Chapter 6:

Two days later:

False Face was pacing in the counselors' cabin, the afternoon sun gliding on and off his face as he stalked past the windows. The death of the kid who was not Dick Grayson meant several things: a fatality was unexpected, Mike had begun watching everyone closely at mealtimes, Dick was still alive with his blue eyes continuously on the head chef and it was getting harder to find time to work on his formula. False Face had gone to the kitchen two nights ago – the day Walter had died – to experiment but Mike had been in there, carefully going through cupboards and drawers. The villain was relieved that he had thought to pocket the empty bottle of liquid death instead of tossing it in the trash can after pouring the contents on the plate of food. He realized now that, in addition to trying to find time, he had to find a new place to work on perfecting his drug.

Creeping quietly away from the kitchen that night, False Face had turned north and traveled into the forest. His formula needed heat, though, and he couldn't just start a fire among the trees. His midnight hike took him a little over three miles away from the camp where, fortuitously, he had discovered a small, long-abandoned shack. The wooden structure was next to a deceptively deep circular lake and slightly higher up in the mountains. It was also the perfect place to set up a tiny "kitchen". There was a sturdy steel table – about five feet high – a rusted cast-iron pot and a tiny, battery-powered lantern hanging on a hook that was attached to the back wall. The metal table seemed out of place in the old building but he didn't care about trying to figure it out. All he cared about was the fact that he had just found a new place to experiment.


Two nights ago:

False Face flipped up the switch on the lantern and was surprised that it still worked. Not wanting to waste time trying to determine why the battery wasn't corroded, he grabbed the pot off the floor, disturbing the stroll of a long-legged black spider that was idly making its way across the brown and orange bottom. Nodding in satisfaction, he decided that it would not be necessary to steal a pot or bowl from the kitchen. Glancing around, the villain realized that there was nothing useful to remove the rust. He strode outside and built a small campfire on the dirt halfway between the wooden building and the edge of the lake. After heating the pot, he attempted to clean it. It didn't work very well, the rust refused to be forced out, but at least the dirt and cobwebs were gone. He put out the fire and returned to the shack, placing the large dish on the table.

The villain still had the problem of temperature, though. If he could find something to heat the table it would be easy to boil the formula in the pot. However, it wouldn't be smart to build a fire on a wooden floor. It was a conundrum and he needed a solution as quickly as possible.

He glanced at his watch – 2:47. There was no time to do anything else so False Face flicked the switch to turn off the lantern, carefully closed the door that was threatening to fall apart and, using the lake water, washed the grime off his hands. Turning south, he headed back toward the camp and, to his surprise and delight, discovered a slight trail that led from his hideout straight to the northwest edge of the cafeteria.


Present time:

False Face had found it, the answer to his problem. Heating the table was no longer necessary because he had found a long chain in the camp's toolshed. Last night he had taken it to the shack, thrown it over the beam at the top of the ceiling and then wrapped it around the handles on both sides of the large pot. It was now hanging two feet above the sturdy metal table with a small circle of rocks directly under it. The fire he built within the circle was safe and easy to control, allowing the temperature in the pot to rise quickly. Smoke wouldn't be a problem; the crumbling state of the shack made it well-ventilated and everyone would be asleep when he was experimenting.

The formula was close to perfection. False Face knew it because last night the food hadn't exploded. The dark liquid had bubbled and then faded away. He needed to test it again but it would have to be someone other than the irritating ward of Bruce Wayne. The camp roster slid through his mind and he chose Randy – a tall, sturdy kid who was a chatterbox. False Face was sure everyone in the camp would be much happier if Randy was incapacitated.


Batman, between chasing Gotham's small-time criminals and answering the Bat-signal at least twice a week, was searching everywhere and didn't have one single clue as to the whereabouts of the master of disguise. It would have been nice to have Robin's help with this one; his partner's facial recognition memory was impressive. If Batman kept progressing like he had been – which was not at all – then he would have Robin's help because the Boy Wonder would be back from camp in two weeks and probably more than ready to find and capture a villain.


Randy was the one who had eaten the bad food this time but, unlike Walter, it hadn't killed him. Seventeen teenagers watched in shock as Randy was helped out of the cafeteria toward the main building, pale and shaking and mumbling about smelly green beans.

Dick, however, was watching John's profile, taking note of every minute change in his facial expression. The teenager narrowed his eyes as he finally realized that the man was someone he had taken down as Robin. He was very disappointed in himself. It had taken him almost four weeks to figure out that the man was a criminal and he didn't even know which criminal! Batman wasn't going to be happy with him, either, and Dick quietly growled at himself in frustration.

False Face, standing a few feet from the door leading to the kitchen, did his best to hold back a grin but his mouth twitched twice. The formula was much closer to perfection. One, maybe two, more nights of work and then he would test it again. He peeked at the kids out of the corner of his eye and almost laughed out loud. Seventeen pairs of wide, distressed teenage eyes were staring at the now-empty cafeteria door. The villain paused: seventeen? He took a quick glance at the kids and scowled in his head. The eighteenth pair belonged to Dick Grayson, who had his eyes on the chef and was watching him like a hawk watches a mouse before swooping down to grab it. False Face moved toward the kitchen when the kids began sitting down, all of them pushing their plates away. The only person in the room who wasn't moving, the villain noticed, was the ever-attentive Grayson who just stood there, staring at him with a slight hint of recognition in his blue eyes.

"Hey, Dick, are you okay?" Bronte asked when he saw his friend still standing and gazing intently at the door to the kitchen.

"What? Oh, sure," Dick sat down as John disappeared through the swinging door. He looked around the four tables and saw fear, distress and anxiety. Thoughts raced through his mind as he watched the other teens whispering to each other – some of them even had tears in their eyes. Should he call Bruce? That would mean breaking another rule. But there was a criminal at the camp, didn't that qualify as an emergency? He would have to tell Mike, though, if he didn't want to break the rule. However, right now he was Dick Grayson, who knew nothing about criminals. The director probably wouldn't believe him because why would a circus-performer-turned-ward-of-a-millionaire be able to recognize a villain?

False Face walked through the kitchen, ignoring the shock on the faces of several other counselors, and out the door that led to the cabins. Circling around the back of the cafeteria, he stopped at the beginning of the barely discernible trail just west of the building – the path that led to his shack by the lake. Tonight was Wednesday, the perfect night to sneak away. There would be a large campfire and burnt marshmallows and rich teenagers sitting on logs talking about useless things like school and friends. He would have to be careful when he left, though. After everything that had happened in the last two days, anybody who saw a shadow moving in the forest would be scared or suspicious.

The teenagers had gone from sitting in a large square to standing in small groups and whispering gravely to each other when Dick noticed movement, accompanied by a familiar silhouette, in the trees behind the large building. Why was John sneaking around the back of the cafeteria? He made an excuse to leave his friends and walked out the front door. Scanning the camp, the young teenager immediately found the head chef. The man had stopped by the northwest corner of the cafeteria and was now facing north, staring at something on the ground. Dick inadvertently stepped on a cluster of leaves, knew that John was going to look for the source of the noise, and quickly turned around and started down the path toward his cabin. He roughly shoved his right hand through his hair, frustrated with the criminal, himself and the camp in general. Deciding that he would call Bruce tonight, Dick changed his course and entered the main building to find a phone. He didn't want to have to waste time searching for one when he came back tonight.

False Face heard a small noise behind him and whirled around, only to see Dick Grayson wandering down the path toward his cabin with a hand running through his dark hair. Why was he the only kid who had exited the cafeteria? The villain shrugged his shoulders and looked north again. He would perfect the drug tonight, even if it took all night.


Two hours later:

False Face watched from the shadows at the northwest corner of the cafeteria as the kids laughed, chatted and began finding seats around the roaring campfire. Almost everyone was a little more relaxed. Randy was going to be fine, although it would take a few days for him to get his robust appetite back.

Dick and Bronte were sitting by Serina, who had also become a close friend, and the three were more somber than everyone else. It had only been two days since Walter's death and they all missed him. Walter had been Bronte's best friend for over ten years and Serina had known him for almost seven. Dick had been the target of Walter's pranks but had refused to react and had quickly won him over. The two boys had the same sarcastic sense of humor and had been becoming good friends. Now Walter was gone and the only explanation the kids had received was "severe allergic reaction".

Dick noticed a movement out of the corner of his right eye and stood up to stretch. Turning his head would alert the figure moving quietly in the dark and he didn't want that to happen. The silhouette was John, Dick was sure of it, and he had decided to shadow the man before informing Bruce. Batman would need more information than "there's a man that I think I recognize as a criminal". Dick feigned drowsiness, said goodnight to everyone and strolled down the path to his cabin.

Nobody was allowed to go anywhere in the forest without a buddy, especially at night. The young teenager, however, considered this a special circumstance; an exception to the rule. Shaking his head ruefully, Dick realized that in only four weeks of his first summer camping experience he had twice broken one rule – leaving his cabin at night – and was about to break two more: entering the forest by himself and using the phone without permission.

Glancing back and taking note of where the man had just entered the forest, Dick ran the rest of the way to his cabin and scribbled a quick message to Bronte:

Feeling cooped up, going for a late-night run. Dick

He tossed the paper on top of Bronte's pillow and took off, racing around the backside of the cafeteria and entering the forest. Creeping to the place where he had seen John enter the forest, Dick was surprised to see a sort-of trail. Leaves were quietly crunching in a rhythmic pattern to the north of him and he started following the faint path. The leaves suddenly stopped crunching and the teenager froze, almost not daring to breathe. The sound continued a few seconds later, however, and Dick was relieved. He saw a shadowy figure about twenty yards ahead of him and started zigzagging silently from tree to tree, always keeping the person in his line of sight.

False Face stopped for a moment and listened carefully. There was only the gentle sigh of the slightly chilly breeze and the fading roar of the campfire so he continued on toward the lake and his experimental kitchen. Upon arriving at the shack he glanced around once then, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, opened the door and went in.

Dick carefully tiptoed around the piles of leaves and pine needles as he moved out of the safety of the shadowy forest. He was surprised to see the chef go into a small shack by a lake that he hadn't even known was up here. Quietly making his way over to the rickety building, the boy slowly lifted his eyes over the lip of the half-broken oval window on the door. John had made what looked like a rudimentary kitchen and had his back to the door, obviously working on that smelly, steaming concoction again. The chef was reading the same familiar book that Dick had seen before and muttering to himself as he worked; the teenager caught the words "formula" and "Arkham". Was the man working on some kind of drug for somebody in Arkham? John turned his head to the left and began pulling at his face. Dick watched in horror and then complete recognition as the face of John began to peel off. The dim light was flickering around the man's face but the teenager easily identified the distinct features of the unusual mask of False Face, the master of disguise. Dick now understood why it had taken him so long to realize that the chef was a criminal. He needed to contact Batman, immediately, so he turned and raced back toward the camp, not noticing the sound of a quiet splash that lingered in the air when his left foot struck the edge of the lake.

False Face heard a splashing sound and whipped his head around, listening warily. Cautiously, he opened the door and peered into the near-darkness. It didn't take him long to see a very familiar small figure fading into the trees on the path toward the camp. Growling, he smoothed out his John mask and carefully reapplied it. Dick Grayson was going to be in a lot of trouble….