"And what is your particular reasoning, Miss Dani?" Alfred drawls in that accent of his, looking skeptical as he had when I first started explaining.
Thinking fast, I rap my knuckle against the wall, pretending to notice a difference between that particular spot and one a couple feet beside it. Alfred's face softens.
"Looking to be a detective?" he asks, stepping forward (carefully, to avoid the filth of the sanctuary's floor) and examining my discovery. "This was quite ingenious of you."
Yeah, ingenious. Not me walking through the walls of the sanctuary searching for a pocket of air.
It had occurred to me one day a little over a week of knowing Dick's dual identity. I was wandering the Cave once more, still curious despite having explored the entirety of the Cave. Alfred, of course, always found excuses to be down at the same time I was, making sure I didn't wander off. Though I wonder if Dick even asked him to intervene. He doesn't seem the type to tattle on me to the butler.
Anyway, I was going through ideas about where the next clue to Bruce's little treasure hunt was. Dick had been tied up with a new villain suddenly blowing up Gotham, proclaiming himself "Batman's replacement". He had popped up rather suddenly and caused a lot of chaos in the short week he'd been moonlighting.
Alfred had been entertaining me, mostly. Shopping, telling stories, holding impromptu lessons. He's a chill dude, but I want to hang out with Dick. But he's busy. So I figured I would try searching the Cave for the next clue. Seemed easy enough. Except I'm not a detective.
I blame my DNA.
Then the thought came to my mind when I had happened upon an area of the Cave where the screeching of bats could be heard. The bat sanctuary. What reason would Batman have to go up there?
I'd found the way up there via a set of stone stairs. When I found the small alcove housing a small box (by the feel of it), I'd immediately alerted Alfred to my find.
Lucky I'm a good liar. I was so excited I'd forgotten it was unlikely the other members of the bat-family can walk through walls like I can. As Alfred taps the stone, I glance around the dimly lit sanctuary and come up with more info to support my totally natural discovery.
"See how the rocks are piled up in some places? I came up because I figured Batman wouldn't be up here and then that if there was something hidden you could hear the difference..." I'm rambling. I never ramble. Hopefully Alfred takes it as excitement instead of a nervous cover-up. Composing myself, I feign nonchalance with a one-shouldered shrug. "It made sense. Sorta."
He raises an eyebrow. "Quite." He shucks his gloves and places them in his inner coat pocket before shedding the coat as well and discarding it on a nearby pile of rocks. I don't mention it was dirty; he probably knew. "Help me uncover what you've found."
A large rock is rolled right where I'd found the hole, and it in turn is held by several smaller rocks. We start tossing them aside, causing dust to kick up and the bats to start screeching. "Pesky animals," is Alfred's only complaint.
Eventually, they fly off through a tunnel I expect will lead them to the surface. Alfred and I continue moving rocks, scraping our hands and ruining our clothes but not caring. We come together in a combined effort as we reach the last rock, heaving our shoulders against the stone to dislodge it.
After a moment of no success, Alfred disappears down the steps, coming back a few minutes later with his sleeves rolled up and holding a contraption resembling a bazooka with nail clippers on the end. I'd been resting my back against the wall, picking at where the stone met the wall, trying to wiggle my fingers in what few holes I could find.
"Please step back, miss," Alfred orders politely, hefting the gun. I slide off and move behind him as he wedges the gun between the rock and the wall and flicks the switch. Painful screeching of rock on rock on metal reverberates around the small space, causing my hands to move of their own accord and clap onto my ears.
When the rock moves to the extent of the device's reach, I move forward and help Alfred pull the stone from its place. Inch by agonizing inch, the stone relents under our combined weight and finally tilts of its own accord, falling back. Alfred and I hurriedly step to the side as the stone yawns over and slams into its new resting place.
And there's my hole. It's half my size, a natural cave tapering off only a few feet back. Pretending I don't know where the box is, I stick my arm inside and start rifling through the hole, following the grooves of the uneven stone.
Alfred finds it, as I knew he would. With a sharp gasp, he pulls the box free from its ledge slightly above the opening of the cave (it went a half foot or so above, which is what caused the different sound when I tapped it).
It's an old jewelry box, made of dark wood, a jagged bat carved into its top. The clasp of the box has an engraved MW and a small keyhole. "Miss Martha's jewelry box," Alfred reveres, brushing his hand along the engraving. "It had gone missing after the funeral. I always thought…" He exhales. "I thought it was gone."
I try to wait until he finishes his trip down memory lane, but get impatient with curiosity. "Do you have the key?"
"Indeed." He climbs to his feet and strides purposefully down the steps, waiting only briefly for me at the bottom as I struggle to catch up with this surprisingly agile old man.
He holds the box reverently, one hand underneath and one hand on the bat, his thumb absently brushing the carvings. Without hesitation, he leads me through the BatCave, up the stairs and back into the mansion.
A few hallways later, he pauses outside a doorway and withdraws a key, opening the door to reveal a dark study. With a grunt of distaste at the lighting, Alfred flips on the sparse lamps and approaches the desk.
Rifling through a drawer, he comes up with a small gold key sealed in a small plastic bag. "It was a keepsake," he explains to me, releasing the key from its prison and into his palm. "The jewelry box was of great importance to Martha. When it was discovered missing, it was a tragedy. Though all of the jewels had been removed and left on the nightstand. It was quite the mystery."
As he talks, he inserts the key into its hole. "We assumed it was someone at the funeral. Now, I wonder…" He turns the key and opens the box.
My pulse thrums in excitement as I take note of the contents; a wad of paper, three pearls and a small ring with a bat made of shiny black rock. I have to physically restrain myself from grabbing the box from Alfred, who's fingering one of the pearls with the same reverence he did the box itself. Ugh, the anticipation!
Finally, Alfred picks up the three pearls and the ring, laying them carefully inside a felt indent in the desk that's most likely used for paperclips. Then he dislodges the paper from its wedge, revealing it as a sort of book crudely tied with string.
The first page is blank, and Alfred turns it. In strange, disconnected cursive, words were scrawled along the page. The beginning of the words would start strongly and end, as if running out of ink. Alfred turns the page again and again, revealing more words in varying darkness, sometimes written in ink and other times in charcoal.
His page turning gets more frantic though no less gentle, and he growls in frustration. I'm guessing that means he doesn't speak… whatever language the writing is in. The final page, however, is written in more modern ink and English, a drastic change from the other pages. It only has a few sentences:
Retrieved the box from the Black Glove in this century, though it was damaged. I spoke with a woman who gave me these pearls, and I felt it necessary to enclose them with this account, just as I felt it necessary to take this box to hold them. I left a mark in a room I've never been, staying long enough to ensure the carpet being installed hides it from sight. It will be found and so will this account, though I can't understand why I am so sure or why I chose this particular cavern to hide the box. The ring belongs to a Black Glove operative.
… That's it.
Well, I'm sure there's more in the other pages, but for what we can understand, this is it. It's enough for Alfred to gasp and sigh heavily, hands trembling. "That means he's alive," I conclude, though I know it's only stating the obvious. "Just not in the right time period." Awkward at the silence of Alfred, I place a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "We can fix that, right?"
With a final heave, he stands abruptly, catching my hand as it falls from his shoulder. Holding it firmly, he looks me in the eye. "We can, Miss Dani. That is something we can fix."
Letting go of my hand, he strides out of the office.
For a shocked moment, I look down at my hand and back up at the open door, trying to comprehend the emotion that was in the usually impassive butler's face. Too much, I decide. There was simply too much emotion in that moment.
Finally I follow him, deciding he must be in the BatCave when I don't spot him immediately. When I get down there, he's sitting at the BatComputer, the papers laid beside one of the many consoles, no longer held by string. On the screen, there's a copy of each page laid side by side. I glance back from where I came. How long was I by myself? Four minutes? Five?
Whatever. Must be a Bat thing. "Translating?" I ask.
"Trying, miss," he responds, glaring at the screen. "I'm afraid Master Bruce's skill for decoding near any language is beyond my reach."
"Where's Dick?"
"Busy," he responds, gesturing to two screens depicting personages of Batman and Robin. Red impact points flash intermittently on their screen-selves, lines spiking every time. I finally recognize the screens as vital monitors and turn away, not interested in watching them get dealt blows.
"Print me a copy?" I ask politely, and he curiously agrees, wondering aloud if I had any more tricks up my sleeve. "I might," I tease, accepting a pen he offers. When I gather all the printed papers, I lay them out on a desk and uncap the pen. "I visited a lot of museums on my trek around the world. One was in Great Britain-I forget the name-which houses old literature works, like Beowulf. There were all these charts of different letters in different languages… One of the cooler museums, even if it did smell like a stuffy library." As I talk, I circle letters I recognize and box the ones I don't. "See this swirly character?" I point with the pen and bend the paper so he can see. "It's an 's'."
"You really are quite remarkable," he compliments, and I shrug, embarrassed.
"I just travel a lot."
He shakes his head affectionately. "Ah, modesty is something to be desired here. I'm glad someone knows its practice."
"Thanks, but I'm not trying to be modest. I can get the letters, but I only speak Spanish from the six weeks I was in Spain. No puedo leerlo." Meaning I can speak it-quite fluently, not gonna lie-but I never learned to read it.
"I'm sure either Master Dick or Master Damian possess the literacy in Spanish you lack."
"Olde English-Spanish?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, but they are quite remarkable young men. They'll figure it out." Humming an affirmative, I continue marking up the pages as we wait for Dick's return.
It happens a couple hours later, with no warning and just as Alfred brings down refreshments. Damian and Dick are arguing heatedly as they exit the Batmobile, Damian limping on his left side. I accept a sandwich from Alfred before he sets down the tray and heads over to Damian.
"Sit down!" Dick barks when Damian attempts to wave off Alfred. Reluctantly, he agrees, removing his mask so he can better glare at Dick. "Glare all you want. I gave you a lead and you didn't bother to follow it! That left me without backup and you wandering off into a trap!"
"They caught me unprepared," Damian snaps back.
"That's what a trap is! Damian, I swear…" He slips off his cowl, revealing his tired, worry-filled eyes.
"Don't talk to me like I'm a child!"
"Stop acting like one! You're clever, Damian! Don't go running off into traps like nothing can ever hurt you! Confidence is a strength, but arrogance is a flaw. You're letting this guy exploit it!"
"Fine," Damian grits out when Dick's tone turns from angry to worried. "I'll follow your lead next time." They grudgingly drop the fight. I continue eating my sandwich, watching Dick survey Alfred's handiwork. Damian glares off in the distance until looking at Alfred. "What happened to you, Pennyworth?"
"Miss Dani found something of interest and I helped her unearth it."
"Is that what those papers are?" Dick wonders aloud, moving closer to survey the screen. "Strange lettering. How old is this?"
I offer one of my completed papers. "Try reading this."
He accepts the paper and skims it. "This is old. Really old. 'Memories of mine start without prior notice many cycles past. Attention of mine having come to periods of the cycle a man breathes that I do not need-follow. Falling through ages brings me to another civilization of which I do not belong, yet cycles of mine remain unchanged.'" His eyes narrow. "This doesn't make much sense."
I roll my eyes. "Try saying it like this: 'My memories start without warning a long time ago. It comes to my attention that the life-cycle of man is not something I need to follow.' And so on." He scrutinizes the paper again, flipping it to the next. "Read the last page."
He rifles the papers again and skims the last page, eyes widening. "This… Is this…?"
I smile so wide I fear my face will break. "It sure is!"
"What?" Damian demands, annoyed by our encryption. "What is that?"
Dick's eyes shine, completely ignoring Damian's disgruntled muttering. Without warning, he drops the papers and hoists me into the air, spinning me around. I giggle, a little embarrassed but a lot more overjoyed. After spinning me a couple times, he squeezes me in a quick hug and releases me back onto the ground.
"Grayson!" snaps Damian.
"It's Bruce," Dick forces out around his smile. "It's him, these are written by him, in the past." Damian freezes, but Dick doesn't wait around for Damian to process. He grabs the papers I was working on, scanning in the completed one. I sit on a nearby chair, watching him type on the computer, scribble something into a nearby tablet, type again, move the mouse and return to the tablet, repeating over and over in a feverish attitude.
Damian comes and joins me in the chair next to mine, occasionally commenting or asking a question. Dick, from what I gather, is using my interpretation to customize his own program, carefully cutting out the characters I defined and linking them through strings of code.
The process takes a long time, in which I share how I found the pages and share what else the jewelry box held.
Even after I finished my tale and Damian and I finished the dinner Alfred brought down for the three of us (Dick was too busy to eat, apparently), the program was not nearly completed.
"Why doesn't the BatComputer have ye olde English in its archives?" I whine once I'd given up on trying to elicit conversation from Damian. He spoke, but unless he was directly answering a question or insulting someone, he chose not to.
"This is ye olde Spanish," Dick murmurs, hands still typing furiously. "I need to transcribe the translation program to fit it to the grammar and conventions of today's English."
"Fascinating," I drawl, leaning my head on my propped up elbow. At least Damian is as bored as I am.
I'm about to suggest we play checkers or something when a loud roaring sounds from the tunnel. Damian's head pops up and he looks to Dick. "Who is that?"
Dick grunts, avoiding Damian's question.
He's about to snap at Dick, but a roaring motorcycle bursts from the tunnel before he can form an argument. I jump to my feet, losing sight of the motorcycle as it skids to a halt underneath our feet. Moments later, a red and black blur shoots up the pole and lands in a crouch before us.
"Drake," Damian snarls, face turning dark.
The guy stands, showing off his bright uniform. It's red with black undertones underneath his arms and legs and making up his breastplate. His shoulders are gold with a bird-like symbol stamped into them, shining in the dim light of the Cave like he's in the sun. His domino mask is also red but with a black trim, same as his gloves and boots. But the most impressive feature of his super-suit is the feather-like cape behind him. They're folded right now, but the way they sway in the wind with his movements, I have no doubt they can open up powerfully as soon as he wants them to.
"Demon spawn," he hisses with the same dark tone. He doesn't spare another glance at him and instead turns to Dick. "I told you, didn't I? I told you he was alive…"
"You did," Dick affirms. "I'm sorry we didn't believe you."
Damian scoffs. "I'm not."
Drake-what was his first name again? Todd?-sneers at Damian, and in doing so, spots me. "What's with her?"
"A demon spawn, if I'm not mistaken."
Damian growls at me, standing so he can move away from me. I frown. I'm going to pay for that.
Drake gives a grim smile. It looks almost painful; as if he hasn't done it in so long it hurts to try. "I already knew that." He returns to Dick. "What's she doing here?"
My attempt to not be ignored was completely bypassed. Jerk. "I'm helping," I respond. This time, he doesn't turn around to address me. I eye his cape, wondering if I can mess with his wings before he notices, since he's so good at ignoring me. Luckily, Dick is just as good at ignoring him.
Damian catches my gaze and smirks, daring me.
Not one to back away from a dare, even a nonverbal one, I tiptoe forward. Before I'm even within five feet of him, Drake sighs. "What are you doing?" I can tell by his tone of voice he's addressing me, not Dick.
I relax my sneaking stance, which Damian is highly amused by from the looks of his slightly raised eyebrows. "I was going to attack your wings." Drake turns around and folds his arms, either not amused or just really good at not showing it.
"Really?" he deadpans.
"Yeah. Do you mind, you know" I twirl my finger in a circle. "Turning around again?"
Dick chuckles, even as highly concentrated as he is.
"No," Drake says firmly, making it very clear he's not in the mood.
Unfortunately for him, I am in the mood. "How about going to the edge over there?"
"So you can push me."
"Yeah."
"I'll push you," Damian offers, more light-hearted this time.
I send him a glare, then pretend to contemplate it. "We can do it together."
"No one is going to push me off the platform."
I stare at him incredulously. "But you can fly."
"She's right, Tim," Dick mutters, a small smile on his mouth.
Tim looks between Dick and I. "Seriously, what's the story behind this?"
"It all starts with a guy and his colon," I begin dramatically, and Tim sends a glare that would probably give me a heart attack if I ate enough burgers.
"I want Dick to explain," he all but growls. Before he can add the two last words, I start laughing hysterically, drowning him out for the last bit and completely changing his sentence.
Dick finally breaks away from the computer, chuckling to himself. "This is Dani," he introduces. "Dani, this is Tim Drake-Wayne, aka Red Robin."
"Nice to meet you," I say when my giggles die down. I offer a hand, and he looks at it like he doesn't know what I'm trying to do. I almost explain what a handshake is, but he seems to understand there will be more grief if he doesn't shake my hand and relents. He gives my hand a firm shake before letting his hands fall to his sides.
"You're something else," he says, probably as an explanation for his behavior.
"She is quite refreshing, is she not," Alfred drawls, entering via the elevator. "Master Tim, welcome back."
The first real smile from Tim graces us. "Hey, Alfred." Then he turns back to the screen. "So, tell me how you figured out I was right." He glances at me when I open my mouth. "Not you, Dani. No offense."