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Batman 1939: Three's Company
Chapter 10: Support
Batman, Catwoman, and Zatanna shared a look, reading each other in the flicker of the fireplace. Something had gone out in the women's shell-shocked eyes. Even Batman's stony face bent low. Shadowcrest was leaving. Their ghostly guide was the only presence in this nightmare who cared a whit for their survival. They would be left alone with Lord Felix of Faust, a predator as far beyond their understanding as an owl to mice. A new gravity settled in the room.
Shadowcrest's bland expression didn't share this gravity. Perhaps his spectral form couldn't. Zachary Cehennem's mutilated body was equally unconcerned, floating limp in a pool of plant sap. But Abdiel Cehennem felt more gravity than any pair combined. His enormous frame shook with quiet sobs muted by the muzzle on his face. Abdiel's tears were as much for his own doom as for his brother's grisly condition. They had depended on Faust's protection far more than the trio had ever trusted Shadowcrest, and Faust had stabbed them in the back (proverbially; the hole in Zachary was too grisly for a blade).
But the others couldn't care less about Abdiel's problems. Catwoman thought Zachary's soggy corpse was the best news of the night, and even she was too shaken to gloat. Until now, she and Batman had only heard of Faust's fearsome power. Now they saw Zachary's side torn apart. Now they understood what it meant to face the vengeance of a master mage.
Zatanna's despair was a darker creature. She didn't need to imagine Faust's rage. Seeing her cousin's floating body, her conscious mind retreated, replaced with looped memories of Faust's carnage in the entrance hall, his bolts of green flames rupturing metal and stone, his limbs regrowing like a weed. Zatanna didn't face death weekly. She didn't face death ever. She faced late trains and tough crowds, and her nerve had passed its limit. She held herself tight to keep from shaking.
Shadowcrest had no sympathy for any of this.
"Have you made peace with your mortality yet, Mistress?" it asked.
"No," said Zatanna, "No I haven't."
"Our time is limited."
"That's the problem."
Catwoman reached out and squeezed Zatanna's hand, bringing a brief smile to her lips.
Shadowcrest said, "If you survive, you're welcome to ponder death as often as you wish."
"Thanks," said Zatanna.
"Then heed this. Lord Faust cannot breach this sanctum at a distance. When I expire, he will be forced to eliminate you here. He will do so immediately."
"You've said he's cautious." said Batman, "Why would he rush into the one room he can't see?"
"Faust is not this estate's first invader. As a final barricade, my past masters concealed their most dangerous artifacts in an armory here." Shadowcrest gestured across the opulent study. It was cluttered with cabinets and tables but no obvious weapons.
Zatanna raised a finger. "Uh-"
Shadowcrest waved. Half the walls spun to reveal racks with many obvious weapons. Some steamed or glowed or growled. One did all three.
Zatanna lowered her finger. "Never mind."
Shadowcrest spoke again, "Somehow, Faust has studied my secrets. He will know to fear this armory. But he understands that innocents like yourselves need time to learn its powers. He will come at once while you may still be harmless." Shadowcrest paused with a glint of regret. "I'm wagering my thousand-year existence that you are fast learners."
"Wait," said Zatanna, "You said this place has only been around six to nine centuries. If you're the mansion, how are you older than the mansion?"
"I said it is difficult to express in Earth years."
"And aren't you made out of my dad's brain? Is he a thousand years old?"
"My latest incarnation is cast in-" Shadowcrest's eyes flickered. "This is all irrelevant."
"Well," said Catwoman as sarcastically as possible, "Since you've had a millennium to think about it, are you finally ready to tell us your big plan?"
"Yes, ill-bred servant, my plan consists of three preparations: fortification, reconnaissance, and armament. Fortunately, none rely on you, but take pride that you have a part to play."
Catwoman was so weary that she didn't bite at this remark.
"First, fortification," said Shadowcrest. "Come."
Shadowcrest led them to the far end of the study. They passed a wall covered entirely by a richly-painted mural of a family tree. There were dozens of faded portraits with names in illegible cursive. Catwoman studied the tree as they passed. It seemed to her there were too many connections and not enough portraits.
"Ew," she said.
Zatanna was beside her inspecting a battleaxe. "What?"
"Nothing," said Catwoman
They saw Batman had stopped to glare at a wood-cased Philco radio on a shelf.
Zatanna asked, "What's the matter?"
Batman finally turned away. "Everything else in this mansion is pre-industrial. Of all modern tools, why own a radio?"
Zatanna shrugged. "To catch the news?"
"From what broadcast? We're not on Earth."
"Maybe radio waves are magic."
Batman was annoyed that he couldn't refute this theory.
Shadowcrest brought them to a low table with two stools. On the table was a chess board. On one stool was an ushanka, a Russian fur hat with ear flaps.
"Mistress, generations ago, the great mage Koschei sought refuge here after his banishment from the court of the Czar. Your ancestor hosted him in this room."
Shadowcrest bowed to the hat. The hat did not respond.
Zatanna scratched her head, "Is - is that the mage?"
"No," said Shadowcrest. "The Great Koschei was homesick for Mother Russia. Perhaps this is why he became obsessed with his homeland's favorite game."
"Marching?" asked Zatanna.
"Sadness?" asked Catwoman.
"Chess," said Shadowcrest as a pawn moved on the board.
"Koschei soon exhausted your family's patience for the game and began enchanting more capable opponents."
A knight moved, then another pawn.
"Some of his creations were so intelligent that they outgrew their dictates and threatened the household."
Both sides moved a bishop.
"But Koschei was never able to ensorcell a better player than himself."
A pawn was taken and floated off the board.
"He grew so desperate for a challenge that he began to modify the rules of the game, then he modified the board itself."
Another pawn moved. A knight captured a knight. Rooks were brought out.
"Koschei's idea of chess evolved into a more literal sort of battle. Your ancestor wasn't fond of this new game, Mistress, as each iteration occupied more space in this sanctum, but such an illustrious guest could not be rebuked."
Pieces were quickly traded, and a knight and rook floated off the board.
"Then word arrived that a new czar had been crowned, and the Great Koschei could return to court. He was gone that very night."
Clever pins and forks thinned both sides. The game would be close.
"Your ancestor discovered that Koschei had left two gifts: his ultimate chess set, designed to make its own space for his extra rules, as well as his most refined chess opponent, the only one who could play the new set."
"Oo, let me guess," said Zatanna. "That furry hat is the opponent. My ancestors kept the gifts because they realized these new rules actually fortified the armory somehow. And the first part of your plan is fortification. But you have to win the regular game to open up the new bits."
"Yes, indeed, Mistress. All correct."
"See," said Zatanna, nudging Batman and Catwoman, "I can figure things out too."
"Lovely," said Catwoman.
"You can't spell pizazz without Zatanna."
Catwoman shook her head. "That's not true."
Zatanna shrugged. "Some people say tomato, some people say tomahto."
"Sure, some people say tomato, and some people say tomato wrong."
"That's prescriptivist!" screamed the hat.
"Ah!" Zatanna flinched.
"Checkmate," said Shadowcrest.
"Pizdets!" screamed the hat, throwing itself on the floor.
A gilded cord swung down from the ceiling, stopping at shoulder height. There was a thick knot at the end with a card tied above it. Printed in large red letters, the card read: Novyye Shakhmaty. Below it, scribbled in pen, were the words: Pull For Emergent Sea.
"Would someone with hands do the honors?" asked Shadowcrest.
Catwoman planted her hands on her hips. "What does 'Nova Shark-matey' mean?"
"New Chess," said Batman. He stepped forward and pulled the cord.
Many rooms away in the library.
Clouds of books dueled in the air over the library like beehives at war. The border of Lord Faust's control steadily expanded across the house, and now it crossed the center of the library. Those shelves still loyal to Shadowcrest's rightful mistress were assaulted by neighbors who followed the usurper. Binding threads and scraps of paper snowed across the floor as the skirmishers bled ink above.
Faust found the whole affair annoying. With time and effort he could order his growing horde to stand down, but he was simply too busy. This was a shame, he might want to read them later. Faust otherwise ignored the struggle. The front lines were distant enough for him to work in peace as he ordered the spirits governing his half of the library to bring him texts that might shed light on that mysterious caped fellow following the Zatara girl.
Faust could search a library very well. He had known every trick in the book since the printing press was new. As books came, he studied them feverishly, flipping through heavy works then tossing them away as new books flew into his hands. Occasionally he called out new topics he desired, causing fresh squadrons of books to soar off the shelves and wait at his side. Between his research skills and Shadowcrest's impressive collection, he was confident that he'd get his hands on some record of the caped fellow soon. He had some connection to the Zataras after all, and this was their library.
Faust was bothered that the fellow also had some connection to Circe. Faust wasn't surprised to find him on Circe's bad side; she was petty enough to hold a grudge over anything, but not many figures had the presence to earn her attention in the first place. She rarely visited the mortal universe; someone would need to upset one of her little schemes among the mundanes, and Circe's pets weren't pushovers. If the fellow was a strong mage, why didn't he attack Faust magically when they met in the burned building?
Worse, Circe had been concerned enough to give Faust a warning. She wasn't concerned enough to share what she knew of the caped man; this was still a game to her. But Faust knew her games. It would be a weak joke to scare him over a helpless stranger. Faust would merely destroy the stranger a little more thoroughly. It only made sense if Circe was genuinely concerned the fellow might put up a fight. Even if Faust conceded to take the man alive, not many could resist him.
If Circe wasn't joking, then this stranger was as elusive as he was fearsome. His search had so far proven fruitless, and the pile of discarded books behind Faust was growing taller than him. There was simply no mention of the caped fellow or his lady companion with the hood ears. Faust was weary. Shadowcrest would be his in less than an hour, and he wished dearly to relax. Yet he refused. Contests of magic were won on preparation and attention to detail, and he would take no chances until his conquest was secure.
Deep in his work, Faust felt a magic shimmer. Another block of the library had joined his domain. His attendants among the library's spirits instantly swept the new shelves, repeating the many queries he had supplied. Soon eight new books floated at his side. He tossed most aside in seconds, but the last book made him pause.
Among Faust's first queries was a demand for any art that matched the simple icon on the caped fellow's chest. This had harvested a few slight resemblances, but nothing relevant to his target. However, the cover to this last book seemed more than a coincidence. The winged icon was there, but of a sharper, more sinister design than its twin. So too, the book's cover was a dark gray, much darker than the gray on the man's outfit. Faust read the book's title slowly, his eyes narrowing with each word.
The Hymn of Barbatos, King of Bats.
Back in Giovanni's study.
Batman stepped forward and pulled the gilded cord. The group peered back and forth, but nothing moved.
After several moments of silence, Zatanna turned to Catwoman. "So you don't like the motto?"
"What?" asked Catwoman.
"The motto. 'You can't spell pizazz without Zatanna!'"
"Are you serious?"
"I've been trying to think of a catchphrase for the posters. I have some alliteration in my name, you know, people recognize me for the letter z. Seems like I better use more z's. And pizazz has three of 'em, so there you go."
"Zatanna, do you really think now is the time to worry about that?"
"Not really. Honestly, I'm trying to keep from remembering how my dad looked in Faust's giant locket. He looked like people do in a coffin: arms crossed, utterly still, too still for sleep. I keep thinking he must already be dead, even though everyone promised he isn't. Then I think how scared I was when Faust was flying around with this horrible laugh, sending fire out of his hands. I keep thinking he's about to come back and finish the job. Then we'll all be stuffed in big lockets looking like dad." She paused to breathe. "I think sometimes I talk silly because it distracts me, and I'm worried that if I'm quiet with my thoughts right now, my heart will beat so hard that it will pop out of my chest."
"Oh." said Catwoman slowly.
"Sorry."
After several seconds, Catwoman said, "It's not terrible."
"Huh?" said Zatanna.
'The catchphrase. Pizazz. It's not bad. No one knows how to spell anyway."
"Neat. Thanks."
"Sure. Talk all you want." She leaned in and winked. "Nice change of pace compared to some people."
For a moment, Zatanna smiled again. Batman, standing next to Catwoman, was unamused.
After another interval of silence, Zatanna whistled and looked around. "Excuse me, Shadowcrest, how long will this take?"
Shadowcrest did not respond. The ghostly figure was perfectly still.
Catwoman wiggled a hand in front of its face. "Did it turn off early?" She slowly poked a finger through its eye to no reaction.
"The house is busy, devochka!" yelled the hat from the floor. "It must make way for the Emergent Sea! It wasn't careful last time, and the tea room was crushed to splinters!"
"Let me guess," said Zatanna slyly, "It's going to expand the room into a big new chessboard with all sorts of dangers in every space. Maybe they'll be shaped like chess pieces. It's called a sea because the board will be as big as an ocean. Something like that, right?"
"Ha! You know so little! Ha ha ha ha!"
Zatanna stalked away as it laughed behind her. "Dumb talking hat."
Catwoman stopped waving her hand through Shadowcrest's head. "The hat's not wrong. We might as well look for something useful in this armory until Shady wakes up."
"Agreed," said Batman.
The trio wandered around the study, keeping a wide berth from Abdiel who still cried silently over his brother's floating body.
Zatanna lifted a jet black scythe. "This is neat." She held the blade near her ear. "Can you hear that? It's whispering."
"Zatanna," warned Catwoman.
"But it has such wonderful things to say. It knows the beginning of all and the end of all."
Catwoman snatched the scythe out of her hands.
"But," cried Zatanna.
"No," said Catwoman, who then held the scythe to her own ear. "Wait a minute, it is whispering."
Batman snatched the scythe out of her hands and returned it to its rack.
"But-" Catwoman blinked and cleared her throat. "Thanks."
Batman nodded.
They wandered further, and Batman soon stopped again to glare at the wood-cased radio. After watching him glare awhile, Catwoman stepped over and turned it on. The dial light flickered. The speaker hummed a moment then let out a shrill noise. Catwoman played with the dial, trying to find a station. Zatanna stopped idly swinging a battleaxe and listened in. After several spins, the noise faded to fuzz, and a nasally announcer began to speak over the low crackle.
"Loyal listeners! Welcome back to Candid Psychic Radio, the only station that plays what's really on your mind! CPR! Every hour on the hour, you need CPR! For those just tuning in, our tremulous triumvirate treds tenebrous tracks! Might the mild-mannered Mistress muster major moxie merely to manumit a murderer? And what ho, the haunted hero hides a history. Heaven-sent? Hardly! He dreads discovery from the damsels deux. Dare our debutante discern decade-old deceptions? Dare his debauched distaff discover denials-"
Batman quickly turned off the radio.
"What was that about?" asked Zatanna. "Were they calling me mild-mannered?"
"Mystic nonsense," said Batman, "Keep if off."
"I'm not mild-mannered. I'm plucky." said Zatanna. "What does manumit mean?"
As they walked past, Catwoman peered suspiciously at Batman's back.
Many rooms away in the entrance hall.
Once Felix, Lord of Faust ruled Shadowcrest, he would find a nice reinforced chamber just to perform major summonings. In the meantime, Shadowcrest's entrance hall was a fine substitute. It was large and possessed good feng shui, and there were several escape routes and nothing valuable to break.
The Hymn of Barbatos, King of Bats floated open in front of him, and Faust flipped through the pages as he paced the room. He inspected the giant circle of salt, big enough to fit a baseball infield, and patted tight any gaps. In the center of the circle was a ten gallon pile of bugs. He was fortunate to have acquired Shadowcrest's fishing closet.
Content with his work, Faust retreated to the top of the stairs and began reciting the Hymn of Barbatos.
Verse by verse, Faust chanted obscene and terrible oaths in antique tongues. The crystal chandeliers went dark, and the hall's many candles were dimmed by an unseen breeze, but he did not cease. Little red eyes blinked in the walls. The fluttering of many wings could be heard as if from a distance, but he did not stop.
A lone wail echoed through the hall as the last candle went out. Faust finished the final verse and shut the book. On the floor inside the salt circle, a smoky red light burst forth. It was as if there were no more floor, but instead the edge of some endless pit. A shifting of titanic weight was heard, noises like a calving glacier falling into the sea.
From the red smoke, a leather wing like a clipper sail stretched out of the pit. Its claw seized the edge as another wing appeared. Then the monstrous head of a bat thrust out, each fang larger than a man. It screeched like the dawn of a new age, shattering chandeliers and knocking suits of armor to scrap.
This enormous bat, a hill of brown fur and leather wings, climbed fully out of the pit, its form briefly hiding the smokey light. Underlit in hellish red, it sniffed the air. Its ladle ears twitched, and its black eyes turned toward Faust.
"Oi!" it bellowed. "You the dodgy bloke tryin' to summon me?"
Back in Giovanni's study.
It wasn't long after Batman shut off the radio that Shadowcrest moved again.
"Prepare," it suddenly announced, "the Emergent Sea rises. Mistress, please put that battleaxe down."
Batman was about to open the first of Giovanni's sixteen journals. Catwoman was pawing through the drawers in the large desk. Zatanna reluctantly dropped her battleaxe on a chair.
"Behold," said Shadowcrest.
In a blink, three walls of the study toppled outward. They splashed up a cloud of white foam as they hit water. When the foam cleared, the walls were gone, sunk under the swells of the ocean. The study was now a platform on a green sea that stretched from horizon to horizon. They spotted dots of tiny islands in the distance. Beyond them, a sea serpent arced out of the water and gracefully returned, its body hundreds of feet long.
A salty breeze made Zatanna shiver in her stockings. She sighed. "I'll never understand chess."
