THE DEMON'S LEGACY
Chapter 10
"Show me your hands," the man with the pistol growled, his English tinged with a Greek accent.
In those first seconds after Nyssa had felt the barrel press against her skull, several things flew through her mind. First, she wondered how the hell the man had snuck up on her without her detection. Sure, the hallway was carpeted, but normally that wouldn't have foiled her. Second, she considered trying to disarm him but just as quickly decided against it. The El Fadils employed only the best men; he would be expecting resistance, even if she was a woman in a dupatta. And, finally, she wanted nothing more than to know who was with Henri on the other side of the door in front of her; if she overpowered this man and fled, she might never get her answers. So she remained frozen in place, lifting her hands in surrender.
The man backed away. "Turn around. Slowly. Stay on your knees."
As she obeyed, he switched on the tactical light affixed to his handgun, blinding her.
"Sir," he raised his voice. "It's Davos. We have a situation out here. I've apprehended an intruder." To Nyssa, he said, "Move away from the door," then maneuvered between it and his prisoner. "You have signed your own death warrant, woman."
A moment later, the door opened and the largest man she had ever seen stood on the threshold. The tactical light blazing in her eyes, as well as the room lights silhouetting him, robbed her of detecting anything other than his height.
When the newcomer spoke, it was with incongruous calm but also with a faint hint of anger. "Is this the woman you have been surveilling?"
"Yes, sir."
"How has she ended up at my very door?"
Another door opened, this one a short distance further down the hallway, on the opposite side. A man wearing only dark boxer shorts glided toward her in a defensive posture, aiming a Glock at her. He had a sinewy build, coiled and ready for action. The light from her captor's gun reflected in a sniper's eye—diamond-sharp, unblinking, frigid.
"What the hell is this?" the sniper asked.
"It would appear," the big man rumbled with that deadly equanimity, "Davos has allowed the subject of his surveillance to make her way to my door. I was just asking him how this occurred."
"One of Nashir's men brought her to his room. I allowed it, knowing she would tip her hand if she was really up to something, like Abrams expected. Obviously we were right. Rest assured, sir, I would never have allowed her to have gotten any farther."
"Search her for weapons, brother," the big man said to the sniper. "You may stop blinding her now, Davos."
"But, sir, she will see your face—"
"It is of no consequence. She will be dead soon."
"Hello, doll lady." Henri's bright voice surprised everyone just as Davos switched off his weapon's light.
In the instant before the big man snatched the boy out of sight beyond the door, Nyssa recognized the child from the bazaar. Dressed in Spiderman pajamas, Henri smiled at her, broad and innocent, as if her presence there was expected and the guns aimed at her nonexistent.
"Shit," the sniper muttered as Henri's protests receded deeper into the large room.
"It's the doll lady, Papa Baba!"
"Hush, boy. Did I not tell you to stay in the bathroom?"
"But, why? I don't hafta go potty."
Nyssa heard a door close somewhere in the room. But then a new voice, coming from down to her right, captured her attention as the hallway lights flashed on. A middle-aged man hurried toward them, also armed with a pistol, his graying hair wild from sleep. Barefooted, he wore a belted burgundy robe and a scowl on his craggy, hare-lipped face.
"What the hell is this?" he demanded, voice gravelly.
The sniper never looked away from Nyssa as he answered, "It appears you were right about our pretty friend here."
"How the fuck did she end up here, Davos?"
Before Davos could answer, the big man had returned to the doorway, providing Nyssa with her first real look at him, and what she saw stunned her. Those eyes, coupled with his great size and muscle-bound physique, dressed in a tight white tank top and loose, drawstring pants…no one who had ever seen him would forget him, and though the absence of his horrible mask might mislead some, she was not one of them. All those months he had occupied Gotham, his face had been plastered on television screens every day, all around the world. No matter where Nyssa was, she had seen that face time and time again, that face with those intense, restless dark eyes that rarely blinked, that exuded charisma. As a mercenary, she could easily understand why men followed him. He had that rare quality of visionary leadership.
She remembered several months before the Gotham siege had begun, when word had been sifting through the mercenary networks that someone powerful was building an army. She had considered answering the call, mainly out of curiosity, but also because it was said this powerful man had the ability to pay well. But she had been entangled in a prior commitment at the time that she could not back out of, not if she valued her life. Then when the occupation had happened, she figured Bane was the one behind the previous job opportunity, and a part of her wished she had found a way to be included in his ranks, if for nothing else than the crazy audacity of it all. The man's boldness and self-confidence, his florid speeches, and frightening sexiness captured her attention and held it for five months. Her husband had not approved.
Now here she was, staring into the eyes of Gotham's Reckoning. And he was father to a boy with Talia's eyes. If Bane had survived, why couldn't have Talia? Wasn't Henri proof? Was she in this very palace?
Davos never got the chance to answer the hare-lip's question, for Bane took over.
"Abrams, I want you to take Henri to Maysam's room. Stay with them until Barsad or I come to you."
Barsad! The sniper. Of course! Nyssa studied the scruffy face with its deceptively-sleepy eyes of ice blue. Still with Bane. Such loyalty. It would be the same with all his men. How could it be otherwise with someone as magnetic? To see Bane on television was one thing, but being in his presence gave Nyssa a whole new perspective. He was both terrifying and mesmerizing all at once. And though it was obvious he had had reconstructive surgery on his face, the fading scars left behind by the surgeon's knife failed to detract from his astoundingly attractive features.
"Take Sanjana with you, Abrams," Barsad said.
"Davos," Bane said. "Alert my men and Abrams's. Have them sweep the palace and the compound. And tell Nashir I want to talk to his man, the one she slept with."
"Yes, sir."
"Barsad, take her to the infirmary. I will be there shortly."
###
"What're you gonna do with her?" Abrams asked from where he stood just inside Bane's suite.
When Bane opened the bathroom door to free his son, Henri bolted into his arms.
"Papa Baba!"
Bane hoisted him onto his hip.
"Where's the doll lady?"
"She had to leave."
"Why?"
"That's not important. What's important is that you go with Uncle Abrams for now. He's taking you to sleep with Jiddah."
"Wanna sleep with you."
"I'll come get you shortly. But I want you to try to sleep while you are waiting for me."
"Where you go?"
"I'm going to see our lady friend off."
"I come?"
"No. I just told you—Abrams is taking you to Jiddah."
"Wanna go with you."
Bane's jaw tightened, revealing some of his tension, and Henri seemed to sense the need for obedience, for the questions stopped. He allowed Bane to hand him to Abrams, who had tucked his pistol into the pocket of his robe.
"Do not forget Sanjana," Bane said. "Do your best to keep the women calm. I will not be long."
"I'm sorry about Davos," Abrams grumbled. "How the hell he let that woman—"
"His plan had merit. He allowed her to tip her hand, and now this will come to a quick end."
"Let's hope so."
Bane followed Abrams and Henri back into the hallway, then headed to the room that had served as an infirmary. It was there that he had recuperated from his life-threatening injuries suffered at the end of the Gotham siege, and it was also where his son had been born, and where Barsad's child would be birthed as well.
When he stepped inside the infirmary, he found Nyssa in a wooden chair, her hands bound behind her with cloth strips torn from her dupatta. Her seeming lack of fear struck him and warned him that she must indeed be skilled. Barsad stood near, vigilant and rumpled, looking particularly displeased by being awakened.
Bane loomed over Nyssa, waited for her to flinch or show some other sign of trepidation, but she remained staring at him as if looking for an answer to some question. She was a beautiful woman, with a dark complexion that came from her breeding, not simply from the harsh Rajasthan sun. Slightly slanted chocolate eyes matched her long hair. Her pert nose and well-shaped lips reminded him of Talia.
"Who do you work for?" Bane asked.
"No one, not right now anyway."
"I will caution you against lying to us. We know who your mother is, and we will not hesitate to punish her unless you are compliant."
Now a hint of emotion but more anger than fear in the tightening of her squarish jaw.
"If you work for no one," Bane continued, "then what business does an unemployed mercenary have skulking about this palace?"
"I'll answer your question, but first you have to answer one of my own."
Barsad said, "No one's asking questions here but us, sister."
Bane held up a hand toward his lieutenant. "I will indulge her, brother, but only for a moment." Normally he would have agreed with Barsad, but there was something intriguing about this woman. She had a bold gleam in her eyes that he had only seen in one other woman. "Ask your question, and be quick about it, woman."
"That boy in your room… Is Talia his mother?"
Every muscle in Bane's body went rigid. Out of the vast range of questions he had expected to hear, this had not been one of them. His first instinct was to kill this woman; his twitching fingers ached to do it. But he immediately stilled his telltale tic, knew Nyssa had noted it. The confidence in her eyes spoke of her superior training; not League level, but formidable nonetheless. She knew such a blunt question so soon in this dance would take him completely off-guard and shake him to his core, and it had succeeded.
The moment Nyssa asked the question, Bane felt Barsad's own shock, like an electric charge arcing between them. For only an instant, Barsad's gaze flashed at him before returning to their prisoner. Then the sniper took one step and placed the muzzle of the pistol against Nyssa's temple. Still the woman refused to flinch, her analyzing stare never leaving Bane.
"Henri has Talia's eyes," Nyssa continued. "Such a sweet child. Intelligent beyond his age, too."
The Glock pressed even harder, causing her head to tilt slightly. Barsad was waiting for the word from his commander.
"Is she here? I'm guessing not, otherwise she'd probably be in this room with us. She is your boss, after all; at least she was in Gotham. Did you see the tabloids after Gotham? All the speculation about your relationship with her. I must admit, I read them. Beauty and the beast. Headlines like that."
Bane tried to keep from clenching his jaw. He measured out the words, "Why are you here?"
"Uh-uh-uh," she chided in a singsong voice. "I told you I would only answer your question if you answered mine, and you haven't."
"This isn't a game, bitch," Barsad growled.
"You won't pull that trigger," Nyssa smoothly said. "Not without your boss's permission."
"Surely you know we have ways to extract information from you," Bane said. "The choice is yours—die quickly now or die painfully later."
"If you're going to kill me one way or the other, what harm is there in answering my question? There's really no need for unpleasantries. I'll tell you everything you want to know right now, but only if you answer my question."
"Don't believe her," Barsad said. "She'll just lie."
"Lies won't get me what I want," Nyssa said with a scornful glance at Barsad. "I would've just come to the palace in broad daylight to ask you my questions, but I knew I'd never get past the gate, and no one would ever confirm the presence of Gotham's Reckoning, of course."
Her knowledge of his identity, even without the mask, failed to surprise him, but it did alarm him to think that, if someone had indeed hired her, they might somehow know he lived. Or was her mission simply to ascertain that?
"So I came into the palace this way," Nyssa continued, "to find out on my own. And don't be too hard on stupid Ra'id; he was just thinking with his dick. Men are so easily manipulated by even the slimmest hope of getting laid." She grinned slightly at Bane. "Is that what Talia did to you? It appears it worked, for both of you."
Bane's desire to snap this insolent woman's neck surged again. But why was she baiting him when she knew what he could do to her? It was that mystery that stayed his hand.
"Perhaps," Bane rumbled, "you have read one too many tabloids."
"I said I read them; doesn't mean I believed them."
"And what is it you do believe?"
She hesitated only a moment. "I believe that boy in your room is your son, and Talia is the mother. It's easy enough to see the resemblance to both of you. I heard you talking to him through the door, comforting him in bed. Only a father would do that."
"And if your speculation were true, what would that mean to you? If you wish harm to the child, I can assure you that will never happen."
"I'm not here for the boy. He was just a breadcrumb that led me here."
Barsad muttered, "My trigger finger is getting itchy, brother."
Bane waited for Nyssa's answer to his question, but she raised an arched eyebrow to remind him of her terms.
"You say you work for no one," Bane said. "Then why are you here? Some strange fan of the League, are you? Perhaps you wish to join us?"
"You're getting warmer. Just answer my question and I'll tell you."
Bane hesitated. The woman was right—there was no danger in revealing Talia to her, for she would be dead soon; he would kill her himself. No sense in prolonging this play. He needed to allay Maysam's fears. No doubt she was beside herself with concern for Henri's safety. And causing anxiety for Sanjana was dangerous at this stage of her pregnancy. That would be another factor behind Barsad's eagerness to end this interrogation.
"I will confirm your suspicions," Bane said. "Talia is Henri's mother. And now you will answer my questions. Why are you here?"
Nyssa's eyes widened slightly at his revelation, and for a moment she seemed unable to speak. But she recovered quickly. "You asked me if I wanted to join the League."
"No women are allowed in our ranks."
"I aspire to something higher than being in the rank and file. Something I'm entitled to by birth."
Barsad had eased the muzzle of his pistol away from Nyssa's temple and now glanced at Bane in bemusement.
"Speak plainly, woman. You waste my time with these games."
A slow smile spread Nyssa's lips. "The eldest offspring of Rā's al Ghūl claims rights to the Demon's Head."
Something cold drifted down Bane's spine.
"There is no 'eldest' offspring," Barsad said. "Talia is his only child."
Nyssa almost laughed. "Do you really think someone like Henri Ducard impregnated only one woman in his lifetime?" She eyed him. "How many little Barsads are running around Gotham right now?" She scoffed. "You know the story of Henri Ducard after he met Melisande. But obviously you don't know the story before he met her."
Bane's fingers twitched with the desire to silence this woman, but if what she was intimating was true, he needed to know all.
"Why don't you enlighten us?" Bane said coldly, crossing his arms.
"I'd be happy to. I've waited a long time. But Talia will want to hear it. Why don't I wait for her?"
"I will relay your tale, if I feel it relevant."
"Oh, it's relevant, all right, big guy. You can even call it life-changing."
"Get on with it," Barsad grumbled.
Nyssa studied Barsad. "You know, after Gotham, some of the villagers whispered that the Masked Man's second-in-command was the same man who was once in charge of Siddig El Fadil's security. Of course they'd never speak of it to any outsiders because they knew that could prove fatal for them. Your being here now…well, maybe those rumors were true. The El Fadils owe you maybe, so they let you hide out here."
"I'd advise you," Bane said, "not to antagonize Barsad. He can be quite surly, as you can see, when his rest has been rudely disturbed."
Nyssa flashed Barsad a brief grin before turning back to Bane. "When Henri Ducard worked for Siddig El Fadil, he would come to the village, just as Ra'id Tahan does, and seek out female company. After all, what woman could safely refuse someone from the palace?"
"So," Barsad said cynically, "you're accusing Rā's al Ghūl of rape?"
"No. Well, he may have forced himself on someone, but if he did, no one spoke of it. No, he had a reputation for being morally superior to Siddig's other men. Maybe that's why she foolishly fell in love with him."
"Who?" Barsad asked.
Nyssa's stare grew sharp, thrusting into Bane's eyes like a dagger. "My mother."
Bane never looked away from her, even as the chill spread through him, like the cruel winds that used to howl around his old mountain home. Again, he felt Barsad's searching gaze.
"My mother had no husband, and her parents had both died. She was desperate for money but didn't want to be a whore. He noticed her, though; she was a pretty girl." Nyssa shrugged. "Maybe he felt sorry for her because of her situation and the gossip in the village about her not having a husband. So he started coming around, talking to her, flattering her. She fell for him, and eventually he got what he wanted—a good fuck. He was probably mooning over Melisande the whole time. Once those two hooked up, he never came around again. When my mother found out she was pregnant, she tried to get word to him, but who knows if the men at the palace gate ever told him? They just laughed at her. It wasn't much later that my mother heard of his exile." Nyssa scowled. "Money came shortly after that. Maybe it came from him. Maybe it came from the palace. More came, enough to sustain my mother and then me. Eventually the money stopped, but by then my mother had learned to make her own way."
Nyssa's eyes had grown black with resentment. Bane remembered looking into a mirror years ago, after his own exile, after Henri Ducard had discarded him, as he had discarded Diya Panjabi, and he had seen the same resentment on his own face.
"When I was older, I met a man from the palace, too, just like my mother did. He was my escape from here. We left together. He promised me adventure and a whole new world. He trained me. You can imagine what his price was. I did what it took to survive and learn, to thrive and to support my mother. Later I met my husband among the ranks of mercenaries." She shrugged one shoulder, trying to portray indifference, but Bane read pain, not a deep pain, but pain nonetheless, the pain of being cast-off…again. "He's gone now, and I came back to take care of my sick mother. And then I saw Maysam with that little boy. You can imagine how intrigued I was those years ago when I learned that I had a younger sister, so when I saw Henri and his big blue eyes…well, something just clicked."
Bane turned away from her, needing to break her stare so he could think clearly. Slowly he walked toward the door, paused there, tapped a finger against his lips.
"Can I shoot her now, brother?"
"If you don't believe who I say I am," Nyssa said without urgency, "have a DNA test done."
Bane turned back toward her. "And if such a test proves your lineage, then what? You think you will become the Demon's Head of the League?"
"It's my birthright."
Barsad laughed harshly. "You think joining the League is as simple as that? You may have skills, but you don't have our skills. Talia was trained by her father, groomed and honed for years before she took over after his death. Bane, let's just kill her and end this bullshit."
"No, brother. I'm afraid it's not that simple." Bane drew near to Nyssa again. Now the gleam in her eyes reflected triumph. How many years had she waited for this moment? "We will indeed have her DNA tested. Then we will know for sure if this is a fairy tale or not. I will send Abrams to you. Do what is necessary, then have a room prepared downstairs for her. Assign two of our brothers to guard her."
Nyssa scowled. "I want to see Talia."
Bane started for the door. "If you are who you claim to be, perhaps I will grant your request. But that decision is not mine to make. For now, you will be our guest."
"Prisoner, you mean."
"Call it what you like. Be thankful you are alive."
"At least get word to my mother that I'm all right. She'll be worried. She's not well."
"See to it, Barsad."