Smells Like Dog (20 page)

“Membership?” Lorelei lowered her voice. “What’s he talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come come, all of you. The hound and the rat, too.
Mumble will treat us to chickpea curry. He tries his best to bring a bit of India to my lonely mountain home.” Ajitabh’s head disappeared into the hole.

Homer didn’t know what a chickpea was. But he hadn’t eaten any of those cookies at the fake VIP party and even though the ride had been rough, his stomach ached with hunger.

“This feels like a trap,” Lorelei said. “Remember what Circe did to Odysseus? She offered his men lots of food and then turned them into pigs.” She climbed into the cockpit. “Maybe we can fly this thing. We’ve got the compass readings to guide us home.” She ran her hands over the dials. “Do you know how to fly?”

“No.” Homer’s stomach growled. But more than hunger, curiosity tugged at his body. What membership could he still claim? “I think I should go in there and talk to him. You stay out here.” He slid Dog off his lap, then jumped out of the ’copter and onto the platform.

“Howooooo!”

“Don’t worry. I know better than to try to leave you.” Homer reached up and removed Dog’s goggles, then helped him off the ’copter. He attached the leash so Dog wouldn’t fall off the platform’s edge. Daisy leaped from Lorelei’s shoulder onto Homer’s arm, then onto the platform where she scurried down the hole.

“Looks like I’m going with you,” Lorelei said, jumping
onto the platform. “It’s too cold out here anyway.” She crept to the side and carefully peered over the edge. “We’re at the top of some kind of tower,” she said. “What a weird place to live.”

Vertigo swept over Homer as he stood next to her. A snow-speckled valley lay far below. This was way higher than the thirty-second floor. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” he said, stepping away from the edge.

Lorelei shrugged. “I’ve been in worse places.” A breeze rustled the ends of her pink hair. For a long moment they looked into each other’s eyes. “I’m scared,” she admitted.

“Me, too.”

The hole turned out to be an entrance to a steep stairway. Once inside, Homer took off the leash and stuck it into his pocket.

“I’m going to let you eat first,” Lorelei said. “And if you turn into a pig, I’m making a run for it. Got it?”

“Got it.”

With Dog between them, he and Lorelei descended the stairs, one cautious step at a time.

H
omer, Dog, and Lorelei slowly made their way down the winding staircase. Candles, sitting in small alcoves, sent spidery shadows across the stone walls. They passed eight locked wooden doors but the ninth stood wide open. “In here,” Ajitabh called. Warm air beckoned from the doorway. After sharing a look of trepidation, they stepped inside.

Colorful pillows lay scattered across a richly carpeted room. A teakettle hummed on a glowing woodstove. Ajitabh, his flight jacket and goggles shed, lifted the
kettle and carried it to a low, round table. He poured steaming brown liquid into three glasses. “Come in,” he said, waving his hand. “I hope you like chai.”

Homer took a long look at the face of the man who’d tried to kill him—the black mustache and beard, the arched eyebrows, the nearly black eyes—definitely villain features. His clothes, though, didn’t look very sinister. A knee-length embroidered white shirt hung over a pair of worn jeans and his feet were bare. But there was the sword, lying on a shelf.

Homer felt a sudden surge of defiance. “What do you want?” he demanded. Dog pushed between Homer’s shins. Lorelei peered around Homer’s shoulder. “Why have you brought us here?”

Ajitabh set the kettle aside. “I brought you here because I need to speak with you. You kept running from me. Why the blazes did you keep running from me?”

“Why?” Homer’s mouth fell open. “Because you were chasing me. And because you tried to kill me with that sword.”

“Tried to kill you?” Ajitabh smiled. “The very idea. You are my dearest friend’s nephew. I would never hurt you. I always carry my sword when I go to The City. Devil of a place. Been robbed there too many times to count.”

Homer narrowed his eyes. “If you didn’t want to hurt
me, why’d you jump through that window at Snooty and Snooty’s?”

“I couldn’t very well land my cloudcopter on the street, could I? Fortunately it has hover mode.” He stroked his beard. “You thought I was trying to kill you? A rather unfortunate misunderstanding. My deepest apologies.”

“Why’d you grab me in the cherry orchard? You ripped my shirt.”

Ajitabh frowned. “Again, my apologies. I desperately wanted to speak to you. I was worried I might not get another chance.”

The explanation sort of made sense, but Homer still wasn’t sure.

Dog growled as Daisy the rat scurried across the carpet. She settled on a yellow pillow and started grooming her rubbery tail. Lorelei stepped forward. “What about me? How come you grabbed me? I didn’t do anything.”

Ajitabh picked up one of the glass cups and blew across the tea’s surface. “And who are you, exactly?”

Lorelei put her hands on her hips. “What kind of kidnapper are you if you don’t even know who you kidnapped?
Who am I?
Who are
you?
That’s what I want to know. And why do you live in this tower?”

“Fair questions.” He took a sip of tea. “My name is Ajitabh, which means ‘Conqueror of the Sky.’ I am Indian by birth, but have lived in Britain most of my life. I hold a doctoral degree in inventology from Cambridge University. This tower is my home and workplace. I require… seclusion.” He took another sip. “The reason
you
are here, young lady, is because the police were searching the museum grounds for unwanted party guests. If I had left you behind, you might have told them about my cloudcopter. Of course they wouldn’t have believed you, but Madame la Directeur would have. She has come very close to finding my tower. I don’t wish to give her a new reason to resume her search.” He motioned for them to sit.

The room had no chairs. Homer led Dog to a zebra-striped pillow and sat cross-legged as best he could. Lorelei plopped herself on a red-striped pillow. They set their goggles on the table. Dog settled beside Homer and though he closed his eyes, he popped one open now and then to check on Daisy.

“Why would Madame la Directeur want to find your tower?” Homer asked.

“Because she wants to get her greedy hands on my inventions. She would love to peek at my laboratories. All fifteen of them.”

“You have fifteen laboratories?” Homer asked.

“I would have built more but the tower was dangerously close to tipping.” He pushed aside some newspapers, then sat on a blue velvet pillow. “Where the devil is our food? MUMBLE!”

An old Indian man appeared in the doorway. Bald and hunched over, he wiped his hands on a greasy apron. “Yes?”

“The food?”

“But your lady friend has just landed. Will we be feeding her, too?”

“By all means, but she’s not fond of chickpea curry. How about making her favorite pancakes?”

Mumble’s face folded into a million crevices as he grimaced. “That lady eats like a whale, nah? I’ll be making pancakes all night.” He shuffled off.

Homer thought of his mother’s huckleberry pancakes, lightly browned and rolled up with strawberry jam. Then he stifled a yawn. Despite his fear that Ajitabh might still hurt them, a wave of sleepiness washed over him. He hadn’t slept since the train ride the night before. He wanted to curl up like Daisy.

Ajitabh set his palms on the low table. “Homer, as I’ve said, you have no need to worry. You are perfectly safe here. I visited City Jail and paid bail. Your father and sister have been released. Fortunately, being an unwanted
party guest is only a misdemeanor. I’ve sent a message to your mother that all is well. I hope you don’t mind but I concocted an ingenious story. I couldn’t reveal the truth, you see. Not yet. So I wrote in the message that because of your VIP status, the Museum of Natural History had sent you on an all-expense-paid field trip and that you’d return in a few days. I wouldn’t want her to worry. By Jove, your uncle was most fond of her.” He reached across the table and pushed the cups of tea closer to Homer and Lorelei.

Maybe he’d paid bail. Then again, it could all be a lie. But Ajitabh seemed to have accepted the fact that Homer no longer had the coin. So why was he keeping them around?

Homer picked up his cup of tea and took a sip. It tasted like cinnamon. Lorelei’s eyes widened as she watched him swallow. He considered making an
oink
sound, just to freak her out, but the situation was too serious. “How do you know… how
did
you know my uncle?”

Ajitabh raised an eyebrow. “I’m happy to answer that question but the answer is of a
confidential nature
.” He looked at Lorelei.

“You want me to leave?” she asked, sitting up straight. “Fine with me. Just take me back to The City.”

“Can’t do that quite yet. The ’copter needs to recharge. MUMBLE!”

“Yes?” The old man immediately appeared in the doorway, a batter-covered wooden spoon in his hand.

“Please serve pancakes to Miss…”

“Lorelei,” Lorelei said.

“Yes, quite right. Please serve pancakes to Miss Lorelei and her rat in the kitchen, then show her to the guest room. I’m certain she could use some sleep.”

Lorelei jumped to her feet. Dog also jumped to his feet. “Are you crazy? I’m not leaving Homer. You tried to kill him.”

“As I’ve tried to explain, that was a misunderstanding.”

Homer scrambled off the zebra-striped pillow, then led Lorelei over to the window. “Go ahead,” he whispered, his back to Ajitabh. “I need to find out what’s going on.”

“But if he splits us up then we’re weaker targets.”

Homer rubbed his tired face. “Maybe you can get some information from the cook.”

Lorelei nodded. “Okay. Good plan. But neither of us leaves without the other. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

She shot Ajitabh a nasty look, then scooped Daisy off the yellow pillow and followed the old cook out the door.

Homer turned toward Ajitabh. “So, how did you know my uncle?”

But Ajitabh didn’t answer because that’s when
she
walked in. And Homer knew, to the depths of his being, that he was in trouble.

H
omer, this is my friend Zelda. Oh, that’s right. You two have already met.”

The tall lady from the train, the one who had admitted doing terrible, unspeakable things, stooped as she stepped into the room, a lantern swaying in her hand. She took off her goggles and straightened her elongated body. A mere inch of air cushioned her head from the ceiling. Pushing a strand of silver hair from her eyes, she cast a serious look at Homer. “I’m
glad to see that you’re safe, Homer Pudding.” She set the lantern on the shelf next to the sword. “Forgive my muddy shoes, Ajitabh. The night brought sorrowful thoughts. I was out walking along the moors when the ’copter arrived for me.” She kicked off her boots. A few of her toes stuck out of her frayed black socks.

“You’re the one.” Homer took a step back, his face growing hot. “You told Madame la Directeur that the coin was in my pocket, inside a matchbook.”

“Now calm down, Homer. Zelda would never give information to Madame.”

“But she did.” Homer moved closer to Dog. “She’s the only one who knew the coin was in the matchbook. She told me to put it there. My uncle gave me that coin. It belongs to me.”

“Indeed it does,” Zelda said, pushing her black cape behind her shoulders. Her low voice rolled across the room like a foghorn. “Am I to assume that Madame currently has possession of the coin?”

“As if you didn’t know that she took it,” Homer said.

Ajitabh scowled. “Took it? By force?”

“Well… I gave it to her, but only because she was going to kill Dog.” Homer’s heart went into overdrive. He felt like running but he didn’t know where to go.

“You made the right choice.” Zelda crossed the room
in four strides, then bent over to scratch Dog’s head. He wagged his tail. “I find droopy dogs to be much more appealing than perky ones.”

Homer stepped away, pulling Dog with him.

“Zelda, can I get you a chair?” Ajitabh asked. “We have one around here somewhere.”

“For what purpose? I’m used to discomfort. I wouldn’t know what to do without it.” With much creaking and groaning, she lowered herself onto a pink polka-dotted pillow. Even when seated on the ground, her knees rose higher than the coffee table. She set her black bag next to the pillow, then accepted a glass of chai. “You seem frightened, Homer. Why’s he frightened, Ajitabh?”

“He was under the impression that I was trying to kill him.” Ajitabh ran his hand through his dark hair. “I told him that was rubbish.”

Zelda sighed. “Homer, while you may one day come face to face with someone who wishes to kill you, here, in this room, you are among friends. We both loved your uncle dearly.”

Homer folded his arms and scowled. “Why should I believe you?”