Smells Like Dog

  Get rid of Lorelei and Dog? Lorelei had no idea that her life was in danger. But how could Homer convince her? She’d never believe him.

  Something warm brushed against Homer’s cheek. Still lying on his stomach, he slowly turned his head and found Daisy’s beady black eyes staring into his. Her nose twitched. “Go away,” Homer whispered. Her nose twitched again. Then, she leaped onto his back and scratched at his collar. He tried to brush her off but she clung fiercely to the fabric, her nose pressed against his neck. He rolled from side to side, trying to rock her loose. Then something snapped. Daisy scurried away with Homer’s beloved Galileo Compass in her teeth, its broken chain left behind.

  Thieving rat!

  Homer crawled toward the stairs. He hoped they weren’t creaky like the ones at the Pudding farm. Another tortoise statue, large enough for him to hide behind, stood at the base of the stairs. While Madame barked orders from the other room, Homer tiptoed down the stairs, then darted behind the statue. From his vantage he had a clear view of the room beneath the balcony. His uncle’s belongings lay on the floor—books, boxes, clothing, vases, globes, parchment, shoes, pillows, all in a massive pile. Lorelei sat cross-legged, pulling socks from a drawer and sticking her hand into each one. Mr. Twaddle disassembled a pair of Extra Strong Borington Binoculars while Madame snooped through some letters, tossing them over her shoulder after reading them. But where was Dog?

  “Another letter from the fat kid,” Madame said. “ ‘Dear Uncle Drake. Thank you for the book about Angus MacDoodle and his backyard treasure. I started to look for Celtic coins in our goat pasture, but Dad told me to stop digging so many holes or the goats would break their legs falling into them.’ ”

  Homer cringed. How dare she read his letters? They’d been sent to Drake’s postal box and addressed to Drake, NOT TO HER!

  “Another letter from the kid. ‘Dear Uncle Drake. I’m glad you’re coming to visit on Sunday. Mom is going to bake a cherry pie because it’s your favorite.’ ” Madame tore the letter to pieces. “Useless. I want that map. SOMEONE FIND ME THAT MAP!”

  “Urrrr.”

  Homer’s heart skipped a beat as Dog waddled into view, his rope leash dragging behind. He appeared unhurt and just as droopy as ever. He started sniffing the pile. Homer waved his hand, trying to catch Dog’s attention. Even though he desperately wanted to race in there and grab Dog, he knew he’d never be able to outrun Lorelei or Mr. Twaddle. He had to get Dog to come to him. The farm dogs would have picked up Homer’s scent, no problem. They’d have been circling at his feet, ready to follow him to the ends of the earth. But not Dog.

  “What’s that rat got?” Mr. Twaddle asked as Daisy climbed onto the pile. “It’s a Galileo Compass.”

  “Give me that.” Madame grabbed the compass. “It’s probably just a fake.”

  Lorelei scooped Daisy into her arms. “Daisy, where did you…?” Then she turned her head in Homer’s direction. He darted behind the statue. “Um, I gotta use the bathroom. Be right back.” Before Homer could get away, a pink head of hair appeared in front of his face. “Go, before she sees you,” Lorelei whispered. “Hurry…” Daisy climbed out of her arms and scampered off.

  There wasn’t time to be angry. “You have to get out, too. She told Mr. Twaddle to get rid of you.”

  Lorelei flared her nostrils. “I can take care of myself. So go on.” She pushed him.

  “I’m not going anywhere without Dog.” He pushed her back.

  “What is that stupid mutt doing now?” Madame cried. “Why is it digging through the pile?”

  Both Homer and Lorelei froze. Then they peered around the statue. Dog stood in the middle of Drake’s belongings, digging. A hat flew past Mr. Twaddle, a pencil nearly hit Madame in the face.

  “Stop digging! It’s messing everything up. Where’s the girl?”

  “I’m right here,” Lorelei said, running back to the room.

  Madame waved her hands frantically. “Throw that dog into the pool. He’s driving me crazy.”

  Dog pulled his head from the depths of the pile, a small book clenched between his teeth.

  “For the last time, get that mutt out of here!”

  Lorelei grabbed Dog’s leash, then yanked the book from his mouth and ran from the room. Homer couldn’t believe his eyes. Was she actually going to throw Dog into the pool? But as soon as Lorelei reached the tortoise statue, she motioned for Homer to follow and she started toward the stairs. Homer was about to take a step when Madame darted out of the back room.

  “Where are you going with that book?”

  Lorelei stopped in her tracks and smiled sheepishly. “What book?”

  “The book that you’re holding in your hand. The one the mutt dug out of the pile. I can see that it’s a copy of my father’s book, Rare Reptiles I Caught and Stuffed. Why are you carrying it?”

  Lorelei glanced at the book, then smiled. “I heard it’s a good book. One of the best, of course, because it was written by your father. I just wanted to look it over.”

  Lorelei knows, Homer realized as he peered from behind the tortoise statue. She knows Dog’s secret. That’s the only reason why she’d want that book.

  “Oh.” Madame’s angry glare softened for a moment. Would she see through Lorelei’s fake compliment? Would she confiscate the book? Homer leaned out a bit more to get a better view.

  “HOWOOOOOO.” The moment Dog caught sight of Homer’s jacket, he pulled his leash free of Lorelei’s grip and scampered behind the statue. Homer didn’t dare move. He stared down at Dog, whose tail was wagging so hard it whapped against the statue. Dog whined and turned his watery eyes up at Homer. Why aren’t you petting me? he was probably thinking. Why did you let her take me? Don’t you love me anymore? He whined again and stuck his nose between Homer’s ankles. Was I a bad dog?

  Homer couldn’t bear the huge aching feeling that filled his body. He squatted and gave Dog a fierce hug. Then he pressed his face against Dog’s neck.

  The moment’s joy was shattered by a high-pitched voice. “What are you doing here?” Madame grabbed Homer’s sleeve and pulled him out from behind the statue.

  As sure as he knew that his treasure maps were locked in the attic, as sure as he knew that his last name was Pudding and that he had a brother named Squeak and a sister named Gwendolyn, Homer knew, at that very moment, that he was a goner.

  32

  The Monster in the Pool

  Homer looked into the eyes of the woman who had killed his uncle—dangerous eyes as dark as the lair’s murky pool. He tried to hide his fear by not blinking, but her gaze was too intense. “How’d you get in here?” she asked with a sneer.

  He glanced over at the stairs. Even though he wasn’t a fast runner, there was a remote chance he could beat Madame to the top because she was wearing high heels. But Dog would take forever on such a steep climb.

  Madame turned her anger on Lorelei. “Did you show him the secret entrance? Did you?”

  “No,” Lorelei insisted, her cheeks flushing crimson. “Why would I do that? I’m working for you.”

  “Twaddle!” Madame hollered.

  “What?” Mr. Twaddle wandered into the lair. He turned one of Uncle Drake’s boots upside down and shook it.

  “The Pudding kid followed you. Now we’ve got to deal with him and the girl.”

  “Deal with me?” Lorelei clutched the reptile book to her chest. “What do you mean by that?”

  Madame folded her arms. “You know exactly what I mean by that.”

  Mr. Twaddle tossed the boot aside and shook his head. “I told you to go home, kid,” he told Homer. “You should have listened to me. Now I gotta deal with you.”

  Homer’s gaze flew around the room. There had to be another way out. There was always another way out. He just had to look at the surroundings with a mapmaker’s eye.

  As Dog wandered to the side of the pool to take a drink, Homer imagined the map he had back home of the Reptile King’s Temple. Until a few days ago it had bee
n thumbtacked directly above his bed and was often the last thing he’d look at before falling asleep. The way into the Reptile King’s Temple was through the snake’s mouth. And, just like in Madame’s lair, the obvious exit was back out the mouth. But when Wilma von Wiener had needed to bring in supplies, she’d widened the stream that fed the Temple’s pool so canoes could glide in. Of course. The old City Channel. It used to run from City Lake all the way across the museum property. The lair’s other exit was by water. Why else would Madame have a speedboat? But the wall around the far side of the pool looked solid. The exit had to be camouflaged.

  “Um, I’m feeling kind of sleepy,” Lorelei said, backing toward the stairs. “I think I’ll go to the warehouse and take a nap.” She fake yawned. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

  “You’re not going anywhere. Neither of you is going anywhere. Ever again.” Madame took a remote control from her pocket and pressed one of its buttons. A steel gate descended from the ceiling and blocked the top of the stairs.

  Homer stole a long look at the remote, which was covered in buttons. One of those buttons probably opened the pool’s exit.

  “Hey!” Lorelei cried as the steel gate clanked into place. “What are you doing? I’m on your side, remember?”

  Madame turned away. “Twaddle,” she said. “Feed them to Edith.”

  Terror broke across Lorelei’s face. Homer whipped around and stared at the glass tank. Edith? The snake lay curled in the tank’s corner, taking a nap. The little white mouse was gone.

  Mr. Twaddle ran into the back room and reemerged with Ajitabh’s sword. “Get over there,” he said, motioning the blade at the cobra’s tank. “Both of you.”

  “You should just let us go,” Homer said as he and Lorelei backed away from the sword. “My uncle’s friends know I’m here. They’ll come looking for me. They’ll find me.”

  Madame raised her eyebrows. “You mean Ajitabh and that behemoth? Ha! They deal in trinkets and inventions. They couldn’t find a secret lair if it bit them in their backsides.” She tucked in her blouse. “Drake was the talented one in that group. Why he hung around with those two losers I’ll never know.”

  Homer’s face felt flaming hot. Anger pulsed through every part of his body. “Why’d you kill him? Why?”

  “Because he got in my way.” Madame spat those words like a snake spitting venom. “And now you two are in my way.”

  “You can’t kill me,” Lorelei cried. “I’ve done everything you asked. I told you about the coin. And I gave you the map with the coordinates to the tower. I could show you how to get back there.”

  Madame laughed. “Do you think you’re the only street kid who can get information for me? Hungry kids are a dime a dozen around these parts. But you weren’t supposed to know about the lair. You found it and he found it and that means you both know too much.”

  Lorelei stomped her foot. “But you promised that we’d be partners.”

  “Partners?” Madame snorted. Then she smoothed her skirt over her round hips. “I never intended to make you my partner.”

  “We shook hands. You gave me this compass to show how much you valued our partnership. That’s what you said.” Lorelei reached into her shirt and pulled out her Galileo Compass.

  “You’re not as smart as you think,” Madame said with a chuckle. “I’d have to be insane to give you a real Galileo Compass. Do you know how much they’re worth? That one’s a fake.”

  Lorelei gasped, then her expression fell, weighed down by a big dose of ugly reality. “You… lied to me.”

  Doesn’t feel too good, does it? Homer almost said. But at that moment he felt as sorry for Lorelei as he felt for himself. And their only chance of escape would be to work together. He had to talk to her.

  “However, while your compass is a fake, this one is the real thing.” Madame held up the compass that Daisy had stolen from Homer. The compass’s face sparkled with chandelier light. “I’m assuming Drake gave this to you. How else could a farm boy afford such a treasure? I’m going to sell it on the black market for loads of cash.” She held the compass to the light, gazing at it as if it were a loved one. “Only the curious have something to find,” she read. “That’s quite poetic. I think I’ll claim it as my own.”

  “You used me!” Lorelei yelled at Madame. “She used me.” Her angry breath blew a strand of pink hair off her forehead.

  Homer couldn’t hold back. “Oh really?” he said. “She used you?”

  Lorelei looked at him, but only for a moment.

  “Get on with it,” Madame said. Then she returned to the back room.

  “Keep moving,” Mr. Twaddle ordered, waving the sword. Dog ambled along the side of the pool, looking into the water. Homer and Lorelei took a few more steps backward, which brought them right up to the cobra’s tank.

  Feed them to Edith.

  The snake lazily raised its head, its forked tongue darting from its mouth. Homer remembered a story in one of his treasure books about Baroness Meatpie, an avid collector of East Indian pottery. Her biographer wrote that after encountering a cobra in one of her precious pots, her agonizing screams could be heard the next village over.

  “Wait…” Homer held up his hands.

  “Look kid, I don’t want to do this any more than you want me to do this. But she’s the boss so just keep moving.”

  “You’ll never get away with this,” Lorelei said.

  As Mr. Twaddle took a few more steps forward, they took a few more steps backward, passing the cobra’s tank. “Keep going.” Homer looked over his shoulder. Mr. Twaddle was backing them up toward the pool. But why? Edith was lying in the tank. They came to the edge. “Go on. Get in.”

  “What? I can’t swim,” Lorelei said.

  “Doesn’t matter. You won’t need to swim,” Mr. Twaddle said. Sweat beads dotted his forehead. A vein bulged in his neck.

  Homer and Lorelei looked at one another, then turned and looked at the pool. Bubbles rose from the pool’s dark center and something moved just below the water’s surface. The hairs on Dog’s back stood up and he started barking. A sick feeling grew in Homer’s stomach as the top of a gigantic tortoise shell briefly surfaced, then disappeared. Lorelei squealed.

  Edith.

  It’s true what they say, that an entire life can pass before someone’s eyes in a single moment. Homer heard the soft bleats of the goats, felt the breeze as it rustled through the cherry trees, smelled his father’s Sunday cologne. He tasted the morning porridge, felt Squeak’s hand in his, and saw the golden flecks in his mother’s eyes.

  “WAIT!” he cried. He whipped back around. “I know what else you could sell for loads of cash.” He grabbed hold of the book that Lorelei still clutched in her hands. He tried to yank it away but Lorelei held tight.

  “Are you crazy?” she asked, trying to push him away.

  “We’ve got to distract them,” Homer told her between clenched teeth. He tugged but Lorelei held fast. “There’s another way out. If we can get the remote control, and get into the boat, we can get out of here.”

  Nervous tears filled Lorelei’s eyes. “Dog dug this book from the pile. You know what that means,” she whispered.

  “It’s not important anymore.” He pulled harder. She was unbelievably strong. “Lorelei, we have to work together to get out of here. You can trust me. I won’t lie to you. Ever.”

  Dog ran along the edge of the pool, following the moving bubbles. “Grrrr.”

  “What’s going on out here? Why are they still alive?” Madame asked, stomping back into the lair. “Shove them into the pool so we can get on with our search.”

  “Sorry, kids.” Mr. Twaddle raised the sword and rushed toward them. Homer and Lorelei stared into each other’s eyes. He expected hers to be crazed with fear—the way a goat looks when it gets stuck in a hole. But her eyes were eerily calm. She nodded and released her grip on the book.

  Homer had to act quickly. “If you let us go, I’ll give you the map.”

&n
bsp; Mr. Twaddle stopped in his tracks. Madame tapped her high heel. “What are you playing at?” she asked.

  Homer held the book over the water. “I’ve got it right here but I’ll throw it in if you don’t let Lorelei and my dog get on that boat.”

  Madame scowled. “Twaddle, did you look through that book?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “It’s just a book with a bunch of stupid drawings in it.”

  “Drawings?” Madame’s face went white. “What kind of drawings?”

  “I don’t know. Lines and scribbles. Stuff like that.”

  Madame la Directeur kicked Mr. Twaddle’s shin. “You moron! There aren’t supposed to be drawings in that book. My father never drew pictures of his reptiles. He only took black-and-white photographs. It’s got to be the map.”

  Homer knew immediately what his uncle had done. During the Spanish Inquisition, when bookmakers wanted to hide forbidden books, they’d hide them within the pages of religious books, the very place where no one would think to look. Uncle Drake must have cut up Rumpold Smeller’s map and stuck it into a book that no one would be interested in, and that Madame would have overlooked because she already owned a copy.

  Madame’s fingers twitched excitedly. “Give me that book.”

  Homer continued to hold it over the water. Dog growled louder as the bubbles surfaced again. “I’ll give you the book if you let Lorelei and Dog get on the boat.”

  “Fine.” Madame dismissed them with a wave of her hand. Lorelei grabbed Dog’s leash and pulled him toward the boat. With a groan, she lifted him over the side and onto a seat. Then she whistled. Daisy popped out of a vending machine, where she’d been eating chips, and scurried across the floor. With a graceful leap, she landed next to Dog.

  “Now open the tunnel,” Homer said.

  “What tunnel?” Madame asked. Homer let the book slip a bit. “Okay, okay.” She pulled the remote control from her pocket and pressed a button. The wall behind the pool slid open, revealing a dark, water-filled passage.