Chapter 26: Savage Prophesy
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Late afternoon. In Gotham it would be cooling off as the sky edged towards evening. Dick and I might be preparing for patrol. Or, if he'd convinced me that vacation means actually taking time off, we might be thinking about dinner at Florio's after a nice round of handball at the Club. We could be relaxing in the steam room, or even the whirlpool. Dick wont accept much else, but he does still let me keep up his membership. Says it gets me out of the Cave.
The local air has every benefit of the Gotham Athletic Club steam room. Including the far-too- occasional whiff of air with the sour edge of bodies that *should* have showered. Mine among them. Unfortunately, when God was installing the outdoor sauna he apparently forgot the lap pool. Not to mention the jaccuzzi.
Most of Savage's army is sacked out in whatever shade they can find or create. Sensible. We will head back to the city tonight, but until we have to move? They rest while they can.
No one stops me as I make my way past the sentries at the edge of the camp. Why would they? I am hardly likely to be an Aztec, and in any case the jungle is not yet at war.
I feel the eyes from the moment I reach the brush but it is a good hundred feet before I risk the first words.
"So - what do you think of the latest lies?" I ask the air.
"Drax's woman is telling the truth."
What! Not the voice I was expecting. I turn slowly. Whoever this is apparently wants to speak, not attack. and if he was hostile haste would not help.
As he comes into my vision, the speaker steps farther from the concealing brush.
The man is about my height. And we share the same tailor. Effectively. Cowled nomex-spandex bodysuit with the obligatory mask. His suit is purple and gray, with a strange pair of striped shorts. But - as Dick is so fond of saying, its not the color of your suit, it's the strength of your kevlar. This man's looks... entirely adequate.
At his foot sits a gray wolf. Its doing the open-mouthed pant that would look charming in a Golden retriever. In a wolf? It's simply a second opportunity for me to inspect a very large set of teeth. For a wild animal, that wolf has had excellent dental care.
Behind him, half visible in the greenery, stands a large white horse. It's statute-still, which is unusual in the species, and watching me with considerably more intellect then I have come to anticipate from the average hay-burner.
I'd wonder how he got this close to a guarded camp with that entourage, but the answer is evident. He's a professional.
Only a few seconds, but the time has allowed me to place him. The Phantom. Wrong place, wrong game, but the emblem is clear enough. Not to mention the allies.
"Mr. ... Wayne." From the tone, I get the impression that he's undecided if I own the name, or am just borrowing it.
"Mr. Walker, I presume."
That is a guess, although the white horse makes it an easy guess. They were speaking of it in San Dismas. Strange choice for someone who is supposed to pass 'as a shadow'. Normal I would have used his 'professional' name, rather then the personal, but as he used mine?
My new... acquaintance.. steps forward slightly. "I had thought to remain apart, but it appears we have been working at parallel purposes.
"Don't tell me." I shift subtly into better footing, Just in case. "You're here to Kill the Jaguar God and..."
"Rule the City of Gold?" I can't see his eyes, but one end of his mouth tilts up. It would be a smile, if this was the sort of man who smiled. "Not half. I have enough of my own territory to worry about... as do you."
"Really?"
The purple figure moves easily into counter position. He does so openly. Easily. Not a defense, merely an answer.
"Please." He makes a half gesture, dismissing either my protest or my concern. "I recognized the gear. And I've met Wayne."
"And?"
"I don't know what you did with Wayne. Nothing uncomfortable I assume." Another half gesture. Another dismissal. "But I've met Bruce Wayne, and while the face is convincing, the style..."
I ease back into a resting stance. "Not quite the playboy of Gotham?"
"Something of Gotham, but not the playboy. Although it *is* a very clever idea." The approving tone grates slightly, perhaps because he sounds less impressed by the trick and more impressed that I managed to think it up on my own. "All those unusual trips to exotic places. Sometime when I've got a free afternoon I'll have to sit down and figure out which were him and which were you, B..."
I hold up my hand. "Please."
He shakes his head, bemused. "I should have caught the switch before. After all, it does explain how Bruce Wayne managed to hire one of the major players of the JSA for an arm-candy bodyguard."
"And now that you know?"
"None of my business."
"Because your business is?"
"Concluded." As, his tone implies, is this conversation. "I have what I came for."
Not convincing. He could have left without seeing me if he wanted - so whatever he's here for, he's here for *something*.
"And that is?" I give him the opening. "If you are not here for the dagger, what are you after?"
"What I have." Walker gestures behind him, to where I can see nothing. Perhaps something is there. Perhaps not. "Xander Drax. He is the one who first hired Templar to bring him the Jaguars Tongue." The Phantom looks somehow past me. Not into the camp behind me. That is still quiet. Into... somewhere. "The Tongue of the Jaguar has great power - political as well as mystical - and the Pirate Brotherhood would love a new base."
In the middle of green nowhere, at the ass end of an unnavigateable river? To do what? I'm used to villains with obscure bases. It was a fashion for a while, even with heroes. But this place? Other then Ivy and the strange sorts at Hidalgo, I can't think of anyone I could *give* it to. And as for the Sengh Brotherhood? The name gives me the vision of sailing ships and the Gray Ghost swinging over the deck on a rope.
I keep most of my opinion to myself, only asking. "Isn't piracy rather out of date?"
"Active as ever - and that's just counting what they steal with ships." The Phantom flashes another shark smile. "Drax gained his rank leading hostile takeovers during the dot.com crash."
OK. Software pirates I'll believe. "Are you here to take the prisoners?" I ask. Not that I'd particularly object, but to get past Dick? And Dinah? Not likely. I decide that - should he want them - I'll pull Dick and Dinah back and tell Jones to look clumsy.
"No. They are secure enough where they are, and they are minor without Drax. Let them find what justice they can from Savage."
That name is pronounced with a certain approval. I would guess our Mr. Walker has a soft spot for our science -hero friend and his version of jurisprudence. Perhaps because he doesn't know Savage very well. Or perhaps because he does, and dislikes the pirates enough that it doesn't matter. I must confess, after what they did to my boat I'm feeling much the same way. And after what they did to Dick? They are murderers and torturers. Savage is justice enough.
"I'll leave the matter of the dagger to you," Walker continues. "Although you might want to watch out for the civilians. This game could get a bit dangerous for Grayson and Jones."
"I'll keep that in mind." I answer, reassessing my opinion of Walker slightly down. " Savage tells me he has control of matters, unless Teplitzin can somehow still can get hold of the Jaguar's Tongue. And that that the dagger is useless to anyone else."
"So Savage and his people believe. They've been hanging out in this jungle. I've been a bit... better informed."
So now we are getting to what he came for. I nod politely. "So, the Ghost who Walks also listens."
"Extremely carefully. It's amazing what you can hear on the wind. Also," he grins slightly, rather ruining his mystical image, "the Skulls tell me things."
"And what do they tell you?"
Walker slips back into his 'Phantom" voice. "The skulls only speak for love and death, and they have given me a message for you. 'The time of sacrifice is coming. A legend will die, a God will be born, and the greatest among you will risk his heart.' So speak the Skulls of Bengalla."
Crud. that's worse then when Tempest gets going. Or Diana and her Prophecies of Delphi. Except for Zauriel - sometimes - I've yet to meet a cosmic power who can manage to phrase an answer in style-sheet English.
"Could you supply a few more details?" I ask. Not holding out much hope. I've dealt with mystic's before. Still, I might as well try.
"The skulls speak as they speak. Such is the nature of magic."
Right. Such is the nature of getting just enough data to make me sweat without giving me anything worthwhile as a clue.
"I'm beginning to doubt the usefulness magic." I say. "It only seems to help after the fact."
That gets a real grin from Walker. He may be the Guardian of the Eastern Dark and the Man Who Can Not Die, but from what I recall of Walker he's also American raised, and likely not much more comfortable with the mumbo-jumbo aspect of the profession then I am - even if he works with it.
"So father often reminds me."
He has a father? Living? My bepuzzlement must show somehow, because he adds, "Dad's dead, of course - but in my family? Death only serves to make my relatives loquacious."
Understood. "I hear my own, sometimes."
"It's not quite the same. The Ghost Who Walks can never die."
Whatever.
I nod politely. "I'll take your word on it."
The Phantom does not move, but he vanishes.
So that's what it feels like.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
I turn to a green parrot which has been sitting quietly overhead in a mango tree.
"So J'onn? What do you make of that?"
The bird flutters down, morphing slowly into my friends more familiar shape. He loves doing the showy forms, but he had once mentioned that one as small as a parrot could become uncomfortable when held over a long period. Something about all the compression involved. And the humanoid form was more convenient for a conversation, because, while a bird form could talk, I didn't doubt the human palate was certainly far easier to handle.
Once J'onn is fully shifted, he answers "The Phantom was telling the truth -as he knows it."
"As he know it?"
"I have the report from Cachiru. Skin cells were found under Templar's nails. Not Xander Drax's skin, or his woman's. Templar was killed by a local, not by a European."
Which is not conclusive, as Drax could have hired a local. But in combination with other facts? Drax didn't get the knife. Templar did. Drax denied killing - at least in this case. Templar was dead. A local could have been hired, but any local skilled enough to take out the Templar would have stayed with Drax, and no one at the camp was on that level. So? Conclusion. Xander Drax was - in the purely technical meaning of the word - innocent.
Damn.
I consider sending a quick message to Oracle, now that I know our 'man in purple', but J'onn also knew the meta community. Many of them personally. And he is here.
"I don't have much on this Phantom?" I ask. "Isn't he supposed to be just a jungle legend."
"As opposed to an urban legend?"
"Touche."
J'onn stretches a bit, thinking. "Walker felt like a good man."
"Then - I'll take his word for now." Although what its worth? A wrong answer on Drax and a prophesy vaguer then one of Nigma's clues? "So that leaves us with?"
"No, Bruce." J'onn answers. "It leaves you without. Without the dagger that is the fulcrum of all of this."
Now and always, it comes back to the knife. I personally might vote to just leave it list, but I know enough about such things to be convinced that they always reappear - usually at the worse possible time. Or is it that their reappearance makes the time the worst. Either way, I have six days of 'vacation' left, and I'm not going to enjoy any of it against a background of homicide. So?
"That knife is somewhere in this jungle and I want it found."
J'onn raised one eyebrow. "You are thinking of calling a general search?"
That would involve the JLA as much as an open intervention.
"A search, yes." I smile. "I need an oracle. But not *my* Oracle."
*END CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX*
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Late afternoon. In Gotham it would be cooling off as the sky edged towards evening. Dick and I might be preparing for patrol. Or, if he'd convinced me that vacation means actually taking time off, we might be thinking about dinner at Florio's after a nice round of handball at the Club. We could be relaxing in the steam room, or even the whirlpool. Dick wont accept much else, but he does still let me keep up his membership. Says it gets me out of the Cave.
The local air has every benefit of the Gotham Athletic Club steam room. Including the far-too- occasional whiff of air with the sour edge of bodies that *should* have showered. Mine among them. Unfortunately, when God was installing the outdoor sauna he apparently forgot the lap pool. Not to mention the jaccuzzi.
Most of Savage's army is sacked out in whatever shade they can find or create. Sensible. We will head back to the city tonight, but until we have to move? They rest while they can.
No one stops me as I make my way past the sentries at the edge of the camp. Why would they? I am hardly likely to be an Aztec, and in any case the jungle is not yet at war.
I feel the eyes from the moment I reach the brush but it is a good hundred feet before I risk the first words.
"So - what do you think of the latest lies?" I ask the air.
"Drax's woman is telling the truth."
What! Not the voice I was expecting. I turn slowly. Whoever this is apparently wants to speak, not attack. and if he was hostile haste would not help.
As he comes into my vision, the speaker steps farther from the concealing brush.
The man is about my height. And we share the same tailor. Effectively. Cowled nomex-spandex bodysuit with the obligatory mask. His suit is purple and gray, with a strange pair of striped shorts. But - as Dick is so fond of saying, its not the color of your suit, it's the strength of your kevlar. This man's looks... entirely adequate.
At his foot sits a gray wolf. Its doing the open-mouthed pant that would look charming in a Golden retriever. In a wolf? It's simply a second opportunity for me to inspect a very large set of teeth. For a wild animal, that wolf has had excellent dental care.
Behind him, half visible in the greenery, stands a large white horse. It's statute-still, which is unusual in the species, and watching me with considerably more intellect then I have come to anticipate from the average hay-burner.
I'd wonder how he got this close to a guarded camp with that entourage, but the answer is evident. He's a professional.
Only a few seconds, but the time has allowed me to place him. The Phantom. Wrong place, wrong game, but the emblem is clear enough. Not to mention the allies.
"Mr. ... Wayne." From the tone, I get the impression that he's undecided if I own the name, or am just borrowing it.
"Mr. Walker, I presume."
That is a guess, although the white horse makes it an easy guess. They were speaking of it in San Dismas. Strange choice for someone who is supposed to pass 'as a shadow'. Normal I would have used his 'professional' name, rather then the personal, but as he used mine?
My new... acquaintance.. steps forward slightly. "I had thought to remain apart, but it appears we have been working at parallel purposes.
"Don't tell me." I shift subtly into better footing, Just in case. "You're here to Kill the Jaguar God and..."
"Rule the City of Gold?" I can't see his eyes, but one end of his mouth tilts up. It would be a smile, if this was the sort of man who smiled. "Not half. I have enough of my own territory to worry about... as do you."
"Really?"
The purple figure moves easily into counter position. He does so openly. Easily. Not a defense, merely an answer.
"Please." He makes a half gesture, dismissing either my protest or my concern. "I recognized the gear. And I've met Wayne."
"And?"
"I don't know what you did with Wayne. Nothing uncomfortable I assume." Another half gesture. Another dismissal. "But I've met Bruce Wayne, and while the face is convincing, the style..."
I ease back into a resting stance. "Not quite the playboy of Gotham?"
"Something of Gotham, but not the playboy. Although it *is* a very clever idea." The approving tone grates slightly, perhaps because he sounds less impressed by the trick and more impressed that I managed to think it up on my own. "All those unusual trips to exotic places. Sometime when I've got a free afternoon I'll have to sit down and figure out which were him and which were you, B..."
I hold up my hand. "Please."
He shakes his head, bemused. "I should have caught the switch before. After all, it does explain how Bruce Wayne managed to hire one of the major players of the JSA for an arm-candy bodyguard."
"And now that you know?"
"None of my business."
"Because your business is?"
"Concluded." As, his tone implies, is this conversation. "I have what I came for."
Not convincing. He could have left without seeing me if he wanted - so whatever he's here for, he's here for *something*.
"And that is?" I give him the opening. "If you are not here for the dagger, what are you after?"
"What I have." Walker gestures behind him, to where I can see nothing. Perhaps something is there. Perhaps not. "Xander Drax. He is the one who first hired Templar to bring him the Jaguars Tongue." The Phantom looks somehow past me. Not into the camp behind me. That is still quiet. Into... somewhere. "The Tongue of the Jaguar has great power - political as well as mystical - and the Pirate Brotherhood would love a new base."
In the middle of green nowhere, at the ass end of an unnavigateable river? To do what? I'm used to villains with obscure bases. It was a fashion for a while, even with heroes. But this place? Other then Ivy and the strange sorts at Hidalgo, I can't think of anyone I could *give* it to. And as for the Sengh Brotherhood? The name gives me the vision of sailing ships and the Gray Ghost swinging over the deck on a rope.
I keep most of my opinion to myself, only asking. "Isn't piracy rather out of date?"
"Active as ever - and that's just counting what they steal with ships." The Phantom flashes another shark smile. "Drax gained his rank leading hostile takeovers during the dot.com crash."
OK. Software pirates I'll believe. "Are you here to take the prisoners?" I ask. Not that I'd particularly object, but to get past Dick? And Dinah? Not likely. I decide that - should he want them - I'll pull Dick and Dinah back and tell Jones to look clumsy.
"No. They are secure enough where they are, and they are minor without Drax. Let them find what justice they can from Savage."
That name is pronounced with a certain approval. I would guess our Mr. Walker has a soft spot for our science -hero friend and his version of jurisprudence. Perhaps because he doesn't know Savage very well. Or perhaps because he does, and dislikes the pirates enough that it doesn't matter. I must confess, after what they did to my boat I'm feeling much the same way. And after what they did to Dick? They are murderers and torturers. Savage is justice enough.
"I'll leave the matter of the dagger to you," Walker continues. "Although you might want to watch out for the civilians. This game could get a bit dangerous for Grayson and Jones."
"I'll keep that in mind." I answer, reassessing my opinion of Walker slightly down. " Savage tells me he has control of matters, unless Teplitzin can somehow still can get hold of the Jaguar's Tongue. And that that the dagger is useless to anyone else."
"So Savage and his people believe. They've been hanging out in this jungle. I've been a bit... better informed."
So now we are getting to what he came for. I nod politely. "So, the Ghost who Walks also listens."
"Extremely carefully. It's amazing what you can hear on the wind. Also," he grins slightly, rather ruining his mystical image, "the Skulls tell me things."
"And what do they tell you?"
Walker slips back into his 'Phantom" voice. "The skulls only speak for love and death, and they have given me a message for you. 'The time of sacrifice is coming. A legend will die, a God will be born, and the greatest among you will risk his heart.' So speak the Skulls of Bengalla."
Crud. that's worse then when Tempest gets going. Or Diana and her Prophecies of Delphi. Except for Zauriel - sometimes - I've yet to meet a cosmic power who can manage to phrase an answer in style-sheet English.
"Could you supply a few more details?" I ask. Not holding out much hope. I've dealt with mystic's before. Still, I might as well try.
"The skulls speak as they speak. Such is the nature of magic."
Right. Such is the nature of getting just enough data to make me sweat without giving me anything worthwhile as a clue.
"I'm beginning to doubt the usefulness magic." I say. "It only seems to help after the fact."
That gets a real grin from Walker. He may be the Guardian of the Eastern Dark and the Man Who Can Not Die, but from what I recall of Walker he's also American raised, and likely not much more comfortable with the mumbo-jumbo aspect of the profession then I am - even if he works with it.
"So father often reminds me."
He has a father? Living? My bepuzzlement must show somehow, because he adds, "Dad's dead, of course - but in my family? Death only serves to make my relatives loquacious."
Understood. "I hear my own, sometimes."
"It's not quite the same. The Ghost Who Walks can never die."
Whatever.
I nod politely. "I'll take your word on it."
The Phantom does not move, but he vanishes.
So that's what it feels like.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
I turn to a green parrot which has been sitting quietly overhead in a mango tree.
"So J'onn? What do you make of that?"
The bird flutters down, morphing slowly into my friends more familiar shape. He loves doing the showy forms, but he had once mentioned that one as small as a parrot could become uncomfortable when held over a long period. Something about all the compression involved. And the humanoid form was more convenient for a conversation, because, while a bird form could talk, I didn't doubt the human palate was certainly far easier to handle.
Once J'onn is fully shifted, he answers "The Phantom was telling the truth -as he knows it."
"As he know it?"
"I have the report from Cachiru. Skin cells were found under Templar's nails. Not Xander Drax's skin, or his woman's. Templar was killed by a local, not by a European."
Which is not conclusive, as Drax could have hired a local. But in combination with other facts? Drax didn't get the knife. Templar did. Drax denied killing - at least in this case. Templar was dead. A local could have been hired, but any local skilled enough to take out the Templar would have stayed with Drax, and no one at the camp was on that level. So? Conclusion. Xander Drax was - in the purely technical meaning of the word - innocent.
Damn.
I consider sending a quick message to Oracle, now that I know our 'man in purple', but J'onn also knew the meta community. Many of them personally. And he is here.
"I don't have much on this Phantom?" I ask. "Isn't he supposed to be just a jungle legend."
"As opposed to an urban legend?"
"Touche."
J'onn stretches a bit, thinking. "Walker felt like a good man."
"Then - I'll take his word for now." Although what its worth? A wrong answer on Drax and a prophesy vaguer then one of Nigma's clues? "So that leaves us with?"
"No, Bruce." J'onn answers. "It leaves you without. Without the dagger that is the fulcrum of all of this."
Now and always, it comes back to the knife. I personally might vote to just leave it list, but I know enough about such things to be convinced that they always reappear - usually at the worse possible time. Or is it that their reappearance makes the time the worst. Either way, I have six days of 'vacation' left, and I'm not going to enjoy any of it against a background of homicide. So?
"That knife is somewhere in this jungle and I want it found."
J'onn raised one eyebrow. "You are thinking of calling a general search?"
That would involve the JLA as much as an open intervention.
"A search, yes." I smile. "I need an oracle. But not *my* Oracle."
*END CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX*