Prince of Underwhere Read online

  Prince of Underwhere

  by Bruce Hale

  Illustrated by

  Shane Hillman

  To Billy the Kid—

  still crazy after

  all these years

  —B.H.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  My Freaky Neighborhood

  Chapter 2

  Cat and Mouth

  Chapter 3

  Stranger Danger

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  I Spy Trouble

  Chapter 6

  Melvin’s Rap

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Three Threats

  Chapter 9

  Bad Is Good

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Beefing Up

  Chapter 12

  Countdown to a Castle Raid

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Bad Undies

  Chapter 15

  Science Stinks

  About the Author and the Illustrator

  Other Books by Bruce Hale

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER 1

  My Freaky Neighborhood

  If we hadn’t run from the spies, I might never have discovered Underwhere. (The place, not the tighty-whities. I already know about those.) Then I would never have had to walk like a zombie, lead a midget revolution, and cut a mighty cheese in a castle. Which would mean, of course, I wouldn’t be battling the evil billionaire rapper and his mutant dinosaurs.

  But we did, and I did, and I am, so why complain? World-saving is a lot more fun than homework, anyway.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s back up.

  The whole thing started because of a scruffy, stinky, good-for-nothing cat.

  I was walking home from school with my twin sister, Stephanie, and our neighbor Hector. That’s normal enough.

  Steph and I were arguing. Also normal.

  (We’re not the kind of twins who think alike and act alike. Some people don’t believe we’re part of the same family. In fact, I’m not totally sure she’s from the same planet.)

  “No way, dwarf,” she said. “If you use Great-aunt Zenobia in that report, I’ll cream you.”

  “You and what blender?” I said. “You’re just ticked ’cause you didn’t think of it first, frizzball.”

  Her mouth fell open. “But I did! You heard me talking to Heather about it.”

  “Nope.”

  “And you ran straight to Mrs. Ricotta and told her it was your idea.”

  “Did not.”

  Well, maybe I did. But no way would I admit it to her.

  Hector looked across me at Steph. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll think of something. You’re the smart one.”

  That’s Hector, my best buddy. Loyal, huh?

  “That’s not the point,” she said. “It was my idea. I should do it.”

  But you could tell she liked being called the smart one.

  “I’m not dumb—just lazy,” I said.

  And that’s the truth. Sort of. Look, it’s not easy being twins with a megabrain like my sister. So why raise everybody’s expectations? Why not let her be the overbusy beaver?

  Steph tossed her dirt-brown curls. I think she thinks this makes her as pretty as the lady in the Chichi shampoo commercial. Yeesh. In her dreams.

  “Hey,” said Hector. “Did your clocks get all wacky this morning?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They wore clown noses and purple socks.” That’s me: I’m the funny one.

  Hector ignored me. “Ours showed all different times. I was so late for school, my grandma had to drive me.”

  “Oh, that wackiness,” I said.

  We turned the corner onto our street.

  “Same thing at our house,” said Stephanie. “If I hadn’t set my watch, we would’ve overslept.”

  That’s Steph: so in love with school, she uses two alarms to wake her up on time. She’s definitely from another planet.

  “Mrrow mrow, meer rowww.”

  Hector’s scraggly orange cat, Fitz, stepped from the bushes. He was carrying a lizard.

  “Hey, Fitzie,” said Steph. She scratched him behind the ears. “Does kittycat want to be petted?”

  Fitz dropped the mangled lizard at her feet.

  “Gross!” said Steph, stepping back.

  “Gross!” said Hector and I, leaning in.

  Fitz stared up at us with golden eyes, then back to the reptile. “Murr mrrow, meer?”

  “Snack time,” I said. “Want a bite, Steph?”

  “It looks like…,” she said.

  “What?” We both bent closer.

  “Your face,” she finished.

  “Har-de-har,” I said.

  Hector stroked his cat’s back. “He’s been doing that a lot lately.”

  “What, bringing you roadkill num-nums?” I asked.

  Fitz narrowed his eyes. If he wasn’t a cat, I would’ve sworn he was giving me attitude.

  “No,” said Hector. “His meows have gotten way weird—almost like he’s trying to talk.”

  “Meer eeer,” said Fitz.

  I held up a hand. “Wait. I…I think I understand him.”

  The cat’s tail twitched. “Reoww rauw rauw.”

  “What’s he saying?” said Hector.

  “He’s saying ‘Kiss…my fuzzy…fazooski.’”

  Hector cracked up.

  Steph rolled her eyes. “That’s it; I’m going home,” she said.

  My sister has no sense of humor.

  “No,” said Hector, “he’s saying, ‘Foolish humans, bring me mouse pizza!’”

  We followed Steph down the sidewalk. Fitz left his lizard and tagged along.

  Three doors down from our house, we passed the new construction site. The building was half-finished. It looked like a kindergartner’s art project—all lumpy and lopsided. Sandpiles and equipment surrounded it, and a huge cavelike mouth yawned where a front door should’ve been.

  “Your monster condo creeps me out,” said Steph.

  “I never said it was a monster condo. Just that it seemed weird.”

  “You should know weird,” she said. “You see it whenever you pass a mirror.”

  Hector sniffed. “Speaking of weird, you smell that? Like someone had beans for lunch? This place always stinks like that.”

  “And here I thought that was you,” I said.

  Something—a bird? a bat?—fluttered past the cave-mouth door. Shoom! It was sucked inside.

  “Whoa!” I blurted. What the heck?

  “Beware,” said Hector in a vampire voice. “Dracula’s moving to the ’hood.”

  “You’re both so immature,” said Stephanie. She snorted and walked on.

  Hector and I tore ourselves away. “It would be kinda cool if it was a vampire house,” I said.

  “Anything to jazz up this neighborhood,” said Hector.

  By the time we met the zombies, he’d want to take that back. But by then, of course, it’d be too late.

  CHAPTER 2

  Cat and Mouth

  When we tramped into the living room, Caitlyn was curled up in an armchair. As usual, she was gabbing on the phone. “He did not,” she said. “Really? Oh, double eew. I can’t imagine what she sees in him. He’s all, like, monzo puke-oid, and she’s such a total muffin. You know what I mean?”

  I had no idea what she meant. Caitlyn was a college student.

  The TV blasted some commercial with a really short rapper. The music drowned out his lyrics.

  “Hey, that’s Beefy D,” said Hector. “He’s the boom.”

  “The boom?” said Stephanie.

  �
�Like the bomb, but exploded. He’s opening a new clothing store—nothing but underwear.”

  “Cool,” I said. “I do love a nice pair of tighty-whities.”

  “That’s more than I needed to know about your undies,” said Hector.

  We stepped forward for a better look.

  Just then, Caitlin clicked off the TV. “Hang on, I gotta, like, crack the whip on the brats,” she said into the phone. “Okay, blivets, time to pull your weight around here. Zeke, take out the trash and clean up the family room—and I mean mondoclean. Stephanie, pull a Bonnie Brillo and do the dishes, and, like, sweep up.”

  She clapped twice. “Move it, munchkins!”

  Sheesh.

  “So, where was I?” she said into the phone. “Oh, yeah, the party…” Caitlyn took her mouth into the family room. We took ourselves into the kitchen.

  Steph plowed through the breakfast dishes as Hector and I watched. “Aren’t you going to get the trash?” she asked.

  “I will,” I said. “Later.”

  She shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

  “How much longer do you have to put up with Queen Kong?” asked Hector.

  “Until Mom and Dad get back from the dig,” said Stephanie. She took a carrot from the fridge and cleaned it.

  (Really. She even eats this way when our parents aren’t home. Sick, huh?)

  I grabbed a pack of corn chips and tossed another to Hector. “One more week of dear, sweet cousin Caitlyn,” I said.

  Flip-flup.

  The cat door opened. I looked around, hoping to see our cat Meathead—the doofus ran away a couple of weeks ago. But it was just Fitz.

  He strutted into the kitchen carrying a bird, then made weird meows like before. Maybe Fitz had been munching on the bird, I don’t know, but it had some serious problems. Its head was creased down the middle, like…

  Well, like a feathered derrière. (I know my teacher keeps telling me to lay off the potty humor, but it’s true.)

  “Yuck, what’s with Fitz and the dead things?” I said.

  “Maybe he thinks we’re his kittens,” said Steph, crunching her carrot.

  “Yeah. Well this kitten likes burritos,” I said.

  Hector smirked. “Aha! That smell was you!” He opened the door and chucked the bird outside. The cat left, grumbling to himself.

  “So,” Hector said, “what’s the big deal with your aunt?”

  “Great-aunt Zenobia?” I said. “Come on.”

  I led Hector from the kitchen.

  “You better not be going into Dad’s office,” Steph called after us.

  We went down the hall and into Dad’s office.

  “It’s like she’s psychic or something,” said Hector.

  “Psycho, maybe,” I said.

  The room was half museum, half office-supply store, and looked like it had been organized by a cyclone. Blue binders, paper, and Post-its mixed with site maps, fossils, dinosaur toys, an old apple core, and some even older skulls. Archeology books lay everywhere.

  I rooted through the layers on the desk. “It was in this stack…”

  Hector pointed at a kooky antique toilet. Its carved, fancy bowl held rolled-up maps. It looked like the john of some totally mental medieval king.

  “Is this in case the other one breaks down?” he asked.

  “Nah, that’s just something from Great-aunt—Aha!” I pulled an envelope from the mound. Inside was a photo of an old woman in a pith helmet and leather jacket. She sat on a motorcycle, holding a machete. She looked like one tough granny.

  “Who is she, Indiana Jones’s mother?” said Hector.

  “Was,” I said. “She died or disappeared or something. I never met her. But her lawyer sent us some of her old stuff.” I nodded at the toilet.

  “The lawyer sent you her potty? Maybe you’re the butt of a cruel joke.”

  I groaned. “Pretty cheeky,” I said. “But that’s not all of it.”

  “What’s in the letter?” asked Hector.

  “The key,” I said, “to an A on my family history report.”

  I led the way back to the living room, and we plopped down on the couch.

  “Nice sculpture,” said Hector, looking at a jar of rotten bananas on the table.

  “That, young Igor, is my science project. I’m making methane gas.”

  “Just have another burrito,” he said. “And since when did you become Dr. Science Nerd?”

  “Since my grades laid an egg,” I said. I slid the letter from its envelope. “Anyway, check it out: ‘We have discovered the most extraordinary artifacts, and—’”

  Steph appeared in the doorway.

  “That better not be what I think it is,” she said.

  “Chill, Stephapotamus. I’m just reading to Hector.”

  “That’s for my project!” she shrilled. Her fists clenched.

  “‘The Devil’s Punchbowl has proven to be a—’,” I read aloud.

  Fitz scampered into the room. “Reeeow!”

  Back again? What was up with him?

  “Give me that!” Steph cried.

  “Finders keepers, losers get the blues-ers,” I sang, slipping the letter back into its envelope.

  The cat leaped onto the coffee table. “Meer! Mrow, rauw, row!” He head-butted my banana jar. Once, twice…

  “No!”

  With the third hit, it tumbled off the table and shattered on the tile floor—kzzshh!

  The stink of methane made my eyes water.

  “I’m gonna skin that cat!” I cried.

  Just then, the doorbell rang.

  And like a dope, I answered it.

  CHAPTER 3

  Stranger Danger

  Two odd men stood on the doorstep. One was tall; one was chubby. They wore identical black suits and dark sunglasses.

  That wasn’t so weird. But they also wore really cheap fake noses and mustaches—the kind from a bad Halloween costume.

  That was weird.

  “Greetings,” said the tall one. A hairy mole stuck out of his cheek. It was as thick as a thumb.

  “We’d like to have a chat with your family,” said the other. His gut pushed against his suit buttons.

  Steph joined me. “We’re not supposed to talk to strangers,” she said.

  “We’re not strangers,” said Jelly Belly. “We’re government employees.”

  “You mean spies?” said Hector.

  “Agents,” said Hairy Mole.

  The men reached into their coat pockets and took out black leather wallets. Together, they flashed silver badges.

  “Wow,” I said. “Do you guys practice that, Agent…?”

  “No names,” said Agent Mole.

  “Mrrow, reeuw?” called Fitz from behind us.

  “I haven’t forgotten about you, cat,” I said.

  Stephanie frowned at the agents.

  Agent Belly tried a smile. “Are your parents home?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes,” Steph blurted. We looked at each other. “And they just finished their, uh, kung fu class. They’re both really, really, really high-level…um, purple belts.”

  “Black belts,” I said simultaneously.

  We traded another quick glance. “Actually, they’re more maroon,” I said.

  Agent Belly smiled again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re talking to everyone on your block. We can stay outside if you prefer.”

  “We do,” I said. Nervously, I tapped Great-aunt Zenobia’s letter against my leg.

  Agent Mole pulled a notebook and pen from his coat. “Any strangeness?”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “All the time,” said Hector. “Especially when I eat cabbage with—”

  “He means,” said Agent Belly, “have you noticed anything odd in this neighborhood lately?”

  “Like what?” asked Steph.

  “Unusual events,” said Agent Mole.

  “Unusual people,” said Agent Belly.

  I looked up at him. “Li
ke spies in fake noses at our door?”

  The men in black exchanged a look.

  “Ha, ha,” said Agent Belly.

  Fitz bumped against the back of my knees.

  “Well, our clocks were off this morning,” said Steph.

  Mole scribbled in his notebook. “Clocks.”

  “Meer eeeow,” said Fitz.

  I glanced behind us. The cat was pacing up and down, mrowing to himself and shaking his head.

  “Hey, that’s another thing,” said Hector. “My cat’s been talking up a storm.”

  “Talking cats,” said Agent Mole. “And what does it say?”

  Hector shrugged. “Meow?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And he’s been bringing us roadkill, like—”

  Something brushed my hand. Fitz had snatched Great-aunt Zenobia’s letter!

  He slipped between the agents, then shot down the steps and across the yard. The envelope fluttered in his jaws like a flag.

  I took off after him. “Give me that!”

  Behind me, Steph said, “Uh, excuse us.”

  The door slammed. She and Hector trotted after me.

  “Fitz!” I called.

  We rounded the hedge. The cat was just up the street, sitting calmly.

  “Don’t spook him,” said Steph. We slowed to a brisk walk.

  The gap closed. Now we were only ten feet away.

  Fitz watched us with wide golden eyes.

  Five feet away.

  “Nice kitty,” I said. “That’s it…”

  I lunged.

  Zip! Fitz shot across the street, still carrying the letter.

  “Stupid hairball!”

  “I’m hurt,” said Hector. “He never plays fetch with me.”

  We pounded after the cat.

  “Hey, Zeke,” said Hector. “I think those guys are after us.”

  I looked back. Agents Mole and Belly jogged across the street, fake noses askew.

  “Kids!” panted Jelly Belly. “Come back here!”

  “Yup,” I said. “They’re after us. Come on!”