War of the World Records

by Matthew Ward

  Until we meet again . . .

  Your Greatful Freind,

  Sammy

  Arthur stood staring at the words another moment, then—with a sharp breath—returned the letter to his pocket and went to fetch the others.

  Dinner Is Severed

  There are few scenarios quite so disheartening as being beaten by your rivals, deprived of your boat, and betrayed by your chef—all in the same week.

  As the seven-day span that included the Unsafe Sports Showdown, the sinking of the Current Champion, and the disappearance of Sammy the Spatula drew to a close, a heavy fog settled over the Whipple estate and in the minds of those who lived there.

  The Whipples’ usual stream of record breaking slowed to a mere trickle. Cordelia could only muster the energy to complete the bottom half of her Eiffel Tower, which barely scraped out a world record for Largest Structure Constructed Entirely from Sugar Cubes, and though Simon finished the Longest Single Piece of Music Ever Composed for the Accordion, it was depressingly dirge-like and nearly unlistenable. The octuplets—Penelope, Edward, Charlotte, Lenora, Franklin, Abigail, Beatrice, and George—busied themselves with the record for Most Bubble Wrap Popped in Forty-Eight Hours. Meanwhile, two-year-old Ivy and her teddy bear, Mr. Growls, went the Longest Time for a Stuffed Toy and Its Owner to Wear a Single Set of Matching Outfits, which consisted solely of two plain gray ponchos. Henry, who had been the only member of his family to pull out a world record against the Goldwins at the Unsafe Sports Showdown, was in no better spirits than the rest of his siblings. After having the Ten-Eighty so tragically snatched out from under his nose, he endeavored to develop a new penny-farthing stunt he could be the first to execute—but all he could come up with was the Lemon Twist (a single airborne spin while balancing a lemon on his chin).

  In short, Arthur’s siblings scarcely knew what to do with themselves. Sammy’s apparent betrayal had hit them all hard, and their recent Unsafe Sports trouncing by the Goldwin family had not helped matters. Having never suffered such a defeat before, they were staggered by the strange, aching feeling that accompanied it.

  This was nothing new for Arthur, of course. He had failed at every world record he’d ever attempted. But as much as he hated to see his siblings in such a state, he had never felt closer to them. For the first time in his life, he finally had something in common with his brothers and sisters—if only for a short while.

  As Friday morning dawned, the fog began to lift.

  The Whipples had been dreading their prearranged dinner with the Goldwins all week, but when the day actually arrived, it proved just the thing to pull them out of their gloom. Realizing the evening would yield fresh opportunities for competition, the Whipple children found themselves suddenly invigorated. Surely, the best way to regain their pride was to win it back from those who had stolen it from them in the first place.

  Arthur also found himself strangely looking forward to the Goldwins’ dinner party, but for decidedly different reasons. Despite several attempts to contact her, he had not seen Ruby Goldwin, his newly enlisted detective partner, since the night the Current Champion sank—and he could hardly wait to show her the message he’d received from Sammy. The sooner they resumed their investigation, he figured, the sooner they might clear Sammy’s name.

  And so, before the clock had struck seven, Arthur and his family took their places on the World’s Largest Pedal-Powered Tricycle—which served as their leisurely mode of transportation—and promptly engaged the pedals located below each of their seats. A system of cranks, gears, and chains whirred into motion, and the whole contraption lurched forward down the drive.

  • • •

  As the Whipples pulled up to the front of the Goldwin residence, Arthur was reminded of his last visit to the grounds of what had been known to him then as the Crosley estate. Though the house’s exterior had been elegantly refinished and all the trees perfectly pruned, the renovations were not enough to hide its similarities to the nightmare realm he had entered not so long ago in search of a missing model rocket.

  The oversized tricycle had hardly reached a complete stop, when the house’s front doors swung open and out stepped Rex Goldwin, followed by the entire Goldwin family. The look of the Goldwins all standing there at the front of their house gave Arthur the sense that he had stepped into some sort of living, breathing advertisement. But exactly which product that advertisement was trying to sell, he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Clothing? Real estate? Skin cream? Toothpaste? All of these seemed likely contenders. Wow, Arthur thought. They’re like an advertisement for a company that makes advertisements.

  He then noticed Ruby at the back of the group, and the idyllic image was shattered. There was something in the girl’s green eyes and dark, tousled hair that now reminded him of recklessness and danger and uncertainty—in a surprisingly appealing way.

  “Welcome, welcome, dear Whipples!” Rex exclaimed through a sparkling grin as Arthur’s family alighted from their vehicle.

  “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Goldwin,” Mr. Whipple said with a sociable smile. Whatever his past grievances with Rex Goldwin, he seemed to be trying to make the best of the situation now.

  “Ah, took the trike, did we?” said the chisel-cheeked host. “How delightful!”

  “Gosh, Dad,” said Roland, the eldest Goldwin child present. “It’s been ages since we’ve taken out our fourteen-seat bicycle, hasn’t it? I’d say it’s time we dusted the old thing off.”

  “I’d say you’re right, Son,” said Rex. “Certainly beats walking when one is feeling sluggardly, does it not?”

  Mr. Whipple’s expression dropped ever so slightly, but he remained otherwise unfazed. “It does indeed, Mr. Goldwin.”

  “We’re so glad you all could make it, Lizzie,” said Rita Goldwin, beaming as she stepped forward to hug Mrs. Whipple.

  “Of course, Mrs. Goldwin,” Mrs. Whipple replied, doing her best to hide her discomfort with Rita’s spontaneous hugs. “The invitation was most generous.” She took a breath, then exhaled. “Especially after what happened the last time we invited you . . .”

  Rex smiled. “Don’t say another word about it, Mrs. Whipple. We’re just happy you’re safe now. You will not be bothered by any murderous chefs or their freakishly sized clown associates tonight.” With that, he bowed down and gingerly kissed her hand.

  Just then, a giant Great Dane bounded forward from the back of the group and licked Rex on the mouth with a tongue nearly the size of his head. Rita shrieked and pulled her children close to her.

  “Hamlet, no!” cried Arthur’s sister Abigail as she chased after her dog.

  The Great Dane sat back on his haunches and panted cheerfully.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Goldwin,” said Abigail when she had caught up to him. “We’ve been training round the clock for the upcoming dog-kissing semifinals, but I’m afraid he hasn’t mastered his kissing signals quite yet.”

  Rex wiped his mouth on his sleeve and gave a jovial smile. “Perfectly understandable,” he said. “You can hardly expect a dog to behave like a gentleman, can you?”

  When Rita saw the dog was under control, she slowly loosened her grip on her children. “I suppose not,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “How foolish of me to assume other people’s animals conduct themselves as ours do.”

  “Now dear,” Rex assured his wife, “it’s only a dog. Don’t let its grubbiness disturb you too deeply.”

  “Of course, dear,” Rita replied, exhaling. She straightened her skirt and turned to Arthur’s parents with an uneasy smile. “You’ll have to forgive us if we’re a bit put off by your canine. It’s just that, with the sort of breeds we keep, we’re used to seeing dogs employed more often as pet feed than as pets—but please, don’t imagine for a moment we think any less of you for the slightly filthy nature of your preferred animal companion.”

  “We really are sorry about that,�
�� said Mrs. Whipple. “I assure you, Mrs. Goldwin, it won’t happen again. Is there some place outside where our dog can wait for us during dinner?”

  Abigail frowned. “But I’ve barely played with him all day,” she protested. “He’ll be lonely.”

  “Abigail,” Mrs. Whipple said firmly, “I warned you if you couldn’t keep Hamlet under control, he would not be able to dine with us. Now do as you’re told.”

  The little girl hung her head. “Yes, ma’am,” she sighed. “Let’s go, Hammie.”

  Hamlet panted excitedly and crouched forward, allowing Abigail to climb onto her usual spot on his back.

  “I know just the spot for him,” said Rita. “If you’ll simply follow me through the house, we can put him in the garden, close to where we keep the other animals.”

  Her daughter Roxy—the recent rocket-stick champion—gave a sneaky smile. “But not too close, of course.”

  • • •

  Arthur was eager for formal greetings to come to an end so he might have a private word with Ruby about the urgent investigation that awaited them. But as soon as he stepped through the Goldwins’ doorway, he found himself rather distracted. It was as if, by crossing the threshold, he had stepped out of the past and into the future.

  The walls, ceilings, and floors of the Goldwin house were all gleaming white, its furniture and artwork providing the only accents of color. The decor would not have looked out of place on a space station built by a race of Martians with an exceptionally clean design sense—or perhaps by Swedish people.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Rex grinned. “You just can’t beat the timeless elegance and graceful beauty of molded plastics.”

  “Is that what this is?” asked Arthur’s father.

  “Of course,” said Rex. “With wood and plaster feeling so hopelessly old-fashioned these days, we opted for a more modern approach. After gutting the interior of the old Crosley house, we reconstructed it from scratch with 100 percent man-made materials. You’ll notice the floors are made of distinctive Umbrian vinyl Corlite; the carpets and upholstery of fine Luxurethane; the window fabrics of alluring Styron and Crylitate. In fact, apart from its antique facade, there isn’t a single natural material employed anywhere in the house’s construction—earning it the world record for Lowest Ratio of Natural to Man-Made Materials Used in the Construction of a Single Family Dwelling.”

  “Makes it a breeze to clean as well,” Rita said with a pointed glance to the Whipples’ Great Dane, “in case of foreign contaminants. The self-cleaning mechanism is always just a button-press away. And this is only the front room, of course,” she added excitedly. “Wait till you see the rest of it.”

  “That’s right,” said Rex. “Luckily, we’ve got a bit of time to kill before dinner is ready. Chef Bijou is quite the perfectionist, you see. He’s been working on this meal for three days now. It’ll do us well to work up our appetite. Let’s just pop out to take care of the animals, and then we’ll have the full tour.”

  He escorted the group back outside through a pair of towering doors at the rear of the room. The party emerged onto a terrace, which separated the Goldwin house from the large, well-groomed woodland behind it.

  “Just down these steps is an area where we sometimes train our own animals. Rodney—you’ve got feeding privileges this week—why don’t you show Miss Whipple the stake she can chain her canine to for the time being? And double-check to make sure it’s clean. Might make the dog uncomfortable if it knew the chain’s usual purpose.”

  “My pleasure,” said the blond-haired boy as he stepped forward.

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Whipple, catching a glimpse of the heavy, but clean-looking chain at the bottom of the stairs. “Very well, Abigail. Go on and, er, chain Hamlet to the stake.”

  “All right,” said Arthur’s sister from her seat on the dog’s back. “Come on, Hammie.”

  The dog wagged his tail happily at the sound of his own name as his unhappy rider guided him down the steps with Rodney Goldwin.

  When Hamlet’s collar had been attached to the chain and stake, he woofed a goodbye to Abigail, who began trudging back toward the others.

  “Hey,” said Ruby’s four-year-old sister Rowena from the edge of the terrace, “I know what will cheer her up. Let’s show the Whipples our pets. Can we? Can we?”

  “Well,” said Mrs. Goldwin, holding back a smile, “I suppose so. But no excessive frolicking with the animals. We haven’t got time for a deep-pore cleansing before dinner. For them or for you.”

  Rita led the rest of the group down the terrace steps, through the trees, and into a large clearing, which was almost entirely occupied by a miniature, cartoonish version of the Goldwin house.

  “Welcome,” Rita announced, “to the pride of the Goldwin estate!” Her face lit up as she spoke. “Some of the world’s most prized animals make their residence here, and we are honored to call ourselves their caretakers. Now please, allow me to introduce them.”

  Rita grasped the handle on the trapezoidal front door and hinged it inward.

  Arthur felt his pulse quicken slightly as he strained to see any trace of the creatures that reportedly ate dogs for dinner. He ventured a small step closer and—whoosh!—a scaly, sharp-toothed snout lunged at him from out of the shadows.

  Arthur lurched back in terror and stumbled to the ground. He braced himself for the inevitable mauling—but just before the creature’s needle-filled mouth could reach him, it jerked to a halt with a loud clink. The Goldwins promptly burst into laughter.

  It was then that Arthur noticed the tautly pulled chain at the back of the creature’s neck, keeping it from crossing the threshold.

  “Now, now, Ransley,” Rita Goldwin chuckled as she addressed the lizard, “it seems some of our guests are a little on the jittery side. Remember what I’ve told you about first impressions.”

  The lizard stared blankly forward, as if it didn’t actually understand English. Rita Goldwin didn’t seem to notice.

  “Being the Fastest Lizard on Earth,” she explained to her bewildered guests, “Ransley is our little greeter—aren’t you, Ransley? Yes you are!” She bent down and pinched the lizard’s cheeks—or whatever it is that lizards have on the sides of their faces—and gave them an affectionate jiggle.

  Arthur then noticed another detail about the scaly-skinned creature: it was wearing a satin waistcoat. And a bow tie.

  Rupert Goldwin, the black-haired boy who had alerted Smudge and the Execution Squad to Sammy’s escape aboard the Current Champion, offered his hand to Arthur and pulled him to his feet. “Dry your eyes, Arthur,” he said with a chuckle as Arthur dusted himself off. “Black spiny-tailed iguanas are almost exclusively plant-eaters, as everybody knows—so unless you’ve got a head of cabbage in your back pocket, you’re completely safe from this one. Can’t say the same for all of them, though.”

  “No you can’t, Son,” his father agreed. “Let’s meet them, shall we?”

  Rex turned to flip a switch on the side of the house, and a lurid neon sign fizzled into view over the front door. Beneath the image of a blinking blue martini glass tilting to the lips of a smiling lizard face, the words LIZARD LOUNGE buzzed in glowing green letters.

  “Welcome,” said Rex, gesturing to the miniaturized doorway, “to the Lizard Lounge.”

  Mr. Whipple cleared his throat. “Um, yes. Thank you, Mr. Goldwin. But well, is it really necessary to show us the inside? A bit small for all of us, isn’t it?”

  Arthur noticed his father’s face was slightly flushed.

  “Not at all, Charlie,” Rex said with a grin. “There’s plenty of room. Unless, of course, you’ve got a fear of our four-legged friends here . . .”

  “No, it’s not that,” said Mr. Whipple. “It’s. . . . Never mind, Mr. Goldwin. After you.”

  Rex shrugged and ducked through the short, narrow door. Mr. Whipple drew a deep
breath, then ducked in after him, the rest of the group following just behind. Once inside, Rex flipped a second light switch, treating Arthur and his family to another remarkable sight. Just like the outside of the Lizard Lounge, its interior was a small-scale caricature of the Goldwins’ main house, with ultra-modern furniture and decor—but with one major difference: all of its inhabitants were lizards. The room in which the party now stood was divided by clear plexiglass walls into separate enclosed units, each containing a different lizard species, all of which were dressed in assorted party attire.

  Arthur marveled at the wide array of classy-looking creatures. Reclining on a chaise longue behind the plexiglass wall to his left lay a massive monitor lizard wearing a red cocktail dress. Overhead, gliding from wall to wall above a plexiglass ceiling were hundreds of small, winged lizards, each wearing a tiny silk scarf. A nearby wall plate read: Draco dussumieri (SOUTHERN FLYING LIZARD), FASTEST GLIDING LIZARD ON EARTH.

  There was also a Mexican beaded lizard in a mariachi jacket, a chameleon in a feather boa, and in the largest chamber, an enormous Komodo dragon in a burgundy velvet smoking jacket with a gold-rimmed monocle strapped over its right eye.

  “So, what do you think?” beamed Rita Goldwin.

  “I must admit, Mrs. Goldwin,” said Arthur’s mother, “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so many record-breaking lizards in one place . . . certainly not all in costume.”

  “Oh, but these aren’t just any record-breaking lizards,” Rita insisted. “They’re show lizards. Each of them has taken top honors at the world’s most prestigious lizard shows: Craggs, Westmonster, Terrarium International—we’ve won them all.”

  “Impressive,” Mrs. Whipple said politely, “isn’t it, Charles?”

  Mr. Whipple gave a start and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Hmm? Oh—yes, of course, dear. But shouldn’t we be—”

  “May I pet them, Mrs. Goldwin?” Abigail interrupted, her little hands and face plastered against the clear partition that held the Komodo dragon.