Alaster Bonemen: fair enough

Piper 1996: I'm so glad you like it! And yes, Elijah will meet Wally...not sure about Roy though. But I'll think about it.

aRobininflight: Thank you, I did a lot of research on it.

BlackTarget: Yes I mean the Night of Broken Glass.

KaliAnn: Thank you so much. That is what I try to do.


chapter 7

"The end of the world came on March 12, 1938," Elijah declared in a monotone voice, as if he had only asked someone to passed the salt.

Tightening his grip on his second cup of tea, he swirled his spoon around its edges with a quiet fervor. "History knows it now as the Anschluss...the day Germany took over my country, without a single voice rising in protest."

Snorting, Elijah slapped his forehand to the side of his face. "I can't even call it a takeover. Hitler was Austrian by birth, so he had nearly the full support of the people my family had considered our neighbors...Austrians greeted their conquerors with Nazi salutes, Nazi flags, and red Nazi flowers. In Vienna... my city, my home, had changed over night. The Nazi flag hung like Death's banner from every window and balcony...Robin called it "the black spider on it's web" because to us, that's what it looked like. It was so ugly..."

Coughing a little, Goldson took a deep sip of his tea, while his audience waited with baited breath for him to finish.

Bruce noted that even Goldson's own granddaughter seemed entranced by the narration -and the idea formed in the billionaire's head that this was the first time she was hearing this tale as well. That would go a long way in explaining why she had come with her grandsire half-way across the world, just to meet a boy that she herself had no connection to.

People could go to astonishing lengths if they thought the truth was waiting for them at the end.

For a moment Bruce wondered at the girl's parents...while their daughter certainly seemed mature and capable, it was still an extraordinary leap of trust to send a regular fifteen year old so far away, with so little supervision.

...But...now that he paused to think about it...in the entire time they've been guests in his house, neither Esther or Elijah had made so much as a passing reference to the girl's parents.

Bruce was all to aware of what that implied.


When Elijah finished his drink, he seemed startled by the intensely of the attention he was getting.

"My God..." he murmured disbelievingly. "Please tell me this is not the first time you young people are hearing about theses things. I thought they were taught in school..."

Dick shifted in his seat, clearly wanting to just get back to the story, but at the same time, didn't want to appear rude.

"Weeell yeah," he said slowly, drawing out the words. "We do...but I'm only a freshman. I won't studied this stuff until a few years from now..."

"-And besides," he added quickly, when Elijah seemed a little put down by this fact, "Reading stuff from history books isn't half as good as hearing it first hand. Classes always rush through without going deeper into it."

"Hum..."Goldson said softly. "I supposed that's true...I thought the same thing when I was your age -what's the point of teaching history if you move so fast, your students don't have time to grasp it? To understand it? Yes..."

Quirking an eyebrow, the old man said, "I imagine you all just want to get to the main events, yes?"

"...That would be good yeah," Dick admitted. "Well I mean...not good, it wasn't good but...yeah."

Elijah nodded promptly. "Very well then, where would you like me to start?"

"Umm..." Dick drew out slowly, thrown off by the question. And understandably so too, seeing that from the beginning, Goldson had gone off at his own pace. "Well...how 'bout from where things started getting bad?"

"...From day one things were beyond bad Zun," Elijah replied drily. "They very next day after the Anschluss, Jews were driven through the streets of Vienna, their homes and shops were plundered. Men and women were forced to wash away pro-independence slogans painted on the streets of Vienna by the few people who were brave enough to oppose the takeover. With toothbrushes. Every other week there were new laws and regulations -Jews can't do this, can't do that- within months we were driven out of public life."

"And Rudzik's family weren't doing so well either," Goldson continued. "Roma kids were banned from school along with Jews, so that was the end of the Graysons' attempt to educated their children. But even then they were better of than us...they at least could still make a living performing in the artisan section in the city -while my father lost his position in the bank. "

"But...but despite the situation, we-we all tried to go on with life. Since we couldn't go to school anymore, my mother homeschooled me and Rikárd. He would come over to my house to study and forget that the world was falling apart around us. Sometimes he would sleep over, and we'd stay up late talking about what we wanted to do when we grew up...a little clueless there eh?"

"No sir," Alfred said softly. "Just young boys who believed in the future."

The elder shook his head, and his hand moved to feverously rub his wrist.

"No...Rudzik was the one who believed in the future. Hope was... it was intertwined into his soul -tied up along with all of his dreams. And he believed in it so hard, that I began to believed it too...even though all common sense told me not to."

Smilingly wryly, the old man added, "I think that's why my parents enjoyed having him over so much...he just brighten up the room. Made them feel that there was a future to look forward to...at least for me."

Then that smile vanished.

"We were up in my bedroom on November 9 when Kristallnacht begun, and everything changed."


"And it wasn't by any means subtle," Elijah recalled in a trembling voice, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. Bruce saw Esther lean forward in her seat, worry creasing her brow. "One moment everything was normal -everything was fine. Just a night like every other. And then the next moment, a pack of animals is braking down the door."

"But those men, those beasts, they didn't stop with the braking the door -oh no. They began to smash everything. Me and Rikárd were both sitting on my bed, a few books spread between us, listening as glass shattered. We were ten and eleven years old, the two of us. We were frozen."

But the boys hadn't remained frozen for long -not when an even worser sound reached their ears. The sound of Elijah's parents being beaten in their own home.

In retrospect, what they did next was extremely stupid.

...Or perhaps not. Perhaps what they did next exactly saved their lives. Drawn by the screams, the boys had open the door, creped to the staircase, peered down below to witness a sight no child should ever have to see.

Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein, along with Mrs. Dorn -who had made the grave mistake of trying to interfere- were surrounded by at least ten mid-to-late teenaged boys, all in those crap-brown Nazi uniforms that they had come to fear and hate.

Elijah must have gasped, or sucked in a breath, or something...because to everyone's horror -adults' and kids'- one of the boys, with the heighten sense of a bloodhound, looked up and saw them on the stairs.

"Ah," he said grinning from ear to ear, like it was all a good joke. "You have little ones!"

"Elijah!" His mother had shrieked, spraying blood from her mouth as she did so. "RUN!"

But despite both the threat and warning, her son was too stupefied to move.

Lucky for him, Rikárd was not. Grabbing his friend by the collar, he pulled Elijah back to reality with one good yank, and led their mad dash back into the bedroom, the sound of booted feet lazily making their way up the stairs to come after them. After all what was the rush? What could two little boys do?

They soon found out however, when they couldn't open the door -Rikárd and Elijah having shoved a chair under the handle. But now they were trapped, and judging from the irate banning on the door, their wannabe attackers weren't too happy with them.

What could they do? Where could they go? They couldn't fight them...could they? They were twice their size and had guns...

Terrified, Elijah was all for hiding under the bed...but Robin had a different plan. Eyes on fire, the Roma boy rushed to the window, opened it, and balanced precariously on its edged. Outside of Elijah's bedroom was a small courtyard, and a single, gnarly old birch tree.

"What are you doing?!" Elijah gasped as he stood behind him.

"What does it look like? It's the only way out 'Lijah," Rudzik replied in a matter-a-fact tone.

Glaring out from underneath his friend's arm, Elijah blanched at the distance between the window and the tree.

"Rudzik it's too far," he pleaded desperately. "We'll kill ourselves if we jump!"

"And those crazies will kill us if we don't!" Rikárd shot back. "It's not so far...wish me luck."

With that he jumped, with all the flamboyance of an trapeze artist. He cleared the distance easily, disappearing like a bird into the branches. Frantic, Elijah clambered up onto the windowsill to look him.

""Rudzik? Rudzik?!"

For a terrible moment there was nothing...but then the branches rustled.

"Elijah come on! You next! Hurry!"

Gulping, Elijah hesitated.

The banning grow louder, rattling the door.

Rudzik's voice grew frightened. "Elijah please!"

Gathering his courage, the Jewish boy leaped after his friend.


"...I think I broke about ten branches coming into the tree," the modern day Goldson mused softly, while his audience sat in silence awe. "But I made it, that's the important thing. And not a moment to soon. My door broke just as I leapt. Me and Rikárd held our breath as one of those thugs came to the window and peered out. We were lucky that the branches I didn't brake were so thick he couldn't see us. And that it was already dark enough that when the man looked down, he couldn't tell that there weren't two bodies on the ground..."

"When he went away, we climb down (well, fell down in my case) and hid behind some garbage cans...that's where we stayed the rest of the night, listening to people scream, and watching the sky turn a molten golden-red. I don't know how we fell asleep, but we did. And when we woke up the next morning...everything was quiet."

Goldson's mouth thinned. "That scared us more than the all the noise from last night. Even the screams. After all, if people are screaming, it means their still alive... were we the only ones left?"

He shagged, looking exhausted, and Esther began to get up, speaking in hushed Yiddish, but Goldson waved her down. "Alright Essie, alright, I'll wrap up...we're near to the end of this part of the story in any case."

"And if I may say so sir," Alfred interrupted. "It is one of the most remarkable stories I've ever hear -and I've hear quiet a few in my time. To think that boys your age would have the clearness of head...and the sheer courage of heart to do what you did...it's absolutely heroic."

Goldson shook his head. "Heroism had nothing to do with it...that comes later. At that moment we were animals trying to save ourselves. You'd be amazed at what you can do, when you want to remain alive."


"Naturally, we explored the house first...it was a wreak, and most of our money and all of my Mother's jewelry had been taken...Mother and Father were gone as well. So was Mrs. Dorn. We didn't know if they were dead or arrested or what. We just didn't know. So we did the logical thing...we decided that the one safe place we knew now was the Graysons' apartment in the artisan section. Rikárd was sure that his parents were out of their minds with worry."

Bruce felt a shiver run down his back. For a brief moment, he tried to envision Dymitir and Zoya Grayson's circumstance...one where you knew that your child was defenseless in a city that had ransacked and assaulted it's own citizens; all alone...unless of course, if he was in the company of a companion who was part of the group that had been targeted.

Suddenly, the many times Dick had been in danger (especially as highly trained Robin) almost seemed minuscule in comparison.

"As we made our way through Vienna, the full extend of last night happens became apparent to us...not one Jewish store or home had been spared. There was glass everywhere. Because we were bare-foot, we had to watch where we stepped. A cut foot would have been the perfect start to the heir of a perfectly awful night. But all that glass in the world didn't hurt as much as passing the Synagogue...or what was left of it. It had been burnt to a crisp...from the inside out -that what had turned the sky that hideous gold in the middle of the night."

Elijah rested his head on his knuckle, looking heart-sick. "Robin...Robin tried to say something...but I brushed him off. I didn't want comfort. I didn't want pity...and above all else...I didn't want to be a Jew...to me it was not any better than having a death sentence."

Taking a deep breath, he seemed to forced himself to sound more upbeat. "When we got to the Graysons' apartment, only Soraya and Zoya was there. And they damn near finished what the Germans had started: yelling their heads off, and hugging us to death at the same time; demanding to know where in the hell had we been, and why didn't we come here right away and didn't we know Dymitr and Jan had been out looking for us, and were we alright?"

"Rikárd and I just sat there in the kitchen and took it...it's useless to try and stop a Grayson woman when she's on the war path (I'd rather deal with a rabid tiger)...plus Raya had eggs on the stove for us by this point, so we didn't want to risk her disfavor. We were starving."

After the boys had eaten, Zoya had taken Elijah hands, and told him as gently as she could that his mother was here as well, asleep in Soraya's bedroom. Naturally, Elijah had jump from the table and rushed to see her before Zoya could finish...only to freeze in shock in the doorway. On the bed was a ragged woman, who multiple injures seemed to pained her, everytime she breathed.

"...I couldn't recognized her," Goldson whispered hoarsely. "I couldn't recognized my own mother."


Elijah and his mother spent the next two weeks with the Graysons', while Mrs. Goldstein recovered from her injures. Mrs. Dorn was also brought to them, having been found wandering the streets in a state of shock by Dymitr and Janos, when they were looking for the boys.

Mr. Goldstein however, had vanished along with hundreds of other Jewish men -never to be seen or heard from again.

Of course, at the time they didn't know this. That was why Mrs. Goldstein politely refused Dymitr Grayson's invitation that both she and Elijah accompany his family back to their native Hungary -far, far away from the Germans' madness. She felt that it was her duty as a wife to stay and look for her husband...however, she was more than happy to accept this change for her son to escape the country. In less than a day the grown-ups had formed a cover story: which clearly stated that from now until further notice, Elijah Goldstein no longer existed.

In his place, a gypsy boy named Soren was born, third son of the Grayson clan. And that is what he would remain until being a Jewish boy no longer made one a target.

Naturally Elijah had protested the plan at first...how could his own mother be sending him away? They were all they had now, and he had to look after her a-and...but one stern look silenced any further objections. He was going, and that was the end of it. They would leave tomorrow.

"Tomorrow?!" Bruce exclaimed in disbelief, sitting up in his seat, his logical mind whirling. "How on God's earth would you be able to leave tomorrow?! Wasn't it forbidden to travel without papers or permits?"

"Well officially yes," the old man said dismissible, with a wave a hand to show that it was of little consequence. "Roma and other nomads were forbidden from travelling...to free for the Germans' taste...but the Graysons' still had their wagon and the horses the circus had left them, hidden in the woods. Turns out that they had been planning to leave Austria for weeks...ever since Anschluss. Seeking out of the city wasn't easy, but once we were out and all loaded up...there wasn't anything to stop us."

"Expected for German patrols and border-guards that would of probably arrested, if not outright shot you," Bruce stated flatly.

Eljah's eyes gleamed defiantly. "Well yes in part -if we traveled on the main roads that is. Which we never did. There are hidden highways throughout all of Eroupe, Mr. Wayne. Some of which are centuries old. Old Roma Roads-"

"Yeah yeah!" Dick exclaimed excitedly, his face lighting up. "I've been on some of them, and Grandpa told me about others. If you didn't already know about them, you would never know they were there."

"Precisely Dick," Goldson said with a wink, making the boy grin broadly in returned, Bruce noted with a just a touch of irritation. "We had to push hard to make it before the winter set in, but we made it...we made it..."


Releasing a stream of air, Elijah pressed the palms of his hands together.

"And that is the story of how a Jewish boy became a gypsy," the old man said with an air of finality. "And seeing that it is ten o'clock, I think that would be a good place to stop for the night."

With those words, all of the joy effectively bleed out of Dick face. Esther's too, for that matter, in a lesser extent.

"Really?" he asked, his disappointment showing plainly in the slump of his shoulders, and down-hearted expression. "Are you sure you can't-"

"Dick," Bruce abolished. "It's late, and I'm sure that the Goldsons are tired from their trip here. They probably want to rest. Besides, you have school tomorrow."

Ears reddening, Dick suddenly became aware of how dangerously close to whiny he had sounded. "Oh, right..." he murmured shamefaced. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Esther reassured him as she helped her Grandfather up out of his seat. "Believe me we understand...we really do."

As the party began to file out, Elijah suddenly spoke up, "Oh yes, one more thing before I forget. Do you fellows know that your clock is broken?"

As he said this, the old man gestured vaguely to the mentioned grandfather clock that separated them from their hidden world of darkness and heroics.

The reaction of the household members was immediate; though mercifully subtle enough that neither of the guests picked up on the jolted of shock that passed over their faces.

"...Yes we are," Bruce answered in a nonchalant tone, inwardly thinking that there was no way he was going to risk a patrol this night, if the old man noticed so much. "It's an antique. We like it that way."

"Oh. Alright then. I'm glad you know."


After courteously helping the guests unload their suitcase from the car (though not with some protest from grandfather and granddaughter alike) and seeing them unloaded into adjoining rooms, Dick found himself seated cross-legged on his queen-sized bed. And in his pajama clad lap, he held his great uncle's drawing journal. He had begged hard for Bruce to let him bring it into his bedroom. His guardian had agreed only under the condition that Dick was in bed by ten thirty, and no later.

Dick had been more than happy to give his consent.

Sneaking a quick peek at clock, he grinned to see that it read only ten thirteen. He had nearly half-an-hour to explore a lost world. A world that he was still having trouble believing existed, and was accessible to him. Throughout the whole narration, his heart had raced with both elation and suspense...which was kindda stupid, now that he thought about it.

After all, he knew how this story would end -that his Grandfather would be the only one to come out of the war alive...but that knowledge hadn't stopped him from feeling Rudzik's determination and terror on the Night of Broken Glass. In his mind's eye he had seen a smaller, darker version of himself leap from a two story building, and tasted his fear as he watch the sky burn...

...Raising his head, Dick glared at his own window for a moment, shuddered, and returned to the notebook.

Whoa Grayson, he ordered himself. Get a grip.

It was crazy that he was feeling so much... until today, he hadn't even know that any of these people existed but now...now he cared about them; care as though he had know them all in person. In a way now, he supposed he did.

And of course he cared...they were family.

Flipping with utmost care through the pages, Dick reveled at how well Janos Grayson had expressed himself in art. Each and every image -be it of animals or family members, spoke of a frank honest and a sly sense of humor.

Going passed the Disneyish drawings into more serious ones, it became clear that Jan hadn't shied away from exposing physically flaws, such as a small scar or blemishes, but he always manage to even it out with expect displays of the subject's personality.

After admiring a particularly nice illustration of a vivacious horse ridding Soraya, Dick turned the page...and blushed to the roots of his hair.

...This next section was devoted to pictures of blond, drop-dead gorgeous girls -in various states of undress. But somehow, it balanced the fine scale of Playboy worthy dirtiness, and an almost Renaissance-like elegant. From the sheer detail of them, Dick knew that they had all been drawn from life...and all he could say was that his uncle certainly had good taste.

Snorting to himself, Dick jumped through the pages at a quicker rate -not that the girls weren't easy on the eyes, but the fact remained they weren't the reason he was here.

But as he neared the end, his smile disappeared.

Near the end, the drawing got darker and darker...showing scenes of rabid, crimson wolves with black swastikas for eyes, as they chased every innocent looking forest creature through the woods. It was like something out of an R-rated Bambi -especially during gory scenes where the wolves ripped their victims apart.

...Forget movie-making, Dick thought with a weak attempt at humor, Janos should have wanted to be a political cartoonist.

Unfortunately, any attempt to lighten the mood fell on it's face with the next drawing...a flock of birds lying dead on the ground. Beautiful birds -an eagle, dove, swan. A sparrow and thrush. And a robin. Behind them were a few burning wagons and smirking wolves. And to drive home the utterly un-whelmed atmosphere...this was the first drawing with words attached to it.

It looked like a poem...though because it was written in a well-faded Hungarian, Dick couldn't read it.

...I'm so going to regret this.

Snatching his computer-watch, Dick scanned the words, and waited impatiently for the translation to come up. But when it did, he wished it hadn't. Turned out that it was an rendition of a old morning song -one that was normally sung at funerals when young men died. Only some of the lyrics had been changed.

I don't sing, I don't dance.

Our fate is sad.

God, what have we ever done.

That you allow these wolves to end our lives

When we are all too young.

...After that Dick closed the journal and set it on the bed stand. He didn't want to look anymore. Not tonight.

But he didn't regret it. Not one bit.


Reviews make me happy, so tell me what you thought and i'll update sooner. Phew...longest chapter yet! I hope you all loved it... and I hope the ending gave you the shivers. What did you think was the best part? Now the plot will star to devolve.

P.S Rikard and Elijah's escape was based on a real-life story. Also is Dick reaction to it still good? Still accurate?