by Bruce Hale
Fitz took a sharp left and re-crossed the street.
“Oh no!” said Steph. “He’s going into the construction site.”
“Stop that cat!” I cried.
But before we could reach him, Fitz slipped through a gap in the fence.
“This is crazy,” I muttered. “No cat is this mental.”
“Wait right there!” cried Agent Belly from across the street.
Oh, great. I rattled the gate. It wasn’t locked.
“You can’t go in there,” said Steph. “It’s trespassing.”
“Would you rather hang out with them?” I nodded at the spies.
“I’m coming,” she said. “But I’m still right.”
The three of us edged into the construction site. We threaded through stacks of lumber, idle cranes, and earthmovers. No Fitz.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” said Steph.
“Here, Fitzie, Fitzie,” said Hector.
“Here, you furry meatloaf,” I said, rounding a pile of sand.
Behind us, the gate clanged. The two agents must have pushed through.
“There!” hissed Steph.
Fitz sat at the front door. The envelope twitched in his mouth.
We closed in.
“Cornered at last,” I whispered.
“There you are!” came a voice behind us. The two agents stood at either side of the sandpile, fists on hips.
Yeesh!
Fitz retreated through the open door. We followed.
The ripe, beany smell sharpened. A strong wind blew into the building, plucking at my clothes.
The plywood floor creaked and shifted under our feet.
“Don’t go in there!” called Agent Belly. “It’s not safe!”
Hector jumped forward and grabbed Fitz. “Gotcha!”
As he hit the floor, it tilted like a slide at a water park. A cement basin lay beneath the plywood. A dark opening gaped in the center.
Steph and I went slipping down toward Hector and Fitz.
“Hey,” I tried to say, but it came out “Aiyeeeee!”
And we tumbled—neighbor, cat, sister, and all—down into a black, black hole.
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
I Spy Trouble
Ptoo! Ptoo! Ptoo! Ptoo!
The tube spat us out in a hurry. We shot from a hole in the floor and landed in a heap on the plywood deck.
“That…,” gasped Steph.
“Was close,” I said. (One of the few times we’ve ever completed each other’s sentences.)
Hector gave a shaky grin. “I’ll never feel the same way about Barney again.”
We stumbled from the construction site, through the fence, and out to the street. Fitz followed.
But when we reached the curb, we noticed something: It wasn’t our street!
“Where are we?” I said.
Hector looked down at Fitz. “Well?” he asked. “Any ideas?”
“Meer mrow,” said Fitz.
I wagged a finger. “Don’t play kittycat with me,” I said. “Speak!”
Fitz rolled his eyes. “Mrowwww,” he drawled.
“He is speaking,” said Steph. “But we can only understand him down there.”
The cat gave us a well, duh expression.
“I knew that,” I said.
Steph headed for a street sign at the corner. “Cherry and Wilkins,” she said.
Hector scratched his head. “We’re on the other side of the school. How did that happen?”
Nobody had an answer.
We began the long walk home. I was so distracted, I barely noticed the figures in the black stretch Humvee.
But as we later found out, they sure noticed us.
Twenty minutes later, we reached our street: good ol’ Vista View Lane.
“What now?” Hector said.
“We tell someone,” said Steph. “Caitlyn.”
I shook my head. “No way.”
“Zeke—”
“She’ll say we can’t go down there anymore. Or she’ll blab to some TV station and hog all the glory.”
I’d never had anything this special happen to me. And I for sure didn’t want to share it with Queen Kong. No way, nohow.
Steph chewed her lip. At last, she said, “Maybe you’ve got a point, but—”
“Well, well,” said a deep voice. “You’re back.”
We turned. Agent Jelly Belly stood on the sidewalk.
“Time for that little chat,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said, “gotta run. Tons of homework.”
The chubby spy smiled. “I wouldn’t go anywhere just yet.”
Agent Mole stepped into view. Trapped in his arms was Fitz.
“Mwrrr,” the cat moaned through a muzzle. He was not a happy kitty.
“Fitzie!” Hector cried. He stepped forward.
Agent Belly held up a finger. “Ah-ah-ah,” he said. “First we get some answers, then you get the cat.”
Fitz struggled, but Mole held tight.
“Okay,” I said. “Ask your questions.”
Belly frowned and adjusted his fake nose. “You disappeared down that hole. Then you returned from another direction. Where did you go?”
Hector looked back at Steph and me. His eyes begged.
Steph gave a little nod.
“Underwhere,” said Hector.
I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“Didn’t ask what you’re wearing,” said Agent Mole.
“Not underwear, Underwhere,” said Hector.
“It’s a land down below,” said Stephanie.
The two agents exchanged a look.
“Interesting,” said Mole. “Continue.”
Between us, we told them the whole story.
Belly and Mole almost smiled. They whispered together with their backs to us. Then they turned.
“Listen up, kids,” said Agent Belly. “You’re going back to your…Underwhere-land and gathering information for us.”
Steph put her hands on her hips. “What do we get out of it?”
“Your cat,” said Agent Mole, squeezing Fitz.
“Mwwrrr.”
“And the warm fuzzy feeling of helping your country,” added Belly.
“Why don’t you go down there yourselves?” asked Hector.
“We tried,” said Mole. “We can’t.”
Agent Belly shrugged. “The hole won’t let us. One of life’s little mysteries.”
“That’s not our problem,” I said. “Why don’t you find someone else to spy for you?”
Belly looked from Steph to me. “Your parents rely on government grants for their work. It would be such a shame if those grants…dried up.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” said Stephanie.
“Wouldn’t we?”
Yeesh. Now it was our turn to huddle and whisper.
I stepped forward. “We’ll do it,” I said.
“Just stay away from our parents,” said Stephanie.
“Goody,” said Agent Mole. He set the cat down and released the muzzle.
Fitz promptly bit the man and ran off.
Agent Belly reached into his jacket. “You’ll need some gear,” he said, pulling out a silver cylinder. “Camera pen. It downloads to a PC.”
I took it.
“Where’s mine?” said Hector.
Agent Mole gave him a yellowish-brown blob. “Ear recorder.”
“Disgusting,” said Steph. “It looks like earwax.”
“Pop it into your ear,” said Belly. “One poke for on; two pokes for off.”
Hector studied the blob on his palm. “Gee, thanks.”
“Hey, what about me?” asked Stephanie.
“Here,” said Agent Belly, handing her a shiny black card with white lettering. It had a name and phone number I couldn’t make out. “Report to us every day.”
“Every day?” I said.
Steph took it. “HUSH?” she said.
“Hush, yourself, Stephadorkus.”
“No, Midget Boy, H.U.S.H.” She showed me the card.
“Oh.”
“What’s that stand for?” asked Hector.
“It’s, um, top secret,” said Agent Mole.
“Hmph,” I said to Hector. “Bet he doesn’t know.”
Mole frowned at Belly, who raised a shoulder. Then, the two spies spun and marched down the sidewalk.
“What are we getting into?” Steph murmured.
“Undercover in Underwhere.” I grinned. “Anything can happen.”
CHAPTER 6
Melvin’s Rap
All that night and into the next day, I could hardly contain myself. Finally, I wasn’t the lazy twin, the dumb twin, Stephanie’s short brother.
I was a lost prince. I had sworn to help my people storm a castle.
Compared to that, schoolwork wasn’t exactly thrilling.
“Zeke? Zeke!” said a voice. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
“Huh?” I looked up. Mrs. Ricotta stood at the blackboard.
“Huh was not the answer I was looking for,” she said.
My face burned.
The class laughed. Melvin Prang twisted in his seat and sneered.
“Smooth one, shrimp,” he said. “Did you take dumbo pills today?”
School was definitely less fun than Underwhere.
And our teacher’s next announcement didn’t improve things.
“Remember, class,” said Mrs. Ricotta, “science projects are due on Friday. This counts for fifty percent of your grade, so certain students better do very well indeed.” For some reason, she looked right at me when she said that.
(Okay, I know the reason. My only decent grade is in English, and that’s just because of the class play.)
I groaned. Fitz had trashed my methane experiment. I’d have to think of something science-y, and quick.
At late recess, Steph, Hector, and I met outside the lunchroom. Kids streamed past, headed for the playground. The shush shush of the custodian’s sweeping echoed down the hall.
“This ear recorder is sweet,” Hector said. “I’ve already taped Kevin burping, Ashley gossiping about Chantal, and—”
“You’re supposed to use it for spy business,” said Steph.
“I’m practicing with monkey business,” said Hector.
I gritted my teeth. “This isn’t funny. We’ve got to figure out how to take over a castle. I promised the Undies.”
“Since when does a promise mean anything to you?” said Steph.
“Since…I don’t know,” I said. She had a point. I’m not always Mr. Reliable. But…“Since now,” I said. “Since I gave my sacred oath.”
“Well, I didn’t,” said Stephanie. “Let’s spy for a couple days and call it quits.”
“You can do whatever,” I said, “but we’re helping the Undies free Skivvy Town. Right, Hector?”
He hesitated, looking from me to Steph. “Uh, that’s right!” Hector said at last.
Stephanie pulled back her curly hair. “Oh, really?” she said. “And just what do you two know about storming castles?”
“Plenty,” I said. “We’ve been playing video games for years.”
“Hah.” Steph turned away. She’d never appreciated my skills.
Then we noticed the shaggy-haired custodian, Mr. Wheener. He had stopped sweeping and was watching us.
“He’s creepy,” whispered Stephanie.
I waved to the janitor. “What’s up, Mr. Wheener?”
His face clouded. “Veener,” he snapped. “It’s pronounced Veener. How many times I tell you kids?!”
“Guess we forgot,” said Hector, keeping a straight face.
Mr. Wheener continued sweeping and mumbling.
“Think he overheard us?” asked Steph.
“No,” I said. “And if he did, so what?”
“Yeah,” said Hector. “It’s not like he knows about Underwhere.”
After the last bell rang, I left class as fast as I could.
But not fast enough.
“Yo, yo, midget!” Melvin Prang’s voice froze me outside the door.
Yeesh. Why couldn’t I have been born six feet tall?
I turned to face him. “I’m not a midget,” I muttered. Melvin and his buddy Darryl towered over me. “I’m just shorter than average.”
“What’s the rush?” said Melvin. “An emergency dwarf meeting?”
Darryl chuckled like that was the funniest thing he’d heard. Why do bully sidekicks always do this? Don’t they have a real sense of humor?
“I’ve, uh, gotta get home,” I said. I turned away.
Melvin’s meaty hand clamped onto my shoulder. “Not so fast, padangle.”
My heart thumped unevenly. Past the bullies, Steph and Hector watched.
“Wh-what do you want?” I said. I hated that my voice wobbled.
Melvin’s other hand clenched into a fist. “A rap.”
“Why hit me?” I said. “I didn’t do anything.”
The big meathead snorted. “Not a rap, a rap. You wrote songs for that dumb class play, so you can write for me. I wanna win Beefy D’s bad-evil contest.”
“Bad-evil?” I said.
Darryl leaned down into my face. “That awesome contest, moron.” His breath smelled of salami and sweat socks. I winced. “Whoever writes the best rap gets to be on TV at Beefy D’s grand opening. Duh.”
“It’s due Thursday,” said Melvin. He squeezed my shoulder extra hard. “I wanna win, shrimp. Or you’ll get the other kind of rap.”
I didn’t care what he wanted. But I did care about my health.
“Uh, I’ll try,” I mumbled.
Melvin slapped my back, hard. “Now beat it!” he said. “Get to work, yo!”
Yo? What a yo-yo.
I joined my sister and Hector.
“You should stand up to that punk,” said Stephanie. She tossed her curls.
“Are you gonna pay his hospital bills when he does?” asked Hector.
I stomped across the grass. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Ten minutes later, we dumped our schoolbooks at home. I checked the clock. It was almost time to meet the Undies.
I hustled Steph and Hector over to the construction site. Fitz followed, ears up and eyes moving. Probably watching for the spies.
We stopped by the fence. Across the street, a black stretch Humvee waited at the curb.
“Those agents better leave us alone,” said Steph. She stepped toward it.
I caught her arm. “That’s not their car.”
“He’s right,” said Hector. “And the sooner we get down under, the sooner we can ditch whoever that is.”
Steph glared at the Humvee, but she gave in. We pushed through the gate, marched up to the weird structure, and stepped into its wide mouth.
Hector’s nose wrinkled. “Why does this place always stink so much?”
“Guess it’s just one of life’s little mysteries,” I said.
Stephanie sighed. “I wish we had a better way to get down there.”
“Like what?” I said. “Taking the elevator?”
She shrugged. “It’s just so…”
“Dirty?” said Hector.
“Undignified,” she said. “But if we must…”
“We must,” I said.
And so we did. One by one, we approached the hole in the corner. Its suction pulled at us; its stench teased; then—pop pop pop pop—down into Underwhere we went.
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
Three Threats
We made it back home just after five thirty, safe and sound.
“Where were you brats?” yelled Caitlyn as we slipped through the door. “I’m gonna totally skin you.”
Well, sound anyway.
“Sorry,” said Steph. “I was trying to get ’em to move, but you know boys.”
The little traitor. Luckily, Caitlyn fell for it.
“I know, I know,” said Caitlyn. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t lock ’em up in the
zoo.”
They giggled. I put up with it.
Then our babysitter dropped the chuckles. “Seriously, that’s, like, your absolute last warning. If I let anything happen to you, your parents would totally kill me.”
“So you’ll kill us to prevent that?” I said.
Caitlyn shrugged. “It’s a paradox, kid.” Then her cell phone rang. “Yeah? Oh, dude, you wouldn’t believe what that Weehawken guy said in class….” She wandered off to suck up all the oxygen in the house.
Steph and I hit the family room. I flopped down in front of the TV. She broke out her math assignment.
(Yeah, she’s the kind who does homework and chores before anything else. And the sickest part is, she actually likes it.)
I watched the tube and flipped through The Book of Booty that we had brought back from Underwhere. Its pages were crinkly and yellowed. And it stank faintly of rotten eggs. The writing made my brain hurt—even worse than Mrs. Ricotta’s story problems.
“Says here that the Scepter can steal souls,” I said.
“Uh-huh,” said Stephanie. But I could tell she was barely listening.
A commercial blared out. There was that rapper, Beefy D, gold teeth gleaming, face 4 behind gigantic sunglasses.
“Yo, yo, padangle!” he yelled. “Get your angle in the hangle. Think ya can rap? Come open up your trap.”
As he began to rap, the music and backup singers totally drowned him out. An announcer’s voice cut in.
“I’m no rapper,” I said. “But this guy sounds pretty lame.”
“Mm-hm,” said Steph.
Before I could change the channel, our phone jangled. Ring, ring!
I picked it up. “Hello?”
“Is this the Underhill residence?” a deep voice rumbled.
“Yeah.”
“May I speak with your mother or father? It’s most urgent.”
I looked over at Steph. “They, uh, can’t come to the phone,” I said.
“I’m Dr. J. Robert Prufrock,” he said. “A friend of your great-aunt Zenobia’s. I need to know something very important. Did your aunt leave you anything?”
I thought, Well, what’s the harm? “We got a beat-up trunk,” I said, “a letter, and some dusty old junk.”
Steph looked up at me and wrinkled her forehead.
“I believe that something she brought back from our last expedition is, well, magical,” said Dr. Prufrock. “And highly dangerous.”