War of the World Records (24 page)

Arthur peered up from the floorboards.

“Now,” said his father, “take my hand. The floor is no place for a Whipple. You should be standing. Your place is with us.”

Arthur wiped his brow and drew a deep breath, then reached his bloodied arm toward his father's hand.

Mr. Whipple clutched Arthur's forearm and hoisted him over the outer edge of the ring-shaped table. He helped him to his feet and clasped a hand on his shoulder.

“I know you were wishing for a slightly different outcome here today, Son—and I'm sure that stings a bit. There's no way around it, I'm afraid; we Whipples like to win. But know this: I could not be any prouder of you right now had you just broken every world record in the
Grazelby Guide
.”

Arthur looked into his father's face and knew it was true. “I—” he said. “I . . . Thanks, Dad.”

Mr. Whipple smiled and squeezed Arthur's shoulder, then glanced over his own.

At this, Arthur's mother rushed past her husband and embraced her son.

“Arthur—my darling boy,” she said, kissing his forehead. “How are your hands? Let's have a look at them. Oh, you poor dear! You must be in horrible pain.”

Arthur shook his head.

“What a brave boy you are,” his mother said, smiling. “Come on then—we'll get you fixed up good as new.”

She draped her arm around his shoulders and led him to the first aid station.

• • •

Arthur emerged from the booth with both hands band-aged to find his brothers and sisters gathered outside to meet him. They stood in a row, doing their best to ignore the continued celebrations of the Goldwin family directly behind them. Cordelia seemed to be having a particularly difficult time of it and would glance back in annoyance any time the Goldwins shrieked or hooted with even the slightest bit of overenthusiasm.

As Arthur walked down the line, his siblings patted his back and shook his hand and tousled his hair.

“Good try, Arthur,” said Beatrice.

“You were the best one out there by far,” said Simon. “You were just unlucky, that's all.”

“If you hadn't slipped,” said George, “Rupert wouldn't have stood a chance.”

But Arthur could not quite bring himself to make eye contact with any of them.

At the end of the line stood Ruby.

“Hi, Arthur,” she said.

“Hi,” he replied. Then the words began pouring out. “I wish you hadn't seen that. I—”

“You—were amazing,” she cut in. “I had no idea you could use knives like that. I mean, don't get me wrong, I believed in you and everything, but I guess I never expected you to be so, well—
good
.”

“Look,” Arthur sighed, “I appreciate what you're trying to do, but you don't have to try and make me feel better about it. I know how I must have looked.”

“What are you talking about?” snapped Ruby. “When have I ever tried to make you feel better about anything? I'm only saying it because I mean it. That was really impressive, Arthur. And in case you've forgotten, I am not someone typically impressed by world-record breaking. At all. But watching you today—it made me think I might actually be missing something.”

Arthur squinted. “You do realize I didn't win, right?”

“Ah, come on, Arthur—it was obvious that on any other day you would have destroyed them all. Today just wasn't your day. But the way you kept fighting, even when the stage was covered in your own blood—it was really, well . . . extraordinary.”

Arthur scrunched up his face. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Ruby said with a smile.

She took a step closer and leaned in toward Arthur.

At that moment, Rupert Goldwin appeared at Ruby's back—and promptly nudged her aside. “Good game, Whipple . . .” he said, offering his right hand to Arthur.

“Thanks, Rupert,” Arthur sighed, politely taking the boy's hand. “Good—”

“. . . Not quite good enough though, was it?” Rupert continued. “But don't beat yourself up about it; you were always going to lose against us—and you can hardly change fate, now can you?”

Ruby glared at her brother. “Do you take lessons in being despicable, Rupert—or does it just come naturally?”

“Ah, Ruby,” said Rupert, turning to face his sister. “Now you, on the other hand, had a chance to choose your fortune, didn't you, Sis? You must feel pretty silly now, having betrayed your own family only to end up picking the losing side. Not to worry, though; we might still be persuaded to take you back—if you ask
real
nice.”

“Don't hold your breath, Rupert—”

“Well, I do have the record for breath holding, so—”

“Yeah, I may have heard you mention it—about a thousand times. But still. Unless you've figured out how to hold your breath for, well,
ever
—I wouldn't try it. You'll never hear me asking to come back. You know, on second thought, maybe you
should
hold your breath. Just make sure you're chained up in a shark tank when you try it. Be a shame to let yourself go to waste when there are so many poor, starving sharks in this world. And then no one could ever say again that you've never done anything generous with your life.”

“Oh, Sis,” Rupert smirked. “I really will miss our little chats when you're gone—won't you?”

“I don't know how I'll get by.”

“Ah, well—c'est la vie,” said Rupert. “Now, try not to be too disappointed if the Whipples aren't completely keen to keep you around.” He shifted his gaze to Arthur. “They've already got
one
loser in the family, you know.”

With that, Cordelia—who'd been standing just within earshot—lunged past Ruby and caught Rupert across the nose with her knuckles.

“Shut your mouth, Goldwin scum!” she cried and promptly tackled the boy to the floor. “Nobody talks that way about my brother but me!”

As she proceeded to pummel Rupert about the chest and face, the members of both families flocked to the commotion and began grappling against one another.

“Come on, losers!” shouted Roland Goldwin. “Back for another beating already?”

“
I'll
show you a beating!” Henry roared.

“Get her off me!” cried Rupert.

The incident surely would have escalated to an all-out brawl, had Mr. Whipple not swooped in the next moment and pulled his daughter off the battered boy beneath her.

“Enough!” he shouted.

The families stopped their scuffling.

“This is not how we concede a competition!”

Mr. Whipple stepped back a few feet and lowered the struggling girl to the ground. “Cordelia—stay back.”

“But—”

“Back.”

Mr. Whipple gave his daughter a firm look, then turned and approached Rex Goldwin. “My apologies, Mr. Goldwin. I'm afraid Cordelia tends to be a bit excitable.”

“Excitable?” scoffed Rex. “I thought I was going to have to fetch the fire hose.”

“Yes, well I'd hate for you to think of us as unsportsmanlike after all we've been through. So please, hear me out. Though I must say I utterly and completely despise your methods, winning the World Record World Championships is a remarkable accomplishment—by any means. It's not easy for me to say this, but . . .” Mr. Whipple extended his right hand. “. . . congratulations, Rex.”

Rex tilted his head in pleasant surprise. “Well now,” he smiled, “that's more like it, Charlie. There's no need for hostility. Honestly, I don't see any reason we shouldn't all be the best of friends—now that our contract's been fulfilled and this whole rivalry nonsense is behind us.”

“Neither do I,” said Mr. Whipple. “Well, unless of course, you count the time you tried to crush all our party guests—or the time you had our chef sent to prison—or the time you maimed our dog—or the time you kidnapped our son and held him in your dungeon—or, come to think of it,
any
of the numerous times you tried to murder us in cold blood. Apart from these minor examples, though, I can't see a reason in the world we shouldn't be friendly.”

“Goodness, Charlie—it almost sounds like you blame
me
for all that.”

“I'm afraid I do, Mr. Goldwin. And I'm afraid we'll still be contacting the authorities just as soon as tonight's festivities have ended. It may be difficult to catch you in the act as we had hoped, now that your plan to have your two sons murder us has been precluded by your win here, but we will not stop until we've proved you guilty of the crimes you've tried to pin on our poor chef Sammy. You may have got away with the cup, but you won't get away with your criminal deeds as well. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Charlie,” said Rex, feigning a concerned sigh. “I just can't see why you'd want to pursue such a pointless course of action. If there was any foul play, I've already told you: it was the twins' doing. You'll never pin anything on me.”

“It won't stop me trying.”

“Fair enough. It's your own time you'll be wasting. Thanks to our little rivalry contract, you're now barred from competing against us in any event we choose to enter for the next two years—and believe me: we'll choose to enter a lot of them. All the extra time you've got will have to be spent scraping up other events to take part in, if you hope to even come close to your current rate of record breaking. Meanwhile, we'll only get better and better. And pretty soon, you'll have no chance at beating us in anything.”

“There are more important things than beating your family, Mr. Goldwin,” said Arthur's father. “But yes,” he added with a sigh, “you must be very proud of getting me to sign that contract now. It was my own pride, of course, that drove me to make such a foolish agreement. And for that, I must apologize to my family. I've made things unduly difficult for them, I'm afraid.” He turned to his wife and gave a sad smile, but she returned it with a twinkling nod of forgiveness. He looked around him to find similar expressions on the faces of Arthur and the rest of the Whipple children. Arthur's father turned back to Rex with a gleam in his eye. “Still, I wouldn't count us out just yet. We've overcome bigger obstacles—many of them this very day, in fact. But for now, we'd best be off. Enjoy the awards ceremony, Mr. Goldwin.”

“You too, Charlie,” grinned Rex. “I hope your evening isn't marred too terribly, knowing the cup will be going home with somebody else this year—and likely every other year as well.”

“Your concern is much appreciated, Mr. Goldwin. Good evening, all of you. Competing with you these past months has been . . . eye-opening—to say the least.”

And with that, Mr. Whipple turned and led his family out of the arena as the fireworks continued above them.

• • •

“Must we really go to the awards ceremony, Dad?” Cordelia pleaded as she trudged through the courtyard. “I don't think I can stomach seeing the Goldwins for one more minute today—much less seeing them presented with the Championship Cup.”

“Cordelia,” scolded her mother, “where have you learned such dreadful sportsmanship? It's bad enough you've already assaulted one of the Goldwins—though I'm sure he more than deserved it—but now to suggest we skip the awards altogether simply because we haven't won the top prize? Honestly, I know it's new to us, this losing business, and bound to cause some discomfort, but I wonder sometimes if so much winning has actually done us a fair bit of harm.”

Cordelia sighed and hung her head, and the Whipples resumed their march across the courtyard. They had not gone far when Arthur stopped them again.

“I don't mean to be contradictory,” said Arthur, “but I have to say I'd rather not go either. I know it's unsportsman-like—but I just feel so awful about losing the cup for all of you. You've all been really great, not calling me names or disowning me or anything—but I still can't help feeling I've let you all down. I don't think I'll be able to sit through the ceremony without being physically ill.”

“Ah—don't feel bad, Arthur,” replied Cordelia. “Look on the bright side. Now that the Goldwins have won, at least we don't have to worry about being blown up by those lunatic twins of theirs. And besides—it's not your fault we didn't win. We all lost events this week—a whole lot more of them than you did.”

“Yeah, Arthur,” Simon agreed. “You had all the pressure on your shoulders only because we failed to win so many of our own events.”

“And you were really incredible out there,” added Henry. “You lost in far better style than any of us managed to do this week. I mean, all that blood sloshing about the stage—that looked completely fantastic! You really made us proud today, Brother.”

“Absolutely,” said Cordelia. “You were great, Arthur. It's not the losing I mind so much—I mean, I do, I really do, it's killing me inside—but I'll get over it. The truly agonizing part, though . . . is losing to
them
.”

“Yeah,” the other children sighed.

“All right,” snapped Mr. Whipple. “That's enough self-pity for one evening. We're all going to the awards ceremony tonight, and we're all going to enjoy ourselves. First: because we are not a family of unsporting milksops—and second: because we've earned it. Regardless of the final outcome, we've all made some incredible accomplishments this week. We were cursed with opponents who regularly resorted to sabotage and violence—and yet, we very nearly beat them, without ever sinking to their level. And when we were forced to choose between winning the cup or rescuing our family, we made the right choice. And for that, I am exceedingly proud. Indeed, I am prouder of
nearly
winning this cup than I am of all the cups we've ever actually won. Because it was
this
cup that made our family whole for the first time.”