Dog!” Homer cried.
He grabbed Dog by the collar just before they were cast out of the basket. Somewhere to his right, Lorelei screamed. As did Hercules. But where were they? All Homer could see was a blanket of leaves so thick it looked as if he and Dog could walk right across it. He held his breath, not daring to move. If only this moment could be suspended in time. But gravity, the enemy of those perched at the top of a tree, took control of the situation. A branch broke.
He never let go of Dog’s collar. Even as he bumped from branch to branch, even as his sleeve tore and his eyes were nearly gouged out, he held on tight. Down, down, down they tumbled. Dog yelped. A branch hit Homer’s leg; another scraped his cheek. And then he landed on one of the lower branches, Dog in his lap. They’d stopped falling. Homer breathed a sigh of relief as he caught his balance. All was still. All was safe.
But then Dog lifted his leg to scratch a flea, throwing them off balance again, and they fell the last few feet to the ground.
Lorelei and Hercules had already landed. “Everyone okay?” Hercules asked.
Homer, who lay face-first in the grass, moaned. “I think I broke my entire body.”
Lorelei sat up and picked a caterpillar off her nose. Then she reached into her jumpsuit to check on the map. “Got it,” she said. Then she searched her pockets. “Hey, where’s my remote control?” As if it had heard her, the remote fell from the tree, landing with a thunk near Homer’s head. Lorelei grabbed it.
From the way his legs ached, Homer knew some big bruises would soon be making their appearances. He shook leaves from his hair, then got onto his knees and checked on Dog. This was the second time this summer that his best friend had fallen from the sky. “Please be okay,” Homer pleaded under his breath. Dog lay on his side. His belly rose and fell with steady breaths, so that was a very good sign, but otherwise he wasn’t moving. Homer ran his hands over Dog’s back and down each of his legs. Nothing seemed broken. “Dog?”
“Maybe he just got the wind knocked out of him,” Lorelei said as she knelt next to Homer.
“But he’s not waking up.” Dog’s ear was flopped back onto the grass so that its soft inside was exposed. Homer gently stroked the ear. “Wake up, Dog.”
Hercules crawled over. “If he’s knocked out, it’s probably a concussion, which is a traumatic brain injury. Concussion comes from the Latin concutere, which means ‘to shake violently.’ ”
“Why do you always talk like you’re in the middle of a spelling bee?” Lorelei asked. “What’s the matter with you? It’s weird.”
“I like words,” Hercules said with a shrug. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Traumatic brain injury?” Homer repeated, his stomach tightening. Dog’s brain wasn’t very big, and because of his lack of smell, he already had trouble when it came to finding his way back home, knowing which foods to eat, and knowing who was friend or foe. A conk on the head could add more troubles. A rush of emotion overtook Homer, and he grabbed Dog’s shoulder and shook him, pleading, “Dog! Wake up!” Dog’s jowls jiggled as Homer shook again. “Wake! Up!” Please, please, please, please…
“Ur.” Dog opened one eye. Then he sneezed and a caterpillar shot out his nostril.
“Disgusting,” Lorelei said as the caterpillar whizzed past.
“Dog?” Homer gushed. “Are you okay?” Dog raised his head and thwapped his tail against Hercules’s knee. Then with a grunt, he rolled onto his paws and stood. Homer threw his arms around Dog’s thick middle and hugged. “I’ll never let you fall out of a hot air balloon again. I promise.”
Lorelei scrambled to her feet. “Since we’re all okay, we’d better get going.”
Homer and Hercules wiped the last bits of leaves and caterpillars from their clothes. While Hercules gathered his notebook and pen, Homer picked a twig from his hair. “We’ve destroyed Lulu Bell’s balloon,” he said sadly.
“It’s fine, just deflated. I’ll send a harmonic crystal to the Map of the Month Club. That will cover the cost of any repairs.” Lorelei started across the park. “Come on. It’s a long walk back to the speedboat.”
Homer grabbed Dog’s leash and followed Lorelei. “I can’t believe I didn’t break anything,” he told Hercules.
“We’re very lucky,” Hercules said. “Hey, Homer, is it true what Lorelei said earlier? Do I always sound like I’m in the middle of a spelling bee?”
“Only sometimes,” Homer replied.
“Does that make me weird?”
Homer wasn’t sure how to respond. Pointing out the Latin root of words definitely made Hercules a bit weird. Digging holes all over Milkydale definitely made Homer weird. Pink hair made Lorelei weird. Smelling treasure made Dog… well, it certainly didn’t make him weird. It made him kinda cool. But eating paper made Dog weird. “Everyone’s weird,” Homer said. “Some people are just better at hiding it than others.” Hercules smiled.
Lorelei led the way across the park. Grass stains glowed on the rump of her pink jumpsuit. A hole gaped at the back of Hercules’s rugby shirt. Homer’s left sleeve was slit down the seam. The scratches that each of them bore on their hands and faces were badges of honor, for they’d just survived one of the most productive twenty-four hours in treasure-hunting history. Not only had they reconstructed one of the world’s most famous maps, they’d translated its riddle and found an expert to calculate the coordinates, and now they had a destination.
But having a destination was like having a cake without frosting, which, in Homer’s opinion, was the best part. They still had a treasure to claim.
It was early morning, so only a few exercise fanatics were jogging in the park. A newspaper truck pulled into a parking lot. A man jumped from the truck, opened a newspaper kiosk with a key, shoved the day’s fresh, crisp newspapers inside, then drove off. Homer couldn’t help but notice the giant headline:
Homer might have ignored the headline. After all, he had more pressing things on his mind than a thief’s escape. But the photo below the headline caught his attention. It was a mug shot of a perfectly groomed woman with slicked-back black hair and a strand of pearls. Homer shuddered as if he’d just swallowed spoiled goat milk. “Lorelei!” he hollered, his voice cracking. “Lorelei!”
“What?” she called, whipping around. “Why are you two always so slow?”
Hercules stood next to Homer and peered over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Homer fumbled through his pockets. “Do you have a quarter?” he asked. Hercules shook his head. It cost two quarters to buy the paper and Homer had just the one. “Lorelei, come here!” he shouted.
She stomped back toward him. “What?”
“Do you have a quarter?” he asked, his eyes wild.
“Why—?”
“Just give me a quarter!” Spit flew from his mouth.
“Jeez. Why are you so grumpy?” She reached into her pocket and set a quarter into his hand. He stuffed the coins into the slot and opened the kiosk door, grabbing the top newspaper. Then he read the article aloud.
Had the air suddenly been sucked from the park? Homer couldn’t quite catch his breath. “Where do you think she is?” Hercules asked.
All the color washed from Lorelei’s and Homer’s faces. “The lair,” they replied.