War of the World Records (18 page)

Removing her hand from Arthur's mouth, she reached out and pulled the velvet glove from the clown's giant fingers—to reveal an oversized wooden hand.

Arthur exhaled. The terrifying figure in the doorway was merely a mannequin in a storage closet.

Ruby stepped further into the cupboard and crouched down beside the giant dummy, then turned back around to face Arthur. In her hands she now held a second clown mannequin—this one less than three feet tall.

“Looks like you've discovered where Overkill and Undercut store their clown costumes when they're not infiltrating birthday parties and blowing up birthday cakes.”

“Mm-hmm,” Arthur said with a wince. “But do you think you might put that thing down now? Just because it's not actually alive doesn't make it any less creepy.”

“Ahh,” Ruby grinned. “So you're admitting clowns are creepy then.”

“Let's just say I'm warming to the idea.”

“Booga-booga!” Ruby grunted, shaking the tiny clown in Arthur's direction.

“No, really,” he said. “It's horrifying.”

“Oh, all right,” said Ruby, lowering the mannequin back to the floor. “Come help me sort through this stuff. It looks like clue heaven in here. I mean, honestly, if we can't find a clue in a gold mine like
this
, we don't deserve to call ourselves detectives.”

Arthur avoided eye contact with either of the lifeless clown figures to his left as he joined Ruby in the storage space and set about rummaging through its contents.

The closet was crammed full with all sorts of hardware supplies, curious implements, small tools, and further pieces of clown costume.

“Look at this,” said Arthur, fishing out a pink rubber belly and holding it up to himself. “Seems Mr. Undercut isn't content being the World's Shortest Clown; he wants to be the World's
Widest
as well.”

“Wow,” said Ruby. “They've got all kinds of these in here, in different shapes and sizes. Must be going for Largest Collection of Rubber Fat Suits or something”

“Those two do love their disguises, don't they?”

“Yeah, well, it's a good thing you discovered these before Overkill and Undercut had the chance to use them against us. Who knows, Arthur, you may have just saved both our lives. . . . Shame it wasn't something just a wee bit more incriminating, though.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “Or a key.”

The two continued their search with little success, their only recovered evidence being two dozen fake rubber bellies, eight mustaches, fifteen red rubber noses, one backscratcher, three sardine tins, five mismatched toy soldiers, and a spool of copper wire.

Arthur had begun to wonder if they would ever find anything even slightly useful, when he suddenly spotted a mysterious dust-coated volume in the far corner of the shelf.

His mind reeled with possibilities. Could this be the secret ledger that detailed every transaction ever made between Rex Goldwin and his hired henchmen? Or was it, perhaps, the personal diary in which Overkill and Undercut had confessed to all of their dastardly wrongdoings?

Arthur seized the book and blew the dust from its cover.

When the air had cleared, a smartly dressed young man smiled up at him from the printed surface between his thumbs. Arthur's heart sank. The book he held in his hands was nothing more than a mail-order catalog for Garber and Sons Fine Clothing.

Just as he prepared to fling the catalog to his feet, however, Arthur was struck by the strange familiarity of the young man's face. He scrunched up his eyes and realized he had indeed seen this likeness before—in a pair of framed photos from the Goldwins' trophy room.

“Look at this,” Arthur remarked as he showed his find to Ruby. “Your brother is on the cover of this clothing catalog—one of the twins, I think—the ones with the scholarship or whatever it is. Is this Rayford, or Royston?”

“Beats me—I've never actually been able to tell them apart. They've been off traveling the world since I was a baby, so I've really only seen pictures.”

Arthur opened the catalog and began thumbing through its pages.

“You'd think Rita would've mentioned the twins were clothing models,” Ruby added, “after all she says about them.”

Each two-page spread featured one of the handsome twins in a different sporting motif, showing off various knitted jerseys and athletic apparel. There was polo, and then football, and then golf—but when they reached the horse racing and tennis spreads, the pages containing Ruby's brothers had been completely torn out.

“This must be where your mother got the pictures for the trophy room—though it's a bit strange to find it down here, don't you think? I'd hardly peg Overkill and Undercut as the types to be interested in high-end sportswear.”

Arthur tossed the catalog down onto the shelf, frustrated it hadn't yielded any relevant clues. The book landed with the back page open, and Ruby reached down to pick it up as Arthur continued rummaging through the closet.

“All right,” Arthur grumbled to himself, “there's got to be a key in here some—”

“Hang on,” Ruby interrupted, pointing quizzically to the catalog. “In the credits, only one name is given for the model, and it doesn't belong to either of my brothers.
Sven Jorgensen
, it says. Who in the world is
he
?”

“Let me see,” said Arthur, taking a closer look.

Sure enough, at the bottom of the page was a small line of text that read:
PHOTOGRAPHER
:
BRUN
O
LENSMAN
,
MODEL
:
SVEN
JORGENSEN
.

“That's strange,” he agreed.

“So these
aren't
my brothers,” puzzled Ruby, “but just some fashion model called Sven Jorgensen?”

“It certainly looks that way,” said Arthur. “But if
those
aren't your brothers, then who—?”

Ruby's face suddenly went pale.

“What is it?” Arthur blurted.

“I'm not sure,” Ruby said shakily. “But I don't want to stick around to find out. We need to leave, Arthur. Now.”

Arthur could hardly remember ever seeing Ruby frightened before, but at that moment, she looked completely terrified. A wave of unknown dread rushed through his insides like a sudden gulp of ice water.

“Where do we go?” he cried as they turned to run. “We haven't got the key!”

“Back in the tunnel,” shouted Ruby. “I don't know—anywhere but here!”

The children dashed for the entryway, Arthur's legs moving entirely of their own accord. He was confident he could keep running forever if so required. As it turned out, he would only have to run another five feet.

Ruby rounded the corner one step ahead of him—and jolted to a stop. Arthur skidded alongside her and looked up.

Filling the corridor in front of them stood a nine-foot giant and a two-foot dwarf.

Rayford & Royston

T
he children gasped
in terror while the dwarf simply smiled.

“Well, well,” the tiny man remarked coolly from his perch on the giant's shoulder. “Look who's decided to drop in: it's our daring detectives.” He looked much younger with his makeup off; it was clear he could hardly be older than twenty. The cockney accent he had spoken with aboard the
Current Champion
was now gone. His voice was high-pitched, yet gravelly—as if he had taken up chain-smoking in an effort to kick a lifelong helium addiction. “But why are they in such a hurry, I wonder? You're not leaving, are you, Sis? We've waited nearly twelve years for this little family reunion. Oh, do stay; we've so much to catch up on.”

Ruby's mouth hung open in disbelief. “Rayford?” she stammered. “Royston?”

Staring blankly down at the girl through oversized spectacles, the giant said nothing.

The realization hit Arthur like a speeding circus train.

“Come now, Sis,” smirked the dwarf. “Don't tell me you don't recognize your own dear brothers?” He paused briefly, then let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Well, I guess you're not completely to blame for that—what with Mother insisting on using those ridiculous photos to represent us. It's not as if she wanted it that way, you understand—it simply couldn't be helped. Some of us are just too
distinctive
for the rest of the world.”

Ruby remained stunned. “What about the Clapford Fellowship—and the Ardmore Academy—and your world travels?”

“Yes,” the dwarf replied, “I'm afraid that's another one of Mother's little embellishments. Though we were indeed recruited by the Ardmore Academy and awarded the Clapford Fellowship, only a fraction of those funds has ever gone to travel expenses. Since the very beginning, Father has used his influence with the Academy to grant us the pursuit of more
valuable
studies—such as Modern Combustibles, the Science of Sabotage, Advanced Weaponry Techniques, and the Art of Self-Concealment. It's a fascinating story, really—but hardly suited for the foyer. Please, won't you join us in the main chamber? I'll have Royston put the kettle on—though I'm afraid we can only offer you the instant variety. It's really not so bad after the first dozen sips or so—hardly a trade-off for the easy convenience of a military ration pack. And if you enjoy the powdered coffee and tea, Royston might even be persuaded to whip us up some powdered eggs and sausage while he's at it.”

“Mmm,” said Ruby, smiling uneasily. “As tempting as that sounds, Rayford, my colleague and I should probably be heading out now—you know, back up to the overworld and all that awful sunshine and icky fresh air.”

“Yes,” Arthur chimed in, wondering if their exit might really be this easy, “we'd love to stay and hear all your fascinating stories, but, unfortunately, I've got a world-record attempt to get to, and it's sort of crucial I make it there on time. I wish I could postpone it, I really do—but we'll just have to come back tomorrow, and you can tell us stories and prepare us hot beverages and we can all enjoy a delicious banquet of powdered foods—”

“Yes, that certainly sounds nice,” replied Rayford the dwarf, “but of course, you won't have to come
back
tomorrow, because you'll already be here.”

Arthur's terror swelled once more. “We will?” he gulped.

“You didn't really think we'd let you just leave, did you?”

Arthur gulped again.

The dwarf nodded sympathetically. “Believe me, this is not how we wanted it. We'd have been more than happy to simply get on with our lives and let you get on with yours. After today, your silly little investigation would not have mattered to us in the least. Our plans were all nicely back on track after the unfortunate incident at the Mountain and Molehill with that insufferable big-mouthed dwarf, Mr. Lowe. We should never have been there in the first place, of course. Royston knows how loose my tongue gets when plied with a bit of gin—but he just had to take us out for a celebratory drink anyway.” Rayford glared at the giant, who lowered his head and averted his eyes to the wall. “It was hard to deny the Birthday Extravaganza had gone rather well, so against my better judgment, I agreed. Who knew the friendly chat I'd have with Mr. Lowe that night would wind up getting your chef out of jail and on his way to acquittal? That's when Royston and I were forced to endure the shame of letting that imbecile, Smudge, think he'd arrested us, so we could shift the blame back onto Sammy, where we wanted it.”

“Some plan,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes.

“Not the simplest one I've ever devised, perhaps,” said the dwarf, “but it worked out in the end. Our previously scheduled plot for Whipple destruction was running smoothly again. That is, until this morning, when we returned home from a routine trip to Sedgeley's All-Night Sabotage and Surveillance Supply for some razor wire and plastic explosive to find our tunnel collapsed and the two of you here, within the walls of our inner sanctum. It's forced us to shift our plans once again. I'm afraid we've no choice but to keep you here until Father decides otherwise. I'm guessing it might be a while. He can hardly have you blabbing our little secret to the authorities, now can he? Yes, I think it's safe to say there will be no record attempts for you today—unless, of course, you're attempting the record for Longest Time to Be Held Captive in an Underground Chamber. But try not to be too disheartened; living in a subterranean dungeon isn't nearly as bad as you might think. There's quite a lot of freedom in it, actually: freedom from sunburn, freedom from gardening—freedom from door-to-door salesmen. . . . Honestly, it's practically utopian when you think about it.”

Ruby's eyes narrowed. “Let us go,” she said.

“Perhaps I haven't made myself clear. We have a painfully short list of options here—and letting you go simply isn't on it.”

Ruby glanced at Arthur with a strange, steely look. Though he wasn't entirely sure what it meant, Arthur did his best to match it.

Ruby turned to face her brothers. “I guess we'll just have to extend the list then.”

With that, she snatched the shoe from her foot and flung it at the dwarf.

“Arthur,” she cried, “run!”

Rayford jerked to one side to dodge the shoe—and promptly lost his balance.

The children charged for the narrow space between the giant's right leg and the wall. Arthur dove headfirst through the gap and rolled past the twins, then dashed for the exit.

The giant, meanwhile, had caught his brother by the back of the collar and lowered him safely to the floor.

“Roy!” shouted the dwarf. “Stop them! Now!”

Arthur threw open the door at the end of the passage and turned to usher Ruby through. The girl, however, was no longer following him.

Ten feet to his rear, Ruby dangled by her ankles from the giant's monstrous right hand.

“Go, Arthur!” she cried. “Get out!”

Arthur glanced at the open cavern before him. In this frantic state, he might just be able to scale the tunnel wall and escape through the hole in the ceiling.

He looked again to his rear. The giant had turned about and was now advancing steadily toward him. Still hanging upside down, Ruby grabbed at the giant's trunk-like legs in an effort to stall them.

Arthur drew a quick breath, then squared his shoulders. “Let her go!” he shouted, and then charged the approaching colossus.

He leapt into the air and clasped his hands around the outstretched arm that held Ruby's ankles. The giant's arm dipped for just a moment, then lifted sharply toward the ceiling.

“Let . . . her . . . go,” Arthur repeated stubbornly, his toes rising three feet from the ground.

He released his right hand and began grabbing for the giant's face. His fingers clutched at Royston's cheeks and nose, then settled on the giant's lower lip. Arthur pulled at the corner of the giant's mouth, causing Royston's face to look sad on one side and slightly bewildered on the other, like a badly painted pair of drama masks.

Otherwise, the giant appeared unfazed.

“Royston!” the dwarf snapped from the ground below. “Stop toying with the boy and bring them inside. We haven't got all day.”

As soon as the words had left Rayford's mouth, the giant clutched Arthur by the collar with his free arm and plucked him from his body like a bothersome if somewhat oversized insect. He held the two children apart from one another at arm's length, regarding them with a silent stare. Then he pivoted his position and proceeded to follow his tiny twin into the main room.

The children no longer struggled.

“Sorry, Ruby,” Arthur murmured. “He was just too big.”

“Don't be sorry, Arthur,” Ruby replied. “You nearly had him.”

Rayford stopped and turned to his captives. “You're making it very difficult for us to remain hospitable here,” he scowled. “If we're going to be sharing quarters for what's likely to be the remainder of your lives, we'll have to lay down some ground rules. Rule number one: no throwing shoes at us, then bolting for the door; it's just rude. Rule number two: no climbing on Royston; he's not a jungle gym. Now, until we can trust you to obey these rules, I'm afraid we've no choice but to take certain precautions. Royston—please show our guests to their new lodgings.”

The giant carried the children to the darkest corner of the room and halted in front of a large rectangular object veiled by a canvas drop cloth. The dwarf shuffled past his brother and tugged at the corner of the canvas to uncover a rusty steel cage.

Arthur shuddered. He had known from Rayford's tone not to expect the Grand Royal Suite, but he had at least hoped for a musty vacant storeroom, or even a nice hollow pit in the floor. Rusty steel cage had really been toward the very bottom of his wish list—just before hungry lion's den and room with slowly intruding spikes.

Rayford stood on his tiptoes to unlock the cage door, then hinged it outward. “It's fitting, don't you think, that the two of you should have Ridgely's old room, seeing as it was the two of you who brought about his untimely passing? I can just picture his lovable lizard face smiling down at us now. Of course, it nearly broke Mother's heart at the time; she didn't speak to us for a whole week after it happened. But we're learning to cope. We just have to keep reminding ourselves that our darling dragon has finally been given his wings.”

“I hate to say it, Rayford,” Ruby snapped, still upside down, “but if Rita's lizard has received any extra appendages in the afterlife, it's definitely a pair of horns. I don't think they generally allow child-mauling monsters into the place that gives out the wings.”

Rayford sneered. “I think it's about time you officially relocated to your new residence, don't you? Roy—would you like to give them the full tour?”

The giant stared quizzically at his little brother.

“By which I mean,” growled the dwarf, “you may feel free to throw them in the cage at any time!”

Royston nodded in apology, then hunched forward and thrust Arthur through the cage door.

Arthur's spine hit the back of the cage with a clank. It was no more pleasant an experience than he'd imagined.

The giant then turned his attention to Ruby. He flipped her right-side up again, gripped her under her arms, and held her firmly in front of his face.

As Royston's eyes met his sister's, he paused and cocked his head one degree to the left. He scrunched up his brow and inched his nose forward.

Ruby stared unflinchingly back. Slowly, moisture began pooling at the bottoms of her eyes.

The giant drew nearer.

Without warning, Ruby lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Royston flinched and drew back his arm to strike—but quickly relaxed when he realized he was not under attack. For a moment, he stood bewildered and motionless as the girl pressed her cheek against his own—and hugged him.

The moment did not last long. Rayford's patience, it turned out, was even shorter than his stature.

“Roy!” barked the dwarf. “Aren't you forgetting something?”

The giant's face flooded with shame and panic. Stumbling backward, Royston ripped the girl from his neck and tossed her clumsily into the cage. He slammed the door shut, then snapped the lock into place and promptly removed the key.

“That's more like it,” Rayford grumbled.

Inside the cage, Arthur could hear faint sniffling coming from his new cellmate. He crawled up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Ruby looked at Arthur through glistening eyes. “I— I thought I was the only one.”

“Ah, yes,” the dwarf interrupted, his beady eyes glaring through the bars of the cage, “I take it you're referring to that minor surplus you've been granted in the toe department. That
is
rather amusing, isn't it? I'm not sure Mother would consider it to be in quite the same category as our own exceptional attributes, but I imagine you might be regarded as marginally special in some less discerning circles. That said, we exceptionals should really stick together, regardless of our varying levels of uniqueness. Indeed, I had hoped we might work as a team someday—Mother's three most special children, reunited at last. But I must say I'm sensing a bit of resistance from you on that now.”