It is five days since my last entry. The reader
will surely appreciate, once I have related the events, why I felt it prudent to
spend these past evenings in the cave, monitoring the C-channel in case my
assistance would be required, rather than in my room maintaining this journal.
It is five days since the memorial service,
four since the developments on “the Brown case,” and three since Miss Selina
departed. Now that I am at leisure to record the episodes of these past days and
nights, I have resolved to do so even if it takes me until dawn to accomplish
the task. I have therefore brewed a pot of strong tea in lieu of my usual hot
milk. Miss Nutmeg sits upon my lap as I write. She followed me from the pantry
and mewed so plaintively at the door to my room that I felt compelled to admit
her. One suspects she is upset at the many recent departures from the
established routine of the house: the strangers who attended the memorial, the
suspension of our nightly meetings in the pantry, and, of course, Miss Selina’s
absence.
This last is the only remaining anomaly and one
hopes, fervently hopes, it will be of short duration. She has gone to her
preserve, the Catitat, located about an hour’s drive upstate. This property, I
am informed, includes a small rustic cabin where one might accommodate oneself
for a night or two. But one cannot imagine such a refined being as Miss Selina
forgoing the comforts of civilized life for very long. She will surely have her
fill of ocelots and leopards and return to the manor tomorrow morning, if not
tonight.
If she does not, I fear I must set prudence
aside and take some definite action. One would not dream of asserting that
Master Bruce is “on his last nerve” since her departure, but his behavior
these last days is such that I freely admit I am on mine.
It all began, evidently, while the last guests
still lingered after the memorial. Mr. Valley and Miss Cassie were having their
talk in the kitchen. I was fetching an aspirin for Ms. Lance. And it seems that
two of the younger gentlemen—Mr. Conner Kent and Mr. Bart Allen—approached Master Tim to inquire, quite simply, “When and where?” It seems a
given among these young men that Master Tim would be dealing out a very personal
vengeance for this crime. Their assistance, one gathers, was also to be taken
for granted.
The question of “when and where,” however,
was not one Master Tim could answer. It presupposed certain knowledge of Miss
Stephanie’s killer and where he could be found.
One is pained to recount this story. It echoes
the earliest days of Master Bruce’s endeavors. He was about 12, still so
young, a child, and he thought as a child. His earliest efforts had focused
almost entirely on the physical: building his muscles and stamina. He wished to
punish criminals; he wished, to be blunt, to batter criminals. He only expanded
the scope of his labors to include more intellectual pursuits when he realized
that in order to hit the criminals, he must first be able to find the criminals.
He became proficient at this, as all the world
knows. He is perhaps the most skilled and capable detective in the world—a
fact that did not escape Master Tim.
What evidently happened was this: The day after
the memorial, Master Tim approached Master Bruce in his study, asking quite
openly what progress Batman had made on the case and expecting a blunt rebuff. Instead, Master Bruce consented instantly; as he had plainly thought out the
matter beforehand and already reached a decision. He said he had a name but had
not yet located the perpetrator’s current alias or location, but he was
confident that information would soon be known. Indeed, if he had not had to
interrupt his investigation for the memorial, he might already—
It was there he broke off mid-sentence, for he
had begun moving with Master Tim towards the Batcave. On reaching the landing,
he saw Master Dick already in the cave, accompanied by Mr. Conner Kent. They
were at one of the tables where the forensic evidence on the Brown case was
assembled, and the younger Mr. Kent appeared to be scanning an object in some
extrasensory manner.
Master Bruce deduced, quite rightly, that
Master Tim’s civil and respectful inquiry was nothing but a diversion. It was
expected that he would obstruct and argue with Master Tim, and that this would
so occupy his attention that the other young gentlemen would have ample time to
enter the cave and sift through the evidence.
The reader may well guess the master’s anger
at this development. The young gentlemen could guess it as well, no doubt,
although Master Bruce refrained from expressing it by any overt word or action. It was only later that he told me—but I am getting ahead of myself.
Master Bruce restrained his anger with the
young gentlemen and briefed them on his investigation thus far: He produced
casefiles on two unsolved murders in Phoenix, one in Las Vegas, three in Central
City and two in Richmond. The FBI had detected a commonality in these homicides
but had declined to share that intelligence with local law enforcement.
The master spoke most bitterly of this
practice. It is easy enough to see why: If these federal investigators had been
more forthcoming with their supposed allies in the police, then perhaps this
individual would have been found and apprehended before he ever came into
Gotham. It is my belief that this consideration weighed heavily in Master
Bruce’s decision to share his findings with Master Tim—in spite of the
terrible anguish those findings were bound to provoke.
The individual responsible for the heinous
string of murders is, Master Bruce is quite certain, a mugger that Robin and
Spoiler apprehended earlier in the week. He had been released from custody under
suspicious circumstances when the evidence against him was somehow mislaid. Master Bruce surmised that Miss Stephanie may have pilfered this evidence
herself—a suggestion which brought the most heated rebuttal from Master Tim.
Master Bruce sent Master Dick and Mr. Conner
from the cave at this point.
They came upstairs and Master Dick informed me
of the proceedings as I have related them. I did not feel it appropriate to
comment on the matter, so I asked the present whereabouts of Mr. Conner.
“I left him out in the rose garden with
Selina,” he told me. “I figure if anybody can keep a guy distracted, she
can. I don’t think Conner could—or would—eavesdrop, but I didn’t
want to chance it considering what’s probably going on down there. Christ. I’m turning into Bruce.”
I did not press the matter. It is true that
Master Dick is not as generally mistrustful of teammates with enhanced listening
abilities as is Master Bruce, but the present circumstances were unusual and, in
my opinion, his caution was most prudent. I told him so, and then asked another
question that had puzzled me.
“Master Dick, you had said it was Mr. Conner
and Mr. Bart who approached Master Tim about this—undertaking. Might one
ask—”
“Why it was me in the cave instead of Bart? C’mon, Alfred, two outsiders in the cave alone behind Bruce’s back, Tim
wouldn’t go that far, even today.”
“I see, sir. Very good, sir.”
“You don’t think I should have gone along
with it, do you. You think I should have told them no way: it’s Bruce’s
house, Bruce’s cave, Bruce’s evidence, and you’ve got no business sneaking
in there if he doesn’t want you in the investigation.”
“That alternative course does seem to have
occurred to you, Master Dick.”
“Yeah… well. I couldn’t do it. I looked
in Tim’s eyes—I know that look, Alfred. It’s just how I felt when Jason
died. Like it could’ve been me, but it wasn’t. Was it luck or did I do
something right that he did wrong? God as my witness, I don’t know which is
worse. Did Jason just… screw up?… Is it that simple? One mistake and—bang—game over. … So I went along. I took Conner down to the cave. And I
spent five minutes just looking at Jason’s costume hanging there.”
I cannot describe the expression with which
Master Dick now looked at me, except to say it was hauntingly similar to Master
Bruce.
“I was so angry at Bruce, Alfred. He benched
me, plain and simple, when I got shot by the Joker. He decided a trained,
capable, mature partner is too much of a liability, and then turned right around
and took on that green, reckless kid. I was so fucking angry, I turned my back
on the both of them. And I will never, ‘til my dying day, know what that did
to Jason Todd. If I hadn’t… If I had been there…”
He twisted his head and bit his lip in a manner
I well remember from his youth, when tears threatened that he wished to choke
back.
“I SWORE,” he said loudly, as if he could
turn back those tears with sheer volume, “when Tim put on that costume, I
swore he would NEVER be alone like that. I swore I would always be
there for him, Alfred, no matter what. I’m sorry if it looks like I betrayed
Bruce some way, but… Fcklugh.”
This last was in response to the tear that had
welled, despite his efforts, and now dripped down his cheek.
There are no words of comfort one can fairly
offer at such moments, so I merely placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a
few moments to collect himself as he might wish.
“Master Dick,” I said at last, “Questions
that begin ‘If I had/if I had not’ have no true answers. You can never know
how your actions may have impacted Master Jason’s fate. And if you could know,
that knowledge would not change the past. The only good that can come of these
musings is that which you have already found: in taking the lessons of the past,
such as they may be, to guide your choices in the present. Your resolve and
commitment to Master Tim is admirable. Master Bruce would be the last to condemn
you for it.”
“I hope so, Alfred.” He sighed. “I really
hope so.”
Batman surprised many within the “bat
family” and the larger hero community in allowing Robin to pursue the case as
he did with Superboy and Kid Flash. In my opinion, this merely shows how little
they truly understand him.
As he himself put it to me “I wanted to spare
him pain, Alfred. Not inflict more. Because I know it doesn’t help. I know
having the fiend there, right under your fist, knowing what he did… it
doesn’t help. It’s just one more moment to relive over and
over. It only makes it worse and I didn’t want that for Tim… But Clark was
right; he was going to get involved no matter what. Having to go around me to do
it would have just shut me off from him at a time he most needed a friend. So of
course I relented. What do they take me for, some kind of monster?”
This last question was directed, not to me, but
to a small communicator that lay at his workstation. He had, as I said, made a
full disclosure of his findings and given his blessing to Robin’s pursuing the
case on his own. But he had no intention of letting that trio proceed
unsupervised. He himself was already “suited up” and preparing to set out in
the Batmobile. And, because of Superboy’s involvement, the master had enlisted
Superman. If intervention became necessary, he could certainly not risk being
hindered by ‘Tim’s well-meaning friend,’ even if that friend could hurl
Batman into orbit.
Superman was already monitoring the situation
and had relayed certain comments from the young heroes’ “com-chatter.” It
was these remarks that caused Master Bruce to regard the communicator with such
contempt and ask if his associates thought him a monster.
“Nope,” a chipper voice announced before
us. “Just a stubborn jackass.”
“Good evening, Miss Selina,” I greeted her. “I see that you have already changed for your nightly… excursion.”
She winked at me in that impishly playful
manner; I nodded and withdrew a few steps, that my presence might not hinder
their conversation.
Miss Selina is no stranger to the cave, but she
rarely comes down at that time of night. She keeps her costume under the bed,
changes in her room, and, so far as I know, comes and goes as Catwoman almost
exclusively through the upstairs windows. Her purpose in coming down at this
hour could only be to catch the master before he left on patrol.
One did not, of course, strain to overhear
their conversation, but one could not help but note certain phrases when a voice
rose in agitation.
“I really hope you mean that,” Miss Selina
was saying, “because I’ve got news that’s going to test the theory.”
“Nigma!” the master exclaimed a moment
later, followed by Miss Selina, “So this is not rigid knee-jerk
psychobat?” A few moments after that, she looked aggrieved as I heard her say
“He didn’t word it as a question, if that’s what you mean.”
After perhaps a minute of inaudible murmurings,
the master slammed his fist on the console and shouted “Because you don’t
take what the enemy gives you!”
“That’s Ra’s, not Eddie,” Miss Selina
declared firmly.
The master uttered something in reply that I
did not hear—in response to which Miss Selina slapped him. I naturally
thought it best to busy myself in another part of the cave entirely. I withdrew
to the trophy room, always in need of a dusting, and only returned to the main
chamber after the display cases rattled from the roar of the Batmobile’s
departure.
I spent the remainder of the evening, as I have
said, monitoring the C-channel and, through it, following Master Robin’s
progress in pursuing Miss Stephanie’s killer. The young gentlemen broke off
their activities that first night at 4:23. Superman, satisfied at the result,
appears to have departed Gotham skies at 4:30, while Batman remained a further
hour for “a quick patrol.”
This is not atypical behavior for him: whenever
some undertaking, such as the clandestine watch over Master Robin, forces him to
abandon his regular patrol schedule, he always manages to work in at least one
make-up patrol—usually on the same night. It is not my habit to wait up for
him until dawn on these occasions, but I did in this instance in case Master
Bruce might wish to consult me after the somewhat fevered events of the day.
It quickly became apparent that he wished
precisely that, for he scanned the cavern immediately on his return and, on
seeing my person, he nodded and removed his cowl. He settled at the workstation,
as always, and opened his log. The routine in times past has been that he types
for a time, then unburdens himself on some matter, then types some more, talks
some more, until the matter is resolved to his satisfaction.
Except on this occasion, he did not type but
merely stared at the open log.
“Is she home?” he asked after a moment.
“I couldn’t say for certain, sir, but would
imagine so,” I told him. “It is nearly dawn.”
The master responded with one of those low
guttural utterances. After a short pause, in which again no typing occurred, he
said:
“She talked to Nigma this afternoon. Did she
tell you about that?”
“The Riddler, sir? Miss Selina informed me
she was going out, sir, at about three o’clock. She did not reveal the purpose
of the expedition and I saw so need to inquire.”
The master sighed heavily, then turned from the
screen to face me directly.
“Well that’s where she went. He called her. He called her because… because… He hates Cluemaster, Arthur Brown, always
has. Considers him a second-rate thug ripping off his ‘theme.’ Couple months
ago it seems, he planted a spy among Brown’s henchmen.”
“I see, sir. And this agent of the Riddler
unearthed some information that Mr. Nigma wished to relate to Miss Selina?”
“Something like that. Brown is gunning for
Robin. Tim isn’t the only one blaming himself for what happened to Stephanie. Cluemaster has also decided that Robin is responsible for Spoiler’s death. Years of neglect and abuse, having her kidnapped, once nearly getting her killed, and now that she’s dead, he decides he’s the loving father.”
“Let me understand clearly what you’re
saying, sir: Edward Nigma learned that the Cluemaster is mounting some sort of
vendetta against Master Robin and… he warned you of this, sir? By way
of Miss Selina?”
The master glared in a most disquieting manner
before confirming that this was essentially the case.
“I confirmed it. It all checks out, exactly
like she said.”
“A curious development, sir.”
“It makes some sense, Alfred. Nigma does hate
Cluemaster. To his mind, this would be a rewarding puzzle: In going after Robin,
Brown would be setting himself up for a load of ‘bat trouble’—if I found
out first.”
“A certain irony, sir. Miss Stephanie took up
the mantle of Spoiler in just this way, did she not?”
“What?” he asked absently.
“Miss Stephanie became the Spoiler to
alert the police to her father’s activities in advance.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
Again, his voice was
absent of any mark of comprehension, and I suspected he was not listening.
“Something more is troubling you, sir?”
“I said something I shouldn’t have, Alfred,
when she told me about this.”
“Miss Selina, sir?”
He closed his eyes and wrinkled his brow, an
expression of deep regret or deep fatigue. When, after a full minute’s
silence, it became clear he intended to say no more, I pronounced it fatigue
(although, in truth, I have my doubts) and sent him up to bed.
The next day, he informed me Miss Selina had
gone to the Catitat. “She doesn’t want anybody with less than four feet to
talk to her for a while,” is the way he phrased it.
The days that followed left little time for
conversation on personal topics, the hunt for Miss Stephanie’s killer taking
precedence. Master Robin’s team performed with exceptional skill, maturity,
and dedication. The second night of their investigation, they obtained a most
promising lead. The suspect had, when Robin and Spoiler first apprehended him,
worn a T-shirt with a lewd expression and an obscene image. These have since
been identified as the name and logo of a band that regularly perform at a
Greenwich Village nightclub called Ernie’s. A waitress at this club remembered
the suspect. She was able to supply the first name of his current alias and a
guess as to the neighborhood where he might reside. Master Robin split his team,
sending Kid Flash to check out that neighborhood while he and Superboy remained
to stake out this nightclub.
Master Bruce was also obliged to alter his
strategy. He had wanted, I need hardly say, to maintain the watch on Master
Robin personally. If a confrontation with Miss Stephanie’s killer occurred, he
was surely the best qualified to intercede with Master Robin should the
situation require it.
It was not to be. The underworld, by now, was
aflutter with the news that a bat operative had been killed. The stories were
murky, contradictory, and uniformly inaccurate, but they served to excite this
treacherous sub-section of the population. There were those, to be sure, who
recognized bad news when they saw it: a crimefighter fallen would only spur
those remaining to unprecedented fervor. Others, regrettably, saw it as a
victory for all those who flouted the law. The master dispatched Azrael,
Nightwing, and Huntress to establish a presence near the various dens of
criminal activity. This kept matters well in hand so far as the general criminal
population, but there was one nemesis, as always, who failed to conform to any
predictable models.
The Joker saw the tales of a Bat-slaying in
terms all his own. It was not a sign that crimefighters would be active, neither
was it cause to rejoice. He saw it, evidently, as someone usurping his position. It was his prerogative to kill any “Bat-Sidekicks” that needed killing, and
he vowed all manner of gruesome reprisals once he found the villain who violated
that dictum.
The Joker is the one villain Master Bruce would
never dream of “staffing out” to another operative. He took the matter in
hand himself, and chose Black Canary to take his place watching Master Robin. You may at first wonder, as I did, why he would not turn to Nightwing for this
task, Master Dick’s relationship with Master Tim being a close and brotherly
one. The reason, regrettably, is that episode in the cave. Master Dick had shown
himself ready to side with Master Tim, to conspire with him in effect to
circumvent Master Bruce. One fears that Batman was simply not confident that
Nightwing could be relied upon to step in as he should if the situation with
Master Robin became volatile.
The task of watching Cluemaster he consigned to
Batgirl. This may not have been the wisest assignment. Miss Stephanie and Miss
Cassie were, after all, close friends. They would have talked, as all girls do,
of likes and dislikes, common joys and common pain. Both had criminal fathers
whose methods of upbringing gave each cause to complain. There is no way Master
Bruce could have anticipated it, but in retrospect, it is easy to see how it all
came about. Miss Cassie had every reason to view Arthur Brown as a vile beast
that caused her friend pain. She was herself grieving that friend’s loss, when
the beast attacked Robin, another friend and ally stricken by the same loss.
Batgirl did not deliberately overstep the
bounds of physical force, of that we are all quite certain. What Master Bruce
believes to have occurred is this: The Cluemaster held Robin responsible for his
daughter’s demise, just as we were told. But he had blame enough to spare for
anyone associated with Batman. When he closed in on Robin, preparing to make his
move, Batgirl intervened. Cluemaster was enraged by the challenge—a
crimefighter, a Gotham crimefigher, one of those who took his daughter from him—he attacked her, evidently, with a violence far beyond what she expected. A
creature such as Arthur Brown could not hope to pose a threat to one of Miss
Cassie’s abilities, but his vehemence provoked her to counter-attack in kind. The fight escalated sufficiently to tap into the anger and resentment of Miss
Cassie’s own grief, as well as certain issues, one imagines, related to her
own father.
Arthur Brown is expected to survive his
injuries, indeed he was released from intensive care in less than six hours, and
was transferred from Gotham General to the Arkham infirmary this morning.
The most serious ramification of the episode
between Batgirl and Cluemaster was its pulling away all the carefully
constructed supports around Master Tim. Superman first heard the disruption
taking place a few blocks from Master Robin’s stake out. He informed Black
Canary, who went at once to intercede. Superboy was the next to detect the
commotion and, thinking it a diversion, went to investigate himself. Superman
followed, his primary role in this mission being as a kind of check on Superboy.
This left Master Robin on his own when, as fate
would have it, the suspect believed to be Miss Stephanie’s killer was sighted
leaving the nightclub. Master Robin followed, in what state of mind one can only
guess. I cannot bring myself to believe Master Tim would truly seek to bring
about another’s death, even in circumstances such as these. I believe in my
heart he would have apprehended the man and brought him to justice, if only the
confrontation had remained between the two of them alone. But that conclusion
was not meant to be.
The killer returned to his home, and Master
Robin closed in, surveying the building, its windows, sightlines, entrances and
exits, as he had been taught. In this brief time of preparation, he observed the
Joker making for the entrance. A moment later, he saw Batman trailing the Joker.
It is not so very difficult to understand why
Master Robin chose to act as he did. It is easy, in fact, to see how—having
never set out intending the suspect’s death—one could not help but
consider the possibility on seeing a known killer of the Joker’s famed
brutality entering the man’s domicile. It is easy to see that, with the very
real possibility being suggested to one’s mind, one could not help but feel a
certain satisfaction from the thought.
It is easy, therefore, to see why Master Robin
might have swung down to intercept Batman and delay his pursuit of the Joker.
The conversation was brief, as Master Bruce
related it to me. It was heated and not without recrimination; one is pained to
report that the participants did come to blows. But when the sounds of frenzied
laughter were heard within the dwelling, Master Robin relented. Indeed, it
appears it was he and not Batman who transported the individual for further medical
attention after an antidote was administered.
Master Bruce’s injuries are not severe
compared to those he has suffered in past battles with the Joker, although there
is a marked stiffening around his lips. This has, of course, occurred
before. It is not that frightful aftereffect of SmileX exposure that accounts
for the Master’s foul temper this morning. It is, most certainly, the bruise
on his jaw resulting from the altercation with Master Robin, coupled with Miss
Selina’s ongoing absence.
To be continued…
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