Homer stifled a gasp. Trying to hold back his surprise, he folded his arms. “I still don’t know what you mean. My dog can’t smell anything.”
“Your dog can smell treasure. I know this to be true because your dog used to be my dog.”
“He did?” Homer’s arms dropped to his sides. He’d often wondered about Dog’s past. Dog and Lord Mockingbird knew each other? Is that why Dog had been so happy to see the old man when they were in Zelda’s kitchen? “Are you the one who gave him to my uncle?”
Dog circled twice, then lay on the floor between their feet. Lord Mockingbird glanced down the beach in the direction of Dr. Magnum’s secret cave. She was nowhere to be seen. He leaned closer to Homer. “One day when I was out for a morning stroll, I came upon a man on the sidewalk. He’d set up one of those guessing games with three overturned cups. He placed a gold coin beneath one of the cups, then shuffled the cups quickly. The object of the game was to find the coin with one guess. A correct guess won the coin beneath the cup plus the coin it cost to play the game. A bad guess forfeited both coins.”
“I’ve seen that game,” Homer said.
“The man had a dog by his side, a very droopy, very sad-looking dog that hadn’t been bathed in quite some time and was suffering from a flea infestation. The dog, with nothing better to do, scratched himself and watched the game. Each time someone guessed incorrectly, the dog would sniff at the correct cup. The man, a dreadful creature with a sloping brow and rotten teeth, did not notice the amazing ability of his dog, but instead grew annoyed by the dog’s behavior and pushed him away.” Lord Mockingbird pressed his fingertips together and smiled. “But I noticed. So I bought the dog for a fair sum, took him home, cleaned him up, and made my plans for my next quest.”
Though the story sounded plausible, Homer still did not admit to Dog’s talent. “What happened then?”
Lord Mockingbird’s smile faded. “I fell ill. I didn’t leave my bed for many long months.” He pulled up the sleeves on his black jacket and held out his forearms. “Do you see these? Do you see how thin they are? I may be clear-headed, but my body is as brittle as a dried twig. It is a tragedy when a man’s age catches up with him.” He pulled his sleeves back into place. “I realized that my treasure-hunting days had come to an end, as had my plans for the dog. So I gave him to the person I trusted most in our organization. Your uncle. And now I ask you again, Homer. Have you told anyone Dog’s secret?”
“No,” Homer said. “I haven’t told anyone. But one person guessed.”
“The girl?”
Homer nodded.
Lord Mockingbird sighed. A clamshell dropped from the sky and landed a few feet away. Dog darted to his feet and looked around. Lord Mockingbird narrowed his small eyes. “You must keep the secret. Dog must not fall into the wrong hands.”
“I know,” Homer said. “I am keeping the secret.” He pulled Dog close. “I won’t let anyone take him.” Not ever again.
This seemed to satisfy Lord Mockingbird because he clapped his hands together and smiled again. “Good. And you’ve chosen a fine name for him. Funny, but I never got around to naming him. I was so sick and all that.” He shifted on the seat. “Now, let us get to the business at hand before the rest of them swim to shore to congratulate you.”
Homer looked over Lord Mockingbird’s shoulder. Torch lounged in a deck chair sipping a drink. Professor Thick and Jeremiah Carson sat at a table, playing cards. But Zelda stood like a statue, watching the rowboat.
“And before that horrid woman returns from her cave.”
“You know about her cave?” Homer asked.
“Yes, of course I know. I may be over-the-hill, but these eyes can still see and these ears can still hear. And the mind knows what the mind knows.”
“Your Lordship,” Homer said. “Why do you pretend to be… confused?”
“I pretend to be feebleminded, young man, because people expect someone of my advanced years to be feebleminded and, therefore, believing I am a fool, they tend to talk about all sorts of things in my presence. And I’ve learned many things.” He tapped his temple. “Many things. That’s how I knew about the cave. And about the grizzly. Did the honey bear come in handy?”
“Yes,” Homer said. “Thank you.” Then he wondered if His Lordship deserved a thank-you. It’s nice to give someone a honey bear so that someone can fend off a grizzly. On the other hand, it’s not so nice to send someone into a situation where that someone is going to have to FEND OFF A GRIZZLY!
Lord Mockingbird folded his arms. “Dr. Magnum is insufferably greedy.”
“If you know that Dr. Magnum is bad, why don’t you kick her out?”
“She hasn’t broken her oath. She hoarded those harmonic crystals before she joined our secret organization. But one day she will break her oath, mark my words. She will show her true self to the world. It always happens that way. One’s true self cannot be hidden forever. It will fight to be set free.”
Slowly, Homer began to understand. “You wanted me to find the cave. That’s why you marked the spot with an X.”
“Indeed. And you passed the test.”
The X had been a test. The cave itself had been a test. “You wanted to see if I’d take the crystals,” Homer said. Lord Mockingbird nodded. “I didn’t take any.”
“I know that. You’d be making music if you’d taken any crystals.”
Homer continued to put the pieces together. “You marked the cave on the map so I would find it. But you and I both know that ‘X marks the spot’ isn’t usually true. So how did you know that I’d go to the X?”
“I figured that because you knew that I knew that you knew that ‘X marks the spot’ isn’t usually true, you’d think I put it there to confuse you and so you’d have to check it out.”
“Oh.” Homer screwed up his face, trying to follow that logic. “So you marked the cave so I would find it, but you didn’t mark the coin’s hiding place because you knew that Dog would find it.”
“Correct. Speaking of the coin, where is it?”
Homer looked down at Dog, who was once again lying on the floor of the boat. “He ate it.”
Lord Mockingbird grunted. “That’s going to prove a bit of a mess for you, but I am not concerned. As long as the coin is in your possession, which it is since Dog belongs to you, then I proclaim you the winner of this quest and the rightful inheritor of Drake Pudding’s chair.”
Homer wanted to live in that moment forever. He wanted to hug Lord Mockingbird, but he didn’t, afraid that the old man might break into pieces. So he reached out and shook his hand. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re most welcome.”
Homer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Dr. Magnum tried to scare me,” he told His Lordship. “She dressed up as a fortune-teller and told me that treasure hunting would kill me.”
“It might kill you,” His Lordship said. “That’s a risk you’ll have to take.”
“And then she pretended to be a writer and told me that treasure hunting would make me miserable.”
“It might. Look at Torch. She’s unequivocally miserable.”
“Why was she trying to scare me? Why doesn’t she want me to join L.O.S.T.?”
Lord Mockingbird raised his eyebrows. “Because Dr. Gertrude Magnum wants to take my place as the president of L.O.S.T. As soon as I’m gone, she wants to change the philosophy of our little organization. Like her friend Madame la Directeur, Dr. Magnum is driven by greed. So she’d like to fill your uncle’s chair with someone who’s like-minded. Not with another honorable and honest Pudding.”
Dog suddenly barked. “Drat. Here she comes,” Lord Mockingbird said as Dr. Magnum hurried around the bend at the end of the cove. “I must speak quickly.” He grabbed Homer by the shoulders. “I shan’t be around forever. Who knows when my time will come, so I want you to know something.”
“What?” Homer asked.
“You remember how I said that the true s
elf will always reveal itself?” Homer nodded. “You revealed your true spirit on this quest. You are the future of L.O.S.T. I am happy to know that Drake’s chair has been filled by someone who will truly keep the spirit of L.O.S.T. alive.” Lord Mockingbird looked deep into Homer’s eyes.
“I will,” Homer said. “I will keep the spirit of L.O.S.T. alive.”
Dr. Gertrude Magnum stomped up to the rowboat and stuck her reddened, sweaty face right in Homer’s. “What have you done?” she said. “WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE?” She grabbed Homer by the collar of his green shirt. “Where are they?”
“Where are what?” Homer asked, trying to sound innocent.
She couldn’t, of course, answer that question. Her chins shook with rage. “You know, don’t you? You little brat. Where have you put them?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Homer said, pulling out of her grip.
Lord Mockingbird shoved his teeth into his pocket. “What’s the hoopla?” he said with a grumble. “Get me a muffin.”
“I can hear the crystals,” Gertrude said, pointing a finger at Homer. “I can hear them.”
“What crystals?” Homer asked innocently. But he could also hear the music.
Gertrude stepped away from the rowboat. A soft crystal melody filled the air. She stumbled over a rock as her head whipped left, then right. “What’s that?” she asked, spit flying from her mouth. “Where’s that coming from?” The sound grew louder as a small puffy cloud appeared directly overhead.
“It’s a hootenanny,” Lord Mockingbird said, tapping his toes.
“It’s a cloudcopter,” Gertrude snarled. She pointed her finger at the sky. “That’s Zelda’s cloudcopter. The music is coming from Zelda’s cloudcopter.” She jumped up and down, her face going as red as a radish. “The girl! The girl took them.” She stomped around in a full circle. “She took all of them!”
Homer stifled a laugh. Lorelei must have gone back to the cave and taken the rest of the crystals.
“Who took what?” Lord Mockingbird asked. “The muffins? Did she take the muffins?”
Gertrude stopped stomping. She inhaled a long, angry breath. The music faded as the cloudcopter flew toward the horizon. Then Gertrude turned slowly and glared at Homer. She ran her hand along her diamond necklace and forced her face into a smile. “Yes, Your Lordship, that’s right. She took the muffins.”
Lord Mockingbird plunked his top hat onto his head. “You’re a bumble-headed nuisance, Gertrude. Back to the ship. The whippersnapper and his droopy dog are coming, too.”
“And why is that?” Gertrude asked.
“Because we are going to escort them home.”
“But Baldwin was going to come back and get me,” Homer said.
“The namby-pamby kid’s butler?” Lord Mockingbird grunted. “We’ll radio him. Tell him it’s not necessary. Now shove off!”
Gertrude leaned against the end of the rowboat. With a grunt, she pushed it back into the water. Homer moved to Lord Mockingbird’s bench as Gertrude climbed aboard. “I’m the newest member of L.O.S.T.,” Homer told her.
“That’s got to be the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard,” she said as she clenched her teeth. She grabbed the oars. “Another Pudding in the membership.”
“Not pudding,” Lord Mockingbird said, smacking his lips. “Muffins, not pudding.”
The summer sun danced on the water as they moved toward the yacht called Cave Woman II. A harbor seal swam toward the rowboat, pushing something through the water with its nose. “Hey, it’s my backpack.” Homer reached over the side and pulled his backpack out of the water. He hugged it to his chest, not caring one bit that it was soaking wet. After all, Mr. Tuffletop, who was a visionary in his field, had designed Homer’s adventurer clothing to be sunproof, bladeproof, and waterproof.
“Have you ever had your fortune told?” Homer asked. Gertrude said nothing. “I did once, by this guy named Excelsior. He told me that I had a treasure hunter’s line on my hand.”
“That is so very interesting,” Gertrude said, rowing faster.
“It was interesting.”
“I suppose you think this is the best day of your life,” she said, her eyes blazing. She squeezed the oars until her hands turned completely white.
“One of the best,” Homer said, beaming. “Definitely one of the best.”
40
Back to Milkydale
It is not necessary to go into all the messy details about how the membership coin was retrieved. Suffice it to say the world has made great advancements in sterilizing and deodorizing products. And once the coin was polished and hung from a chain, no one would have guessed that it had seen the inside of a basset hound.
On board the Cave Woman II, there were many congratulatory hugs from the L.O.S.T. membership. Zelda actually beamed with happiness. Torch even shook Homer’s hand. Professor Thick stuttered his congratulations, and Jeremiah Carson slapped Homer’s back so hard that Homer thought his teeth might fly out.
Dog and Homer each ate an overflowing plateful of macaroni and cheese. Even though they were provided with two sleeping berths, they shared one and fell into a deep, welcome sleep. Once the yacht reached the mainland, Lord Mockingbird flew Homer, Dog, and Zelda back across the country in his private jet. “I sure hope I get my cloudcopter back,” Zelda said.
During the plane ride, Homer changed into his farm clothes, carefully folding his professional adventurer clothes and hiding them at the bottom of his backpack. If Mr. Pudding saw the treasure-hunting clothes, he’d probably get upset. And if any of the kids from school saw the clothes, well, they’d surely laugh. Too bad he’d lost the Panama hat. Maybe Mr. Tuffletop would make him another. Homer tucked Dog’s vest into the backpack, too. More secrets to be kept beneath his bed.
Before they parted at the train station—Zelda to head in the direction of Gloomy Moor, Homer and Dog to head back to Milkydale—Zelda knelt and scratched Dog’s rump. “I’m so very sad that we must part,” she said. “I do hate good-byes.”
“When will I see you again?” Homer asked.
She pushed her silver hair from her eyes. “Most likely we will reunite when you are ready to begin your next quest.”
“You mean for Rumpold Smeller’s treasure?” Zelda nodded. “When do you think I’ll be ready?”
“I cannot answer that question. As you know, he was the most ruthless pirate who ever sailed the seven seas. His legend lives on because of his dubious deeds. And there are many who want to find his legendary treasure. You will need much preparation.” She placed her oversize hand on his shoulder. “Your time will come, Homer.”
And so it was that after a short ride on the local line, Homer and Dog arrived at the Milkydale depot on Saturday morning, one day earlier than expected. His entire body ached from the bumps and bruises of the week’s adventures, so he was not looking forward to the walk home. After attaching Lorelei’s blue leash to Dog’s collar, they started down the road. The fairgrounds came into view. Nothing had changed. Kids screamed with glee as they did the loop-de-loop. Vendors hollered, advertising their wares. The tin can music of the Ferris wheel and the oompa of a brass band mixed together in melodic chaos. Life in Milkydale had gone on without Homer. His life as an adventurer was a secret, but he thought about how nice it would be to tell the world his story. To see amazement in the faces of his classmates when they learned that he’d become a member of a secret society. To see awe in their eyes when they learned that he’d jumped from an airplane. Was it wrong to want just a little bit of glory?
No. It was not wrong. It is a nice thing to be patted on the back every once in a while.
But Homer would not share his story. Not that day or any day in the near future. The safety of Dog depended on their adventure remaining a secret. And the promise he’d made to his uncle Drake—that he’d continue the search for Rumpold Smeller’s treasure—was more important to Homer than a pat on the back. Or a town parade. Or an article in the newspaper.
/> “Hey, Homer, did you see the article in the newspaper?” someone yelled from across the parking lot. It was Twyla, the mail lady. She leaned out of her mail truck window.
“Hi, Twyla,” Homer said.
“Lookey here,” she said, shoving the newspaper in Homer’s face.
And here is what it said on the front page:
Pudding Gunnysack Slide Is a Hit
Last Sunday, this newspaper reported the loss of our beloved gunnysack slide—an almost unbearable tragedy following the burning of our library just three months earlier. Both disasters were entirely the fault of twelve-year-old Homer Pudding and his droopy dog.
But from tragedy comes triumph, for today a new gunnysack slide was unveiled. The builder of the new slide, a mysterious foreigner with an unpronounceable name, said, “By Jove, Homer Pudding is the very fellow you should be thanking. He asked me to build this great bloomin’ contraption. He is a fine chap, that lad.”
This editor has never laid eyes on a more magnificent piece of engineering than the new gunnysack slide. According to Mayor Sneed, Homer Pudding and his dog are no longer banned from the fair.
There was no doubt in Homer’s mind who had built the slide. He knew only one person who said by Jove.
“Well, I’d better be going,” Twyla said. “Got a few more stops to make, and then I’m going to try out the new slide.” Her wandering eye did a loop-de-loop. “Oh, for your information, I just delivered your Map of the Month Club tube. It’s waiting for you at home.”
“Thanks,” Homer said.
“See ya later.” Twyla barely missed a garbage can as she drove off.
“Come on,” Homer told Dog. Forgetting all about his bumps and bruises, he and Dog raced across the parking lot.
The Pudding Gunnysack Slide was indeed a wonder to behold. The old gunnysack slide had consisted of two steep sets of stairs and four identical slides, each with a little bump halfway down for extra excitement. But this new gunnysack slide, well, it appeared to be right out of a movie. The six slides were in no way identical. One looped around in a figure eight. Another shot the slider straight into the air like a cannon. The third zigged and zagged, the fourth bounced the slider off the sides like a pinball. The fifth went through a tunnel, and the sixth, the pièce de résistance, spun the slider in such a tight corkscrew that vomiting was absolutely guaranteed. And the entire thing was surrounded by a foam moat.