Pirates of Underwhere by Bruce Hale

CHAPTER 1
Dr. Prufrock’s Wild Ride
    Word problem : A brilliant and beautiful girl has only enough patience for three hours of irritation. Her annoying twin brother tells fibs about her for fifteen minutes the first night, twenty minutes the second night, twenty-five minutes the third night, and so on. How long will it take her to blow her top?
    Never mind, I already know the answer.
    My pain-in-the neck brother, Zeke, has already told you of our first adventures with the Undies (the people, not the unmentionables).
    But before I report on what happened next,I’ve got to set the record straight. Typical Zeke, he’s gotten it all wrong.
    Not the part about the zombies and the mini-dinosaurs, or our vow to help recover some magical objects and free the people of Underwhere from the UnderLord. That’s correct.
    But he makes me sound like some kind of priss who cares more about hair conditioner than about saving the world.
    And that’s just not true.
    Using the proper conditioner is an important part of hair care. But it’s not as important as keeping some evil dwarf from taking over your planet, okay?
    And I’m so not a priss. Zeke and our neighbor Hector are typical boys; they never stop to think. I’m the sensible one. The one who says, “Gee, maybe we shouldn’t jump into that shark-infested water with hands full of raw steak.”
    Can I help it if I always know the right thing to do?
    Honestly.
    But back to what happened next.
    We were just getting home from school—Zeke and I and our neighbor Hector—when a wild-haired old man ran up our driveway. He looked like some kind of scientist. The mad kind.
    â€œI need your help!” he cried. “My artifact is missing, and I’m afraid the UnderLord might have taken it.”
    â€œLet’s go!” shouted Zeke.
    â€œWait,” I said. “Who are you ?”
    The old man smoothed his hair. “Oh, I’m Dr. J. Robert Prufrock, a friend of your great-aunt Zenobia.”
    â€œGood enough for me,” said Zeke.
    I grabbed his arm. “But how do we know he’s really a friend of Great-aunt Zenobia?”
    Zeke rolled his eyes. “Duh, because he said so.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Hector. “And if Dr. Prufrock doesn’t know whose friend he is, who would?” Good old Hector. He’s cute, but he’s as bad as Zeke.
    â€œRemember ‘stranger danger’?” I said. “Hello? Have you guys even heard a word of those lectures we’ve had since kindergarten?”
    Dr. Prufrock held up his hands. “Children, please. Every minute counts.”
    I crossed my arms. “We don’t know you, and besides, we really should do our homework first.”
    â€œSteph!” cried Hector and Zeke together.
    â€œWell, we should ,” I said.
    It always happens—I’m right, but they gang up on me.
    Hector’s orange cat, Fitz, wound around my ankles and grumbled. “Mrrow reer row ree roww.”
    â€œYou too, kitty cat?” I said.
    The white-haired man fumbled in his coat pockets. “By Odin’s elbows,” he muttered, “we’re running out of…ah!”
    â€œRunning out of ah ?” said Zeke.
    Dr. Prufrock held out a photo. “ Now do you believe me?”
    The picture showed a cave mouth and three really old people in khaki pants: Dr. Prufrock, some lady with a pinched face, and our great-aunt Zenobia.
    â€œLooks like Indiana Jones’s grandparents,” said Hector.
    â€œI resent that,” said Dr. Prufrock. “Who’s Indiana Jones?”
    Zeke tapped the photo. “See, I told you. They’re friends.”
    â€œOkay,” I said. “But this better be quick.”
    Dr. Prufrock hustled us into his car, a dented gray thing. I brushed off the front seat carefullybefore getting in. Fitz hopped onto my lap.
    With a roar, the car belched smoke and poked down the street.
    This was not