At last – scattered stars above begin to pale and fade. The eastern horizon was definitely brighter now, smearing rose within the soft gray above the mountains range just outside of LazyTown. For just a moment everything around is like a child with a new watercolor set. The clouds, having hung low all night, rise up to take on these cheery pastels and shimmer like they’re truly spun from silver.

The birds notice and stir in their nests. They’re doing scales, preparing for a day of song. Little things in the grass begin to scamper and greet the morning in their own particular ways.

Whoopa-whoopa-whoopa ....

But whatever could that sound be?


Íþróttaálfur Níu
(The visit of Number 9)
By Shinju Tetsuya


“Hmmm? What was that?”

As the new rays of the dawn finally steal through her window, Stephanie stretches underneath her covers and yawns. There’s a good chance that the peculiar sound that had awoken her suddenly was nothing at all. It was certainly not the tick-tock of the clock upon her bedside table making the weird swish.

Whoopa-whoopa-whoopa ....

There it is again! She’s not quite sure what it is. It seems like a figment of a dream almost, as if it were the wings of some big bird flapping or the blades on a windmill in the breeze. Wiping her eyes is the only reaction Stephanie can muster when she focuses blearily on her bedroom window.

Whoopa-whoopa-whoopa ....

That one was real for sure and it came from outside. Sitting up in her bed and kicking off the covers, Stephanie’s pink pajamas are rumpled, but she hardly thinks about them as she presses her nose to the window and looks out: Nothing! There’s nothing there! The clouds are clouds. The trees are trees. The grass is grass…

Something sliced along the yard with shade just then moving the little girl’s focus from the grass to the skies above and to a fantastic craft that was descending through the clouds!

Sportacus has an airship. Everyone knows that. It’s very sleek and clean looking; you could almost call it modern even though people don’t often ride in zeppelins anymore. This is nothing like Sportacus’ ship. The descending vessel is more like ...like a .. *hmm* ... Well just what is it anyways? The contraption appeared as though it just might have leapt off from the pages of an old Jules Verne novel. It was an air-pirate-ship! A flying galleon! Every inch of it appeared to be of old carved wood. Its many hanging lamps and old iron port windows are made of jewel-colored glass that flash in the new day sun like polished gems!

Whoopa-whoopa-whoopa ....

The sound reveals itself as a twin set of huge wooden propellers that, in addition to the gas bladder-- which can barely be seen through the clouds, are moving the merry craft along. Playful in the rigging, a figure swings and flits, singing a jaunty nonsense tune.

“Stephanie!” It’s is Ziggy. The incredible sight freed his attention long enough to notice her now propped and staring out her window. The noise had obviously roused him as well and now he was rushing her direction still dressed in his pajamas in all kinds of excitement. “Stephanie! Look!”

“I see it!”

“It’s heading to the sports field!”

“Ziggy, wait!” Stephanie sprang from her bed to her slippers tugging on her robe in almost the same instant, “Ziggy wait for me!”

“Wow.” Ziggy hadn’t gone anywhere once she reached him outside. He couldn’t even bring himself to lick his lollipop as the flying galleon hitched his full attention again. He just clutches it in his hand as he stares.

“LAZYTOWN HOOOOOOOOOOO!” The gentleman cries as he hangs from the rigging by one hand and foot. He gives a hearty laugh worthy of any pirate, but with a great deal more humor, and then scrambles around back. With that the fantastic wooden ship descends beneath the clouds and the full white bladder becomes visible. It’s not actually so white. There are spots of color here and there, it’s patched with all manner of fabric-- even some polkadots and what looks like an old pair of long-johns.

Stephanie’s eyes grow full and wide.


1


Whoopa-whoopa-whoopa ....

Robbie pulls his pillow over his head and presses it down tightly. Whatever that “whoopa” is, he wants no part of it. He wants to get back to his dreams of blue cake mountains and fountains of bubbly soda pop.

Whoopa-whoopa-whoopa ....

Robbie Rotten, unable to attain his precious sleep, leaps from his most comfy chair and falls flat on his back. He scrambles to his periscope, wipes the viewing lens with the sleeve of his pajamas, and peers through.

“White? It’s white outside… IT’S SNOWING!” Robbie cheers. “A-HA!! And there’s nothing that goes better with snow than hot chocolate-- except maybe MORE hot chocolate.” As he’s scrambling to find the cocoa tin his calendar comes into view. Robbie jerks back with a narrow eyed look on his face and examines the date.

“It’s August. Whoever heard about snow in August?” He stomps back to his scope and takes another look. The white field he had seen before gives way to a broad red curve. Robbie adjusts the view until a too familiar symbol comes into view.

“Oh… oh noooooo! It- it can’t be!” Letting out a most unmasculine shriek, Robbie pressed his eye tightly to the lens.

”NINE!”  

Indeed, Robbie is right. The red mark is nothing less than a giant embroidered nine on the side of the cream-tone billows.


2


The antique airship hangs low over the grassy sports field and the visitor is still hard at work, tying down ropes and securing lanterns. The captain, though old, is sprightly. Swinging through the ropes and capering along the decks as if dancing. He’s dressed burnt, dark orange trousers that puff and tuck in his boots just below his knees and browns in all manner of stitched, patched leather. From his orange lirripipe hangs a glass bobble that winks in the sun as he dashes to and fro. He’s a jolly sort of elf, that orange hat abobbing as he works and tennis-racket clasped at his side much the way a pirate might his cutlass. For just a instant, the aviator’s scarf wrapped around his throat takes flight like the tails of a kite.

“Nine?” Ziggy asks as they creep across the grass towards the strange visitor. Despite his paunch, the little fellow is valiantly trying to creep with his lollipop in one hand, but not having much luck.

“When I first came to LazyTown my Uncle Milford told me about him. Remember?” Stephanie whispers as she backs up to a low wall and then turns to peek over it.

“Oh. Right. ” Ziggy peeks too. “So that’s who you think this is?”

“Maybe.”

Ziggy makes to get up. “Well, then why don’t we just go say hello?”

Stephanie jerks him back down. “Because I don’t know for sure cause I’ve never seen him.”

Neither Ziggy nor Stephanie have much experience in hiding from someone aloft, and so the tops of their heads are quite visible even though they think themselves well hidden. Sweeping the town with his telescope, the visitor spots them and gives a chuckle. He collapses his scope into a tube and tucks it into his, er, racket-belt as if it were pistol. With a quick flip, spring and leap, he practically flies from the deck of his ship to the wall where the children crouched and hiding.

Caught, they both sheepishly rise and face the old elf. They look even more pitiful in their grass-stained pajamas.

His face is care-worn but his cheeks are rosy like a cherub’s. His eyes twinkle with humor as he looks the two children over. One immediately gets a sense that he is a bit of a trickster. Almost as if a thing alive, a bushy gray-white moustache surmounts his features and looks more than a little tickly in the morning breeze. He wiggles his nose slightly, causing the tuffy ornament to twitch, and then speaks to the pink-haired girl below with a sudden creased brow.

“Ahh… so you must be Stephanie.”

Stephanie gasps, but Ziggy is amazed. “WOAH! Stephanie!” He squeals excitedly. “How does he know your name?!!”

She can’t find the words to respond because she doesn’t know either. Nine glances at the little boy and smiles. “— and Ziggy.”

”HE KNOWS MY NAME TOO!” Ziggy cheers.

There’s only the slightest hint of a pause from the merry gent, “...My son has told me allllll about you.”

Stephanie cocks her head at the declaration. “Wa-Huh?”

“Well you ARE Sporty’s friends, are you not?”

“Ummm ...”

“I thought so.” Nine beams from beneath his wooly whitened whiskers. “Then you are THE Stephanie.”

She blinks in confusion.

“But you must excuse me, both of you. I must properly dock my airship before she goes soaring back into the stratosphere!” And with a leap, a twist and a flip, he’s back aboard his ship before Stephanie can even think to offer a question.

“Oh… but… oh wait! Sir! Mr. Nine?” She calls as she clears the wall with a little jump to dash after him.

Ziggy tries to follow but can’t quite manage the leaping part. Instead he sets his chubby tummy on the wall and manages to scramble over with arms and legs flailing. “Wait for me!” He adds loudly as he jogs up next to her.

Stephanie watches Nine begin to set sandbags on the railing. He kicks a rope ladder down. It uncoils as it tumbles and swings as the ship rises and falls on the air currents. She stares at it hard for a long moment. It’s almost like it’s calling her to adventure.

“Um… Nine-Sir?” She starts to ask again peering up the ladder at the ship.

“Just a moment, lass.” Nine responds but then speaks only to himself, “Where is that confounded… AH! There you are. Shame on you for hiding.”

Ziggy has had a revelation between the numbers “Nine” and “Ten” and doesn’t know the meaning of hesitation. “So… so if you’re Nine… then… then… You’re Sportacus’ father, aren’t you?!”

The old elf laughs with singular joy as he sets the last sandbag on the rail. “What a silly question.” He smiles. “And now…”

Ziggy looks at Stephanie. She shakes her head in response. There’s nothing she can say because she’s just as perplexed as he is. Not that he has that much time to think about it. Instead Ziggy is engaged in dodging falling sandbag anchors until he finally collapses on his back in the grass, panting. Too late comes the cry, “Look out below!!!”

“Mr. Nine!” Stephanie shouts.

He pokes his head over the railing. “Yes, child?”

“You ARE Number 9, right? You know Sportacus?” She asks directly.

Nine’s moustache twitches. “Of course I know him, dear girl. Speaking of Sporty, where is that boy?” He glances about quickly, his sharp blue eyes picking out details that she could only imagine.

“I think he’s still on his airship.” Stephanie offers.

“Still on his airship?!”  Nine’s voice is incredulous. “Oh that will never do. I’m going to have to have a talk with that sprite whe----”  There’s a horrible sobbing wail from somewhere deep in town that hooks all of their attention. Nine perks to it. “---- Mmmph, and I see Robbie is the same as ever.”

Stephanie looks at the ladder, tantalizingly close, then calls up to the elf. "I really do like your airship Mr. Number 9."

He laughs. "Nei .. Just Nine, my dear. No need for any formalities." He motions to the ladder with a wink, "Care to come aboard?"

“Wowwwwww! REALLY?!” Ziggy beams.

“Of course!” Nine chuckles. “Come along, both of you.”

Stephanie laughs happily. She and Ziggy both busy themselves climbing the rope ladder up, up, up, to the rail of the ship. Nine helps Ziggy over the rail, hoisting him up and over to land safely on the deck.

To Stephanie he offers his hand. “Thank you for the compliment. Yes, yes. My grandfather, Seven, built it.” His tone turns wistful. “…I had wanted to give it to Sportacus, but he had different interests and… well… I honestly couldn’t bring myself to part with the ol’ girl.” Nine winks at Stephanie as he helps her aboard.

Putting his hand on the Ziggy’s shoulder, Nine directs him and Stephanie inside the cabin. "Come along inside…”

The creaking ship smells of worn leather and old wood. Wax and oil from the lamps add their scents to make it truly feel homey. Inside the cabin is as ornately carved as the outside. The furniture is all old, perhaps Number Seven carved it all himself. Intricate handmade quilts and carpets decorate the walls and floor. On the cast-iron stove a shiny copper kettle is whistling.

“Oh dear,” Nine comments as he rushes over to the stove. “Let me just take care of that.”

As he focuses on the kettle, Stephanie’s eyes wander over a series of portraits on the wall near the dining table. No two are alike. One is clearly a younger Nine. He winks at the photographer and an old man stands at his right. They are posed beside this very airship… before the balloon had so many patches in it. Nine has a very small toddler in his arms. All angles and elbows, the small tike looks out with the same bright blue eyes Nine and the other have. There is a brass tag on the frame with some strange, swirling script on it.

Stephanie tries her best to read it out loud; “Íþrótta..álfur..inn Átta, Níu, og sonur Tíu.”

She feels as if her tongue is tied in knots, but looks to Nine to see if he noticed. Apparently the pictures robbed her of thought entirely because Ziggy is already occupied with a cup of tea and Nine is staring at her bemusedly.

“My dear, I can’t hold this mug forever. Do you want some tea as well?” Still holding the cup, he looks at the picture that caught her interest. “Mm. That is my father, Átta…” He quickly translates, “...Number 8. That’s me there, though I think I’ve grown more handsome with age.” He laughs. “And lil’ Sportacus is clinging to me like rime on a windowpane.”

Ziggy blurts out. “NO WAY! That is Sportacus?!” He stares at the picture while Stephanie takes the cup from Nine.

The old skipper seems not to have heard. His snowy brows have drawn together beneath his goggles. “He was two…I’m almost certain he was two.”

Stephanie smiles as she sips her tea. It’s flavored with just a touch of honey and a twist of lemon. She feels a little guilty. Surely Sportacus wouldn’t approve. But in the picture he smiles widely, half hidden beneath his long cap. A silver bell hangs off the end, jingling in the painted breeze.

Ziggy grins. “Wow. I never thought about Sportacus having a dad or being little.” Stephanie echoes his amazement silently. Sportacus has always been… well, big.

Nine scrutinizes the sun through a blue window and seems to come to a decision. “I’ll be right back. Do have an apple if you’re hungry.”

Left alone, Ziggy attacks the bowl of apples with happy abandon while Stephanie looks at all the other pictures.


3


Number 9 removes his spyglass from his belt as he strolls to prow of his ship.
“Forty-nine!” He crows as he pitches his telescope high up into the sky, and begins a countdown.

“Mr. Nine?” Stephanie interrupts at 30, poking her head out of the cabin.

He motions her to silence and continues his countdown.


4


Robbie sits huddled in his chair. He has his blanket over his head and his expression is one of shock. “No! — Nononononono ..NOOO! I-I can’t even get rid of the one and now… and… NOW THE OTHER ONE SHOWS UP!! Oh… this is the worst… the most awful day of my life!” He sobs and starts to suck his thumb.

Hearing a loud countdown, his demeanor suddenly changes to one of suspicion. He leaps from his chair, his blanket still on his head, and dashes to the periscope. He scans the children coming out of the cabin and dismisses them as unimportant, jerking the view up to Nine on the bow. There’s the source of the countdown.

“Twenty-six. Twenty-five. Twenty-four…”

A flash catches Robbie’s eye. There’s something shiny tumbling end over end towards back towards the earth. He follows its course with the periscope.

“Seventeen.”

Stephanie is starting to get a bit worried as she watches the telescope drop from the sky like a rock. “What is Number 9 waiting for?” she ask aloud. “And why is he counting?”

Ziggy shrugs. “You think we should catch it?”

“It might be a good idea.” She helps Ziggy to his feet. Together they prepare to dash for the shiny scope like outfielders at a baseball game.

“Six. Five. Four.”

The telescope is getting perilously close. Only some fifteen feet overhead it glitters. Stephanie and Ziggy tense to spring as soon as it’s just a little closer, but just then Sportacus comes over the wall.

“Three. Two.”

With a spring, he launches himself from the wall into the air. His hand closes around the telescope as Nine says, “One.”

Number 9 hangs off the rigging. “Perfect!” He calls to Sportacus below. “Exactly 49 seconds.”

Sportacus almost stumbles on his landing he’s so stunned. He looks at the telescope in his hand and then peers up at the ship. “Dad?!” He grins. “Dad! What are you doing here? I’m so surprised to see you!”

The old elf bounds off the deck, turns a somersault and lands near his son. He clasps Sportacus’ forearms happily and says. “I just decided I would come for a visit.” His happiness is quickly swapped with a most miserable looking pout. “Sporty. Here, I tell everyone how proud I am of my son. I show them your embarrassing baby photos. I read them your letters. But you, my pride, never say a word of me to your friends.”

“Oh… uh.” Ten scratches his head as he scrambles for words. “I’m sorry, Pabbi. We’re always so busy with other things.”

Nine is again all smiles. He pats Sportacus on the shoulder. “Ah, well. It’s all better now, isn’t it? Anyway, I met your Stephanie. She is just as you described her.”

Stephanie’s eyebrows creep up just slightly as she looks over the side of the ship.

Ziggy mumbles. “Hey, he met me too.”

Sportacus blushes. “She isn’t “my” Stephanie, Dad.”

Nine gives him a sharp look. “I think you should have the wedding at home.”

Stephanie’s eyebrows jerk almost to her scalp as do Sportacus’. “W-wedding?!” They chorus.

Ziggy can’t contain a very appropriate. “Woah.”

“-- For your mother’s sake,” Number 9 continues.

“DAD!” Ten shouts. “STEPHANIE ISN’T MY...”

“And you need to start thinking about Number Eleven.” The elder scolds with a glint in his eyes. “You know I’m turning 183 this year, I’d appreciate seeing a grandson running around before I’m too ancient to chase after him.”

Stephanie is perilously close to fainting, a blush staining every inch of her. Ziggy is staring blankly with his mouth open. Sportacus looks like he’s about to jump right out of his skin… and Nine? Nine is grinning like a cat with a fat canary in his mouth.

“Stephanie is…” Sportacus starts, only to find himself talking to blank air as Nine does a series of flips back up to the deck of his ship.

“Oh, Sporty, can you help me with this?” He calls over the side. Nine is trying to open a large valve at the base of the bladder.

Ten nods and joins his father in a few quick movements. As he strains to help Number 9 open the valve, he comments. “I see you still have grandad’s old airship.”

“Correction...” Nine grunts, twisting with Sportacus until there’s a burping noise and the balloon drops a few feet. “...your GREAT grandad’s.” He and Ten quickly close the valve.

“Dad the thing’s three hundred years old.” Sportacus critiques, brushing his hands off.

“And STILL in perfect working order.” Nine insists with more than a little pride, drawing his tennis racket and stabbing at the air with a triumphant motion. Sheathing the prop, he continues. “Which is more than I can say for that… that… digital watch you fly about in.”

Ten rolls his eyes as if to say, ‘Not this again.’ “I happen to like MY airship.” Sportacus defends his sleek blue and white blimp.

“Feh!” Nine spits, one eye closed and the other peering straight at his son. “That’s no ship! That’s a calculator.” He capers around deck, fiddling with the nets and lines. “– And it makes you lazy.”

Stephanie and Ziggy look at each other with a worried expression.

“What?!” Sportacus’ expression is one of horror and disbelief. “Me? LAZY!?”

Nine looks at Ten through a net. “Yes! Lazy!” He points a finger at Sportacus. “Door! Table! Bed!” He mocks a few of the voice commands. “I open my own doors! Yes, Yes I do.” He comes out from behind the pile of nets. “I open my own doors. I always have. I also…”

Sportacus rolls his eyes to the right.

“Throw my ladder over the side myself every day! And you know, I always…”

By this time Ten knows what’s coming next. He’s heard it all before in one way or another. He speaks the last line in synch with his father; “…pull my own bed from the closet every night.” Sportacus adds. “Yes, Pabbi. I’ve heard this all before.”

“Hmph!” Nine snorts. “You know I ‘could’ have given you this proud ship,” he eyeballs Sportacus. “If you’d asked.”

Sportacus sighs. It’s obvious he feels more than a little guilt. “I-I know, Dad. But, I really wanted something… different.”

Nine, realizing he’s hurt his son’s feelings, grimaces. He holds out his arms. “Ahh… but it’s good to see you, Ten.”

Sportacus hugs him. He’s a little misty. “It’s good to see you too, Pabbi.”

Ziggy hugs Stephanie impulsively and she smiles.

“HOW CUTE.” Comes a voice from below. It sounds as if that’s the last thing the speaker means.

Sportacus looks over the side, but his father already knows who it is and waves jauntily.

“There you are, Robbie, my lad.” Nine’s voice is cheerful but dips into astonishment. “I’m surprised you didn’t show up sooner, to be completely honest.”

Robbie Rotten scowls in the face of such joy. “So lil’ boy blue is your kid.” Rotten could have cared less about the greeting. He grumbles. “Was it ever any wonder?” He washes a cold eye over both of them and crosses his arms.

(SCRIPT CLOSES)