It took a few minutes to find the emergency backup battery. As soon as Homer pulled the switch, the overhead lights flickered, then glowed. The yellow and white jellyfish pressed against the windshield, their gelatinous bodies undulating, their tentacles creeping along the glass. It reminded Homer of the moths that were drawn to his bedroom window at night. “Do you think they’re attracted to the light?” he asked.

“Maybe. Let’s turn the light off and see if they go away,” Lorelei suggested.

So Homer turned off the emergency battery, and they sat in the dark for a while. It was pitch-black down there and kinda creepy.

“Without power, the oxygen generator doesn’t work,” Hercules whispered, as if he didn’t want to disturb the jellyfish. Or as if whispering a terrible truth made it sound less terrible. “What if we run out of oxygen?”

This possibility hadn’t occurred to Homer. Run out of oxygen? He reached for Dog and found a warm ear. He ran his hand down Dog’s back and pulled him close. “Maybe we should turn the battery back on.”

“Give it a few more minutes,” Lorelei said. “We need to get rid of those jellyfish.”

“We can’t survive without oxygen,” Hercules said, followed by a soft puff of his inhaler. “My throat feels like it’s closing up. Does anyone else feel that way?” Another puff. “Do you think we’re running out already?”

Homer’s throat began to feel weird, too. But it was probably because he had his face buried in Dog’s neck and he’d inhaled a few stray dog hairs. That always happened. “Let’s turn it back on,” he said.

“Thanks a lot, Hercules! All your worrying is making me worry,” Lorelei said. “Fine. Turn the battery back on.”

Homer gladly switched on the emergency battery, and the interior lit up. “Crud,” he said as he looked at the undulating blanket of yellow and white that was still pressed against the window.

“Why won’t they go away?” Lorelei asked.

“They seem to like us,” Hercules said.

An unsettled sensation tickled Homer’s stomach. “Hey, we’re rising,” he said. As the upper half of the submarine surfaced, the jellyfish slid down the windshield until they covered only the submerged half of the window. Night had fallen. A full moon hung in the sky like a lightbulb. The submarine began to rock back and forth with the ocean current.

The black dot started moving again—but in the wrong direction. “They’re pushing us backward,” Homer said.

“What?” Lorelei rushed to the console. “We can’t go backward. There isn’t enough time to go backward. We’ve got to get rid of them.”

“Hey, wasn’t there something in the first-aid kit about jellyfish?” Hercules rummaged through the red metal box. “Here it is.” He held up a tube. “It’s jellyfish pheromones. Maybe we could use this.”

Homer didn’t want to admit that he had no idea what pheromones were. Thankfully, Lorelei did it for him. “I have no idea what phero-thingies are,” she said.

“Pheromones are chemicals that are released by animals,” Hercules explained. “Phero is Greek, and it means ‘to carry.’ The chemicals carry a scent that can be smelled by others in the same species. And the scent makes them behave differently. I think it’s used for mating, mostly. It’s pretty cool when you think about it.”

“Oh, so the scent will attract the jellyfish.” Lorelei leaned close to Homer and whispered, “Kinda like the scent of treasure attracting you-know-who.”

Homer thought about this for a moment. “So if we squirt that tube into the water, then the jellyfish will stop liking us and will like the scent instead, and we can get rid of them.” He grabbed the tube from Hercules, climbed the conning tower, and opened the hatch. Fresh salty air rushed in, filling the interior like a cool drink of water. Homer stuck his head out the hatch. The ocean churned, rocking the sub from side to side. Waves rolled over the deck. A sour taste filled his mouth. He’d have to do this quickly or he’d get seasick for sure. After uncapping the tube, he stepped onto the top rung and tossed the pheromones. The sea quickly swallowed the little tube. Homer closed the hatch and rejoined the others at the observation window.

The effect was immediate. Tentacles trembled. Then a quiver ran across the jellyfish, reminding Homer of his visits to the ballpark when everyone stood up and did the wave. The giant blobs released their grip on the submarine and swam away.

“We did it!” Lorelei cried.

Soon after, they were submerged again and racing along at hyper-speed.

Homer and Lorelei sat at the helm studying Rumpold’s map. “I’m hungry,” Hercules announced, and he wandered into the supply locker.

“Bring me a couple of energy bars,” Lorelei said. “And some water.”

Now that they weren’t bobbing on the surface, Homer’s stomach had settled back to normal. “Is there anything other than energy bars?” he asked, trying not to imagine what his mother might be making for dinner. As shuffling sounded from inside the locker, Homer tried not to think about creamy macaroni and cheese or roast beef with tender red potatoes and gravy. A dry energy bar will be delicious, he told himself. It was certainly better than having to eat sand-flea soup, which had been the main dinner course during many a treasure-hunting expedition.

Lorelei mumbled as she read the riddle. “ ‘Behind saliva hides what you seek.’ ” She scratched her upturned nose. “Saliva? How do you hide a treasure behind saliva? That’s just weird.”

“Uh, guys,” Hercules called from inside the supply locker. “I think I found something.” A screeching sound filled the sub as Hercules dragged a large wooden chest from the closet.

Dog shot to his paws and galloped toward the chest, his nose quivering. He circled the chest, sniffing every square inch. Hercules fiddled with the padlock. “Dog, move your nose. I’m trying to open this thing.” Hercules gave Dog a gentle push, but Dog pushed back, squeezing between Hercules and the chest. His tail wagged furiously as he stuck his nose right up against the lock and sniffed. “The chest was inside a metal locker. It’s got the initials C.I.C. on it. Do you think that stands for ‘Captain Ignatius Conrad’?” Hercules pushed Dog again. “Hey, why is Dog sniffing this thing if he can’t smell?”

“Smell?” Homer and Lorelei blurted out.

The map flew into the air as Homer and Lorelei leaped from their seats like Olympic athletes in a long-jump competition. Arms reaching and fingers twitching, each tried to get to the chest before the other. Lorelei, being the swifter of the two, threw herself over the chest. But Homer, having a bit of a weight advantage, knocked her off with a shoulder butt.

“What’s the matter with you two?” Hercules gasped. He scooted away as they started wrestling like a couple of first graders fighting over the last cupcake. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”

Lorelei clutched the padlock, but Homer grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away from the chest. “It’s not yours!” he said with a groan. “It belonged to my uncle Drake.”

“Let go of me! I want to see what’s inside!” She kicked his kneecap. Pain shot up his leg, and he fell backward, smacking his shoulders against the Seaweed Processing Biofuel Unit. “Finders keepers,” she said as she grabbed the padlock.

Homer was sick and tired of “finders keepers.” He took a huge breath and lunged at Lorelei. They rolled onto the ground, where he pinned her, as Hercules watched in silent confusion.

“Madame stole it from my uncle,” Homer said, his chest heaving with short breaths. “I’m not going to let you steal it from me. I know you’re working for her.”

Lorelei stopped struggling. She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard Madame when she was in the lair,” Homer said, tightening his grip on Lorelei’s wrists. “She was talking to Torch on the flat-screen. She said she’d sent you to get the map from me. She said she told you to work with Torch and Gertrude.”

Lorelei’s expression softened. “Okay, so what? So she sent me to get the map. But I didn’t give it to her. I kept it.”

“You’re working for Madame?” Hercules asked.

“No. I just pretended to work for her.” Lorelei cringed. “Homer, you’re hurting me.”

“Tell us the truth,” Homer insisted, not releasing his grip.

“I am telling you the truth.” She cringed again. “Why would I work with Madame? She double-crossed me before, remember? She tried to feed me to her tortoise. I’m working with you. It’s L.O.S.T. and FOUND together. Now let go of me. Please.”

Homer let go, then scooted between Lorelei and the captain’s chest. Lorelei sat up. Her pink hair was all messed up from their fight. Her face was still covered in scratches from the hot air balloon disaster. But Homer was equally a mess, with a collection of scratches and a thin layer of green goo spread over his toxic rash.

Lorelei rubbed her wrists and stared at him with a sad pout. He felt a bit bad for hurting her. His sister, Gwendolyn, had spent a fair amount of time pinning him to the ground, torturing him with tickles or by dangling squirrel guts in his face. Being pinned down was a terrible, helpless feeling. “Sorry I hurt you,” he said quietly.

“Homer?” Hercules asked. “What should we do? Should we open it?”

“I don’t think so,” Homer said. “Not with her here.”

Lorelei folded her arms. “Oh, I see what’s happening. You’re thinking of double-crossing me. You’re trying to figure out how to push me out of the pact.”

“The pact was to find Rumpold’s treasure, not Captain Conrad’s chest,” Homer said. “The chest belongs to L.O.S.T. It was found on a L.O.S.T.-sponsored quest.”

“The chest was re-found on this quest, and our pact covers all treasure we find on this quest,” she said.

“Re-found is not a word,” Hercules pointed out.

“Whatever,” Lorelei grumbled. “The point is, we have a pact. And you’re supposed to be a man of your word, Homer.” They stared at each other. “Are you going to break a pact? A sacred agreement in which you’ve given your word?”

“Maybe,” Homer said, though his voice came out small and without conviction.

Lorelei smiled. “You won’t break our pact. I know you won’t. Honesty is your Achilles’ heel.”

Thunk.

“Hey, guys,” Hercules said. “What is Dog doing?”

Dog, who’d been sniffing the chest this entire time, had pushed the chest over. That slight impact was all it took to shatter the rusty lock. Lorelei lunged forward and pulled the lid open.

A unified sigh of disappointment filled the submarine as the kids stared into the empty chest. “Nothing,” Lorelei grumbled. “Madame took it all.”

All that fighting for nothing, Homer thought, his cheeks turning red with embarrassment. But even though it was empty, the chest itself was a valuable artifact. A maritime museum would probably like to have it. After all, Captain Conrad was one of the most famous British naval officers in history. Homer was about to tell Lorelei that he still intended to claim it in the name of L.O.S.T., but that’s when Dog lay on his stomach and pawed at the chest’s underside. “Urrrr.” Dog sniffed and pawed, his tail wagging.

“He’s still sniffing,” Lorelei said with a burst of excitement. “Do you see that, Homer? He’s still sniffing!”

“Will someone tell me why Dog is sniffing?” Hercules said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Homer leaned close and inspected the place where Dog was scratching. “It looks like there’s a secret compartment under here.” He patted Dog’s head. “Good boy.” Then he wiggled a piece of wood until it slid free. A package lay beneath. Homer carefully lifted it from its snug hiding spot.

The package was wrapped in some sort of animal skin that had been pounded as thin as paper. The skin felt rubbery. Homer peeled it open. Beneath was a second layer of the rubbery skin. Then a third layer of silver fur. Holding his breath, he peeled back the fur.

A small leather-bound book lay inside. Lorelei didn’t try to grab it. Instead, she stared, wide-eyed and speechless.

“It’s in perfect condition,” Homer whispered as he turned the book over. “The skins kept a watertight seal.”

“What is it?” Hercules also whispered. It was definitely a whispering kind of moment, for a secret was about to be revealed. The submarine’s battery hummed. Dog’s tail thwapped against the floor. Breaths were held.

Carefully, with fingers barely touching the precious leather, Homer opened to the first page. He could have sworn that an orchestra swelled at that very moment. Harps sang out, and cymbals clanged—for in loopy handwriting across the page were the following words:

The Diary of Rumpold Smeller the Pirate