by Bruce Hale
Flyboy of Underwhere
by Bruce Hale
Illustrated by
Shane Hillman
To Miguelito—
smooth sailing,
my friend
Contents
Chapter 1
Chasing Melvin
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Undercover Cat
Chapter 4
Double Threat
Chapter 5
What Would a Hero Do?
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
A Little Alla-Kazaam
Chapter 8
Bully Dozer
Chapter 9
Scepter Protector
Chapter 10
Robo-Spies
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
The Uncanny Underchunder
Chapter 13
Toilet Plunger of Death
Chapter 14
Winging It
About the Author and the Illustrator
Other Books by Bruce Hale
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
CHAPTER 1
Chasing Melvin
Everybody wants to be the hero; nobody wants to be the sidekick. It’s true. Ask any two kids playing Batman and Robin, or Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Nobody wants to be Robin.
And the doctor? Forget about it.
(It’s not just the dorky costume, either. Heroes get to be cool. Sidekicks get to tell the hero how cool he is.)
That’s my problem. I don’t want to be the sidekick. But sometimes I feel like I’m not even the hero of my own life.
If you’ve heard about our adventures from my buddy Zeke and his twin sister, Stephanie, you’ll know that he’s the Lost Prince of Underwhere (the place, not the cottony-fresh stuff you’re wearing under your clothes). And Stephanie? She’s the Lost Princess.
What am I? The Lost Cheese Wrangler, the Lost Beebee Stacker, the Lost Whatchamadingy.
It’s my own fault. I just can’t make up my mind about some stuff. And a hero should be able to make up his mind, right?
It’s like that guy, Hamlet, said: “To be or not to be…something.”
Let me explain.
My story starts with me nosing through the construction site, searching for Fitz, my talking orange cat. (He meows, sure, but he also talks English. More on that later.) Then I spotted something that looked like trouble.
Someone, actually.
Melvin Prang, school bully, was slipping into the secret passage to Underwhere, carrying a mysterious bag. Since Steph, Zeke, and I have been fighting to free Underwhere from the dirty rotten UnderLord and his pet zombies, this worried me.
Underwhere didn’t need another bully.
Just then, Fitz turned up.
“Mwrr reer eerow,” he said in his weird cat talk, jerking his head toward the sidewalk. He’s been chatty ever since this Throne that looks like a fancy toilet came to Zeke and Steph’s house. (More on that later too.)
I figured he meant we should go get my friends. Fitz smelled them coming up the street before I saw them. (Which doesn’t mean that they’re stinky, really—just that Fitz has a keen nose.)
“Hey, guys!” I dashed over and told them what I’d seen.
“Melvin’s in Underwhere?!” cried Steph.
“Actually, he’s always in underwear,” said Zeke. “I’m guessing boxers.”
“Real funny.” Steph’s jaw tightened. “Melvin could cause some serious damage down there!”
“What should we do?” I said.
“Duh, Hector—go after him,” Steph said. She began pulling her curly brown hair into a ponytail.
“No time for primping, Stephasaurus,” said Zeke.
Her chin went up. “I’m not sliding down that filthy tube without some basic preparations.”
Fitz batted at my leg. “Reer mmrow!”
I knew how he felt. Waving my hand between them, I said, “Uh, guys? About Melvin—”
Zeke made a face. “Aw, hush!”
“Don’t shush me,” I said.
“No.” He pointed past my shoulder. “The guys from H.U.S.H.”
Steph winced.
Fitz hissed.
I turned. Yikes.
Two men were getting out of a silver car. They wore identical black suits and dark sunglasses. They might just as well have had GOVERNMENT AGENT stamped across their foreheads, except their foreheads were covered by two really phony-looking wigs.
“Hold it!” cried the tall one with blond surfer hair. Unfortunately the wig didn’t hide a honking great mole on his cheek. That mole had its own zip code.
Zeke, Steph, and I exchanged a look. The spies were between us and the construction site.
What to do?
“Now, children,” said the chubby one from under a mop of red clown curls. “We’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
Zeke put up a hand. “Can’t you pick it later? We’ve got to be somewhere.”
Agent Mole planted himself in front of us and rumbled, “Sure do. Right here.”
“Sheesh,” said Zeke.
Agent Belly crossed his arms. “What’s the big idea, giving us a painted toilet brush instead of a magic gizmo?”
“We never!” I said. Actually, we had—only a couple of days earlier.
Steph pulled her big-eyed innocent face. “What are you talking about?” She’s pretty good at lying for someone who never practices.
“You know perfectly well,” said the chubby spy. “Thanks to you three, your government wasted a week running tests on a toilet brush that you swore was some Brush of Wisdom from your ‘Under-land.’ We were disappointed and, urr, none the wiser.”
“Disappointed,” said Mole. His scowl was mean. It probably would’ve been meaner if he hadn’t had to blow long, fake hairs away from his mouth.
“But the bathrooms did sparkle,” Belly said to Mole. Mole grunted.
Steph held up her palms. “Honestly, we thought it was the real thing.”
“That’s right,” said Zeke. “Somebody must have pulled a switch on us.”
“Sure,” said Agent Mole. “And you have no idea who.”
Actually, we knew exactly who had swapped the brushes: our school custodian, Mr. Wheener.
Maybe if I told them, we could give these guys the brush-off.
“You should check out Mr. Wheener at our school,” I said. “He’s been acting suspicious.”
Agent Belly tossed his curls. “Wrong,” he said. “You should check out Wheener.”
“But you’re the spies,” I said.
The chubby agent leaned toward me. “Don’t get smart. Investigate this Wheener and bring us a real magical artifact, or…your grandmother might get deported.”
“But she’s a U.S. citizen!” cried Stephanie.
“Oh,” said Belly. “Then your landlord might kick you out.”
“But they own their house,” said Zeke.
Agent Belly frowned. “Then your, uh…cat might choke on a giant hairball.”
“Wurrr, meer roor reauwww,” Fitz muttered.
I picked him up. “Stay away from Fitz.”
“Give us what we want, and the pussycat will be fine.” Agent Belly reached out to pat Fitz, who swiped his claws at the man.
Belly jumped back, and Agent Mole struck a kung fu pose. “Bad kitty!”
Hiding behind his partner, Agent Belly straightened his wig. “Let’s see some results, children!” He backed toward the car. “Or things will get rough.”
And with a last glare at Fitz, they departed.
“Is it just me,” I said, “or do they leave a bad taste in your mouth?”
Zeke sniffed. “Judging by your breat
h, there is a bad taste in your mouth. But those guys bug me, too.”
“Can we go now?” said Steph.
We hustled over to the construction site gate and squeezed through.
The rotten-egg smell grew stronger. We entered a corner room with a dark hole in the middle of the floor. A strong breeze seemed to pull us closer.
“I’d hate to say this place sucks,” I said.
“But if the shoe fits…” said Zeke.
Steph shook her head. “Honestly, you two.”
And with that, we stepped forward and dropped down to Underwhere.
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
Undercover Cat
Pip-pip-pop-pop! We shot out of the hole and landed, a heap of kids and cat. Underwhere would have to put up with Melvin a little longer. We had a quest.
First stop: Zeke and Steph’s house, to borrow me some clothes. A guy can’t just run around the streets in his holy fleecies, even if it does make him look like an Undie warrior.
We burst through the door and hit our first obstacle: Cousin Caitlyn.
“Where have you zimwats been?” she said. “I’ve been, like, totally frazzing over here. Did it slip your teeny-weeny minds that you promised to help make dinner tonight?”
That’s Caitlyn. All college student, all mouth. She’s babysitting Zeke and Steph while their parents are off at a dig.
“Uh, no,” said Zeke. “We didn’t forget.”
Caitlyn crossed her arms. “So you mean you null noggins are late on purpose?”
“That’s not what he meant,” Steph said.
“Whatever,” said Caitlyn, grabbing them by the elbows. “You can flap your fish lips and tell me all about it while you peel spudskies.”
“But we—” I said.
For the first time, she noticed me. “Nice getup, Hector. Hey, your old grans called. She said to get your fun-bucket home now.”
“But we’ve gotta—” Zeke said.
“Make up for being late?” said Caitlyn. “Aw, that’s sweet, dinky doodle. And you will. Now, march!”
She shoved me out the door and—bam!—slammed it shut.
There I was, a kid in his underwear, on his neighbor’s steps.
I looked up and down the street. A lady in a passing car gawked. A man watering his yard stared and snickered.
In this situation, there’s only one thing a guy like me can do: Run like heck.
On the way to school the next day, we hatched our plans.
“But we can’t just hang out and spy on Mr. Wheener,” said Stephanie.
“Why not?” I asked as we headed down the sidewalk.
She spread her hands. “Because,” she said, “he knows we know he knows something about the Brush, and we know he knows we want it. You know?”
“No,” said Zeke.
“No?” said Steph.
I bent to pet Fitz.
“Mrrrrrr,” he purred.
Steph fiddled with her curls. “Then what do you suggest? Play in the halls near his office and hope to catch him with it? He’ll spot us in a second.”
Fitz wound around my ankles. I smiled as an idea came. “Who said anything about us spying?” I said, looking down at my cat.
He gazed up with big golden eyes. “Wurr meer?”
“Fitzie?” said Steph.
I smiled. “He’d be perfect. Who would suspect a cat?”
Fitz shook his head in disgust.
“Come on, Fitz,” said Zeke.
Steph squatted beside Fitz and scratched behind his ear, in that spot that turns him to jelly. “Pleeeease?”
Fitz shook his head no. “Murr! Meeer wurr rowr…” But as Stephanie continued to scratch, he melted into a furry, purring blob.
That settled, we walked to school and split up for our classes.
My teacher, Mr. Manju, greeted us with a smile. “Good morning, everyone!”
‘“Mawning, Mistuh Monjuh,” we mumbled. That man is way too cheerful in the early hours.
“Your Career Reports are due next week. Let’s go around the room and check in!”
I ducked my head.
Whoops. Once again, I hadn’t made up my mind.
I’d actually known about the assignment for a week. We each had to research a job and do a presentation on it. Simple, right?
Just one problem: I hadn’t actually picked a career.
Down the line it went, each kid sounding off. Artist. Scientist. Teacher. Rock star. They made it sound so sure, so easy.
Then it was my turn.
“Uh, well…” I said.
Mr. Manju nodded. “Yes, Hector?”
“Um, you see…I was thinking veterinarian…”
“That’s great,” said the teacher.
“Or rancher,” I continued. “Or cop. But then I saw this TV show on astronauts…”
Mr. Manju’s smile faded. “You haven’t chosen anything, have you?”
I shrugged.
“Hector, you’ve only got four days left, and this is a big part of your grade. For gosh sakes, son, pick something!”
I nodded, eyes on the floor. “Sure, no problem.”
But it was a problem.
On the playground at recess, Zeke was full of suggestions. “Think of all the interesting people we’ve met lately. Report on one of their jobs.”
“What, government spy?” I said. “Or evil world-taking-over guy?”
Just then, Stephanie showed up. “Want to go check on our undercover cat?”
“Anything but talk about my report,” I said.
But when we reached the hallway outside Mr. Wheener’s office, Fitz was nowhere in sight.
“Where is he?” Steph asked.
“He’s a cat,” I said, looking in the bushes. “He could be anywhere.”
“Here, Fitzie-witzie!” Zeke called softly. “Here, you furry meatloaf.”
We cruised past the office, but the door was shut. It was covered with flyers for bake sales and book fairs. And a small black poster that read UNDERCHUNDER IS COMING! in green letters.
Steph put her ear to the door. “Fitz!” she hissed.
Zeke’s eyes grew big. “Ooh, what if Mr. Wheener caught him snooping and captured him?”
“Think, genius,” said Stephanie. “He’s a cat. How can anyone tell he’s snooping?”
I smirked. “Uh, because his eyes are open?”
A boot scuffed behind us on the cement. “Looking for someone?” said a raspy voice.
We turned. A shaggy-haired janitor stood before us with an orange cat tucked under his arm.
“Reer row,” said Fitz.
“Hello, kiddies,” said Mr. Wheener.
CHAPTER 4
Double Threat
I gulped. “Uh, hi, Mr. Wheener.”
“It’s pronounced Veener,” he said. “You kids never learn.”
The janitor’s eyes were dirt brown and his teeth were corn yellow. He looked us over like we were candy wrappers on the playground.
“What—uh, what are you doing with my cat?” I squeaked.
“This your cat?” He scratched Fitz between the ears.
Fitz closed his eyes in pleasure. The traitor.
“He wasn’t spying or anything,” Zeke blurted.
“Spying?” Mr. Wheener raised an eyebrow.
Steph elbowed Zeke. “What my dumb brother means is, cats snoop around where they shouldn’t, but they don’t mean any harm.”
“Cats should be careful,” said the janitor. He stepped closer. “They stick their nose in something dangerous, they might lose it.”
Fitz struggled in his grip.
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again,” I said.
Mr. Wheener smiled faintly. “Good idea. After all, what did curiosity kill?”
I gulped again. “The, uh, cat?” I said, reaching for Fitz.
The janitor handed him over. “Smart boy.”
He unlocked his door. As casually as possible, we strolled down the hall until we hear
d it shut. Then we ran onto the grass.
“Yeesh, that guy is creepy!” said Zeke.
I held Fitz tight. “Are you all right, buddy?”
He wriggled in my arms, so I put him down.
All three of us squatted beside Fitz.
“So?” said Zeke eagerly. “Where’s the Brush? Did Mr. Wheener hide it somewhere? What’s he planning?”
Fitz gave him a look, the same one I give Zeke sometimes. “Reeow row.”
“Let me translate,” I said. “He says, ‘I can’t speak English up here, mouse brain.’”
I could swear Fitz smiled at that.
“But you can nod yes or no, right?” said Steph.
Fitz nodded.
“So let’s only ask him yes-or-no questions,” I said.
“Brilliant,” said Zeke.
Fitz yawned and stretched.
I stroked his back. “So, Spy Cat, did you see the Brush of Wisdom in his office?”
The cat shook his head.
“Did Mr. Wheener talk to anyone about it?” Steph asked.
“Mrrow.” Fitz nodded.
“Who?” said Zeke.
Fitz stared at him with extra attitude. Then he held up one paw, tapped it twice on the other paw, and looked up expectantly.
“Huh?” I said.
He repeated the move.
Zeke laughed. “It’s almost like he’s doing charades.”
“Mreeer!” Fitz clapped one paw to his nose and nodded.
“Ooh, I like charades!” said Steph. “Okay, um…one word, two syllables.”
Fitz tapped his paw once and held it up to his ear.
“First syllable,” I said. “Sounds like…”
Fitz cocked his head like he was listening to something and shook a paw in the air back and forth.
“Um…sounds like flies?” said Steph. “Uh, swing?”
Fitz shook his head no. Just then the class bell rang.
Brrrrring!
He jumped at the sound. “Rauw rauw reer!”
“Bell?” said Zeke. “Sounds like bell?”
