by Matthew Ward
Hamlet shuffled around to rest on his haunches, and Arthur and his siblings noticed the dog’s front left leg for the first time. Where once had been merely a stub, there was now a narrow wooden shaft, ending in a curved metal spring.
“Where’d that come from?” said George.
Mr. Mahankali stepped forward, grinning through the hair that covered his entire face. “You will all be proud to hear that our canine friend has just become the First Quadruped to Successfully Receive a Prosthetic Limb—engineered, I might add, by your brother Simon.” The Panther-Man gestured to Arthur’s older brother.
“Happy I could be of service,” Simon said with a nod. “But my design would have been useless without Hamlet’s incredible courage and, well, doggedness.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Mahankali, “I fitted him with it last night while he was still unconscious, just to make sure the measurements were correct—but then, this morning, I woke up to a cold nose and big wet kisses—and there he was, standing at my bedside, begging for a walk.”
“Well then,” said Mr. Whipple, “shall we ask Hamlet if he’d like to take his new leg for a test run out on the east lawn? What do you say, children?”
“Yeah!” came the reply.
Hamlet sprang to his feet and panted excitedly.
“Come on, Hammie,” Abigail grinned. “Let’s go for a walk.”
She placed her hand on his good front leg and began leading him toward the door—but the dog did not seem to understand. With a sudden, longing whine, he lowered his neck and nudged Abigail’s knee.
“No, boy,” Abigail scolded. “I’ll have to walk beside you now. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Hamlet’s whining grew louder and more insistent.
“No, Hammie,” she insisted, then turned once again toward the door.
But as soon as she had done this, the dog lunged forward, scooped the little girl up with the crown of his head, and tossed her onto his back.
“Hammie!” Abigail protested, grabbing onto the dog’s neck to keep herself from toppling off. “You’ve got to put me down!”
Hamlet stood proudly on his new leg, his giant tongue dipping rhythmically from the side of his mouth.
The Whipples couldn’t help but laugh.
“What should I do, Mr. Mahankali?” Abigail asked in frustration.
“After what he has been through,” the Panther-Man replied, “I would not deny him his wish to bear his favorite human on his back. It would be a terrible thing to sever his spirit as well as his leg, would it not?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Abigail conceded, thoughtfully stroking Hamlet’s fur. “Well then,” she declared after a quiet moment. “You heard him, Hammie . . . let’s go!”
With that, the dog lurched forward and bounded across the room.
Though the ride was a bit bumpier than usual, neither Abigail nor Hamlet seemed to mind at all.
• • •
Arthur and his family spent the next two hours watching their freshly mended dog frolic from one end of the estate to the other. They finally made their way back to the house with the hope of giving Hamlet a rest, but the dog had no intention of stopping so soon. He dashed out to his training area and returned with a mouthful of rubber rings.
“Barely back from death’s door,” said Henry, “and he’s already asking for a ring toss!” Henry rubbed the scar on the back of his shoulder where he’d been skewered by a stray arrow at the Unsafe Sports Showdown. “There’s a dog after my own heart.”
“I’d say he’s eager to start breaking some new records,” Simon added, “and get even with the Goldwins for what their lizard did to him.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Cordelia. “Who’s throwing first?”
Just then, Wilhelm entered the room and addressed their father.
“Excuse me, Mr. Vhipple—there is a gentleman to see you—from the Grazelby Guide, he says. Shall I show him in?”
Mr. Whipple glanced to his wife with mild trepidation. “No no, Wilhelm. I will meet him in the entrance hall.”
As their father stepped out of the room, the Whipple children all exchanged looks of curiosity—and then promptly filed out after him, eager to catch a peek of their new visitor.
Mr. Whipple led the large cluster of children that had materialized at his back into the foyer. There, he offered his hand to the figure at its center—a hollow-cheeked, middle-aged man in a slightly outdated suit, with slicked-over hair that appeared to have been parted by a laser.
“Mr. Whipple,” announced the man, peering through round, thick-lensed spectacles, “my name is Archibald Prim. I have been sent by Grazelby’s head office for the purpose of becoming your permanent record certifier. I trust you’ve been expecting me.”
“We have indeed, Mr. Prim,” said Arthur’s father through a half-forced smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, Mr. Whipple. I look forward to establishing a mutually advantageous partnership between our persons. Certainly, with your prolificacy in record breaking and my expertise in record certification, this should make for a highly effective match.”
Listening to Archibald Prim’s nasal drone, Arthur couldn’t help but yearn for the warm, charming baritone of his family’s previous certifier. However effective this new match proved to be, it was hard to imagine it ever coming close to the affinity he had forged with Uncle Mervyn. At the same time, Arthur realized that Mr. Prim deserved the benefit of the doubt—and thus resolved to refrain from any further comparisons.
“Yes—well, I must say, Mr. Prim,” Arthur’s father replied, “you could hardly have arrived at a more fitting moment. Our dog was just about to attempt his first world record since pulling through a two-week coma.”
“Well then,” the certifier declared. “Let us not delay any longer. Kindly direct me toward the aforementioned animal, and I shall officiate whatever feats it endeavors to perform.”
“Very good, Mr. Prim. Right this way.”
As the Whipples led their new certifier into the great hall, Hamlet hurried into position, sitting himself on the far side of the ring-catcher’s line, which Henry and Cordelia had marked on the floor. Stepping up to the ring-thrower’s line with a ring grasped in her hand, Abigail readied her stance and waited for Mr. Prim’s signal.
Mr. Prim removed a tape measure from his pocket and carefully stretched it between their respective toe lines.
“Hmm,” he muttered. “Nine feet, eleven inches, and fifteen-sixteenths. Good thing I checked.”
With that, Mr. Prim pulled up the strip of cloth tape that served as Hamlet’s marker and meticulously repositioned it one sixteenth of an inch from its original position.
Examining his handiwork through squinting eyes, the certifier declared, “That’s better,” and reeled in the tape measure. As he rose to his feet, Mr. Prim swapped the measuring tape for a stopwatch.
“Now—Competitor Number One,” he addressed Abigail. “Are you ready for commencement?”
“Ready, sir,” she answered excitedly.
“Competitor Number Two,” the certifier said, turning to Hamlet, “are you ready for commencement?”
“Woof!” replied the dog.
Mr. Prim looked to his stopwatch. “And . . . commence!”
The moment the word left Mr. Prim’s mouth, Abigail flung the ring forward.
Hamlet’s eyes locked onto the flying object. With unyielding focus, the dog lifted his new front foot into the air.
A moment later, the ring twirled around Hamlet’s fabricated foreleg.
The Whipples cheered. Hamlet’s tongue unfurled with pride.
“Good boy, Hammie!” cried Abigail, reaching for another ring.
Just as she prepared to release it, however, Mr. Prim called out, “Hold!”
The Whipples turned to the certifier in conf
usion.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to start again,” he said. “Competitor Number One preceded my mark by nearly three hundredths of a second.”
Mr. Whipple’s brow furrowed. It appeared he might protest—but then, he simply turned to his daughter and smiled. “It’s all right, Abigail. Do as Mr. Prim says. One throw will be easy enough to make up.”
Abigail nodded in agreement, only slightly less excited than she’d been a few moments before.
“Competitor One—ready for commencement?”
“Ready.”
“Competitor Two—ready for commencement?”
“Woof!”
“And . . . commence!”
Abigail waited until Mr. Prim had clearly uttered the last syllable this time—and then tossed the ring. A perfect catch.
When the dog had caught five rings in a row, Abigail stepped aside so that Cordelia could have her turn. Four more perfect catches, and then—
“Fault! Competitor Number Three has touched the toe line. Competitor Number One must start again.”
Mr. Whipple’s eyes widened, but he gritted his teeth and said nothing.
On the third attempt, the children were much more cautious, making doubly sure not to start too early or get too near the toe line. Soon, they had racked up thirty-five successful catches—only four rings shy of the world record for Consecutive Rings Caught on the Leg of a Canine. Charged with executing the actual record-breaking toss, Edward prepared his first throw very carefully, slowly inching his toes up to the mark and triple-checking his stance. When he was satisfied he was not guilty of any rule infractions, he cocked back his arm—and then pitched the ring into the air. But as soon as the object had left his fingers—
“Fault! Competitor Number Nine has failed to release the ring within the allotted sixty-second time limit. The attempt is forfeit.”
Sensing yet another stoppage, Hamlet dropped his leg and let the accumulated rings tumble to the floor. He turned to Abigail and let out a distressed whimper.
“All right Hamlet,” she groaned, “let’s try it again. We’ll all be extra careful this time—but not too careful.”
“Oh, I’m afraid that will be all for now,” Mr. Prim interjected.
“What ever do you mean, Mr. Prim?” inquired Mr. Whipple. “Hamlet’s ready for another go.”
“Unfortunately, he’ll have to wait until tomorrow before he’s allowed one. According to Grazelby Certification Section 852, Subsection 17B-6: ‘an individual may not exceed three attempts at a given record within a period of twenty-four hours.’”
Arthur’s father chuckled in disbelief. “Mr. Prim, please—everyone knows that rule was only created to prevent Striver’s Mania in certain predisposed individuals; it has never been enforced for private record attempts made by well-minded participants. Surely, you’re not serious about applying it to us?”
The certifier’s face grew suddenly stern. “Mr. Whipple, are you asking me to violate Grazelby regulations on your behalf?”
“Well, of course not. But honestly, Mr. Prim, it’s only—”
“Because if you were, I would have no choice but to charge you with attempted corruption of a world record official and report you to the International World Record Federation disciplinary council. I’m sure we would all find it highly regrettable if you were to be disqualified from IWRF competition just before the start of the World Record World Championships—wouldn’t we, Mr. Whipple?”
Arthur’s father lowered his head and exhaled. “Yes, Mr. Prim. It seems our canine ring toss attempts will have to wait until tomorrow.”
Hamlet slumped to the floor in defeat, resting his chin on his forepaws and whining softly.
“Very good,” declared the certifier. “I’m glad we see eye to eye on the matter. Really, Mr. Whipple, there’s no need to fret over any one record; I shall be here indefinitely to judge whatever attempts you choose to undertake. So now then—which event would you like me to officiate next?”
“Actually, Mr. Prim,” Arthur’s father sighed, “I think we might take a break for a while today.”
“Suit yourself. My services will be available when you require them.”
Mr. Whipple nodded, then led his family silently from the room. Though they had not seen their rivals for weeks now, the Whipples once again felt the sting of the Goldwins’ inescapable presence.
• • •
After a morning spent with Mr. Prim, Arthur was surprisingly glad to resume his search for Overkill and Undercut. Somehow, death by killer clown no longer seemed quite so awful when compared to death by nitpicking.
Of course, neither of these deaths sounded particularly appealing, and Arthur hoped he’d be able to prevent them both with a visit to the World Record Archives.
He met Ruby at their established rendezvous point at noon, and the two promptly set off for the city as they had done the night before.
The young detectives emerged from the train station two hours later and stepped onto the street. Jutting up from behind the modest rooftops in front of them, the hazy outlines of five stony spires stood out against the gray and gloomy sky.
“There they are,” Arthur whispered in awe. “The Pinnacles of Achievement—the highest points of the archives building. We’re nearly there.”
In ten minutes’ time, the children stood at the black iron gate that opened onto the archives’ steps.
The building stretched from one edge of their view to the other, its face riddled with gothic arches and ornate carvings. A massive entrance hall at its middle shot upward into a series of soot-stained pinnacles that nearly reached the clouds.
Stuck atop the center spire, like a chunk of beef kebab, was a metal sculpture of the earth—on top of which stood the shadowy statue of a man, triumphantly clutching the skewer’s point as it pierced the globe and exited the North Pole.
A tepid wind swept through the children’s hair.
“Not the most welcoming place, is it?” Ruby observed. “I mean, is this a registry of world records—or a house of human sacrifice? Not that those are really all that different from each other when you think about it. But seriously, should I be worried about vampire bats?”
“You might want to be a bit more respectful. This is practically hallowed ground we’re standing on here.”
Ruby rolled her eyes. “Shallow ground, more like.”
“Honestly,” Arthur scowled, “all of the world’s greatest feats catalogued and collected in one location, and you call it shallow? I don’t think you know what you’re saying. At the very least, it’s bound to hold some clues for us. Can you try to keep that in mind—or would you just be happier waiting outside?”
“Just because I think it’s all a bit pointless and completely creepy doesn’t mean I don’t want to go in. Come on. Let’s go see where they keep the chalices of blood.”
• • •
The children stepped though a towering archway and into a vast entrance hall, which boasted bronze and marble statues of legendary record breakers, stained-glass windows depicting historic record-setting events, and record-breaking artifacts displayed like religious relics.
“Wow—it’s even scarier on the inside,” Ruby muttered. Turning to her partner, she added, “So where to?”
Arthur shrugged. “I’ve only actually been inside once before, and it was a long time ago. I don’t really remember where anything is.”
“That’s funny. I’d have thought your dad would drag your family here every chance he got.”
“Not actually. He’d rather we spent our time getting our names in a museum than simply visiting one. He says we shouldn’t dwell on the past, because it keeps us from focusing all our attention on the present.”
“If you say so,” Ruby replied. “I guess we’d better ask for directions then.”
The children made their way to th
e large stone kiosk built into the entrance wall and labeled “Information.” Behind the desk sat a pale, ancient-looking woman with sagging eyes and a tightly wound bun that grew from the top of her head like a horn.
“Be careful, Arthur,” Ruby whispered. “Don’t let her get within neck-biting range.”
Arthur ignored the comment and proceeded. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he inquired. “Can you tell us the location for records of Human Height?”
Without hesitation, the woman croaked, “Building Three, Hall A, Room Two, Wall C.”
Arthur stared blankly for a moment—then flinched with fright as the woman’s wrinkled arm shot toward him across the counter.
She pointed a bony finger to the pamphlet holder attached to the front of the kiosk. “Would you like a map?” she asked.
Arthur exhaled in relief and embarrassment. All this talk of vampires and human sacrifice had made him jumpier than he’d realized. “Oh,” he replied. “Yes, please.”
Ruby couldn’t resist an impish giggle.
The children followed the map for a quarter of an hour, through various corridors, chambers, and courtyards before finally arriving at the Physical Anomalies and Human Oddities section.
“This is it,” announced Arthur. “Just through that door over there.”
Ruby followed Arthur’s fingertip to the doorway in question, where she noticed the two-headed, four-legged human skeleton that guarded the room’s entrance. She shuddered. “Do we have to?” she said with a groan.
Arthur looked at her in surprise. “Since when are you frightened by something as harmless as a few lifeless bones?”
“I don’t mind the regular ones. It’s the extras that get me.”
“Without those extras,” said Arthur, “this skeletal gentleman would never have been given the honor of a permanent place at the archives, now would he?”
“Some honor.”
“Look, we’ve come a bit far to be scared off by a little skeleton, don’t you think?”
“I guess so,” Ruby conceded. “Let’s just try to get this over with as quickly as possible.” She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the bony view, then stepped forward and hurried through the doorway with Arthur following just behind her.