Part XXX
Zatanna and Batman stepped through the Boom Tube into a deluge. Heavy rain sluiced down in sideways sheets, smashing into puddles and kicking up a soaking spray that was almost as bad as the rain itself.
"Talk about cats and dogs!" the magician exclaimed, clamping her hand to the brim of her hat. "Tell me you didn't think to check the weather report."
Batman slid her a look then plowed through the windy wet as if it were just another night in Gotham, not a choppy Channel storm roaring in over the southern coast of Britain. Zatanna shook her head, raised her free hand and sharply intoned a spell.
It was as if the magician and the detective were each suddenly enclosed inside an invisible tent – a tent that moved with them as they walked. The rough storm continued to wail and pelt and splash, but not a drop of rain or whisper of wind could get inside. Their clothes, shoes, and even the ground where they stepped seemed miraculously dry.
Zatanna straightened her tux and peered through the gray walls of water all around them. "Ugh…! Drearier than a Dickens novel," she grumbled. "I've been to the Lanes in Brighton several times and always found them fascinating. The narrow networks of twists and turns, the wonderfully eclectic shops and stalls. But this weather…! It's almost as if nature itself can sense something's gone wrong. That magic has lost its balance…"
Batman grunted, whether in agreement or irritation, Zatanna couldn't tell, though she suspected it was both. His head twitched and he stopped short, raising a hand to keep her from striding ahead.
"Hear that?"
Something creaked over the howling wind – a repetitive, rusty scraping. Squinting past the rain, Zatanna spotted a painted wooden sign swinging in the wind. It hung off a wrought iron pole twisted in the shape of a dragon, jutting over a metal door so small and narrow it wouldn't have looked out of place in a medieval dungeon.
But, Zatanna soon realized Batman hadn't been referring to the creaky sign. As they drew closer, a muffled roar of voices filtered through the howling storm. Recognition hit her like a thunderclap and she shoved the door wide open, the muffled roar coalescing into raucous song as she faced the dim corridor ahead.
"There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya 'bout the raising of the wrist," the voices chorused in drunken harmony. "Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed…"
"He's here," she said to Batman, her face a sadly resigned mixture of amusement and exasperation. "No question. Better let me go first."
Shooting the dour detective a quick smile, she dropped the tent spell and strode inside.
Batman regarded the narrow entryway and ducked his cowled head low, squeezing himself through just as a cascade of rain crashed down to soak the place he'd been standing. The detective grunted darkly, edging his way through the cramped stone corridor out into what appeared to be a smoky stone pub.
The main room was a broad, softly domed space, oddly juxtaposing the cluttered gloom of a pirate's cave with the cozy warmth of a hobbit hole. It had a close, secretive atmosphere, lit by wax candles and an enormous fireplace that took up most of the back wall. Wary eyes gleamed from shadowed booths, hooded figures hunched over their drinks, many of them alone or in twos. But closer to the bar, silhouetted by the roaring fire, a rowdy group lounged around a long, ancient table, raising their bottles, glasses and arms as they chugged and laughed and continued their drinking song:
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill
Plato, they say, could stick it away
Half a crate of whiskey every day
Aristotle, Aristotle was a sucker for the bottle
And Hobbes was fond of his dram
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart
"I drink, therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed
A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he's pissed!
The song over, the singers collapsed into hoarse guffaws. Striding closer, Batman noted not all of them were human. Demons of various shapes and shades guzzled down what looked to be glasses of mead and pints of ale. Several coughed and choked as they laughed while their neighbors smacked them on the back. Some had leathery wings, others horns. Others were like animated corpses, wetly oozing and glistening in the firelight. And all seemed to have their eye(s) on the sizeable pile of loot at the center of the table.
"Right!" a blondish man called over the din, holding up a pack of cards that looked more suited for a tarot reading than a game of whist or poker. He wore a long trench coat and at least three-days'-worth of drink and tobacco-stained scruff bristled on his cheeks and chin. "Right, lads! My turn to deal!"
A roar went up and Batman narrowed his eyes, moving protectively between the monstrous creatures and Zatanna – who marched past him toward the man in the trench coat. Shady figures made way as she approached until she and the scruffy man stood practically nose to nose.
"John. You've been ignoring our calls," the magician said, holding her gaze on the man's face until he turned his eyes from the cards to her...then to Batman. His thin lips pinched in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it scowl – which Batman noted and returned – before he hoisted his expression into what he clearly thought was a charming smile.
"G'day, Bruce!" he called out with a drunken sway, practically falling onto Zatanna. "Hallo, Bruce. Or, wait - is your name not Bruce? Oh, that's gonna cause a little confusion—"
Zatanna scowled and pried him away from her, quite aware of what he was doing. "Enough of the Monty Python routine!" she snapped, glancing warily from the gathered demons to Batman's deadly glare. "This is serious."
"Zee!" John Constantine cried as if only just seeing her, opening his arms in expansive welcome. "That's right. That's the name, of course! An' if it isn't ol' Batty-boy, come out from his belfry. So, you found me after all."
"I wasn't aware you were hiding," Zatanna said. "At least, not from me."
The occult detective looked around the table, his smile noticeably strained. "You may have noticed I'm in the middle of something, love..."
"Nothing is bigger than this," Zatanna insisted, her gaze fixed and steady. She leaned in close to his ear, her voice so soft it was barely a whisper. "There's been a breach at the Source," she told him. "Magic's Champion is in trouble. We need you back with the team, John." She pulled back just enough to stare him straight in his bleary, bloodshot eyes. "I need you."
Constantine held her stare for a long moment, his jaw working as if chewing over his many protests. Then he sighed and pinched his nose, swearing darkly under his breath.
"Bugger..."
Zatanna squeezed his hand and smiled. "I knew you wouldn't let us down."
"Early days, love. Early days," the man said rather sadly, and threw back the last of his drink. Turning to the demons gathered around the table he handed his cards to the Nosferatu-like creature to his left and announced, "Right, I'm out and so're me winnings. You'll all have to carry on without me." A snap of his fingers, and a glimmering stack of coins, gems, and intricately carved artifacts lifted into the air and vanished into a sudden portal that snapped closed practically the moment it appeared. The demons cursed and shouted, some jumping up onto the table, teeth bared, swords drawn, and clawed fingers extended.
Zatanna made a swift protective gesture. Batman crouched low, his hands already at his utility belt. But Constantine had an escape plan on tap. Raising the talisman he kept around his neck, he intoned a few words and grinned his cheekiest grin. "Catch you next time, lads!"
Both Zatanna and Batman felt an intense, sickening yank, like a roller-coaster shifting suddenly backwards. The smoky pub, the furious demons all shrank away, fading to black then white then green as they landed, hard, beside Constantine in a damp, grassy field. Batman effortlessly rolled to his feet and strode ahead, scouting out their new location.
Zatanna groaned, sitting up and batting flecks of mud from her hat. "Ugh, I'm soaking! Where the hell did you land us?"
"Haxton, was it?" Constantine coughed and groped in his coat for his cigarettes, peering around at the expanse of fields, fences, sheep, more sheep, and narrow hedge-lined roads. "It's the North, anyway. Not far from Hadrian's Wall." Sticking a cigarette in his mouth, he reached out a hand to help her up, then snapped their mud-stained clothing clean. "At least it's not raining."
"Oh really? What do you call this?" She gestured to the hanging grayish haze blotting out the scenery, the droplets clinging to her tux, her hat, her hair…
"Soft weather," Constantine suggested and smirked. "So, you two gonna tell me what you called me in for, or is this more an official Hall o' Justice/Watchtower-type crisis?"
"Watchtower," Batman said, his hand at his earpiece. "J'onn has our coordinates."
"So, it's space then," Constantine said, fishing a matchbook from his pocket. "Lemme jus'—"
"No time," Batman stated, looking up as a Boom Tube crackled open barely five feet from where they stood. A young sheep sniffed the portal suspiciously and dashed back to its flock. "And no smoking on the space station."
Constantine met and matched the threat in Batman's glare, only to sigh and shove the unlit cigarette back in his coat pocket. "Bloody killjoy you are," he griped, and followed Zatanna past him into the shimmering portal, Batman taking the rear as the Boom Tube snapped shut behind them.
"OK, I think I... No." Rosa shook her head, flailing her hands as she paced the small antechamber outside the Watchtower's main conference room. "No, I need you niños to explain this to me again. Just how long have you - all of you - been lying to us? To me and to your father?"
"We weren't lying," Freddy spoke bitterly into his chest, slumped low on the sofa beside his siblings. "We just didn't tell you."
"So, it's worse than lying, then," Rosa said, the deep hurt in her eyes making Pedro, Eugene and Freddy lower their heads even further. Darla sniffled and buried her face in Pedro's arm. "What you're really saying is you don't trust us. Not enough to share this - this—"
"We trust you, OK!" Freddy exclaimed. "That's why we didn't tell you! We knew that you would worry, and we thought—"
"You thought?" Victor scoffed, nearly as livid as his wife. "Uh uh. I don't think you thought at all. Not about the consequences. Not about the things that could go wrong! Taking on a responsibility like this, accepting those powers with...with no guidance, no—"
"We could handle it," Freddy protested. "We were handling it! It's just—"
"Don't give me your excuses, son!" Victor said. "Not after whatever happened in that cave. Definitely not while your brother Billy is inside there, trapped in some science fiction stasis bubble!" He gestured toward the conference hall's silvery doors. "This Justice League place - it's stuffed full of science and magic experts. Real trained adult experts. And even them, with all their brains and experience... None of them knows how to crack Billy out of that thing, or if he'll even...even survive—"
"They'll get him out," Pedro said, his voice low and quiet. "He's part of their team."
"And so are we," Freddy said firmly, sitting up a little straighter. "We're all members of the Justice League."
"And the Shazamily," Darla said.
"Not without powers, you're not," Rosa retorted, even more firmly. "And certainly not without Victor's and my permission."
"But you can't just—!" Eugene started.
"No!" Rosa snapped and brought a hand to her temple. "We're not going to fight about this. Not here. Where's Mary?"
"Didn't she go to the cafeteria?" Freddy grumbled.
"I thought she went to the bathroom," Darla spoke quietly against Pedro's sleeve.
Rosa sighed through her nose. "Fine," she said. "I'll go find her. Victor, you stay here and— Darla?"
The little girl wasn't on the sofa. A blink later, and neither was Pedro. Or Eugene.
"Wha—!" Freddy gasped, scrabbling to pry himself up. "Where did—!"
Rosa and Victor gaped at the space where Freddy no longer was, then dashed across the futuristic-looking room, shouting and calling the children's names. Ignoring the red light on the wall, Rosa pounded at the conference hall's sliding doors, pleading for the heroes gathered inside to hear her, to help them.
The door to the outer corridor slid open first, revealing Batman, Zatanna and a scruffy blondish man in a long trench coat.
"What's wrong?" Zatanna demanded, staring around the empty room. "Where are the kids?"
Before the distraught parents could answer, the conference hall doors opened with a hiss and Zatanna's father, Doctor Fate, stepped into the room.
"They've been summoned," he stated grimly, his golden helmet gleaming as Jason Blood strode up behind him to frown at Constantine. "The Magic Lands are under threat. Come." Fate stepped aside, inviting Rosa, Victor, Constantine, Zatanna and Batman to join the Leaguers already gathered around the long table. At the front of the room, Billy's Suspendium bubble floated on an antigrav sled surrounded by monitors and softly bleeping machines. "We have much to discuss."
To Be Continued...
References include - "Bruces' Philosophers Song" by Eric Idle (Matching Tie and Handkerchief, 1973); "Bruces Sketch," Monty Python's Flying Circus Episode 22: "How To Recognize Different Parts of the Body," 1970); Justice League: Dark; Justice League/Justice League Unlimited; Young Justice; Batman: The Animated Series; Justice League Action; Shazam! Volume 1, by Geoff Johns and Gary Frank; Shazam! (movie).
Hi, Happy Fourth of July! :) Sorry about the long wait, but thanks so much for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated. Please let me know what you think! :D
