Smells Like Treasure

  “What are you doing?” Homer pleaded. “This is no time to fall in love. Come on.”

  The chariots had lined up again. Diana pointed her whip at the sky. Caesar, Romulus, and Tiberius held their reins, their steely gazes focused on the opposite side of the arena.

  “On your mark…” she yelled.

  They were going to race again. Homer pulled Dog out of the hole. The Sherman tank’s engine roared to life, and the tank began a slow roll toward them. Homer couldn’t carry Dog and he had no leash to pull, so he waved the trophy in Dog’s face. “See the treasure?” he said to Dog. “Treasure. See it? Come on.”

  “Get set…” Diana yelled.

  It worked. Homer ran, holding the treasure out like a carrot before a donkey. Dog followed, his loping gait sending his ears flying. The tank rolled closer.

  “Go!” Diana hollered.

  Hercules’s helmet fell off his head and tumbled onto the dirt floor as he leaned over the side of the tank and reached out his arms. Homer tossed the trophy up onto the turret. Then, with a surge of pure panic, he heaved Dog upward. Hercules didn’t complain about touching Dog. He pulled him to safety, then took Homer’s hand and pulled him up, too. The tank rocked slightly as the chariots veered around it. Diana’s hair waved behind her like a flag. Caesar held his whip like a lance. The wheels of Tiberius’s and Romulus’s chariots screeched as they almost crashed into each other.

  And Brutus, who’d continued digging, emerged from the hole with a bone in her mouth.

  Inside the tank, the maids clung to each other, teary-eyed. Hercules, Homer, and Dog balanced on the turret. “Hey, Hercules!” Caesar yelled. “Don’t be such a wimp. Come back and play.”

  “You’re a bunch of maniacs!” Hercules yelled at his siblings.

  As they made their escape and rolled beneath the arch, Homer took a final look at the arena. Brutus happily chewed on her bone while Romulus, Diana, Caesar, and Tiberius wrestled beside the chariots.

  “That was a close call,” Homer said.

  Hercules set his trophy in his lap. “I can’t believe you found it. I thought I’d never see it again.”

  “Dog found it,” Homer said. “He likes to dig. And sometimes he finds things.”

  Hercules looked at Dog. Then he took a very long breath, slowly reached out his hand, and patted Dog’s head. “Thanks, Dog.”

  “Ur.”

  Once they’d reached the palace, the tank stopped at the servants’ entrance, where the maids climbed out. “We quit!” they announced, stomping off.

  “Sometimes I wish I could quit this family,” Hercules said.

  “Every family has problems,” Homer told him. But admittedly, Hercules’s situation was pretty bad, considering that his parents didn’t even know he was alive and his siblings thought he was a piece of sporting equipment.

  Then everything rushed back to him. He’d survived the coliseum, but the quest was waiting. And his opponent had a three-hour head start.

  Homer reached into the tank and pulled out the atlas. Brushing dirt from its red cover, he opened to the index. “Mushroom Island,” he murmured. “Where is it?” His fingers trembled as he turned the pages. “Mushroom… mushroom… here it is!”

  The shape wasn’t exactly like Lord Mockingbird’s drawing, but it was close enough. A hand-drawn map is never perfect. “It’s the right place. I just know it. This is where we’ll find the membership coin. Here are the coordinates. Can Baldwin fly us there? Right now?”

  “Yes,” Hercules said, “but…”

  “But what?”

  “I know I’m not supposed to help you solve the riddle, but I think there are still some parts of it that you haven’t solved. Like the honey bear, for instance.”

  “I’ll worry about the honey bear when I get there. There’s no time to waste. Lorelei might already be there.” Homer refastened Dog’s collar around his neck. Then he scrambled down the ladder, collected his things from inside the tank, then climbed back up. “Here’s your first-aid kit. And I’ve got my backpack and the clue box.” And I’ve got Dog. “Are you ready?”

  “No, I’m not ready. Of course I’m not ready. Do we really have to do this? Are you sure you want to be a member of L.O.S.T.?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Homer said. “I promised my uncle that I’d continue his quest. I’m going to find Rumpold Smeller’s treasure and I need L.O.S.T.’s help to do it.”

  “I wish we hadn’t lost our helmets. Helmets always come in handy.” Hercules grabbed his first-aid kit. “Maybe I should get some more bandages? What about insect repellent? What about ice packs? Do you think we’ll need antivenom in case we run into snakes?”

  “Do you think Rumpold Smeller had ice packs or antivenom when he headed out to sea?”

  “Maybe?”

  “No. Of course he didn’t.” Homer flung his backpack over his shoulder. “Rumpold Smeller didn’t need bandages. He wasn’t afraid of anything. He fought cannibals, slave dealers, even the British Navy. We’re going to a little island that’s shaped like a mushroom. How dangerous could that be?”

  Hercules opened his mouth, but Homer cut him off.

  “The only other thing we need is determination,” Homer said. Then he looked at his wide-eyed, terrified companion, and he looked down at his droopy, panting dog. “And maybe luck. Lots and lots of luck.”

  26

  Rumpold Smeller the Boy, Part IV

  Seven men sat around the grand table in Duke Smeller’s dining hall, casting curious glances at Rumpold. A bushy beard hung from each man’s face. Their cheeks and hands bore the smooth scars of swords, the jagged scars of daggers. Each man wore the white tunic of a Teutonic knight.

  Rumpold stood in front of the table waiting for the men to finish eating. To pass the time he counted six missing fingers, four missing front teeth, two missing ears, one missing leg, two eye patches, and one nose that was made from silver. Why would his father want him to become one of these knights? Rumpold needed his fingers and eyes for drawing. He’d become fond of his legs, and his teeth were handy. If he had to choose something to lose, he supposed he could give up an ear.

  Grease glistened on the knights’ beards and lips, for they’d just consumed an entire stag. The bones, gnawed clean, were scattered across the table. A pair of hounds lay on the floor, gnawing on the stag’s knee joints.

  “Shall we commence?” Duke Vladmir asked after emptying a goblet of wine.

  From the corner of his eye, Rumpold noticed a small movement. His twin sister, Rumpoldena, sat in the far corner, hidden in the shadows. Girls were not allowed to attend such a meeting. If caught, she’d be sent to her room without supper. Or worse—she’d be locked in her room with an entire tapestry to needlepoint.

  “How do you intend to prove your son’s bravery?” Duke Vladmir asked.

  Rumpold and his father, who sat at the end of the table, exchanged a long look. The worry in his father’s eyes matched his own worry. Rumpold tried to remember if he’d ever done anything brave. Nothing came to mind. The time he found a snake in his bed, one of the servants caught it. The time an angry peasant tried to kill Duke Smeller with a pitchfork, a guard threw himself in front of the pitchfork and saved the duke’s life. The time a rumor reached the palace that the duke’s food had been poisoned, a food taster tasted all the food before anyone in the Smeller family was allowed to eat. Each of those people had acted with bravery.

  But it took no courage to be pampered each day, to be fed and clothed, and to sit in a tree and draw pictures. That is why Duke Smeller cast such a worried look at his son, fearing for his son’s safety but also fearing the shame of failure.

  “Shall it be the usual test?” the silver-nosed knight asked. The others replied with nods and grunts.

  “It cannot be the usual test,” Duke Smeller said, pushing his goblet aside. “He is not yet a master of weapons.”

  “My son is the same age and he is a master of weapons,” a one-eared knight said. Then he glared at Rumpol
d. “You do not wield a sword?”

  “No sir.”

  “What about a lance?”

  “No sir.”

  “A crossbow?”

  “No sir.” Rumpold looked down at his feet as murmurs arose around the table.

  “What are we supposed to do with him?” the one-legged knight asked. “Why have we gathered? This is a waste of time. This boy is not ready.”

  “He is my son,” Duke Smeller said, his voice tense, his eyes flashing. “He has the blood right to join our knighthood during his twelfth year. That is the law we are sworn to.”

  More murmurs.

  The oldest knight, one with long gray hair, folded his hands and said, “But he cannot take the usual test if he does not master weaponry.”

  “I’ll take the test!” Rumpoldena ran from the shadows. She threw herself at the table. “I’ll take it. I know how to use all those weapons. Let me take it.”

  Some of the men laughed, while others scowled. Duke Smeller arose from his chair, took his daughter’s arm, and pulled her toward the door. “What are you doing? Are you trying to humiliate me?”

  “But, Father, I’ve been watching and learning. Rumpold doesn’t even like fighting and…”

  “This is not your place,” he said, shoving her into the hallway, where a group of servants pretended that they hadn’t been listening at the door. “Go join your mother in the women’s quarters. Now!”

  The frustration in his sister’s eyes rolled across the room and hit Rumpold like a boulder. Why was she so angry with him? This wasn’t his choice. In a heartbeat he’d gladly give up his right to become a Teutonic knight. He wanted it no more than she wanted to make another tapestry.

  The chuckles died down. Duke Smeller stormed back to his son’s side. “Rumpold may not be a weapons master, but he is my son,” he told them forcefully. “This is his right and he shall claim it. Send him on his quest. Do it now and let him prove himself.”

  “Perhaps we can devise a different test,” said the blond-haired knight who had found Rumpold sitting in the tree, drawing. Rumpold cringed. This knight knew that Rumpold wanted to be an artist. Would he humiliate Rumpold in front of his father? But the knight smiled gently at Rumpold. “The battlefield is not the only challenge we face.”

  “True,” the knights said.

  “The wilderness is a constant battle. How many times have you found yourself in the thick of the forest without roads or landmarks?”

  “Too many times,” they said.

  “It is a weakness to not know our own forests. The next wave of invaders might sneak across our borders through the woods. We need a map of our land, a good map.” The blond-haired knight pushed some bones onto the floor, then placed his palms on the table. Firelight glinted off his jeweled rings. He was an important man, Rumpold realized, to have so many jewels. “Send the boy forth, into the wilderness, to draw us a map.”

  Into the wilderness? Rumpold’s knees suddenly felt soft.

  “He will face dangers in the wilderness,” Duke Vladmir said. “Wild animals, starvation, criminals…”

  “Father,” Rumpold said, poking the duke’s arm, “perhaps there is another secret society I could join?”

  “Quiet,” his father snarled.

  The blond-haired knight continued. “The boy will return to us once he’s created a map that we can use to help guard our borders. Not until then. Does he accept this challenge?”

  After a sturdy shove from his father, Rumpold nodded.

  “Get him what he needs,” the old knight said. “Then send him off at dawn.”

  What I need is luck, Rumpold thought. Lots and lots of luck.

  PART FOUR

  MUSHROOM ISLAND

  27

  Into the Wide Blue Yonder

  After studying The Illustrated Atlas of the Entire World, Baldwin decided that they wouldn’t take the same plane that had carried them from Zelda’s place. “Mushroom Island is uninhabited, so there won’t be a runway. We’ll have to land on the water. We’ll take Mercury.”

  “Who?” Homer asked from the backseat of the limo.

  “Mercury is the name of our floatplane,” Hercules told him. “We keep it on Lake Lofty Spires.”

  During the limo ride, Homer checked the contents of his backpack to see which items hadn’t survived the destructive force known as Romulus Simple. He pulled out a broken magnifying lens and a broken protractor. But nothing else was broken. His jeans and raincoat had provided nice padding for the rest of the gear.

  “Most everything is okay,” he said, pulling out his Panama hat and sticking it on his head.

  “I wish I had my helmet,” Hercules mumbled.

  As they pulled up to the lake, Homer grinned. A floatplane named Mercury waited at the end of the dock. The Simples owned a private jet, a limousine, a Sherman tank, and a coliseum. Of course they owned a floatplane.

  “Does your family have a submarine?” he asked as they walked down the dock.

  “No. But my dad’s part owner of a rocket ship that can carry you into space and back in an hour.”

  “Wow. I want to do that,” Homer said. “Can we do that? Will your dad take us up there?”

  “Are you crazy? I’m not going into space. There’s no air up there.”

  The flight took all afternoon. They traveled north, stopping to refuel on the coast before heading out over the string of islands that formed the San Juans. Hercules refused to look out the window. He’d strapped a parachute to his back, just in case they encountered a hurricane or a U.F.O. Dog had taken a newfound liking to Hercules, ever since the pat of gratitude when he’d rescued the spelling bee trophy. He lay at Hercules’s feet and Hercules didn’t complain. Homer’s shoulder ached from his fall in the coliseum, but he didn’t complain, either. There were too many things on his mind to focus on something as insignificant as throbbing pain.

  The floatplane was stocked with bags of pretzels and cans of soda. Dog liked the pretzels but sneezed when the carbonated drink tickled his nose.

  “Is Lorelei your girlfriend?” Hercules asked suddenly.

  “What?” Homer snorted so hard, some lemon-lime fizz shot up his nose. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I don’t know.” Hercules picked the salt off a pretzel stick. “You looked so happy to see her when she walked into Zelda’s kitchen.”

  “I was happy to see her,” Homer admitted. “But that’s only because she’s my friend. I mean, I thought she was my friend.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “We met in The City. And I was stupid enough to think she was my friend—even after I found out that she’d spied on me for Madame la Directeur.”

  “How did Lorelei know about the L.O.S.T. meeting?”

  “She followed me,” Homer said, shoving his hand in the pretzel bag. “Maybe she’s been watching me. I don’t know. But I haven’t left Milkydale in three months, so she must have figured I was going somewhere important.”

  “I had a friend once,” Hercules said. “But my brother Caesar tossed him into the neighbor’s moat. After he escaped the piranhas, he never came to see me again.”

  “That’s too bad.” Homer chewed, taking only quick sideways glances at Hercules. Admitting you don’t have many friends is pretty embarrassing. It didn’t much matter that they both felt that way; it was still difficult to admit.

  The plane began to bump across the sky as if it had landed on a gravel road covered in potholes. “We’ve hit a patch of turbulence,” Baldwin called from the cockpit.

  “I hate turbulence,” Hercules said, gripping his parachute.

  Homer didn’t mind the movement. It felt exactly like sitting in the bed of the Puddings’ red truck. The motion quickly lulled Dog into a sound sleep. The turbulence continued. While Hercules sat frozen and quiet, Homer wiped the salt off his fingers and opened the clue box.

  They were flying to an island shaped like a mushroom called Mushroom Island. It was bigger than a blue whale and the X on the
map indicated that the treasure was buried in the center of the island. The only missing ingredient was how the honey bear fit in.

  Homer tapped his fingers on the armrest. Sometimes things can seem too simple. Like the time when he’d finished his geometry test a half hour before anyone else in the class, only to find out, the next day, that there’d been more problems on the back of the page.

  He turned the scrolls over to check the back. Nothing. Had he overlooked something? Or maybe Lord Mockingbird had made it super easy because Homer and Lorelei were kids. Or maybe he’d made it super easy because his brain had turned mushy with old age. Well, one thing was certain. Even with Lorelei’s three-hour head start, Homer still had a chance of arriving at Mushroom Island first. The cloudcopter couldn’t match the speed of Mercury.

  “The island is in sight,” Baldwin called.

  Homer slipped out of his seat. He stood behind the pilot’s seat and looked through the cockpit’s windshield. The entire island was visible beneath the cloudless sky. Forest covered the top of the island, the part shaped like a mushroom cap. The short stem was covered in sand and driftwood. The atlas listed the island as two miles long from the tip of its stem to the top of the mushroom cap. It wouldn’t take long to get to the X.

  “Look at all those trees,” Hercules said, pressing his face against his window. “How are we going to walk through all those trees? Branches fall off trees all the time, and I don’t have my helmet.”

  “Where are we going to land?” Homer asked, wondering, exactly, how a plane lands on water.

  “That appears to be a problem,” Baldwin said.

  “What problem?” Hercules asked, leaning into the aisle. “Is there a problem? I knew there’d be a problem.”

  “It appears that the island is surrounded by high reefs. See them?”

  Homer grabbed his Extra Strong Borington Binoculars and peered out the passenger window. Rocky ridges stuck out of the surf. After circling the island, Baldwin said, “There are breaks in the reef that are large enough for a boat to approach the island, but not large enough for us to land this plane.”