War of the World Records (3 page)

Arthur felt his pulse quicken slightly as he strained to see any trace of the creatures that reportedly ate dogs for dinner. He ventured a small step closer and—
whoosh!
—a scaly, sharp-toothed snout lunged at him from out of the shadows.

Arthur lurched back in terror and stumbled to the ground. He braced himself for the inevitable mauling—but just before the creature's needle-filled mouth could reach him, it jerked to a halt with a loud
clink
. The Goldwins promptly burst into laughter.

It was then that Arthur noticed the tautly pulled chain at the back of the creature's neck, keeping it from crossing the threshold.

“Now, now, Ransley,” Rita Goldwin chuckled as she addressed the lizard, “it seems some of our guests are a little on the jittery side. Remember what I've told you about first impressions.”

The lizard stared blankly forward, as if it didn't actually understand English. Rita Goldwin didn't seem to notice.

“Being the Fastest Lizard on Earth,” she explained to her bewildered guests, “Ransley is our little greeter—aren't you, Ransley? Yes you are!” She bent down and pinched the lizard's cheeks—or whatever it is that lizards have on the sides of their faces—and gave them an affectionate jiggle.

Arthur then noticed another detail about the scaly-skinned creature: it was wearing a satin waistcoat. And a bow tie.

Rupert Goldwin, the black-haired boy who had alerted Smudge and the Execution Squad to Sammy's escape aboard the
Current Champion
, offered his hand to Arthur and pulled him to his feet. “Dry your eyes, Arthur,” he said with a chuckle as Arthur dusted himself off. “Black spiny-tailed iguanas are almost exclusively plant-eaters, as everybody knows—so unless you've got a head of cabbage in your back pocket, you're completely safe from this one. Can't say the same for all of them, though.”

“No you can't, Son,” his father agreed. “Let's meet them, shall we?”

Rex turned to flip a switch on the side of the house, and a lurid neon sign fizzled into view over the front door. Beneath the image of a blinking blue martini glass tilting to the lips of a smiling lizard face, the words
LIZARD
LOUNG
E
buzzed in glowing green letters.

“Welcome,” said Rex, gesturing to the miniaturized doorway, “to the Lizard Lounge.”

Mr. Whipple cleared his throat. “Um, yes. Thank you, Mr. Goldwin. But well, is it really necessary to show us the inside? A bit small for all of us, isn't it?”

Arthur noticed his father's face was slightly flushed.

“Not at all, Charlie,” Rex said with a grin. “There's plenty of room. Unless, of course, you've got a fear of our four-legged friends here . . .”

“No, it's not that,” said Mr. Whipple. “It's. . . . Never mind, Mr. Goldwin. After you.”

Rex shrugged and ducked through the short, narrow door. Mr. Whipple drew a deep breath, then ducked in after him, the rest of the group following just behind. Once inside, Rex flipped a second light switch, treating Arthur and his family to another remarkable sight. Just like the outside of the Lizard Lounge, its interior was a small-scale caricature of the Goldwins' main house, with ultra-modern furniture and decor—but with one major difference: all of its inhabitants were lizards. The room in which the party now stood was divided by clear plexiglass walls into separate enclosed units, each containing a different lizard species, all of which were dressed in assorted party attire.

Arthur marveled at the wide array of classy-looking creatures. Reclining on a chaise longue behind the plexiglass wall to his left lay a massive monitor lizard wearing a red cocktail dress. Overhead, gliding from wall to wall above a plexiglass ceiling were hundreds of small, winged lizards, each wearing a tiny silk scarf. A nearby wall plate read:
Draco dussumieri
(
SOUTHERN FLYING
LIZARD
),
FASTEST
GLID
ING
LIZARD
ON
EARTH
.

There was also a Mexican beaded lizard in a mariachi jacket, a chameleon in a feather boa, and in the largest chamber, an enormous Komodo dragon in a burgundy velvet smoking jacket with a gold-rimmed monocle strapped over its right eye.

“So, what do you think?” beamed Rita Goldwin.

“I must admit, Mrs. Goldwin,” said Arthur's mother, “I don't know if I've ever seen so many record-breaking lizards in one place . . . certainly not all in costume.”

“Oh, but these aren't just
any
record-breaking lizards,” Rita insisted. “They're
show
lizards. Each of them has taken top honors at the world's most prestigious lizard shows: Craggs, Westmonster, Terrarium International—we've won them all.”

“Impressive,” Mrs. Whipple said politely, “isn't it, Charles?”

Mr. Whipple gave a start and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Hmm? Oh—yes, of course, dear. But shouldn't we be—”

“May I pet them, Mrs. Goldwin?” Abigail interrupted, her little hands and face plastered against the clear partition that held the Komodo dragon.

“Why, of course, dear!” Rita replied, before Arthur's father could object. She turned and slid open a door behind her to reveal a rack of strange-looking garments. “Just put on one of our patent-pending Saurian Suits and you can move freely from room to room.”

When Abigail had put on the tough, padded suit over her clothes and placed the steel-visored helmet on her head, she looked like a cross between a deep-sea diver and a knight in armor.

“You're all set!” said Rita. “Now, even with the suit on, you might want to steer clear of Ramón, our Mexican beaded lizard. He's been a bit cranky lately and we're all out of anti-venom—and he just happens to be the Most Venomous Lizard on Earth. Oh, and do mind the Komodo dragon; Ridgely's weekly feeding isn't until tomorrow and he's chewed through another one of his muzzles, so you might not want to get too close to his mouth. . . . But other than that—enjoy!”

Arthur watched nervously as Abigail stepped through the sliding door that led to the first compartment. He had yet to be convinced his first reaction to the Lizard Lounge had not been the appropriate one. Despite their darling outfits—or perhaps because of them—the building's inhabitants still made him exceedingly uneasy. As his sister frolicked from one chamber to another, Arthur couldn't shake the fear that the next lizard would be the one to attack.

He looked over to his father and found him breathing heavily and wiping the back of his neck in between frequent glances to the floor and ceiling. It seemed he was nervous about the lizards too.

Meanwhile, Rita Goldwin continued to enlighten her guests about the fascinating world of show lizards. “. . . Which is why the current judging system in the Jaws and Claws category needs a serious overhaul,” she concluded, pausing for the first time in several minutes.

Arthur's father clapped his hands together. “Well then,” he blurted in a breathy voice. “This has all been very informative, Mr. and Mrs. Goldwin, but I'm sure we could all use some fresh air now.” He mopped his brow again, then cupped his hands to his mouth and called out toward the Komodo dragon enclosure, “Abigail—time to go!”

Rex turned to him with a sly smile. “A bit cramped for you in here is it, Charlie? I see some things never change. . . .”

Mr. Whipple's face froze.

“I must say,” Rex continued, “it's refreshing for us mere mortals to see that even an icon like the great Charles Whipple has
some
sort of weakness—though I'd hardly call it that. No—I'd say you're just more sensitive to your surroundings than most men, wouldn't you, Charlie?”

Arthur's father looked as if he might collapse or explode—or both—at any moment. But before Mr. Whipple could do either of these things, Rex simply said, “Very well. We've seen enough of the Lizard Lounge, haven't we? I'm sure Rita could go on forever about her precious pets, but we've still got one more stop on the tour before dinner. So let's get back to the house, shall we?”

Mr. Whipple exhaled. Abigail exited the inner chambers and grudgingly removed her Saurian Suit, and soon the party had made its way back out into the night air. Mr. Whipple's color and demeanor returned to normal.

As the Lizard Lounge faded from view, Arthur was finally able to relax. He'd convinced himself a house full of lethal lizards could lead to nothing but calamity, and he was glad to have been mistaken.

• • •

“And here we have the crown jewel of our humble home,” Rex announced as he ushered the group through a vault-like door. “The Goldwin family trophy room!”

Arthur and his family were met by a spectacular sight. Golden cups and statuettes spun on motorized pedestals, shimmering under the chamber's accented lighting. Plexiglass display cases housed hundreds of record-breaking artifacts and vast collections, while video screens looped footage of the Goldwins' record-setting endeavors.

As much as Arthur hated to admit it, the Whipple family's trophy room looked almost ancient in comparison.

“Please, feel free to browse,” Rex grinned as he joined his guests. “But be warned: all the cases are thoroughly theft-proof, so don't get any ideas!”

The party dispersed throughout the room, and Arthur marveled at the Goldwins' unique array of awards. In a display case entitled “The Perfect Teeth of the Goldwin Men,” six sets of chomping dentures, cast from the mouths of Rowan, Radley, Randolf, Rodney, Rupert, Roland, and Rex clacked in time to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” The adjacent exhibit, entitled “The Goldwins: More International Beauty Pageant Wins than Any Other Family,” displayed spinning beauty queen crowns from each of the Goldwin women—with the exception of Ruby.

“Very proud of all our ladies,” said Rex Goldwin, stepping up alongside Arthur. “Though I'm afraid Ruby's record breaking history is rather limited. With so many children, of course, one of them is bound to fall through the cracks. But one out of twelve ain't bad, eh?”

Arthur chuckled uneasily and stepped away from the host. He glanced behind him to the doorway, where Ruby stood brooding against the wall. The instant their eyes met, Ruby's darted away, finding a nearby section of floor to rest on.

Arthur couldn't help but be reminded of a certain unanswered question—and recognized a rare opportunity to solve it. If he ever hoped to uncover the mysterious world record Ruby had claimed to hold at their first meeting, surely this was the place to look.

He turned with new purpose to the next display. There, a battered pair of boxing gloves dangled over a photo of Roland Goldwin with his fist in the face of some poor, unrecognizable boy. The accompanying plaque read:
MOST
PUNCHES
LANDED
IN
A
SI
NGLE
MATCH
. Beside it, Arthur was surprised to find that Roland's brother Rupert also held the record for Most Punches Landed in a Single Match, but in ice hockey rather than boxing. More surprising still was that—according to the following exhibit—little Rowena held the same distinction in junior badminton.

Arthur made a mental note not to cross any of the three preceding Goldwins, then continued his search.

In the next display case, a riding crop and tennis racquet had been positioned to form an X between a pair of framed photographs. Each of the photos contained a handsome young man posing in a different sport-themed scenario—the boy on the left standing in a stable, holding a riding crop, while the boy on the right held a tennis racquet against his shoulder and sat on a locker room bench. Sharing the same perfect skin and teeth and the same expertly styled sandy-blond hair, the two boys were identical in appearance, apart from the contrasting colors of their sleeveless pullovers. So similar was their appearance, in fact, that Arthur might have assumed both photos were of the same person, had the accompanying plaques not specified otherwise.

Just then, Arthur was joined by his mother and several of his younger siblings as Rita Goldwin herded them forward.

“Oh yes,” the hostess beamed, gesturing to the display, “these are the twins! Have I mentioned they're traveling the world right now on the Clapford Fellowship?”

“Very impressive,” nodded Mrs. Whipple.

“Yes, well, Rayford and Royston have always excelled in the realm of academia. Truly, the only thing that can match their aptitude for academic study is their knack for sport—which led to their recruitment by the Ardmore Academy before they were even five years old. Here's Rayford's world record for Fastest Furlong on Horseback—and Royston's record for Fastest Tennis Serve Ever Recorded. Goodness, I do miss them sometimes. . . .” She stroked the photographs with a far-off look in her eye, before blinking it away. “Oh my,” she said, “I've done it again.” Always going on about my own children and never inquiring after the children of others—how rude of me. . . . So, tell me Lizzie—how many of
your
children have been selected by elite schools to spend their lives traveling the world on academic and athletic scholarships?”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Whipple, slightly taken aback, “well, Abigail spent a semester in Saskatchewan last year living with a family of wolves through the Canadian Lupine Exchange Program. . . .”

“Oh yes,” Rita cut in, shifting her gaze to Abigail and overenunciating her words, “
that
must have been
so
much
fun
for you, Abbie! You got to live with the puppy dogs, didn't you?”

Abigail looked up with a confused yet polite expression.

Rita turned back to Mrs. Whipple and whispered, “It really is adorable she doesn't realize how disgusting that is. Honestly, what a good mother you are for letting her think that wandering the wilderness with those beasts is anything like world travel!”