver, he stuck his finger into one of the holes and dialed the first digit. It spun slowly. He dialed the second digit—this was going to take forever!

  “Lord Mockingbird was spot on about those two,” Ajitabh said. He stormed over to the television, his golden robe billowing with his angry steps. “They are traitors to the cause. They should be ejected, rejected, expelled, banished, cast out forever from L.O.S.T.”

  “I think I have the document for that,” Hercules said.

  “By Jove, then do it!”

  Hercules hurried to the closet and took out a briefcase. While he rummaged through its contents, Homer dialed the last digit of his home number. The dial spun. He wound his fingers in the twisted cord, waiting as the phone rang. On the television screen, Lorelei was still holding the book high for all reporters to see.

  “Hello?” a voice answered.

  “Mom,” Homer said. “Where’s Gwendolyn? Get Gwendolyn.”

  “Why, hello, Homer,” Mrs. Pudding said chipperly. “Just a minute, sweetie. I have a pie in the oven.”

  “Mom?” A clink sounded as she set down the phone and walked away. “Mom!” he yelled. “I need to talk to Gwendolyn!”

  On the television, Lorelei was putting the book back into the grocery bag. “One week from today,” she told reporters, “I will return to this place to prove to the world that FOUND is the best treasure-hunting organization on the planet.” Then Lorelei made one final statement. She looked right into the camera lens. “If you want your map, Homer, you know where to find me. I’m saving a place for you in FOUND.” And with that, she turned and walked off through the throng of reporters, followed by Gertrude and Torch.

  Homer wanted to yell at Lorelei, but yelling at a television screen seemed like a useless thing to do. So instead, he yelled into the phone. “Mom! I need to—”

  “Homer W. Pudding, why ever are you hollering like that?” Mrs. Pudding asked as she picked up the receiver.

  “Sorry,” Homer said. He took a long breath, trying to calm down. “It’s just that—”

  “How are things at the Map of the Month Club? Are you having fun?”

  “Fun?” Homer gritted his teeth. He hated lying, but unless the vow of secrecy was lifted to include parents and loved ones, he had no choice. “It’s really fun. Can I talk to Gwendolyn?”

  “You want to talk to your sister?” She sounded surprised, as if he’d asked to talk to the refrigerator or the laundry hamper.

  “Yeah.” He twisted the cord tighter. “Can you get her? Please?”

  While Hercules continued to shuffle through his briefcase, Ajitabh, Zelda, and Dog watched Homer.

  “She’s in her laboratory,” Mrs. Pudd
ing said. “She told me not to disturb her until dinnertime. She’s doing a delicate stuffing.”

  “Mom, I need to ask her something. It’s very important,” Homer said. He shook the receiver, as if that might get her attention.

  “Homer, you sound very cranky. Did you get enough sleep last night? Have you eaten a wholesome breakfast? Did you put on clean underwear this morning? Oh dear, now your father’s hollering about something from the yard.” She paused. “Oh no, the goats are in the vegetable garden. I need to go. Call again tomorrow.”

  “But—” The dial tone filled Homer’s ear. With a groan, he hung up.

  “Homer, dear boy, what’s happened?” Ajitabh asked. “Are we to assume that Lorelei does indeed have Rumpold Smeller’s map?”

  “I don’t know,” Homer said.

  “Gertrude and Torch wouldn’t have defected unless they had good reason,” Zelda said. “They must truly believe that the girl has the map. Did you give it to her?”

  “What?” Homer couldn’t believe the question. “No way. I’d never do that.”

  Zelda raised her thick eyebrows. “Homer, you can tell us if you gave it to her. She is a cute girl. Boys do stupid things when they are in love. I have done many stupid things in the name of love.”

  “What? I’m not in love. She’s not my girlfriend. I would never give her the map. Never!”

  “Then why did she say you knew where to find her?” Ajitabh asked.

  Homer looked away. He couldn’t answer that question. After he and Lorelei had defeated the evil Madame la Directeur in her lair, Lorelei had decided to claim the lair as her own. So she and Homer had made a gentleman’s agreement—Homer would keep the secret of the lair if Lorelei kept the secret of Dog’s treasure-smelling talent. With Madame la Directeur locked away in prison, Homer was the only one who knew where to find Lorelei.

  “Here it is,” Hercules said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He held up a piece of paper and read. “Bylaw Number Forty-Two-A, the Issue of Defection. If a sworn member of L.O.S.T. should choose to defect to a competing treasure-hunting organization, that member will be immediately banished from L.O.S.T. and under no circumstances be allowed to return. Form Seven-D, Official Banishment Form, must be filled out and filed in triplicate.”