by Matthew Ward
Ruby nudged Arthur with her elbow. “So that’s why your dad was so hesitant to enter the Lizard Lounge. He can’t stand tight spaces. Had you never seen him act that way before?”
“Guess he just got really good at hiding it. Before Rex came along, nobody’s ever really made him do anything he didn’t want to do. He’s never liked graveyards, though, that’s for sure. And no wonder.”
“Yeah,” Ruby said with a smirk. “Good thing he didn’t pass that trait on to you, eh, Arthur?”
Arthur shot her a scowl, then returned his focus to the image on the screen.
Charlie Jr. climbed from the coffin-like compartment and stepped toward his onlooking father, smiling meekly through shame and remorse. But the elder Whipple merely turned and walked away.
“Charles Sr. refused to settle for his son’s failure and swore to undertake the record himself. Sadly, however, he would not get the chance to do so.
“Last week, en route to a secluded island location where he hoped to perform the record attempt free from all distractions, his plane mysteriously went down over the South Pacific. The remains of Charles Whipple Sr. were soon discovered washed up on the northern coast of New Guinea.”
“Wow,” whispered Ruby. “It’s probably a bit late for this now, but—sorry about your grandfather.”
“Thanks,” Arthur said solemnly. “Guess it makes sense now why my father feels so guilty about the way he died.”
“Speculators have been quick to blame Whipple’s death on the so-called Lyon’s Curse, named for the late Gregory Lyon, who died years earlier in a failed attempt to reclaim the live burial title after it had returned to the Whipple clan. Sources close to the family report that Charles Sr. had spent the last years of his life in fear of the curse, seldom leaving his home, lest he should come to a gruesome end. Unfortunately, it appears his apprehension may have been well-founded.”
“I take back what I said about the curse,” said Ruby. “Sounds completely horrible, actually.”
“I’ll say,” gulped Arthur.
“But as one star fades,” continued the narrator, “another is born. Hot off his recent victory over the typically unbeatable Whipple family, Rex Goldwin now stands poised on the brink of fame and fortune. . . .”
Rex’s toothy grin faded from the screen as another crude splice rattled the projector, signaling the start of a third newsreel.
This time the title card read: WHIPPLE NAME RESTORED AS CHARLES JR. ROCKETS TO STARDOM!
A fast-moving montage showed Arthur’s father receiving various trophies, plaques, and awards.
“Galvanized by his father’s death early last year, Charles Whipple Jr. promptly embarked on a veritable record breaking rampage, smashing every record he attempted. Having successfully proved himself in the record breaking arena, Whipple soon turned his attention to avenging his family honor—by confronting the man who had robbed them of their most prized record.
“Over the following months, Charles Whipple sought out Rex Goldwin and systematically broke every record the newcomer attempted, catapulting the former into international fame in the process—while driving the latter into depression and drunkenness, and seemingly out of the world records game for good.”
A muttering, unshaven Rex Goldwin stumbled out of a pub, then suddenly charged forward, grabbing the lens and knocking the camera to the ground.
The pavement filled the frame, and the picture cut to an exterior shot of the Grazelby Building.
“With Goldwin effectively vanquished, the twenty-year-old Whipple quickly found himself being courted by the two largest world record publications on earth, each of them angling for exclusive sponsorship privileges. In April, Charles turned down the Amazing Ardmore Almanac of the Ridiculously Remarkable to sign a record-breaking contract with Grazelby’s Guide to World Records and Fantastic Feats, instantly cementing his stardom and simultaneously making him the World’s Most Eligible Bachelor. That’s right ladies, he’s single! But try not to get your hopes up too quickly; he does hold the record for Longest String of Dates without Seeing the Same Girl Twice. Indeed, it’s going to take a special woman to capture this lady-killer. In the meantime, however—the future is wide open for you, Charles Whipple!”
With one final shot of Arthur’s young, smiling father, the screen went black, then blinding white, as the tail end of the film slapped the projector on its way out.
• • •
“Well,” Ruby announced to Arthur as they exited the screening room, “it appears we’ve got a motive.”
“Yeah. It looks like my father pushed your father out of the world records game when they were younger, and now Rex is trying to return the favor—using the dwarf and the giant to reenact the Lyon’s Curse, which appears to have been responsible for my grandfather’s death.”
“And, meanwhile, your father is still angry that Rex took away the one record that really mattered to him.”
“Right,” Arthur puzzled. “Can this get any more complicated?”
“That’s usually how it goes in the detective novels. It’s probably going to get a lot worse before it gets better—if it gets better at all, of course. Really depends on which subgenre we’re talking about here.” Ruby ignored Arthur’s blank stare and added, “One thing seems clear, though: our suspicions were right about Rex, and to clear Sammy’s name we just need to find a way to prove them beyond any reasonable doubt.”
“Agreed,” said Arthur. “But in the meantime, I’d better get these newsreels back to Mr. Slumpshaw. I imagine ‘proving things beyond any reasonable doubt’ could earn us some serious late fees.”
“All right then,” Ruby said, smiling. “I’ll wait for you in the main hall. I’ve had my fill of the Human Oddities section for today—and I’m sure old Slumpy will be happy to have a few moments alone with his favorite celebrity.”
Ruby was right. As soon as Arthur found him, Mr. Slumpshaw began asking all sorts of excited questions about his famous family. When Arthur finally managed to say goodbye, the archivist handed him a handmade business card—which read, TERENCE SLUMPSHAW, ASSOCIATE ARCHIVES ASSISTANT / SENIOR WHIPPLE FANATIC—and instructed him to give it to his father.
Arthur thanked the man one last time, then hurried back toward the main hall. In his haste, however, he inadvertently turned right at the Aeroplanes and Aeronautics wing when he should have turned instead at the Horrors of Horticulture branch—and soon found himself thoroughly disoriented.
He scanned the wall of books to his left, looking for a clue to his current location. His eyes stopped on a large volume entitled A Complete Listing of World-Record Holders and Their Records, Sorted by Surname: GOLD—GOLE.
Arthur’s pulse quickened as he realized the significance of the book before him. Of all the items in the archives, he had just stumbled onto the book that contained the details of Ruby Goldwin’s world record.
But what was he to do? Ruby had made it fairly clear how she felt about his attempts to uncover her secret. He had no desire to betray her trust—but then again, how could he pass up such a fateful discovery?
Arthur decided he should at least make sure the book was a recent edition, before worrying himself too much with any potential moral dilemmas. He placed his finger at the top of the book’s spine and peered cautiously down the hall. Ruby was nowhere in sight.
Arthur slid the book off the shelf and flipped to the title page. The edition was only one year old.
This was the point at which he had planned to return the book to its shelf and walk briskly away—but now that it was open, he could not bring himself to close it.
Arthur slowly thumbed to the middle of the volume. Surely there was no harm in checking to see whether or not the Goldwin name was even listed.
It was.
Next, he began flipping through the entries for Ruby’s brothers and sisters and their various records. He no longer bo
thered with excuses.
Rodney . . . Roland . . . Rosalind . . . Rowan . . . Rowena . . . Roxy . . .
Arthur snapped the book shut. What was he doing? Here he’d finally found someone who’d stuck with him despite his obvious shortcomings, and now he was stabbing her in the back the first chance he got. What sort of a friend was he?
A shudder ran down his spine as he considered how close he had come to ruining everything.
At that moment, a familiar voice called out from behind him. “What’s that you’re reading there?”
Arthur whirled around with a start, losing his grip on the book as he came to stand face-to-face with Ruby.
The book hit the floor with a thud. Arthur fumbled to retrieve it, but Ruby got there first.
She picked up the book and proceeded to hand it over. “Couldn’t get enough of all these exciting statistics, eh?” she said with a smirk.
It was then that Ruby noticed the name of the volume she was holding. Her face flooded with confusion as she looked up at Arthur.
“It’s not—” Arthur spluttered. “I—”
Ruby’s confusion quickly turned to heartbreak. “But I told you I didn’t want you to know. I mean, how could you—?” And with that, she turned and dashed down the hallway, burying her face in her hands.
“Ruby!” Arthur shouted. “Wait! I didn’t—”
He cast the book to the floor and charged after her—only to collide at full speed with an oncoming book cart.
“Oh my! I didn’t see you there,” Terence Slumpshaw shrieked from the handle-side of the cart. “Are you all right, Arthur Whipple? You won’t tell your father about this, will you?”
Taking no time to reply, Arthur shoved aside the scattered heap of books, picked himself up off the floor, and limped onward as fast as his battered legs would allow.
“Ruby!” he called in vain, losing sight of her as she rounded a corner.
Arthur tumbled into the main entrance hall a few moments later, but there was no sign of his partner. He searched the adjacent rooms and courtyards, then ventured past the front gates and hobbled desperately back to the train station.
But it was too late. Ruby was gone.
Arthur’s heart felt as empty as the platform in front of him. Of all the horrible things that had happened to him in recent months—from agonizing personal failures to traumatic near-death experiences—somehow, this was by far the worst.
Qualifications
Mr. Whipple pointed to a large glass case atop a dark wood pedestal, at the center of which sat a vacant velvet pillow. “It may not look it on first glance,” he said sternly, “but this happens to be one of the vilest, most contemptible objects you will ever encounter.”
Arthur and his siblings looked to one another, then leaned in with morbid curiosity. Their father had yet to reveal his reason for calling the emergency meeting in the Whipple Hall of Records that morning.
“This, children,” Mr. Whipple sighed, “is an empty trophy case. And this particular empty trophy case . . . belongs to me.”
Arthur’s brothers and sisters gasped.
“Now,” he said, “I want you all to take a long hard look at it. This . . . is what failure looks like.”
Penelope’s eyes began to water. “But how did you get it, Daddy?”
“That’s not important, dear. The important thing is that we never allow it to happen again.”
Arthur, of course, knew exactly how the cursed artifact had come to be in his father’s possession. Thinking back to the face of the boy who had vowed to defend his mother’s legacy, only to fail miserably in the attempt, Arthur felt a newfound kinship with the man he called father.
The children studied the trophy case like cavemen around an electric toaster.
“Let this be a tangible reminder to you all—as it has been to me,” said Mr. Whipple, “why we must never settle for anything less than total victory. With the World Record World Championships hardly three weeks away, and a certain other family conniving to supersede us, this has never been more important. Now—let us go forth and make these final days of training the most effective of our lives!”
The children applauded in agreement, then marched toward the door while their father called out the day’s tasks.
“Franklin—your shipment of antique anchors should be here by noon. Cordelia—Mr. Prim will be taking measurements on your soup-can Acropolis; try to be agreeable. Arthur—why don’t you stay behind for a minute?”
When the others had all left the room, Mr. Whipple sat down beside his recordless son.
“Now, Arthur, your mother and I have been talking, and we’ve noticed your efforts at finding a suitable record to break have dwindled in recent weeks. We know that before his reassignment, Uncle Mervyn was helping you work through a sizable list of record possibilities—and we’d like to see you get to the end of it before championships qualifications are over. If there is indeed some event you were destined for, that list is your best chance of discovering it. And what better way to spur you on to a record in such an event than competing at the championships? But in order to compete, of course, you’ll first have to qualify.”
“Of course, Father,” replied Arthur. “The only thing is that, well, after three weeks, I’m hardly halfway down the list. But if I could have just another three days, I think I could manage it.”
“Very well, Arthur. I’ll inform Mr. Prim you’ll be having an especially full schedule for the remainder of the week. Now, remember, we’re not expecting anything from you; honestly, under any other circumstances, we wouldn’t be troubling you at all. But with such bitter competition this year, we could really use all the help we can get—however unlikely it may be.”
“Yes sir. I’ll do my best—er, I’ll be the best.”
“That’s the spirit, boy. Now go show that list of yours what you’re made of.”
“Yes, sir. I will do that very thing.”
Arthur headed for the door, but stopped short.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Norbury wasn’t your fault, you know. And neither is the Lyon’s Curse.”
At the sound of the first word, Mr. Whipple’s face went white. “Wh—? How did you—”
“Whatever happens at the championships,” Arthur continued, “you’ll always be my favorite record breaker.”
With that, he turned and walked through the door, leaving his father with eyes wide and mouth agape.
• • •
Arthur scampered up to his room on his way out of the house and grabbed a bulging bag of letters, all of which shared a single addressee: Ruby Goldwin.
In the five days since Ruby’s departure, Arthur had managed to write 1,482 individual letters to his estranged partner—just 7,541 short of the record for Most Apology Letters Sent in One Month by a Single Person—in the hopes that she might find it in her heart to forgive him and rejoin the investigation.
The first hundred or so went something like this:
Dear Ruby,
Words cannot describe how horribly, terribly, truly sorry I am—but I shall give it a try anyway: I am so horribly, terribly, truly sorry. What I did was utterly, completely, unimaginably reprehensible. If you are unable to forgive me, I shall have no cause for complaint whatsoever.
Having said that, I think you should know, as a matter of interest—not that it excuses my actions in any way—that I didn’t actually see anything about you in that horrible book. I stopped myself just in time, when I realized what a terrible thing it would be to break your trust. Of course, my change of heart ultimately arrived far too late, as I have no doubt broken your trust nonetheless.
If there is anything I can do to make up for my foolish actions, please let me know as soon as possible, so I might make immediate amends. I will even read a Joss Langston novel if you want me to.
Regret and Remorse,
Arthur
After the initial batch, however, the next fourteen hundred letters looked a bit more like this:
Dear Ruby,
Indescribably sorry. Please forgive . . . I’ll do anything.
Remorsefully Yours,
Arthur
Unfortunately, none of it seemed to be working. No matter how many letters he sent, no matter how long he stood outside her house looking for her, Arthur had yet to hear a single word or catch more than a few fleeting glimpses of the girl since she’d turned and run from him in the halls of the archives.
He was starting to grow desperate. Not only did he miss having Ruby for a friend, he missed having her for a detective partner. Without her, how was he to find proof of Rex’s guilt and Sammy’s innocence? She had always been the real detective. He had never gotten anywhere before she’d joined the case.
Inspired by his recent chat with his father, Arthur began to devise a new tactic to get his partner back. If he could only break a world record at the World Record World Championships, perhaps Ruby would be so impressed by it that she’d suddenly forget all about the pain he’d caused her and simply forgive him on the spot.
Of course, this strategy required ignoring the fact that Ruby had never once seemed even remotely impressed by world-record breaking in all the time he’d known her—but somehow, this didn’t stop Arthur from embracing it anyway.
He knew the investigation might suffer a bit while he focused on selecting and training for his event, but he assured himself it would all be worth it in the end.
If he could only break a world record, he would earn the respect of his family and regain the trust of his partner in one fell swoop. If he could only break a world record, he and Ruby would thwart Rex and exonerate Sammy in no time. If he could only break a world record, all of his problems would be solved.
• • •
Arthur left the bag of letters downstairs for the postman and made his way to the garage to grab some supplies. Then he dashed out to the south lawn, where Mr. Prim stood watching as Beatrice took the last bite of her thirty-seventh schnitzel.