by Bruce Hale
What to do?
This time, I acted without thinking.
I nudged her. “Steph!” No reaction. I pinched her, hard.
“Ouch!” Stephanie snapped out of it. “What’d you do that fo—?” She took in the mesmerized audience. “Oh.”
“You’re all sinking even deeper,” said Underchunder from the stage. “That’s right. Let me hear you say, ‘Yes, master.’”
“Yes, master,” came from a few hundred loose mouths.
“Yeah, master,” said Zeke.
I turned to shake him.
Steph stopped me. “Let me.” She leaned over and savagely pinched his arm.
“Ow!” Zeke said. “What—”
I cut him off. “Shh! Underchunder is hypnotizing everyone. We’ve got to stop him.”
Fitz batted my hand with a paw. I looked down and saw the Brush of Wisdom in his mouth.
“Good thinking, Fitzie.” I took it from him. “Let’s sneak up there before something really bad happens.”
Crouching low, we edged past the others in our row and out into the aisle. I checked the stage. Underchunder had turned his back and was reaching into a shiny blue sack.
“Go!” I hissed.
The four of us scooted up the side aisle. We were just climbing the stairs to the stage when the magician spoke again.
“Everyone repeat after me: ‘The UnderLord is my ruler.’”
“The UnderLord is my ruler,” said the crowd.
I shot a worried glance at my friends. This was worse than I thought.
As we crept closer, the magician drew something from the bag. It was the length of a man’s forearm, glittering with gold, and capped by a jeweled cup. It looked like the Pope’s best bathroom plunger.
“The Scepter!” whispered Steph.
Zeke blinked. “What’s he going to do with that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I bet he’s not here to fix their toilets.”
CHAPTER 13
Toilet Plunger of Death
The Uncanny Underchunder jammed the Scepter onto the back of the spinning disk. It stuck with a loud chook. He twirled the handle.
The wheel spun faster.
“Repeat after me,” he said. “‘I will obey the UnderLord and keep my undies cottony-fresh.’”
The dazed audience said, “I will obey the UnderLord and keep my undies cottony-fresh.”
Just then, we hit the stage and Underchunder noticed us. “You…interfering brats!” he cried.
“You…interfering brats,” the crowd repeated.
The magician signaled the spies. “Agents, stop them!”
“Agents, stop them,” said the audience.
Underchunder frowned. “Stop repeating everything I say.”
“Stop repeating everything I say.”
“I’m not kidding!” snarled the magician.
“I’m not kidding,” said the audience.
But I had no time to notice what else they said, because the two spies were marching toward us with arms spread wide.
“Yeesh!” said Zeke.
“Yikes!” I cried.
“Wurrr,” said Fitz.
The two big men blocked us from Underchunder.
I froze. How on earth would we get around them?
“Any ideas, Flyboy?” said Steph.
And that’s when it hit me. “Zeke, go left. Steph, go right.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Zeke.
“Pterodactyl move, on three,” I said. “One…two…”
“Sweet children,” said Agent Belly.
“Resistance bad,” said Mole.
“THREE!” I cried.
Zeke split left and Steph dashed right, drawing the spies apart. I ran up the middle, straight for the phony magician.
Underchunder seemed to have the crowd back under control. He reached for the Scepter’s handle and gave it another twist. “And now you will—”
“Stop right there,” I said, pointing the Brush at him.
“Rrrowr,” Fitz snarled.
Underchunder turned to face me. “You and your mangy cat. Give me the Brush, and I’ll only turn you into zombies.”
“You and your mangy cat,” the audience repeated. “Give me the Brush, and I’ll only turn you into zombies.”
Underchunder growled and rolled his eyes.
I gulped. “No way, boxer breath.” I raised the Brush like a sword. “En garde!”
The magician plucked the Scepter from the wheel. He wielded it with a wicked grin.
Swooosh! He swung. And whonk! I blocked.
We slashed at each other with the fancy bathroom accessories. Back and forth we staggered, like in a bad pirate movie. Underchunder was stronger, but unsteady on his stilt legs.
I ducked and dodged a blow. Then I risked a glance at Zeke and Steph. Mole had caught Zeke by the arm, but Steph was still dancing around Belly.
Thonk!
Something hit me, and I saw stars. Underchunder!
I clapped one hand to my head and held up the Brush to block his next blow. My legs felt all rubbery.
Could I hold him off alone?
Underchunder raised his arm high, then…
“Reeeow!” An orange streak leaped from the floor.
“Aiieee!” cried Underchunder, dropping the Scepter.
“Aiieee!” the crowd responded.
The magician spun and swiped at his backside.
Fitz had clamped onto his butt with a kitty death grip of claws and fangs. Underchunder whirled around and around swatting at him, and Fitz’s body swung straight out with the g-force.
But he hung on.
“Let goooooo!” the magician bellowed.
“Let goooooo!” the audience repeated.
Out of control, Underchunder teetered this way and that, stumbling toward the hypnotic wheel.
I held my breath.
At the last possible second, Fitz did let go. He sailed into the curtains and landed safely.
Underchunder wasn’t so lucky.
Ba-TONK! He plowed straight into the magical contraption.
Kitssssh! The disc shattered, and Underchunder went facedown in the wreckage.
I looked out at the crowd. Everyone was yawning and rubbing their eyes.
“Wuzzat?” said a curly-haired lady in the front row.
“Is the show over?” her friend asked.
People started standing up. “That’s it?” Caitlyn bellowed. “A bogus underwear rainbow and, like, a broken wheel?”
I turned to check on my friends.
Agents Belly and Mole were blinking and shaking their heads, Zeke and Steph forgotten.
“You know how I said I like magic?” said Zeke.
“Yeah?” I said.
“I don’t like magic.”
Steph smoothed back her hair. “The Scepter must have some serious powers. Whatever it does, I’m glad he didn’t get to use it.”
“Except on my head.” I checked the stage. “Uh, guys? Where is the Scepter?”
“Didn’t you grab it?” said Zeke.
We searched, but we couldn’t find the Scepter. By this time, half the audience had left. Anyone could’ve taken it, even…
“Hey, where’s Mr. Wheener?” I asked.
“And Melvin?” said Steph.
Both were missing.
“That can’t be good,” said Zeke. “But at least we’ve still got the Under—”
We turned. But like the slippery rat he was, the Uncanny UnderLord had slipped away.
“Again?” Steph said.
“Wurr meer,” Fitz said. He was smoothing his whiskers.
I petted him. “Nice butt-biting, Fitzie. You really saved my neck.”
Fitz just purred.
CHAPTER 14
Winging It
Hypnotism was on our minds the next day at lunch. Zeke and I talked it over as we tossed the football.
“So those people last night?” he said. “Think they’re still under his spell?”<
br />
“Beats me,” I said. “It was hypnosis interruptus. Plus, they thought he was Underchunder, not the UnderLord.” I chased Zeke’s long pass.
“Hey, at least you stopped him,” Zeke called.
I beamed in spite of myself. “Guess I’m not just a sidekick anymore.”
He frowned. “Sidekick? Whoever said you were a sidekick? That’s nuts.”
A lump formed in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. But Stephanie’s arrival saved me. “Hector, don’t you have something better to do?”
“Like what?” I threw the ball back to Zeke.
“Isn’t your career report due today?”
I shrugged. “Oh, that.”
“You should take it more seriously,” she said. “It’s a big part of your grade, and you haven’t even figured out what job to report on.”
“As a matter of fact,” I said, “I have.”
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in front of Mr. Manju’s class holding the library book I’d checked out that morning.
“Well, Hector?” he said. “Have you finally chosen your dream career?”
I smiled. “Yes, Mr. Manju.” I held up the book. “Flyboy.”
The class laughed.
“Flyboy?” he repeated.
“Yeah, that’s what they called the first fighter pilots, back in World War I. And I’d like to be a pilot.”
I continued, showing photos from the book and describing what it felt like to be in a dogfight. Of course, I didn’t mention that my dogfight was with pterodactyls, or that I was riding a winged horse.
Every flyboy is entitled to some secrets.
As my talk went on, I felt a warm glow. Maybe I didn’t have the fanciest report in class, maybe I wouldn’t get the best grade. But I knew one thing: I had finally made up my mind.
Just as I was finishing, a movement in the back of the room distracted me. I ignored it and kept talking.
And then, there it was again: an orange flash outside the window.
“And that’s why I think being a pilot is, uh…”
This time I saw it clearly: Fitz, zooming up into the air, silently yowling, and dropping back out of sight.
“…A really cool thing. Mr. Manju, may I step outside for a minute?”
He coughed. “Don’t you think you should wait for questions?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Any questions? No?” I started for the door. “Thanks, you’ve been a great audience.”
“I have a question,” came Mr. Manju’s voice behind me.
Uh-oh. I turned. “Yes?”
My teacher’s face wore a dreamy look. “How do you think it feels, flying up there above everything, so free?”
I took a breath and thought about soaring through the skies on Pegasus. “Absolutely amazing,” I said. “Beyond words.”
With that, I headed for the door and my jumping cat. Something was afoot in Underwhere. And the Flyboy was about to take off again.
About the Author and the Illustrator
BRUCE (Sky Captain) HALE has his feet on the ground, his head in the clouds, and his stomach somewhere near the cookie jar in his kitchen in Santa Barbara, California. To find out more about his high-flying appetites and the more than twenty books he’s written and illustrated, drop in at www.brucehale.com.
SHANE (Ace of the Airways) HILLMAN is the illustrator of the Underwhere series as well as the creator of many comic strips in print and on the web hidden at www.shanehillman.com. He operates from a secret airfield in Houston, Texas, and subsists only on pencil, ink, and a few measly bags of salted peanuts.
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Also by Bruce Hale
Prince of Underwhere
Pirates of Underwhere
Fat Cat of Underwhere
Credits
Cover art © 2008 by Shane Hillman
Copyright
FLYBOY OF UNDERWHERE. Text copyright © 2008 by Bruce Hale. Illustrations copyright © 2008 by Shane Hillman. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition May 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-185810-9
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