Madame la Directeur stood in the Museum of Natural History’s Grand Hall, her upper lip curled with contempt. She’d taken the basement elevator to the main floor. There was no reason for her to crawl through that spider-filled tunnel like some kind of rat. She deserved better than that. I used to rule this place, she thought. It would be nothing without me.

Morning visitors strolled around the lobby, museum maps in hand. They gazed in wonder at the Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton that reached halfway to the vaulted ceiling. They gawked at the mammoth that stood near the grand stairway and the glass-encased giant squid that spanned the length of a wall. Ticket-takers, cashiers, and museum guides busily went about their duties. Not a single employee paid any attention to the woman in the professional treasure-hunting gear who stood beneath the pterodactyl, her face hidden in the shadows of her Panama hat. I was your boss, she thought. I was your queen!

A man walked past. His name tag read MR. WOOD, MUSEUM DIRECTOR. Madame’s foot darted out. Brochures tumbled from Mr. Wood’s hands as he landed on the marble floor. His glasses flew across the room and shattered against a tyrannosaurus thighbone. How dare he try to take my place. Then, without an apology, she stepped over Mr. Wood and walked out the museum’s front doors.

As she strode down the sidewalk, she tried to make sense of her current situation. The girl had followed directions and had stolen the map from Homer Pudding’s house. The girl had continued to follow directions by agreeing to work with Gertrude and Torch. Everything up to that point had gone as Madame had planned. But why would the girl hand the map over to Gertrude and Torch? That made no sense. She was supposed to keep it safe until Madame arrived.

It was possible that the girl was a simple creature without much intelligence. Yet she’d survived on the streets for many years, so she wasn’t stupid. She was up to something. But what?

There was no doubt what the Pudding kid was up to. He wanted the map back. What if he’d told the other L.O.S.T. members about the lair’s existence? They’d swarm the place like locusts. Madame couldn’t go back there. It would be too risky. She’d have to find a new place to live. As soon as she got her hands on Rumpold’s treasure, she’d move far from The City. Maybe to a tropical island where she could work on her tan. Why not buy an entire island? Then she could do whatever she wanted.

Madame crossed Main Street and turned onto Success Street as a police car drove past. She didn’t miss a beat of her determined steps. She’d already outsmarted them. A stack of newspapers sat on the sidewalk, the paperboy shouting, “Escaped prisoner on the loose. Read all about it.” Madame kicked the stack over as she hurried by.

It was not much farther until she reached the marina where Gertrude’s yacht was moored and where Torch was trying to piece the map together. Madame’s fingers wiggled with anticipation. Finally, after all this time, the map would be hers. And as soon as she found the treasure, L.O.S.T. would beg her to come back. They’d beg her to be their leader. And she’d laugh in their faces—I don’t need you. Then she’d give herself a new name—the Treasure Queen.

As the Treasure Queen, Madame would rule the treasure-hunting world. From her throne on her private island, she would plan future quests. She would employ an army of minions—ruthless men and women who cared not for international laws or treaties, who would stop at nothing to collect the desired treasures and bring them back to their queen. A film company would make a movie about her and then a television series, and everyone would be jealous of her riches, power, and fame. She’d license the rights to Treasure Queen action figures and bobblehead dolls—maybe start a Treasure Queen clothing line.

The train station loomed on the other side of the street. Madame wouldn’t have given the building a second glance had it not been for the man sitting on a bench just outside the station’s main entrance. The man’s feet reached only halfway to the sidewalk. He had a telescope tucked under his arm and a plaid suitcase beneath his feet.

Madame stopped so abruptly that she nearly caused a pedestrian collision. Angus MacDoodle hadn’t been seen in public in more than a decade. He was supposed to be in hiding. Why would he be in The City? “Angus?” she hollered.

Angus MacDoodle, who’d been reading the train schedule, looked across the traffic and spotted Madame. He mumbled something, slid off the bench, and hurried into the station.

Madame la Directeur gave chase, running against the traffic light and darting between taxis. “Out of my way!” she ordered, pushing people aside as she entered the building. A cacophony bounced off the brick walls. Trains whistled, espresso machines steamed, a loudspeaker announced arrivals and departures. Where was he? She cut through a line at the ticket booth, stepping on a little boy’s foot and elbowing an old lady in the process. Then she spotted him. He was about to board a train. Picking up speed, she reached out just in time to grab the telescope from beneath his arm.

Angus whipped around, his red braids soaring. “Give it back.”

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

“Tha’s none of yer business,” he said. He stepped toward her, his eyes blazing. Then he pointed to a newspaper kiosk. “The police are lookin’ for ye. Give it back or ah’ll make a fuss.”

She stepped away, her grip tightening on the telescope. Then she stepped close to a track and held the telescope over it. “I’ll drop it,” Madame threatened. “Tell me what you’re doing here or I’ll drop it and it will break into pieces.”

Angus took a sharp, worried breath. “Ye’ve always been a troublemaker. Ah was glad whin they kicked ye out of L.O.S.T. Ah never liked ye. Never.”

“Well, you’ve always been a strange little man, and I’ve never liked you, either.” She narrowed her eyes. “But you’re a hermit, and hermits don’t like cities. What are you doing here? Tell me.”

“Ah’m going away. Those kids found me. Ah dinna care nothin’ about those kids and their map.”

“Kids?” Madame raised an eyebrow. “Map?”

“Ah dinna care about it. Ah’m going far away whir no one will bother me. Where ah can watch the stars in peace.” He skirted around her and tried to grab the telescope, but she simply held her arm higher.

“Did one of the kids have pink hair?” He nodded. “And did the other kid look like he’d eaten too much birthday cake?” He nodded again. “And was there a dog?”

“Aye. A wee basset hound.”

Madame couldn’t believe her luck. Fortune, who’d been ignoring her lately, was smiling upon her once again. Had she not run into Angus, she would have wasted time with Torch, putting together a map that was obviously a fake. That Lorelei girl had proven to be a master of deceit. She’d distracted Torch and Gertrude by creating a forgery, all the while keeping the real map for herself. Perhaps the girl deserved a second chance. Such deception was admirable. She might make a good minion for the Treasure Queen.

But not the boy. Homer Pudding still had to go.

“Tell me about the map,” Madame la Directeur insisted.

Angus MacDoodle grunted, then folded his arms and glared at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “It was a celestial map,” he said. “Ah read it for them.”

A celestial map? Yes, of course. Rumpold Smeller was a pirate, a man of the seven seas. It made perfect sense that he’d chart his buried treasure by the stars. “You calculated the coordinates?”

“Aye.”

With an amused smile, Madame la Directeur relaxed her arm and held the telescope in front of Angus’s reddened face. “I’ll make you an offer. The telescope for the map’s coordinates. Do we have a deal?”

“All aboard!” a conductor yelled. “Last call for the train to Gnome. All aboard!”

“I bet the stars are beautiful in Gnome,” Madame said. “But how will you watch them without your beloved telescope?”

Angus glanced nervously over his shoulder. Then he wrapped his hands around the lens and gave Madame the coordinates.

“Are you certain they are correct?” she asked, leaning over so their noses were nearly touching. “Because I will find you if they are wrong.”

“Dinna insult me, woman.” Angry spit flew from Angus’s lips. “Ah know the stars better than anyone else in the world. Of course ah gave ye the correct coordinates.” She released her grip, and he reclaimed his telescope. Then he scurried past the conductor and climbed onto the train.

A blanket of steam surrounded Madame as she stood on the platform.

The treasure was almost hers.