Pirates of Underwhere (5 page)

Logic problem
: In the struggle for control of the world, there are a) good guys; b) bad guys; and c) quite a few guys who seem bad but might be good or seem good but might be bad, depending. Which ones can you trust?

That was the question of the day. Zeke, Hector, and I were sitting in our living room trying to answer it.

“I still say we should call Dr. Prufrock,” said Zeke. “He
was
our great-aunt's friend.”

“We
think
,” I said. “But I don't know. There's something fishy about him.”

He leaned forward. “Would you rather call the spies?”

“H.U.S.H.?” I said.

“Don't shush me,” said Zeke.

“I meant the spies.”

“Oh,” said Zeke.

Hector stood. “Look, we should do this on our own. We've got the Throne, and now the Brush, thanks to Steph…”

I shrugged modestly. “You're welcome.”

“So let's just figure out how they work, figure out this Bobby Bob UnderLord's game, and stop him at the town meeting.”

“One problem,” said Zeke.

“Yes?” I asked.

“How are we going to
get to
that meeting way across town?”

“Ah,” said Hector. “Hadn't thought of that.” We all fell silent.

And in the silence, I heard a voice in the next room: “Shut
up
. That is totally bazongoid. No
way
she's, like, giving us another poli-sci project!”

Caitlyn.

I smiled. “I know who has wheels.”

“Caitlyn?” said Zeke. “She'd
never
take us there.”

“She will if she thinks it'll get her a better grade in political science class.”

Hector frowned. “But why would she believe that?”

“Leave it to me,” I said.

 

Somehow I managed to convince Caitlyn not only to take us to the town meeting the day after next, but also to let us go work on a school project over at Hector's house right away. How? I'm the smarter twin.

On the way over to Hector's we kept a sharp
lookout for spies, UnderLords, and stray doctors. The place seemed deserted. Way down the twilit street, a familiar-looking kid rode a bike. Across the lawn, Fitz was stalking a bird.

Other than that, no one.

“Let's hit the backyard,” said Hector.

We passed through the gate. I noticed that the Throne—this weird-looking Undie toilet our aunt Zenobia left us—was sitting by the plastic wading pool.

“You moved it?” I asked.

“Grandma said it didn't go with the drapes,” said Hector.

Zeke unwrapped the Brush from the T-shirt I'd covered it with. “Now how do we test this?”

“
The Book of Booty
says if you rub something three times with the Brush, you learn its true nature,” I said.

“Okay,” said Zeke, waving it at me. “Who
wants a brushing?”

“I swear, Zeke, if you touch my hair with that thing…!”

Hector reached into his pocket and held up a coin. “How about this?”

“Is that gold?” said Zeke. “Ice cream's on
you
.” He stroked the Brush across the coin—once, twice, three times. Nothing happened.

“So,” said Hector. “The true nature of a gold coin is a gold coin?”

Something rustled in the bushes.

“What's that?” I said.

“Probably just Fitz,” said Hector. He glanced down at the coin. “Hey, check it out.”

The gold was fading to a dull gray. And the engraving was changing too—from a president's profile to a pair of undies.

“‘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.”

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?”