by Greg Cox
His moral qualms aside, his scientific curiosity made him anxious to discover the results of the experiment. The man in the tub finally stopped struggling, perhaps from sheer exhaustion. When nothing incendiary occurred, Percy scurried upstairs to locate an ordinary deck of playing cards from the parlor. Returning to the basement, he offered the deck to the Grandmaster.
“Please shuffle these to your satisfaction.”
The Grandmaster accepted the cards. Rheumy eyes peered out from behind his mask as he examined them dubiously. “I hope you have more to offer than card tricks.”
“It’s not trickery,” Percy promised. “Science.”
Would that we were only playing parlor games, he thought ruefully. The Grandmaster shuffled the cards repeatedly and returned them to Percy, who approached the tub. Percy nodded to the Talon.
“Remove the gag.”
“Easily done.” A flick of a blade caused the gag to fall away, unleashing a torrent of protests from the test subject, as Percy forced himself to think of the man. With the curses came the foulest breath he had ever experienced, and he took a step back.
“Let me go, you filthy bastards!” the man cried, his voice cracking with the effort. “What the hell do you want with me? What was that shite you just poked me with? You can’t do this! You have no damned right!”
“Silence!” The Talon cuffed the man hard across the side of the head. “You’ll speak when spoken to.” The assassin’s appearance seemed to cow the man as much as the blow.
“Lord help me,” he whimpered.
“I suspect He has better things to do.” Margaret snickered, and Percy cringed.
“We’re simply conducting a scientific experiment,” he said, doing his best to affect a soothing bedside manner. He was tempted to offer the man a drink to calm him, but feared that strong spirits might compromise the experiment. “How are you feeling?”
“Like my brain is buzzing,” the rummy volunteered. “Like I’m thinking faster than I can think, if you know what I mean. I can’t make it stop. Make it stop!”
“I want you to play a game with me,” Percy said. “Can you do that?” When the man didn’t answer, the Talon held up the knife he had employed on the gag, and waggled it back and forth.
“He’ll play,” the Talon said, touching the point. “Or he will regret it.”
Staring wildly at the blade, rummy gulped. Percy considered asking the man his name, but decided he didn’t want to know it. This was difficult enough as it was.
“I’ll play along, sirs,” the man croaked. “Just tell me what you want.” Percy held up the deck of cards.
“Tell me what card I’m about to draw.”
“How the devil should I know—?” the subject began; then he paused in surprise. His eyes lost focus, as though he was gazing inward instead. His voice emerged in a whisper. “The four of clubs?”
Percy drew a card from the top of the deck. Four black clovers greeted his eyes. He held the card up for the others to see before replacing it in the deck.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” The rummy gaped at the card in astonishment. “How on Earth did I do that?”
“Let’s try again.”
More trials followed. Thirty more cards were drawn, and thirty times the rummy predicted what they would be, with an accuracy rate of one hundred percent. Percy was thrilled by the results, even as he feared what was yet in store.
There’s still a chance he will survive…
“I remain unconvinced,” the Grandmaster said, his voice flat. “That fellow Houdini—and any number of other stage musicians—could pull off the same trick with ease. Stage theatrics, and nothing more.”
“But you selected the test subject,” Percy reminded him. “You forced the time and place upon me, without any warning.” Despite his better judgment, he was beginning to feel anger. “I am no charlatan, sir. What you see is the future impinging on the present, by way of the liquefied, super-conductive metals now coursing through the subject’s brain.”
“What’s that?” the rummy said, and he became agitated again. “What did you do to me?” His outburst earned him another cuff from the Talon. The man curbed his tongue, aside from a few anxious whimpers.
“Then stop wasting my time with card tricks,” the Grandmaster roared, followed by a fit of coughing. When he recovered, he continued. “Ask him something of value. What will be the outcome of the Great War? Who will succeed Wilson as President? What awaits Gotham in the years to come?”
Percy frowned at the old man’s impatience.
“I must remind you that we are in the early days when it comes to harnessing this new discovery,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “The full extent of the abilities granted by the elixir has yet to be—”
Abruptly the subject moaned loudly.
“Excuse me, sirs, but I’m not feeling well.” Beet-red now, and sweating profusely, he cringed in anticipation of another slap from the Talon, who held up a hand but refrained from delivering the blow. “I feel all hot and feverish-like, like I’m burning up.”
Oh, no, Percy thought. It’s happening already.
He placed his hand on the man’s forehead, if only to confirm the truth, and found it too hot to touch. He yanked the hand back as though from a red-hot stove. Sweat poured off of the man, soaking his tattered and filthy clothing. His moans increased in intensity.
“Oh, dear Lord! Help me! I’m baking alive!” He stared in terror at empty air. “I can see it, feel it! I’m going to burn!”
“Blast it!” Percy shouted at his fellow Owls. “I told you it wasn’t safe!”
He dashed to his chemical pantry in search of cyanide that would stop the man’s heart before he suffered too much, but he was already too late. With a tremendous whoosh, the man burst into flames as though he had been drenched in gasoline. The Talon barely backed away in time to avoid being scorched by the sudden conflagration, which remained contained within the cast-iron tub.
Within moments, the nameless rummy was nothing but a blackened husk. Percy averted his eyes from the unspeakable sight. The prior incineration of assorted mice and rabbits had failed to prepare him for this horror.
“I told you!” he lamented. “Why didn’t you listen to me?”
“It was… necessary,” Margaret said weakly. Even she appeared shaken by the atrocity. Her face was pale. She placed a hand over her nose and mouth to shield herself from the smoke and smell. “The Grandmaster had to see.”
“So I did,” the old man agreed, and he alone had retained his composure. “Your elixir’s side effect is as terrible as you said.” He coughed hoarsely. “All the more reason then that you must devote every moment to eliminating it as expeditiously as possible. The Court of Owls must possess a perfect version of your elixir.”
“You can still say that?” Percy said. “After what you just witnessed?”
“The advantages justify the cost,” the Grandmaster declared. “Your elixir has the potential to become a powerful tool for controlling Gotham’s destiny. We already dominate Gotham’s past and present, but knowledge of future events will allow us to lay our plans with even greater certainty. Think of it! We would have prior warning of future wars, economic events, even scientific and technological innovations. With such power, the Court of Owls will truly be able to shape the future in our image.”
“Well put,” Margaret agreed, the color returning to her face. “You may count on my husband and me to bring that bold vision to fruition.”
“I will hold you to that promise.” The Grandmaster rose slowly from the chair and began to hobble toward the tunnels. “I have seen enough, I think. I will leave you to your work, which I trust shall be ongoing.” He turned toward the Talon. “Come, Frederick. Let us depart from this place. The atmosphere does not agree with me.”
“Yes, Grandmaster. Allow me to assist you.” Together the men exited the laboratory, and Percy sealed the doorway behind them. The stench of burnt meat lingered in the chamber. He feared he
would never be rid of it.
“What have I done?”
“Don’t be so tender-hearted,” Margaret scolded him, regaining her steely composure. “Did you think the Court of Owls was a benevolent society? Gaining knowledge of the future is worth any cost. This discovery will make us rich and powerful.” He swore her eyes glittered. “You should be proud of your success.”
“Proud?” He gestured at the smoking ruin in the tub. “Proud of that?”
“Proud of bending time to your will.” She shook her head in exasperation. “I swear, Percy, that girl is making you soft. Life is not all pretty poses and sweet nothings. Power and influence are what truly matter in this world. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that.”
“And yet you do,” he said bitterly. “More’s the pity.”
She turned her back on the smoldering remains and moved to the stairs.
“In any event, you heard the Grandmaster,” she responded. “Perfect your elixir with all due speed, so that your next demonstration has a more positive outcome… for everyone.”
Show no fear, Vincent thought.
Since the invasion at their last conclave, the Court had taken care to choose an even more secure venue for tonight’s emergency meeting. Eschewing public venues entirely, they had gathered in a corporate boardroom in a skyscraper in midtown. Neither the corporation nor the building were officially owned by a member of the Court, but there were very few boardrooms in Gotham to which the Court did not have access.
Vincent had taken pains to travel to the site as covertly as possible, to avoid being tailed by the Dark Knight or his allies. The Talon, taking time out from the search for Joanna Lee, had personally shadowed Vincent’s anonymous limo on the way here. Upon their arrival, the assassin remained outside, guarding the premises. Vincent had no intention of letting Batman spy on them again.
I’m already on thin ice.
“Thank you all for convening again so soon,” the Grandmaster said to the group, “and for being courageous enough to do so after our last conclave was disrupted by the Batman. Rest assured we have taken every precaution to ensure that no such violation will happen again.” Her gold-trimmed mask turned toward Vincent, who was once again seated at the opposite end of the table. “Assuming there is no further carelessness on the part of any members of this Court.”
Bitch, Vincent thought. He bristled at her tone, even as his own mask concealed his vexation. The Grandmaster hadn’t called him out by name, but she and others blamed him for Batman’s unwanted presence at their last gathering. Vincent suspected they were right.
“Let me be blunt,” the Grandmaster continued. “The matter of Joanna Lee grows ever more worrisome. We now have several dead police officers inviting attention, while we are no closer to finding the Lee girl or even her roommate. Thankfully, our informants within the police department have not been compromised, but there are still more risks than reward in this campaign. We should ask ourselves if it might have been ill-considered to begin with.”
Her sycophantic supporters muttered in agreement, much to Vincent’s annoyance. The Grandmaster represented the old guard, although not every Owl approved of her overly cautious approach. Among the younger generation, many favored a bolder, more aggressive strategy—as represented by Vincent and his faction.
They dared not openly defy the Grandmaster just yet, however. She was still shrewd, and possessed enough connections to wield considerable power in the Court. He knew better than to underestimate her.
“There have been delays,” he conceded, “but our Talon remains on the case, as relentless and unstoppable as ever. Both Batman and Nightwing have tried to defeat him, and failed repeatedly. Despite their best efforts, they are fighting a losing battle. In the end, the Court of Owls always gets what it wants… including my great-grandfather’s elixir.”
His backers showed their support by nodding and hooting under their breaths. They had their own varied reasons for siding with him. Some truly shared his vision, while others had been bought with favors, bribes, and blackmail. A few simply saw him as a rising star within the Court, and had hitched their wagons to him accordingly. Vincent could respect that. Indeed, he admired their good judgment.
“Of course, the elixir,” the Grandmaster scoffed openly. Vincent refused to let her bait him into losing his composure.
“Do I need to explain just what the elixir could do for the Court, once it’s finally perfected?” he countered. “The advantages it would give us over our enemies and rivals? The ways in which it would help us shape Gotham’s future?”
“Hardly,” she replied, “since the Court has been hearing these same promises since before any of us were born.”
Vincent ignored the jibe. “If it’s Batman that concerns us, why not deal with him once and for all? We know who he is, we know where to find him. Why permit his interference for one day more?”
“We tried that, or have you forgotten?” the Grandmaster said. “Many once-prominent members of this Court had their secrets exposed, their lives and fortunes ruined. They were arrested, disgraced, or forced to become fugitives. Some even committed suicide, or had to be eliminated to protect the Court.
“We lost a large stockpile of Talons, as well,” she continued, “some of whom had been kept in reserve for centuries. All in a reckless show of force of the sort that we have always avoided.” She shook her head. “No, the Court of Owls operates from the shadows, shunning the light. The ‘Night of Owls’ exposed us to undue scrutiny, and there should no hurry to repeat that mistake… all for a mirage that remains forever out of reach.” Again murmurs of assent, louder now.
Vincent felt himself losing ground. “But we can’t give up now,” he protested, focusing on holding his voice steady. “Not when we’re so close to achieving success. My latest tests have shown promising results—”
“No more tests,” the Grandmaster said, cutting him off abruptly. “No more experiments on the dregs of humanity. This entire affair is attracting too much unwelcome attention. The last thing we need is more vagrants bursting into flames.”
That had been an unfortunate accident. A careless subordinate had allowed Joe Bava to escape into the streets. A shame, really, since the man hadn’t yet displayed any signs of fever. Bava’s fiery end had been discouraging, albeit convenient. At least he had ignited before he could reveal any of the Court’s secrets.
“But my work,” he protested. “My family’s work. We’re talking decades of labor and sacrifice… all for the good of the Court. These experiments—”
“Are a hazardous luxury we can ill afford at this time,” she stated flatly. “Better safe than sorry.”
Vincent started to sweat. The Grandmaster was actually going to shut down his life’s work, the work of generations, just because Batman was getting in the way. He anxiously scanned the Owls seated around the table, trying to figure out where he stood, but the masks made it damned hard to get a read on the room. He couldn’t be certain he had enough votes to challenge the ruling cadre over this issue. He needed to think fast, if he wanted to turn this situation around.
Apologizing for the Bava screw-up would do no good—he couldn’t afford to show weakness or admit fault at this point. He had to flip the script somehow, make a negative into a positive…
Then it hit him.
“But don’t you see?” he said, leaning in. “Random non-entities, bursting into flames for no discernible reason—that’s exactly what we need right now… to distract Batman and throw him off the scent. Give him some victims who, unlike the professor or the boyfriend, have no apparent connection to Joanna Lee or her studies.” Silence, as they waited for him to continue. “Let him chase dead ends, while we keep our eyes on the prize—the future of Gotham.”
Murmurs of interest circulated around the table, encouraging him. His confidence returned as the Grandmaster heard the whispers, as well. He sat back and waited for her to respond.
“An… interesting strategy,” she hedged, “altho
ugh perhaps too flamboyant for comfort. The Court of Owls has prospered this long by maintaining a low profile, not by indulging in theatrical feats of terrorism of the sort practiced by psychopaths like the Joker. As the rhyme indicates, we rule Gotham from a shadowed perch.”
“That old doggerel also speaks to chopping off the heads of our enemies,” Vincent said. “The Court of Owls has relied on fear as well as discretion. There’s a time for perching in the shadows, but there’s also a time for boldly taking action. Our enemy knows this, even if we may be forgetting it.” He pressed his point. “We’ve come too far to falter now. What are a few more smoking cadavers if it means distracting Batman long enough for us to get to Joanna Lee—and Percy’s lost secrets?”
Still the Grandmaster remained silent.
“With all due respect to our venerable traditions,” he said, “we might also consider a more modern saying, as well. Go big or go home.”
A smattering of applause greeted his big finish. Vincent smirked behind his mask as he imagined the Grandmaster scowling behind hers. He wasn’t ready to call for a vote of no confidence. Not just yet, but soon perhaps, after the elixir was his—and vindication, as well. Then they would see who was suited to lead the Court into the twenty-first century.
“Very well,” she said sourly. “Burn up a few more pathetic test subjects if you must, but understand that we expect results. It will not go well for you, or your bloodline, if this proves to be another wild goose chase.” The threat was unmistakable, raising the stakes in a very big way. Vincent exerted the effort needed to keep from swallowing hard.
Failure had just become unthinkable.
“Thank you, Grandmaster,” he said. “It’s reassuring to know that the Court of Owls still dares reach for the future, no matter the risk.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Now perhaps it’s time to look to the past as well… for reinforcements. You and our new Talon may benefit from some assistance, and I believe I know just the right person to call upon.”
