Bruce has only a small appearance in this one, but we'll be back to him soon.

"Your bruise looks worse today," Harriet told Dick when they got home.

"Well, it feels better," he answered. "Bruises always turn different colors as they heal; don't worry about it."

"If you say so. Do you have homework for tomorrow?"

"Yeah; a couple reading assignments and a quiz to study for in history. I can get an extension on the quiz since I missed a week and a half of classes, but I'm going to try taking it with everyone else and see how I do."

"Sounds like you've got a lot of studying to do. Will it distract you if I turn on the news?"

Dick shook his head. "Nah. I'll move to my room if it's too distracting."

"All right. How about a snack?"

"Sounds great."

Dick set his backpack by the couch, sat down and got out his literature book. The class was a few chapters into The Scarlet Letter. Dick enjoyed reading fiction from any era, so he didn't think it would take long to catch up. He kept half an ear on the news while he read. After a while, the news anchor caught his attention.

"Now, the latest news in the kidnapping of Princess Ellora. The young Lorandian royal granted an interview earlier today."

The scene changed as Harriet returned with a tray of milk and cookies. They could see Ellora sitting in a comfortable interview office with her parents beside her.

"How did the kidnapper, the man the police are now calling the Riddler, manage to get you away from your parents?" a reporter asked her.

"I went to watch a magic show with my governess," Ellora answered. "I volunteered to help with the act."

"Did you feel at all afraid when you went to the stage?"

"No; I was excited. I love the magic."

"I understand that the Riddler put you in a large box and made you disappear. Can you tell us how he did it?"

Ellora smiled. "Why, it was magic, of course!"

Dick laughed. "Kidnapper or not, she won't spoil the secret. She really does love magic."

"She's quite a spirited girl, isn't she?" said Harriet.

Ellora told about being smuggled away from the flea market in a bear costume next.

"Well, for goodness' sake," Harriet exclaimed.

"That explains why no one saw them leaving," Dick mused. "That Riddler sure is tricky."

"They put me in a... how do you say... remorque?" said Ellora.

"Trailer," her father prompted.

"Yes, in a trailer. I could not see where it was going. It seemed to be full of smoke. The Riddler pushed something against my face and I became confused. I remember no more until the Batman came."

The reporter held up a sketch of Batman. "Is this the man who saved you?"

"Yes, that is him, exactly."

"Did he speak to you?"

"He said he wanted to help... I don't remember exactly what he said. He carried me away very fast. He put me in a car and drove to the hotel."

"No one saw you come into the hotel; how did you get to your room?"

"He carried me up the wall outside. The glass door was not locked."

"That's an incredible story. How did you feel when you were with Batman?"

"A bit uneasy," Ellora admitted. "But I know I was perfectly safe. Now, I trust Batman with my life."

"Powerful words from the princess of Lorandia," the reporter concluded. "Ever since Batman's fall from public approval, Gotham has been wondering whether he can ever be trusted again. Could this be a sign that the dark mantle is being lifted? Only time will tell."

The coverage went back to the regular anchor.

"I do hope they're right," Harriet said. "It certainly seems like Batman wants to do good, don't you think so?"

"I don't know. I hope so." Dick looked down at his literature book. He'd read barely two pages. "I guess I'd better take this to my room after all. The news is too interesting."

Harriet smiled. "All right, dear. I'll call you when dinner is ready."

As Dick crossed the room heading for the stairs, he heard the anchor say, "This morning we learned that the Riddler left a message for Batman." He paused just through the door to the hallway and listened.

"We have not been informed what the message was, but the police have given us Batman's answer. Batman says to the Riddler: 'Don't think it will be easy.' All we can do is speculate of course, but could this mean that the Riddler is planning another crime? Is Batman planning to stop him, or merely offering him strategic advice? All we can do is wait..."

Dick went to the end of the short hall and up the stairway that wound back overlooking the hall. The news anchor made a fair point—Batman's message could be threatening or friendly, depending on how you looked at it. Not knowing the Riddler's message made it impossible to tell.

After dinner, Dick decided to do a few pushups in his room. He was chagrined to find he couldn't get past ten. "Holy regression," he muttered. I used to be able to do a hundred! This is terrible. Mom would be so ashamed of me. Mitch would make fun of me. I have to get stronger again.

He took a few minutes to rest and then did five more pushups. I'll do ten more right before I go to bed. Then I'll do ten in the morning and ten after school. I'll build up my stamina until I can do more at a time.

"Dick," Harriet called, "did you call Bruce today?"

I knew I was forgetting something. "No... I'll do that now. May I use the phone in your room?"

"Yes, go ahead."

Dick pulled a T-shirt over his undershirt (it wouldn't due for one's doting aunt to see one practically in one's underwear) and stepped down the hall to Harriet's room. He had Wayne Manor's number memorized by now; he was good at remembering numbers.

"Alfred, it's Dick. Bruce around?"

"I believe he's seeing to something in the northwest wing, Master Dick. I'll go and fetch him."

"OK." Dick sat on Harriet's bed and looked around her room. It was decorated in bronze and cream. Everything had an old, homey feel to it—even the mahogany animal figurines on her shelf and vanity.

After what seemed like far too long, Bruce finally picked up the phone.

"Hello, Dick."

"Hey. Sorry I didn't call earlier. I got busy and forgot."

"It happens. Everything OK?"

"Yeah."

"How's school?"

"Fine." Dick tried to think of something else to say. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to tell Bruce about kickboxing. He might not like it. "Uh, I was thinking about trying out for some sports at school. Would that be OK?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Well, I might have to go to matches and practices outside school hours; I wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone."

"Hm." A long pause. Then, "Go ahead and try out. We'll figure out transportation if you need it."

"OK. Thanks."

"No problem. I have some things to do now... give my regards to your aunt, all right?"

"Yeah. Bye."

Dick wasn't sure why Bruce had taken so long to think over the issue, but now he had permission. He hoped Harriet wouldn't make a fuss if or when she found out what he wanted to do. If we ever get enough people, that is.

He fell asleep that night feeling tired but determined. He did ten more pushups in the morning before going downstairs for breakfast. He was in good spirits when Harriet dropped him off at school.

Today, I'm going to find at least one person to join the kickboxing program, he decided. If George finds one too, we'll be halfway there.

He went out of his way to talk to as many boys as possible between classes that morning, bringing up extracurricular activities as the opportunity presented itself. Finally, he found someone genuinely interested.

"George and I want to do kickboxing," Dick told Miles, a boy in his history class, "but not enough people have signed up."

"I was actually going to do it last year," said Miles, "but we only got half the number of students required, so it was canceled."

"We've got until Wednesday to recruit people; will you help us?"

"Well..." Miles looked down at his desk.

"You did want another chance, right? It won't hurt to try." Dick thought he saw a little smile on Miles's face for a second, but then it was gone.

"Maybe. I'll ask around a little. But I'm not signing the sheet until I see you've got seven."

Dick thought it was odd that Miles wanted to be last to sign up, but he decided not to ask questions. "Sure. Let me know if you find anyone."

At lunch, he and George discussed their attempts.

"I think Pete Henderson's interested," said George. "I'm gonna try to get him to sign up after lunch. And I won't quit bugging him until he does."

"Good. Miles Sullivan is in if we get everyone else first. I wish he'd sign up now, but that's how he wants it."

"Huh. Oh well... if we get both of them, we're halfway."

"Yeah. Miles said they got halfway last year, but that was it."

"Well, they didn't have us last year!" George held out his hand and Dick slapped it.

"Making up a secret handshake?"

Dick looked up, ready to snap at whoever it was, but then he saw that the speaker was Barb, and her smile wasn't condescending. In fact, it was quite pretty. He was caught off guard. "Oh, uh... no." He cleared his throat. "Did you talk to Jim about kickboxing?"

"Yeah..." Barb set her empty tray on their table and sat beside Dick. "He said it was a lame idea."

"Nuts to him," said George.

"The thing is, I think he'd really like it, but he's got kind of a grudge against you, so he's determined to stay out of it. Sorry."

"Well, I asked for it."

"Maybe, but I wish he wouldn't be like that. I'll see if I can find anyone else for you, OK?"

"Thanks; I appreciate it."

"OK. Your face looks awful, by the way. Does it hurt?"

Dick shook his head. "Not at all, anymore. I think it's about to start going away; I read that bruises turn bright colors like this before they start to fade."

"I hope you're right. Anyone ask you about it?"

"Yeah, Mister Syun did, and a hall monitor."

"What'd you tell them?"

"Same thing I told my aunt—I hit myself in the face with a door."

George snickered. "Did they buy it?"

"I think so. At least, they haven't called me out. I think I'm safe."

"Lucky break," Barb said. "Listen... I'd like to hang out with you guys, but I'm afraid that might cause some trouble with Jim..."

"We understand," said George.

"He'll get over it eventually," Dick added.

"Yeah, I hope so, but I was thinking—we could talk on the phone sometime. He wouldn't know about that, so it wouldn't bother him."

"Good idea," George said enthusiastically. "Here, I've got a pen."

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"Yes," both boys answered, but Dick was sure Barb had been talking only to him.

She took George's pen. "What's your number, Dick?"

Dick gave it to her. "That's my cell phone... if I don't answer right away it probably means my aunt's around. I told her my phone's just for emergencies and stuff, so she'll get really curious if she sees me using it."

"Would it be bad to call her land line?"

"I'd rather not. I'm just staying with her through Monday..."

"OK, I'll just call your cell." Barb got up.

"Hey, don't you need my number?" asked George.

"Dick can pass news on to you," she said with a shrug. "I gotta go."

She walked away and the boys stared after her.

"You know," George said slowly, "I think she's into you."

Dick looked away, willing his sudden blush to go away. "Get real. She's with Jim."

"She totally dissed me. And she's got your number. Personally, I think it's the circus thing. Once that wears off, you'll enjoy normal popularity... in other words, mediocrity."

"Yeah, you may be right about that. Come on; we need to go or we'll be late for English."

Here we leave our young hero for now. More bat-school and other adventures are in store, so stay tuned!