Disclaimer - I own no rights to the trademarks or characters herein. I own no rights at all. Thank you.
Frog1 – Thank you for your offer. I do a little bit of research to try to keep the setting accurate, but just let me know when something doesn't fit its historical context.
O PolemArch- You're right. My bad. I'll try to proofread these a little better from now on.
A/N – I'm back. And I feel I need to apologize for taking so long to update. Although I'm often busy, the truth is I had plenty of spare time this January, but whenever I tried to coax myself into writing, I ended up turning on Internet Explorer rather than Microsoft Word and surfing the 'Net for hours.
Soon, I will be busy, but I still want to make up for being so slow on this update.
Sherlock Holmes & Bruce Wayne
in
"The Adventure of the Bird Man"
January 27, 1936.
It was a typically chilly winter's night across England. The ground was covered in mounds of white. Bruce Wayne had decided this wasn't going to ruin his walk. He now changed his mind.
Since Christmas, he had cooperated with Sherlock Holmes on only one investigation. It hadn't been anything noteworthy. Bradley Dickinson of Dickinson Publishing merely came to Holmes with some questions regarding an anomaly in the company's finances, and Holmes had revealed the embezzler. Since then, January had been pretty uneventful.
Holmes was shaken by the ruler of the United Kingdom's death, a tragedy which had occurred less than a week earlier. A new King had risen to the thrown, and the nation was in mourning. Bruce, being a Yankee, shed no tears over the event. He had spent several nights away from Holmes this week. Most of those nights had been spent with Sabrina Smith.
Sabrina grew more and more intriguing to Bruce. She was definitely an enigma. The only number she gave Bruce was for a "friend" who would relay his messages to Sabrina. Sabrina would never allow Bruce to meet her at her address. Instead, they would go to restaurants or shops. Sabrina always insisted on paying for herself. Bruce didn't fight this too hard. His apprenticeship had just become a paid one, but the portion of the consultant fee Holmes allowed Bruce was just enough for him to buy some nice meals for himself.
Sabrina continued to be flirtatious, but at the same time she was surprisingly aloof. After all the time he had spent with her, Bruce realized their relationship hadn't progressed at all since they first met.
Still, the meeting had a euphoric effect on Bruce, who chose to walk home in the cold this night to clear his head. He didn't feel the temperature at all at first. Then he felt a small chill and was amused that he could see his own breath.
Then he started freezing and cussing.
Bruce heard the sounds of movement around him, making him more than slightly uncomfortable. Then the trees above erupted, releasing snow and a flock of big, black, winged creatures.
Crows. Well, at least they weren't bats. Bruce hated bats.
Then a person emerged from the trees. Bruce jumped up and was ashamed that he had to muffle a scream.
Then he looked at the person, shorter than he was, about two years younger. The other person appeared startled as well. His face was grotesque. There was a long, curved, flesh-colored beak where a nose should have been.
The beaked boy quickly pushed past Bruce and disappeared, leaving Bruce to wonder if it was just a trick of his imagination.
Then Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets and realized they were empty. The few coins he had been carrying had been stolen.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Not far away, Ciesel Manwell was turning around the sign in the window at the Pet-Me Pet Shop that said "Closed." He was suddenly stopped by a sound of tapping at the window.
Ciesel looked in the direction of the tapping and could see nothing. He turned his head and the tapping resumed. Again, he turned his head. Again, nothing.
Ciesel climbed down from the stool he used to reach the sign and walked to the window. He peered out, and then nearly screamed when something appeared in the window.
It was a crow. An average, ordinary black crow. Ciesel chuckled in relief.
Then the crow began tapping again. Another flew up alongside it. Then another. They were followed by some small sparrows and finches. Ciesel looked on in puzzled disbelief.
Then the glass window shattered. Ciesel didn't stop himself from screaming as the crows sunk their talons into him. He began waving his hand wildly as desperate tears filled his eyes. He then ran as quickly as possible outside, into the snow, screaming for help as he went.
Holmes woke Bruce up early to inform him that Chief Inspector Tobias Gregson of the Yard would be joining them for breakfast. He evidently had something important to discuss.
Bruce squeezed orange juice and fried eggs for himself and the guest while Holmes sliced and toasted his homemade bread. Soon, the table was set with silverware, plates, and Holmes' staple of fresh honey, and the Chief Inspector arrived.
Gregson didn't waste time with small talk. He sat down, broke the yolk of his egg with a piece of toast, and began to talk business.
"There's been a string of robberies over the past month," said Gregson. "Strange events. Right up your alley, Holmes."
"Do elaborate, Gregson," insisted Holmes.
"It's a bit awkward to explain," said Gregson. "Four local pet shops. Robbed by… birds?"
"You mean women, don't you?" said Bruce.
"I'd never use such terrible slang," replied Gregson. "I meant exactly what I said. Birds. We've taken all of their feathers as evidence if you'd like to study them."
"Not funny, Gregson," said Holmes.
"Not at all, Holmes," said Gregson. "You know me. I never joke about my work."
"How can birds steal?" asked Bruce.
"Maybe not them directly," said Gregson. "But they definitely played a part in the crimes. All the shopkeepers claim that flocks of birds entered their shop during closing time and chased them out of the store, leaving someone to burgle the cash registers and let all the animals free."
"Hmmm," said Holmes thoughtfully as he covered his toast in golden honey. "There are several suggestive points about this mystery, the most glaring being this: what are birds doing in England in late January? Shouldn't they have all migrated for more Southern climates?"
"We have an answer to that," said Gregson. "We have an answer to everything. Well, almost everything…"
"Stop being so mysterious, Gregson! Do tell."
"We've found out that a carnival arrived in this area about two weeks ago. The burglaries started the day after the carnival began. Anyway, one of the headliners is named Garret Jorgenson, better known as 'The BirdMan.' He does a show that involves different trained birds. And he doesn't have an alibi for the nights of any of the crimes."
"I take it this BirdMan is your primary suspect, then," said Holmes. "Why are you talking to me instead of him?"
"That's the thing," said Gregson. "It's sort of difficult to explain. I was hoping…"
"That Master Wayne and I would attend the carnival with you this afternoon," said Holmes. "Very well, Gregson. We could use the entertainment. But I'm not going to let you chalk this up as another personal favor. I must request my regular consultant fee, for Bruce's sake, of course."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Bruce's eyes darted anxiously from left to right at he followed Gregson and Holmes around the carnival grounds. He was surrounded by noisy vendors, wild animals, and unreasonably muscular men carrying (or throwing, or juggling) sharp knives. Bruce saw a young boy, about ten years old, with a mother and father, laughing and eating cotton candy. The boy rested his head against his mother's waist.
Bruce looked away. When he turned, he saw what looked at first glance to be a man. Then he noticed the abnormally round and protruding breasts and deduced that she was actually a woman with a beard. And she was looking at Bruce lustfully. She winked and Bruce quickly looked away.
Bruce passed a hairy figure barely recognizable as a man and was reminded of the strange boy he had seen the other night.
Finally the timely trio arrived at the arena and took their seats. They were cold.
"Unusual thing, a winter carnival," muttered Holmes. "I admit that it's highly suspicious."
A man, the most normal looking of those Bruce had seen, with a large, curly mustache stepped out on stage and announced "Garret 'the BirdMan' Jorgenson."
The audience roared and a very beautiful woman in a tight pink dress stepped out on stage carrying several cages. She opened them and slowly, delicately placed several birds on their perches. She then stepped offstage and returned with a man in a wheelchair. The crowd roared even louder.
Bruce, Holmes, and Gregson watched in awe. By simply whistling, Jorgenson could make the birds fly through hoops, spin through the air like barnstormers, and even collect coins from select audience members' opened hands. The most amazing thing was Jorgenson did all of this without the use of his hands.
He didn't have any. Or feet, for that matter. Garret Jorgenson only had stumps where hands and feet should have been.
"You see our dilemma," said Gregson.
"Indeed," said Holmes.
"Is it possible he really does have arms and legs?" said Bruce. "And that he's just hiding them somewhere?"
"Perhaps you could talk to him and see for yourself," said Holmes. "Let's assume that his disability is genuine. He would need an accomplice to accomplish the thefts. His young assistant becomes the obvious suspect…"
"We've already talked to her," said Gregson. "Name's Wanda. Lovely girl. Has an alibi for three of the four burglaries."
"I see," said Holmes. "I congratulate you on having such an intriguing conundrum. I'd rather not talk with our suspects until I've had a chance to look at the scenes of the burglaries for myself."
"Very well," said Gregson. "Something can easily be arranged."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Gregson led Bruce and Holmes through the various pet stores that had been robbed, reminding Holmes repeatedly that his men had already lifted every significant trace of the crimes. Holmes ignored him and crawled on hands and knees around each shop. Finally, he allowed Gregson to take him to Scotland Yard and show him the evidence that had been harvested.
Holmes paid very little attention to the bags filled with feathers. He was more interested in a small button that had been found snagged on the drawer of the cash register of one of the scenes. With Gregson's permission, Holmes took the button from Scotland Yard's evidence department and brought it hometo hisSussex cottage.
Holmes studied the button under his microscope for mere seconds and then announced:
"This button came from the right sleeve of a short adolescent male who is currently a student at Hoshmeir Academy."
Bruce looked through the scope and then turned to Holmes incredulously.
"How can you tell?"
"The emblem of that prestigious academy is etched into the button. Hoshmeir is a boarding school for privileged young men and women, kept in dormitories on different ends of the schoolyard, naturally. This button comes from a sleeve of the school's uniform. The right sleeve, to be precise."
"How did you figure the rest of that stuff out?"
"I have my methods."
Bruce took a seat and looked at Holmes exasperatedly.
"And you think whoever robbed all of these pet stores came from this boarding school?"
"It's logical," said Holmes. "It would mean that Scotland Yard is looking at the wrong suspect. Wouldn't be the first time. Still, that requires us to consider the arrival of this BirdMan and his peculiar talents to be merely coincidence. And all coincidences must first be weighed against."
"I'll check on the carnies and leave you to check Hoshmeir," said Bruce.
"I'd rather you investigate the academy," said Holmes. "I noticed that Jorgenson's assistant was quite attractive."
The statement struck Bruce as funny, but a stern look from Holmes put a stop to his chuckling.
"You have not yet learned that feelings towards the opposite sex can bias judgement," said Holmes.
"I'm not biased!" insisted Bruce.
"Then explain your behavior towards Ms. Smith," said Holmes. "I'll give you directions to the academy in the morning. From there, I'm sure your considerable resources will come in handy."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Oswald Cobblepot, age 16, felt almost physically ill as he waddled into his class room.
"Ozzie!" called Jeph Horner. "Come sit by me!"
Ozzie Cobblepot knew today was going to be a long day, just like any day at Hoshmeir. He just couldn't understand why God had chosen to be so cruel to him. As if his obvious birth defects, a nose shaped rather more like a beak and two hands with webbed fingers, weren't bad enough, he also had to be short and chubby. When he walked down the aisle of desks in his class to sit by his friend, he waddled. He could hear all of his classmates softly cluck and quack as he waddled past them. He sat in the desk beside Jeph, hooking his umbrella to the arm of the attached seat, and prayed for death.
He played with the button on his uniform sleeve. He hated the uniform he and all of the other students were forced to wear. A black blazer over a white dress shirt with black shorts and black shoes. The black and white outfit, along with his beak, webbed flippers, and distinct waddle, lent itself to the jeers of "Penguin boy! Penguin boy!"
Then for P. E. they all wore baggy white T-Shirts with the school's emblem and similar black shorts. Then everyone took turns throwing dodge balls at Ozzie and Jeph.
Ozzie ignored the cruel whispers of his classmates and the droning voice of his teacher and focused his attention on Hayley Comely. Even the ugly uniform couldn't detract from Hayley's good looks. In fact, it only enhanced them, the tight shirt hugging her curves and the black skirt showing long, tan legs. She had eyes that were blue like bird eggs and raven black hair.
Ozzie often tried to think impure thoughts about Hayley and failed. He always ended seeing her at the opposite end of a snow covered field. He would smile and run towards her. She would smile and run towards him. The sunlight on her back gave her the radiant appearance of an angel.
Then she saw his face and hers twisted in disgust. She let out a scream and Ozzie lifted his head up.
"What's the answer, Mr. Cobblepot?" the teacher demanded, glaring at Ozzie.
Glaring as though he wanted to make the boy disappear simply be blinking and crushing the boy between his fierce eyelids.
"Uh… eh… William Shakespeare!" Ozzie called out anxiously. The class erupted into laughter and hooting and clucking and quacking.
"The answer is E equals M C 2," said the teacher.
Ozzie looked at Hayley. Her face twisted in disgust and she turned her head away.
A lump formed in Ozzie's throat and he wasn't sure he could hold the tears back.
"Freak!" his teacher muttered under his breath.