CHAPTER SEVEN
La tua mortale disfida accetto,
Non temo il tuo furor.
No, non temo il tuo furor.
Non temo, indegno, ti sprezzo
E non temo il tuo furor.
(translation)
Your deadly challenge I accept,
I fear not your fury.
No, I do not fear your fury.
I fear not, unworthy one, I despise you
And I am not afraid of your anger.
— Sprezzo, Audace, Il Tuo Furore
From the opera "I Puritani" by Vincenzo Bellini
Youngsters peered out of windows and doors at the cavalcade of police cars and fire engines that charged through the usually tranquil streets. Their parents drew them back inside. The emergency backup had been called in at the behest of Officer Lolli— the neighbouring towns of the county had been aggrieved to give up their officers this afternoon for a hazard that was as yet unidentified. The weak sun was beginning to dip below the rooftops before they deigned to arrive.
"Certainly took you long enough!" Lolli bellowed to a random constable who was exiting his patrol car. He was met with a stony silence.
"What is the agenda?" Asked a more obliging fire chief.
Lolli grasped his belt and took a breath.
"Well… well, I suppose…"
"We just need these fellows to stay outside and intervene at the sign of danger, right?" Níu helped.
Lolli nodded vigourously. "Keep your radios close," he commanded.
"Who are these two weirdoes?" Grunted the constable who had been yelled at, indicating the two elves with a jerk of his head.
"We're the local superheroes!" Sportacus announced perkily.
The constable scrunched up his face. What kind of small town had 'local superheroes'? "Whatever."
"Right," Níu declared, turning his attention to the tall silhouette of the manor standing before them, "I believe we should split into two teams. First we'll explore the basement and first floor, and then we will proceed to the second and thrid floors. Milford and Lolli, you may come with me. Sportacus, you go with Robbie…"
"Wait just a minute," Lolli interjected. "We're going to need a police escort for that punk. I'll go with Rotten to make sure he doesn't try anything."
Robbie, who had been leaning sulkily against a nearby lamppost, moved to oppose this. Níu cut him off.
"Very well. Since Robbie knows the layout of the manor better than the rest of us, you two should investigate the basement laboratory. Chances are, the thing we're looking for will be lurking somewhere in there."
Lolli's eyes bulged ever so slightly. He made a few little puffing noises.
"Surely… surely you and your boy are better suited to… to containing this thing, though?"
Sportacus caught Robbie smirk as the policeman squirmed.
"If you insist," Níu replied flatly. "Then you two can take the first floor."
Lolli pursed his lips, and Níu waited for him to complain again. The officer blinked, and suddenly pointed to a rather large, sturdy young policeman who rivalled Robbie in height.
"I'm taking him with me," Lolli insisted. "For extra backup, in case Rotten decides to do me in."
Finally, as Robbie gave a hard glare at the back of Lolli's broad head, six flashlights released six little beams, already shining softly in the fading afternoon.
They steadily made their way into the dense garden. Robbie blinked, perceiving a slight shimmer of the undergrowth. Hopefully it was just another skink.
Loose, cracked tiles scraped as heavy feet fell upon the landing.
"The stairs to the basement are behind the last door at the end of the hallway," Robbie told the others, his gruff voice made tiny in the thick, cold air.
The footsteps of Sportacus, Níu and Milford thumped softly away, dwindling to silence.
Feeling wary, Robbie looked upon the darkened faces of Lolli and his giant escort, expecting the dumpy officer to start hollering out orders. After a few seconds of discomfited, unfriendly silence, the villain ran out of patience.
"Since your incomparable genius seems to have been stymied, may I suggest we look in the dining room? It's where the body was discovered, and we might find some kind of lead there."
Before Lolli could refuse, the tall officer made a noise of agreement.
Following the footsteps of the other group stamped into the dust, they padded down the hallway. As they headed further away from the front door, the murk, like a stale fog, grew slowly denser.
Robbie shivered at the imprint of Murgatroid's body, still visible on the dirty floor. The hurried footprints of the police who had removed him also remained, shallower and fainter.
The two policemen began to wander about the room, flashlights roaming across the furnishings. Robbie was still fixated on the ghostly patterns. His eyes continued to adjust to the gloom, and soon he could make out subtler shapes in the built-up sediment. One pair of the streaked footprints was staggering towards the body, being lost in a large smear upon the imprint of the victim's legs. Trailing back, Robbie carefully followed where it had come from. Uneven and heavy, the gait of the feet looked pained and unsteady.
These were Murgatroid's last steps.
His pace quickening slightly, the man continued following them backwards. The victim had stumbled and grabbed at the edge of the table— the lacy tablecloth was crumpled and disturbed— and had approached it from the doorway to the sunroom.
"Where do you think you're going, Rotten?"
"To find what killed old man Meanswell."
Between facing this prospect and leaving the villain to his own devices, Lolli chose the former.
The sunroom, jutting out of the South-East side of the house, was by now a laughable misnomer. The patches of frosted glass that weren't blackened with grime were caked by mounds of dead, rotting foliage. Not a single splinter of outside light could puncture the years of residue. The other doorway, leading to the kitchen, had clearly been Murgatroid's point of entry; the door had been busted open with a mallet that was still lying on the tiles.
Instantly a question was posed: what on earth had drawn the old man in here?
Just as quickly, it was answered. All three men doubled over in a fit of coughing as the pungent scent of rotting meat hit their nostrils.
"There must be other bodies in here!" Lolli wheezed.
The smell seemed to dissipate. The moment they could breathe properly again, the group frantically passed their flashlights over the floor, expecting and dreading a morbid discovery.
There was none to be had, all that could be seen was more dust. Then Robbie's flashlight settled upon something that was at once ordinary and bizarre.
Sitting on a wrought-iron stand in the corner was a small lilac shrub in a glazed pot. The pale green stems fanned out, creating a pleasing arc of soft flowers extending over the side of the stand. Its fragrance wafted slightly through the putrid smell haunting the room. It was clearly alive, blossoming just the same as its cousins out in the open air.
A freezing quiver went through Robbie. He mutely stared at the policemen, summoning their attention.
"It's just a flower pot, you big nancy."
Too impatient to indulge their stupidity, the villain scanned the room for other plants. Some pots held the black, crumbling skeletons of long-dead shrubs, perhaps choked by whatever had created those fumes.
The briefest whisk of green was caught in the circle of Robbie's flashlight. He fumbled with the torch, the light wobbled as he tried to find it again.
A vine dotted with small, dark leaves, was coiled across the floor. The man's heartbeat throbbed madly.
"Don't move," he murmured.
"What are you tryin' to pull!?" The large policeman exclaimed, and he menaced forward. He trod on the sinewy vine, and before anyone could anticipate it, the massive officer was tripped off his feet as the plant snaked around his ankle.
"Hey! Whatsit doin'? Stop it!" He growled.
Lolli screeched, his flashlight finally resting on the massive head of an overgrown plant that had taken over half of the South-East wall. As the large officer struggled harder, more vines grasped his limbs like a spider weaving silk around its prey.
Something dripped onto the floor. Jutting out from the husk of the plant was a rosette of spiny shoots, wet with some sort of sticky mucilage. As they unfurled, the smell of rotting flesh intensified, and the gunk began to ooze onto the floor in a sticky rain of rivulets.
The helpless onlookers were both backed into the other corner. Desperate, driven by fear for life, the mighty bulk of the officer finally tore through the stronger vines with a great roar. The thinner vines snapped as he wrestled free of the predator's grasp. He bolted from the room, leaving the other two still hunched in the corner.
"Move!" Robbie urged.
Before they could, further screams filtered in from outside. A high pitched war-cry began to amplify, as a patter of undersized yet solid footsteps echoed through the front hall, into the dining room, until they were just outside.
"ZIGGYCUS TO THE—"
It all happened in less than a second. The little blonde boy, dressed in full superhero getup, thundered in through the doorway. Awakened, alert and hungry, the plant swiftly cast three thick tendrils out at the small clumsy body, fastening itself securely around his short arms and legs. As he squealed and floundered, the plant managed to painstakingly pull him closer to the aneasthetising ring of venom.
Lolli, still screaming, scrambled to his feet and ran through the door, but was blocked by the approach of Níu, Sportacus and Milford. The four men were rendered paralysed by the horrific scene.
There would always be a part of Robbie that would berate himself for his next action. There had been many times in the past when he had witnessed a child in trouble: a scraped knee, a twisted ankle, a broken bone. Sometimes he had even put children in (partial) danger himself, though with the presence of Sportaflop, nothing had ever come of it. Whatever trauma a child sustained, Robbie had always reminded himself it was for their own good. The sooner all the little coddled, milksop rugrats of the world realised its inherent dangers, the better.
But some unfamiliar, long-dormant instinct was triggered in his nerves. Not only was a young life directly in danger… The sight of this monstrous organism, most probably created by his father, about to ravage the form of an innocent little boy, spoke to his most grievous buried memories.
Just as quickly as the beast had lashed out, Robbie grabbed hold of the first heavy, blunt object he could find (an errant poker for the fireplace). With all the strength his lean body could garner, he struck at the green limbs entwined about Ziggy's still wildly flailing body.
He severed one, others went limp in reaction to the blow. Ziggy slipped from its grasp and scarpered from the room in tears.
Sportacus leapt forward to assist Robbie, but was clueless where to begin. One of the vines whipped itself around the taller man's ankle, tripping him up and dragging him towards it. A bead of the venom landed on his leg, and he cried out in sharp agony.
Using all his strength, Sportacus instigated a sort of tug-of-war with the creature. Another vine broke, Robbie stumbled across the floor.
Thinking quickly, as the monster reeled, he harpooned its noxious heart with the poker.
Like an insect under a magnifying glass, its great limbs thrashed about wildly. Taking the opportunity, the man stabbed the plant again and again, screaming with the effort, until its only movement was flaccid, jagged twitching. Robbie's breathing was heavy and ragged.
Quickly, wordlessly, he was rushed out of the house to the local GP's clinic. Ziggy followed closely, clutching Sportacus' free hand.