A/N I meant to have this up days ago, but it was one of those chapters that refused to come together. But it turned out to be nearly double the usual length, so it's really like two for the price of one!

Disclaimer See Chapter 1.

Acknowledgement This chapter is indebted to Dorothy Dunnett's The Chronicles of Lymond whose mystical and bizarre portrait of a psychic this chapter does not emulate.

Chapter 14

"Have you at last unearthed a flower that suits you?"

"I think not," she said. "It's only just opened. It ought to have a chance to bloom."

The woman's eyebrows rose. "One visit to my garden is more than many mortals gain. You will not have another chance to pick a rose."

"Then I'll make up my life as I go along, the way everybody else does."

"Roses by Moonlight"

His head was throbbing to the beat of its own drum. Bruce groaned and rolled over, squinting at the clock. 9:15? Why am I awake? Why? He tried to swallow and discovered that his throat was swollen enough to make the action painful. Lifting a leaden arm, he smacked the button by his bed. Maybe Alfred has a miracle cure. Minutes passed but no Alfred appeared. Some days, there's just no point in being a billionaire. He stood and groaned as a fresh wave of pain surged in his head. Vaguely remembering that orange juice was recommended for colds, he trudged downstairs.

When he reached the kitchen, he stopped and leaned against the doorway, feeling dizzy. His butler was watering the violets on the windowsill. "Alfred," Bruce rasped, "I think I'm coming down with something."

Alfred swung around. "Master Wayne! Why didn't you ring?"

"I did." Bruce closed his eyes. His head hurt less that way.

"The bell doesn't work," piped a small voice.

Bruce squinted. "Hey, Dick." Somerville was sitting across the counter from the boy, and they were…Playing chess?

"Hey, Bruce. You look sick."

Alfred was standing next to him now, examining him critically. "I think, sir, that you should go back to bed. I will phone Dr. Miller immediately."

Bruce scowled. "I don't need a doctor. Just give me some aspirin or something."

Alfred's face took on a look of longsuffering patience. "Back to bed, sir," he repeated, placing a hand on Bruce's shoulder and guiding him out of the kitchen.

"I don't need a doctor."

An hour and a half later, Dr. Miller was repacking his bag. "It's a nasty cold, but nothing to worry about. Get some rest, drink a lot of fluids, and," he looked disapprovingly over the rims of his glasses, "absolutely no more midnight swimming."

"Thank you for coming, Doctor," Alfred escorted the doctor to the front door.

"Yes, well I rarely make house calls anymore, but for the son of Thomas Wayne an exception is in order. Although, I'm afraid he hasn't turned out very like his father."

"He's got more of his father in him than you might think," Alfred protested, despite his better judgment. "And you have to admit, Thomas Wayne left some pretty big shoes to fill."

The doctor's expression softened. "Yes, I would find them intimidating myself. Make certain he stays in bed for at least the rest of today."

When Alfred returned to the bedroom, he found his employer sulking against the pillows. Paying no attention to the irate glare sizzling in his direction, he busied himself with tidying up the room. "Wasn't it fortunate that Dr. Miller could come so quickly? An old colleague of your father's, of course."

"I'm not talking to you," Bruce grated.

"An excellent idea, sir. You should try to conserve your voice."

- - - - - -

"Checkmate," Cecilia said.

Richard looked proudly at the row of white pieces he had captured. "I did a lot better that time."

"You did," she agreed, clearing the board and flipping it over to store the pieces in its hollow interior.

"Can't we play one more time?" he pleaded.

"Perhaps later. Right now, I need to go into town."

Alfred entered the kitchen, balancing an empty juice glass on a silver tray. "Finished with your game?"

"Yep." Richard hopped down from his stool. "Can I go see Bruce?"

"I am afraid Master Bruce is supposed to be resting. In addition to which, he is supposed to avoid excessive talking."

"Oh. Where are you going?"

"I am going to clip dead leaves off the plants in the pool room."

"Can I help?"

"It's rather boring work, I'm afraid. Why don't you play with Rachel Jr.?"

"She's asleep. I'm not supposed to wake her up until afternoon. Rachel said she's nocturne."

"Nocturnal," Alfred corrected.

"I'm going into town to do some shopping. Richard may accompany me if he likes," Cecilia offered.

"Sure," the boy agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Alfred nodded his approval. "You'll borrow one of the cars, of course. Or would you prefer to be driven?"

"Ah…" she hesitated. "Not that I am ungrateful for the offer, but in view of what happened the last time I drove one of Mr. Wayne's cars, I think I'd prefer something a little less…noticeable. My own car will be fine."

"Understandable. I…did take the liberty of having our own mechanic go over it. He tuned up the brakes."

Irritation flashed across her face, but she smoothed it into a polite smile. "That was kind of you, Mr. Pennyworth."

The Chevy was heated and waiting for them as they bundled up in the front hall. "Hadn't you better put on another sweatshirt?" Cecilia demanded, as she tugged the edges of her coat around the marshmallow effect of her own layers.

"I'm already too hot," Dick complained, pulling his mittens back off and sticking them in his pocket.

She looked doubtful but allowed him to precede her out to the car. They sped along the road in silence, Richard staring out the window and Cecilia paying particular attention to her rearview mirror. She suddenly swung across two lanes and entered a freeway ramp.

"Richard, do you know whether Mr. Wayne's put a security tail on you?"

"You mean like a bodyguard?"

"Yes."

"I don't think so."

Cecilia glanced again at the silver Century that had hung with them through her sudden maneuver onto the freeway. "All right then. Your seatbelt fastened?"

"Yep."

She hit the accelerator and the car leapt forward. She smoothly wove in and out of traffic toward the right lane as the speedometer crept up to ninety. Not bothering with her turn signal, she hurtled off on the first exit they came to, only reducing speed when it seemed inevitable they would collide with the car ahead of them. The mechanic did a nice job on the brakes. When the light turned green, she drove at a sedate pace until they reached a subdivision.

"Where are we going?" Richard asked as they wound their way around blocks of neat suburban homes.

"A peddler's market," she answered, "but we're taking the scenic route."

Ten minutes later they were back on the freeway and speeding into the city with no sign of the Century. Amateurs. I wonder who they were?

The enormous market building took up half of the strip mall. Cecilia held open the cloudy glass door and allowed Richard to precede her. The inside was dim and smelled of dust. A hum of voices arose from the maze of sellers' stalls, underscored by the creaking of the ancient wooden floor.

Richard darted ahead toward a stall fronted by a dummy in a top hat and long black cloak. When Cecilia caught up, a white haired man was pulling a long, silken, red and black scarf from the boy's ear. When the material at last came to an end, he shook it out and draped the cloak around his shoulders. He smiled benevolently at the wide-eyed Richard. "Genuine magic articles, all previously owned by real circus magicians."

"Do you have one of those hats you can pull a rabbit out of?" Richard looked excitedly at Cecilia. "I could do tricks with Rachel Jr.!"

"A gerbil," Cecilia said in response to the vendor's questioning look.

"I have just the thing." He rummaged on his cluttered shelves, then produced a miniature version of his own headgear. "Constructed for short people and small rabbits…or gerbils."

It had obviously been well used, but Richard wasn't looking at the water stain on the brim or the fraying threads at the crown as he took the hat and peered inside. "How does it work?"

"Now that I cannot tell you unless you buy it. Only the hat's owner must know the secret of its magic."

Richard's face fell. "I guess I don't have any money. Thanks anyway." He started to hand the hat back.

"No money? That's a pity. But I've got a funny feeling this hat's supposed to go to you. Perhaps the fine lady escorting you could lend you a bit? It's very reasonably priced."

The boy looked uncertainly up at Cecilia, who returned his look thoughtfully. "I'll make you a deal, Richard. I'll give you the money, and in exchange, you will read to me thirty minutes of every day for the rest of the time that I'm here."

He looked dismayed. "Thirty minutes? Every day?"

"Ah now, what a bargain!" the vendor exclaimed. "To get a magic hat fine as this for such a simple thing as reading? I wouldn't pass it up, lad."

Richard looked up through narrowed eyes. "I'll read for thirty minutes if you'll play three chess games."

Cecilia folded her arms. "One."

"Two."

"Done."

The vendor laughed. "That's a sharp boy you have, madam." Cecilia handed over the cash, and he tucked it away before bending down to Richard's eye level. "Here's how you work the hat." He stopped and looked up. "If you wouldn't mind stepping back a bit? Only the owner of the hat can hear its secret."

Cecilia obediently stepped over to the next stall while the magician whispered to Richard and positioned his hands on the hat. They both peered into the hat, then Richard nodded and grinned. He plopped the hat on his head and hurried over to Cecilia, and they resumed their wandering down the passageway. Many of the stalls were filled with secondhand books or house wares, but there were quite a few that held what Cecilia privately termed "circus junk." One woman displayed spangled leotards and tarnished silver cloaks. A young man tossed tea cups in the air while his shelves displayed balls, plastic clubs, ornate knives, and "How to" books on juggling. The only time Richard showed anything other than lively curiosity was when they strolled past a stall displaying neon colored wigs and grotesquely sized shoes. Then, he abruptly stepped behind Cecilia to put her between himself and the display and walked so close that his head rested against her arm.

They'd been wandering for nearly an hour when the alluring smell of coffee rose over the dust. A lunch counter and a few small tables were tucked into a corner of the enormous building. Cecilia was about to suggest a hot chocolate break when a creaking voice interrupted, "Know the future! Get your fortune told."

The fortune teller, smothered in scarves and bangles, sat on a low stool at the edge of the informal café. Before her, on a tiny tripod, rested a crystal ball. "Lady, would you not like to know what changes await you in the coming year?" Scanning Cecilia's unresponsive face, the woman tried a new tack. "Or the boy's? Shall we see what he will be when he grows up? A famous astronaut, perhaps, or a great…" She trailed off, leaning forward to peer at Richard's face. "Dicky?" she demanded, her crone's cackle morphing into a normal, female voice. "Little Dicky Grayson, it can't be!"

Richard broke into a huge grin, "Hey, Miss Molly!"

She sprang up from her stool and pulled him into a hug, knocking his hat off. "I didn't know whether I would ever see you again!" She gently cupped her palm around his cheek. "I know about your mother. I'm so very sorry."

Richard looked at her for a moment, then buried his face among her scarves. She held him close, gently patting his hair. After a minute, Richard pulled back, furtively wiping his cheek on his sleeve. "It's nice to see you, Miss Molly."

"It's very nice to see you too." The fortune teller looked questioningly at Cecilia who was standing quietly by, holding the magic hat.

Cecilia extended her hand. "Cecilia Somerville. I'm Richard's case worker."

"Molly Mercer." The fortune teller's grip was firm and warm. "I was a friend of Richard's parents. Why don't we sit down and have some tea?"

A black cat shot out of nowhere and pressed itself against Molly's legs. "There you are, Dis! I was beginning to wonder." She scooped the cat up and allowed it to rub its head against her chin. "Dis, meet Dicky, a very old friend." The cat sniffed at Richard's outstretched hand, then leaped from Molly's arms to the floor and ran off. "There he goes again." Molly shook her head. "There's a cute little bookstall calico that will probably be great with kittens any day."

She continued to chatter about her philandering cat while they waited for their drinks. It was only when Richard had a mustache of whipped cream that she asked, "So Dicky, where do you live now?"

"With Bruce." He licked his upper lip. "And Alfred. And Rachel Jr. She's a gerbil. I'm going to do a trick with her in my magic hat. It's not really magic," he added gravely. "There isn't any real magic."

Molly sighed softly. "Yes, you would know that, wouldn't you? Who is Bruce?"

"He owns everything. We have two swimming pools and a gym. But it's mostly Alfred who's in charge. Everyone has to do what he says, even Bruce. But Bruce reads to me about spaceships and we practice karate."

Molly looked at Cecilia. "Is he by any chance referring to Bruce Wayne, Gotham's pet billionaire?"

"One and the same," she answered, smiling faintly.

Molly sniffed. "Hardly a proper person to be raising a child."

"No, it's ok," Richard assured her earnestly, "because Bruce is really B…" He broke off and scrunched up his nose. "Brave," he resumed, "and nice. And he makes me go to school."

"As he should," Molly put in, and looked ready to start an interrogation when Cecilia gave a startled exclamation. Dis had reappeared and was twining himself around the social worker's ankles, purring like an air conditioner. "He approves of you," Molly said.

Dis rose on his hind legs and set his paws on her knee, so Cecilia obligingly picked him up and settled him on her lap. "He does seem to be friendly."

"He's usually a snob. Very picky about his friends. Dis is short for Discretion."

"I'm honored."

The next moment, the cat leapt from Cecilia's arms and scrambled to the top of the tin overhang on the lunch counter. "Oh dear," sighed Molly, "Susan does get upset when he's up there. Particularly when the health inspector is due." She reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a fish-shaped biscuit. Handing it to Richard, she asked, "Would you go over and hold this up to him? He'll come to you. Eventually."

Richard took the treat and walked to wave it as close to Dis's nose as he could get. "Here, kitty-kitty."

"Bruce Wayne," said Molly. "It's hard to believe."

"There was a clause in Charles Grayson's contract with Wayne Enterprises that made the company responsible for his family should anything happen to him."

"So it was Wayne Enterprises he was working for. It was obvious they lived on more than circus pay, but you don't ask too many questions. And yes, that sounds like something Charles would do." Molly shook her head. "In some ways he was so intelligent, and in others he didn't have the sense of a baby. He would have done better to take out a life insurance policy. The pittance Robyn had to scrape by on!"

"How did he die?"

Molly looked surprised. "Don't you know?" Then she answered herself. "No, I don't suppose you would. Dicky was too young to remember, and Robyn…Robyn wouldn't have told him. Not yet." She sighed deeply. "I don't suppose it does any harm to tell you. They were an act, you know, the two of them on the trapeze. The Flying Graysons they were advertised. They used to talk about the day when Dicky would be old enough to join them. But for several days before…Charles was even more nervous than usual. He was always jumpy, but it was worse. And then there was the incident with the monkey." Molly's face grew dark with the memory. "There was a whole act with the monkeys, but one of them, the littlest, was Dicky's special favorite. He used to sit for hours making faces at it. On that day, he was at the cage. The trainer swears he stepped away for a minute…just a minute to get some more feed. He wasn't worried. There was nobody in the circus who would have hurt that little boy. But when he was coming back he heard Dicky screaming. In the minute or two he was gone, someone had taken the littlest monkey out the cage. They'd driven a tent peg right through it into the ground, doused it with oil, and set it on fire. And that night…the trapeze bar snapped. Charles broke his neck. The police said it was an accident, but we all knew that someone had tampered with it." Molly sighed and closed her eyes.

Cecilia toyed with the rim of her coffee cup. "What happened then?"

"We buried him the next morning, and by evening, Robyn and Dicky were gone. She didn't tell anyone where they were going, and nobody went after her. Not that we didn't care, but we figured she knew what she was doing. Besides, we had problems of our own. The circus wasn't doing well before, and a murder is as good as a curse." Molly smiled wanly. "We circus folk are a superstitious lot, and most of us drifted away as soon as we could. I felt very sorry for Mr. Haley, but…that was how it was."

"But you found Robyn again."

"Yes. Most circuses winter in the south, but I've got family up here. Anyway, Robyn was wandering around this very place, and I suppose it was inevitable that we ran into each other. After that, I went to see her as often as I could. If it wasn't too cold, she would bring Dicky to the park, or we would wander around a shopping mall or the library. She wouldn't bring him here, she was too afraid this would be a place someone would come looking for her." Molly chuckled. "Like a tigress with her cub. All she thought about was protecting him. I remember, after we first met up, she was working on a blanket for him - she could do beautiful embroidery. She'd sit stitching and say it was a security blanket, that she'd sewn in charms against evil and blessings for the future."

With a soft growl, Dis at last yielded to temptation and leapt to the ground by Richard's feet. The boy scooped him up and proudly toted the beast back to the table. Before he reached them, Molly leaned closer and whispered urgently, "Warn Mr. Wayne. People have been asking questions about the Graysons. And so has the Batman."

Cecilia looked startled, but Richard was back, a hissing cat in his arms. Molly reclaimed her pet. "Dis, mind your manners." Smiling, she stood. "I need to get back to work. I can predict just how hungry my future will be if I don't."

"Can you really tell the future, Miss Molly?"

"Sometimes. Give me your palm and we'll see what I can do." She settled on her stool with the cat on her lap and took his outstretched hand. "Mmm, yes, it's very clear." She stuck out a well-manicured finger and gently traced the lines. "You will live long and well. You will be brave and good and wise."

"How can you tell that when there's not really magic?" Richard demanded.

Molly looked affronted. "It's not magic, it's science! Heredity," she added in a softer tone.

"Oh." Richard nodded understandingly. "That's different. Maybe you should tell Miss Somerville's future too," he added, trying to be polite.

"If she would like," Molly agreed, sending the social worker a curious look.

Cecilia stared back, then extended her right hand. The fortune teller looked for a long moment at the lurid scars crippling the fingers, then shook her head. "I would not presume to read this."

"Why not?" Richard demanded.

Molly adjusted her scarves and resumed the creaking tone of mystery with which she had first greeted them. "Her future is as impenetrable as the western horizon after the sun has set. A dark night."

Richard looked impressed. "That's very interesting."

"Come along, Richard," Cecilia said firmly. "We should be getting back." She looked at Molly. "I can claim no psychic powers, but I think you would have better luck in a different location."

Molly met her eyes evenly. "I understand."

To Be Continued…

A/N Chocolate covered thanks to all reviewers! And a special welcome to those of you who reviewed for the first time ;)

IcyWaters mentioned that she enjoys reading other people's reviews as well as my responses to them. Since I'd also been thinking that it might be hard to understand the response if you'd forgotten what you'd put in your review, I have pasted in everybody's reviews before their respective responses. Let me know how the format works!

Furthermore, I'm suffering from a sunburn induced fever. Reviews are better than Tylenol!

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