War of the World Records (15 page)

And so, for the next two weeks, Arthur endeavored to do exactly that. When he wasn't in his room writing apology letters to Ruby, he was out about the estate honing his knife-block stocking skills.

On the last day before the start of the WRWC, Arthur made a significant and unexpected development. He realized that if he simply worked counterclockwise instead of clockwise—as was the traditional direction of play—he could shave nearly fifteen seconds off his best time. It was enough to put him well in range of the current world record.

What Arthur failed to notice, unfortunately, were the two sets of eyes watching him from a nearby tree as he stood panting with surprise and joy at his newfound breakthrough.

The World Record World Championships

O
n the evening
of the following day, the Sixty-Seventh World Record World Championships began.

The opening ceremonies kicked off with a legion of acrobats grouping themselves into death-defying formations to reenact five millennia of world-record breaking history.

Arthur gazed awestruck beside his family from the contender staging deck as one record-breaking triumph after another materialized at the center of the stadium—from the Great Pyramid of Giza to the Empire State Building—each of them composed solely of human figures. As the mass of bodies reconstituted itself into the Sputnik 1 rocket launch, rising in unison toward the top of the stadium, the floodlights abruptly went dark and the human fireworks began.

Five hundred cannons fired at once with a deafening blast, rattling the stands and launching a battery of living rounds into the air. One of the projectiles zipped past Arthur's face, and he could just make out the dark, crash-suited form of a man, his blurred body fused with metal frameworks and assorted colorful protrusions. A moment later, when the speeding figures had reached the optimum altitude, showers of sparks burst from each of them, causing the black oval of sky at the center of the stadium to explode with light and color.

Parachutes sprouted from the flaming figures as gravity began to pull them back to earth—but by this time, another round of pyrotechnic performers was already lighting up the sky above them.

The cannonade continued for a quarter of an hour, culminating in the Largest Simultaneous Human Cannonball / Human Firework Launch in History, when one thousand cannons in and around the stadium fired at the same moment.

The force of the blast and the resulting roar of the crowd shook the entire structure.

Then, as the finale fireworks began to fizzle, two parallel streams of light—one silver and one gold—shot straight up through the smoke at the center of the stadium, climbing higher than any other before them.

“There goes your father, children,” Mrs. Whipple pointed out. “Shame he has to share the honor of Host-City High-Flyer with that scoundrel Rex Goldwin. Let's just hope your father flies highest.”

Arthur and his family watched as the two soaring figures continued to climb. The next moment, a flurry of silver and gold sparks filled the surrounding sky, drifting down onto a sea of
oohs
and
ahhs
.

As the glittering faded, however, the crowd's response shifted from wonderment to dread. While one of the figures was now floating on the breeze under a billowed parachute, the other was plummeting toward the earth.

“Daddy!” cried Lenora.

The Whipples watched in horror as Arthur's father grabbed desperately at his pack.

“Come on—pull the cord, Dad!” shouted Henry.

But still, no parachute emerged.

Arthur tried to turn away, to shield his eyes from the gruesome sight to come, but he could not bring himself to abandon his father at such a critical moment.

With the ground only fifty feet away, the flailing figure continued its blistering descent, the Whipples' hopes for their father fading with every foot.

And then, a parachute.

Barely an instant before impact, the canopy fully inflated. Mr. Whipple's body collided with the ground, concealed from the crowd by the now-tangled mass of white cloth.

The stadium went silent. It was difficult to tell what sort of medical equipment the situation would require: a stretcher—or a body bag.

A distant baby's cry echoed in Arthur's ears as the boy and his family scoured the scene for signs of life. The deflated parachute flapped lazily in the breeze, anchored to the earth by the motionless heap beneath it.

A team of paramedics rushed onto the floor.

They approached the site of the crash, then reached out to remove the parachute and inspect the damage.

But just before they could grasp hold of it, the cloth was cast aside—and the man beneath it leapt to his feet. The medics stumbled backward as Mr. Whipple raised an arm to the stadium in salute.

The World's Largest Collective Sigh of Relief rose up from the crowd. No one, it seemed, would be dying a horrific death before their eyes. At least not tonight.

• • •

When Mr. Whipple had rejoined his relieved family, the Whipples proceeded down to the stadium gate to join the Parade of Contenders as it snaked its way through the streets of the city.

By the time they'd exited the stadium and reached the grand entranceway, the parade had already begun pouring through the gate and onto the stadium floor. The Whipples, being from the host city, would be walking in the final group, so they promptly began the trek to the rear of the parade, while the stream of participants gushed past in the opposite direction.

For Arthur, it was like walking through a dream. All of his favorite record breakers from every corner of the globe were there, floating by and swirling around him.

Arthur struggled to retain as many details as possible— from the well-pummeled nose of Stavros “Hydra-Hands” Alamanos, the World's Longest Reigning Boxing Champion and Highest-Paid Athlete, to the World's Tallest Turban, bobbing along on the head of the legendary Sheik Alhid Aziz Wabul, to the bulging, overworked tires on the wheeled platform that carried Roberto and Bibiana Babosa, the World's Heaviest Husband and Wife.

It struck Arthur to keep an eye out for Messrs. Overkill and Undercut amongst the record-breaking faces, just in case the World's Tallest and Shortest Humans couldn't resist taking part in the championships. But unsurprisingly, he never glimpsed so much as a frizzy clown wig. It was hard not to be a bit relieved by this, but he hoped for Sammy's sake that he might catch up to the dwarf and the giant soon.

Further down the line, Arthur spotted the scarlet uniforms and beaming smiles of the Nakamoto family, bouncing vibrantly down the center of the street. The Whipples had always considered the Nakamotos their fiercest rivals, but after the recent run-ins they'd had with a certain other record-breaking family, it was difficult to think of the Nakamotos as anything less than old and dear friends. The two families bowed to one another as they crossed paths.

Arthur then noticed the red and gold colors of the Soviet flag, as well as the gray-bearded man walking alongside it with the Russian champions.

“Uncle Mervyn!” he shouted.

The man spun his head toward the sound. “Arthur!” he cried. He turned and began working his way through the crowd. “How are you, lad?” said Uncle Mervyn, smiling as he reached the side of the parade.

“I qualified in knife-block speed stocking.”

“Ah yes. I heard about that. Excellent news. I see you and Mr. Prim are getting on just fine.”

“Well—” Arthur began, but he was promptly cut off by his father as the other Whipples joined the reunion.

“Mervyn!” cried Mr. Whipple, clapping the certifier on the back. “Are
you
a sight for sore eyes. How's Moscow treating you?”

At this there came a gruff Russian voice from behind Arthur's uncle.

“Comrade McCleary,” said a stocky man in a fur hat. “Your presence is to be required in parade with Champions of Motherland.”

Uncle Mervyn nodded to the man, then turned back to Mr. Whipple. “Can't complain,” he said with a wry smile. “Not if I don't want to be sent to Siberia, that is,” he added, chuckling under his breath. He began walking backward to catch up with the parade. “Actually, Moscow's a wonderful place for record breaking. Just wish you and your family were there with me. Can't wait to see you mop the floor with the Goldwins before I go back.” He glanced behind him, then looked again to Arthur and called, “Remember the domino, Arthur. We all have our part to play.” Then, with a parting wink, he was swept up in the crowd and disappeared into the parade.

Arthur had barely begun to reflect on the encounter with his uncle when he noticed the self-satisfied smirk of Inspector Smudge amongst the sea of faces to his right. Having no desire to receive another lecture, he ducked behind another passerby before Smudge had the chance to detect him.

When he looked up a few moments later to make sure the man had gone, a flicker of something familiar caught his eye on the other side of the crowd.

Arthur promptly reached the end of the parade and scanned the surrounding swarm for a further glimpse but he found nothing. He sighed and turned to his rear. There, hardly ten feet in front of him, stood Ruby Goldwin.

Arthur's heart beat faster. This was the most he had seen of her in weeks. He didn't know what to say to her, but he knew he had to say something.

He took a step forward—only to have his path blocked by another familiar figure.

“Charlie!” called Rex Goldwin over Arthur's head. “Glad to see you weren't severely maimed back there.”

Mr. Whipple nodded warily. “Thank you, Mr. Goldwin.”

Ruby broke her brief gaze with Arthur and retreated amongst her siblings.

Arthur couldn't help but be reminded of the first time he'd seen the girl standing with her family, a complete and utter stranger. Now, after all they had been through together since the night of the Birthday Extravaganza, Ruby seemed more a stranger than ever. It was almost as if they had never met—only worse.

Ruby's father pushed past Arthur and approached Mr. Whipple as the rest of the Goldwins filed in around them. “That
was
a bit close, though—wasn't it, Charlie?” Rex said with a grin. “Hate to see our competition prematurely expire before we've had a crack at them. Next time, you might try pulling the rip cord
before
you hit the ground. I can't always be there to catch you when you fall, you know.”

Arthur's father fixed his jaw. “Mr. Goldwin, as much as I appreciate your invaluable advice on the subtleties of parachuting, I'll have you know I am not an imbecile. Upon pulling the rip cord, you see, it simply came off in my hand. The only way I survived the fall was by tearing open my pack and releasing the chute manually. Of course, I'm sure I needn't tell this to you. I don't know how you did it—I personally checked my pack half a dozen times before launch—but this clearly has your slippery stench all over it.”

“Well, Grand Coulee Dam, Charlie! You're not seriously accusing me of being responsible for your own incompetence again? Really, Charlie, this is getting to be a very bad habit for you.”

Mr. Whipple glared from under his brow. “Satisfaction,” he grumbled.

“What was that, Charlie?”

“Satisfaction, sir!” Mr. Whipple repeated, his voice swelling to a snarl. “I demand satisfaction! You, Mr. Goldwin, have insulted my honor once too often, and thus—in accordance with our lawful rivalry contract—I hereby challenge thee to a duel!”

With that, Mr. Whipple tore the ceremonial victor's sash from his shoulder and threw it to the ground.

“Ah, Charlie,” Rex Goldwin cooed in a sly, mocking tone, “I thought you'd never ask.”

Reaching down and retrieving the strip of cloth, Rex promptly employed it in slapping Mr. Whipple across the face, then politely offered it back to him. “I believe you dropped this.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Whipple, regaining his composure as he accepted the sash. “I shall see you for Dueling Day on the final morning of competition.”

“Wouldn't miss it,” said Rex. “After murdering you in competition all week, I reckon it won't be much of a stretch to simply, ahem,
murder you
. I must say it'll break my heart to have to do away with such an old and dear friend—but then again, I'd hate to deny you your honor. And after all, it
was
your idea.”

“Please, Mr. Goldwin, I doubt this is the first time you've considered doing me in—or indeed the first time you've attempted to do so. And furthermore, I would not be so certain it will be you who does the murdering; I am no stranger to deadly contest, as you will soon discover.”

“Oooh,” Rex goaded with glee. “Charlie, please—I can't take it anymore! It'll be hard enough waiting till the end of the week as it is, without you teasing me like that! Please, no more!”

“Fair enough, Mr. Goldwin. I shall henceforth restrict my means of communication to the blade or the bullet.”

“Oh, do stop, Charlie!” Rex snickered. “It's just too much! Next you'll be threatening to bludgeon us to death with the Championship Cup! Still, I can hardly fault you for your wishful thinking. Surely you realize the nearest your family will ever get to the cup is admiring it in our trophy room—after your own untimely demise, of course. Ooh—I really cannot wait to get started! Tomorrow just can't come soon enough, can it?”

“Indeed it cannot, Mr. Goldwin.”

“Come along then, children. Let's leave Charlie here to enjoy the parade with his family. I'm afraid it will be his last.”

With that, Rex Goldwin turned his back and led his family through the crowd into the heart of the procession.