Pirates of Underwhere by Bruce Hale Page A

going to be quick.
    Dr. Prufrock filled us in. “I need help, and I can’t trust anyone outside our little circle.”
    He took the corner too sharply, and I was smushed into the side door.
    â€œOf the three people in that photograph,” he continued, “Zenobia is gone, and Amelia is in hiding. If I can’t trust Zenny’s family, whom can I trust?”
    Zenny? I thought. Had they been boyfriend and girlfriend, finding love among the ruins?
    Awww…how romantic. Even wrinkled love is kind of sweet.
    â€œHow can we help, Dr. Prufrock?” I asked.
    â€œWhat do you know about the UnderLord?” said the old man.
    He pulled into the oncoming lane to pass a school bus. Drivers honked and slammed on their brakes. Fitz’s claws dug into my leg.
    Zeke clung to the seat back. “He was trying to take over our world.”
    â€œBy posing as the rapper Beefy D,” Hector added.
    â€œSuffering Socrates! It’s worse than I thought,” said the doctor.
    Hector smirked. “And you didn’t even hear him rap.”
    Distracted, Dr. Prufrock drove over the curb and sideswiped a trash can. Don’t they ever make old people take driving tests? Honestly.
    Then something struck me. “Wait, have you been to Underwhere?”
    â€œWith Amelia and Zenobia,” he said. “That’s where we found the artifacts.”
    â€œWhat artifacts?” said Zeke.
    â€œThe Throne, the Brush, and the Scepter,” said the doctor. “And by all that’s holy, they must not fall back into the UnderLord’s hands.”
    He stomped on the brakes, and the car sputtered to a halt.
    â€œAh, home, sweet home.”
    Dr. Prufrock’s house was a lot like him—tall, messy, and needing a new coat of paint. What is it about guys and dirt?
    He led us through the front door and down a dusty hall. “I last saw it here, in the library.”
    We peeked into a room. Books lined the walls and rose from the floor in piles like ruined towers. A sea of papers lapped around them. Crusty dishes and coffee mugs sat everywhere—some with flies, some without. Rumpled clothes, empty shoe boxes, three chessboards, a stuffed anaconda, and a full suit of rusty armor completed the picture.
    â€œUm, Dr. Prufrock?” I said.
    â€œYes, Stephanie?”
    â€œAre you sure you haven’t just misplaced your artifact?”
    He frowned and looked about. “Er…well, yes, pretty sure.”
    Zeke put his hands on his hips. “So…what are we looking for?”
    â€œWell,” said Dr. Prufrock, “the artifact looks rather like a common toilet brush.”
    Hector and Zeke snickered. I could have predicted that.
    â€œOnly it’s larger and painted with colorful runes,” said the doctor.
    Hector gazed out the window. “Has it also got golden bristles?” he asked.
    â€œYes,” said Dr. Prufrock.
    â€œAnd is it about so long?” Hector held his hands apart.
    â€œWhy, yes.”
    â€œWith some kind of sparkly ring around the handle?”
    â€œThat’s it exactly!” said the doctor. “Do you see it?”
    Hector pointed outside. “Sure, it’s in that cat’s mouth.”

CHAPTER 2
Cat Burglar
    We ran to the glass and peered into the backyard. Hector was right. In the shaggy grass sat a familiar, fat brown cat with a fancy toilet brush in his mouth.
    â€œIsn’t that your cat?” said Hector.
    â€œMeathead?” said Zeke.
    â€œMeathead!” I cried.
    â€œMrrow!” said Fitz.
    Meathead looked up at us.
    He had run off a few weeks ago. I always expected Meathead to return sometime. But never with his own toilet brush. (He wasn’texactly a clean kitty.)
    Zeke pounded toward the half-open back door, Hector and I right on his heels. We burst out onto a porch.
    â€œSlow down!” I hissed. “You’ll spook him.”
    For once—a miracle—Zeke listened. He stopped