"I must say, you're being rather gracious toward Joker in this story," commented Emilia, interrupting her husband's reading. "Judging by your history with him, I was expecting you to make him some sort of gold-digging cad vying for Harley's heart, and I suppose he yet might be, but you did let him save your life."
"Yes, I give credit where credit is due," retorted Crane. "And Joker would be insane enough to try and challenge a dead man he can't kill. Besides, no matter how I wanted to write him, somehow he always ended up being himself. For some reason, the Joker is a character who refuses to bend to my will – I know it sounds crazy, but he always inserts himself into the story as the strong character he is, no matter how I'd like to portray him."
"I know what you mean," said Emilia, nodding. "Many's the time I've tried writing a character a certain way, only for the character to refuse to cooperate with me and do their own thing. Some characters you just can't tell what to do, and you just have to let them be themselves. So I trust you're keeping with the ending of the original story, with you and Harley not ending up together, and Joker winning her instead?"
"You'll have to wait and see, my dear," replied Crane.
"I will," said Emilia, kissing him. "Now I'm going to make some tea – would you like a cup?"
"Yes, thank you," said Crane. "This reading aloud does dry out the throat – I'm not used to it."
"I'm very much enjoying the story so far," said Emilia, when she returned with the tea. "You should consider publishing it."
Crane laughed at what he presumed was a joke. "Oh, you were serious," he said, noting her expression. "I don't think that's a good idea, my dear – I think I'd be murdered by my friends and associates for my characterizations of them. Although Jervis certainly wouldn't mind having been married to Alice."
"I think he'd be surprised by Harley as his daughter though," said Emilia. "I think she would have turned out quite differently had that been the case."
"Ah, now that's an interesting question, my dear," said Crane. "Is a person's personality given to them despite their upbringing, or because of it?"
"I suppose we'll never really know the answer to that," said Emilia. "There's no way to test that theory, is there?"
"We could with our own children someday," said Crane. "We could raise them all exactly the same, no matter what skills or interests they show, and then see if their personalities are similar as a result."
"I suspect their personalities would be completely neurotic under those circumstances," retorted Emilia. "I am not using our hypothetical children as a science experiment, Jonathan, so get that idea right out of your head. Not that I don't enjoy thinking about our hypothetical children, of course," she added, kissing him again. "How many do you want?"
"Let's start with one, my dear, and see how it goes," replied Crane.
"Fine by me," said Emilia. "Of course there's always a chance we could have twins, like Joker and Harley, on our first try. Or triplets, or quadruplets."
"Then we could have a really good chance of testing that upbringing theory, as they'll have closer than usual genetic material," commented Crane.
"For the last time, we are not experimenting on our children!" snapped Emilia. "Just get back to the story, Jonathan!"
"Very well," he muttered. "Don't help out the scientific community. See if I care."
…
The Van Tetch Halloween party was truly a grand affair – despite J's complaints about the inconvenience of setting up the decorations, they looked incredible. Pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns were everywhere, their flaming smiles beaming out from every dark corner – ghosts and skeletons hung from the ceiling among other, milder symbols of the autumn harvest, corn husks and reddish leaves, a more subtle but nevertheless similar reminder of the dying of the season, and the death brought on by the ending of another year.
It was odd, in Crane's mind, that a town haunted by a literal ghost, a town that faced the reality of death and the supernatural every day, would be eager to be reminded of it in this fashion. And yet as Van Tetch explained, as he welcomed him inside, "It is when you are in the midst of death that you most need to mock it. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die, to paraphrase the Holy Scripture. And in a place like this, death is more likely than usual. So if we laugh in its face, if we parody it and embrace it, it loses its power over us, and it can no longer frighten us. Or at least, if we are not entirely free of fear, we are maybe a little less anxious than we would be without looking death in the eye. And I do believe that is worth celebrating."
Crane couldn't argue – although of course he had not forgotten the horror of what had happened to him, it was easier not to focus on it surrounded by food and drink and good company. And his mission, of course – to find out what everyone knew about the Headless Batman, and to stop him.
But there was no work without play, and Crane did want to take the time to have a dance with Harley. And it was then he discovered that he and J were far from the only rivals for her hand – every eligible man in Gotham seemed to want to dance with her. Crane got his chance at last, but was annoyed to see her distracted, her eyes glancing constantly over to J, who stood in a corner and smiled at them, raising a glass.
"You don't mind if I cut in, do you?" asked J, as Harley had somehow managed, in the course of the dance, to pull them over to where he was lingering.
"Of course he doesn't – do you, Mr. Crane?" asked Harley, looking at him with those hopeful blue eyes again.
Crane sighed. "Of course not," he said, in a forced casual tone, as he released her. She instantly raced into J's arms, pulling him onto the floor. Crane glared at them as J just smiled at him again, pulling Harley closer in his arms and whispering something in her ear. She giggled, beaming at him in adoration.
"You ready to give up yet?" asked J, as he came over to Crane after the dance.
"Absolutely not," retorted Crane. "Wars are not won or lost by the first encounter. Now if you want to make yourself useful, you can introduce me to everyone here."
"Oh, I get it, since you lost Operation Harley Suitor, we're back on Operation Headless Batman," said J, grinning. "Well, they're both fun games for me, so let's go!"
He headed over to a table laden with food and drink, where an attractive, red-haired woman was standing, glaring at the carved pumpkins with her arms folded across her chest.
"How are you today, Mistress Ivy?" J asked, taking a drink from the table next to her.
"I told you never to speak to me, murderer," she retorted.
"I beg your pardon?" asked Crane, surprised.
"Mistress Ivy resents me carving the pumpkins," replied J. "She thinks the mutilation of plants is murder. Because she's a witch."
"I'm not a witch!" snapped Ivy.
"Well, you're sure not a good one, or you would have been able to stop the Headless Batman by now," retorted J. "But you were a good enough one to do away with your husband, or so the rumors say. Mistress Ivy is a widow," he explained, turning to Crane. "Ever since her husband Jason died under…mysterious circumstances."
"I didn't kill him, but I'm not sad he's dead," retorted Ivy. "It wasn't a happy marriage, and now I'm free to live my life without being shackled to some useless man. I don't see any reason not to be honest about that."
"As I said, Mistress Ivy has an affinity for plants, and her husband died from eating poisoned mushrooms," continued J. "You'd think somebody who loves plants like she does would know which mushrooms are poisoned, and not feed them to her husband."
"Firstly, I didn't cook for him," retorted Ivy. "I told him the day we were married, I'm not going to be confined to the kitchen like a domestic slave. And secondly, if I were going to kill him, I wouldn't do it in such an obvious way. And thirdly, mushrooms aren't plants, they're fungi, so they're hardly my specialty. And fourthly, I'm a doctor, not a murderer."
"Unofficial doctor, of course, being a woman and all," said J. "But she is the town healer and midwife. People come to her for all sorts of ailments. Except me, of course – I don't trust her because she's a witch."
"How long have you lived in Gotham, Mistress Ivy?" asked Crane.
"All my life," she replied. "I was twelve when the war came here – that's when I first became interested in plants and their healing properties. I would collect them with my mother, who taught me how to use them to heal the soldiers' wounds. She saved many men from death, and in return was accused of witchcraft and hanged for it. Which taught me not to mourn the deaths of men," she muttered, grabbing a glass.
"This is Mr. Crane, the new schoolteacher," said J. "He's very interested in learning what Gotham was like during the war, when the Headless Batman still had his head."
Ivy glared at him. "Why?" she asked.
"I'm hoping to figure out some way to stop him," said Crane. "I want to ask everyone who was around then what they know about his origins. Did you ever encounter him before he died?"
Ivy sipped her drink. "No," she said. "I saw him a few times, of course – it was hard to miss him during the battles. He looked like some unearthly demon, which I suppose he is now. But obviously there was nothing my mother or I could do to heal him once his head was blown off."
"You could if you were a good witch," replied J. "But neither you nor your mother apparently had that kinda skill. She couldn't even save herself from being hanged, after all, and both of you did a crap job on Harvey."
"I heard my name – everything all right over here?" asked a man's voice. Crane turned and nearly started back at the sight before him. It was a man with half his face burnt off.
"Harv, we were just talking about you!" exclaimed J, beaming at him. "Mr. Crane, this is Harvey Dent, the town magistrate."
"Pleasure…to meet you," said Crane slowly, shaking his hand.
"It's all right – everyone stares," said Dent, with a wry smile as he gestured to his face. "My little souvenir from the war. We all had to make sacrifices for the cause of freedom, and many lost more than me. But it was worth it all in the fight to gain independence, so I don't regret it."
"Harvey had a shell explode in his face," explained Ivy. "He was lucky to be alive when we got to him, and Mother and I did all we could for him."
"They saved my life," said Dent, nodding. "I owe Mistress Ivy a debt I can never repay," he added, taking her hand and kissing it.
"Did you encounter the Headless Batman?" asked Crane. "Before he lost his head, I mean."
Dent shook his head. "I was lucky to avoid him, so I hear. Better to lose half a face than a full head."
"Were any other current town residents here during the war?" asked Crane.
"Nygma was," said Dent, nodding at the man now dancing with Harley, although he wasn't looking at her at all, and when he did, it was only to give her a glance of contempt. "He took part in a lot of the strategy and planning. I guess he was good enough at it, because we won. He claims he's the man who fired the cannon that blew off the Headless Batman's head, but I think he's just making it up. Likes to brag, does Nygma, whether he deserves to or not."
"Eddie, how did you enjoy your dance with Miss Van Tetch?" asked J, as Nygma came over to join them afterward. "Looked to me like you couldn't wait for it to be over, and that's really no way to a girl's heart, y'know."
"I'm not really after her heart," retorted Nygma. "My interest in her is purely mercenary, and if she were smart, she'd respect me for my honesty in that."
"I don't think women really respect guys who just wanna marry them for their money," replied J.
"It would be to her benefit too – she'd be getting the smartest man in town for her husband," retorted Nygma. "Our children would be geniuses thanks to my superlative influence. But if she really is the sort of stupid, silly romantic girl who wants to marry for love, then there's nothing I can do to change her stupid, silly mind. I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not."
"Very admirable," said Crane, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Speaking of smarts, this is Mr. Crane, the new schoolmaster," said J, nodding at Crane. "So I guess you got competition for the smartest guy in town."
"Not from you I don't," replied Nygma, sneering at J. "And certainly not from some teacher, who can't think of anything better to do with his life than deal with the small minds of children all day."
"And what is it you do, Mr. Nygma?" asked Crane.
"I'm a writer," replied Nygma. "I'm writing several treatises and pamphlets on the causes and philosophies of liberty…"
"Which means he's unemployed," finished J.
"Which means I have better things to do with my time than labor in the fields or in some stuffy office all day," retorted Nygma. "A genius cannot be constrained in the same dull, daily routine that normal men must suffer. I am destined for a higher purpose, and cannot waste my time in pointless manual labor."
"I heard you were the man who shot the cannon that blew off the Headless Batman's head," said Crane, ignoring the insult. "Odd from a man who claims to be above manual labor."
"I was obviously a younger man then," retorted Nygma. "Who did engage in physical labor for the worthwhile cause of freedom, as you can see if you read my pamphlet on liberty…"
"Do you think you could show me where that happened?" interrupted Crane. "Where the Headless Batman was decapitated, I mean. I would love a tour of the battlefield from a man who was there, a man who was brave enough to kill him. I would like to hear all the details, and see everything, to get a sense of what exactly happened that day. If you're not too busy with your writing, perhaps you could accommodate me someday soon?"
Nygma sniffed. "I am a very busy man with little time for pointless excursions to indulge idle curiosity," he sighed. "I am in the middle of intense speculation, and do not have time to break my train of thought for some aimless exercise…"
"How much money would convince you otherwise?" interrupted Crane. "You admitted you were willing to marry a woman for money – I assume you'd do something far less complicated for a small fee."
Nygma sighed again. "Oh, very well," he muttered. "I'll see you after church on Sunday. We'll discuss terms then, and I'll take you to the battlefield."
"Wonderful," said Crane. "I have been neglecting my church attendance lately, but in light of recent events, I think reviving it will be no bad thing."
"Deacon Blackfire believes that the Headless Batman is God's judgement upon this town," said J. "He's always a laugh riot, I'll say that for him."
"Sounds…illuminating," said Crane, slowly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go request another dance with Miss Van Tetch."
He approached her as she sat sipping a glass of punch. "Miss Van Tetch, I wonder if you might do me the honor of the next dance?" he asked.
"Oh, that's very kind, Mr. Crane, but I really need to rest my feet for a bit," said Harley, smiling. "I've been dancing constantly since the party started, and I need a little break."
"I understand," said Crane, disappointed. "Perhaps later?"
"Perhaps," she agreed, smiling at him.
"Hey, toots, wanna help me check on the horses in the barn?" asked J, appearing suddenly. "With all these guests needing to get home before dark, I gotta make sure their transport is well taken care of."
"That sounds lovely, Mr. J," said Harley, instantly standing up.
"I thought you needed to rest your feet," said Crane.
"Don't worry – she won't be on her feet for long!" chuckled J, taking her hand and furtively pulling her away as she giggled, gazing at him in adoration.
Crane glared after them. "Well, wars aren't won by the second encounter either," he muttered. "Still, it's disappointing to lose two battles in a row. If we had done this during the war, we'd all still be bowing to the king."