CHAPTER 4

Oh, is there not one maiden breast

Which does not feel the moral beauty

Of making worldly interest

Subordinate to sense of duty?

—Oh, is there not one maiden breast

From the opera "Pirates of Penzance" by W. S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan

It was early March. As the days grew warmer and the year's first flower buds sprouted amongst fresh young leaves, Lazytown became darker and colder. The docile community, embedded safely amongst verdant, green dairy country, had never endured much in the way of evil. Mild misdemeanors composed the majority of records in Officer Lolli's books, ones easily forgiven and forgotten. The town's small population prided itself on its honourable reputation and sense of civil obedience.

Little wonder then, why Deverhill Manor was regarded with such profound fear. After the arrest and exposure of the Doctor, only the robust skeptic Murgatroid Meanswell was daring enough to have remained living next door to the place. Now, both houses on each side lay empty. The unfortunate influence of this blight on the townscape reached well beyond its high stone fences. Long after its heartbroken old master had gone, the ghost of his cruel misery remained. His troublesome, maladjusted son was viewed by many as his final revenge on the citizens.

Ziggy swung his legs as he sat on the uncomfortable café stool, making a face at his plate of artichoke quiche. It seemed Stingy, sitting opposite him, did not share his distate, and was digging into his own slice heartily.

"Are you gonna eat that, Ziggy?"

"Don't be greedy, Stirling, dearest!" An oval-faced woman in pearls bellowed at the boy. 'Stirling' shrunk in his chair with a feeble apology. It was so hard to make things his own when Mumsie was leering down at him.

The woman pursed her lips, turning her attention back to Ziggy's mother. "And to think that dreadful house is only a short distance down the street from mine! I tell you," she declared, "I would be tremendously surprised if the Rotten boy wasn't at least secondarily involved in this whole ghastly affair."

The blonde woman's soft features knotted in a troubled frown. "Oh, Cordelia, you aren't suggesting that Robbie actually killed Mr. Meanswell, are you?"

The two boys sitting at the table shared a panicked glance.

Pixel's mother scoffed from behind her laptop. "Yeah, sure, hon. Rotten couldn't organise himself enough to stomp on a bug, much less commit an actual, bonafide crime."

Trixie's mother— a tall woman in a crisp pantsuit— spoke up, and everyone jumped at the thundering terror that was her voice.

"OH, so burying the town square in junk food and locking our children up in boltholes is NOTHING, is it?"

Ziggy's mother struggled to find a rebuttal to this. "W-well…"

Pixel's mother effortlessly came to her aid. "If I remember corectly, Winnie, you planned a similar prank involving beer empties and our teachers on the night of our high school graduation party."

Trixie's mother twitched slightly. "That was different," she alleged. "I was just a kid, doing it for fun."

"That's not what Principal Níski thought."

Ziggy's mother, now feeling more buoyed, joined the defense. "Who's to say that Robbie doesn't do it for fun as well? Has anyone ever seen someone get hurt by him?"

An odd cry escaped from Stingy's mother, akin to some manner of rodent defending its nest. "I don't believe I'm hearing this. After all the terrible things he's done to our families, you would so easily dismiss the danger he poses?"

"Sportacus takes care of him," Pixel's mother replied flatly. "If Rotten was going to do something truly horrible, he would have done it by now."

"Exactly my point! That body was found in his father's house! Bessie dear, surely you agree with me."

From across the table, Bessie simpered doubtfully.

"Well…" she began, waiting for an answer to crystallise in her mind. "He's no model citizen, but… You should take into consideration that—"

"Good afternoon, ladies."

Approaching the table was Milford, or at least a sad imitation of the usually cheery gentleman. In place of his favourite sunshine-yellow garments was a sober black suit. Stephanie, dragging her feet behind him, was dressed in an equally dull woollen tunic.

"How was the wake?"

Milford didn't reply, but sank down into an empty chair and ordered a strong coffee. Bessie quickly rallied round with a gentle arm across his shoulders.

"Can us and Stephanie go outside and play?" Ziggy asked, yearning to be freed from the vortex of unhappy vibes.

"Of course, darling. I'll put your quiche in a doggy bag for you."

**

After a quick search, the three children found their other playmates in a sunny area of the park. Without looking at anyone else, Stephanie headed straight for the fraternal comfort of Sportacus' arms.

"Are you okay?" The elf asked softly after an adequatley lengthy hug.

She nodded legtharically, her red-rimmed eyes still not meeting with those of her companions.

"Why are you feeling so sad?" Trixie blurted out. "It's not like you knew your great-uncle that well."

The pink-haired girl clung to Sportacus' arm.

"Don't you see?" She responded, sniffling. "I never knew him at all. He was part of my family, and he was gone before I even got the chance to meet him. He's…" the girl began to hiccough. "They're not even sure what got him… Officer Lolli said he might have been… poisoned…" She shuddered, pressing her tear-stained face into Sportacus' vest.

Ziggy was staring at the ground.

"The grown-ups are saying that Robbie killed him," he announced in a low voice.

Almost violently, Stephanie tore herself from Sportacus' embrace. Ziggy backed away a little when her indignant glare hit him.

"What!? That's ridiculous!"

"You have to admit, they kinda have a point," Stingy remarked with a delicate tone. "Robbie's done a lot of bad stuff."

"Yeah," Trixie declared. "Like breaking into people's homes, and trapping them in places…"

Sportacus shook his head calmly. "There's no way it could have been Robbie, guys. He was with us when we searched the house."

"You never know," Stingy insisted, "he might have been putting on a big act that day—"

"STOP IT, JUST STOP IT, ALL OF YOU!" Stephanie's tears were freely gushing again. It had been a trying week, and the usually considerate girl was at the end of her tether. The most uneasy of silences stunted the group as she once more interred her sobs in the elf's already well-soaked vest.

Looking down at the quivering, traumatised youngster, Sportacus sighed. There had been enough pain aleady, for every soul concerned.

"Listen," he said with a gentle yet firm authority, "Robbie doesn't deserve to be blamed. There's no proof. If anything, I think you should all try and be nice to him. Or even just be more patient with him."

The childrens' fervent attention on him was almost uncomfortable. He could feel their dismayed shock at being told to indulge the local hoodlum. After all, how on earth were they to know about Robbie's past?

"He's… I think he does all that stuff because he is very unhappy. He's not lucky enough to have the good friends and loving family that we all do. Think about how lonely he must feel."

Stephanie's weeping had died down, and she too was now staring at Sportacus. Slowly, the hero could see a heavy sort of comprehension register in each child's expression.

Ziggy chanced to open his mouth. "Um…"

Sportacus smiled kindly at the little boy, encouraging him to express his thoughts.

"Mummy says that bullies are only mean 'cause they don't like themselves."

Sportacus gave a solemn nod in agreement. "It's very sad, but that's the truth."

**

Milford stared down at the fine grain of his wooden desk, the little spotlight from his banker's lamp causing its polished veneer to gleam softly in the dim, quiet office.

"What to do?" He murmured. "There's an unknown danger in that house that threatens my people… How many others might die? I don't even know where to start."

"Remember how we dealt with it last time? Calling in the state emergency services?" Lolli suggested, leaning over the Mayor. "We bagged the scum of this town before, and we could do it again."

Sportacus, who had been staring out at the evening sky, frowned at the two other men.

"But we don't know what we're dealing with this time. What if the authorities aren't what we need?"

Milford let out a groan rattling with weariness and sorrow. "If only… I suppose there is no way we can approach this with any more information. The man responsible for the threat lurking in Deverhill Manor is long gone."

Leaving the windowsill, the elf approached the desk, purposefully catching the eye of both the policeman and the politician.

"There may be someone who can at least give us a helping hand."

Milford's eyebrows raised.

"I think," Sportacus told him, "it's time to call in my father."

**

A/N: Woot, Number 9. The inspiration for his depiction in this story comes from Shinju's awesome art here: .com/

Also, mums. :P I christened Stingy's and Trixie's mothers 'Cordelia' and 'Winnie' respectively, and I would hate to be trapped in a lift with the both of them. I picture Trixie as having a huge mess of older sisters and a really tense relationship with her mum because she won't act ladylike as they do. Ziggy's mum is pretty well formed in my head too, she'd be the young, tender-hearted one in the group, like her son. I (reflexively) came up with a little backstory about her being one of Robbie's classmates. She was nice to him and they almost became pals, but her gaggle of girlfriends influenced her not to hang out with him. And now she still harbours guilt about it. D'aawwww. :(