Smells Like Dog

  Homer felt a sudden surge of defiance. “What do you want?” he demanded. Dog pushed between Homer’s shins. Lorelei peered around Homer’s shoulder. “Why have you brought us here?”

  Ajitabh set the kettle aside. “I brought you here because I need to speak with you. You kept running from me. Why the blazes did you keep running from me?”

  “Why?” Homer’s mouth fell open. “Because you were chasing me. And because you tried to kill me with that sword.”

  “Tried to kill you?” Ajitabh smiled. “The very idea. You are my dearest friend’s nephew. I would never hurt you. I always carry my sword when I go to The City. Devil of a place. Been robbed there too many times to count.”

  Homer narrowed his eyes. “If you didn’t want to hurt me, why’d you jump through that window at Snooty and Snooty’s?”

  “I couldn’t very well land my cloudcopter on the street, could I? Fortunately it has hover mode.” He stroked his beard. “You thought I was trying to kill you? A rather unfortunate misunderstanding. My deepest apologies.”

  “Why’d you grab me in the cherry orchard? You ripped my shirt.”

  Ajitabh frowned. “Again, my apologies. I desperately wanted to speak to you. I was worried I might not get another chance.”

  The explanation sort of made sense, but Homer still wasn’t sure.

  Dog growled as Daisy the rat scurried across the carpet. She settled on a yellow pillow and started grooming her rubbery tail. Lorelei stepped forward. “What about me? How come you grabbed me? I didn’t do anything.”

  Ajitabh picked up one of the glass cups and blew across the tea’s surface. “And who are you, exactly?”

  Lorelei put her hands on her hips. “What kind of kidnapper are you if you don’t even know who you kidnapped? Who am I? Who are you? That’s what I want to know. And why do you live in this tower?”

  “Fair questions.” He took a sip of tea. “My name is Ajitabh, which means ‘Conqueror of the Sky.’ I am Indian by birth, but have lived in Britain most of my life. I hold a doctoral degree in inventology from Cambridge University. This tower is my home and workplace. I require… seclusion.” He took another sip. “The reason you are here, young lady, is because the police were searching the museum grounds for unwanted party guests. If I had left you behind, you might have told them about my cloudcopter. Of course they wouldn’t have believed you, but Madame la Directeur would have. She has come very close to finding my tower. I don’t wish to give her a new reason to resume her search.” He motioned for them to sit.

  The room had no chairs. Homer led Dog to a zebra-striped pillow and sat cross-legged as best he could. Lorelei plopped herself on a red-striped pillow. They set their goggles on the table. Dog settled beside Homer and though he closed his eyes, he popped one open now and then to check on Daisy.

  “Why would Madame la Directeur want to find your tower?” Homer asked.

  “Because she wants to get her greedy hands on my inventions. She would love to peek at my laboratories. All fifteen of them.”

  “You have fifteen laboratories?” Homer asked.

  “I would have built more but the tower was dangerously close to tipping.” He pushed aside some newspapers, then sat on a blue velvet pillow. “Where the devil is our food? MUMBLE!”

  An old Indian man appeared in the doorway. Bald and hunched over, he wiped his hands on a greasy apron. “Yes?”

  “The food?”

  “But your lady friend has just landed. Will we be feeding her, too?”

  “By all means, but she’s not fond of chickpea curry. How about making her favorite pancakes?”

  Mumble’s face folded into a million crevices as he grimaced. “That lady eats like a whale, nah? I’ll be making pancakes all night.” He shuffled off.

  Homer thought of his mother’s huckleberry pancakes, lightly browned and rolled up with strawberry jam. Then he stifled a yawn. Despite his fear that Ajitabh might still hurt them, a wave of sleepiness washed over him. He hadn’t slept since the train ride the night before. He wanted to curl up like Daisy.

  Ajitabh set his palms on the low table. “Homer, as I’ve said, you have no need to worry. You are perfectly safe here. I visited City Jail and paid bail. Your father and sister have been released. Fortunately, being an unwanted party guest is only a misdemeanor. I’ve sent a message to your mother that all is well. I hope you don’t mind but I concocted an ingenious story. I couldn’t reveal the truth, you see. Not yet. So I wrote in the message that because of your VIP status, the Museum of Natural History had sent you on an all-expense-paid field trip and that you’d return in a few days. I wouldn’t want her to worry. By Jove, your uncle was most fond of her.” He reached across the table and pushed the cups of tea closer to Homer and Lorelei.

  Maybe he’d paid bail. Then again, it could all be a lie. But Ajitabh seemed to have accepted the fact that Homer no longer had the coin. So why was he keeping them around?

  Homer picked up his cup of tea and took a sip. It tasted like cinnamon. Lorelei’s eyes widened as she watched him swallow. He considered making an oink sound, just to freak her out, but the situation was too serious. “How do you know… how did you know my uncle?”

  Ajitabh raised an eyebrow. “I’m happy to answer that question but the answer is of a confidential nature.” He looked at Lorelei.

  “You want me to leave?” she asked, sitting up straight. “Fine with me. Just take me back to The City.”

  “Can’t do that quite yet. The ’copter needs to recharge. MUMBLE!”

  “Yes?” The old man immediately appeared in the doorway, a batter-covered wooden spoon in his hand.

  “Please serve pancakes to Miss…”

  “Lorelei,” Lorelei said.

  “Yes, quite right. Please serve pancakes to Miss Lorelei and her rat in the kitchen, then show her to the guest room. I’m certain she could use some sleep.”

  Lorelei jumped to her feet. Dog also jumped to his feet. “Are you crazy? I’m not leaving Homer. You tried to kill him.”

  “As I’ve tried to explain, that was a misunderstanding.”

  Homer scrambled off the zebra-striped pillow, then led Lorelei over to the window. “Go ahead,” he whispered, his back to Ajitabh. “I need to find out what’s going on.”

  “But if he splits us up then we’re weaker targets.”

  Homer rubbed his tired face. “Maybe you can get some information from the cook.”

  Lorelei nodded. “Okay. Good plan. But neither of us leaves without the other. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  She shot Ajitabh a nasty look, then scooped Daisy off the yellow pillow and followed the old cook out the door.

  Homer turned toward Ajitabh. “So, how did you know my uncle?”

  But Ajitabh didn’t answer because that’s when she walked in. And Homer knew, to the depths of his being, that he was in trouble.

  25

  Another Letter

  Homer, this is my friend Zelda. Oh, that’s right. You two have already met.”

  The tall lady from the train, the one who had admitted doing terrible, unspeakable things, stooped as she stepped into the room, a lantern swaying in her hand. She took off her goggles and straightened her elongated body. A mere inch of air cushioned her head from the ceiling. Pushing a strand of silver hair from her eyes, she cast a serious look at Homer. “I’m glad to see that you’re safe, Homer Pudding.” She set the lantern on the shelf next to the sword. “Forgive my muddy shoes, Ajitabh. The night brought sorrowful thoughts. I was out walking along the moors when the ’copter arrived for me.” She kicked off her boots. A few of her toes stuck out of her frayed black socks.

  “You’re the one.” Homer took a step back, his face growing hot. “You told Madame la Directeur that the coin was in my pocket, inside a matchbook.”

  “Now calm down, Homer. Zelda would never give information to Madame.”

  “But she did.” Homer moved closer to Dog. “She’s the only one who knew the coin was in the m
atchbook. She told me to put it there. My uncle gave me that coin. It belongs to me.”

  “Indeed it does,” Zelda said, pushing her black cape behind her shoulders. Her low voice rolled across the room like a foghorn. “Am I to assume that Madame currently has possession of the coin?”

  “As if you didn’t know that she took it,” Homer said.

  Ajitabh scowled. “Took it? By force?”

  “Well… I gave it to her, but only because she was going to kill Dog.” Homer’s heart went into overdrive. He felt like running but he didn’t know where to go.

  “You made the right choice.” Zelda crossed the room in four strides, then bent over to scratch Dog’s head. He wagged his tail. “I find droopy dogs to be much more appealing than perky ones.”

  Homer stepped away, pulling Dog with him.

  “Zelda, can I get you a chair?” Ajitabh asked. “We have one around here somewhere.”

  “For what purpose? I’m used to discomfort. I wouldn’t know what to do without it.” With much creaking and groaning, she lowered herself onto a pink polka-dotted pillow. Even when seated on the ground, her knees rose higher than the coffee table. She set her black bag next to the pillow, then accepted a glass of chai. “You seem frightened, Homer. Why’s he frightened, Ajitabh?”

  “He was under the impression that I was trying to kill him.” Ajitabh ran his hand through his dark hair. “I told him that was rubbish.”

  Zelda sighed. “Homer, while you may one day come face to face with someone who wishes to kill you, here, in this room, you are among friends. We both loved your uncle dearly.”

  Homer folded his arms and scowled. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Where the devil is that letter?” Ajitabh asked. “Show him the letter.”

  Zelda reached into her bag and pulled out a plain envelope. “Drake gave this to me a week ago last Saturday. He came out to my trinket shop on an unexpected visit. He seemed agitated, nervous, kept looking out the window. He told me that he was in danger and that he wanted to make sure you got this letter if…” She wiped a tear from her eye. “If anything happened to him. He didn’t want to leave the letter with his lawyer. I don’t blame him. Those Snootys are most… forgetful.” She stifled a sob. “Here. Read it.”

  Homer took the letter from her outstretched hand. He sat on the zebra pillow and turned the envelope over. A wax seal with Drake’s initials, D.H.P., was still intact. As Dog burrowed beneath some pillows, Homer broke the seal and pulled out the letter. A blanket of sadness wrapped around him as he recognized his uncle’s handwriting. Only a few days had passed since he’d learned of his uncle’s death. It still didn’t seem real. He turned his back to Zelda and Ajitabh and read to himself. His uncle’s confident voice rose off the page.

  Dear Homer,

  If you are reading this then I am gone. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to depart this world so early. I hope that I put up a good fight before I died and that you can still be as proud of me as I have always been of you.

  You have now met my dearest friends, Ajitabh and Zelda. They are faithful friends and I trust them with my life. I’ve asked them to look after you and to guide you in your treasure-hunting education. Ajitabh is a brilliant inventor and when you set out on your first quest, he will make certain that you have everything you need. Zelda is a renowned archaeologist and can tell a forgery from an authentic piece of treasure with her eyes closed. Rely on them as I have. They will never fail you.

  I trust that by now you have received a delivery from Snooty and Snooty. It is very important that you pay careful attention to the delivery for it is my most treasured possession. I dare not write why you should pay careful attention, in case this letter falls into the wrong hands, but I am confident that you will soon understand why I sent the delivery to you and to no one else. Keep it close. Keep it secret.

  But most importantly, my dearest nephew, don’t give up your dreams. Great adventures await you. You just have to go out and find them.

  Happy hunting!

  With all my love, Uncle Drake

  Tears fell from Homer’s eyes as he read the letter again and again. He hunched his shoulders and wiped his face with his jacket sleeve.

  “There’s no need to hide your tears,” Zelda said. “Sadness is nothing to be ashamed of. Sadness is the truest measure of being alive.”

  “I thought love was the truest measure,” Ajitabh said.

  “Do not speak to me of love,” she said slowly, as if each word brought her pain.

  No one spoke for a while. The woodstove crackled and popped and Dog snored beneath the pillows. Finally, when the tears had subsided, Homer turned around and gazed at his uncle’s friends. As his fear melted away, their villainous appearances also melted away. He hadn’t before noticed the twinkle in Ajitabh’s eyes or the gentleness in Zelda’s voice. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were on the train?”

  “I thought it more appropriate for Ajitabh to speak to you first. He was, after all, your uncle’s best friend.” She looked away. “And I tend to frighten people.”

  “Why didn’t my uncle ever tell me about you?”

  Ajitabh sipped his tea. “He wanted you to finish your schooling before you joined us on a quest.”

  Homer couldn’t believe his ears. He scrambled onto his knees. “Join you?”

  “Why certainly. When you came of age.”

  “When we were on the roof, you said that I could still claim some sort of membership. What membership?” Homer asked.

  “Ah yes. That.” Ajitabh stood and walked over to the woodstove. He opened its glass door and tossed in a few pieces of kindling. As the fire’s warmth drifted throughout the room, Homer peeled off his corduroy jacket, preparing himself for what was sure to be an exciting story. Ajitabh cleared his throat. “The moment I heard that Drake had died, I went to find you, Homer. I needed to know if Drake had given you the coin. But what I discovered was that he had given you that hound.”

  Dog, his rump sticking out of a pillow pile, snored louder.

  “It surprised me to learn of this dog—most likely a stray he had picked up somewhere. Rather nice of you to take care of him.”

  “I don’t mind taking care of him.” Homer reached out to scratch Dog but stopped, not wanting to wake him. “But my dad wants to send him back. He can’t smell so he eats weird things, but I like him.”

  “Every boy should have a dog,” Ajitabh said, arranging the burning logs with a poker.

  “What about every girl?” Zelda asked.

  “Girls do well with dogs, certainly, and with cats, horses, rats, and all that. But dogs and boys go together like slugs and rain. It’s a simple universal equation. I hope that your father changes his mind.” Ajitabh set the poker aside, then returned to his pillow. “Getting back to the issue at hand, after you told me that you had only received the hound, I went to Drake’s apartment and found that it had been emptied of everything.”

  “I know where it all went,” Homer said excitedly. “Madame la Directeur stole all his stuff and put it in her lair.”

  Ajitabh slapped his knee. “By Jove, I suspected as much but I didn’t have time to investigate. Zelda called and told me that she had run into you on the train and that you had the coin after all. So I followed you from the train station. I tried to talk to you at the law office but you ran off.”

  “My sister told Madame la Directeur about the coin. Madame said it belonged to the museum and that Uncle Drake had stolen it.”

  “Nonsense,” Zelda said, her voice rumbling angrily. “Drake Pudding never stole anything. That coin belongs to you, Homer. By giving you the coin, Drake has passed his membership to you. You are to take his place in a secret society.”

  “A secret society?”

  “Yes.” She folded her hands. “The Society of L.O.S.T.”

  26

  Secrets and Syrup

  Huh?” Homer leaned on the coffee table. “The what?”

  “The Society of L.O.S.T.—Legends
, Objects, Secrets, and Treasures,” Ajitabh said, filling Zelda’s glass with tea.

  Homer pushed away his bangs. “Madame said that the initials stood for ‘Lots of Stuffed Things.’ I knew that couldn’t be right. But she said the coin belonged to the museum. That it belonged in Dr. Wortworthy’s exhibit.”

  Zelda reached across the table and patted Homer’s hand. “Put everything that Madame told you out of your head. She’s a liar. She wanted the coin because she desires membership in the Society as much as she desires wealth. Maybe more.”

  “Madame was kicked out of the Society five years ago,” Ajitabh said, “when it was discovered that she had sold stolen treasure for personal gain.”

  Homer’s mind raced as he tried to take in all the information. “She said she knew my uncle. That’s how she knew him? Because they both belonged to this… Society?”

  “Pancakes are served.” Mumble, the old cook, scuttled across the room, a tray perched in his hands. First he set a platter on the table. Homer’s stomach went crazy as the scent of steaming pancakes filled the air. “I made them especially large,” Mumble said, giving Zelda a pitying look. Then, from the pockets of his apron, he pulled out a bottle of maple syrup, a bottle of strawberry syrup, and a bottle of blueberry syrup. “And some chickpea curry.” He set a bowl on the table. Then he pulled a meaty bone from his apron pocket. “For the hound.”

  “Much appreciated, Mumble. How’s the girl?” Ajitabh asked.

  “She ate five pancakes, then fell asleep in the guest room. But that rat of hers stole my silver spoon. It was a gift from my mother. I treasured that spoon.” He shuffled back out the door.

  The stack of pancakes was even taller than the one at the Milkydale County Fair’s pancake-eating contest. Ajitabh passed out plates, forks, and napkins and everyone dug in. Homer nudged Dog awake and showed him the bone. Dog wagged his tail as he happily gnawed. “These pancakes are great,” Homer said after taking his first bite. Although Zelda could probably fit an entire pancake into her mouth, she cut them into dainty pieces.