War of the World Records (6 page)

“Um—no?”

“Of course you didn't. You got to have a
normal
childhood.”

Arthur bristled at the accusation. “Look, you don't have to get personal. I was only asking a question.”

Ruby's fiery expression dimmed. “I know,” she sighed. “Sorry for getting worked up. It's just that . . . Arthur, have you ever felt like you were a stranger in your own family? Like maybe you were adopted or switched at birth or something?”

“Gee, I hope I wasn't. I mean, I don't
think
I was. They appear to be telling the truth when they recount the story of my recordless birth—they do seem to remember every detail. . . . But then again, I
am
awfully different—so I guess it's possible. But why should you think
you're
adopted? You're a world-record holder just like everyone else in your family.”

“I don't know. I guess I just feel out of place—like this can't be my
real
family . . . like I'm an impostor. And I guess sometimes I just
wish
I was adopted—that my real family was out there somewhere, and that someday they'd come and rescue me.”

“Why would you wish that?” Arthur puzzled. “I mean, if you actually did have an alternate family, they surely wouldn't hold half the world records your current family does. And then where would you be?”

“I don't know—truly and utterly content?”

“With no world records in your family? I doubt it.”

“Arthur, have you learned anything since I've met you?”

“What do you mean? I know being a record holder doesn't automatically make you a saint or something. But I just can't believe it's better
not
to have records than to have them.”

“Even if it means living a lie? Tell me, Arthur, how did you like dinner tonight? Satisfying, was it?”

Arthur swallowed. “Perhaps it wasn't the Most
Filling
Meal of All Time, but it was a satisfying world record nonetheless.” The thought of food sent up an audible growl from his belly.

“Hmm,” Ruby grunted. “You know what the Goldwins really had for dinner, just before your family arrived? Nutrient-rich, powdered protein shakes.”

“Wow,” said Arthur. “You've got your own shake machine? Your family's got
everything
, haven't they?”

Ruby let out an exasperated sigh. “Anyhow, I guess I just imagine my real family as being a bit more like me.” Ruby glanced down toward her dangling shoes. “You know—not so perfect.”

“You seem pretty perfect to me,” said Arthur. “I mean, you're a world-record holder . . . you live in the house of the future . . . you're a first-rate junior detective . . . oh, and your hair—it really is a pleasant shade. And have you ever noticed how perfectly it goes with your name? Your parents really outdid themselves coming up with that one.”

“Actually,” said Ruby, “they named me Rubilda.”

“Oh,” said Arthur. “Well, then you have the perfect
nick
name.”

Ruby sniffed and gave a subtle smile, then glanced again toward the ground.

After several seconds of silence, she picked up her book again and flipped it open.

“Can you even see the words?” Arthur asked. “It's completely dark out.”

“It isn't
completely
dark,” said Ruby. “One can hardly consider herself a serious reader until she's read by moonlight.”

“If you say so,” said Arthur.

“Back on the compound,” Ruby explained, “moonlight was usually the only light I had. Reading for pleasure was prohibited till we'd finished all the books on the Academy's required reading list. But who wants to slog through a tower of boring, tedious books when there are so many wonderful others out there? Sometimes, the only way to read what I wanted was to wait until everyone else had gone to sleep—and then sneak past the guards and security alarms out into the moonlight.”

“Isn't that a bit drastic?” said Arthur. “I mean, it's only
reading
.”

“
Only
reading?
Reading
was the one thing that kept me from completely losing my mind in that place. Books were all I had. In fact, they'd
still
be all I had, if it weren't for—well, if it weren't for certain recent events and certain people involved in those certain recent events.”

Arthur scrunched up his brow. “What events now? Which people?”

Ruby let out a frustrated sigh. “Never mind,” she said.

Convinced he had missed something, but not sure what, Arthur fiddled with a plastic twig for a few moments, then let out a sigh of his own. “All right, then. Well . . . let's go.”

“What do you mean, ‘let's go'?”

“Honestly,” replied Arthur, “are you even remotely familiar with the basic rules of hide-and-seek? After tagging someone on the hiding team, a member of the seeking team escorts the captured hider back to base.”

Ruby looked puzzled. “And why would you want to do that?”

“Because I've got to help my family stop yours from breaking the record for Longest Time to Remain Hidden in a Hide-and-Seek Match,” Arthur explained. “I know that sort of thing might not matter much to you, but it does to me. It's bad enough I've never broken a world record of my own . . .”

“Why is that so important to you, Arthur?” Ruby shot back. “World records aren't so great, you know.”

“That's easy for you to say; you've already broken one.”

Ruby sighed. “I wish I could give my record back.”

“You're not serious.”

“You'd wish the same thing if you'd broken the record I have.”

“But I don't know what record you've broken. Remember how you've never told me, no matter how many times I've asked?”

“Believe me,” said Ruby, shaking her head, “you don't want to know.”

“But I really do want to know,” insisted Arthur. “And to be honest, I think it's a bit weird you won't just tell me.”

“Rex and Rita would be seriously angry,” Ruby scowled. “God knows, I've already shamed them enough—just ask them.”

“I can't see how you could have shamed them so much, being a successful world-record breaker. And anyway, isn't it sort of your mission in life to make your parents angry?”

Ruby contemplated this a moment, then narrowed her eyes. “Do you promise not to tell another soul as long as you live?”

“I promise,” said Arthur.

“Do you swear to gouge out your eyes and swallow them whole if you ever do?”

“I swear.”

The truth was Arthur had often considered gouging out his eyes and swallowing them whole, as a last-ditch attempt at getting his name in the
Grazelby Guide
—but he didn't mention this to Ruby.

After an extended pause, Ruby drew a deep breath and looked Arthur straight in the eye. “Well . . .”

At that moment, there was a bloodcurdling scream.

In his sudden confusion, Arthur could not tell whether the scream had come from the girl in front of him or from some other source. When he heard the next scream a split second later, it was clear it had not been Ruby.

“What on earth was that?!” she cried.

Arthur's face was now pale and panic-stricken. “I think it's one of my sisters,” he spluttered. “She sounds close by—we've got to help her—come on!”

Arthur tore through synthetic leaves and branches as he scrambled down the tree. He dropped to the ground and dashed off toward the screams with Ruby trailing just behind him.

They burst through a wall of artificial bracken into a narrow clearing—and froze in their tracks.

Ten yards ahead, dangling by one arm from an elevated Sim-o-Tree branch, Arthur's little sister Abigail screamed in terror. While this in itself would have been distressing enough, it was the sight of what waited
beneath
his sister that turned Arthur's blood to ice.

Rearing up from the ground below her, its snapping jaws inches from Abigail's dangling feet, stood a gigantic bloodthirsty lizard, wearing a velvet smoking jacket and a monocle.

Midnight Snack

A
nyone who has
previously crossed paths with an uncaged Komodo dragon is a lucky individual indeed—either lucky to be alive or lucky to be done with the dreadful business of being eaten by a Komodo dragon.

According to Dr. Scarwood, Arthur's Wilderness Survival instructor, the Komodo dragon is the World's Largest Species of Lizard—as well as one of its most brutal killers. Blessed with uncommon intelligence, the Komodo dragon is content using its sophisticated brain to think up the most insidious methods of making meals of its neighbors—devising such dishes as defenseless deer, wide-eyed water buffalo, unsuspecting village child, and, of course, baby Komodo dragon.

Arthur had needed little convincing that such a crafty, cold-blooded creature should be avoided at all costs, and would have promptly run in the other direction—had the creature's menu that night not included his own sister.

“Help, Arthur!” Abigail screamed as her shoe slipped from her foot and fell through the air.

A split second later, the Komodo dragon caught it in its teeth, snapped its head back, and slung the shoe down its gullet, swallowing it whole in one revolting gulp.

Arthur and Ruby traded horrified glances, then grabbed whatever they could find to throw.

“Get out of here, you scaly sack of guts!” Ruby shouted as she released a stone into the air.

“Yeah,” cried Arthur, hurling a fallen Sim-o-tree branch. “Go back to your own time, you reject from the early Cenozoic era!”

Ruby shot him a quizzical look, then turned and landed a direct hit on the beast's shoulder. “Take that, you slimy son-of-a-skink!” she yelled.

Unfortunately, Komodo dragons are endowed with incredibly thick skin—both physiologically and emotionally—and are not easily wounded either by small stones or disparaging remarks. And so, despite the children's best efforts, the beast did not budge.

Abigail, on the other hand, began to budge in a most worrisome manner.

“Arthur!” she cried. “My hand is slipping!”

The Komodo dragon, sensing the girl's swelling panic, rose to its tippy-toes and strained its neck, so that its forked yellow tongue flicked the bottoms of Abigail's feet.

Arthur knew he only had a moment to intervene before his sister became lizard food. He had one stone left.

He drew back his arm and flung the stone with as much force as he could muster. An instant later, it smashed into the side of the creature's head.

The Komodo dragon fell to all fours with a wobble. Armor-plated skin or no, nobody likes to be smacked in the face.

“Nice shot, Arthur!” Ruby cheered. “That'll teach him!”

But her cheering did not last long.

As the lizard recovered from its momentary daze, it turned its head and promptly noticed two new tasty morsels— plumper, juicier, and altogether more accessible than the one in the tree.

“Um, Arthur,” said Ruby, “I don't like the way it's looking at us.”

The monster locked its eyes onto the two children now only four yards away and shifted its ten-foot frame to face them.

“Me neither,” Arthur agreed. He felt as though the hairs on the back of his neck were trying to make a break for it. They seemed to have the right idea.

Without warning, the lizard lurched forward.

“Run!” cried Arthur, scrambling over his heels in retreat.

The children darted in opposite directions, hoping to split the creature's attention, but the lizard quickly opted for the slightly larger slab of meat that was Arthur.

Arthur glanced backward and caught a glimpse of the beast charging after him with grotesque, ungainly strides.

“Arthur!” screamed Ruby.

“Go . . .” Arthur cried between panicked breaths, “help . . . Abigail!”

“I've got her,” Ruby shouted back. “You keep running, Arthur! Whatever you do, don't stop running!”

Now, as lizards go, Komodo dragons are exceptionally fast, with a top land speed of 12.4 miles per hour. Luckily for Arthur, the top land speed of a twelve-year-old boy running for his life from a hungry Komodo dragon is just about the same.

When Arthur realized he was maintaining a short but steady distance between the lizard's jaws and his own heels, he began to think he might be able to run the beast in circles just long enough for help to arrive. Sadly, his plans failed to consider the slender but rigid length of rubber root arching out of the ground just ahead of him.

The next moment, Arthur found himself sailing through the air. It was then the true terror struck him.

As Arthur landed face-first in the artificial underbrush, his skin prickled at the feeling of utter defenselessness. He seized the first object his fingers touched and flipped himself onto his back.

Luckily, he'd grabbed a sturdy, sizable Sim-o-Tree branch—because barely an instant after he'd shifted into position, the beast was upon him.

He braced the four-foot limb against his shoulder and thrust the opposite end into the rushing reptile's face, crumpling the creature to a halt at his feet.

Now angrier than ever, and seriously tired of being bashed in the face, the Komodo dragon bit off the end of the faux tree branch and began clawing its way forward.

“Ahh!” Arthur cried in terror.

The monocle over the beast's right eye was now cracked and crooked, its velvet jacket hanging in tatters—along with any semblance of sophistication the show lizard may once have possessed. As the creature chomped through the rubbery tree limb, thick strands of saliva dropped from its mouth and seeped into Arthur's clothes.

“Ughh!” Arthur cried in disgust.

He struggled to back away from the oncoming creature—but his feet lay trapped beneath its scaly underside. He thrashed at the lizard's snout with the ever-dwindling Sim-o-Tree branch, but hard as he tried, he could not stave off the terrible truth: this was not a battle he would win.

As hope drained from Arthur's heart, a faint tinkling sound began to swell in the back of his mind.

The monster wrenched the synthetic stick back and forth, straining to rid its prey of the meddlesome object once and for all.

Arthur clutched the branch for dear life as the tinkling sound grew louder. He wondered if, being so near to death, he might be hearing the chimes of heaven filtering through from the other side.

With one final tug, the Komodo dragon ripped the branch from Arthur's grasp and flung it into the trees.

A blast of putrid breath stung Arthur's nostrils, and he felt the monster's tongue flick against his cheek. The tinkling chimes of heaven rang out louder than ever.

It was then that Arthur noticed the giant dog leaping toward him through the Sim-o-Trees.

Like a hound out of Hades, the Whipples' Great Dane, Hamlet, bounded into the moonlight, dragging a jingling chain behind him—along with the uprooted stake to which it was attached.

“Sic him, boy!” shouted a voice to Arthur's rear.

It was Abigail. With Ruby rushing in alongside her, Arthur's sister cried again, “Sic him!”

There was a flurry of furious barking, followed by a brutal collision.

As Hamlet's jaws clamped down on the lizard's throat, the force of the attack flung the creature through the air and onto its back, freeing Arthur from the monster's clutches.

Arthur scrambled to his feet and ran to Ruby and his sister. There, the children watched powerlessly as the two titans of the animal kingdom battled for dominance, one determined to devour them—the other to defend them.

It was a terrible, savage sight. The monstrous lizard, unable to free its throat from Hamlet's grasp, thrashed and writhed, pulling the towering dog to the ground beside it. The Great Dane struggled to stand, but the lizard's constant flailing kept him from rising. Still, the dog held his grip.

“Get him, Hammie!” Abigail shouted through glistening tears. “Good boy, Hammie!”

As the beasts rolled across the fake forest floor, the dragon clamped its jaws onto Hamlet's front leg. The dog yelped but kept his hold and quickly resumed his snarling.

“Hammie!” cried Abigail. “Don't let him get you!”

Each creature clung to a mouthful of its opponent's flesh as reptile and mammal struggled to outlast the other's grip.

The battle raged on for several moments, and then, little by little, the flailing subsided. From where the children stood, it was impossible to tell which creature was weakening: the lizard, the dog—or both.

Abigail buried her face in Arthur's tattered shirt. “Oh, Arthur,” she wept, “he'll be okay, won't he? He's got to be okay!”

Arthur wrapped his arm around his sister, but said nothing.

The once thrashing creatures were all but still now, their savage sounds reduced to muffled gurgling. Arthur held his sister close and exchanged a woeful glance with Ruby.

Then the dog began to stir.

“Abigail, look!” Arthur cried.

As the girl turned her head to see, Hamlet drew his hind legs beneath his body and, with a quick twist of his mid-section, raised his hindquarters into the air. With far greater difficulty, the dog straightened his front legs and hoisted his neck off the ground. In his jaws, Hamlet still gripped the wrinkled throat of the Komodo dragon, its head now dangling to one side.

“Hammie!” cried Abigail.

The dog gave the lizard's neck a feeble yet triumphant shake, then tossed its lifeless body to the ground. With his tongue hanging happily from his mouth, Hamlet stepped over the carcass and limped toward his human companions.

As the dog drew near, Arthur sensed something amiss in his appearance. In the light of the moon, he could just make out a large dark patch of matted fur on the dog's chest and left front leg.

When he reached the children, Hamlet licked Abigail's face, then collapsed exhaustedly at her feet. As the dog lay panting proudly, the little girl knelt down beside him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her nose into his fur.

“Good boy, Hammie. Good boy,” she whispered.

“Thanks, boy,” said Arthur, scratching the dog between the ears. “If it weren't for you, I'd be lizard food.”

There was a rustling noise from the nearby Sim-o-Trees, accompanied by the bobbing beam of a flashlight. The next moment, Uncle Mervyn burst into the clearing.

“I heard screaming. . . .” he spluttered.

His flashlight beam quickly shifted from the children's filthy faces and torn clothes to the massive, twisted corpse of the Komodo dragon.

“Oh my!” he exclaimed, rushing toward them. “Children, are you all right?!”

“We're fine, Uncle Mervyn,” said Arthur. “Thanks to Hamlet.”

“And Arthur,” added Abigail. “The lizard would've grabbed me long before Hammie could get here, if it weren't for him . . . not to mention Ruby. She helped me out of the tree—and she's not even a member of my team.”

Ruby smiled bashfully.

“Well done, all of you,” said Uncle Mervyn. “Your parents will be horrified when they hear what's happened.”

Uncle Mervyn raised his megaphone to his mouth and depressed the button. “Game over!” he called, his voice echoing through the empty night air. He removed a pistol from his pocket and shot a burning red flare into the sky overhead. “I repeat—the game is over! There has been a serious incident! All competitors reconvene at once!”

Before he had even finished the announcement, Mr. and Mrs. Whipple and several of their children rushed into the clearing.

“What's happened?” inquired a distraught Mrs. Whipple.

“We heard screaming and barking from the other side of the estate,” her husband added. “We came as fast as we . . .”

Uncle Mervyn shined the flashlight on the monstrous heap of scales and teeth. Arthur's parents gasped.

“Abigail! Arthur!” cried Mrs. Whipple. “Are you—”

At that moment, Rex and Rita Goldwin rushed in with a group of their children. Each of their faces was smeared with camouflage paint, and leafy Sim-o-Tree branches had been fastened to their clothes, so that—though they were only standing a few yards away—Arthur could hardly see them.

“What's the meaning of this?” demanded Rex Goldwin, his voice devoid of its usual charm. “Here we are, well on our way toward the Longest Time to Remain Hidden in a Regulation Game of Hide-and-Seek, and your man calls the game! Someone better have been killed, or I'm reporting this to the Intercontinental Hide-and-Seek Commission!”

“Indeed,” said Malcolm Boyle, the Ardmore lawyer, as he stepped out from behind his client, “this is in clear violation of Section 83 of the IWRF Officiator's Manual.”

“Honestly,” Rita Goldwin added, “I don't know if I've ever heard of such—” Her face filled with horror as she noticed the body of her prized show lizard. “Ridgely!” she shrieked.

She tore the branches from her clothes and rushed to the lizard's side, cradling its drooping head in her arms. “What have you done to him?!” she howled.