The Fantastic Family Whipple (14 page)

“By the way,” Ruby called, “your whip-cracking/milk-bottle-balancing act was very impressive, you know. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. You must have practiced for years to get so good.”

Arthur turned back around. For some reason, he no longer felt quite so eager to leave the girl’s presence.

“Thanks,” he said, his chilly expression melting away. “It’s not easy finding genuine whip-cracking/milk-bottle-balancing enthusiasts these days.”

“Yeah—sorry for slipping off afterward like that. I really wanted to meet you, but I figured you might need a moment. You really were amazing, though.”

The boy flashed a warm grin. He could hardly remember why he had been avoiding her in the first place.

But the girl hadn’t finished.

“So,” she said, “what records have you actually broken then?”

And there they were. The words Arthur lived in constant dread of hearing:
What records have you broken?
The words flew at him like daggers—but somehow, he managed not to flinch. He had been asked this question
so many times by so many people, he had gradually devised a sort of verbal shield, which he could recite in such instances to keep the daggers from reaching his heart: “Well,” he said, “I’ve come really close, but I haven’t actually broken any records—yet. Any day now, though.”

The girl scrunched her lips to one side. “Ahh—well, don’t worry about it, Arthur. I was only trying to make conversation. Seems all anyone in this world ever wants to talk about is what records they’ve broken. But seriously, who needs their silly games anyway, right?”

“Well,” Arthur replied with furrowed brow, “I don’t know if I’d refer to world-record breaking as
silly…
”

“All right then, what
would
you refer to it as?”

“I don’t know…well,
serious
at the very least—but also grand, significant, esteemed, revered…hallowed…and that’s just scratching the surface, really.”

“Wow. You’ve got quite the vocabulary when you choose to use it, haven’t you?”

“Ever since I tried to break the record for Listing the Most Synonyms in One Hour, they just sort of come out sometimes…. So how many records have
you
broken?”

“Oh.” Ruby’s cheerful expression faded. “Just one—but it was a long time ago; it doesn’t matter now….”

“Doesn’t matter? I don’t think you understand what an honor that is.” Arthur’s voice filled with reverence as his father’s words echoed in his mind. “You’re a world-record holder; it doesn’t matter how long ago you broke it—your
name will be forever immortalized in the World Record Archives!”

“Don’t remind me.”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you want to be reminded of the most important thing you’ve ever done in your life?”

“It’s just not something I’m proud of.”

Arthur nearly choked. “I don’t understand. I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t overjoyed to have their name in the record books…. Well, except maybe for Geoffrey Dwindle, the man who contracted the Most Aggressive Strain of Flesh-Eating Bacteria Ever Recorded—but come to think of it, I’m sure he was a lot happier than the man with the
second
-most aggressive strain; at least Mr. Dwindle got something in return for his troubles…. But anyway, I’m sure your record isn’t nearly as awful as his.”

Arthur was then struck by a troubling thought. “Wait—you haven’t broken the record for Youngest Murderess to Escape from Prison or something terrible like that, have you?”

“I don’t know; I might be proud of
that
. I imagine it takes a good deal of ingenuity to escape from prison.”

“So, it’s worse than murder, then?” Arthur gaped.

Ignoring the boy’s last question, Ruby turned to the silver-plated sign ahead of them and said, “So what’s behind the curtain?”

“It’s a surprise,” Arthur said hastily. “But—”

“Can we have a look?”

“Absolutely not. But you haven’t answered—”

“Well what about
them
?” said Ruby, pointing to the far end of the curtain. “Why should they get a peek, while the rest of us are stuck out here in the Dullest Museum on Earth?”

With an exasperated gasp, Arthur glanced to where the girl was pointing—and promptly focused his gaze. Thirty feet to their left in the darkened corner of the room, where the curtain met the side of the tent, ripples had begun forming in the fabric. It appeared someone on the other side was hunting for the way out.

“That,” explained Arthur, “would be my family’s chef, Sammy the Spatula, simply adding some finishing touches before he presents the cake to—”

“It’s a cake?!” blurted Ruby.

Arthur let out a defeated sigh. “You know,” he said, “I’ve just thought of some questions I should ask Sammy before the unveiling—so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Oh,” said Ruby, her shoulders drooping slightly.

Arthur smiled with equal parts regret and relief. Intriguing as the girl had proved to be, he could hardly justify keeping company with someone who seemed to think so poorly of world-record breaking—and who, furthermore, would not deny committing a crime worse than murder.

Straightening his jacket, Arthur proceeded past Ruby and headed toward the rippling. But before the boy had taken two steps, a figure emerged from behind the curtain.

Arthur gasped. It was not Sammy the Spatula.

With all the fuss over failed record attempts and troublesome ghost girls, Arthur had nearly forgotten about the first pang of dread he had felt that evening.

It was the clown. The same tiny, smirking clown Arthur had tried to escape only one hour before.

S
tartled and terrified,
Arthur ducked behind the nearest exhibit. For a moment, Ruby looked at him as though he had lost his mind—but as soon as she saw the source of his fright, she dropped to her knees and hid behind the display in front of her. Despite her own rather morbid appearance, it seemed she was no fan of sinister-looking dwarf-clowns either.

The two children peered through cracks in their respective exhibits as the shadowy figure stepped into the room and looked stealthily from side to side.

When the dwarf seemed satisfied that the coast was clear, he turned and pulled gently on the edge of the fabric, creating a gap between the curtain and the side of the tent. Slowly, the lumbering form of the dwarf’s giant companion
stepped forth into the shadows.

The giant carried a large, black leather case with what appeared to be a dragon etched into its side. Arthur wondered what could be inside it. Perhaps this was where they kept the bones of the unsuspecting children who unwittingly invited them to their birthday parties.

Once the giant had fully emerged, he reached down with his free hand and scooped up the dwarf, then stepped out of the corner. The two men crossed into the light, slyly returning to their clown routine as they headed for a small exit on the side of the tent. The giant extended a massive arm, and the dwarf used his partner’s upturned palm as the base for a handstand.

The children sat petrified, their eyes locked on the ghastly duo until, finally, the giant ducked through the opening, and the two clowns disappeared from view.

Without thinking, Arthur looked over at Ruby and found himself exchanging relieved glances with her.

“Who were those two?” whispered the girl. “And what were they doing back—”

Before she could finish, a voice called out behind them—and Arthur spun around to see Wilhelm standing at the main entrance.

“Master Arthur,” the butler called. “It is time for you to take your position.”

The boy leapt to his feet. If anyone could defeat a pair of diabolical devil-clowns, it was Wilhelm.

“Wilhelm!” he cried.

Glancing back to Ruby, Arthur shot the girl an uncommonly confident smile, then hurried off to report what they had just witnessed.

“Vhat is it, Master Arthur?” called the butler, his face filling with concern as he rushed down the aisle to meet him.

But now that Arthur finally had a grown-up to confide in, his memory grew foggy. As he replayed the incidents in his mind, his prior conclusions now struck him as rather improbable. Had the clowns really been staring at him earlier that evening—or had they merely been gazing in his general direction? Had they really been sneaking out from behind the curtain just then—or had they simply lost their way? Indeed, it was difficult to be certain of anything he had seen that night. He had, after all, recently mistaken the girl down the street for a ghoulish fiend from beyond the grave—and had subsequently made a fool of himself upon mentioning it to his father. Surely, he was mistaken about the clowns as well.

Recalling the sting of his father’s last reproach, Arthur decided to wait for more proof of actual evildoing before risking ridicule a second time. He did his best to push any thoughts of the clowns and their supposedly suspicious behavior out of his mind—and focus on the fact that, at least for now, they were gone.

“Um,” said Arthur as the butler approached, “so where exactly should I stand for the start of the ceremony?”

“Oh,” said Wilhelm, surprised by the trivial nature of
Arthur’s question after what seemed to be an urgent cry for help. “Vell, if you just go stand vith your uncle on the side of the stage, I vill find you there.”

“Oh, right,” said the boy. “Thanks, Wilhelm. See you soon.”

“Yes. Okay. Godspeed, Master Arthur.”

Wilhelm proceeded past him toward the curtain at the rear of the tent, and Arthur glanced back toward Ruby Goldwin. She wore a perplexed expression that seemed to say,
Why didn’t you tell him about the clowns?!
but Arthur tried not to let it bother him. After all, it wasn’t
her
reputation on the line here. And besides, he hardly had time for this sort of thing now. He had an honored and vital birthday duty to perform.

And so, with a quick wave to the bewildered girl, he turned and hurried for the exit.

Stepping out into the night air, he cautiously scanned his surroundings—and was pleased to find them devoid of all clown life. He drew a deep breath, then set out across the estate. By the time he had rejoined his uncle at the main stage, he had all but forgotten about his latest encounter with the mysterious duo.

“Now,” grinned Nonstop Norman, “might we have all the birthday boys and girls up here on stage? I’ve got a special announcement for you.”

Smiling and waving to the crowd, Arthur’s parents led
his siblings up the stage steps, then clustered them together at center stage. The Whipple children grinned and wrung their hands in anticipation. They had waited all year for this.

“Boys and girls,” said the announcer, “it’s time…for cake!”

Six spotlights positioned on the sides of the stage snapped on, blinding the audience and forcing them to look in the opposite direction. There, at the rear of the crowd, was the cake.

Every year, the Whipple family birthday cake was bigger than the one before, and this year was no exception. The cake was almost twenty feet high—twenty-eight, if you counted the candles—and thirty feet in diameter.

Wilhelm trudged forward at its front, clutching a tow rope over each shoulder and cleaving a wide path through the crowd as he went. When he had reached the stage, the butler wiped his brow, and the cake lurched to a halt. The crowd gasped in amazement, then promptly filled in around it for a closer look.

The cake was iced in white buttercream with huge ribbons of lavender marzipan running down its sides, while fourteen giant candles jutted up around its top edge—one for each Whipple whose birthday it was.

As the band played their specially arranged intro of “Happy Birthday to You,” Wilhelm wheeled a towering metal staircase up to the side of the cake.

Uncle Mervyn nudged Arthur and whispered, “It’s time,” then led the boy through the crowd.

Wilhelm greeted Arthur with a firm handshake and a warm smile, which helped to calm the boy’s nerves—until, of course, Wilhelm handed him the blowtorch.

“Just like vee practiced, okay?” smiled the butler.

“Okay,” said Arthur as he took the torch and turned to climb the stairs.

When the boy had reached the top step, Nonstop Norman addressed the crowd again, much to Arthur’s surprise. “Performing the candle-lighting ceremony tonight: the only member of the Whipple family not to hold a single world record or to be born on the first of March—please give a generous round of applause for—I’m sure he could use all the applause he can get—Arthur Whipple!”