Arkham Through the Ages, Part I
Western Territory of the United States – 1885
"Harleen? Did you hear what Mr. Wayne was saying?"
Harleen Quinzel turned her attention away from the window of the jolting stagecoach, and the barren, desolate landscape outside it, which she had been staring at with ever-increasing dread. "Um…no," she stammered. "I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention."
"I was saying that one day, all this will be civilized," said Bruce Wayne, gesturing out at the surrounding, harsh desert. "And it will all be thanks to brave men and women like yourself and your family, Miss Quinzel, who are willing to go out into the wild, savage wilderness and tame it. Bring it some measure of civilization. That's the only way we as a society will ever progress."
"Can mere humans ever tame nature's wilderness?" asked Harleen, dryly. "I think it's much more likely that we'll just have to live in harmony with the wild, and accept the chaos of nature as it is, rather than trying to control it."
"Well, forgive me for having more faith in humanity than you!" laughed Bruce. "But I believe it is mankind's destiny to dominate the world, and everything in it. And it is America's manifest destiny to expand all across this great continent, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, and maybe beyond. It's why I'm heading to California, anyway – I want to be able to say I've seen the Pacific Ocean with my own two eyes, and seen Americans settle on its edges."
"That's funny, I thought you were heading to California to take up your job as a deputy sheriff," replied Harleen.
"Well, that's why I applied for the job," replied Bruce, shrugging. "Could have stayed on the East Coast – I come from a wealthy family and could have lived a life of luxury. But that kind of idleness just isn't for me – I want to make a difference in the world and in society. And being responsible for the law in these as yet lawless territories is just the thing. Being able to tame these uncivilized people and make them respect the rule of law, I think that's a fine ambition."
"I think so too, Mr. Wayne," agreed Harleen's father, nodding. "It's good for a man to have ambition."
"It's not good for a woman," retorted Harleen. "Unless that ambition is to be married."
"Harleen, please, not this again," sighed her mother. "You don't want to bore Mr. Wayne when we have such a long way to go on our journey."
"Surely finding a husband can't be a problem for you, Miss Quinzel?" asked Bruce. "You're a very attractive, charming young lady."
"The very idea of finding a husband is a problem for me, Mr. Wayne," snapped Harleen. "The idea that I'm only worth anything when attached to someone else, that my own value as a person is based on whether or not I am the servant of another person. Mr. Lincoln may have abolished slavery, but women are still forced into servitude by your supposedly civilized society. So forgive me for not thinking very highly of it."
"My daughter can be quite outspoken – you must forgive her, Mr. Wayne," said Mrs. Quinzel, hastily. "Her father and I have tried to discourage her from speaking her mind, to little effect."
"There's nothing to forgive," said Bruce. "I admire anyone who has the courage to speak out against injustice, wherever it may be found. It takes bravery, especially when people keep shouting you down."
"How nice of you to find an ally in Mr. Wayne, Harleen," said her father, with an encouraging smile. "You are truly a gentleman of the highest order, sir."
"Oh, please, none of that," said Bruce, waving his hand. "I won't be treated any differently from you in the new territory, Mr. Quinzel. We are all equals out here."
"I hardly think a deputy sheriff is equal to a merchant," said Mr. Quinzel. "Even in the new territories."
"A very successful merchant," pointed out Bruce.
"Well, yes," agreed Mr. Quinzel, shrugging. "But there's money, and then there's family background. And there's nobody in our part of the country who hasn't heard of the Waynes. My family immigrated here a generation ago, but you're from one of the richest, most established families in America."
"Well, that hardly makes me better than anyone else," said Bruce. "And out here, in terms of opportunity, I believe we should all be equal. That's the American dream, and I hope we're going to get to live it in the new territory."
Harleen said nothing, returning her attention to the dead landscape outside the window, and trying to ignore her feelings of anger and disappointment which burned through every fiber of her being. She hadn't much cared for her life back on the East Coast, but anything was better than being dragged all the way across the country to some tiny dump of a town in the California territory, where life would be anything but easy. Her father's ambition was similar to Bruce's – to help the struggling settlements prosper by injecting them with much needed wealth and business, to establish a real, flourishing society and turn them into the economic hubs of tomorrow. And Harleen supposed this was an adventure, of a kind, but it hadn't been at all pleasant so far.
She and her family had packed up all their possessions, and been trapped on this stagecoach for weeks on end. The natural beauty and greenery of the East Coast and the majestic mountains of the Midwest had finally faded away to this barren, rocky, desert wasteland. And from what Harleen had heard of California, her new home wouldn't be much different from this. It was like looking out on a world of dead things, and she couldn't imagine having any sort of life out here, where nothing grew and little survived.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden bang, and the rearing of the horses. "What on earth is that?" asked Mr. Quinzel, glancing out the window. Harleen leaned her head out to try and peer around the front of the stagecoach, but the desert twilight was closing in, and seeing much more than a few feet in front of her was impossible, even though the lamps on the side of the coach had been lit. She had never experienced nights as dark as this before in her life.
The stagecoach rattled as they felt the driver dismount, and then heard booted, spurred footsteps coming round to the door. It was opened suddenly, and they were all four shocked to be staring down the barrel of a gun wielded by a man in a mask.
"Surprise! This is a stick-up!" chuckled the man, who was wearing a purple handkerchief over his mouth and nose, leaving only his bright, green eyes visible beneath a wide, purple cowboy hat. "Everybody outta the coach now!"
They all obeyed slowly, stunned and not fully processing what was happening. Harleen looked around to see that the coach had been surrounded by what appeared to be a gang of men on horseback. The man in purple was obviously their leader – he was shouting up orders to the men on the roof of the stagecoach who were going through the Quinzel's and Bruce's possessions.
"Careful, Roc!" shouted the man in purple. "Don't drop anything that might be valuable!"
"Boss, jackpot!" exclaimed one of the men, throwing open a chest to reveal a huge pile of banknotes.
"Two jackpots," said another, opening up a satchel with the same.
"Oooh, we got wealthy company in our midst!" chuckled the man in purple, turning back to the passengers. "My favorite kind! Hope you don't mind if I help myself!"
"You can't take that!" gasped Mr. Quinzel. "That's all we have, all I've saved…"
The man in purple pointed the gun at him, silencing him. "Can't is such a negative word, pal," he murmured. "And I can't stand negativity. So I wouldn't use that word if I were you."
"Gee, boss, but you just used the word can't," pointed out one of the gang members. "To say you can't stand negativity…"
The man in purple whirled around, and suddenly fired the gun into the gang member's head. He slumped off his horse as both Harleen and her mother screamed, horrified by the violence.
"Also can't stand people correcting me," muttered the man in purple, turning the gun back on the passengers. "Shows a lack of respect. Now, I'd like you all to hand over any valuables you might have on your person, please. Jewels, money, gold, that kinda thing. You'll wanna give them up voluntarily, or I'll make my boys search you, and trust me, you don't wanna be subjected to that."
"You won't get away with this, you criminal scum!" hissed Bruce Wayne, his blue eyes blazing fury.
The man in purple walked over to him, the spurs on his boots clinking. "Oh, I think I just might!" he chuckled. "Gotten away with it a lotta times before, sport!"
"You won't from now on," growled Bruce, glaring at him. "I promise you. I will hunt you down and see you hanged for this, even if you are some coward in a mask."
The man in purple reached a gloved hand up and pulled down the handkerchief, and Harleen was shocked to see that his skin was bone white, contrasting sharply with bright, grinning red lips, and a huge, glittering smile.
"Let me give you a good look so you won't forget my face," he murmured. "I don't wear the mask to conceal my identity, just to keep the dust outta my face when I ride!" he chuckled. "I have a pretty distinctive appearance, and I'm fairly proud of my notoriety, really. Maybe you've heard of me. The Joker?"
"No," retorted Bruce. "But I won't forget you. You can bet your life on that, however much remains of it."
The Joker chuckled. "Got ourselves a hero here!" he laughed. "You won't last long in these parts, pally. This ain't no place for a hero."
His attention turned to Harleen, and he suddenly ripped her necklace off her throat. "I said hand over the jewels, sweetheart!" he snapped.
"How dare you?!" shrieked Harleen, her indignation at being touched overcoming her fear of this man. Before she knew what she was doing, she slapped him hard across the face.
For a moment afterward, the tension in the air was palpable, as the other gang members immediately silenced, staring at her in shock. The Joker slowly turned his face back around to her, and there were sparks of anger shooting from his green eyes.
He snapped his fingers. "Roc!" he shouted to one of his gang.
"Yes, boss?" asked the man, hurrying over.
"Tie her up," he said, nodding at Harleen. "We're taking her with us."
"What?" gasped Harleen, horrified.
"No!" cried her parents, just as Bruce started forward to attack the Joker. They were all kept at bay by guns being pointed at them by the surrounding henchmen.
"You can all leave here alive or not – up to you," said Joker, turning away from them and heading back to his horse. "The rest of you, search them."
Harleen was seized by the gang member. She tried to struggle, but he was much bigger and stronger than her, and lifted her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. She felt her legs being bound, and was then thrown over the back of a horse. The Joker came around to tie her hands and arms together.
"What are you going to do to me?" she demanded, trying to sound threatening.
He smiled at her. "Dunno. But probably nothing you'll find very fun, toots. Maybe I'll sell you at Arkham. Pretty, feisty little thing like you should fetch a fine price."
"You'll pay for this…" she began.
"Roc, gag her too!" interrupted the Joker, patting her cheek and then heading back to his horse. The henchman obeyed, sticking a dirty rag into Harleen's mouth that made her choke. Tears came to her eyes as twisted against the ropes, and gazed back at her parents and Bruce in helplessness. They were being searched by the henchmen, but Bruce's eyes were fixed on her in determination.
Maybe he's going to rescue me she thought. Maybe he'll be able to do that before I come to any harm…she didn't want to imagine how much harm she could come to at the hands of these men.
The Joker suddenly gave the order to move out, and the horse she was tied to lurched forward. "Harleen!" shrieked her mother, watching her disappear into the night. "Harleen, no! No!"
She burst into tears, and Mr. Quinzel held her, trying to soothe her. "Don't you worry, Mrs. Quinzel," murmured Bruce Wayne, keeping his eyes fixed on Harleen until she disappeared from sight. "I'm going to get her back."