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Batman 1939: Three's Company
Chapter 16: The Magnificent Zataras
Over the Emergent Sea.
Lord Faust no longer sensed Shadowcrest's spirit. Its absence felt bizarre, even perverse. After the initial glee passed, a victory this simple made him uneasy. It was dangerous to have distractions when one attempted to fly, especially when navigating at sea.
But luck was on his side. After only a few minutes, he spotted a shape on the horizon. He soon recognized it as Giovanni's floating study; his brief visit with Barbatos made him quite familiar. He was very pleased. Still, Faust was plagued by an odd headache at Shadowcrest's absence. It was like a concussion except he was immune to concussions. He did his utmost to ignore the pain. He turned his focus on spotting a trick, any trick, but nothing moved as he neared.
The trick turned out to be that nothing moved as he neared. He discovered that his destination was a billboard-sized painting that used forced perspective to appear like Giovanni's floating study from the exact direction whence he had come. Faust fumed.
The board was held aloft by a line of buoys. He cursed the end buoy, turning it to stone. He would clear this sea of distractions and tricks one by one if he had to. The buoy sank as it petrified, and the enormous painting began to tip.
As the painting touched water, the sea suddenly fell out from under it. Like a plug pulled from a bathtub, a vortex two hundred feet deep appeared beneath Faust. The painting tumbled through the air, shattering as it was swept around by the steep currents. The displaced water created a tremendous suction which pulled Faust out of the sky. He couldn't breathe and struggled to ascend, but the suction steadily drew him below sea level, nearing the churning slope of the vortex.
Faust redoubled his focus and finally began to inch up when the vortex stopped. Faust shot skyward, but he was trapped by the collapsing seas before he reached the surface. The impact wasn't painful, as the water lacked surface tension, but he was pinwheeled by wild cross-currents until he couldn't tell which way was up. He willed a bubble of air around his head and tried to get his bearings.
He realized he was upside-down the same moment he made eye contact with a giant squid.
Giovanni's Journal
25 May 1915
Disaster! Reached Istanbul yesterday (two days ago?) only to be arrested when I step off the train. Lo and behold, Italy has joined the Entente! I can't believe it. Steadfast Italia switching sides in a war? What foul luck. I thought I had been terribly clever. Italy is Germany's friend, said I, surely the Ottomans will welcome an Italian. I paid Enrico seven dollars for that passport. I wish I'd asked for Austria.
Then they found my journal written in English. Bad news. Good news is they recognize an American accent, Grazie Dio. I shudder to imagine if they thought I was English. So far the interrogations seem halfhearted. They believe I'm too amatuer a spy to raise an alarm. I fear that may change.
No doubt the banditi have hawked my luggage from the dirt of a souk already. I won this book and pencil from a fellow inmate over cards. Hardly better than theft, but needs must. My strength is returning. Tonight I'll escape.
I heard an airplane this morning and truck engines most hours. Not many cars in Turkey. Must be close to a military camp. Wonder if I'm near the front. War or not, the trail has brought me this far. I will see its completion.
In the floating study.
When Shadowcrest disappeared, Zatanna, Zachary, and Abdiel felt a severe discomfort. They assembled in the middle of the study. Batman exhibited no emotions and continued to modify his tools nearby.
Zatanna held her stomach and stuck out her tongue. "I feel funny. Like someone put garlic in my Listerine."
Abdiel nodded, looking faintly sick. "I think we all have the willies. It's because Shadowcrest is gone."
"What do you mean?" asked Zatanna.
"As a mage, you learn to sense magic. And a magic estate feels like the house spirit. The air, the bricks, everything."
"A house this old without a spirit just feels wrong," said Zachary, "Like when your limb falls asleep. I'd be surprised if even Faust has felt this before. He probably finds it as distracting as we do."
"We've set up some alarm spells," said Abdiel. "We should have some warning if Faust does come, but I bet he's been delayed."
"Why don't houses lose their spirits?" asked Zatanna. " Fighting's messy, after all."
"Destroying the house spirit means destroying the house," said Zachary, "Only the master can destroy the spirit by command."
"Wait, but isn't that me? I didn't command anything. It was Shadowcrest's idea. It didn't even ask permission."
"I know," said Zachary. "That didn't make sense."
Abdiel shrugged. "They say old house spirits are more free-spirited."
Zachary rubbed his chin. "I think it's Giovanni. He's not the master, but he's run the place for over twenty years, right? And he spent lots of time away: his real life was on Earth. The spirit must have grown used to independence."
"Oh! And the latest incarnation of the spirit was imprinted on him."
"And she's his daughter."
"Which means he's her father."
"I'm standing right here," said Zatanna. "Are you saying the spirit can just does what it wants? Am I not good enough?"
Zachary shrugged. "I told you a house spirit always tries to keep its dynasty alive. Inheritance rules are complicated. Heck, I once considered trying to win Shadowcrest myself, but there's no one left to tell me its rules since your dad killed them all."
Zatanna rolled her eyes in dispair. "I know we have other things to worry about, but help me out here. Are you two sure it's him? Why would he attack your whole family? I'm having a bundle of trouble imagining my dad killing people. He doesn't like to kill spiders."
Batman planted his hands hard on his workbench, but the others didn't notice.
Zachary said, "Believe me, Zatanna. Thanks to your dad, I've been to more funerals than I have fingers, and I usually have ten. No one knows why Giovanni hates us so much. Only he does."
Giovanni's Journal
13 August 1915
This journey has been humbling.
I have spent many nights playing maghi dell'Oriente, but it was always a farce. Why should occult wisdom be more profound in foreign lands? Because their creeds have never known reformation? Because they are latecomers to the steam engine? I earn my supper indulging fantasies, not believing them.
I didn't believe that blotto in Galvaston. But he wasn't lying about the crypt in Mexico City. I didn't believe the old sacredote who tended the chapel, but the tomb was sealed years before Cristoforo Colombo set sail, yet the coins inside were Greek.
What could I do? I told my friends that I heard rumors of some fine magicians overseas and wished to take the measure of them. They tried to stop me, of course. It was a silly excuse, doubly so with the war. But what else could I say?
I'm still not sure what I expect to find in these mountains. I am no professore. I am not Poe's Dupin. But I feel there is nothing in all the world as important as pulling aside this curtain. The trail is at my feet and I am possessed. Nothing will stop me.
I met a woman at the library. My profession intrigued her, so I showed her a routine. She was amused, but not amazed. Am I out of practice? She has agreed to show me the ruins in the morning.
In the spiraling hallway of dark red marble.
Catwoman waited for Shadowcrest to return. When she decided it wasn't returning, she spit on its floor. Then she winced and held her side. Her ribs hurt from her long spirit. The running had drummed her little gold bar against her hip until the skin was tender. She took a deep breath, stretched her shoulders, and crossed the etchings again.
Catwoman stumbled down the dark red path, then she walked, then she jogged, then she ran. She did not sprint.
She stopped when she reached the treasury. She turned in a circle, confirming that no decorations seemed ready to come to life. Then she walked to the square table of Swiss francs, laid her satchel down, set herself in a running pose towards the entrance, tapped a single banknote, and ran.
Nothing moved in the room. Catwoman walked back in, turned another circle, confirming that no decorations had come to life, and returned to the square table. She opened her satchel, put the hilt of the magical knife between her teeth, and unceremoniously stuffed as many francs into her satchel as she could fit with a sweep of her arm. The satchel bulged, but she muscled it closed.
On the other side of the room was a plain door. She inspected it and found a common lock, so she leaned back and kicked it open.
Giovanni's Journal
10 October 1915
Sindella, mia cara, un giorno senza di te รจ un giorno senza il sole!
I have never known such joy. We must be wed. Presto!
We will meet la tua famiglia together. I will win them over if it's the last thing I do.
In the floating study.
"Remember Zatanna, we'll hold Faust off if we can, but he's coming for you," said Abdiel.
Zatanna did not enjoy the reminder. "I know," she said.
"The bad news is-"
"That wasn't bad news?"
"Being mistress of an estate doesn't mean much without a house spirit, but it does mean something. It will be much safer and easier for him to claim this place with you gone. Unfortunately, there are ways of sensing the master or mistress' general direction."
"And if we know them," said Zachary, "You can bet Faust does. That may be how he'll find this platform. It also means he'll follow you to whatever room you're in."
Abdiel nodded. "The good news is, that might only get him to the right room. And he didn't think to take any of your hair or blood, so there aren't many ways for him to find you in a hurry. He'll need to look the old fashioned way."
"Well," said Zachary, "Plus the ability to fly and move objects with his mind. And he might be able to see through solid objects. But not clearly!"
"I know. I heard you guys discuss his general advantages and disadvantages three minutes ago. I was standing right here. I'm not stupid."
"Sorry," said Abdiel, "Hopefully, the cat lady gets back before Lord Faust arrives, but if not, then it's a waiting game. Shadowcrest was right: your best bet is hiding in that prop room. It's large and cluttered, that might buy you a few seconds. Find something nice and sturdy to hide in. Make sure it isn't flammable."
Zatanna's face was pale. "Sturdy, not flammable."
"And here," said Zachary. "You heard us review our little arsenal. We think you should have the shy coin, the hairpin of vengeance, the Odd Vocado, and a null item." He put a coin, a hairpin, an avocado pit, and a strange object on a table.
Zatanna picked up a strange object. "What is this?"
"It isn't."
The object ceased to exist.
"Oh."
Zatanna picked up the other items and hid them about her person.
Zachary said, "Faust has to arrive through the fireplace, so he can't sneak up on you. Use them as soon as he comes in."
Batman appeared between them, making the others flinch. "Take this as well." He placed a jury-rigged contraption on the table. It appeared to be a lighter attached to a short stick of dynamite and a wire. "It's a trip mine. Zachary's right: the fireplace is our only bottleneck. Tactical explosives are a recent and specialized invention and aren't magical, so Faust may not expect one. Suspend the wire at shin height at the end of the passage. The illusory fire should hide it." Batman hesitated. He reached for the trip mine again but closed his hand and pressed his fist on the table. He looked grimly at Zatanna, then back to the weapon.
"What?" asked Zatanna.
"Given what Faust has survived, and presuming the three of us can't stop him," Batman hesitated again. "The mine shouldn't be lethal. Hopefully it will disable him. At least the explosion will inform you he's arrived."
Zachary and Abdiel looked begrudgingly impressed.
Zatanna seemed bewildered. "And you're sure carrying the bomb through the fireplace won't set it off?"
"I've carried it all night," said Batman.
"Hard to argue with that." Zatanna went to lift the trip mine. Batman snatched her wrist, making her jump.
"Do not pull on the wire," ordered Batman. He let go of her.
"Jeesh," said Zatanna, rubbing her wrist. She had a sudden idea. "You know." She looked at Batman. "I have no idea how to install one of these."
"First-"
"And I don't think my practice run should be with a live bomb."
Batman saw the insistent, almost desperate look in her eyes, and she had a point. "I'll set it up," he said as he grabbed the trip mine. "Let's go."
Giovanni's Journal
15 October 1915
Dio misericordioso.
I was blind. We are all blind. But I have begun to see. Magic is real.
I stand now in America. Yesterday I stood in the heart of Asia, in ancient valleys where Kurdish shepards tread. Last night I spent a day in another world entirely. That is the only way I can describe it. There is so little I can describe.
Sindella comforts me. Otherwise, I fear I should be fully lost.
La sua famiglia thought they could dismiss me. They tried to awe me. They tried to frighten me. They struggle in vain. L'amore vince sempre.
In the floating study.
Batman and Zatanna walked to the fireplace at the end of the study. Batman carried a trip mine.
"I forgot to say thanks for building that," said Zatanna. "So thanks."
Batman nodded. They walked further. She cleared her throat. "You are human, right? No horns or lizard eyes under the mask?"
Batman said nothing.
"How about a favorite ball team? That'd be pretty human." His jaw shifted. Zatanna held up her hands apologetically. "I only ask because I just discovered magic exists on the same night I discover Batman exists. You have to admit that's like a hefty coincidence. Especially since that giant bat was interested in you."
Batman remained silent as he led her through the roaring fireplace. Soon they emerged from the smoke.
Zatanna coughed and fanned herself. "Whew. Hey, how do you manage heat in that outfit?" She gestured at herself. "Mine's nothing but ventilation and I'm already sweating."
Batman knelt and began setting the mine.
"Silent time, huh?" said Zatanna, nodding to herself. "I respect that. We all have our little get-ready rituals. It's funny, actually, sometimes if I'm nervous before a big show, I'll, um, talk to myself." She leaned against the wall. "You're not angry with me are you?"
Batman glanced at her but continued working.
"I can handle it if you are. Once I told a joke onstage that no one lives in Wyoming. Somehow the whole state heard and now they both hate me."
"It's done." Batman stood.
Zatanna rose from the wall. "Hey, can I ask you a question? I really need to know."
Batman was about to step through the fire, but he stopped and gave her his full attention.
Zatanna wasn't ready for his full attention. She tucked her hands under her armpits and looked at the ground. "What did that radio mean when it called you a true friend of the Zataras?"
Batman tensed his jaw. It was too subtle for her to notice.
"At first I thought you were ignoring me all night because you're, you know, some maniac. The good kind! I thought that was how you treated everyone. But how could you be a friend if we've never met before?"
Batman looked at the flames. "I'm sure the radio was being poetic. You and your father have been attacked. No one attacks decent people in Gotham and gets away with it."
"Sure. Should've figured." Zatanna looked up. "Not sure how strict your rules are - seems like they'd be strict - but in the spirit of full disclosure, my dad was technically attacked in Bludhaven, so-" Her rambling faded to an open question.
He looked back at her. "We'll bring him home."
Zatanna smiled for what felt like the first time in hours. Then her smile fell. "He doesn't have a home. They burned that down. Not that he ever cared where he lived. Always a rover." She gave a little snort and threw up her hands. "Unless this place was home all along!" She went to sit on a box. "I still can't picture how he snuck here all these years without me noticing."
Batman glared again at the fire. He remembered the angst on Zatanna's face at the bookcase of mage primers and had a brief inner debate. Finally, he went and sat near her, folding his hands under his chin. She looked across in surprise.
"Zatanna," he said. "You owe the world nothing. I don't know what magic is, but it's your choice to study or ignore. You can stay here or return to your old life. Get to know your family or keep your distance." He gently emphasized that last option.
She snickered.
He didn't smile, but his face softened. "If I'm a maniac, my mania is righting wrongs when others lose hope. Whatever you choose, I'll find a way to help." He stood. "Stay calm. Stay hidden. Listen to Catwoman when she arrives."
As Zatanna watched Batman leave, she felt a new lightness in her heart.
It almost made her forget the nausea of garlic in Listerine.
Giovanni's Journal
2 February 1916
Sindella is with child. Her face grows lovelier by the day. I gaze upon it and worry that my heart might burst. I thought I knew joy, but those imitators were tin, and I have found gold.
I was not in favor of sharing news so early, but la famiglia has prerogatives even a husband must obey. I am still confused by the habits of these magi, but they rejoiced as sincerely as anyone. They were not any more cordial to me, but I believe they have begun to forgive Sindella for picking me.
The holdout remains her zio, Ekrim. He and his kin remain my fiercest detractors. Hearing that my wife is expecting did not warm him a single degree. If anything, he mutters with more poison than before. I wish I knew why the others pay him such deference. I know they find him strange.
Bitter old fool.
In the hidden room behind the fireplace.
Zatanna hurried around the aisles looking for the best place to hide in the dim room. She recognized most of her father's magician props and inspected a few, checking whether trap door hinges were rusty or hidden compartments were as large as she remembered.
Despite the circumstances, a part of her felt oddly comfortable. These tricks had been the better part of her life. This was her element.
Zatanna turned a corner and froze. Sitting amid a pile of forgettable things were six red chests. They were identical to the chest she found in his trashed dressing room yesterday, the forbidden chest that he had kept locked as long as she could remember. As in the dressing room, these six chests were unlocked.
Zatanna opened one. At the bottom she saw a model of a door about the size of a lunch tray. Besides its size, it seemed in every respect a copy of the door she had been brought to in her father's ruined apartment in the Lisbon. It was brown teak wood carved with an ivy design and a shiny brass knob. The chest had assorted other items, scraps of paper and little leather bags, but the main content was clearly the model door.
Zatanna shut the chest and opened the others. Each held a model door.
Giovanni's Journal
1 March 1918
I am enraged. This journal has long served to calm me, but I can scarcely hold a pen. That diavolo Ekrim returned. He came to my home and threatened my wife.
He had been absent so long, I had forgotten his incoherent insults. He stood at my door, his appearance was dirty and gaunt, but for once his speech was clear. He claimed to have received a prophecy and demanded we listen. I repeat it here to expunge it from my mind, if only for a minute.
"The House of Cehennem will be ruined by their own, mighty in magic with fury unceasing, to protect the solstice child."
I write little of my wife's fame (it isn't worth a pennyweight to me), but Sindella is admired as the most promising mage of her clan, a talent beyond her years. And our Zatanna was born on the summer solstice.
I laughed in Ekrim's face. I had learned much about their magic, and no one had mentioned prophets. I told the house to escort il pazzo to the door, but Sindella stopped me. I saw terror in her eyes. She asked if he had shared his prophecy with anyone else. He said that he had not, out of respect and because it would be easier for everyone if she came with him peacefully. She begged for a few days to consider, and he departed without a word.
For a time, Sindella couldn't speak. When she found her voice, there were tears in her eyes. She shared that many famiglie have an elder who claims to tell the future. True or not, even magi have superstitions, and the Cehennems are more superstitious than most. Zio Ekrim's predictions have always come true, so they say.
I have seen many incredible things, but this is beyond belief. Yet my Sindella is sure that when Ekrim shares his prophecy, many of her own blood will have no doubt that my loving wife will ruin them. The form or cause of that ruin will not matter, nor why our bambina might need protection.
Among magi who believe in prophecies, some say they are inevitable. Others say they can be avoided, usually by killing the subject (death silences even a mage). The first school of thought argues that such action tends to fulfill the prophecy they seek to avoid, but such an argument has never stopped the activists. La famiglia will likely take a vote. If i pazzi win, they kill my wife. If they lose, some will try regardless, and the strife will split them all.
Why must this demone spit his lies? I have never despised a man so. A darkness has taken me. I can write no more tonight.
The room beyond the auxiliary treasury.
When Catwoman kicked open the door, she found the room beyond far less dramatic than anything else in the house. Instead of colorful marble or bronze statues, it was a plain little bedroom. A candle sconce flickered to full glow when she stepped inside. It gave just enough light to show the low bed in the center of the room. There was a woman sleeping atop the sheets. She slept peacefully with her hands clasped gently on her stomach, hardly seeming to breathe.
Catwoman crept closer and her eyes grew wide. She forgot her anger and exhaustion and even the knife in her teeth.
The resemblance was uncanny. Catwoman knew without a doubt that this was Zatanna Zatara's mother.
Giovanni's Journal
8 March 1918
If this is my last entry, please judge my life with forbearance. My intentions were pure.
We sought every path out of our inferno, but we had no hope to plead our case against this idiota prophecy. Nor could we flee for long. And Sindella believed it would be futile to lift a hand in violence, even if she were willing. A lone mage cannot overpower una famiglia. Solo un pazzo would try.
(I argued that this prophecy suggested such a massacre, to no avail.)
In our midnight of despair, she discovered her salvation. Magi believe that every word of a prophecy is critical. Prevent even one condition, and it breaks. Zio Ekrim prophesied that the House of Cehennem will be ruined by one of their own with "fury unceasing". Only Sindella's brilliance would use fury as the hinge to undo it all.
In an ancient tome she found directions for a ritual to duplicate a subject (patient? victim?) into two bodies. One mind would be fixed on its kindest mood - with patience of i santi and love for all mankind. The other mind would be at its cruelest - as suspicious and spiteful as Lucifero. Opposite minds, angelo o mostro. But only one body would survive. We possess a soul, or some animating force, which the ritual does not (cannot?) duplicate. It revives one body while the other expires.
(Is this murder? A birth and natural passing of a twin? A suicide? Or one persisting life, with no ethical burden? She dismissed my questions then, and I lack the composure to ponder it now.)
Sindella would survive in the pious body, removing the very idea of fury from her mind. This would exempt her from the prophecy. I could write pages shouting how I fought this plan, but why waste ink? She was committed. If Zatanna would not lose her mother, any sacrifice was worthy.
Mindful of what I will write soon, I admit that Ekrim was no hypocrite. He believed his own strange rules. When Sindella explained her plan, he accepted without complaint. He would still announce the prophecy but would defend her innocence. The Cehennems would need another scapegoat. Animali.
Ekrim even offered to help perform the ritual. It was not until the final preparations that he mentioned how fickle it was. Fickle! What a coy word. Sindella had not mentioned the danger, but I must forgive her. I suppose the alternatives looked no better.
I understood too little to describe the process, so I can only say that in the critical minute, her life entered the wrong body. She would wake up her most vicious self forever. I watched the gentle twin pass away.
Perhaps Ekrim grieved, though he showed little. No doubt the old mage had lost other nipoti to disaster. He said Sindella was clearly doomed to bring about the prophecy. What should be kindness in her would be manipulation. Generosity would be greed. Love would be obsession. He had to finish her now before she could bring her dark destiny to fruition.
He was not talking to convince me, of course; I was mud to him. I believe he simply liked to talk. Shamefully, I froze. Despite my wrath, he filled me with terror. It was when he promised to leave with Zatanna that I took his life.
To my surprise, the house obeyed me still. Sindella anticipated the ritual might fail and set me firmly in charge. I still shiver at the nightmares she avoided with that decision.
I knew enough mage secrets to craft a prison for Sindella (a common precaution among their plans). When she woke, I sensed the dark change at once. She acted innocent, weeping at her prison. But soon the mask fell, and she stung me with threats I had never imagined. I promised to take care of her and set her to sleep.
Zatanna cried in her crib that night, but I stayed away like a coward. I worried my crime would show on my face.
Ekrim's daughter Yeter visited two days later inquiring after her missing father. I showed her the bodies, her father and my wife. After the house calmed Yeter down, I told her a story that Ekrim and Sindella had an argument, that he had killed her, so I killed him (the mundane nature of his wound discounted other explanations). I implored her to take their remains to be buried in their tradition. She demanded that I surrender my daughter and come for judgement. The house escorted her out. I wonder what Yeter will tell them.
I also wonder where they might bury Sindella. If I survive, perhaps I'll ask her.
Now I must prepare. They will come for me soon, and I cannot hide here forever. Alea iacta est.
