Flyboy of Underwhere

by Bruce Hale

  Fitz nodded.

  “Let’s see,” I said. “Tell, fell, well, rell, mell—”

  Fitz batted my leg with a paw.

  “It’s mell,” said Steph. “Okay, second syllable…?”

  My cat stared past us and pointed stiffly.

  “Sounds like point?” said Zeke. “Mell-point?”

  Fitz rolled his eyes. He pointed again, more urgently.

  “Mell-jab?” I said.

  “Mell-paw?” said Steph.

  A shadow fell over us. “The name’s Melvin,” said the bully. “And I know everything.”

  Yikes!

  We scrambled to our feet. “You!” I said. “What were you doing in Underwhere?”

  Melvin frowned. “I wear ’em every day, dork brain.”

  “No, the world you went to,” said Steph. “Down below?”

  “Oh, that,” said the bully. “You call it underwear? That’s dumb.”

  “It’s Underwhere.” Zeke’s jaw tightened. “And you better not, uh, go back.”

  “Ooh, you got me shaking, runt!” Melvin faked a punch.

  Zeke flinched. I wanted to do something but couldn’t decide what.

  Steph drew herself up. “If you hurt our friends, the Undies…”

  “Your friends are undies?” Melvin’s face twisted in a grin. “What does that make your brother, a stinky sweat sock? Haw-haw!”

  I spoke up. “She’s talking about the people in Underwhere.”

  “Oh, them,” said Melvin. He puffed out his chest. “They like me.”

  “What?” I said, trying to picture a universe where anyone liked Melvin.

  He scratched himself. “Yeah, I gave that General Rumblesomething what he wanted. And he said I showed promise! Smart dude.”

  I bit my lip. “General Rumbletookus?” Double yikes.

  Steph’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a bad man, Melvin. You should stay away from him—in fact, stay out of Underwhere.”

  Melvin looked from one of us to the other.

  “Oh, I get it,” he said.

  “Good,” said Zeke, relieved.

  “You want to hog the place to yourself.”

  “No,” said Steph. “We—”

  “Tough noogies.” Melvin sneered. “That Undie-land is brutal cool, and I’m gonna keep on visiting.”

  He turned away.

  Curiosity got the better of me. “What did you give the general?” I asked.

  The bully smirked over his shoulder. “It’s a secret, dweeb face.” He stomped off, chuckling.

  I scratched my head. “Secrets from Melvin? That can’t be good.”

  Zeke frowned and Steph bit her lip.

  Fitz just mrrowed. I knew how he felt.

  CHAPTER 5

  What Would a Hero Do?

  The rest of the day didn’t get any better. During quiet work time, I researched two more jobs: fireboat captain and bounty hunter. But I couldn’t make up my mind about either of them.

  We didn’t spot Mr. Wheener at lunch (not that we tried very hard). And we weren’t able to learn anything else about Melvin’s plans.

  I puzzled all afternoon. What would a hero do? If we wanted to recover the Brush of Wisdom, drastic measures were needed. We had to look and look…

  But my thoughts kept coming back to Pegasus. That poor horse—cursed to always have to help people. Maybe if we could break his curse, he’d give us a hand in finding the Brush.

  And it’d sure be cool to fly around on his back again…

  I shook my head. No wonder I was a sidekick. I couldn’t focus.

  After school, we searched for our spy cat to see what he’d learned. But Fitz was nowhere to be found.

  “Maybe he’s at home,” I said.

  “Spying on some tuna fish?” said Zeke.

  But he wasn’t there, either. Steph, Zeke, and I settled into their living room to talk things over as we waited for Fitz to turn up.

  You can’t rush a cat.

  I sprawled on the couch. “I’ve been thinking,” I said.

  “Careful,” said Zeke. “It’s tricky your first time out.”

  “Ha, ha. Seriously, how do we break Pegasus’s curse?”

  “Why?” asked Stephanie.

  “Well, for one thing, he’d be a good friend to have,” I said.

  Zeke shrugged. “Um, okay. But shouldn’t we be looking for the Brush?”

  “Hector’s right,” said Stephanie. “That poor horse—we should do something.”

  “So,” I said.

  “So,” said Zeke.

  “How do you break a curse?”

  Steph brightened. “A kiss?”

  “Gross,” said Zeke and I together.

  “Well, it worked for Sleeping Beauty,” she said.

  I stood and paced. “Think. How else do you reverse curses? Eating something? Um…”

  “Breaking something?” said Zeke.

  “Let’s grab supplies from your closet,” I said, leading the way into his bedroom. Zeke and I loaded various helpful-looking things into my book bag.

  I eyed his Junior Magic-Maker kit. “Wish we knew what would really work.”

  Steph leaned in the doorway. “Why don’t we just look it up in the Book of Booty?”

  I grinned. “Well, sure, if you want to do it the easy way…”

  We trooped into the living room and crowded around Steph, who opened the book on her lap. A faint whiff of rotten eggs rose from it. (The book, not her lap.) (I think.)

  The yellowed pages turned stiffly. “Let’s see,” she said. “‘Rain of Newts’…‘Death Monkeys’…‘Lost Prince’…blah, blah, blah…”

  “Ooh, there!” My finger landed on a drawing of a horse wearing a bridle that looked a lot like a pair of tighty-whities.

  “What’s it say?” said Zeke.

  Steph read aloud:

  When through the air the lizards rise

  And Flyboy comes to claim the prize,

  The whitest horse with wings outspread,

  Wears holy fleece upon—

  Just then, the cat door in the kitchen went fwup-fwup. A streak of orangey fur flew into the living room and leaped onto the open book.

  “Wurr mir reow reow, reer row murrr,” said Fitz. He was talking a blue streak. His tail was twitching like mad.

  “There you are!” I said.

  “Uh, Hector,” said Steph, “is something wrong with him?”

  I shrugged. “Aside from the usual? We’ll have to visit Underwhere to find out.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” said Zeke.

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  A Little Alla-Kazaam

  By the time we got back to Zeke and Stephanie’s house, it was past sunset. Yellow light shone from the front windows.

  A loud voice carried from inside the house. “Are those the little trolltags who promised to clean up this kitchen?”

  “Uh, this is where I get off,” I said, hanging back. “I’ve heard enough yelling this week.”

  Zeke muttered, “To tell you the truth, me too.”

  Steph smirked and led the way up the front steps.

  As I headed down the sidewalk, I could already hear Caitlyn’s motor revving up. “Let me guess—your bike got a flat, your elephant died, and you had to hitchhike all the way back from East Obnoxioustan. If you zimwats had half a…”

  I shook my head. My Grandma Sanchez could be strict sometimes, but for sheer sound volume, nothing compares to the wrath of a college student.

  After dinner, I tidied up and got as far as the door.

  “Homework?” asked my grandma.

  “Done,” I said.

  “Dishes?”

  “Cleaned.”

  “What about that career project?” she said.

  I winced. “Uh, I’m almost there.” And that was true—if almost there meant “haven’t started yet.”

  Grandma frowned. “Listen, mi hijito. Life doesn’t wait for you to make up your mind.”

  “I�
�m on it, abuela. Honest.” Grandma always softens up when I use Spanish.

  “Hmph!” she snorted. But she waved her hand. “Go.”

  Five minutes later, I was brainstorming with Zeke and Stephanie in their TV room. Caitlyn was somewhere in the back of the house, wearing out her cell phone.

  Steph pulled out the Book of Booty. “Let’s see if there’s anything in here about towers or—”

  Rat-a-tat-tat! A knock interrupted her.

  “Who could that be?” Zeke asked.

  “Probably some friend of Caitlyn’s,” said Steph. She got up and went to the door.

  Caitlyn wandered in from the back room, still gabbing on her phone.

  But when Steph opened up, it wasn’t Caitlyn’s friend, or anyone we knew.

  “Good evening, magic lovers!” said a man in black. “I am…the Uncanny Underchunder!” He reached into his ear, pulled out a bouquet of roses, and gave it to Caitlyn.

  Two women in spangly tights behind him squealed, “Ooh!”

  “Magic,” whispered Zeke. We moved closer. “I love magic.”

  “May we come in?” asked the magician.

  Caitlyn stepped forward. “Laters,” she said into her phone.

  “Eh?” said Underchunder.

  She flipped her cell phone shut and took the flowers. “I’ve heard of you.” Caitlyn looked him up and down. “You’re, like, this big whoop-di-walla magician who’s gonna do some big whoop-di-dee show next week.”

  “My fame precedes me,” he said, his round face beaming.

  “Don’t get all, like, Oz-headed,” said Caitlyn, sniffing the roses in spite of herself. “I’ve just barely heard of you. What do you want?”

  Underchunder strutted stiffly into the room. “I am, as you say, staging a magical extravaganza on Tuesday. And I’ve chosen several lucky families in your neighborhood for sneak previews!”

  His assistants—or whatever they were—burst into applause.

  “Thank you. You’re too kind,” said the magician. “And now, let the enchantment begin!”

  As one helper closed the door, Fitz scooted into the room. The other assistant set up a small card table while Underchunder plucked a gold coin from Caitlyn’s nostril.

  It didn’t surprise me. Personally, I think she’s got much worse stuff up there.

  Stephanie muttered, “He looks so familiar. You don’t think he could be…”

  “The UnderLord?” I whispered. “Nah, see how tall he is?”

  It was true. This guy was medium height, while the evil UnderLord had actually been shorter than Zeke. (And that’s saying something.)

  “He’s dressed in black,” Zeke whispered. “Fitz said Mr. Wheener met a man in black…”

  “Take your seats, my friends,” said the magician. “For my first trick, I will require some ordinary reading material.”

  Zeke picked up a magazine. “Is this ordinary enough?”

  The blond assistant lady carried it to Underchunder. “Observe,” he said, passing a hand above and below the magazine. “No strings attached. Nothing inside but pages and perfume ads.” He fanned it open, then closed it again.

  Fitz sat nearby. Tail twitching, he cut his eyes from me to the magician and back. “Mrrrr,” he said. “Murr reer.”

  Underchunder adjusted his top hat, smiled, and waved his hand three times. “Alla…kaz-ibba…kazaam!”

  We stared at the magazine. Nothing had changed.

  “Some trick,” said Caitlyn.

  The magician held up a finger. “But wait.” He opened the magazine, and three white doves flew out!

  “Wow!” Zeke cried. Everyone clapped.

  Fitz followed the birds with interest. After they left by an open window, he padded over to Underchunder and rubbed up against his legs.

  “Yes, uh, lovely pet,” he said. “Will someone take this cat?”

  “Fitzie!” I called. He looked up at Underchunder, then over at me, puzzled. I went and picked him up. (The cat, not the magician.)

  “Mer-wowr?” said Fitz.

  I set him down on the floor beside the couch.

  “Now for my next trick,” said Underchunder. “I’ll need a common household item from the er, little magicians’ room.”

  “Reer owr meer MEER,” said Fitz insistently. “Murr mau.”

  “Perhaps a brush, some paper?” said Underchunder. “Or a spare thro—uh, potty?”

  Chomp! Fitz bit my leg.

  “Yow!” I cried. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He dodged my grab and scooted away from the couch. “Rauw rauw REEER.”

  “Well,” said Caitlyn doubtfully. “Our brush is, like, maximally skranky, but we’ve got mucho-mucho T.P. I’ll snag some.”

  She got up and left the room.

  Fitz scampered over to Underchunder. “Meeer!” he cried, and he sank his teeth into the man’s leg.

  “Fitz, no!” I jumped up.

  But Underchunder just looked at us blankly. “Why all the hullabaloo?”

  “Your, uh…” said Steph, rising.

  Zeke stood. “Your leg,” he said, “has a cat on it.”

  The magician glanced down and noticed Fitz. “Off!” Underchunder shook his leg and swayed.

  The lady assistants fluttered about, trying to keep their boss from falling.

  My own leg was throbbing from Fitz’s bite. But this guy hadn’t said boo when Fitz chomped him.

  Strange.

  Steph noticed it, too. “He doesn’t even feel it,” she whispered.

  Fitz growled low in his throat, doing his mini-tiger impression. Underchunder shook his leg again and staggered, off balance.

  The ladies squealed.

  Then, three things happened almost at once.

  Fitz finally let go.

  The magician fell on his butt.

  And his legs broke off.

  CHAPTER 8

  Bully Dozer

  We stared, openmouthed.

  Caitlyn rushed into the room. “Omigod, I’m, like, sooo sorry. I’m gonna have that cat zelched, quicker than—” She stopped short. “Eew, your legs!”

  Underchunder examined his legs, both bent at an unnatural angle. “Oh, they’re, uh—how you say?—plastic.” He climbed to his feet without them and stood a full foot and a half shorter. Shorter than Zeke, in fact.

  Hmm…round-faced, short, interested in thrones?

  I looked over at Steph and Zeke, and saw it in their eyes.

  “I know that melon head,” said Zeke. “It’s the Under—”

  With a glance at Caitlyn, Steph cut him off. “Underchunder! We’ve had enough of your tricks.”

  “Yeah.” I crossed my arms. “Why don’t you do a vanishing act?”

  “Don’t be rude, runts,” said Caitlyn. “Just because he’s got fake drumsticks…”

  “Mwwwrr,” growled Fitz from the corner.

  The fake Underchunder opened his mouth, began to speak, and then thought better of it.

  “Come, ladies,” he said to his assistants. “A little leg repair is in order.” The magician drew four tickets from his sleeve and handed them to Caitlyn.

  “My sneak preview didn’t go exactly as planned,” he said, with a sharp look at us. “I hope you’ll accept this as an apology.”

  Caitlyn’s eyes grew round. “Free tickets to your show on Tuesday? Flavorful! Totally Tuckahoe way to express your sorry-ness!”

  (I’ve got to say, half the time, I have no idea what Caitlyn’s saying.)

  The magician’s helpers gathered up his props and fake legs and hustled out the door. Underchunder followed, tripping on his pants legs like a three-year-old in his daddy’s trousers.

  At the door, he turned. “This isn’t the final act. I’ll see you later, kiddies.”

  “Not if we see you first,” I replied. Not the most original thing, maybe, but it had to be said.

  The door closed. Caitlyn whipped out her cell phone. “Britney is gonna totally plork when I, like, tell her what just happened.” She pr
anced away.

  Zeke slumped on the couch. “And he seemed like such a nice magician.”

  At lunch the next day, we took risky measures. (And I don’t mean trying the Chef’s Surprise.)

  First, we called the spies, who had given us their business card at an earlier meeting. We told them about the Uncanny Underchunder, hoping that they’d trip up his evil plans. (Or that he’d trip up theirs.)

  Second, we worked on a solution to the Melvin problem.

  “If we’re going to make any headway down in Underwhere,” said Steph, as we left the pay phones, “we’ve got to keep Melvin up here.”

  “Agreed,” said Zeke.

  “Fine with me,” I said. “Any ideas?”

  As usual, I couldn’t make up my mind about our choices, but Steph pushed her plan through. Not surprisingly, it involved possible bodily harm to Zeke and me.

  Steph went off to handle her side of things while Zeke and I waited in the hall. “Tell me again why we have to do this part?” he asked.

  “Because you’re Melvin’s favorite target,” I said. (What I didn’t say was, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off on my own. It’s scary sometimes, playing hero.)

  “Right,” said Zeke. His smile was wobbly.

  Soon we spotted kids with scared and unhappy faces—which meant Melvin was nearby. He saw us and began terrorizing his way in our direction. As the bully drew closer, my stomach flip-flopped.

  Showtime.

  “Remember, act natural,” I whispered.

  “No problem,” said Zeke. “Naturally I’m scared out of my mind.”

  We stood waiting for Melvin to come within earshot.

  “Now!” hissed Zeke.

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah,” I said loudly, “Melvin’s so dumb, he, um, flunked recess.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the bully stop dead, mouth open. It took everything I had not to turn and look at him.

  Zeke faked a laugh. “Melvin’s so, uh, dumb, he got fired from the M&M’s factory for throwing out the W’s.”

  “Hey!” Melvin growled, stomping up to us.

  Our plan was working!

  He planted his fists on his hips. “Is that the best you got? Bo-ring.”

  Our plan wasn’t working. We ignored him and tried harder.