by Bruce Hale
“Dangerous?” I echoed.
Holy crud! Did this guy know about Underwhere?
Stephanie got up and joined me. I twisted the receiver so she could hear.
“We, er, collected several items, and now all manner of strange things are happening,” he said. “Electrical disturbances, mutated animals…”
“Like butt-birds?” I said, thinking of Fitz’s roadkill treats.
“Great bumbling Zeus!” boomed Dr. Prufrock. “It’s happening to you, too?”
“Yes,” said Stephanie. “And you won’t believe where we—”
“Listen, children,” said the doctor. “You must hide her artifact somewhere safe. I fear that its owner may be looking for what we took, even now. You’re in terrible…” He fell silent. “Eh?”
“Terrible eh?” I said.
“Shh,” he said. “There’s someone on the street.”
“How do we know we can trust you?” said Steph.
“Which artifact?” I asked.
“Must go,” whispered Dr. Prufrock. “Hide the Throne.”
And—click—he hung up.
Yeesh.
I stared at the receiver. “Throne?” I said. “What throne?”
On the way to school the next morning, I worried. How could I help the Undies free their city? What would I do for my science project? And was my rap song good enough to keep Melvin from rearranging my face?
A long silver car pulled up to the curb. Out stepped the spies.
Great. One more thing to worry about.
Agent Belly scratched his fake nose. “Let’s hear your report. It better be good.”
Steph and I told them about our latest trip to Underwhere—but not that I was the lost prince. I downloaded my spy camera shots onto their laptop computer.
“Zombies,” said Agent Mole. “Little people.”
They traded a long look. Mole’s hairy mole twitched with joy.
“Uh-huh,” said Belly. “With this evidence, our project—”
Agent Mole drew a finger across his throat, and Agent Belly stopped cold.
“So if you guys are happy,” I said, “we’ll stop spying now.”
Agent Belly smiled. “Not quite. Your parents are scheduled to return from a dig, um…” He snapped his fingers.
“Next week,” said Mole.
“It would be such a shame if they didn’t come back.”
Ulp.
“Wh-what do you mean?” I asked, trying to steady my voice.
“So much danger at a dig,” said Agent Belly. “Infected trowels…”
“Porta Potti accidents,” said Mole.
My shoulders slumped. Steph bit her lip.
“Keep up the good work, kids,” said Agent Belly as they piled into the car.
“For how long?” said Stephanie.
Agent Mole’s sunglasses stared blankly at us. “As long as it takes.”
And they drove off in a cloud of thick bluish smoke.
CHAPTER 9
Bad Is Good
All through our history lesson, I was distracted. I kept sneaking glances at Melvin, knowing he’d corner me at recess. And I wasn’t looking forward to our chat.
Then Mrs. Ricotta said something that grabbed my attention.
“Let’s talk about Greek history,” she said.
That wasn’t it.
“Does anyone know how the Greeks conquered the city of Troy?”
That was it.
Nobody raised a hand, so our teacher told us about the Trojan Horse. It seems the Greek army hid some soldiers inside a giant wooden horse and gave it to the Trojans. The Trojans brought the horse inside Troy. Then the Greek guys sneaked out, opened the gates for their army, and conquered the city.
Bingo. Who knew history could be useful?
All the Undies had to do was build some kind of Trojan Horse thingie. Then they could sneak it into Skivvy Town. And I thought I knew just what kind of thingie the Undies would like.
I started sketching. By break time, my design was complete.
Watch out, Skivvy Town. Here comes the lost prince.
At recess, Hector and I kicked a soccer ball while I told him the latest news.
“You’re supposed to hide your aunt’s what?” he asked.
“Throne,” I said. “If we can even find one.”
“O-kay…”
I popped the ball up and bounced it off my head. “And this Prufrock guy might—ow!—know about Underwhere. But I don’t know if we can believe him. He sounded pretty nutty.”
“About one Froot Loop shy of a full box,” said Hector.
We cracked up. My crooked kick spun the ball off to the side.
Thoomp. The custodian caught it.
“Oh, Mr. Wheener,” said Hector. “Can we have our ball back?”
“It’s Veener,” growled the shaggy-haired janitor. “And be careful. Someone could get hurt.”
He tossed the ball with a dark look, and dragged his trash bag away.
“Where did he come from?” I asked.
“Dunno,” said Hector. “But here comes some more.”
I spun. Melvin Prang and Darryl were headed straight for us.
Too late to run.
“Yo, padangle!” said Melvin. “What’s the hangle?”
“Uh, hey, Melvin,” I said.
He strutted right up to me. Darryl took my other side.
“Got my rap, runt?” said the bully.
I gulped. “Yeah. It’s um, a rough draft.” I fished the paper from my pocket.
Lips moving, Melvin read my lines. His frown deepened.
Uh-oh.
He looked up. “It’s bad,” he said.
“Sorry. I can try—”
Darryl interrupted. “Bad is good, dweeb.”
“That’s Beefy D’s motto,” said Melvin. “Bad is good, and evil is awesome.”
I blinked. “That’s nice—uh, I mean, wicked.”
He stuffed my lame rap in his pocket. “Stay cool, fool.” Melvin shoved me.
I staggered, off balance. Mean and Meaner strolled off.
“I can’t believe he went for those lyrics,” I said.
“Stinkeroo?” asked Hector.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sometimes, bad is bad.”
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
Beefing Up
Back at home, a surprise was waiting: a familiar black stretch Humvee parked in front of our house.
“It’s that same car,” said Stephanie. “Who could it be?”
“A movie star?” said Hector.
“Yeah,” I said. “Hollywood wants to do my life story.”
Steph tossed her curls. “Don’t be silly. They’re not visiting us.”
But when we opened the front door, a bigger surprise sat on our couch.
“Yo, yo, yo, pahangle,” said the rapper Beefy D. “What’s the dwangle?”
I stared. “Huh?” was all I could say.
Beefy D spread out on the sofa with huge bodyguards on either side. Gold teeth twinkled in his smile, and he wore purple jockey shorts over his pants.
“Look who dropped in!” squealed Caitlyn. She perched on the armchair, grinning madly. Queen Kong had had a personality transplant. “It’s Beefy D himself!”
The rapper raised his fist. “Word,” he said.
“Uh, kumquat?” I said.
Caitlyn glared.
“What?” I said. “Kumquat isn’t a word?”
“Beefy D wants to ask us something important,” she said.
The rapper leaned forward. He was built short and wide, like a mini refrigerator. “Yo, come be mah pahangles on mah shwangle. Wanna hangle?”
I looked at Steph and Hector. They were frowning, too.
“Huh?” said Stephanie.
Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “What’s your major malfunction? He wants us to, like, be his guests at his store opening tomorrow night!”
Beefy D nodded. “Indeedy-dangle,” he said.
“Isn’t that
, like, megacool?” Caitlyn gushed.
“I guess,” I said.
“Why us?” said Steph.
Our cousin stood. “He’s chosen one family at random to, like, be on his show. And out of all the families in town, he picked us!”
“How us?” I said.
“I’ve already accepted for everyone,” said Caitlyn. “Hector, too.”
Hector shrugged. “Okay. Us.”
Beefy D beamed. His smile looked like a jewelry store window. “Truly evil, mah pahangles,” he said.
“Truly evil,” echoed his bodyguards.
To our blank looks, Caitlyn said, “Evil means awesome.”
“I knew that,” I said.
“Word,” said the rapper. “It’s a dehangle.” He hopped off the couch, and just came up to his guards’ bellybuttons. I’m short, but this guy was short.
He strutted around the living room. “Say, where’s the loo, baboo? This dudangle’s gotta pangle.”
“The loo?” asked Stephanie.
“Your poopangle, your jangle, your throne. Knowhutahmsayin’?”
“Oh,” said Caitlyn. “The bathroom’s this way.”
She led Beefy D and his beefier bodyguards into the hall.
“Our throne?” I wondered. “Dr. Prufrock mentioned a throne….”
“That weird toilet in your dad’s office?” said Hector.
“It does look kinda thronelike. But who’d sit on it—King Putt?”
We laughed.
“Very princely,” said Steph. “Anyway, I bet it’s just a coincidence.”
Even so, I crossed the room to watch. Beefy’s guys stood talking to Caitlyn in the hall. The bathroom door was closed.
Hector joined me. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But something’s weird about that guy.”
“Whut the heckangle do ya mean, pahangle?”
“Exactly.”
Soon, Beefy D appeared, wiping his hands on his sparkly gold shirt. He drifted toward us, then poked his nose into Dad’s workroom.
“That’s my uncle’s office,” said Caitlyn.
I stepped forward and reached past him. “Yeah, and it’s off-limits,” I said, shutting the door.
Beefy D backed into the hall. He waved a ring-covered hand. “That’s all Kool-and-the-Gangle, pahangle,” he said.
Up close, he smelled of rotten eggs and fruity aftershave. Yeesh. And his fishy white face seemed to have a faint blue halo.
Beefy D noticed my stare. For a second, his features froze.
Then, he flashed that million-dollar grin. “Check me out. I’m purty as a pichangle.” Beefy D laughed, and his guards laughed along. They brushed past.
At the front door, the rapper turned. “Laters, pahangles. Gonna send the limosangle tomorra.” He made a V with his fingers. “Peas and carrots.”
The door closed behind them with a thunk.
“Omigod, omigod!” squealed Caitlyn, whipping out her cell phone. “Brittany will die and come back to life when she hears this!” She retreated to her room.
From the window, I watched Beefy D and his crew walk to the Humvee.
Hector patted my shoulder. “Cheer up. There are worse things than being at Beefy D’s opening.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sharing an elevator with him. Have you smelled the guy?”
At school the next day, everyone was buzzing about Beefy D. The classroom loudspeaker gave us the latest.
“Attention, students,” crackled a voice. It was our principal, Ms. Johnson. “Time to announce the winner of our school rap contest.”
Melvin Prang shot me a hard look. “Me,” he muttered. “Or else.”
“First,” said Ms. Johnson, “I want you to know that you are all winners. Even if you’re not all going to Beefy—uh, Mr. D’s show.”
Why do grown-ups always say that? Duh, we know we’re not all winners.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Melvin. “Enough about the losers.”
“The winner is…”
I crossed my fingers.
“Melvin Prang?” Ms. Johnson said, trying to hide her surprise. “Uh, congratulations, Melvin.”
The class gave a halfhearted cheer.
Sheesh. I felt confused.
My rap was cool enough to win the contest. That was good.
But it meant Melvin and I would be at the same event. That was bad.
Confusion was replaced by worry.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten,” said our teacher, Mrs. Ricotta. “Your science projects are due tomorrow.”
How could I forget? Half my grade depended on it. And with all the interruptions, I hadn’t even started yet.
Maybe I’d get lucky. Maybe the zombies would eat me first.
After school, Stephanie started toward the nearby strip mall.
“Wrong way, Steph,” I said. “Home is that direction.”
“But the drugstore is over here,” she said.
“Why go there?” asked Hector.
“Need some Pepto-Bismol ’cause you’re sick with jealousy?” I said.
She turned to Hector. “Dwarf Boy’s plan includes methane gas, right?”
“Right,” he said.
“Have you ever smelled methane? We need surgical masks for protection.”
“Oh,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Hector grinned. “So what you’re saying is, his plan stinks?”
We bought the masks and rushed home. Somehow, we had to help the Undies storm Skivvy Town and return in time for Beefy D’s store opening. But as if that wasn’t enough…
“Zeke,” said Steph, as we hit the driveway, “about that weird toilet….” She frowned. “Maybe we should hide it. Just in case.”
Hector’s grandmother gave us a funny look when we carried the antique potty into his house. “We’ve already got one of those,” she said.
“It’s just for a little while,” said Hector. “To keep it safe.”
“Safe from what?” asked his grandmother.
“Uh, toilet thieves?” said Hector.
CHAPTER 12
Countdown to a Castle Raid
We stashed Great-aunt Zenobia’s toilet in Hector’s room. Then, zip!—back to my house. After tossing the surgical masks into a book bag, we headed out.
“Don’t forget,” yelled Caitlyn from the couch. “We leave at, like, six o’clock sharp! I’ll murder you if you zimwats make me miss this. And it won’t be the warm and fuzzy kind of murder, either.”
“We’ll be here,” said Steph. And we took off running.
Fitz appeared from nowhere and joined us. But before we could reach the construction site, a familiar silver car pulled up. A window whirred down.
Fitz hissed.
“We’ve been waiting for your report,” said Agent Belly. “Why no call?”
“Uh, we’ve been busy,” I said, fidgeting.
“Do tell,” said Mole.
“Not much to tell,” said Steph. “The Undies have welcomed us.”
“The UnderLord has come to conquer our world,” I said.
“And my cat can talk English down there,” said Hector.
Agent Belly stared at me. “Run that second one by us again?” he said.
Time was short, but we reported what the Undies had said.
“Does this UnderLord have any special powers?” asked Agent Belly.
“Some magic, maybe,” I said. “We haven’t really met.”
Mole’s mole twitched. “Magic.” He turned to Belly. “That’s…”
“Exactly,” said the chubby agent. “Children, we want you to bring back something magical—a wand, crystal ball, whatever.”
“How are we supposed to find—,” Stephanie began.
But the window whirred back up, and they motored off.
“Meer mrrrrr,” Fitz growled.
“You said it,” said Steph. “I’m sick of those guys.”
“Me too,” I said. “But we’ll have to worry about t
hem later.”
“Why?”
I shouldered the book bag. “Right now we’ve got zombies to battle and a castle to storm.”
“Oh, that,” said Hector. “I knew I was forgetting something.”
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
Bad Undies
We pounded up the driveway—about ten minutes late.
Oops.
Caitlyn was pacing outside. Queen Kong in full meltdown mode.
“You little buzz-crushers!” she yelled. “You’re in so much trouble. Where were you?”
“We, uh…,” I began.
“Never mind where you were,” said Caitlyn. “Move it!”
She hustled us over to the waiting limousine.
“But we need to clean up,” said Stephanie.
“Get. In. That. Car,” Caitlyn growled. “Now!”
I rolled the dhow-naught into the bushes. We got in the car.
Fitz stayed behind. Smart cat.
All the way to Beefy D’s store, Caitlyn chewed us out in new and creative ways. Not even Stephanie could slip a word in.
But when we arrived—bam! The lights, red carpet, and TV cameras finally stopped Queen Kong’s mouth. “Whoa” was all she could say.
The limo door opened, and we stepped out to a cheering crowd. It fell silent like that. “Who the heck are they?” someone said.
“Guess they’ve never seen royalty before,” Hector muttered.
We shuffled up the carpet to the black building. Overhead an enormous pink sign flashed: BAD UNDIES.
“Do you see that?” I hissed to Steph.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Weird,” said Hector.
Stephanie shrugged. “Could just be a coincidence.”
Inside the huge store, the music thumped so loud, the bass rattled your fillings. Racks and racks of underwear filled the place. Models strolled up and down a stage and runway at the far end.
“Check them out,” said Hector. “Do they remind you of anyone?”
I looked closer. The models wore their underwear outside their clothes, just like the Undies. And just like Beefy D.
Huh.
