Please enjoy.
Batman 1939: Three's Company
Chapter 5: Strangers in a Strange Land
The mansion's front hall was lit by four hundred and three candles set in eighteen candelabras, twenty-seven sconces, and seven crystal chandeliers. This flickering polyphony drowned the room in dreamlike unreality. Zatanna could hardly believe her eyes, even face-to-face with such a plain and familiar slight as her own father. She took two steps and hopped forward, throwing her arms around him and feeling nothing. Giovanni stepped back, passing through her cheated hands with the immaterial ease of dust in a sunbeam.
"Daddy!" she cried, but even in that moment she knew he wasn't there. The form of her father watched her with a sad kindness, then Zatanna flew backwards and bounced off the carpet like she had been charged by a moose.
"Weeping milksop," muttered Faust as he lowered his hand.
It is easy to lose perspective of human frailty if one often follows the exploits of great athletes. For a regular human, flying eight feet through the air and landing with enough momentum to tumble heels-over-head is an extraordinarily painful experience. A seasoned fighter might jump to his feet, but Zatanna had never been in a fight and lay flat on her stomach dry heaving. When the room slowed its spinning, her first thought wasn't revenge, it was discovering which limbs were still attached.
The form of Giovanni looked at Faust with distaste. "Ill-advised." The candles burned high and bright around them. "I know you, Felix, Lord of Faust, sunderer of Babylon and the Elemental Court, outcast of the Heralds of Trigon, renegade librarian of the Infinite Catalogue and," he gazed at Officers Arbuckle and Kravitz hiding behind a suit of armor, "now a common mercenary, it seems."
Faust didn't sound bothered. "You know me, spirit. You would do well to bow before the power of Faust, master of all he surveys."
"Vulgar strength does not crown you master in this hall."
"Better vulgar strength than pitiable decrepitude, whelp. Your sentries failed outside the portal. You will not stop me here."
"My … indeed."
"Interfere, and I shall dismantle this hall until no brick stands upon another."
"You shall try."
Despite the gravity of the conversation, Zatanna was only half-listening. She was busy seeing three of everything, and the twelve hundred and nine candles were giving her a headache. She was sitting on the floor, trying to push the dent out of her crushed tophat, and one of her shoes was missing.
However, impaired or not, Zatanna was confident that it wasn't her imagination when the floor started oscillating. Circles of steep, knee-high waves rose and fell in the checkerboard marble like the surf before a storm, sweeping inward towards Faust to crash under his feet. The wine red carpet bounced and flew aside, popping Faust in the air. Then the marble rose up as a giant hand and snatched him.
The marble fist held Faust eight feet above the floor. It was so large that he was cocooned in its fingers with room to spare. Giovanni watched with mild interest. Then the fist began to shake. Dust puffed from inside and green lights slipped through the crevices. The fist tightened, but its fingers snapped off at the knuckles with a mighty crack. It fell away piece by piece, shattering on the floor. Faust remained levitating in its place, a green nimbus shining around him. His face was stretched into an evil smirk.
"Mooncalf!" he cried as peals of thunder rent the air. "Pillock! Boob!"
Giving up on her shoe, Zatanna scuttled backwards on hands and feet until she found a wall. She curled up and tried to look as small as possible.
Meanwhile.
Outside the front of the mansion, Catwoman was balanced ever so carefully on the little rounded sill of a third floor window. With one hand holding the lintel above, she gently felt around the seams of the window. Or rather, she felt where seams ought to have been. This window, like the two below it, felt seamless. Catwoman had felt many ways to seal a window seam: glue, grease, caulk, rust, paint, even spiderwebs, but those windows still had seams. With this window, she felt no tactile difference as wood became glass. The gap in the frame had to be microscopic. It was incredible.
Without a seam, her tools couldn't pry the window open. And the glass had to be very thick, because her claws weren't cutting it either.
A pebble hit her back. Catwoman looked down under her arm. In the light of the full moon, she saw Batman staring at her from the ground below.
She tucked her chin at him. What?
Batman, bless his heart, had been trying to disassemble the front door once she discovered it was barred from the inside and declared it hopeless. Now he was standing well back from the entrance in a wary crouch.
He chinned at her. Down.
Catwoman let go of the lintel and dropped. She kept a hand and foot against the wall, catching the window frame below, then hopped lightly to the lawn. She joined Batman on the stone path. Before she could ask a question, she froze.
Beyond the heavy door, they heard faint peals of thunder.
Catwoman thought for a moment, then elbowed Batman's arm and flicked a pouch on his utility belt.
You know I usually wouldn't suggest this, but do you have anything to blow up the door? Or melt it? Anything like that?
In response, Batman opened a pouch on his utility belt and pulled out what appeared to be a short stick of dynamite. He unwound a fuse from the top and raked his forearms together. The short blades along one gauntlet struck the blades on the other, casting a flash of sparks which lit the fuse. Catwoman tried to look unimpressed.
Batman and Catwoman paced back as he prepared to throw the stick. Then they heard a deep labored groan of shifting rock. They looked up. Above the doorway was a stone pediment decorated with a massive raven's head. The intimidating sculpture stared down at the yard, its beck wider than the door. That stone beak was opening. A stone tongue rolled out. On the tongue was a bronze plaque.
It read, "PLEASE WAIT."
The raven's dead eyes rotated to look at them. Catwoman reached over and pinched the flaming end of the fuse.
Inside the mansion's front hall, Zatanna had no idea what she was seeing.
She had been raised by one one of the greatest magicians in history. She had worked with living legends of set design. She was, in short, an authority on illusions. She knew what sights were possible to see, yet she had no idea what she was seeing. That was horrifying.
Five suits of armor had jumped off their plinths and flown towards Faust with their halberds set to run him through. Purple light flashed, and three of them turned to dust. The two survivors caught Faust in a tussle. They swooped and pivoted around the ceiling like fighting hummingbirds.
Faust passed under a chandelier which fired a blast of crystals at him like grapeshot. He raised an iridescent dome that deflected the blast, but by then a suit of armor ambushed from below. Its halberd whistled through the air, and an arc of red trailed its path. Faust screamed as his left arm fell to earth, cleaved off at the shoulder. The suits of armor turned to pin him from both sides in a final charge, but as their paths crossed, Faust disappeared in a green flash.
He reappeared at the top of the grand staircase, eyes lidded, gasping for air like a failed marathoner. His already lean face seemed feverish and gray. Ink-black strands of thick web were weaving across his shoulder, clotting the wound, but puddles of blood already stained his indigo suit.
The suits of armor found him again and dive-bombed, but Faust growled let out a hyena's growl and uttered a bitter curse in a long-dead tongue. A red haze surrounded the nearest suit. It spun and drove the spike of its halberd through the breastplate of its partner. The suits of armor fought, tearing each other to pieces on the stairs.
But Faust had no time to rest. There was an enormous oil painting behind him of a fruit basket. The scene was unnervingly lifelike. In the foreground was a bitten peach resting on a tablecloth. As Faust watched the suits of armor fight, a praying mantis crawled over the top of the peach. As it raced down the table toward the painting's edge, nineteen more mantises followed over the peach. Faust turned just in time to see the leader jump out of the painting. It had the same eerie unblinking eyes and twitchy swaying of an insect, but it was also the size of a horse.
Faust ran backwards, nearly falling over the stairs. The mantis watched a moment, then pounced thirty feet at him. It was incinerated by a gout of green flame mid-leap, leaving only bits of charred cartilage. The other mantises were bounding out of the painting in a skittering mob, rubbing forelegs the size of broadswords. They were met with more gouts of flame. A few fell, but most hopped past, crowding the mezzanine.
There was another flash, and Faust appeared at the front of the stairs near the other intruders. He fell to his knees. The mantises took flight. The sawlike buzzing of their wings filled the hall as they sped near. The silhouettes of the merciless squadron blocked the chandeliers, casting new shadows over the floor. A volley of fireworks knocked several of the sky, but ten of them landed on Faust. The others heard shrieks under the swarm of giant insects. There were more flashes of light, then an agonized scream, "Parley!"
Giovanni, who had watched the whole ordeal with a detached expression, folded his arms. All mantises but one flew off, returning to their painting. Already, the room was repairing itself: the carpet slid back into place, cracks filled in, burn marks disappeared, crystals floated back into their chandelier, and new suits of armor marched out from concealed doorways to take their stations.
Lord Faust was a cracked shell of a man. He lay on the floor, caked in blood from head to foot. Ink-black webbing now covered the right side of his face, and patches of web were busy stitching cuts visible through the many rips in his suit. The remaining mantis knelt and lifted Faust by the neck with its mandibles. It dropped him on his feet. Faust stood, taking shuddering breaths, and watched Giovanni approach with his single eye.
Giovanni stood before him and asked, "You swear to submit to parley, Felix, Lord of Faust? Your offense will cost you dearly."
Faust coughed. "I swear to," his breath hitched, "submit to parley."
"State your offer."
"Merely this."
Faust ripped off the tatters of his jacket and shirt with uncanny strength. His pale skin seemed stretched too tightly over his ribs, but his unfed frame was easy to miss, for there was a chain sticking out of his chest. Its last metal link was half-sunk into his flesh without sign of a scar or any other mark. The short chain hung halfway to his navel and ended in a silver locket. Faust held the locket close and whispered to it.
In a moment, the locket began to expand. The chain lengthened to match, and by the time the locket was the size of a baseball, Faust was able to hold it at arm's length. When it reached the size of a shoebox, he placed it on the ground and stepped back. The mantis clicked its mandibles in suspicion as the locket grew ever taller. Finally, it was the size of a large wardrobe. Faust tapped the side with his only hand, and the door sprung open.
Zatanna gasped. The Officers Kravitz and Arbuckle gaped. Faust sneered.
Inside was Giovanni Zatara, eyes closed and arms folded, leaning against quilted cushions like the inside of a casket.
Zatanna tried to stand, but a small marble hand rose out of the floor and held her shoulder. Another covered her mouth.
The spirit with the form of Giovanni faced his corporeal twin. It seemed slightly annoyed. "A hidden hostage? The code of parley has delicate rules here, Lord Faust. Tread carefully."
"I will tread how, where, and upon whom I like, spectral goose. Observe the cardial chain."
Faust gestured to the slender chain sticking out of his chest (he gestured with his right arm, although the black sealant on the stub of his left arm had sprouted the first inches of a bony replacement). Faust's chest chain was now several yards long, feeding through a loop at the top of the expanded locket and descending to its interior. The chain disappeared between two buttons of Giovanni's starched white shirt.
"Behold! I present the seneschal of this ancient house, and its rightful regent since the death of the lady. Do I speak falsehoods?"
The form of Giovanni answered, "You speak the truth."
"Now, you counterfeit of a charlatan, perhaps it would be an inconvenience for me to unmake these walls by force, we may never know, but you are ordained to preserve this dynasty in all aspects, are you not?"
"I am. And you have brought me the heir."
"Aha!" Faust waved dismissively at Zatanna. "A rheum-eyed hatchling. You have not the wisdom to foster her. No, the charlatan knew his own indispensability. With this chain, I am likewise indispensable. Go and test me."
The form of Giovanni closed his eyes. A eddy whispered through the hall, and all but the nearest candles were extinguished. In moments, vaporous figures like long-limbed children wearing veils crept out of the dark. Faust watched them stiffly as they approached.
The ghostly figures circled the locket. When they touched its silver walls, it rang like church bells heard from afar. They hissed to each other in the language of wasps. Two crawled inside, caressing Giovanni and sniffing the air. Two others inspected the chain, running their long fingers up and down its length.
When their fingers reached Faust, he looked away trembling. They hissed under their veils as they tapped across his torso, passing through him as needed. After a minute, the full group was inspecting Faust. More candles extinguished until he was the only spot illuminated in the hall. As one, the figures grabbed the chain. A stronger wind circled the hall as the hissing grew. The chain turned a dull red where their translucent hands gripped as if the metal was molten hot. Faust bit back a howl as the metal glowed brighter. The locket shock, threatening to topple.
Then it was over. The wind died. The veiled beings fled, disappearing into the shadows. The only noise was Faust's agonized panting. Wall-by-wall, candles gradually re-lit. Faust slammed shut the door of the locket. It began to shrink, halving in size every second under it swung under his chest again. He snapped his fingers, and his indigo shirt and jacket flew back to him, buttoning themselves as he stood. Finally, he faced the form of Giovanni with a smug look.
"We cannot be separated. Your charlatan master's paltry life persists at my whim."
"So it would seem."
"Here is my offer of parley." He looked at Kravitz and Arbuckle. "These mewling children wish to see this house undone. We will proceed to the keystone, and you will not obstruct us. Once I upstage the fall of Jericho, I vow to release your master then he and his daughter may leave in peace. I trust you value life over property, so this should be an adequate trade."
The form of Giovanni began to slowly pace with his hands clasped behind his back. "I do not command every power in this place. Some may yet challenge you."
"This is no obstacle. My vow stands."
"Very well. One last condition. Do not go with the girl. She stays here."
"She is critical."
"She was critical for the portal. You can reach the keystone without her. Were she to venture with you, I would fear for her safety. That is unacceptable."
"How can I be sure you and she will not conspire? She is willful, and perhaps your oaths to an heir may challenge even a vow of parley."
"Leave one of your pawns to watch her then. Or leave both. Provided she remains unhurt, they may detain and censor her as they wish. I will not obstruct with any force under my control."
"Hmm. Agreed."
"So mote it be."
"So mote it be."
The last mantis flew off to its painting. The form of Giovanni disappeared.
Now Faust's left arm was nearly as long as his right and looked like a black stick with two twigs at the end like stunted fingers. He pointed this stick at Officers Kravitz and Arbuckle. "Indigents! Here."
The two men stepped out of hiding behind a suit of armor and hurried over. "Yes, Lord Faust?" they said in unison.
"Heed this. I am off to conclude our agreement. Watch the sow until I return. And do not let her talk."
Officer Kravitz said, "Lord, please let me join you. I'd be wasted here."
Faust slapped Kravitz with his stick arm. "Questions?"
"No, Lord Faust." they said in unison.
"Strive to disappoint me less." With that, Lord Faust turned on his heel and left the front hall down one of its branching corridors.
The officers walked over to Zatanna. She was standing now, having been released from the floor, and she was shaking and holding herself like she was worried something would fall off. They knew shell shock when they saw it.
Officer Arbuckle approached slowly, like one might a skittish colt. "Okay, miss. No trouble. Easy now. Nice and quiet."
He tried to reach for her arm, but she rushed sideways to stay out of reach. "No! Get away."
Officer Arbuckle sighed and drew his revolver at her. "Quiet."
She dived to the floor and covered her head with a shriek. He sighed louder.
Officer Kravitz rushed to push the gun barrel down. "Woah, buddy, didn't you just hear them? No shooting her."
Officer Arbuckle rolled his eyes. "I wasn't shooting, I was threatening to shoot."
"None of that either. We don't know if that counts."
"Well, I sure can't threaten to shoot now that she knows I won't shoot. Thanks a lot."
"No shooting and no threatening to shoot."
"Then what's the point of having a gun?"
Zatanna watched this banter back and forth then interrupted. "Can I get my shoe, at least?"
Officer Kravitz rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. Get up. Go get your shoe. Let's make this simple, Zatanna: don't talk, don't say things, don't flap your lips, don't hum, don't whistle, don't sing the national anthem. In return, we won't do you any harm. Let's try to get along and we'll all be out of here lickety-split."
Zatanna nodded as Arbuckle put away his revolver. She found her shoe. They stood awkwardly for a minute.
Arbuckle wiped his forehead and squatted down. "I was worried there a bit."
Kravitz shrugged. "This is Faust we're talking about. He had it under control."
"I'm not going to lie. I was pretty scared."
"That was some high-octane business, no doubt about it."
Arbuckle rubbed his fat hands together. "Were you scared?"
Kravitz shrugged. "Maybe just a little."
"Oh, because I was very scared. I'm not too proud to admit that. As a matter of fact, I wet myself."
Kravitz sighed. "Me too, buddy."
"And not briefly either. See, I thought I was done, then those bugs came out, and it turns out I still had some left in the tank."
"Just means you're hydrated. Wear it proud."
Zatanna looked between them with mute disgust.
Meanwhile.
Batman and Catwoman were sitting on patio chairs under the all-seeing eyes of a giant stone raven's head. The cider beside them was untouched.
When the message to "PLEASE WAIT." was first delivered via tongue, the intrepid pair engaged the ornamental bird in a staring contest, wary for more surprises. But even the Dark Knight couldn't defeat a block of stone in a staring contest, and eventually he and Catwoman quietly discussed how to proceed. They immediately agreed that it was unwise to force their way through the door now that a mystic door guardian was watching their every move. They decided to retreat and seek another entrance.
Batman and Catwoman began to pace backward. They made it three paces when they heard a pair of patio chairs fall out of the sky behind them. It was followed a moment later by a small table, a pitcher of apple cider, and two tall glasses.
They turned around and contemplated the new furniture. There was no aircraft or other platform overhead from which the goods might have been dropped, nor were they fixed to a parachute. Even if the chairs had been thrown by someone hiding on the roof, they would have snapped on impact. Batman considered these details until Catwoman tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the raven. He looked back.
The raven's tongue was rolling into its beak again, but only for a moment. It soon rolled out with a new message, "JUST A FEW MINUTES."
The stone eyes still followed them wherever they moved. Batman took several steps sideways to confirm this. Catwoman made the observation that if the bird could drop patio furniture beside them out of nowhere, it could probably drop an anvil. She sat down. Batman glared at the raven again, but then he joined her.
Several minutes of one-sided conversation later, the stone tongue rolled away again. The eyes pivoted up to their original lifeless direction. They heard the door click.
When they rose, Batman questioned the wisdom of entering the residence of known hostiles at the time and entrance dictated by the residence. Catwoman responded: anvil.
Inside the hall, Officer Kravitz, Officer Arbuckle, and Zatanna were sitting on the steps of the grand staircase.
Officer Kravitz pointed to Officer Arbuckle's arm. "Don't you want to take those knives out?"
Arbuckle inspected the two batarangs sunk into his forearm and shook his head. "They got these little barbs on the end."
"What, like fishhooks?"
"Yeah, but tiny."
"Pull 'em out."
"I tried to pull'em out, but it hurts."
"You big baby. You want me to yank'em out?"
"No." Arbuckle hid his arm away. "No, no I don't."
"Pff."
As they argued, Zatanna thought she saw the bar across the front door slide away; it was difficult to be sure in the hazy candlelight. But it was easy to be sure when she saw the door open and two shapes slip inside. Obviously, Zatanna wasn't allowed to speak, so she was unable to report her sightings.
Kravitz was busy trying to reach across Arbuckle's body to pull the batarangs out of his arm. Arbuckle was trying to shove him away. There was a whistle and two batarangs landed in Arbuckle's other arm. At the same moment, a whip snapped across Kravitz's nose, opening a red cut. Both men howled and stumbled off the stairs.
Out of the shadows dashed Batman and Catwoman. Catwoman reached Kravitz first. As he covered his watering eyes, she clawed down his arms and clocked him in the chin. Batman threw a haymaker at Arbuckle but missed as the big man disappeared in a puff of smoke. Meanwhile, Catwoman was planting boots in Kravitz's ribs. The young lady in the top hat tried to join her but missed and hit his face.
"Who are you two?" she asked.
"Friends," said Catwoman.
Then they heard a hasty clatter of footsteps in the rear of the hall. Through the dim, they saw a fat silhouette throw open a pair of doors and slip away.
Batman turned back to check their rescuee's welfare, but she was already running after the big man. "Get him!" she yelled.
Batman and Catwoman shared a look and followed.
The trio sped through the doors and found themselves in a dining room. There were two long tables with fourteen seats each. Three fireplaces lit the room with a cheerful golden glow. Officer Arbuckle waited at the end of the room like a cornered animal. He struggled to grab his revolver and yelled, "You broke parley! I'll shoot!"
As his hand found his holster, Batman, Catwoman, and Zatanna all independently grabbed flash bombs and tossed them across the room. "Gack," Arbuckle sputtered as he stumbled into the end of the table. There was a gunshot and a liquor cabinet shattered.
"Watch her." ordered Batman as he raced ahead. Catwoman's ears were ringing and couldn't hear him, but she decided someone needed to watch the girl.
Zatanna, flinching, seemed to have lost her appetite for vengeance. Catwoman guided her behind a column.
"Did they hurt you, dear?" Catwoman asked as she swiftly inspected Zatanna.
"What?" asked Zatanna, rubbing her ears.
"I said-" They heard another gunshot and the loud scraping of wood. "Are you okay?"
"No, I'm peachy." yelled Zatanna. Catwoman decided that the girl wasn't injured, though her skin was flushed, her eyes were frantic, and her clothes looked like she had been charged by a moose.
As a matter of fact, Zatanna was considerably more stressed than she looked. If she wasn't so exhausted and desensitized to weirdness, then being poked and pinched by a masked stranger in a violent bodysuit during a gunfight would give her a conniption. Instead, Zatanna pointed her thumb behind her and asked, "Does he need help?"
Catwoman rolled her eyes. "Don't worry." They heard more scraping wood and some grunts. "Although he is taking his time."
They peered around the column and found that Batman was surrounded by a dozen of what used to be chairs. These former chairs had stretched and bent into humanlike shapes, hunched wooden mannequins with no heads and clubs for arms. The tables had formed a barricade around Officer Arbuckle, whose gesticulating hands were haloed in yellow sparks.
Zatanna frowned. "I always thought Moby-Dick was dumb, but I owe Meville an apology."
"Why?" asked Catwoman.
"Because I would do anything to kill that whale."
The mannequins lacked teamwork, but by their weight in numbers they forced Batman back, attacking him relentlessly with their clubs. Batman blocked two blows and ducked another, but then he caught a fourth hit on his shoulder and had to retreat further towards a wall.
Zatanna winced. "Is he going to be okay?"
Catwoman snorted. "If you hit him with a truck, you'd just dent the truck."
Just then, as Batman was grappling with two mannequins, another tottered behind him and clubbed Batman on the back of the neck. Batman's knees went soft and he toppled sideways.
Catwoman was already slipping past the column before he hit the floor. "Stay here!"
Zatanna watched, biting her hand.
The back row of mannequins didn't notice Catwoman approaching. She floored one with a flying kick, but then four others turned and attacked. She tried to jump over the line but two of them slapped her out of the air and she tumbled to the floor.
As she scrambled to stand, she saw through the mass of wooden legs that they had Batman surrounded. He was on a knee. One of the things stood over his head. It raised its club arm and swung down.
Okinawa Island, Japan. Six years ago.
Bruce Wayne, shirtless and shoeless, maintained a wide crouch - horse stance - in front of a tree. Yoru-sensi, a stout old man in a white gi uniform, stood beside Bruce with a stick.
Yoru-sensi struck Bruce's head with the stick and shouted, "Futatabi!"
Bruce punched the tree.
The martial arts masters in these hills were some of the fiercest in the world. Most of them only taught their own clan or village. All of them distrusted Americans.
Yoru-sensi struck Bruce's knuckles with the stick. "Futatabi!"
Bruce punched the tree.
Bruce had visited several masters and discovered that Yoru-sensi hated Americans the most. Bruce had convinced Yoru-sensi that if he took Bruce on as a student, he could hit an American every day. This had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Yoru-sensi struck Bruce's ribs with the stick. "Futatabi!"
Bruce punched the tree.
Bruce didn't oppose Yoru-sensei's training in theory. He knew Wolff's Law: bone tissue adapted to stress by growing stronger over time. That was science.
Yoru-sensi struck Bruce's thighs with the stick. "Futatabi!"
Bruce punched the tree.
However, Bruce was beginning to doubt whether the venerable master was letting him recover long enough for the law to take effect.
Yoru-sensi struck Bruce's ear with the stick. "Futatabi!"
Bruce punched the tree.
The "over time" clause of Wolff's Law wasn't optional. Otherwise, bone stress was called injury.
Yoru-sensi struck Bruce's spine with the stick. "Futatabi!"
Bruce punched the tree.
Bruce's knuckles were a mass of puffy blisters. Some were fractured, but he didn't know which.
Yoru-sensi struck Bruce's shins with the stick. "Futatabi!"
Bruce punched the tree.
Bruce had practically grown up in a boxing gym. His hands were objectively strong. If he stopped now, that would demonstrate that the exercise was at fault, not a lack of student commitment. Sensi would listen to reason.
Yoru-sensi struck Bruce's head with the stick. "Futatabi!"
Bruce punched the tree. Blood dripped down the dent in the wood.
Bruce had no sensation in his hands, and he wished the rest of him was that numb: he had maintained horse stance for an hour. Muscles burned from his neck to his ankles.
Yoru-sensi struck Bruce's hip with the stick. "Futatabi!"
Bruce punched the tree. His fist shot through the trunk in a spray of splinters. The tree fell.
Surprised, Bruce bent over and took a shuddering breath. He would eat today after all.
The present.
The mannequin's wooden arm swung down, hammering Batman on the top of the cowl so hard that the arm snapped off.
Batman, still on his knee, lunged forward. Like a gator he caught both its legs and rolled over, slapping the clumsy figure to the ground. The knees and hips of the mannequins were stiff, so they all struggled when attacking near the ground, though several tried. Batman's back and legs were slapped ineffectually as he rolled. Soon he was lying on the floor, clinching the dismembered mannequin above him. It suffered a few hits on his behalf. Then he shifted his grip and snapped its other arm off. Batman shuffled on his back, using the disarmed mannequin as a shield until he reached the wall. He stood, holding the snapped arm.
Now armed and with his back to a wall, Batman began knocking down all comers. Soon the weapon shattered, but the mob's formation was broken. Dancing along the battle line, one by one the Dark Knight isolated an assailant then chopped off their arm or punched open their chest with a mighty strike. He seized wounded mannequins and threw them at others of their kind or or into a fireplace, quickly discovering that this last option stopped them permanently.
Catwoman performed similar work from the rear, with fewer missteps but less kinetic results. Together they thinned the group until it was more a hunt then a fight. While Batman incinerated the last two mangled foes, Catwoman vaulted the barricade and found Officer Arbuckle unconscious on the floor.
"Huh," she muttered. "That's convenient."
Moments later, Batman joined her. He looked at the senseless cop. "He's out?"
"Yeah."
"You okay?"
"I'm fine. Why is your voice like that?
Batman ignored the question and checked the man's pulse and breathing. "Looks like he fainted from fatigue."
"Did he try to tie his shoes?"
Batman restrained the man. This meant a blindfold and leg bindings to start. His handcuffs wouldn't fit the man's large wrists, so he improvised with some rope. Batman was very experienced at securing a prisoner, but he was even more thorough than usual as most prisoners couldn't teleport. He privately debated administering a sedative, but those were fickle in the best circumstances, and these were perhaps the worst. He refrained.
They heard someone attempt to climb the barricade, their shoes scraping wildly at the face while they struggled to pull themself up. Catwoman dragged Zatanna over the top. Once she made it over, Zatanna looked at Officer Arbuckle and asked, "Can I kick him too?"
"I-"
"Sure," said Catwoman.
Zatanna nodded and gave Officer Arbuckle a good kick. She let out a deep breath. Zatanna felt like she hadn't had a chance to rest all day. "Thanks. Now who are you folks?" She pointed at Catwoman. "Didn't you rob the casino last night?"
Batman looked slowly at Cawoman.
Catwoman smiled uncomfortably. "I just have one of those faces." She held out her hand. "Call me Catwoman."
Zatanna shook her hand. "Zatanna Zatara."
Batman's neck twitched. It was subtle, but Catwoman noticed. "Zatanna, lovely to meet you. This is Batman."
"Wow. I thought the papers said you were a cannibal."
"He's not."
"Wouldn't make tonight any worse. Put 'er there." She reached out to shake but Batman just nodded. Zatanna lowered her hand. "Right, um, charmed."
Batman said, "We're here to bring you to safety. I'm sure tonight has been disorienting, but we don't have time for questions. Are you hurt?"
"Isn't that a question?"
Catwoman snickered. Zatanna gestured at herself, "Your gal already took the nickel tour. Clean bill of health."
"Good." Batman leaned against the barricade and pushed it over. "We need to secure the other officer then find a way out of here."
"I'm afraid that's impossible."
Batman, Catwoman and Zatanna turned to the side of the room and saw an older man in a fine old suit standing beside a fireplace.
He continued, "The other gentleman is long gone, and you will never leave this place on your own."
Catwoman saw Batman's neck twitch again, harder, but Zatanna flew into a rage. She shook her fists and shouted at the man, "What are you?" Her voice cracked with hysterics. "What happened to my dad?"
The man seemed unmoved by her fury until his head bent with a mild melancholy. He waited until she said all she could then answered, "Mistress, I am and shall ever be your servant." Three surviving chairs flew to circle the fireplace. "Sit if you wish. You are in no danger here."
Catwoman nudged Batman and whispered, "Looks like we have time for questions."
