Smells Like Pirates

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A Sneak Peek of The Sasquatch Escape

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L.O.S.T.

OFFICIAL CERTIFICATE OF MEMBERSHIP

It is hereby proclaimed that Mister Homer Winslow Pudding has been granted lifetime membership in the Society of Legends, Objects, Secrets, and Treasures and thusly reaps all of the society's questing benefits, which include access to the L.O.S.T. library, guidance and assistance from other members, and financial support.

If at any time or under any circumstances Mister Homer Winslow Pudding breaks his oath of secrecy, he shall be forever banned from the society.

Furthermore, if at any time or under any circumstances Mister Homer Winslow Pudding chooses to ignore L.O.S.T.'s purpose, which is to recover the world's treasures for the benefit and greater good of humankind, he shall be forever banned from the society.

Signed,

The Honorable Lord Mockingbird XVIII

President of L.O.S.T.

A man stepped into the kitchen. He tucked his long black hair behind his ears and looked around. His gaze landed on Homer.

Homer scrambled out of his chair. "Hi, Ajitabh."

Ajitabh (pronounced AAAH-jih-tahb) did not return Homer's smile. He narrowed his dark eyes and ran his hand over his thin mustache and pointy beard. A doctor of inventology, Ajitabh was a fellow member of L.O.S.T. He'd been a trusted friend of Homer's treasure-hunting uncle, who'd died earlier that year, and he was now Homer's trusted mentor. The rest of the Pudding family knew Ajitabh from the Milkydale County Fair, where Dog had led a wild chase that resulted in the destruction of the beloved gunnysack slide. Ajitabh, inventor extraordinaire, built a new and improved slide, to everyone's approval.

"Hello, Homer." His tone was serious. He leaned over to pet Dog. "Hello, Dog." Dog thwapped his tail against Ajitabh's leg.

Mrs. Pudding hurried over to the cupboard and grabbed a plate. "You'll join us for breakfast?" She set it on the table, but Ajitabh shook his head.

"That would be delightful, but time is of the essence," he said.

"What's your important news?" Mr. Pudding asked.

"Quite right." Ajitabh rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, then reached into the back pocket of his khaki pants and handed an envelope to Homer. "It's an invitation."

Homer half expected the envelope to be secured with a L.O.S.T. seal, but that wasn't the case. The envelope was as plain as could be—no seal, no return address, nothing. He opened it and pulled out a piece of paper.

"What is it?" Mrs. Pudding asked.

Homer read the letter aloud.

"Wow," Homer said. "This is really cool. I love the Map of the Month Club."

"VIP?" Gwendolyn grumbled. "How come Homer keeps getting these VIP invitations, huh? What's up with that?"

This was, in fact, Homer's second VIP invitation. VIP stands for "very important person." The first invitation had come from the Museum of Natural History and had led Homer to the discovery of Madame la Directeur's lair and a near-death escape from a man-eating tortoise. This invitation sounded a bit safer. "Can I go?" Homer asked. "I'd really like to go."

"August twentieth is tomorrow," Mrs. Pudding said worriedly. "That's not much notice."

"Sincerest apologies," Ajitabh said in his lilting accent. "As a board member of the Map Club, I was asked to deliver the invitation last week but was waylaid by circumstances beyond my control." He shot a serious glance at Homer. "We need to leave immediately, old chap."

Homer looked yearningly at his father. Was the boredom of August about to end?

"How long will he be gone?" Mr. Pudding asked.

"A bit of uncertainty there," Ajitabh said. "The Map of the Month Club's library alone covers three floors. I have reserved a room for us at a very nice City hotel. I'll act as Homer's guardian. You needn't worry about a thing."

"It sounds like a wonderful opportunity," Mrs. Pudding said to Ajitabh. "Homer loves maps. He's always loved maps. But he'll need to be back for his sister's sweet-sixteen party. It's next Saturday."

"Righteo. That shouldn't be a problem."

"I can go?" Homer beamed, the corners of his smile nearly reaching his ears. But Ajitabh didn't smile. His eyebrows knotted as if twisted by troubling thoughts. Why wasn't he happy? Homer stepped closer to Ajitabh. And why didn't he smell like cloud cover? Homer glanced out the kitchen window. Instead of a cloudcopter, Ajitabh's usual method of transportation, a black limousine waited in the driveway.

"You can go," Mr. Pudding said. "But Gwendolyn will have to cover your chores."

"No way!" Gwendolyn blurted, her cheeks turning red. "Homer gets to go on another vacation and I'm stuck here doing his chores? I'm too busy to do Homer's chores."

"I'll do Homer's chores," Squeak offered.

"I'll make it up to you when I get back," Homer told his sister. "I'll do your chores for a whole extra week."

Gwendolyn chewed on her lower lip, her eyes narrowed in thought. "You really want to go?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me where you hid my present."

"Gwendolyn Maybel Pudding," Mrs. Pudding said. "You will wait until your birthday to open your presents, and that is final."

"Fine!" Gwendolyn pointed at Homer. "But he's doing my chores for an entire month."

"Agreed," Homer said. He held back a sigh of relief. He'd expected to do his sister's chores for an entire year.

"I'll help you pack," Mrs. Pudding said.

If Homer had packed on his own, he would have reached into one of his drawers, grabbed some random clothes, then stuffed them into a backpack as fast as he could. But Mrs. Pudding didn't want her son going anywhere without clean underwear and socks. "Wait," she said as he grabbed the backpack. "You almost forgot your toothbrush." She slid it into one of the pockets. "You'll get cavities if you don't brush."

Homer didn't care if moss grew on his teeth. He just wanted to jump into that limo with Ajitabh and get off the farm.

"I had dreams of becoming a cartographer," Mr. Pudding was telling Ajitabh when Homer hurried back into the kitchen. "Homer gets his love of maps from me."

"Let's go," Homer said, grabbing Dog's blue leash.

After hugging everyone good-bye, except for Gwendolyn, who'd disappeared, Homer flew down the front porch steps. With a grunt and a heave, he pushed Dog into the limousine. Then he climbed in and settled on the soft leather seat. Ajitabh climbed in next to him. "Drive on," Ajitabh said. The driver's outline was blurry through the dark glass panel that separated the front and back seats. The engine started.

"Did you bring your coin?" Ajitabh asked.

Homer reached under his shirt, where a coin hung from a chain. It was his official membership coin with the letters L.O.S.T. engraved on one side and a treasure chest engraved on the other side. "Yeah, I've got it."

The goats watched as the limousine headed down the Pudding driveway and onto Grinning Goat Road. Homer looked back at the house. Mrs. Pudding and Squeak waved from the front porch. Mr. Pudding headed toward the barn. But why was Gwendolyn standing in Homer's bedroom, staring out the window? She didn't wave or smile. Was it because he got to go on a little vacation and she didn't? He'd be sure to bring her back a nice birthday present.

"Hey, Ajitabh," Homer said as Dog settled at his feet. "Why do I need my membership coin if we're going to the Map of the Month Club?"

"We aren't going to the Map of the Month Club, old chap. The invitation is fake. I lied to your parents."

"You lied?" An eerie tickle crept up Homer's spine. "Then where are we going?"

Ajitabh frowned. "Homer, I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news."

The prisoner sat behind a security window made of extra-thick glass. She wore no makeup or jewelry, and her short black hair was slicked back behind her ears. The blue stripes of her prison pajamas matched her serious eyes. When she spoke, her voice slithered through a speaker.

"The map is hidden in a book called Rare Reptiles I Caught and Stuffed," she said.

The visitor rustled nervously in the chair on the other side of the window. The room's cold air had awakened goose pimples on the visitor's arms. "The map?"

"Yes, the map," the prisoner said. "The only map anyone cares about. Rumpold Smeller's map, of course. Are you stupid or something?"

"You're calling me stupid?" The visitor frowned. "I'm not the one in jail."

A frustrated growl vibrated through the speaker as the prisoner's face turned red. "I wouldn't be in here if that overfed Pudding kid and his mangy dog hadn't interfered with my plans."

"You wouldn't be in here, Madame, if you hadn't stolen all the gemstones from the Museum of Natural History."

"Well, you do have a point." The prisoner, whose full name was Madame la Directeur, patted a rebellious lock of hair back into place.

"Some people think you should be convicted of murder," the visitor said. "Some people think you turned your turtle into a man-eating monster on purpose."

"Tortoise," Madame corrected. "Edith is a tortoise, not a turtle." Her tone turned sad, as if she missed the carnivorous beast.

"Whatever. The fact is, that monster ate Homer's uncle, and some people think you planned it."

"Mean-spirited people can say what they like. There's no proof."

The visitor's eyes narrowed. "Let's stop wasting time. Why did you call me here?"

Madame looked over her shoulder. A guard sat, reading a magazine, in a chair in the far corner of the room. Two other prisoners had finished their conversations and were heading back to their cells. Madame leaned closer to the microphone, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I thought the book was gone. But I've had a lot of time in solitary confinement to think about it. Edith did not digest the book." The visitor leaned closer to the speaker, trying to catch every secret word. "Edith swallowed the book that contains Rumpold's map. I saw her swallow it, and I thought the map was gone forever. But I'd forgotten that Edith can't digest paper. She can digest radioactive nuclear waste and people, but paper always disagrees with her. It comes back up. So that means she ate the book, but she didn't digest it."

"Two minutes left," the guard announced.

"So where is it?" the visitor asked. "Hurry. There's not much time."

Madame scowled. "The fat kid has it."

"How do you know he has it?"

"Intuition. I can feel it in my bones." She clenched her trembling fingers into fists. "He's a Pudding. The map always finds its way back to a Pudding."

"Why are you telling me this?" the visitor asked. "What good does it do you? You're stuck in here. Even if you are correct and Homer has the map, you can't get it. You can't search for treasure from a jail cell."

"I'm telling you this because I don't want that meddling kid to find Rumpold's treasure."

"You'd rather I found it?"

Madame la Directeur pressed her palms against the window. She breathed rapidly, anger seeping from every inch of her being. "Of course I don't want you to find it," she snarled. "I'm the one who deserves that treasure. But those Puddings are the bane of my existence. I'll do whatever it takes to keep another Pudding from outmaneuvering me, even if it means hiring you."

The guard cleared his throat. "Visiting hours are over."

Madame removed her hands from the glass and stood. She took a long breath, then smoothed out her crumpled prison pajamas. Before turning to leave, she said one last thing to the visitor. "Do not double-cross me again."

The visitor shivered, for the look on Madame's face was as cold as the air-conditioned room.

What kind of bad news?" Homer asked as the limousine turned down Peashoot Lane and crossed the bridge over Milky Creek.

"Bloomin' bad news," Ajitabh said.

Homer gripped his membership coin. "Are they going to kick me out of L.O.S.T.?" he asked. "Did they decide I'm too young?"

"No."

What else could it be? Homer remembered the morning when he'd learned his uncle Drake had died. His chest tightened at the possibility that someone else he loved was gone. "Has someone died?" Ajitabh nodded. "Not Zelda," Homer whispered. He reached down until he felt Dog's warm back. "Please not Zelda."