The Batman, it seems, always has a plan. So, when
evening and the ninja came, we were ready. Of course,
there was still the magician to be reckoned with...
Chapter 7
Narita
Shinochi Tsumane disembarked from the 777 at 12:06
P.M. Tokyo time, made his way through customs, with
the aid of some carefully placed bribes, and found
himself in the arrivals room of Narita International
Airport.
To call the place barnlike would be an understatement
worthy of the ancient Spartans. It was simply huge.
Across the floor sprawled the booths where countless
airlines checked bags and distributed tickets, along
the walls were spread vast numbers of benches for the
hordes of weary travelers, and the high ceiling caught
the echoing din and amplified it into a cacophany of
linguistic chaos. Signs in Japanese and English
pointed in all directions, towards departure gates,
gift shops, restaurants, and bus stops.
Tsumane deftly negotiated the polyglot mob, coming to
rest at last in a secluded corner of the fifth-floor
food court, where he had an appointment. Simon Magus
was waiting for him. The tall mystic was dressed in a
fine black suit, with a leather briefcase at his feet.
Even to Tsumane's practiced eyes, the slight bulge of
the shoulder holster was almost invisible.
Apparently, this so-called magician preferred to back
his magic up with more substantial armaments.
"You have it?" demanded the hard-eyed mage.
"I do, Magus-san."
"Well, give it to me!"
Tsumane raised one eyebrow. "You forget, Magus, you
are my employer, not my master."
"Very well. You want your fee?"
"What I want, gaijin, is to be adressed with respect.
You may be a netsuke-jin*, but your magic tricks would
avail you little at this range, against a ninja
master. Your firearm will serve no better."
"Very well, ninja master," Simon Magus filled the
words with sarcasm. "I apologize. Now, as to our
business..."
"I have your prize here." Tsumane held up a
cloth-wrapped bundle. "You have the money?"
"$5,000,000 U.S. dollars, in cash. You did specify
American currency?"
"Yen fluctuates too much. It's in the briefcase?"
It was, and Tsumane was taking the case with his left
hand, and handing the cloth-wrapped artifact to the
wizard with the other, when the roof fell in on him.
To be more precise, a piece of ceiling plaster with a
six-foot diameter dropped from on high, and broke into
a cloud of dust on the heads of ninja and warlock.
Following close behind were three dark figures, masked
and accoutred for battle. Donal Mac Namara, his
broadsword in hand, hurled a small throwing club,
which spun fiercely through the air, striking
Tsumane's wrist and making him drop his bundle.
"Shimmatta yo!" cursed the ninja, as he came face to
face with Nightwing. Swinging his payment as a
bludgeon, he back-stepped for room, but Batman came at
him from another angle, and he was faced with a
two-front battle, armed only with the briefcase. He
used it to block a high kick from Nightwing, and
ducked under it to riposte with a chop to the
vigilante's right knee. Batman landed a sharp jab on
the the ribs, but it only hurt. Swinging the case
like a bludgeon, he forced Batman back, cape
fluttering out around him like wings.
Donal, meanwhile, rushed at the magician, eyes burning
with righteous wrath at the man who would corrupt a
holy relic. Magus, never a man trained to fight,
knew he had no chance of victory in clean battle
against a flame-hearted Irish swordsman. The wizard,
however, had never been one for clean battle.
Back-stepping rapidly, he reached for the shoulder
holster and pulled a Glock nine millimeter, knocking
off two crisp shots in the warrior-monk's direction.
Donal, his mind aflame, did not notice the screaming
crowd that ran for cover, any more than he noticed the
near-miss as a bullet wizzed past his ear. He did
notice the bullet that hit him, carving a burning line
through his laeft calf, but the pain only inflamed his
mind further.
"Jesu!" He bellowed, both battle-cry and prayer, as
he lunged with a furious abandon at the mage's
gun-hand. His steel did not touch flesh, but he did
send the Glock skittering across the floor. Simon
Magus turned and ran.
Tsumane spun suddenly from Batman and hurled the
briefcase, with some passing regrets for the
$5,000,000, directly into Nightwing's face. The
impact knocked the man to the ground, and split the
case open. It wasn't money that spilled out.
"Netsuke-Jin! Damn you for a cheating gaijin!"
Tsumane was enraged beyond any possibility of sanity,
and he hardly noticed when Batman kicked him in the
left kidney, sending him skidding forward, to slip on
the pile of cabbage leaves lying on the ground where
bundles of twenty-dollar bills should have been.
Simon Magus muttered dark cantrips between panting.
Physical exertion was not his forte. It was something
that Donal excelled at, however.
"Silent Brothers, come to me!"
//What is your need, Mortal Man?\\
"Strength, speed, and endurance, for a short time."
//You may have them. For a short time.\\
The demons rushed into his body, and he was faster,
stronger. He turned and bolted past the monk, rolling
under the swinging sword, rushing with all his
magicked energy, straining for the cross on the
ground. Donal wheeled and rushed after him.
Shinochi Tsumane lay on his back, looking up at the
sharp-eared cowl of the Batman, realizing that he was
in deep trouble. Then the cops arrived.
Japanese police are efficient, honest, and dutiful.
They are by no means combat troops. So, when the
foremost of the half-dozen white-gloved men shouted
"Domatte!" it took Batman only a moment to level them
with sleeping gas and flash concussors. A moment was
all it took for Tsumane to get to his feet, and make a
break for it. On the way to the balcony overlooking
the lower floor, he kicked Nightwing in the side for
good measure.
Simon Magus grabbed the cloth bundle with a cry of
triumph. Tearing the wrapping away, he held it aloft
triumphantly. By the time he realized it wasn't the
cross, but a chunk of lead, the aegis of his demon
allies had faded away, and left him naked to the steel
of the fiery-eyed warrior monk. This same monk now
faced him with sword held aloft before him, the light
glinting on its Damascus steel edge.
The sorcerer howled vicious curses at his betrayer.
Tsumane laughed a little bit as he jumped over the
side, grabbed the edge of the floor, and swung himself
into a window, flying out into the night in a shower
of glass. Simon Magus decided to save further cursing
for later and ran hell-for-leather towards the
escalator, charging down the steps like lightning. He
didn't have to shove anyone out of his way, for
everyone had already fled. The monk came after, sword
shining like a flame.
Batman sped after Tsumane, but the ninja had made good
his escape. He went back to where Nightwing was
picking himself up off the ground.
"Holy double double-cross, Batman!" said Nightwing,
smiling hazily as he looked at the fake money and the
fake cross.
"Time for that later, 'Old Chum.' We need to get to
Donal before he does something rash."
Donal Mac Namara, warrior monk of the Hidden Way of
Saint Patrick, had gone far beyond rashness. He
pursued the running man through long hallways, sword
brandished high, ignoring crowds, customs officials,
security guards, and cops. He had eyes only for the
man who consorted with demons and sought after holy
things. He was filled to overflowing with a righteous
anger, tinged with the berserker battle-madness that
sparked his ancestors when they fought the Roman
legions.
"THOU SHALT NOT SUFFER A WITCH TO LIVE!" he howled,
drawing ever nearer to his panicked quarry. He would
have caught the man long since, but not even his
berserker rage could keep his wounded leg from slowing
him down.
Magus ran across a moving walkway, eyes wild, hands
searching pockets for his mystic regalia. Lamb's
blood, utterly useless. Nightshade, dried and
crushed, though, had some potential...
"Dead life bringing death..." he muttered as he ran,
"...burn and catch in mortal's breath..." he fumbled
open the vial, "...Nakron dey grka nak sruleth!" he
finished, the last words of the charm spoken in a
language only fifteen living people knew, as he flung
the powder behind him. It seemed to spark with hidden
fire, but it might have been a trick of the light.
Behind him, the charging Celt ran straight into it.
As he felt the first sparks against the exposed skin
between his mask and hood, he closed his eyes and
rolled low. This, along with the fabric that covered
his nose and mouth, may have been what saved his life.
Perhaps it was the prayer he spoke as he went down.
He was scorched and singed by the poisonous fire of
the mage's curse, but it was only skin deep.
Simon Magus didn't care a great deal whether the monk
lived or died, just as long as the madman stopped
chasing him with that sword. He fled until he managed
to find a bathroom with a large handicapped stall. It
was occupied, but that was fine with him. The
invisibility spell was a rite that involved human
sacrifice. He would escape, he would claim his
revenge on the ninja, and, above all else, he would
hold the Cross of Saint Padraic in his hands.
******
Luckily for Donal, Batman and Nightwing got to him
before anyone else did. They scooped up his sword and
carried him away, taking the third contingency exit
Batman had planned. All things considered, the
engagement looked like a draw, except for Narita
International Airport, the roof thereof, and an
unlucky French businessman on crutches, who had chosen
the wrong place and the wrong time to go to the can.
******
"Okay, now what?" Asked Nightwing, holding an
ice-pack to his blackened eyeball. He was better off
than Donal, who had a bandaged leg, which would take
days to heal properly, and a face whose poultice was
largely experimental, insofar as magicked Nightshade
is a substance unfamiliar to medical science.
"Tsumane still has the cross. Tomorrow he will return
to the Hokkaido compound. Oracle has downloaded the
plans and blueprints. We attack at 0100." Batman was
physically the least damaged of the three, but inside
his mind, the sight of Shinochi Tsumane's face had
torn open deep, deep scars. There would, he vowed to
himself, be a reckoning tonight.
*Netsuke-jin literally translates as 'fox-man.' In
Japanese folklore, the netsuke are believed to be
malicious, magical spirits, who play cruel tricks, and
work dangerous mischief. They are more like
hobgoblins than demons, but they have strong
associations with magic, and with the possession of
bodies.
evening and the ninja came, we were ready. Of course,
there was still the magician to be reckoned with...
Chapter 7
Narita
Shinochi Tsumane disembarked from the 777 at 12:06
P.M. Tokyo time, made his way through customs, with
the aid of some carefully placed bribes, and found
himself in the arrivals room of Narita International
Airport.
To call the place barnlike would be an understatement
worthy of the ancient Spartans. It was simply huge.
Across the floor sprawled the booths where countless
airlines checked bags and distributed tickets, along
the walls were spread vast numbers of benches for the
hordes of weary travelers, and the high ceiling caught
the echoing din and amplified it into a cacophany of
linguistic chaos. Signs in Japanese and English
pointed in all directions, towards departure gates,
gift shops, restaurants, and bus stops.
Tsumane deftly negotiated the polyglot mob, coming to
rest at last in a secluded corner of the fifth-floor
food court, where he had an appointment. Simon Magus
was waiting for him. The tall mystic was dressed in a
fine black suit, with a leather briefcase at his feet.
Even to Tsumane's practiced eyes, the slight bulge of
the shoulder holster was almost invisible.
Apparently, this so-called magician preferred to back
his magic up with more substantial armaments.
"You have it?" demanded the hard-eyed mage.
"I do, Magus-san."
"Well, give it to me!"
Tsumane raised one eyebrow. "You forget, Magus, you
are my employer, not my master."
"Very well. You want your fee?"
"What I want, gaijin, is to be adressed with respect.
You may be a netsuke-jin*, but your magic tricks would
avail you little at this range, against a ninja
master. Your firearm will serve no better."
"Very well, ninja master," Simon Magus filled the
words with sarcasm. "I apologize. Now, as to our
business..."
"I have your prize here." Tsumane held up a
cloth-wrapped bundle. "You have the money?"
"$5,000,000 U.S. dollars, in cash. You did specify
American currency?"
"Yen fluctuates too much. It's in the briefcase?"
It was, and Tsumane was taking the case with his left
hand, and handing the cloth-wrapped artifact to the
wizard with the other, when the roof fell in on him.
To be more precise, a piece of ceiling plaster with a
six-foot diameter dropped from on high, and broke into
a cloud of dust on the heads of ninja and warlock.
Following close behind were three dark figures, masked
and accoutred for battle. Donal Mac Namara, his
broadsword in hand, hurled a small throwing club,
which spun fiercely through the air, striking
Tsumane's wrist and making him drop his bundle.
"Shimmatta yo!" cursed the ninja, as he came face to
face with Nightwing. Swinging his payment as a
bludgeon, he back-stepped for room, but Batman came at
him from another angle, and he was faced with a
two-front battle, armed only with the briefcase. He
used it to block a high kick from Nightwing, and
ducked under it to riposte with a chop to the
vigilante's right knee. Batman landed a sharp jab on
the the ribs, but it only hurt. Swinging the case
like a bludgeon, he forced Batman back, cape
fluttering out around him like wings.
Donal, meanwhile, rushed at the magician, eyes burning
with righteous wrath at the man who would corrupt a
holy relic. Magus, never a man trained to fight,
knew he had no chance of victory in clean battle
against a flame-hearted Irish swordsman. The wizard,
however, had never been one for clean battle.
Back-stepping rapidly, he reached for the shoulder
holster and pulled a Glock nine millimeter, knocking
off two crisp shots in the warrior-monk's direction.
Donal, his mind aflame, did not notice the screaming
crowd that ran for cover, any more than he noticed the
near-miss as a bullet wizzed past his ear. He did
notice the bullet that hit him, carving a burning line
through his laeft calf, but the pain only inflamed his
mind further.
"Jesu!" He bellowed, both battle-cry and prayer, as
he lunged with a furious abandon at the mage's
gun-hand. His steel did not touch flesh, but he did
send the Glock skittering across the floor. Simon
Magus turned and ran.
Tsumane spun suddenly from Batman and hurled the
briefcase, with some passing regrets for the
$5,000,000, directly into Nightwing's face. The
impact knocked the man to the ground, and split the
case open. It wasn't money that spilled out.
"Netsuke-Jin! Damn you for a cheating gaijin!"
Tsumane was enraged beyond any possibility of sanity,
and he hardly noticed when Batman kicked him in the
left kidney, sending him skidding forward, to slip on
the pile of cabbage leaves lying on the ground where
bundles of twenty-dollar bills should have been.
Simon Magus muttered dark cantrips between panting.
Physical exertion was not his forte. It was something
that Donal excelled at, however.
"Silent Brothers, come to me!"
//What is your need, Mortal Man?\\
"Strength, speed, and endurance, for a short time."
//You may have them. For a short time.\\
The demons rushed into his body, and he was faster,
stronger. He turned and bolted past the monk, rolling
under the swinging sword, rushing with all his
magicked energy, straining for the cross on the
ground. Donal wheeled and rushed after him.
Shinochi Tsumane lay on his back, looking up at the
sharp-eared cowl of the Batman, realizing that he was
in deep trouble. Then the cops arrived.
Japanese police are efficient, honest, and dutiful.
They are by no means combat troops. So, when the
foremost of the half-dozen white-gloved men shouted
"Domatte!" it took Batman only a moment to level them
with sleeping gas and flash concussors. A moment was
all it took for Tsumane to get to his feet, and make a
break for it. On the way to the balcony overlooking
the lower floor, he kicked Nightwing in the side for
good measure.
Simon Magus grabbed the cloth bundle with a cry of
triumph. Tearing the wrapping away, he held it aloft
triumphantly. By the time he realized it wasn't the
cross, but a chunk of lead, the aegis of his demon
allies had faded away, and left him naked to the steel
of the fiery-eyed warrior monk. This same monk now
faced him with sword held aloft before him, the light
glinting on its Damascus steel edge.
The sorcerer howled vicious curses at his betrayer.
Tsumane laughed a little bit as he jumped over the
side, grabbed the edge of the floor, and swung himself
into a window, flying out into the night in a shower
of glass. Simon Magus decided to save further cursing
for later and ran hell-for-leather towards the
escalator, charging down the steps like lightning. He
didn't have to shove anyone out of his way, for
everyone had already fled. The monk came after, sword
shining like a flame.
Batman sped after Tsumane, but the ninja had made good
his escape. He went back to where Nightwing was
picking himself up off the ground.
"Holy double double-cross, Batman!" said Nightwing,
smiling hazily as he looked at the fake money and the
fake cross.
"Time for that later, 'Old Chum.' We need to get to
Donal before he does something rash."
Donal Mac Namara, warrior monk of the Hidden Way of
Saint Patrick, had gone far beyond rashness. He
pursued the running man through long hallways, sword
brandished high, ignoring crowds, customs officials,
security guards, and cops. He had eyes only for the
man who consorted with demons and sought after holy
things. He was filled to overflowing with a righteous
anger, tinged with the berserker battle-madness that
sparked his ancestors when they fought the Roman
legions.
"THOU SHALT NOT SUFFER A WITCH TO LIVE!" he howled,
drawing ever nearer to his panicked quarry. He would
have caught the man long since, but not even his
berserker rage could keep his wounded leg from slowing
him down.
Magus ran across a moving walkway, eyes wild, hands
searching pockets for his mystic regalia. Lamb's
blood, utterly useless. Nightshade, dried and
crushed, though, had some potential...
"Dead life bringing death..." he muttered as he ran,
"...burn and catch in mortal's breath..." he fumbled
open the vial, "...Nakron dey grka nak sruleth!" he
finished, the last words of the charm spoken in a
language only fifteen living people knew, as he flung
the powder behind him. It seemed to spark with hidden
fire, but it might have been a trick of the light.
Behind him, the charging Celt ran straight into it.
As he felt the first sparks against the exposed skin
between his mask and hood, he closed his eyes and
rolled low. This, along with the fabric that covered
his nose and mouth, may have been what saved his life.
Perhaps it was the prayer he spoke as he went down.
He was scorched and singed by the poisonous fire of
the mage's curse, but it was only skin deep.
Simon Magus didn't care a great deal whether the monk
lived or died, just as long as the madman stopped
chasing him with that sword. He fled until he managed
to find a bathroom with a large handicapped stall. It
was occupied, but that was fine with him. The
invisibility spell was a rite that involved human
sacrifice. He would escape, he would claim his
revenge on the ninja, and, above all else, he would
hold the Cross of Saint Padraic in his hands.
******
Luckily for Donal, Batman and Nightwing got to him
before anyone else did. They scooped up his sword and
carried him away, taking the third contingency exit
Batman had planned. All things considered, the
engagement looked like a draw, except for Narita
International Airport, the roof thereof, and an
unlucky French businessman on crutches, who had chosen
the wrong place and the wrong time to go to the can.
******
"Okay, now what?" Asked Nightwing, holding an
ice-pack to his blackened eyeball. He was better off
than Donal, who had a bandaged leg, which would take
days to heal properly, and a face whose poultice was
largely experimental, insofar as magicked Nightshade
is a substance unfamiliar to medical science.
"Tsumane still has the cross. Tomorrow he will return
to the Hokkaido compound. Oracle has downloaded the
plans and blueprints. We attack at 0100." Batman was
physically the least damaged of the three, but inside
his mind, the sight of Shinochi Tsumane's face had
torn open deep, deep scars. There would, he vowed to
himself, be a reckoning tonight.
*Netsuke-jin literally translates as 'fox-man.' In
Japanese folklore, the netsuke are believed to be
malicious, magical spirits, who play cruel tricks, and
work dangerous mischief. They are more like
hobgoblins than demons, but they have strong
associations with magic, and with the possession of
bodies.