Smells Like Dog (10 page)

Homer felt his dreams drifting away like smoke in the wind. Why fight it? Goat farming was his destiny. He’d
get a pair of overalls from the Husky Boys section at Walker’s Department Store and start learning to run the family business.

“Urrrr.” Dog scratched at the back window. Homer slid out of the passenger seat and climbed into the truck’s bed. He wrapped his arms around Dog. “He’s gonna send you away,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to go. It’s all my fault.” He’d ruined Dog’s life, too. Dog was supposed to have a happy life on the farm, but now he’d be sent back to Snooty and Snooty’s law office. What had the letter said? That if the item was returned, it would be…
destroyed
?

Gwendolyn stepped onto the truck’s back bumper. “Come on. Get out of the truck,” she said in her bossy voice.

“Leave me alone.” Dog’s fur was soft against Homer’s face.

His sister leaned over the tailgate. “Listen. We’re gonna pretend that we’re going to bed. Then as soon as Mom and Dad fall asleep, we’re gonna run away.” She jumped off the bumper and opened the tailgate.

“What?” Homer looked up.

“I’m going to that VIP party, no matter what Dad says. But your stupid name is on the invitation so I need you to go with me.”

“Gwendolyn, you don’t understand. I just burned
down the library. I broke Dad’s rule about not going there and now you want me to run away? Don’t you think I’m in enough trouble?”

“Exactly my point. You’re already in huge trouble. How much worse can it get?” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m figuring you can stay here and go to school and get made fun of because you burned down the library, or you can come to The City with me.” She scowled real hard. “Well?”

“The City?”

For a few crazy moments, Homer Winslow Pudding had tried to cast his dreams aside. But as much as a goat can’t stop being a goat, Homer couldn’t stop being a treasure hunter.

And so, a tiny spark of an idea fluttered through his mind. Surely The City had a library, probably much larger than the one he’d burned down—probably with a huge collection of coin books. The mysterious gold coin had to be valuable, otherwise why would his uncle have hidden it? Maybe it was worth enough money to build a new library! And while he was there, maybe he could find out more about his uncle. Find out where he had been living. Find out why all his stuff had disappeared. There might be a clue amid his uncle’s belongings that would give Homer a better chance of completing his uncle’s quest to find Rumpold Smeller’s map.

But Mr. Pudding had forbidden them to go to The City.

On the other hand, Mr. Pudding had said that a man’s only as good as his word. Homer had promised his uncle that he’d never give up his dreams.

Dog poked Homer with his wet nose. There was one more reason to go. If Dog was sent back to Snooty and Snooty, he’d be destroyed. Surely Homer could find a nice, new home for Dog along the way. A happy, safe home.

“Okay,” he told his sister. “We’ll go with you.”

R
unning away from home is not a good idea. Unless, of course, you happen to be forty years old, and then your parents will probably shout, “Hurrah!” and change the locks the minute you’ve stepped off the front stoop. But in the case of Gwendolyn and Homer, ages fifteen and twelve, setting off in the middle of the night would only bring their parents immense heartache and worry.

Perhaps they had good reasons for running away—Gwendolyn, to pursue her dream of becoming a Royal
Taxidermist at the Museum of Natural History, and Homer, to honor his promise to his uncle, to help his father rebuild the Milkydale library, and to hopefully find Dog a safe, new home. But what they didn’t understand, as they tiptoed past their parents’ bedroom, was that children who travel alone often become the targets of evil-minded scoundrels. And because their decision to run away had been impromptu, which means that they hadn’t thought it out, neither of them had packed an extra pair of underwear, or a toothbrush, or a first-aid kit, or a tin of cookies so they wouldn’t starve to death.

However, they did bring the things that were most important to them. For Gwendolyn, a duffel bag filled to the brim with her stuffed creatures and her copy of
The Official Guidebook to the Museum of Natural History.
For Homer, his Swiss army knife, his Galileo Compass, a flashlight, and the mysterious coin.

Homer’s legs ached because he’d never walked from his house to town twice in one night. “Hurry up!” Gwendolyn yelled about a million times as she galloped down the road. Dog’s little legs could barely keep up, while Homer’s didn’t fare much better. His thighs started to chafe.

At 12:46 a.m., Homer, Gwendolyn, and Dog arrived at the Milkydale train depot. It wasn’t much of a train depot, just a water fountain with a rusted-shut pump and
a bench sitting under a tin roof. The Pudding children had taken the train a few times, when they’d gone to the coast to visit their grandparents. But never at night. And never alone.

Fortunately, the depot sat at the edge of the fairgrounds, so Homer didn’t have to look at the pile of smoldering ashes that had once been the town’s beloved library. Gwendolyn sniffed the air. “It still smells like smoke. Even way over here.”

Shame heated Homer’s face. He wondered if burned books made a special kind of smoke that clung to the world forever, in the same way that a book, once read, clings to its reader forever.

As he untied the makeshift leash from Dog’s collar, a rope he had grabbed on the way out of the house, Gwendolyn dumped her duffel on the bench, then read the train schedule. “We’ve got ten minutes till the next one. How much money did you bring?”

Dog settled under the bench for a nap. Homer tucked his flashlight into his jacket pocket, then turned his pants’ pockets inside out. “I’ve got a ten-dollar bill, a five-dollar bill, three one-dollar bills, and some change.” He’d been saving his birthday money so he could buy a new protractor and some large sheets of paper for map drawing. “How much do you have?”

“Two dollars,” Gwendolyn said.

“That’s it?”

“Taxidermy supplies are expensive, Homer. Do you have any idea how much formaldehyde costs?” She snatched Homer’s money from his hand. “I hope it’s enough for our tickets.” Then she plopped herself beside the duffel and pulled out the mysterious invitation. “Don’t you just love her name? Madame la Directeur. I bet she’s smart
and
beautiful.” As Gwendolyn rambled on and on about the invitation, the moon disappeared behind a cloud.

A cloud? Could it be
the
cloud? There was no place to hide. The tin roof offered no camouflage. Was the cloud moving closer? Homer crawled under the bench.

“Homer? What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re soooo weird.” She opened her museum guidebook. “I wonder where the party will be. I hope it’s in the Hall of African Mammals. How long do you think it takes to stuff a giraffe?”

Homer wished she’d be quiet. Back in the cherry orchard, when he’d met Ajitabh, the cloud had made a whirring sound. If Homer could hear above Gwendolyn’s jabbering, he’d know if Ajitabh was trying to sneak up on him. But on and on she spoke, about things of absolutely no interest to Homer.

There wasn’t much room under the bench, and the
cement felt cold and rough against his palms. He laid his head on Dog’s warm side. Terrifying images marched through his mind in a sort of nightmare parade—the gaping mouth of a man-eating tortoise, hands reaching from a cloud, row after row of flaming books.
Think of something nice,
he told himself. He tried desperately to conjure a pleasant image but the flames kept shooting across the library. Closing his eyes tightly, he let Uncle Drake’s face fill his mind.

Homer knew every inch of his uncle’s face because he had stared at it during countless hours of storytelling—the scruffy mustache, the long nose, the jagged scar at the base of the chin. But what Homer most remembered was how Uncle Drake’s brown eyes would dart excitedly when he got to a dangerous part of a story.

“I wish you could have seen it, Homer. That chasm was bottomless, I swear it. If the rope had broken one second earlier, I’d be a goner for sure.”

A train whistle scattered Homer’s memories. Startled, he bumped his head on the underside of the bench. Dog rolled onto his belly and peered out. The
chug chug
of the engine grew louder and a white light illuminated the little depot. Gwendolyn jumped to her feet. “Come on, Homer,” she called, waving at the approaching train.

Homer crawled out from under the bench as the black train pulled up in a swirling dance of steam. The
conductor stepped out. “Where’re you two headed?” he asked.

“To The City,” Gwendolyn said.

He looked around, then pushed his black hat off his forehead. “Don’t usually see children traveling alone at this hour. You got someone meeting you in The City?”

“Uh, yeah,” Gwendolyn said. “We’re going to stay with… our aunt.”

“You got money for your tickets?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, get on board then. Got a schedule to keep.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Gwendolyn picked up her duffel and climbed up the metal stairs. Homer’s legs froze as doubt overcame him. Was he doing the right thing? The City was very far from Milkydale. Maybe he should go home. He was just a kid, after all. Couldn’t his promise to never give up his dreams wait until he had grown up? Mrs. Peepgrass would get real mad if he missed school for any reason other than a contagious rash or a fever. And his mother and father would worry even though he’d left a note on his pillow:
DON’T WORRY. I’M GOING TO MAKE EVERYTHING RIGHT.

“Urrrr.” Dog pressed his front paws on the train’s first stair and tried to pull himself up. “Ur, ur, ur, ur, ur.” He bounced on his little back legs and wiggled his rump.

“Looks like your dog wants to go for a ride,” the conductor said.

“Ur, ur, ur, ur, ur.”

Dog was trying awfully hard to get up those steps. Did he know that he needed to find a new home? “You’re right, Dog,” Homer said, pushing away his doubts. “We’ve come this far, we might as well keep going.” He wrapped his arms around Dog’s fat belly, took a deep breath, and heaved him up the steps. Then they followed Gwendolyn into a dimly lit car. The conductor blew a whistle and the train chugged out of the station.

“That dog will cost extra,” the conductor said, his voice booming through the car. It was dark in there, and there appeared to be no other passengers.

“What?” Gwendolyn cried, sliding into a window seat. “But he’s just gonna sit on the floor.”

“Doesn’t matter if he sits on the ceiling.”

Gwendolyn folded her arms. “But he’s just a stupid dog. He can’t even smell.”

“Doesn’t matter what he can or can’t do. Those’ll cost extra, too.” The conductor pointed to her duffel from which three pairs of glass eyes peeked out.

“But they’re dead,” Gwendolyn said. “All of them are dead.”

“Oh.” The conductor fiddled with his whistle. “Well, I guess I won’t charge you if they’re all dead. But the
dog’s not dead so he’ll still cost extra.” He held out three tickets. “Two minors and one dog, round-trip from Milkydale to The City. That’ll be thirty dollars.”

Homer stepped forward. “But we only have twenty dollars.”

The conductor tapped his black shoe. “You mean to tell me that your parents sent you to the train station without an adequate amount of money to pay your fare?” He leaned close to Homer. “You wouldn’t be running away now, would you?”

Homer held his breath, trying to remember Gwendolyn’s lie. “We’re going to see our…”

“Our aunt,” Gwendolyn said.

“Well, you’re still ten dollars short,” the conductor said.

“Wait. We haven’t counted the change.” Gwendolyn reached into her pocket and pulled out the coins that Homer had handed over. “Five, thirty, fifty-five, hey, what’s this? It looks like gold. It’s got some letters on it.” Homer gasped as his sister waved the coin at the conductor. “Will this pay for the rest of our fare?”

“That’s mine!” he cried, jumping over Dog. “I didn’t mean to give it to you. Give it back!” He lunged at Gwendolyn’s hand but she moved it out of reach. “Gwendolyn!” He threw himself at her, knocking her against the window. The coin flew out of her hand, over the seat, and landed somewhere in the train car.

Pling.

“Get off, Homer!” Gwendolyn pushed him aside. “You almost flattened me.”

Homer fell to the floor, frantically searching for the coin. “Where is it? Where’d it go?” He looked under the seats and up and down the aisle. “Where is it?” His hands and knees turned black with dust and grime. “I’ve got to find it.” He stuck his head under each seat. Gum wrappers, potato chip bags, and spilled mints lay about, but no gold coin.

“If you can’t pay the fare, I’ll have to let you off at the next stop,” the conductor said snippily.

Homer’s eyes filled with angry tears. “It’s lost. You lost it, Gwendolyn! Uncle Drake gave it to me and you lost it.” That piece of information slipped out, unintended. “YOU LOST IT!”

“Urrrr?” Dog cocked his head. Then he stuck his nose to the floor and started sniffing. The sniffing turned to snuffling as he ambled down the aisle to the last row, which was hidden in darkness.