Pirates of Underwhere

by Bruce Hale

  “‘One boxer buck,’” Hector read, from the inscription. “‘In shorts we trust.’”

  “Dang,” said Zeke. “There goes our ice cream.”

  A thought struck me. “Did you get that coin from that fake Bobby Bob?”

  Hector nodded. “The UnderLord is passing out phony money? But why?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But I bet we’ll find out at that town meeting.”

  “And what do we do until then?” said Zeke. His eyes lit up. “Hey, let’s test the Brush on something better.” His gaze went to the Throne.

  Holding the Brush at arm’s length, Zeke rubbed the Throne’s seat once, twice, three times. He stepped back.

  I held my breath.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, the rim of the seat began to glow blue. The light grew brighter and brighter.

  Just then, Fitz burst from the bushes, hot on the heels of a lizard. It scuttled up the Throne and into the bowl. Fitz was right behind it.

  “No, Fitzie!” cried Hector. He scooped up the cat in his arms.

  “Mrr reeuw rauw,” yowled Fitz.

  “Uh-uh,” said Zeke. “Bad for kitties.”

  The Throne’s light grew so bright it hurt my eyes. Then—foof!— it winked out.

  Two scaly feet emerged from the Throne. A head followed.

  “Is that the same lizard?” asked Hector.

  “No, it’s the Potty Gecko!” Zeke snickered.

  I rolled my eyes. “Real dignified, Prince of Underwhere.”

  “I’m serious,” said Hector. “It looks different.”

  We all leaned forward. The lizard seemed bigger, darker. And its eyes had a strange dull gleam.

  “Hhraaagh!” it hissed, biting at my nose.

  “Yah!” I shrieked. We all jumped back.

  But the lizard kept coming. Slowly, step by step, it followed us. That steady march reminded me of something.

  “Meeurr!” Fitz wriggled free of Hector’s arms and bolted for the kitty door.

  The lizard turned to chase him, but at a turtle’s pace.

  And suddenly I knew: “It’s a zombie lizard!” I said. “The Throne creates zombies.”

  “Whoaah!” came a cry from the bushes. Branches cracked as something heavy landed.

  “Who’s there?” cried Hector.

  “Agent Belly?” said Zeke.

  No reply. A body crashed through the bushes and thumped against the wooden fence.

  “Come on out!” I said.

  Whoever it was, he or she was climbing the fence.

  Hector and Zeke looked at each other. “Come on,” said Zeke.

  They dashed to the gate, with me right behind them. We hit the lawn just in time to see the boy on a bicycle disappear around the corner.

  “And don’t come back!” Hector shouted.

  Zeke looked thoughtful.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Call me crazy,” he said. “But that back looked a lot like Melvin’s.”

  I twisted my hair into a ponytail. “You’re crazy. And I hope you’re wrong.”

  Zeke winced. “So do I, frizz head. So do I.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The Brush-Off

  After some effort, we managed to catch the zombie lizard in a bottle. Fitz kept staring at it with round yellow eyes.

  Since someone had seen the Throne in action, we figured we’d better move it. Hector, Zeke, and I lugged the thing back to our house. We left it in the backyard under a blue tarp.

  The Brush we stashed in my dad’s office—a room so messy, small animals have disappeared in it.

  At school the next day, Zeke and I kept eyeing Melvin and the other boys in class. Which one was the spy? And what would he do with his knowledge?

  When second recess rolled around, I waited until the classroom emptied to talk to Mrs. Ricotta. I hate to have an audience for bad news.

  “I, uh, need to miss part of Mathletes practice today,” I said.

  Her brown eyes looked concerned. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, it’s—well, yes,” I said. “I mean, not wrong, exactly, but it will be, if—”

  I hated to lie to Mrs. R. But how do you tell your teacher you need time off to save the Undies?

  “Mathletes is a very serious commitment,” she said.

  “I know that.” I twisted a pencil in my hands.

  “I can’t have my people dropping out for any old reason,” said Mrs. Ricotta. “It wouldn’t be fair to the team.”

  “Please,” I said. “Just this once.”

  She bit her lip. “Well, all right. This one time. But you finish your business quickly and come right here.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. R!” I said. “You’re the best!”

  I rushed outside to tell Zeke and Hector. They were sitting on a low wall by the basketball courts, looking glum.

  “Cheer up!” I said. “Mrs. Ricotta’s going to let me miss part of practice today. I can come meet the pirates in Underwhere.”

  Zeke barely looked up. Hector said, “That’s nice.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Where’s the happy? What’s going on?”

  “He lost it,” said Hector.

  “Lost what?” I said. “His mind? His looks? Don’t worry—he’s never had ’em to lose.”

  Zeke sank his head in his hands. “The Brush,” he muttered.

  “You’re kidding,” I said. “Right?”

  Hector shook his head.

  “But the Brush is safe at home in Dad’s office.”

  “Was,” said Zeke.

  I clenched my jaw. “What did you do, dwarf brain?”

  “I, uh, used it on my homework last night—just to check the answers.”

  “You what?” I cried. “That’s cheating!”

  He looked up. “I didn’t mean to cheat. It was just an experiment. And it gave me all the right answers.”

  Hector smirked. “That’s a first.”

  “So?” I said. “Then you brought it to school. What for?”

  Zeke’s shoulders slumped. “A lie detector.”

  “Huh?” I crinkled my forehead.

  “He rubbed it on Melvin,” said Hector.

  “You didn’t!” I said.

  “I did.”

  “Then he asked Melvin if he’d been spying on us,” Hector continued.

  “You didn’t!” I said.

  “I did.”

  “Then Melvin grabbed the Brush, hit Zeke, and stole it,” Hector finished.

  “He didn’t!” I said, pushing Zeke with both hands.

  “Ow!” he cried. “Stop shoving! He stole it, not me.”

  I fumed. Of all the hare-brained, numbskulled bozos, my brother had to be the harey-brainiest and numbskulliest.

  “But Melvin would never have swiped it if you hadn’t taken it from home and brushed him with it!” I said.

  “She’s got a point,” said Hector.

  Zeke rose and paced. “What’ll we do?”

  “Go ask him to give it back,” I said.

  “Are you nuts?” said Zeke. “He won’t even give me back a football.”

  “But if you ask nicely, he might give you a black eye,” said Hector.

  I crossed my arms. “Why don’t we all go ask him for it—together?”

  They looked at each other and frowned. But neither Zeke nor Hector could come up with a better idea, so off we went.

  Don’t get me wrong. Even though asking Melvin was the right thing to do, I wasn’t as calm as I acted about confronting a bully.

  But I’d never let Zeke know that.

  We spotted Melvin by the playground equipment, menacing little kids with the Brush. My feet slowed. Hector and Zeke slowed even more, so I was in front.

  But before we could reach Melvin, the custodian showed up. Mr. Wheener said something to the bully and put his hand out.

  When Melvin didn’t move quickly enough, the custodian spoke again. Sheepish, Melvin handed it over.

  “That’s our brush!” said Zeke. />
  “So why does Mr. Wheener want it?” I wondered.

  “What does any normal person use a toilet brush for?” said Hector.

  The custodian tucked the Brush under his arm and headed off toward his office.

  “We’ve got to get it back,” said Zeke.

  I watched the janitor. “Later,” I said. “After school, when nobody’s here.”

  “You mean, the same ‘after-school’ when we’re meeting with pirates and you’re practicing with Mathletes?” said Hector.

  “The same,” I said.

  “Dang,” said Zeke. “Where’s a time machine when you really need one?”

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  Wheener the Cleaner

  Number concepts: Three kids have twenty-four hours to save the world. If it takes them eight hours for sleeping, six hours for school, three hours for eating and going to the you-know-where, one hour for homework, and eight minutes for feeding the cat, at what time will they have to leave home?

  We popped out of the tunnel to Underwhere and ran for our bikes. There was no time to waste.

  So of course a time waster showed up.

  Dr. Prufrock stepped from his rattletrap car. “Children! By Bacchus’s bib, where have you been?”

  “Gotta run,” I said, picking up my bike.

  He stood in the driveway, blocking us. “But where’s the, er”—he glanced over his shoulder—“artifact? Have you found it?”

  “We had it,” said Hector, stabbing a thumb at Zeke, “until he lost it.”

  “Hey,” said Zeke.

  I shot them a meaningful look. “We’ve got to get going.”

  “Where are you headed?” asked Dr. Prufrock.

  “To find the—ugh!” Zeke stopped short. Probably because I elbowed him.

  Just then, a long silver car pulled to a stop. Inside it sat the two government agents, Belly and Mole.

  What was this, a time wasters’ convention?

  When Dr. Prufrock saw the men from H.U.S.H., he jumped and scrambled for his own car. They eyed him curiously.

  “Let’s go!” I hissed.

  The spies were climbing out. “Where’s our magical object?” said Agent Belly.

  Pushing off, I steered my bike onto the sidewalk and pedaled down the street. I glanced back.

  Zeke and Hector hadn’t gotten away. Fine. They could sweet-talk the spies. I couldn’t miss any more of Mathletes. I’d rather have twenty top-secret government agencies mad at me than face Mrs. Ricotta’s disappointment.

  As it turned out, I had to face it anyway. I made it to Mathletes practice only a half hour before the end. Mrs. R frowned, and half the team gave me dirty looks.

  I flushed and sat down.

  She really wasn’t going to like it when I had to take a bathroom break in fifteen minutes to meet Zeke and Hector.

  And she really, really wasn’t going to like it when I told her I’d have to miss tomorrow’s practice.

  One thing at a time.

  We did some speed drills adding and subtracting fractions. I aced them all. Then we moved on to geometry. When the time had come, I raised my hand.

  “Mrs. Ricotta? May I go to the bathroom?”

  She pursed her lips. “Now? Can’t you wait?”

  “It’s really urgent,” I said.

  Mrs. R wasn’t even impressed by my new vocabulary word. She sighed. “Very well. Hurry back.”

  Feeling like a traitor, I scooted out the door and down the hall. Zeke and Hector were waiting.

  “Let’s make this quick,” I said. “Where’s Mr. Wheener?”

  “Haven’t seen him,” said Zeke.

  We eased around the corner to the custodian’s office. The door was closed. No light shone through the crack. Nobody walked the halls but us.

  When we approached the office door, I had a duh moment.

  “How do we get in without a key?” I asked.

  Hector put a hand to the doorknob and turned it. “Like this,” he said.

  We poked our heads into the darkened room.

  “I’d feel a heckuva lot safer knowing where Mr. Wheener is,” said Zeke.

  “Me too,” I said. We looked down the hall again.

  Hector pointed. “Isn’t that his broom, by the boys’ bathroom?”

  We sneaked down the corridor to check it out. As we drew nearer, I noticed the bathroom door was propped open with a bucket of soapy water. A rough voice sang something that sounded a little like My Favorite Things:

  Blue silky boxers and fresh tighty-whities,

  Big fancy bloomers and soft flannel nighties,

  Scratchy old long johns that flap in the breeze,

  These are a few of the greatest undie-e-es…

  “Weird,” whispered Zeke.

  “But that’s him, all right,” I whispered. “Come on.”

  We rushed back to his office. Hector stood watch while Zeke and I turned on the light and looked around.

  Push brooms and rakes leaned against the wall and sprawled on the floor. Dusty paint cans, old boots, and tubs of various cleansers sat here and there. Not like he ever used the cleansers. A half-cleaned brush drooled gold down the sink drain. Cobwebs hung everywhere.

  Yuck. I wouldn’t hire Mr. Wheener to clean a hamster cage, much less a school.

  “Over here,” said Zeke. On a shelf of crusty sponges, the Brush lay with some other toilet brushes. He picked it up.

  “Hurry!” said Hector. “I think he’s coming.”

  Zeke stuffed the Brush under his T-shirt. I flipped off the light, and we eased the door shut.

  Just in time. As we turned to walk away, something clattered behind us. Mr. Wheener’s voice called, “You kids. Why you stay so late?”

  I looked over my shoulder. “Um, we’re Mathletes,” I said.

  He barked a short laugh. “Then you better get practicing. Otherwise, maybe everything don’t add up.” Mr. Wheener laughed again at his own joke.

  I gave him a courtesy chuckle and hurried off with Hector and Zeke.

  We parted just outside Mrs. Ricotta’s classroom. “Now go straight home with that thing,” I said.

  “We will,” said Zeke.

  “And don’t go rubbing it on anyone or showing it to anyone.”

  “What do you think we are?” he said. “Stupid?”

  Hector held up a hand. “Don’t answer that.”

  With no choice but to trust my brother, I shook my head and entered the classroom. Mrs. R said nothing, but she gave me a long look.

  I sat down for the last few minutes of probability questions. But all I could think of was a probability question of my own.

  How likely was it that Mrs. Ricotta would let me stay on the team when I told her I’d have to miss tomorrow’s practice?

  I knew the answer. And I didn’t like it one bit.

  CHAPTER 11

  Math Disaster

  After thinking it over, I decided to give Mrs. R my bad news the next day. Maybe after a good night’s sleep, she wouldn’t mind it so much.

  Maybe.

  What with homework, dinner, and dishes, we didn’t have time to try out the Brush that night. But I made sure it was safe. I hid it in our parents’ room, just in case Zeke had another attack of the dumbs.

  As we left for school the next morning, I told Caitlyn, “Don’t forget the town meeting tonight.”

  “Yeah, about that dealie-o,” she said, putting cereal away. “I’m, like, not a thousand percent sure I’m gonna motorvate over there with you midgets.”

  “But you’ve got to!” said Zeke.

  “I don’t have to do diddley-whomp, you little dimweezil.”

  I shot Zeke a laser look. “What he means is, we really want you to get a good grade in that class, and we know that your report on the meeting will help.”

  “Uh, yeah,” said Zeke. “It’d be a shame if you had to stop babysitting us because of bad grades. You’re our favorite cousin.”

  Caitlyn’s eyebrows lifted. B
ut all she said was “If you zimwats want a ride, be on time or be, like, dead.” She gave us a wave. “Toodles!”

  We headed out the door and down the driveway. “‘Favorite cousin’?” I said. “Think you were laying it on a little thick?”

  “It’s not too thick if she bought it. And she did.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Lucky thing you use your powers for good instead of evil.”

  At recess, I kept an eye on Mr. Wheener. Did he suspect we’d stolen back the Brush? It was hard to tell. He didn’t act weird—well, no weirder than usual.

  But bigger things occupied my mind. All through our lessons, I dreaded talking to Mrs. Ricotta about missing Mathletes.

  I didn’t get it. Helping the Undies was right; being in Mathletes was right. Why did I have to choose between the two rights, and why did it feel so wrong?

  My stomach hurt. I barely ate any lunch.

  Finally, the last bell rang, and everyone started packing up to go home.

  “I’ll see you Mathletes in ten minutes,” said Mrs. Ricotta.

  Zeke gave me a look and went outside. I wiped my hands on my jeans.

  “Um, Mrs. Ricotta?” I said.

  “Yes?” She looked up from the papers on her desk.

  “I know I said yesterday would be the only time I’d miss practice, but…”

  Her face fell. “Oh, no. You’re not planning to skip another one?”

  I nodded.

  “Stephanie, you disappoint me. I thought you were committed to the team.”

  “I am,” I said. “But…I’ve got other commitments. Family commitments.”

  She folded her hands. “Then I’m afraid you leave me no choice. Our first match is tomorrow. You can’t miss today’s practice and still be on the team.”

  “But—,” I began, and stopped myself. “Whatever you think is fair.”

  Mrs. Ricotta shook her head.

  I bit my lip, and then turned and left the classroom.

  Zeke was waiting outside. “Way to go, Steph!” he said, patting my shoulder. “I knew you’d do what’s right.”

  “Can you just not talk to me right now?” I said.

  Heather gave me an accusing stare as I passed. I deserved it.