CHAPTER SIX
It's true that he has gone astray, but pray
Is that a reason good and true why you
Should all be deaf to pity's name?
For shame, for shame, for shame!
—Oh, is there not one maiden breast
From the opera "Pirates of Penzance" by W. S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan
Popping another chocolate praline into his mouth, Robbie turned up the speakers on his self-built sound system. The recording was coming to his favourite part of Act I: The string section pizzicato'ed as the poor fool Alfredo proclaimed his love for the dazzling Parisian jewel that was Violetta. The tenor portraying him wailed out the lyrics with determined melancholy:
"Un di, felice, eterea,
Mi balenaste innante,
E da quel dì tremante
Vissi d'ignoto amor!"
Under his breath, the villain absently sang along. He continued watching Sportaflop through the periscope as he leapt and sprinted through the streets above.
It was a dangerous time for Robbie. He'd promised himself to keep a distance from those infernal elves, and any plan of theirs to blow up, gut out or knock down his father's manor. But he couldn't help himself. There was no harm in just watching, was there?
Sportacus lighted upon the pavement outside Town Hall, and, gazelle-like, pranced up the steps and through the front door.
The onlooker interrupted his crooning of the beautiful romanza to curse roughly. After a few minutes of readjusting his position, swivelling the periscope and general struggling, he managed to aim his view through the window of what he knew was Milford's office.
The sports elf had beaten him there. Also in the room were Níu, Officer Lolli and the Mayor himself. With such a concentration of patriarchs and authority figures in one place, Robbie had to resist a shudder of distaste.
He could guess what they were there for.
"Hmm, yes. Well then," came Milford's affectations through the periscope's tinny microphone. "While we're waiting on our tea and crackers, let's get a brainstorm going. Can anyone propose a strategy for dealing with this whole fiasco?"
Níu did not hesitate. "Simple," he said. "We search the manor again."
The others looked quite taken aback at this.
"But…what if we get killed?" Lolli posited.
The elf in brown shrugged. "I suppose that risk is there, but it's the only way to uncover what the danger really is."
The policeman shuddered. "The hospital in the city informed us that there seemed to be traces of a poisonous substance in the victim's bloodstream."
Níu nodded. "From what I heard, Ignatius had begun to dabble in biochemistry shortly before he was caught grave-robbing. The lab rats which were seized from the manor all died shortly after. The local police department of the time did not bother to investigate this. But I wouldn't be surprised if those animals died from something other than shock."
"And that substance could still be in the house?" Milford exclaimed.
"We'll find out when we enter it," Níu affirmed.
"Before we do," Lolli announced, getting up from the squishy armchair he had been nestled in, "I say we arrest the Rotten boy and interrogate him for everything we can get."
Robbie started, as both terror of arrest and dislike for Lolli crackled through his frayed nerves. When he put his eyes to the periscope once more, he saw that Sportacus had now commanded the group's attention.
"That's not fair at all. Why do you suspect Robbie so much, Lolli?"
His tone of voice was far from angry. A strong arm resting upon the doorframe and slight crinkle on his bronzed brow, he looked at the officer with a kind of cheerless curiosity.
Lolli huffed, his pompous expression screaming out a scorn for what he saw as Sportacus' total naïveté.
"He's the bane of this community! No better than his father! A dangerous, sadistic madman! Who else could have murdered a harmless old coot like Murgatroid!? We need to get rid of him before he kills again!"
A bleak sensation swept through Robbie, one that drowned out his current anger at the officer. He could picture the people in town whispering to one another, exchanging rumours in the grocery store and shivering with loathing. He could picture these people locking every door and window of their house at night, and warning their children not to go near that strange man in the funny clothes. He pictured them airing their concerns to Officer Lolli, Milford, Sportacus.
His chest became heavy and cold. It was never enjoyable to be reminded of how despised he really was.
"Robbie's not a killer," was Sportacus' calm response.
Lolli sputtered for a few seconds, affronted that his official opinion could be challenged. "And just how do you know this?"
The elf's eyes wandered out past the window, and Robbie prayed that he would not notice the perisope creaking in the bushes.
"You didn't see the look on his face when he found Murgatroid Meanswell's body. I'm sure he is just as scared as the rest of us."
The hero's voice was soft and sad. He was not tersely pushing an opinion, he was expressing something which he felt was completely true.
"There is no real evil in Robbie's bad behaviour. He just feels frustrated and lonely. We all feel like that sometimes, Lolli."
Slowly, the harsh chill gripping the villain's insides began to thaw.
"Besides, this problem is probably more important to him than anyone else. Whatever is in that manor has got to be there because of his father. I think we should ask his permission to search the house, and let him decide what to do about it in the end."
The two elves shared a brief glance. A slight smirk tugged at Níu's mouth.
Lolli fumed silently while Milford pronounced his assent.
"A sound idea. Yes, yes, I'm sure that this is the right course of action. It's settled then. Sportacus, I would like you to approach Mister Rotten the first moment you can and pass on our request."
There was a timid knock at the door. A young public servant entered with a tray carrying a teapot and platter of various crispbreads.
Milford chuckled. "And we've concluded before afternoon tea, at that! Thank you, Mitzi. Would you fellows care to stay and partake?"
The older gentlemen sat down, but Sportacus politely declined. As he galloped out of the building and back onto the streets, Robbie too abandoned his periscope. The clang of running feet on a steel stairwell echoed up through the lair.
"Hey! Robbie!"
Clearing two stucco walls, a zebra crossing and a public bench, Sportacus landed at his side. The villain had to flinch a little.
"You're just the person I was looking for," Sportacus declared cheerily.
"I know."
"What?"
"I mean…" Robbie's lip twitched. "I was looking for you too."
He grimaced when Sportacus stared at him in delighted surprise.
"You were?"
"Yeah… well…" He grappled with improvisation. "I… You can tell the Mayor that if he needs to open up my father's house again… you know, to figure out what got his uncle… he, um, can."
The astonishment shining off of Sportacus became almost radioactive. "Wow!" He gave the man a spirited thump on the back. "That's great, Robbie! Thanks for being so helpful."
Shaking off the pain (and swallowing his ire at the prospect of Sportabrute's handiwork leaving an ugly bruise on his poor delicate skin), he managed to right himself.
"But," he barked, "there are some conditions I demand."
The elf assented gladly. "Anything."
"One: I must be present. I don't want you and your chums poking around in there without me. Two: Any breakages must be paid for."
Sportacus was nodding like a bobble-head toy.
"Three…" Robbie's authoritative tone faltered slightly. "I want you to be there as well."
He looked away as he muttered this. In his peripheral vision, he caught the hero's moustache swishing upwards, indicating a smile.
"You're a hyperactive, muscle-headed jock… but I trust you more than that blockhead Mayor, the despot cop and Old Man Nine."
"Okay. It's a deal." There was a laugh in his airy voice.
Robbie squinted, shaking it off. "Anyway, Sportacus," he snarled, staring determinedly back in the direction of his billboard, "I have more important things to do than chinwagging all day."
He flounced away along the footpath as the elf wished him well.
Sportacus smiled again as he watched the man retreating— he always preferred Robbie calling him by his usual name.
**
"I want to come!"
"No, Stephanie, out of the question."
"But what if something happens?"
"My point exactly."
The argument in the Meanswell homestead spiralled around and around on itself. Neither Stephanie nor Milford raised their voices that much, but both were hoarse by the end of the evening. Stephanie collapsed down on her bed for a good pre-8.08 sulk.
Uncle Milford was being far too paranoid. She had been there the first time they'd searched the house. She had faced the horror of what they had found, and was still in one piece. At this point, the girl felt too much a part of the whole thing to want to just stand by. Her desire to find out what had happened to Murgatroid was just as strong as anyone else's.
She also dreaded the possibility of losing yet another family member to whatever this danger was.
She picked up a photo stand perched on her bedside table. She had found a faded photograph of her great uncle in one of Milford's many family albums. His face unlined, his hair a dark blonde, he stared back at the grand-niece he had never met with a stern, impassive frown. Stephanie had already cried over the cruel fact that she had never been bounced upon his knee. She was no stranger to the sting of missing a loved one who she couldn't even remember.
Uncle Milford, however, was someone whose arms she had run into countless times. If he became the second victim, the little girl could barely imagine how it would destroy her.
"Sportacus and Mister Níu can totally look after themselves," she said to Ziggy, as the two children sat underneath their favourite bay tree during recess. "Officer Lolli's too much of a coward to confront anything, and Robbie is smart enough to get himself out of any danger."
"Or at least get Sportacus to save him," Ziggy added.
"But uncle Milford is so trusting. He's too positive to be afraid, and he can be really unaware of stuff."
Her head dropped, and her rosey bob shrouded her face.
"I'm just afraid that he'll…"
Ziggy stared at her hard, waiting for her to finish her sentence. When a high-pitched sob tore its way out of her, the blonde boy's heart seized.
Silently, he offered her some of his mixed bag of grapes, almonds and coconut ice. She gave him a soft thanks.
It was maddening and distressing— there was little he could do to make his friend happy again. Coconut ice couldn't protect her uncle.
At a time like this, Ziggy thought, Lazytown needed more superheroes.
**
A/N: PLEASE tell me people got the (sub)text at the beginning of this chapter. I don't think it could have been much clearer had I beaten readers about the head with a sockful of coins labelled "Sportarobbie". :P /bitch mode