The Fantastic Family Whipple (36 page)

Arthur had never considered such a prospect, but it suddenly sounded to him like the Most Exhilarating Thing in the World. He nodded excitedly.

“Very good,” his father smiled. “I’ll let you light the match…. Now—I’d best go congratulate Sammy before they escort him off again. Hope he’ll let me make up for not believing in him by paying his bail. Wish me luck. Oh, and Arthur—”

“Yes?”

“Excellent work, Son.”

“Thanks, Father,” the boy replied, then watched as the man turned and strode off toward the family chef.

When Arthur thought back to the terror he had felt at the Undertakers’ Graveyard just a few days earlier, or his embarrassment at the GGDG, or his guilt at Sammy’s arrest, it was hard to believe those events had ever managed to lead him
here
. Yes, there was more work to be done—but he had set out to have an innocent man released from jail, and he had succeeded.

Arthur stood about telling stories to his eager siblings of his encounters with Stuart and Brian, co-presidents of the
GGDG, and his clash with the dwarven thugs they had sent to silence Mr. Lowe in the Undertakers’ Graveyard.

He looked up to see his father shaking hands with an undeniably grateful-looking Sammy the Spatula, then watched as a pair of court officials came to escort the chef out.

Just before Sammy left the courtroom, however, the chef turned and looked straight at Arthur. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but tears promptly filled his eyes. Wiping them away with his shoulder, Sammy smiled and gave an amiable wink, then turned away again and exited the room.

And suddenly, all of Arthur’s recent troubles no longer seemed to him like troubles at all.

T
hrough a porthole
on the Whipple family frigate, Arthur watched the last sliver of sun disappear over the shimmering horizon—and breathed a sigh of content.

At the sound of a nearby door opening, he turned to see Sammy the Spatula emerge from the galley and into the large, dark-wooded cabin where the boy stood with his father, Mr. Mahankali, and seven-eighths of the octuplets. (Franklin, being the nautical expert of the family, was occupied above deck, manning the ship’s helm. Having recently turned five, he was thrilled to be finally allowed to navigate all by himself.)

“Sammy!” cried Mr. Whipple from his position at the bar to Arthur’s right. “You’ve been a free man all of eight hours and I believe you’ve spent seven of those in the kitchen! Come out here and enjoy yourself, man!” And with that, he
popped the cork from a large bottle of champagne.

“Sorry ’bout that, guv,” Sammy smiled. “The thought of cooking for you lot again were the only fing stopped me going barmy in that place. And, well—it’s the only way I know how to say fank you for what you and Arfur done for me.” He turned to face the boy. “That’s right, lad. A decade’s worth of cooking your favorites won’t ’ardly begin to repay such kindness and courage—but it’ll not stop me trying.”

Arthur blushed. “Ah, come on, Sammy,” he said. “It’s just good to see you back in your chef’s clothes and, you know, out of that
other
uniform.”

“Quite right,” agreed Mr. Whipple, holding up the champagne bottle. “Can I pour you a glass, old boy? World’s Bubbliest, this.”

“No fanks, guv,” Sammy smiled. “After what happened the last time I had a drink, I fink I’ll be sticking wiv milk for a while now.”

“Glad to hear it,” Arthur’s father smiled back. “In that case, I believe we have a fine vintage for you. Mahankali?”

The Panther-Man—who had now shed all his bandages except the sling that held his right arm—promptly retrieved a bottle of milk from behind the bar and measured it into a martini glass. With a warm smile, he handed the glass to the chef.

“Here you are, Mr. Sammy. I have extracted it this very morning from the World’s Creamiest Cow.”

Upon receiving the glass, Sammy clutched Mr. Mahankali’s good hand and looked him in the eye. “Cheers, mate,” he said. “I can’t tell
you how glad I am to see you out of that ’ospital bed. Gave me quite a scare there, you did…”

“I am so very glad to see you as well, my friend,” said the Panther-Man. “The animals have missed your exquisite cooking. I have not known what to tell them.”

“Tell ’em I missed them too,” said the chef. “They’re a fousand times more pleasant to be ’round than the animals I ’ad to live wiv this past month.”

Sammy smiled and took a long drink of milk, then gave a satisfied
ahhh
and turned to Mr. Whipple. “Good to be back, guv,” he grinned.

The octuplets, who had just finished setting the thirty-foot dining table at the center of the cabin, scurried over to their newly freed chef and tugged playfully at his apron.

“So, tell us Sammy,” said George with deep interest, “what was it like on
the inside
?”

“Did you have to shiv anybody?” asked Charlotte.

“No shivving, fank goodness,” Sammy chuckled. “Though I did ’ave to hit a bloke wiv a soup ladle once.”

“Oooh,” the octuplets murmured in awe.

Just then, the ornately carved main doors opened, and in stepped Arthur’s mother and older siblings—followed by the entire Goldwin family.

Arthur’s father gave a heavy sigh—and promptly downed his drink.

“And this,” explained Mrs. Whipple, “is where we shall be dining this evening: the Sea-Level Ballroom, converted some years ago from the ship’s original gun decks.”

“Good to know we’re on a pleasure cruiser and not a warship,” smirked Rex Goldwin. “Left our muskets and cutlasses back at the house, I’m afraid.”

Arthur’s eye immediately went to the rear of the group, where, trailing behind the others with her nose planted in an old, cloth-bound book, strode Ruby. Though he had been trying to get the girl’s attention ever since she and her family had boarded the boat a half hour earlier, his efforts thus far had proved bafflingly unsuccessful.

“Ah—and here he is,” declared Mrs. Whipple as the group approached the bar, “our man of the moment: Sammy the Spatula Smith! Sammy, meet the Goldwins.”

Rex stepped forward and took the chef’s hand. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Sammy,” he beamed. “Congratulations on your recent unfettering. So glad you could be here tonight—instead of
elsewhere
.”

Sammy nodded enthusiastically. “So am I, Mr. Goldwin—so am I. Pleasure.”

“Yes,” added Arthur’s mother, “and not only is Sammy our guest of honor this evening, but—at his own insistence—he’ll also be our chef for tonight’s feast. Again, Mr. and Mrs. Goldwin, thank you for allowing us to combine these two gatherings into one. With Sammy being discharged this morning, we wanted to be sure to give him an unforgettable release party, but then, we’d already asked your family to dinner tonight. Seemed the perfect time to take the family frigate out for a cruise. I do hope you don’t mind.”

“Please, Lizzie,” cried Rita Goldwin, “don’t say another
word about it! What an honor it is to be included in such a personal and momentous occasion. How truly gracious of you and your husband!”

“Really, Mrs. Goldwin,” said Arthur’s father, his buoyant demeanor having flattened considerably since the Goldwins’ entrance, “all credit
must
go to my wife.”

Mrs. Whipple gave a subtle elbow to her husband’s ribs.

“But of course,” he added, forcing a smile, “we are all pleased to welcome you aboard the
Current Champion
.”

“Ah,” said Rex, “now there’s a name for a ship, eh Charlie? I only hope you aren’t forced to change it on our account—given our performance this past weekend at the Unsafe Sports Showdown. Everyone knows what bad luck it is to rechristen a boat.”

Mr. Whipple’s smile faded. “Your concern is most appreciated, Mr. Goldwin. I assure you, we shall do all we can to avoid such a blunder….”

“Yes, well,” his wife said with a nervous chuckle, “I know I could do with a bit of dancing. What do you say, dear—shall we reconvene on the lower deck?”

Not waiting for a reply, Arthur’s mother ushered the party to the railing at the front edge of the ballroom. There, a flight of stairs descended through an unenclosed atrium onto an expansive mirrored floor. When she flipped a switch at the top of the staircase, however, the mirrored floor suddenly became transparent as rows of lights beneath the ship lit up the sea below.

Shimmering schools of fish darted past lumbering sea
turtles and slowly drifting seahorses, against a backdrop of plump corals and purple anemones.

Arthur glanced at Ruby, and found her mouth hanging open at the sight. The instant she noticed his gaze, however, the girl clamped her jaw shut and snapped her eyes back to her book, leaving the boy more baffled than ever. Though it seemed he had been right to question her commitment to the investigation, he couldn’t help but be a bit taken aback by her sudden iciness toward him.

“And here we have the Glimmer Gallery,” Mrs. Whipple declared, “our newest addition to the
Current Champion
—whose crystal keel effectively makes her the Largest Glass-Bottom Vessel on the Sea. And makes a rather fine dance floor as well.”

“Ooh,” Rex said, dazzled. “Most impressive. Seems this old wooden dinosaur just might be worth keeping around after all, eh Charlie?”

Before Mr. Whipple could respond, his wife hastily interjected. “Very well then. Let’s get these festivities properly under way, shall we?”

As Cordelia played the pipe organ built into the ship’s wall, Henry and Simon challenged Rosalind and Roxy Goldwin to a flamenco dance duel, while their families swayed and twirled about them. Arthur, joining in the festivities with an improvised Irish step dance at the corner of the floor, peered through the dancers to the opposite corner, where Ruby
stood alone, still reading her book. Strangely, the more he watched his brothers twirl her sisters across the dance floor, the more he felt compelled to go approach Ruby herself.

And so, when he had worked up the necessary nerve, he strode around the floor’s perimeter to where the girl stood, and promptly addressed her.

“Oh—hi, Ruby,” he said over the music as nonchalantly as possible. “Funny, I don’t think we’ve said two words to each other tonight. And, well, after the talk we had the last time—you know, after the GGDG incident—I sort of figured—”

Ruby looked up from her book. “I suppose you’ve come to ask me to dance then,” she said curtly. “Typical.”

Arthur frowned in confusion. “Oh, no,” he said, “I thought we could talk detective work—you know, about the case. Perfect time with everybody else out dancing, don’t you think? Not much of a dancer myself—I mean, I once attempted the Longest Continuous Box Step, but I ended up breaking my ankle a couple of hours in. Haven’t really tried it since.”

“Oh,” said the girl, her face falling slightly. “Well go ahead then. What did you want to tell me?”

“Oh, right,” said Arthur. “Okay. So, um—I don’t know if you’ve heard—but, well, I sort of made the break in the case that got Sammy out of jail. I mean, he’s only out on bail, so he’ll still have to stand trial—and, of course, we still haven’t managed to capture the real dwarf and giant—but, you know, some people think it’s a pretty big deal, actually.”

“I see,” said Ruby. “So I guess we’re working alone now then, are we?”

“What?” said Arthur, scrunching his brow. “No—”

“Funny, I’d have thought
partners
would include each other in missions utterly vital to the case they’re working on.”

“No. That’s not what I was…. It was the witness—Mr. Lowe—he told me to come alone. I didn’t think I ought to argue with him—I mean, he was pretty clear on the matter.”

Ruby closed her eyes halfway and shook her head. “They always tell you to come alone, Arthur—but no good detective ever actually
does
it. I mean, what if it had been an ambush? He could have been waiting there to tie you up and lower you into a vat of boiling acid or something, and nobody would have been there to rescue you—or at least to identify your remains.”

“A pair of hammer-wielding dwarf-thugs did try to beat the living daylights out of me,” Arthur admitted.

“My point exactly,” said Ruby. “Wait,” she added, “Mr. Lowe, or the ‘dwarf and giant’ dwarf?”