Ajitabh had invented many amazing things—a cloudcopter, a seaweed-powered submarine with robotic arms, a solar-powered subatomic watch. But the diving suit looked outdated, like something from an old science-fiction movie. Surely there were better ways to walk along the seafloor than in such a weird contraption. What about an underwater jet pack powered by plankton? Homer would mention this idea to Ajitabh the next time they got together.

The diving suit’s green jumper was made of a rubbery material. Pulling it over his belly, Homer felt as if he were squeezing into a balloon. The suit covered every inch of his body, leaving only his face and head exposed. Hercules slipped a pair of weighted boots onto Homer’s feet. Then he handed Homer a round, clear plastic helmet. A narrow tube ran from the helmet to a tank. “It’s your oxygen line,” Hercules explained. “It says on the tank that you have one hour of air.”

One hour? Homer swallowed hard.

“You look scared,” Lorelei said. “Let me go. I’m not scared.”

“I’m not scared, either,” Homer lied.

“We’ll need a way to communicate with you once you’re out there,” Hercules said. “Just in case you run out of oxygen, or something worse.”

Something worse? What could be worse than running out of oxygen? Getting skewered by a narwhal tusk? That sounded pretty bad, too.

As Homer examined the helmet, he imagined what his mother and father would say. They thought he was in Ajitabh’s care, exploring the nooks and crannies of the Map of the Month Club. Never in a million years would they have given Homer permission to walk along the seafloor off the southernmost tip of Greenland to search for treasure. If they found out, he’d certainly be grounded for life. And his chore list would be so long you could stretch it from the Puddings’ front door all the way down Grinning Goat Road.

“How about thumbs-up, thumbs-down?” Hercules suggested, demonstrating. “That’s an easy way to communicate. Thumbs-down lets us know you’re in trouble, and we can pull on the line to bring you back in.”

“Okay,” Homer agreed. Lorelei was back in the pilot’s seat, sulking. Homer whispered to Hercules. “Don’t take your eyes off her. She’s going to try to get the treasure.” Hercules nodded.

Dog pawed at Homer’s feet. He looked up at him and whined.

“I can’t take you with me,” Homer explained gently. “I’ll be right back.”

Homer slid the helmet over his head and face. It sealed the diving suit with a collar and watertight zipper. Once the helmet was in place, Homer couldn’t hear anything but his own breathing and his heart beating in his ears.

“One hour,” Hercules mouthed. Then he slid Homer’s subatomic watch over the wet suit and onto Homer’s wrist. “You okay?” Homer gave a thumbs-up.

Hercules opened the hatch labeled SEAFLOOR EXIT. Homer ducked and stepped into the closet-sized space. The door sealed behind him. This is really happening, he told himself. I’m going out into the ocean to collect Rumpold Smeller’s treasure.

After turning a wheel, the exterior door opened. Water rushed inside, filling the little room. Homer had expected the water to feel icy cold, but as it engulfed him, the temperature inside the suit remained unchanged. Fresh puffs of air filled the helmet. The oxygen line was working.

Homer had never thought of himself as a risk taker. While Uncle Drake had been famous for his crazy stunts, Homer was famous for digging holes in the backyard. If risk could be turned into a food product, Uncle Drake would have poured milk over it and eaten it for breakfast. Homer would have left it on the pantry shelf and eaten something else. Until this particular year, Homer had spent most of his life living the fantasy of adventure inside the safe pages of books. But there he stood, the ice-filled sea sparkling before him, a treasure waiting to be snatched. And so, the oxygen line trailing behind, Homer W. Pudding took a steadying breath and stepped out of the submarine.

The water was fairly shallow in this part of the inlet. The surface sparkled above. Is this how the astronauts felt when they walked on the moon? Each step was awkward as the weighted boots pressed deep into the sand. Each movement was robotic because of the tight wet suit. His labored breathing was the only sound he heard. He walked around the submarine and through one of the headlight beams until he stood before the observation window. Three faces peered out at him. Lorelei wore a pout. Hercules smiled and waved. Dog cocked his head, his ears flattening in confusion as if to say, How come I’m in here and you’re out there?

Hercules pointed at his wrist, a reminder that Homer had only one hour. Homer gave him a thumbs-up, then turned his back to the submarine and faced the figurehead.

The dragon’s eyes were level with Homer’s. He walked around it, making sure the oxygen line didn’t tangle. There were no holes, no latches, nothing that would indicate a secret compartment to hold treasure.

Behind saliva hides what you seek.

The eyeball was the size of a baseball. Homer gripped it with the rubbery fingers of the diving suit and pulled. The suction was tight, but after a few tugs, it popped free. It was solid like glass, with swirls of yellow and orange. Homer dropped the ball to the seafloor. The empty socket stared back at him.

He squeezed his hand into the hole. His fingers wiggled and searched until they rested on something. It was a lever. With a click, the dragon’s head shifted. Homer yanked his hand from the eye socket, then lifted the dragon head from its neck. The neck was hollow. Homer tried to steady his breathing. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him! He dropped the dragon head to the seafloor and reached his arm into the neck.

His fingers ran into something. “I’ve got it!’ he cried. His words bumped up against the inside of the helmet. Gripping the something, he pulled it free and held it in both hands, staring at it as if new life had just come into the world.

What Homer held was a bundle, wrapped in the same watertight skins that had kept Rumpold’s diary safe. The bundle was larger and thicker than the diary, but there was no time to imagine what was inside, because at that very moment, the water trembled and a shadow fell over Homer.

Two shapes loomed on the water’s surface. Pontoons! Homer stepped away from the dragon, craning his neck to get a better view. As the ripples cleared, the side of a seaplane came into focus. Someone stepped onto one of the pontoons. After removing goggles and a leather pilot’s helmet, the person leaned over and looked down. The burning gaze traveled through the water like a flaming torpedo. Homer could have sworn he’d been hit by something. Madame la Directeur smiled wickedly. She pointed and mouthed, “I see you.” Then she waved.

So what if you see me? Homer thought. I’ve got the treasure and you don’t. He waved back, forcing a victorious grin through his clenched jaw. The package gripped in his hand, he turned to face the submarine, ready to make his escape. Lorelei and Hercules stood at the observation window, waving their arms, pointing upward. “Yes,” he mouthed, “I see her.” He lumbered forward. Lorelei and Hercules pressed against the glass, screaming something. Then it looked like they were doing some sort of crazy dance as they pointed upward.

Another shadow fell over Homer. A strange shape drifted down through the water. What was it? A net? Was that a net?!

It’s really difficult to run underwater, especially in a diving suit with weighted boots. Imagine trying to run against the wind with bricks in your shoes. Homer pumped his arms, desperate to gain momentum. A boy who reads most of the time and digs the occasional hole is not a boy with Olympian endurance. A boy who reads most of the time and digs the occasional hole is a boy who runs out of breath when he climbs four flights of stairs. So all in all, the escape attempt was doomed from the start.

The net fell over Homer’s head. Small dangling weights pulled it to the seafloor, trapping Homer in place. One of the weights pressed against the oxygen line, strangling the fresh puffs of air. Homer dropped to his knees and slid the treasure bundle under the net just before it completely encircled him. She would never get her hands on it. Never.

Homer’s mind raced. If Madame la Directeur hauled him to the surface… He shuddered at the thought. Grabbing the net, he tried to pull it off but it tightened around him. Thrashing only made things worse as netting tangled around his feet and arms. He felt like a tuna. Panic beat in his chest.

It was a sad ending to a brilliant quest. Homer stopped struggling and stared through the green mesh, hoping to catch a final glimpse of his comrades. Hercules puffed on his inhaler, his eyes wide with fear. Dog barked madly and scratched at the window. Lorelei was doing something at the console. Oh, she was working the joysticks. She was trying to get the treasure. Would she give it to Madame? Would she keep it for herself?

Homer blinked. What was that? It looked like a black hole and it was moving toward him. Was he seeing things? The oxygen line was tangled, the fresh puffs of air less frequent. Could his brain be suffering from oxygen depletion? The black hole loomed. Then the hole closed and a gray-and-white speckled shape glided around the net. Could it possibly be…?

Speckles!

Speckles the whale shark stopped swimming and pressed an eyeball to the net. Had he followed them all the way to Greenland? Homer thrashed. Speckles swam around and around. He stopped to look through the net again. But he wasn’t looking at Homer. He was looking at the dragon’s eyeball that was also caught in the net. Speckles wiggled his back end, just like a dog waiting to play fetch.

Clearly Speckles had no idea that someone’s life was at stake. Clearly he had no idea that the most important pirate treasure in treasure-hunting history was at risk. Or maybe he knew these things but simply didn’t care. Who truly understands the mind of a whale shark?

The net began to move upward. Madame la Directeur was hauling in her catch. Homer gritted his teeth. How could he escape?

Speckles eyed the amber ball again. Turning in a circle, he darted to the surface, smacked his tail, then returned to the net. In his playful frenzy, his tail had barely missed one of the pontoons. The seaplane rocked. An idea sprung to life in Homer’s submerged head. He grabbed the eyeball and held it, pretending he might throw it. Speckles went nuts. He turned in a circle, zipped to the surface and smacked his enormous tail. “Yes!” Homer cried as the tail smacked into one of the pontoons, crushing it like a boot crushing a soda can. The seaplane tilted and the net, with Homer in it, fell to the seafloor.

Pain shot through Homer’s legs as he landed on some rocks. The net loosened, and he managed to crawl out. As the dragon eyeball rolled onto the sand, Speckles scooped it up with his nose and carried it around the submarine. Homer struggled to his feet. He searched for the treasure bundle. Where was it? He turned toward the observation window, hoping Hercules or Lorelei would point him in the treasure’s direction. But Hercules was not at the window. Lorelei sat in the pilot’s seat, working the joystick as a robotic hand retreated, the treasure in its mechanical fingers. With desperate steps, Homer lumbered forward.

Speckles raced around again, but this time he caught the oxygen line with his tail, ripping it from the submarine. The puffs of air stopped. The robotic arms folded back into their compartments, and the compartment doors closed. Lorelei had the treasure. Hercules and Dog were nowhere to be seen. And Homer had only a helmet’s amount of air.

This was Lorelei’s moment of victory—her double-cross complete. And it was déjà vu for Homer. For just as Madame had used the robotic arms to steal the captain’s chest from Uncle Drake, so, too, had Lorelei used them to steal Rumpold’s treasure from Homer.

“Lorelei!” he cried. He gasped for air but found none. The quest was over.

The observation window faded, and the sea darkened.