by Greg Trine
“Ha! See? Not a damsel,” Candace said.
“Not a damsel, indeed!” said the boy in the cape. “Hello, Melvin Beederman.”
It was Carl, of course. The former superhero himself. He stepped to the side and pointed to a pile of bologna—by the slice, by the slab, fried in a sandwich, bologna from the log, bologna from the hog. Hey, that still rhymes! Sliced. Diced. He hadn’t invented the liquid bologna yet, but it was on his to-do list.
Melvin and Candace began to feel weak. “Can’t … move … get—”
And right then the floor gave way beneath them. Melvin and Candace fell through, leaving Carl and the bologna above.
“Holy lucky break!” said Melvin as he regained his strength. “Let’s get out of here.”
Holy lucky break, indeed! Getting out of there was a good idea. Staying away from the bologna was a very good idea.
Melvin punched a hole in the floor and he and Candace jumped through to the next level. Then he did it again … and again. They were several floors down when Candace realized what was happening.
“Wait a minute, Melvin. Let me do that.”
“Do what?”
“Punch through the floor.” After all, it was a lot like kicking in a locked door.
And so she did … punch, punch, punch. Before long, they were on the ground floor, racing to get away from Carl, who was screaming from above, “Curses! Melvin Beederman, I’m going to get you. And your little pal, too.”
Then Carl grabbed his sacks of bologna and jumped through the hole in the floor and came after them.
Once they were out on the street, Candace turned to Melvin. “What now?”
“For starters we keep our distance from Carl. If he gets close with that bologna, we’re history.”
“Right.”
They ran and ran.
“I thought Carl was decaped,” Candace said as they raced through the streets.
“He was. Must have gotten another cape someplace.”
“The academy?”
“Most likely.”
They stopped in an alley to catch their breath. Melvin peeked around the corner to see where Carl was.
“What do you see?” Candace asked.
“He’s coming.” Melvin looked around for a place to hide. The alley was a dead end. There was no place to run, and Carl would be on them any minute.
“And the plan is?” Candace asked.
That’s when Melvin saw it—a manhole cover. “In there,” he said, shoving Candace ahead of him. He lifted the cover and jumped in after her, then slid the cover in place again. With any luck, Carl would pass on by.
“With any luck, Carl—”
“I know,” Candace said. “Don’t repeat what the narrator says. It’s annoying.”
Above them they heard footsteps. Melvin looked at Candace and put a finger to his lips. They stayed motionless, eyes on the manhole cover. If it moved, they’d run; if it didn’t they’d
It moved! Light shone through the hole and there was Carl. “Hello, Melvin Beederman.”
“Run!” Melvin yelled.
13
CANDACE BRINKWATER GOES AWOL
They did. They ran and ran though the dark sewer tunnels beneath the city. “Holy I-need-a-clothespin,” Candace said. “It smells terrible down here.”
Holy she-needs-a-clothespin, indeed! It did smell terrible. Then again, they were in a sewer. What did she expect, the scent of freshly baked muffins?
Candace and Melvin ran on, making as many turns as they could to throw Carl off the trail. But with his extra-sensitive superhero hearing, it didn’t work. Or maybe it was because he’d been trained at the same academy as Melvin and knew all his moves and his way of thinking.
In any case, our two partners in uncrime couldn’t shake him.
“We can’t shake him,” said Candace.
“See? Now you’re doing it,” Melvin said.
“Sorry.”
The sewer tunnels were dark, almost too dark to see, but they raced on anyway. What else could they do? If Carl got too close with the bologna, it would be curtains for Melvin and Candace. On they ran, until—
“Holy dead end!” Melvin said.
Holy dead end, indeed! They’d come to the end of a tunnel, it seemed. There were no side tunnels to escape through and they could hear Carl coming up fast. He’d be on them any second. Things didn’t look good for our partners in uncrime. They were history.
“What is he saying?” Candace said.
“Who?”
“The narrator. There’s gotta be a way out of this.”
Nope. Sorry, Candace—you are history.
“We’ll see about that!” Candace said.
“See about what, Candace? Where are you going?” Melvin asked.
Candace pointed up. “Out there. If he can’t narrate properly, I will.”
“Out there?” Melvin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Outside the book? Candace, you can’t! It simply isn’t done.”
“Oh yeah? You watch me.” And with that, Candace was gone.
“Holy vanishing sidekick,” Melvin said.
Holy vanishing sidekick, inde—
Hey, Melvin.
“Yes? Who’s there?”
It’s Candace. I’ve got things under control now. The narrator’s … uh … tied up at the moment.
“What have you done, Candace?”
Never mind. Look above you. There’s a manhole cover.
“Where’d that come from?”
I told you. I’ve got things under control. Go out through the manhole and I’ll meet you.
“Candace, I can’t get off the ground in one try. And there’s not enough room down here to get a running start.”
Oh, right. I forgot. Look down, then. There’s a trapdoor.
“How’d that get there?”
I wrote it right in there, baby.
“Oh. Well, thanks. Now get back in here, Candace. I’m going to need your help.”
14
OOPS! CANDACE FORGETS SOMETHING
“Wow, Candace, you’re back already? That was quick. How did you know you could do that—go outside the book, I mean?”
“We had to do something. Carl was coming up fast—with bologna!”
“What’s it like out there?”
“Just like here, only everything’s in color.”
“What’s color?”
“It’s hard to explain, but it’s really cool.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know how to put it, Melvin.”
“Try. I’m curious.”
“Okay, let’s see. It’s like eating your favorite ice cream with your eyeballs.”
“I thought you said color was cool!”
“That is cool. Doesn’t that sound cool?”
“No. It sounds downright freezing. Sorry I asked, Candace.”
“You’re sorry. How do you think I feel?”
“Uh-oh.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I just thought of something.”
“What?”
“There’s no narrative. Did you forget to untie the narrator?”
“Shoot! I think I did. What happens if we leave him tied up?”
“It means we’re stuck in this tunnel forever, talking, and the story stops dead. You’d better go untie him.”
“Okay, be back in a flash.”
“Did you untie him?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
“Because we’re still stuck in this tunnel. No action, no speaker tags, nothing but this dumb dialogue.”
“Hey, speak for yourself. I’m pretty good at this.”
“Who cares? We’re still stuck down here.”
“Hey, as long as Carl’s not around, we’re okay.”
“Maybe you should say something to the narrator, Candace.”
“Why don’t you talk to him?”
“Because I’m not the one who tied him up. Hey, wait a minute—wh
ere’d you get the rope?”
“I’ll tell you later. Hey, narrator, are you there?”
I’m here.
“What gives? Can we get on with the story now?”
I’m waiting for an apology.
“Okay, it’ll never happen again.”
It better not!
15
WHO IS MEGA BICEPS?
And so our two superheroes ran down the new tunnel beyond the trapdoor created by Candace Brinkwater’s narration. This tunnel was not a dead end, and they soon found themselves out on the street again.
Melvin stopped. “We need to split up,” he said.
“What are you saying?”
“Carl is after me, not you. If we split up, he’ll follow me. He has a cape from the academy, which means he has a weakness. Get to a phone and call Headmaster Spinner. Ask him which cape is missing. If we can find out Carl’s weakness, we can fight back.”
And so Melvin headed off one way and Candace the other. “How will I find you again?” Candace asked as she was leaving.
“Listen for a superhero choking. It will be me. Carl has a deadly choke hold.”
Candace raced home to use the phone. “Operator, give me the Superhero Academy in Boston.”
“I’m sorry,” said the operator, “there is no number for a Superhero Academy. Are you sure you don’t want Hero’s Shoe Repair? Or possibly Super Duper Ice Cream Parlor? Or—”
“Never mind.” Candace hung up. She’d have to fly to Boston. It was the only way to save Melvin. She ran outside and launched herself. She didn’t bother saying “Up, up, and away.” No time for that.
It had taken Melvin six hours to fly from the academy to Los Angeles, but he was sitting on the wing of a jet. Candace would have to make better time. Much better time. She flew so fast that her cape nearly tore in the wind.
She stopped only once. This was just outside Saint Louis, where she helped some firemen kick in a door. “Got anything else that needs kicking in?” she asked them.
“No, but thank you.”
Had she known the code, she would have said “Just doing my job, sir.” But, of course, she had not graduated from the academy. She didn’t know the code. She flew on.
When she arrived at the Superhero Academy, she went straight to Headmaster Spinner’s office. “Melvin Beederman’s in trouble,” she said. She told him about Carl and the stolen cape.
“Holy unthinkable thievery!” said the headmaster.
Holy unthinkable thievery, indeed! They went to the Great Hall of Superheroes to check things out. Sure enough, there was a cape missing.
“He’s got Mega Biceps’s cape,” Headmaster Spinner said.
“Great. What was Mega Biceps’s weakness?”
The headmaster folded his arms across his oversized stomach. “Let’s see. Ping-Pong balls? No, that’s Superhero James. Jelly donuts? Hmm. Nope, that’s Superhero Margaret.” He scratched his chin and thought. “I got it! Kryptonite. That’s it.”
“That’s Superman’s weakness,” Candace said.
“Oh, right.” The headmaster thought some more. Then he smiled. “Got it! Mega Biceps’s weakness is country music. Do you have any country CDs?”
“My dad does,” Candace said as she rushed outside to launch herself. She just hoped she wasn’t too late.
16
MEANWHILE …
While Candace was in Boston learning of Mega Biceps’s (and Carl’s) weakness, Melvin was running through the streets of Los Angeles, trying to keep out of range of the bologna. Melvin was as fast as a speeding bullet, it was true. But so was Carl.
This made it almost impossible to escape. Almost. Melvin had one advantage. He knew the streets of Los Angeles. Carl didn’t. After several twists and turns, Melvin lost his enemy.
He made his way back to his tree house. He was pretty sure Carl didn’t know where he lived. The unsuperhero may have tracked down his e-mail, but no one knew Melvin’s address. Trees don’t have addresses.
Hugo was taking a nap when Melvin arrived. He opened an eye and gave a sleepy “Squeak?” This either meant “You look tired, big guy.” Or maybe it was “Have I shown you my latest card trick?”
Melvin didn’t have time for card tricks, but he did feel very tired. He kept his head down and peeked out the tree house window. If Carl got too close with that bologna, there’d be nothing Melvin could do. He scanned the sky for his partner in uncrime. Candace was his only hope now. But there was no sign of her, nothing in the sky but scattered clouds and—
Carl!
“Gotta go, Hugo,” Melvin said as he headed out.
“Squeaker squeaken,” said Hugo.
“What do you mean, you ate the last pretzel?” Melvin launched himself. Well, you know what happened.
Crash!
Splat!
Thud!
Kabonk!
It wasn’t until he was up and flying that he realized he’d understood what his rat had said. “How’d I do that?”
It didn’t matter, because it never happened again. Melvin had just gotten lucky.
17
DOUBLE MEANWHILE …
“Country music, country music, country music.” Candace kept up the chant as she flew across America. “Country music, country music, country music.” She knew how her brain worked, especially while she was saving the world. In one ear, out the other. It was the same way with Melvin’s math tutoring.
Eew … math.
Country music, country music, country music.
Candace was more of a rock-and-roll fan herself. Her favorite band was The Grateful Fred. She had all their CDs. And she played them loud to drown out her father’s country music. Eew … country. She hated that stuff. Which, of course, is one of the main rules of childhood. Whatever your parents like, you shouldn’t like, especially when it comes to music.
But right now she was glad for her father’s music taste. This is another rule of childhood. Hate whatever your parents love, musically, but change your mind when it’s to your advantage.
And right now Melvin needed help. Candace would have to borrow one of her father’s CDs.
Country music, country music, country music.
Candace flew on and kept up the chant. So far her memory was working. No kicking in doors in Saint Louis this time. She flew directly home. When she got there she raced to the den where her father kept all his albums. It was a huge collection, shelf after shelf. He even had the Country Singer’s Code tacked to the wall.
Sing about your farm.
Sing about your truck.
When all else fails, Sing about your dog.
You had to be serious about country music to have the Country Singer’s Code on your wall. Candace grabbed one of the disks, then grabbed the portable CD player out of her room and some sandwich wrap from the kitchen. Sandwich wrap would protect her from the effects of the bologna if Carl got too close. She ran outside.
“Where are you, Melvin?” she said out loud. She stopped to listen. Nothing. No sign of her partner in uncrime.
18
CARL’S DEVIOUS AND SINISTER PLAN
It didn’t take long for Carl to spot Melvin. He was the only other guy flying over Los Angeles without an airplane. The question was, could Carl catch him? True, Melvin couldn’t get off the ground on the first try. But once he was up and flying he was as fast as the next superhero. And as long as he kept his distance, he would be unaffected by the bologna.
“Curses!” yelled Carl. This is what bad guys say when they’re upset. Sometimes they say worse things—but not in this book. Whenever Carl sped up, Melvin did the same. When Carl zigged, Melvin zagged. When Carl went up, Melvin went down. The chase went on and on. All over Los Angeles. Up in the hills. Out to the beach. Between the tall buildings of downtown.
Carl looked at his supply of bologna. By the slab. By the slice. Wait a. minute, he thought. Those slices are round—like Frisbees. Back at the academy, he had been great at throwing Frisbees. He reached into his bo
logna sack and grabbed a slice. Then, with a devious—or was it sinister?—grin, he licked it and flung it at Melvin.
It missed. But he kept on licking and flinging discs of lunch meat, rapid-fire.
Melvin dodged and weaved, looking back instead of forward. And that’s why he didn’t see the flagpole on the top of City Hall. Clang! He hit the pole doing 90. At the same moment, two slices hit him from behind. They stuck, thanks to Carl’s spit. He may have been a bad guy, but he wasn’t stupid.
“Gross, but effective,” Carl said with a laugh.
Melvin was still seeing stars from hitting the pole. And now he was losing strength because of the bologna. He fell from the top of the building, bouncing off window ledges as he went. Down, down, down …
Splat!
And what a splat it was! Melvin staggered to his feet, the bologna still stuck to the back of his cape. Then he dropped to his knees, gasping, “Can’t … move … get … me … out … of … here.”
It was up to Candace now. She was his only hope.
Carl landed nearby and came toward Melvin. “Any last words?” he said as he grabbed Melvin by the throat.
“Candace.”
“I said words, not word.”
“Candace Brinkwater,” Melvin said weakly.
19
CANDACE BRINKWATER’S SUPER EARS
Candace launched herself from her front yard, holding her portable CD player and the sandwich wrap. She hovered to listen. Then she heard it. Someone was calling her name.
“Candace.”
Then she heard it again.
“Candace Brinkwater.”
It was Melvin!
She streaked through the sky. Then she heard something else.
“Can’t … move … get … me … out … of … here.”