War of the World Records (12 page)

“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 the 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.

The room in which they now found themselves was crammed from floor to ceiling on every side with all manner of ledgers, binders, and books. The children promptly located Wall C, then started at opposite ends and began working their way inward.

After twenty minutes of searching and nearly falling from the ladder twice, Arthur managed at long last to locate the current volume of
Detailed Dimensions of the Human Body
.

“Got it!” he yelled, pulling the book from its shelf and scrambling down the ladder.

“Phew. I thought I was going to die of dust inhalation,” Ruby coughed. “Let's have a look.”

The two met at the center of the wall, where Arthur dropped the heavy tome on a nearby reading table. “If Overkill and Undercut are indeed the Tallest and Shortest Humans Alive,” he announced, “their names will be listed in these pages.”

Arthur shared a hopeful look with his partner, then opened the book. The crisp leather binding creaked as he flipped through to the index. “Let's see here . . . ‘head' . . . ‘heart' . . . ‘heel' . . . ‘height. Pages 631-694.'” He thumbed to the first page of the Height section. At the end of a lengthy introduction, the children read the last words on the page:
The current record holder for World's Tallest Human is . . .

Arthur flipped excitedly to the next page.

There, printed in small type at the center of an otherwise blank space, was the single word
CONFIDENTIAL
.

“What?!” Arthur cried in shock.

“Go to the next page,” urged Ruby.

Arthur quickly complied, but this only revealed a multipage profile on the previous record holder, Longwe Dounga.

“What about the World's Shortest?” Ruby suggested.

Arthur flipped through the entries for the past ten holders of the World's Tallest record, but when he arrived at the World's Shortest section, the children's eyes were met by the same ominous inscription:
CONFIDENTIAL
.

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “I don't understand.”

“How can they not be listed?” asked Ruby.

Just then, a hunchbacked man pushed a cartful of books into the room and set about reshelving them.

Without a word to each other, the children scooped up the hefty volume from the table and strode purposefully across the room.

“Pardon us, sir,” Arthur inquired as they approached the archivist. “We've found something, um, strange.”

“Have you now?” snapped the pallid-featured man. “Well, I'm afraid I don't have time to help you with your little research project here. There are serious scholars and record holders who require my assistance.”

The children looked at each other in shock.

“That's strange,” retorted Ruby. “You don't look like you're assisting scholars and record holders; you look like you're shelving books.”

“Yes, well I have to keep myself available for any important people who might turn up, now don't I?”

“Well then,” said Ruby, “you'll be happy to hear one of them has just turned up. Do you really not know who it is you're talking to? My friend here just so happens to be an esteemed member of the Whipple family—as in, the Whipple family who holds more records in your precious archives than any other family in the world.”

“Really?” said the archivist. While his tone was still skeptical, a hint of uncertainty had crept into his voice. “Well, what's his name then?”

“Arthur, sir,” the boy answered feebly.

“Never heard of you.”

“Well, of course you haven't,” said Ruby. “He's up-and-coming.”

“Hmm. What is he, some distant cousin?”

“Distant cousin,” scoffed the girl. “He's only the son of Charles Whipple himself.”

“Charles Whipple?” the archivist exclaimed. “Charles Whipple is your father?”

“Yes, sir.”

A panicked expression fell across the man's face. “Oh, I am so sorry. I didn't realize. . . . You
will
forgive me, won't you?”

Ruby gave Arthur an urging look.

“Well,” said Arthur, “I might just be able to look past it—if you were to help us with our research.”

“Anything, anything,” spluttered the man. “What have you got there?”

“We were looking for the World's Tallest and Shortest Humans,” Arthur explained as he offered him the book, “but all we could find is a pair of blank pages like this one.”

Straightening his spectacles, the archivist flipped between the page in question and the one before it. “Ah, yes,” he declared. “It seems you have discovered a sealed record.”

Arthur scrunched his brow. “What exactly does that mean—‘sealed'?”

“It means that the holder of this record has asked to keep his or her identity private. The name will still be listed in the alphabetical catalog of record holders, but this record—and any others the holder has had sealed—will likewise be denoted by the word
confidential
in his or her personal listing.”

Ruby seemed especially intrigued by this. “Do you mean to say that people are allowed to opt out of the record books?”

“In order to ensure a complete inventory of world records,” explained the archivist, “the IWRF is compelled to offer anonymity to those who request it. Otherwise, certain records would never be reported at all, rendering the creation of an authoritative catalog quite impossible.”

“But sir,” Arthur countered, with a pointed look to his partner, “why would anyone ever want to keep their records private?”

“While some wish to avoid the public scrutiny and media attention that world-record breaking affords, others wish to conceal certain unsavory pursuits in which they might have participated. Still, you'd be surprised how many criminals waive their right to confidentiality—and end up being caught solely through their world record documentation. Not the brightest bunch, I'm afraid; most of them are just too competitive to keep their achievements to themselves. The police would probably still be trying to charge Freddie ‘False Face' Ferguson if he hadn't publicized his record for Highest Number of Unique Masks Worn by a Single Bank Robber.”

“If only we were so lucky,” Ruby grumbled.

Before the archivist could ask what she meant by this, Arthur interjected, “So sealed records are relatively rare then?”

“Very rare,” the man confirmed, “probably one in a thousand. . . . Of course, with such an astronomical number of archived records in general, this isn't actually that small a number.”

“And there's no way to find out the identities of these record holders?”

“I'm afraid the only people with access to sealed record information are the Senior World Record Archivists—and they may only use it for the purpose of authenticating new records. The law prohibits them from releasing any such data to the public.”

“Well,” declared Ruby, “I think that officially makes this a dead end. Thanks for your time, sir.”

“Oh, of course. Anything for a member of the Whipple family. Are you certain there is nothing else I can assist you with?”

Arthur sighed. “That's it, unfortunately.”

The man inhaled through his teeth. “I don't suppose you could still mention it to your father that Terence Slumpshaw, Associate Archives Assistant, did his very best to help you?”

“Of course, Mr. Slumpshaw,” Arthur assured him.

The archivist's fingers wriggled with excitement. “Oh, fantastic! Mother will never believe me when I tell her my name has been uttered in the Whipple household! What a day!”

Arthur, unsure how to respond to this, simply said, “Thanks again for your help,” then turned with Ruby and headed toward the door.