Homer? Wake up.”

Light trickled through the crack in Homer’s eyelids. Something brushed against his face. He opened his eyes and took a deep, surprised breath.

He was lying on the submarine’s floor, the diving helmet at his side. Lorelei crouched, hovering so close that her pink hair tickled his face. “Homer? Can you hear me?”

“Uh-huh.” He smacked his lips, his mouth as dry as the inside of a walnut shell.

“Drink this.” Hercules handed him a water bottle and helped him sit up. Homer drank as if he’d just been rescued from a deserted island.

“I… couldn’t… breathe,” Homer said between gulps. “I… thought…” Water dribbled down his chin. As he wiped it away, he stared at Lorelei. “I thought…”

She sat back on her heels. “You thought what?”

“Lorelei saved your life,” Hercules explained. “She grabbed you with the robotic arms and pulled you on board. I was trying to keep Dog calm. He went nuts when you got caught in the net. I thought, he was going to break through the glass.”

Lorelei folded her arms. “You thought I was going to leave you out there? Is that what you thought, Homer?”

“It occurred to me,” he said, his cheeks heating up.

“How could you think such a terrible thing?” She punched his shoulder. “I told you. I’m not working with Madame. You may not believe me now, but one day you’ll realize I’m telling the truth because the truth always comes out. Always.”

Had he jumped to the wrong conclusion? Had he been too quick to judge her? If not Lorelei, then who gave the coordinates to Madame? As Homer pondered these thoughts, he peeled off the diving suit and boots. He felt oddly light, as if he’d shed an entire other body. Lorelei watched from beneath her bangs, and he recognized the hurt in her eyes. “I’m sorry I thought you might leave me,” he said. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.” She flared her nostrils and turned away.

A snuffling sound caught Homer’s attention. Dog, who hadn’t welcomed Homer with his usual face licks or tail thumps, was busy circling the treasure bundle. He sniffed the watertight skins, his rump wiggling. Ears and jowls swaying, he pranced around the bundle. Then he flopped over onto his back and rolled, covering himself with the bundle’s scent the way farm dogs do when they come across a particularly nasty-smelling dead squirrel or a putrid pile of raccoon poop. No doubt about it, this wasn’t just treasure—it was the greatest treasure ever!

Lorelei reached for the bundle, but Homer stayed her hand. “Wait,” he said. He was as eager as everyone else to see what glorious booty lay inside, but there was an unfinished matter to tend to. “What about Madame?” He expected to see her swimming outside the observation window. But only Speckles swam past, the dragon eyeball still balanced on his nose. “She could still come after us.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Hercules said. “Take a look.” He raised the periscope, then motioned Homer over. Homer pressed an eye to the lens. The seaplane was still floating in the inlet, but tilted almost to the point of falling over. Madame la Directeur stood on the remaining pontoon, the empty net at her feet. For a long moment, she stood as lifeless as the dragon figurehead, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She was stranded. Without the second pontoon, the seaplane couldn’t take off. And without a wet suit, there was no way she could survive the frigid water. Homer wanted to surface, then climb out the hatch and shout, “I’ve got the submarine you stole from my uncle! And I’ve got Rumpold’s treasure!” He wanted to cheer and do a victory dance. Then he noticed something moving on the horizon.

“Dog’s lying on the treasure,” Lorelei complained as she tried to slide the bundle out from under Dog’s belly.

“Urrrr,” Dog complained.

“Homer, will you please get your dog to move?” Lorelei asked.

Although Homer was dying to reveal the treasure, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the scene taking place at the water’s surface. A Coast Guard ship sped toward the seaplane. An old woman stood on the bow, her apron blowing as the boat cut across the water. She held a mop as if it were a sword, ready for battle. Two officers stood beside her. The Unpolluter had come to clean up the mess.

Homer snickered and switched the periscope to its telephoto lens so he could get a better view of Madame’s defeat. This was a moment he wanted to savor. Years from now, when Homer was an old man and kids came to visit him at the Home for Aging Treasure Hunters, he wanted to describe in great detail exactly what it looked like when an überenemy realized she’d lost.

Madame slowly turned her head, her cold eyes searching until they found the periscope. Homer had expected anger. He’d expected her to wave her fists and curse the day he’d been born. But her expression was oddly calm. She raised her eyebrows and nodded at him. It was a gesture of recognition. She knew he’d won. The Coast Guard vessel pulled up alongside the seaplane. One of the men jumped onto the pontoon and slapped a pair of handcuffs on Madame’s wrists.

“You can put in your notebook that on this day, Madame la Directeur was defeated once and for all,” Homer said.

“Defeated,” Hercules said as he scribbled.

Homer lowered the periscope, then set the autopilot coordinates to City Lake. Lorelei pulled the anchors in. The battery hummed as Homer drove out of the inlet. When they reached the open ocean, he switched to hyper-speed, and they were on their way.

Finally, the team of L.O.S.T. and FOUND sat on the floor, the booty bundle before them. Dog, exhausted from his frolicking, collapsed next to the bundle, his tongue hanging from his panting mouth. Hercules waited, notebook perched on his lap. Homer and Lorelei breathed deeply, filling their lungs with anticipation. This was a million times better than Christmas morning, when Homer would reach for his stocking to find out what goodies were stuffed inside, but they were always predictable—chocolate coins, a new deck of playing cards, licorice ropes, a comic book, stuff like that. He had no idea what waited beneath the waterproof skin. He and Lorelei reached for the bundle at the same time. Their hands touched.

“You do it,” Lorelei said, pulling away. “You’re the one who found it.”

After all the trouble she’d gone through to get the map, her offer surprised him. But he wasn’t going to argue. He picked up the bundle.

“Homer picked up the bundle,” Hercules mumbled as he took notes. “You could cut the tension with a knife.” Then he looked up. “Should I write that? Is that cliché?”

Lorelei put a finger to her lips. “Shhhh.”

The wrapping was smooth and rubbery, just like the wrapping that had covered the diary. There were three skins, each held in place by a golden chain and clasp. As Homer removed the chains, Lorelei slipped them over her head. He wanted to tell her that the necklaces looked pretty on her. But he didn’t. With trembling fingers, he peeled open the last skin.

“What’s that?” Hercules asked.

Homer held up a little dried creature that had been stuck to the wrapping. Hercules and Lorelei leaned close. It was about six inches long, jet-black, with eight spiky tentacles.

“Those spikes look dangerous,” Hercules said. “They might be poisonous. Be careful.”

“I bet Rumpold was trying to protect his treasure. Or maybe the creature crawled in and died by accident,” Lorelei said. “Either way, it’s totally creepy. Get rid of it and keep unwrapping.”

“Don’t eat this,” Homer told Dog as he set the creature aside. The final layer of wrapping was a Jolly Roger flag, folded so that the hollow eyes of the skull stared up at him. “It’s a warning,” he whispered. “It’s supposed to scare us.”

“It’s scaring me,” Hercules said.

“Oh for goodness’ sake, open it!” Lorelei practically exploded.

As Homer peeled back the flag’s corners, Lorelei and Hercules hovered so close he could smell their energy bar–scented breaths. “Paper?” Lorelei said. “It’s a pile of paper?”

It was a pile of paper. Folded paper, to be exact. One of the papers had threads woven through it; another looked as if it had been made from grass. Homer carefully unfolded one that was as delicate as a butterfly wing. He burst into a grin. “It’s a map!”

The map was composed of needle-thin lines, drawn in black and green ink. It appeared to be a map of a building. Chinese characters ran along the edge. At the bottom, in the same loopy handwriting as found in the diary, were some notes.

This map was taken from Emperor Ming’s treasure ship. I found it stuffed in a drawer of recipes, long forgotten. It is the only map of the buried Golden Crane Palace.

“Golden Crane Palace?” Hercules said. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Neither have I,” Lorelei said.

The next map was drawn on paper made from some sort of reed. Egyptian hieroglyphs ran across the map, which showed a river and a desert.

This map was taken from Prince Badru’s pleasure craft. Some fool had wadded it up and was using it to stop a leak. It is the only map to the Lost Pyramid of Isis.

“Isis was an Egyptian goddess,” Lorelei said. “Can you imagine the kind of treasure you’d find in that pyramid?”

Homer was speechless. What words could he possibly utter that would express his amazement and delight? He unfolded the next paper, which was glossy and thick. “It’s in Latin,” Hercules said, pointing to the Roman numerals and letters. It appeared to be some sort of maze. “It says Ninth Labor of Hercules.” He smiled. “Cool. What was the ninth labor?”

“Well,” Lorelei said. “That was when Hercules had to go get a belt from Hippolyte. She was a warrior queen.”

This map was taken from an Italian merchant vessel. An illiterate servant had used it to line a stocking drawer. It leads to the famous belt of Hippolyte.

There were a dozen maps in all. After the twelfth had been unfolded and gazed upon, Homer leaned against the Seaweed Processing Biofuel Unit. His giddiness made him a bit dizzy. His mind raced. Rumpold Smeller’s treasure was not a chest of jewels and gold, as many had suspected. It was a collection of treasure maps that would lead to lost kingdoms, secret worlds, and magical objects. It was a treasure that would lead to more treasure. “These maps will keep L.O.S.T. busy for decades,” he mumbled.

“Half of the maps,” Lorelei corrected. “Half of the maps will keep L.O.S.T. busy for decades. Remember, we are splitting it fifty-fifty.”

“Right,” Homer said. “I remember.” It tormented him to think that Lorelei would take six of these maps and sell them to the highest bidder. Or worse, she’d go on six quests and the discoveries would end up on the black market for someone’s private collection.

“Too bad Lord Mockingbird didn’t live to see this,” Hercules said. Homer nodded sadly. Lord Mockingbird had been a renowned mapmaker, and only a mapmaker could truly appreciate this trove, not only for what they led to but for the craftsmanship, the instruments used, the measurements taken, long before satellites and GPS units, some even before longitude and latitude had been figured out.

For the rest of the trip, with the autopilot in control, Homer studied the maps, Hercules wrote in the notebook, and Lorelei read Rumpold’s diary. Dog ate the last of the energy bars and stretched out on the floor, his legs kicking as he drifted in and out of dreams.

Maybe he was dreaming about being swallowed by a whale shark. Or falling out of a hot air balloon. Or running from a berserk seaplane. Or maybe it was a happy dream of chasing rabbits across the goat-strewn pastures of Milkydale. Whatever the case, he was safe, his belly was full, and he was on his way back home.