Chapter 2 of Dream Knight. I appreciate the feedback! This chapter features the Riddler, and if it doesn't make complete sense now, come back to it after the end of the story.
Disclaimer: I do not own any DC characters, nor anything by Lewis Carroll.
Dream Knight
Chapter 2: Psychopomp
And so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going though the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this; `for it might end, you know,' said Alice to herself, `in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?' And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing.
- Lewis Carroll,
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
He dreams the same dream every night.
He is running through streets and alleys in a dimly-lit maze of concrete and steel. There are mirrors everywhere, and they warp and distort so that a different face stares back from each one. Pain is all around him, and he knows that it will consume him when he stops running. So he continues to follow his random path through the labyrinth as the bat in the moon gazes down at him.
***
"Master Bruce?"
Groggily, he opens his eyes. Alfred is there, holding a tray. There is a bowl of oatmeal on the tray and a steaming tea kettle.
"I thought you might like to be awakened, sir, since today is the day you are visiting the Oracle."
"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce says, sitting up. He dons his black tunic and joins Alfred at the small table in the centre of his cabin. "I was up late meditating again."
Alfred pours some tea. "Were there any surprises?"
"No," he says. "I still can't concentrate, and I don't understand why. But, on the bright side, still no Joker."
"He only appeared once, correct?"
"Yeah, just the one time. And I still don't know what to make of it. Maybe I was hallucinating or something? But he seemed so real."
Alfred slices some bread. "Perhaps the Oracle can shed some light on that, as well."
"I hope so." Bruce sips his tea. "Mm. Good tea. My compliments."
"It came from the bandits' lair. One of the many luxuries the village is currently enjoying, thanks to you."
Bruce nods. It has been two weeks since his encounter with the Cat Woman and her bandits, and they have not returned since. A week ago, they followed her directions to her lair and found it abandoned except for a sizeable hoard of goods which had been plundered from Arkham and the surrounding area. He asks Alfred, "So do you know anything about this Riddler who's supposed to live at the monastery?"
"I know nothing except hearsay. Only a handful of people have attempted to see the Oracle in years, and the ones who have are very hesitant to discuss their experiences."
"What about the Oracle herself?"
Alfred pours himself a second cup of tea. "She is the latest in a long line of women mystics skilled in the art of prophecy. Since time immemorial, the kings and queens of Gotham have sought out their guidance. Of course, that ended with the Shadow King. I believe he is afraid of her. I heard that he once sent in four of his assassins to kill her. The next day, they emerged mad as the proverbial March Hare."
"That's good to know," Bruce says. "But that didn't happen to others who tried to see the Oracle?"
"No. If I may guess, I would say it's because the assassins tried to force their way through."
Bruce nods. "I'll keep that in mind."
Alfred sighs. "I regret that I will not be able to accompany you to the monastery. I have grown rather more feeble with age than I would care to admit, and I think the walk may be more than I can handle. But do be careful, Master Bruce."
"Thanks, Alfred," he replies. He can hear the sincerity in Alfred's voice. "Don't worry about me. I'm hoping it will be quick – just in, talk to the Oracle, and then out again."
"One hopes," Alfred says.
***
It takes about three hours for Gordon and Bruce to walk to the Oracle's monastery, which is situated in the woods overlooking the sea. Bruce is shocked by its size – all of the buildings in Arkham had been small houses and cabins, but the monastery is massive. It is surrounded by a great stone wall, and beyond the wall Bruce can see the high arches of an ornate, Gothic-flavoured building.
"This is it," Gordon says.
Bruce nods his approval, folding his arms across the breastplate of his armour. "Spectacular! Who built this?"
"You're asking the wrong person. It's been here forever, as far as I know. But I can tell you that the royal palace in Gotham City makes even this look modest."
The two men stand in silence for a moment. Then Bruce says, "I'm going in."
"Very well. I'll be back this time tomorrow to check on you, if you haven't returned by then."
"I appreciate it. I am hoping to be back before sundown though." He turns toward the building.
"Bruce," Gordon says, "ah… listen. When you see the Oracle, can you let her know… when this is all over – I mean, I'd like to see her myself sometime."
Interesting, Bruce thinks. Wouldn't have thought Gordon had a mystical side. "I'll let her know."
"Thanks."
Gordon waits as he opens the gate leading into the monastery. A stairway leads downward. He turns, gives a last nod to Gordon, closes the door behind him, and starts down the stairs.
The stairs lead about three storeys down into a dark, cavernous corridor with huge, ornate doors on each side. He makes his way down the corridor, trying one door after another. Each is locked solidly.
After about a hundred metres, the corridor comes to an end. There is an iron gate, beyond which is a staircase leading upwards into sunlight. In front of the gate is a small wooden table. As he approaches, Bruce sees that there is a teacup, teapot, and a handwritten note on the table. The note reads, "Drink, stranger."
Steam rises lazily from the teapot. They knew I was coming, he thinks. Warily, he tries the gate. It is locked and secured firmly.
I wonder if they do this for every visitor, he wonders, recalling what Alfred had told him about the attack by the League of Shadows. He inspects the gate. No sign of damage, he thinks, and judging from the condition of the iron, it's been here for a while. When the assassins came, either they found some way to open it without damaging it, or else they were allowed in.
He eyes the teapot, weighing his options. It doesn't seem likely that they'd leave ordinary tea here for me to drink, he thinks, but then, it may be a test of some kind.
Cautiously, he pours a cup of tea and brings it to his nose. It smells like tea, although he cannot identify the type.
After about five minutes of deliberation, he decides that nothing is likely to happen until he drinks the tea. He dips the finger of his gauntlet into the cup and tastes the tea. Unfamiliar, but not unusual. He waits a few minutes, and, noticing no ill effects, drinks the tea in the cup.
At least they have good taste, he thinks as it warms his throat. He looks around. Nothing happens, and he absently pours himself another cup and begins to sip.
He hears a sound and strains to listen. Water, he realizes. There's water coming from under the doors.
Soon there is water around his boots, and it is rising quickly. He walks back the way he came. The water is up to his knees by the time he reaches the entrance of the corridor, which has been blocked by a heavy gate.
He looks to the arched ceiling of the corridor, which is about six metres from the floor. There's no way this whole hallway is going to flood, he tells himself, making his way back to the end. The water is up to his waist now, and he is debating taking his armour off in order to swim when he sees a man in a small canoe rowing towards him.
"Ahoy there," the man says, "climb aboard!"
Bruce approaches the canoe cautiously. The man is fair-skinned, with a clean-shaven head and a green robe. He is extending a hand. Deciding to take his chances in the canoe rather than tread water, Bruce makes his way to him. They steady the canoe against one of the walls as Bruce climbs in and sits facing the stranger.
"Who are you?" he asks the man in green.
"I could ask you the same question," the man replies, eyeing him quizzically.
"I'm a stranger to this land," Bruce tells him. "I'm here to see the Oracle."
The water level is now about two metres from the ceiling, and it appears to Bruce to have stopped rising.
"She hasn't been accepting many visitors lately," the man in green tells him.
"Are you her guardian?" Bruce inquires. "The one they call the Riddler?"
He looks amused. "You could call me that," he smirks, "but I don't deal in riddles." He turns away from Bruce and begins to paddle. "Let's go this way, shall we?"
There is another paddle in the canoe, and Bruce helps him paddle towards the end of the corridor where he drank the tea. "No riddles?"
"People don't like my riddles because they all have the same answer," he replies.
Now we're making progress, Bruce thinks. "And what answer is that?"
"Teatime," the Riddler says nonchalantly. They reach the end of the corridor, and the last door on the left is open. "Let's go this way. Duck."
They paddle through the doorway, ducking under the archway. Another dark corridor extends before them. The Riddler fumbles with a lantern, lights it, and sets it at the bow of the canoe.
"How did all this water get in here?" Bruce ventures.
"Tides. I blame it on the man in the moon." He pauses. "Curious expression, isn't it? I always saw a rabbit in the moon. But I've heard some say they see a bat."
Bruce shivers slightly, recalling the great bat in his dreams.
"Anyway, that mischievous moon rabbit brings all this water into the tunnels," the Riddler continues, paddling methodically. "What brings you into the tunnels? I assume you're following our other recent visitor?"
"What visitor?" Bruce asks, confused. "I was told to see the Oracle by the Cat Woman."
The Riddler starts, nearly dropping his paddle. He turns to face Bruce, clearly agitated. "She sent you here?"
Bruce stares at him. "Yes. Why?"
"I don't like her," the Riddler says anxiously. "We met once. She said if she ever met me in the street, she'd kill me."
"Why?"
"Who can say?" The Riddler regains some of his composure. "Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about her anymore."
"Alright," he replies, perplexed. The Riddler resumes his rowing, and they move in silence down the corridor for several minutes.
"Riddle me this," the Riddler says suddenly. "Diana is a beautiful young lady. Her father is a noted adventurer, and he has a young partner whom we will call Wings. Diana and Wings butt heads at first, but they soon fall deeply in love, and she longs to be with him as a partner and lover. But her father disapproves, since he doesn't want his daughter pursuing the dangerous life of an adventurer. He forbids Diana and Wings from seeing each other.
"One night, Diana sneaks out of her father's house and runs away with Wings. They marry, and together they have many successful exploits. But they feel very guilty about leaving Diana's father. One day, years later, Wings returns to Diana's father's home. He sees him and tells him of their life together.
"'If only that were true!' Diana's father laments. 'Alas, Diana was crippled ten years ago. She has not walked since.'
"'Impossible,' Wings says. 'She has been my wife and adventuring partner for ten years!'
"Diana's father leads Wings to Diana's bedroom, where she sits, confined to a chair. At that moment, the adventurer Diana walks into the room, meets her crippled counterpart, and the two are made into one.
"So tell me, which was the real Diana?"
Bruce paddles silently for a moment, pondering the riddle. Then he says, "Teatime."
The Riddler turns to him, eyes narrowed. "Lucky guess," he says. Then he shrugs and resumes paddling. "Then again, maybe not. After all, they say you're the world's greatest detective."
"Who says that?"
"I can't remember."
They reach a stairway that rises out of the water into the sunlight.
"Well, here you are," the Riddler tells him.
"What?"
"This is where you get off." The Riddler stares at him impatiently.
"Wait!" Bruce says. "I have questions –"
"It's the Oracle who answers questions in here," the Riddler replies. "I only ask them. Now go; we'll meet again soon."
Bruce climbs out of the canoe, and the Riddler paddles into the darkness. Maybe he's taken me to the Oracle, he thinks. He turns and climbs the stairs.
The stairs lead Bruce to a large, open courtyard. The sun is setting, and he thinks, It was noon when I entered the monastery. Has a whole afternoon really passed?
Looking around, he realizes that he has no idea where to go. The stairs emerged into the middle of the field, and he can see a number of places where stairs lead back into the ground. At intervals along the outer walls of the courtyard are Gothic-looking houses. Several large buildings are at the far end of the courtyard. Anxiety grips Bruce; each of the imposing buildings seem equally likely to house the Oracle. But then, he wonders, maybe the large buildings are there to mislead me, and she's in one of the houses, or underground. He begins to panic, overcome by the feeling that a wrong choice will lead to madness or death, but unable to make any decision whatsoever.
He tries to recite a mantra to calm himself, and is terrified to realize he cannot remember any. The tea, he realizes. There was something in the tea I drank. I've been drugged. In place of a mantra, he repeats aloud, "I've been drugged."
Finding that the sound of his own voice provides a sort of anchor to reality, he continues, "I've been drugged, but I've been through worse than this. This is a test, and I'll overcome it. I will find the right door."
He turns around. Behind him is a dilapidated wooden hut. Smoke rises from its chimney, and it stands above the ground on what appear to be the legs of a bird. He shudders at the unnatural sight, saying to himself, "This is the drugs. I am hallucinating." Unable to stop himself, he walks toward it, and the legs crouch to let him in.
He reaches for the doorknob and opens the door. There is horrible, ear-splitting screeching coming from inside. It is dark and smoky in the hut, obscuring his view. He climbs inside, and is thrown to the ground as the legs suddenly lift the hut back to its previous height.
"I've been drugged. I'm hallucinating," he repeats to himself, trying to focus on his own voice over the screeching. He climbs to his feet as his eyes adjust to the darkness. The hut is empty except for a woman in a ragged white dress who is sitting in a rocking chair. She is pale as a corpse, with blue lips and jaundiced eyes, and she is rocking a small bundle which seems to be the source of the screeching. Over the din, Bruce can hear that the woman is singing it a disturbing, atonal lullaby. Somehow, Bruce recognizes her instantly as Martha, the former queen of Gotham. He walks towards her, his legs trembling.
She looks up slowly to stare at him. Smiling slightly, she lifts the bundle and says in a ghostly voice, "Take this. It is yours."
He takes the screeching bundle from her hands and moves the cloth to look at its face. It is an oversized foetal bat. His gut clenches with terror, and he turns from the dead queen and walks quickly toward the door, clutching the screaming, half-formed thing tightly. The house lurches forwards and he stumbles out the door into the twilight.
Upon emerging into the courtyard, the foetus calms down and its screaming ceases. Bruce looks at it again, noticing that it is now a fully formed bat. He releases it, and it flies out of his hands into the evening sky.
He breathes deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. He turns around to where the hut stood. It is gone now, and in its place is a tree stump. The Riddler is sitting cross-legged upon it, smoking from a hookah.
"Tell me," he says to Bruce, "have you seen your face before you were born?"
Bruce breathes deeply, then walks to the Riddler and kicks the hookah from his hands. The Riddler smiles enigmatically.
"Tell me which way to go," Bruce demands.
"It doesn't really matter."
"Where is the Oracle?"
"Any direction will lead you to her eventually," the Riddler tells him. "But if you like, some friends of mine are having a tea party at the gazebo not far from here. They'll take you to the Oracle. But watch out; they're quite mad."
"I'm sick of dealing with madmen," Bruce growls.
"That's unfortunate," the Riddler says, grinning, "because we're all mad. You. Me. Everybody."
"What makes you think I'm mad?"
"The fact that you're here." The Riddler yawns. "I'm tired. Go see my friends. I think you already know one of them." He stands and walks to the staircase from which Bruce had emerged from the flooded tunnel. Bruce watches as he descends out of sight, then turns toward the gazebo.
***
The short walk allows Bruce an opportunity to collect himself somewhat. The hallucinogenic effects of the tea have not worn off yet, he decides, but the worst may be over. He wonders how much, if any, of what he has experienced since entering the monastery has been real.
He reaches the gazebo and sees three figures sitting at a table under its roof. One is a small man with a large top hat who is pouring tea from a huge teapot. The second is the Riddler, who is resting his head on the table, his eyes closed. The third is the Joker, who sips a cup of tea and eyes Bruce interestedly. There is a fourth chair, and Bruce sits in it and glares at them.
"Hatter," says the Joker, "this is Bruce, the Dream Knight. Bruce, this is the Mad Hatter, one of my new friends." The small man regards Bruce nervously.
"I shouldn't be surprised to see you here," Bruce says humourlessly to the Joker.
"Nor I you," the Joker grins. "Please, have some tea."
"No."
"Suit yourself." He reaches over the sleeping Riddler to take a cup of tea from the Mad Hatter.
The Mad Hatter fidgets. "What time is it?"
The Joker rolls his eyes and pulls out a pocket watch. "Late," he says impatiently. The Mad Hatter leans over to look at the watch, and the Joker throws it at him. The Hatter regards it closely, then puts it up to his ear.
"Only one hand," the Riddler says, as if in his sleep, "and doesn't make a sound."
"Time doesn't pass in here," the Joker says, "thanks to the Hatter."
Bruce regards the little man, who explains, "I went to sing for the Oracle once, long before he came here," pointing to the Joker. "But she didn't like it. She said I couldn't keep time."
"Still," Bruce says, "you must have better things to do with your time to waste it with the likes of the Joker."
"Time isn't an 'it,'" the Hatter quickly says. "He's a 'him.'"
"What?" Bruce asks.
"Oh yes," the Hatter says. "He came down from his home in the mountains to visit us once."
"We couldn't keep him, though," the Riddler adds dreamily. "But someone is. A timekeeper, keeping Time from passing through here. In fact, Time's keeping time from passing anywhere. So we're all frozen in a moment of darkness, waiting for the morning light to come."
The Hatter and the Joker stare contemptuously at the Riddler. "I hate riddles," the Joker sneers.
"I have a riddle of my own," Bruce says, staring at the Joker. "What looks like a rat but flies like a moth?"
The Joker and the Hatter sit in uncomfortable silence, exchanging glances.
"A bat," he tells them.
"Ah yes," the Hatter says anxiously. "The great bugs of the night."
"Bats aren't bugs, idiot," the Joker snaps. "They're more like foxes. Flying foxes."
The Hatter retorts, "Well, if you're so smart, why couldn't you answer the riddle?"
"I was expecting something funny," the Joker pouts.
"Funny you should mention bats, though," the Hatter says, staring at the full moon. "The song I sang for the Oracle was about bats. 'Twinkle twinkle, little bat,' it went; 'how I wonder what you're at.'"
"'Up above the world you fly,'" Bruce continues, knowing the words but not knowing how, "'like a tea-tray in the sky…'"
"I'm bored!" the Joker interrupts. "I want to hear another riddle!" He begins to kick the Riddler under the table. Excitedly, the Hatter joins in, slapping the Riddler on the arm.
The Riddler opens his eyes. "All right," he says, looking impassively at the two madmen. "How about this one: There were three sisters who lived in a flower –"
"That's impossible!" the Hatter interrupts. "What did they eat? What did they drink?"
Facing Bruce, the Riddler takes the oversized teapot and begins to pour a cup of tea. The cup overflows, but he keeps pouring. He continues calmly, "It was a giant flower, and was full of sweet nectar. But they soon found that they couldn't leave."
"Delicious," the Joker says, licking his lips. "So what did they do?"
"They drew pictures –"
"Pictures of what?" demands the Hatter.
"– of many things. They drew the moon. They drew a magnificent mousetrap. They drew memory. They drew muchness."
"I hate riddles!" the Joker shrieks, and seizes the Riddler by the back of his head. The Hatter takes the teapot and removes the lid, and together they force his head into the teapot, laughing hysterically. Bruce watches dispassionately as the Riddler sputters, and in the steam rising from the teapot, he can almost see the Riddler's face, laughing along with his murderers.
Soon the Riddler's body is still. Without saying a word, Bruce rises to his feet and walks past them towards the large buildings beyond.
"Funny," he can hear the Joker saying, "I thought for sure he was going to try to stop us."
***
There is an open door on the largest of the buildings, and Bruce walks inside, leaving the lunacy of the tea party behind him. The building is as ornate on the inside as on the outside. Hanging candles light a large hall with a beautiful tile floor, and shadows reflect off the sculpturing on the wall. At the opposite end of the hall, a young, red-haired woman in a white robe is sitting at a table, completing a house of cards.
Bruce approaches her slowly. There is a wooden chair at the table, and he sits facing her. She is gazing disinterestedly at a pair of cards on the table.
"Are you the Oracle?" he asks her softly.
She raises her eyes, looking at him through the house of cards. "I am."
Not knowing where to begin, he ventures, "I wanted to ask you some questions."
"If I may, before we begin," she says, "I want to know why you sat by as they killed the Riddler."
"The Riddler was never real to begin with." His voice does not waver.
"Mm. Quite right." She absently shifts the cards on the table. "But the same could be said about any of us."
"I know the difference."
"I know you do. You were the only one to answer all of his riddles correctly, even if you may not have fully grasped the significance of your answers."
"Why all the riddles?"
"In each riddle is an answer. They will become more clear to you as your journey continues."
"Answers to my questions?"
"Yes." She steeples her fingers.
Bruce inhales deeply. "The Riddler spoke of a man who lives in the mountains. What was the significance of that?"
"There is a man in the mountains whom you must seek. He is a wandering exile; the locals know him as the Demon's Head, or in the old tongue, Ra's al-Ghul. He knows the secrets and weaknesses of the Shadow King."
"And I am to fight the Shadow King?"
"You say you are the Dream Knight."
He hesitates. "Am I the Dream Knight? That's a name I'm borrowing from you."
The Oracle looks down. "That will depend upon your future, which is something I am reluctant to read."
"Why?"
"I would have to take down my house of cards in order to give a reading."
He looks at the structure. "But these are just ordinary playing cards!"
"Yes," she says. "A deck of fifty-two cards, plus two jokers which I have been unable to fit into my house." She shifts the two cards on the table.
"But can you really read my fortune from these?"
"Upon the random geometry of chance one may read futures superimposed by the heart, which already knows all things," she tells him. "The Dream Knight is the one who will liberate Gotham. If you are that one, you do not need me to tell you."
He sighs. "And I have to be the one, don't I?"
"Yes. And yet, it is always your choice, and you will find it the most difficult choice that you will ever make."
He is silent for a long moment. "I get the feeling you don't deal in specifics."
"These have already been shown to you."
"And this man in the mountains will tell me what I need to know about the Shadow King."
"That is correct." She pauses, inspecting her house of cards. "I can tell you this, though; to avoid the eyes of the League of Shadows, you should take the old road through the Great Forest to the northern mountains. But be warned: in the forest lives a being called Ivy. No man has been known to resist her."
He nods. "Thank you for sharing your wisdom with me."
She looks at him again. He estimates that she is not more than twenty-five, but an ancient wisdom seems to live in her eyes. "You honour me with your visit."
Bruce stands, then remembers, "Oh. Also, there is a man named Gordon who hopes to see you someday."
For the first time, he sees her smile slightly, and it reminds him of the sheriff. "Gordon is a good man. Tell him that we shall indeed be reunited once Gotham is made free."
He bows before her, and she bows her head, remaining in her seat. He walks out of the building, across the now-deserted courtyard, and through the monastery gate.
***
As he walks back to Gotham, he sees by the dawn's pale glow a slender figure standing before him in the road.
"Cat Woman," he says.
She approaches him, arms folded, her green eyes giving him a penetrating stare. "You have seen the Oracle?"
"Yes."
"Then you know what you must do."
"I am to travel to the mountains," he tells her, "and find a wanderer called Ra's al-Ghul."
"I know of him," she nods. "So you are the Dream Knight."
"Apparently."
She shifts her weight. "In that case, I will travel with you on your journey, since it is said that the Dream Knight will have as his protector a deadly female assassin."
Surprised, he asks, "Who said that?"
"I did." The faintest hint of a smile appears on her lips.
He regards the black-clad woman. "Well," he says, "I can't argue with prophecy."
She puts her hands on her hips. "Go to Arkham and prepare. You will meet me at dawn three days from now at Arkham's northern gate." And she turns, darts into the woods, and is gone.
Bruce stares into the murky depths of the woods for a moment, then continues on his way to Arkham. He had not expected to see the mysterious Cat Woman again, and is still uncertain as to whether he can trust her.
But the road before him is a daunting one, he realizes, and the thought of not walking it alone fills him with more relief than he could have expected.
