Gregor the Overlander (Underland Chronicles 1)

"Smells what so good, smells what?" a voice hissed, and it took Gregor a full minute to realize it had come from the cockroach. He was too stunned to make any sense of the strange words.

"Uh ... excuse me?" he managed.

"Smells what so good, smells what?" the voice hissed again, but the tone wasn't threatening. Just curious, and maybe a little excited. "Be small human, be?"

"All right, okay, I'm talking to a giant cockroach," thought Gregor. "Be cool, be nice, answer the bug. He wants to know 'Smells what so good, smells what?' So, tell him." Gregor forced himself to take a deep sniff and then regretted it. Only one thing smelled like that.

"I poop!" said Boots, as if on cue. "I poop, Ge-go!"

"My sister needs a clean diaper," said Gregor, somehow feeling embarrassed.

The roach, if he could read it right, acted impressed. "Ahhh. Closer come can we, closer come?" said the roach, delicately sweeping the space in front of it with a leg.

"We?" said Gregor. Then he saw the other forms rising out of the dark around them. The smooth black bumps he had taken for rocks were actually the backs of another dozen or so enormous cockroaches. They clustered around Boots eagerly, waving their antennas in the air and shuddering in delight.

Boots, who loved any kind of compliment, instinctively knew she was being admired. She stretched out her chubby arms to the giant insects. "I poop," she said graciously, and they gave an appreciative hiss.

"Be she princess, Overlander, be she? Be she queen, be she?" asked the leader, dipping its head in slavish devotion.

"Boots? A queen?" asked Gregor. Suddenly he had to laugh.

The sound seemed to rattle the roaches, and they withdrew stiffly. "Laugh why, Overlander, laugh why?" one hissed, and Gregor realized he had offended them.

"Because, we're, like, poor and she's kind of a mess and ... are you calling me Overlander?" he wound up lamely.

"Be you not Overlander human, be you? No Under lander you," said the torchbearing roach peering closely at him. "You look much like but smell not like."

Something seemed to dawn on the leader. "Rat bad." It turned to its comrades. "Leave we Overlanders here, leave we?" The roaches drew closely together in consultation and all began to talk at once.

Gregor caught snippets of their conversation, but nothing that made sense. They were so immersed in their debate that he thought about trying to escape again. He looked at his surroundings. In the dim torchlight, they appeared to be in a long, flat tunnel. "We need to go back up," thought Gregor. "Not sideways." He could never scale the walls of the hole they'd fallen down with Boots in his arms.

The roaches came to a decision. "You come, Overlanders. Take to humans," said the leader.

"Humans?" said Gregor, feeling relieved. "There are other humans down here?"

"Ride you, ride you? Run you, run you?" asked the roach, and Gregor understood it was offering him a lift. It didn't look sturdy enough to carry him, but he knew some insects, like ants, could carry many times their weight. He had a sickening image of trying to sit on the roach and crushing it.

"I think I'll walk -- I mean, run," said Gregor.

"Ride the princess, ride she?" said the roach hopefully, waving its antennas ingratiatingly and flattening itself on its stomach before Boots. Gregor would have said no, but the toddler climbed right up on the roach's back. He should have known. She loved to sit on the giant metal turtles at the Central Park Zoo.

"Okay, but she has to hold my hand," said Gregor, and Boots obediently latched on to his finger.

The roach took off immediately, and Gregor found himself jogging to keep up with it. He knew roaches could move fast; he'd watched his mother swat enough of them. Apparently these giant roaches had maintained their speed with their size. Fortunately the floor of the tunnel was even, and Gregor had only finished up track a few weeks ago. He adjusted his pace to match the roaches and soon found a comfortable rhythm.

The tunnel began to twist and turn. The roaches veered into side passages and even doubled back to choose a new route sometimes. In minutes, Gregor was hopelessly lost, and the mental picture of their path that he'd been making in his head resembled one of Boots's squiggly drawings. He gave up trying to remember directions and concentrated on keeping up with the insects. "Man," he thought, "these bugs can really move!"

Gregor began to pant, but the roaches didn't show any visible signs of exertion. He had no idea how far they were going. Their destination could be a hundred miles away. Who knew how far these things could run?

Just when he was about to tell them he needed to rest, Gregor heard a familiar roar. At first he thought he was mistaken, but as they drew closer he felt sure. It was a crowd and, judging by the sound of it, a big one. But where could you fit a crowd in these tunnels?

The floor began to slope sharply, and Gregor found himself backpedaling to avoid stepping on the roach leader. Something soft and feathery brushed against his face and arms. Fabric? Wings? He passed through the stuff, and the unexpected light nearly blinded him. His hand instinctively covered his eyes as they tried to adjust.

A gasp went up from a crowd. He'd been right about that part. Then it got unnaturally quiet, and he had the sense that a great number of people were looking at him.

Gregor began to make out his surroundings. It wasn't really that bright -- in fact, it seemed like evening -- but he'd been in darkness so long, he couldn't tell. The first thing he made out was the ground, which appeared to be covered with a dusky green moss. Except it wasn't uneven, but smooth as pavement. He could feel its springiness under his feet. "It's a field," he thought. "For some kind of game. That's why there's a crowd. I'm in a stadium."

Slowly it came into focus. A polished wall enclosed a large oval cavern about fifty feet high. The top of the oval was ringed with bleachers. Gregor's eyes traveled up the distant rows of people as he tried to find the ceiling. Instead, he found the athletes.

A dozen bats were slowly spiraling around the top of the arena. They ranged in color from light yellow to black. Gregor guessed the smallest one had a wing-span of about fifteen feet. The crowd must have been watching them when he stumbled in, because the rest of the field area was empty. "Maybe it's like Rome, and they feed people to the bats. Maybe that's why the roaches brought us here," he thought.

Something fell from one of the bats. It hit the ground in the middle of the stadium and bounced fifty feet into the air. He thought, "Oh, it's just a -- "

"Ball!" cried Boots, and before he could stop her she had slid off the roach, wiggled through the other bugs, and started to run across the mossy ground with her little flat-footed stride.

"Most graceful, the princess," hissed a roach dreamily as Gregor headed after her. The insects had shifted easily to let Boots by, but they were an obstacle course for him. Either they were intentionally trying to slow him down, or they were so taken with Boots's beauty that they had forgotten about him entirely.

The ball hit the ground a second time and bounced back in the air. Boots ran after it, reaching her arms high above her head to follow its path.

As Gregor broke free of the roaches and ran for his sister, a shadow passed over him. He looked up and to his horror saw a golden bat diving straight down at Boots. He'd never reach her in time. "Boots!" he screamed, feeling his stomach contract.

She turned around to him and saw the bat for the first time. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Bat!" she shouted, pointing at the monstrous animal above her.

"Geez!" thought Gregor. "Doesn't anything scare her?"

The bat swooped over Boots, lightly brushing her finger with its belly fur, and then soared back into the air in a loop. At the top of the arc, while the bat was flat on its back, Gregor noticed for the first time that someone was sitting on it. The rider had its legs wrapped around the bat's neck. He realized it was a girl.

The upside-down girl released her legs and dropped off the bat's back. She executed a perfect double back-flip, twisting around at the last m

oment to face

Gregor's direction, and landed on the ground as lightly as a cat in front of Boots. One hand went out, and the ball fell into it in what was either a feat of remarkable timing or incredible luck.

CHAPTER 3

Hands down, she was the strangest-looking person Gregor had ever seen. Her skin was so pale, he could see every vein in her body. He thought of the section on the human anatomy in his science book. Flip one page, see the bones. Next, the digestive system. This girl was a walking circulatory system.

At first he thought her hair was gray like his grandma's, but that wasn't right. It was really more of a silver color, like blond hair with a metallic tint. The hair was woven in an intricate braid down her back and was tucked into a belt at her waist. A thin band of gold encircled the girl's head. It could have been some kind of hair band, but Gregor had a bad feeling it was a crown.

He didn't want this girl to be in charge. He could tell by the upright way she held herself, by the slight smile at the left corner of her mouth, by the way she managed to be looking down at him even though he was a good six inches taller than she was, that she had real attitude. That's what his mom would say about certain girls he knew. "She's got real attitude." She would shake her head, but Gregor could tell she approved of these girls.

Well, there was having attitude and then there was just being a total show-off.

Gregor felt sure she'd done that fancy trick off the bat completely for his benefit. One flip would have been plenty. It was her way to intimidate him, but he wouldn't be intimidated. Gregor looked straight into the girl's eyes and saw that her irises were a dazzling shade of light purple. He held his ground.

Gregor didn't know how long they might have stood there sizing each other up if Boots hadn't intervened. She plowed into the girl, knocking her off balance. The girl staggered back a step and looked at Boots in disbelief.

Boots grinned winningly and held up a pudgy hand. "Ball?" she said hopefully.

The girl knelt on one knee and held out the ball to

Boots, but she kept her fingers wrapped tightly around it. "It is yours if you can take it," she said in a voice like her eyes: cold, and clear, and foreign.

Boots tried to take the ball, but the girl didn't release it. Confused, she pulled on the girl's fingers. "Ball?"

The girl shook her head. "You will have to be stronger or smarter than I am."

Boots looked up at the girl, registered something, and poked her right in the eye. "Pu-ple!" she said. The girl jerked back, dropping the ball. Boots scrambled after it and scooped it up.

Gregor couldn't resist. "I guess she's smarter," he said. It was a little mean, but he didn't like her messing with Boots that way.

The girl narrowed her eyes. "But not you. Or you would not say such things to a queen."

So, he had been right: She was royalty. Now she'd probably chop off his head or something. Still, he felt it would be bad if he acted scared. Gregor shrugged. "No, if I'd known you were a queen, I'd probably have said something a lot cooler."

"Cool-er?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Better," said Gregor, for lack of a cooler word.

The girl decided to take it as an apology. "I will forgive it as you are not knowing. What are you called, Overlander?"

"My name's Gregor. And that's Boots," he said, pointing to his sister. "Well, her name's not really Boots, it's Margaret, but we call her Boots because in the winter she steals everybody's boots and runs around in them and because of this musician my dad likes." That sounded confusing even to Gregor. "What's your name?"

"I am Queen Luxa," said the girl.

"Louk-za?" said Gregor, trying to get the odd inflection right.

"What means this, what the baby says? Pu-ple?" she asked.

"Purple. It's her favorite color. And your eyes, she's never seen purple eyes before," explained Gregor.

Boots heard the word and came over holding up her palms, which were still dyed purple from the marker. "Pu-ple!"

"I have never seen brown before. Not on a human," said Luxa, staring into Boots's eyes. "Or this." She caught Boots's wrist and ran her fingers over the silky, light brown skin. "It must need much light."

Boots giggled. Every inch of her was ticklish. Luxa purposely ran her fingers up under Boots's chin, making her laugh. For a second, Luxa lost her attitude, and Gregor thought she might not be so bad. Then she straightened up and resumed her haughty manner. "So, Gregor the Overlander, you and the baby must bathe."

Gregor knew he was sweaty from running through the tunnels, but that was pretty rude. "Maybe we should just go."

"Go? Go where?" asked Luxa in surprise.

"Home," he said.

"Smelling like you do?" said Luxa. "You will be thrice dead before you reach the Waterway, even if you knew the path to take." She could see he didn't understand. "You smell of the Overland. That is not safe for you here. Or for us."

"Oh," said Gregor, feeling a little foolish. "I guess we should rinse off before we go home, then."

"It is not so simple. But I will let Vikus explain," said Luxa. "You have had rare luck today, being found so quickly."

"How do you know we were found quickly?" asked Gregor.

"Our lookouts noted you shortly after you landed. As you were the crawlers' find, we let them present you," she said.

"I see," said Gregor. Where had the lookouts been? Concealed in the gloom of the tunnels? Hidden somewhere in the mist he'd fallen through? Until the stadium, he hadn't seen anyone but the roaches.

"These were headed here, in any case," she said, gesturing to the roaches. "See, they carry torches. They would not bother if they were not visiting us."

"Why's that?" said Gregor.

"Crawlers do not need light. But they show themselves to us to let us know they come peacefully. Did you not wonder at how easily you arrived here?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she turned to the group of cockroaches who had been standing patiently off to the side. "Crawlers, what take you for the Overlanders?"

The head roach scurried forward. "Give you five baskets, give you?" he hissed.

"We will give three grain baskets," said Luxa.

"Rats give many fish," said the roach, cleaning its antennas casually.

"Take them to the rats, then. It will give you no time," said Luxa.

Gregor didn't know exactly what they were talking about, but he had the uneasy sense he was for sale.

The insect considered Luxa's last offer. "Give you four baskets, give you?" it said.

"We will give four baskets, and one for thanks," said a voice behind Gregor. He turned and saw a pale, bearded man approaching them on foot. His close-cropped hair really was silver, not just the silvery blond.

Luxa glared at the old man but didn't contradict him.

The cockroach painstakingly added up four and one on its legs. "Give you five baskets, give you?" it asked, as if the whole idea was a new one.

"We will give five baskets," said Luxa less than graciously, giving the roach a terse bow. It bowed back and scampered off with the other bugs out of the stadium.

CHAPTER 4

It was as if someone had splashed water in Gregor's face and brought reality rushing back. Ever since he'd fallen through the hole in the wall, things had been happening so fast, it was all he could do to keep up with them. Now, in this momentary calm, the words "New York City" came as a shock.

Yes! He was a kid who lived in New York City and had to do the laundry and get back upstairs with his little sister before his mother -- his mother!

"I have to get home now!" Gregor blurted out.

His mom worked as a receptionist at a dentist's office. She usually got off right at five and was home by five-thirty. She'd be worried sick if she came in and found that he and Boots had disappeared. Especially after what had happened to his dad. He tried to figure out how much time had passed since he was in the laundry room. "We probably fell for, let's say, five minutes and then we must have run

for about twenty with the roaches and we've been here maybe ten," he thought. Thirty-five minutes.

"Okay, so the clothes should be about dry!" he said aloud. "If we get back up there in the next twenty minutes it should be okay." No one would think to look for them before that, and he could just take the laundry up and fold it in the apartment.

"Really, I need to go back up right now," he said to Vikus.

The old man was still examining him closely. "It is simple to fall down, but the going up requires much giving."

"What do you mean?" asked Gregor, his throat tightening.

"He means you cannot go home," said Luxa flatly. "You must stay with us in the Underland."

"Uh, no! No, thank you!" said Gregor. "I mean, you're all great, but I've got stuff to do ... upstairs!" he said. "Thanks again! Nice meeting you! Come on, Boots!"

Gregor scooped up his sister and headed for the arched opening the roaches had left by. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Luxa raise her hand. For a moment he thought she was waving good-bye, but that couldn't be right. Luxa wasn't friendly enough to wave. "If it's not a wave, then it's a signal!" he muttered to Boots. Then he bolted for the doorway.

He might have made it if he hadn't been hauling Boots, but he couldn't really run with her in his arms. Ten yards from the exit the first bat swept in front of him, knocking him flat on his back on the ground. His body cushioned Boots's fall, and she immediately sat up on his stomach to enjoy the show.

Every bat in the arena had dived for them. They flew in a tight circle around Gregor and Boots, locking them in a prison of wings and fur. Each one had a rider as pale and silver-haired as Luxa. Despite the close proximity and speed of the bats, none of the people had any trouble staying mounted. In fact, only a few bothered to hold on at all. One cocky-looking guy on a glossy black bat actually lay in a reclining position, propping up his head with one hand.

The riders couldn't take their eyes off the captives. As they flashed by, Gregor could see their expressions ranged from amusement to outright hostility.

Boots bounced on his stomach and clapped her tiny hands. "Bats! Bats! Bats! Bats!"

"Well, at least one of us is enjoying this," thought Gregor.