Batman 5 - Batman Begins (13 page)

“What about it puzzles you?”

“For one thing, I
liked
it. Almost all of it. Dangling like a Christmas tree ornament, running across those rooftops . . . it felt
right,
somehow.”

“The thrill of danger, perhaps?”

“I know that thrill, and this wasn’t it. This was . . . more. Like I was finally doing something I
should
be doing.”

“Really? Are you aware that the career opportunities for cat burglars are severely limited? And the benefits are disgraceful. No health insurance, no parking space . . .”

“Okay, Alfred, point taken. May I change the subject?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“I’ve got some pictures to be developed and I’d rather not trust the drugstore. Any ideas?”

“My friend in Gotham has photographic equipment.”

“Is your friend discreet?”

“Completely.”

Bruce went into the library and returned with the alligator attaché case.

“They’re in here. Your friend can keep the attaché case.”

“I’m sure she’ll put it to good use. By the way . . . what use was it to
you
?”

“It carried my tools and it was a pain in . . . the teeth. I’m not sure a shoulder bag would have been much better when I was rooftop hopping. Something like a tool belt . . . I could have used night-vision lenses, too, and an infrared flashlight might have been useful.”

“The next time you commit a felony, we will equip you properly.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Ten minutes later, Alfred drove his Bentley away and Bruce was left to wonder what to do with himself. Well, what
do
people do when they don’t have to run across glaciers, repulse armed ninjas, or commit burglary?

Watch television, of course.

Except for occasional moments aboard ship, when the vessel he happened to be on was in position to receive commercial broadcasts, Bruce had not watched TV in over seven years. He went into the den and switched on a large flatscreen monitor.

He watched.
Had there always been this many commercials?
He grew bored until he made the watching an exercise in patient awareness. He was still and he waited and was aware of the sight and sound of the television set, which was tuned to an all-news channel.

On the screen: several fire trucks outside a burning brownstone.

From the speaker: . . .
officials say the fire was apparently started when a boiler in the basement of the 150-year-old building exploded. A night watchman, Henry Billeret, is believed to have died in the conflagration, although his body has not yet been recovered. Mr. Billeret was a retired New York City police officer . . .

The brownstone housed—
had
housed—the Olympus Gallery. So the owner of the Rā’s al Ghūl documents and the documents themselves were destroyed in a plane crash and two days later the place for which they were bound burns to the ground. Could it possibly be a coincidence?

Alfred returned late in the afternoon bearing a large bound album. In the center of each heavy brown page was a photograph of writing, about half of which was in English, the other half in a calligraphy Bruce did not recognize.

“Do we owe your friend anything?” Bruce asked Alfred.

“She has her favorite charities. Perhaps a donation?”

“You decide the amount, I’ll sign the check. After I’m declared legally alive, that is.”

Bruce took the album into the library and settled into the leather easy chair. He began reading, first the translator’s notes and then the English translation of the mysterious calligraphy. The story seemed like a fairy tale, real “once upon a time” stuff.

. . . a man-child was born during a terrible storm. It was a time of madness. It was a time of the mingling of things that should remain forever apart. For at noon the light died and darkness claimed the oasis and the sky above roiled and split and jagged blades of lightning slashed the earth below, and the very desert itself lifted and rode the screaming wind to strike anything in its path. Thus day assumed the guise of night. Water and sand allied.

Then from the whirling insanity of a world in torment came a man. A hermit was he who for the past forty years had lived alone in a place without mercy. Some said he was a prophet. Some said he was a demon. All agreed that he had long ago abandoned that which makes a creature human.

He entered the birthing room and suddenly the storm quieted. And in the stillness could be heard the wail of a newborn infant. The gaze of the new mother and her two sisters fastened on him in fascination and they trembled as he spoke in a voice that rasped and rumbled: Give him to me.

The man from the storm lifted the newborn and he spoke: His will be a life lit by lightning. His years will be many stretching beyond the farthest dreams of age and it is his destiny to be either mankind’s savior or to destroy all that lives upon the earth.

The man from the storm returned the infant to his mother and spoke: My task is finished.

And as the mother looked upon her son only minutes from the womb she was afraid.

Bruce looked up from the manuscript. The sky outside had darkened and a bat fluttered past the library window. Bruce saluted it, switched on a lamp, and started to read again.

There was a gap in the story. Obviously, many pages, perhaps a hundred or more, had been lost. As the narrative resumed, the infant had grown to manhood, had married, had mastered such healing arts as existed, and had somehow become a favorite of the local ruler, known as the Salimbok, and his son, Runce. Bruce skimmed several pages that seemed to concern things like trade routes and the size of dwellings, until he came to an account of the Physician’s falling-out with the bigwigs, the Salimbok and Runce.

It began with a race. The Physician and Runce were tearing through the town, mounted on a couple of stallions, when an old woman got in their way. The story resumed in the middle of a sentence.

ancient was she and blind and her soul was locked within itself no longer touching the world around her. She heard but did not heed the pounding of hooves as they approached her. She fell and was trampled into the dust.

The contestants crossed the finish line and were joyously greeted by the Salimbok who declared the race truly excellent.

The Salimbok spoke: The Physician is a superb horseman. He rides as well as he heals. But my son rode as swiftly as the wind. I declare my son and heir the victor.

The Physician’s wife called Sora approached him. He spoke to her out of wounded pride: It seems that once again your husband bows to his better.

She spoke: It is the will of the Salimbok that it be so. But I am still proud of my husband. Later when we are alone I will demonstrate the extent of my pride.

Runce approached them. He spoke: What of me, fair Sora. Do not I merit any of your demonstration?

Runce embraced Sora while her husband stood by in helpless rage.

The Salimbok approached and spoke to his son: The victor’s feast awaits you. Such food as will delight your tongue and women too. Lovely girls in the first blush of maturity.

Runce spoke: There are none so lovely as the wife of the Physician.

The Salimbok spoke to the Physician: He is young and impetuous. You must forgive him.

The Physician quelled the rage and pride within him and spoke: Yes, Excellency.

The Physician and his wife retired to their quarters and conversed regarding the son of the Salimbok. The Physician spoke: He is young. Years and responsibilities will teach him decorum.

Sora doubted this and reminded her husband that Runce was no younger than he. The Physician replied that his studies had aged him beyond his years.

What studies were those
? Bruce wondered.
And where did he study? Who were his teachers? Most of all, what, exactly, did he learn?

“Is this a good time for an interruption?” Alfred asked from the doorway. He was carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups. “I thought you might be ready for some refreshment.”

“What are we having? Earl Grey?”

“I’ve brewed some of the green tea you seem to favor since your sojourn abroad. I must admit that it’s growing on me.”

“That was not, I hope, a pun.”

“Perish forbid.” Alfred filled the cups, gave one to Bruce, and sat with his own cup in an adjoining chair. “Is it too early to ask how the reading progresses?”

Bruce sipped his tea and said, “It progresses fine, I guess. I could do with a few more punctuation marks—the guy seems allergic to commas and quotation marks—and a little less quasi-poetic diction would be okay, and a couple of hard facts now and then would be nice. But on the whole, no complaints.”

“Have we added ‘literary critic’ to our portfolio?”

“Hardly. But I do know what I like.”

“We shall make an educated man of you yet, Master Bruce.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Alfred stood. “I shall leave you to it. Dinner at the usual time?”

“Sure. Whatever’s good for you.”

Bruce drained his cup and picked up the manuscript. He reentered the story at the point where the Physician went to see the old woman who had been trampled.

Brandishing a knife the son spoke to the Physician: You are not welcome here. I shall show you just how unwelcome.

The Physician spoke: I understand your anger and I do not blame you for it. But before you slice me open allow me a moment with your mother.

The wish of the Physician was granted and he tended to the old woman whose sightless eyes were closed. Her son inquired as to her condition and the Physician spoke: She is old and her injuries are grievous. There is little I can do. The Great Enemy will soon claim her.

The son wished to know the identity of this Great Enemy that he might be slain before the death of the mother.

The Physician spoke at length: The greatest and final enemy of mankind. The merciless felon who is always lurking nearby ready to snatch from us all we hold dear. The mocker of our aspirations and dreams and hopes. Our cruel master. Death. How I hate death.

The Physician gave a pouch full of herbs to the son of the old woman. He explained that the herbs would not save the old woman but would ease her passing. The son was touched by the kindness of the Physician and cast his blade to the ground.

A messenger from the Salimbok entered the dwelling and reported that Runce the son of the ruler had fallen gravely ill and was in need of the Physician.

The Physician and the messenger hurried to the royal dwelling. The Physician found Runce to be grievously ill. His skin was pale and his brow burned.

The Salimbok inquired as to the cause of the illness. For had not Runce been victorious in a race mere hours earlier? The Physician confessed that he had no certain knowledge but he supposed that the illness came from merchants who had recently visited the area and were themselves ill. The Salimbok wanted to know how this could be. The Physician replied that certain of his researches indicated that disease could move from one person to another and promised to exhaust himself in seeking to cure Runce.

The Physician was sorely troubled. He mounted the animal he had ridden in the race and rode into the desert. In the distance silvered by moonlight a cloud of dust and sand were sure signs of the nomads who preyed upon travelers. But either they had not seen him or they were indifferent to plunder this night.

He dismounted at the place where he had been born and immediately he felt the energy that surges from the very earth itself. Here he could think and dream those dreams that are often the better of mere thought. The wind murmured and then howled and then shrieked and a thousand shapes began to shimmer on the boundary of sleep. Monsters welled up from unimaginable abysses to surround the Physician and fill him with dread. But he did not shrink from them as he had in the past. He faced them and called them by their names and the names he called them were the names of Death. It was in facing them that he came to see how he might defeat them

The narrative broke off. More missing pages. Bruce allowed himself a flicker of annoyance.
Just when I was getting to the good part
. . .

He put down the manuscript and carried his empty cup into the kitchen. Something was bubbling on the stove and something else was in the oven, and both smelled rich and highly caloric. He could hear the sound of a Louis Armstrong solo from another part of the house and knew that Alfred was listening to his favorite music while waiting for whatever he was cooking and baking to be done. Ever since Bruce’s return from abroad, Alfred had been outdoing himself as a chef. Every night there was a different meal and every one was sumptuous.

Bruce did not know how to tell his friend that every one was also making him queasy.

He brewed himself another serving of green tea and went back to the library and his reading.

The narrative resumed with the Physician riding home and passing a corpse lying on the road. He reached the gate of the city and was greeted by a guard who told him that during the night the nomads had attacked. The marauders had been repulsed, but not without cost. Many men had been wounded.

The gatekeeper spoke: All that is of no consequence. The son of the Salimbok is dying and you must attend him without delay.

The Physician went to the royal dwelling immediately and found that Runce was indeed close to death. The Salimbok implored the Physician to save his son and promised the Physician gold and slaves and even his kingdom itself. But the Physician wanted none of these things and told the ruler that Runce was already beyond the reach of the healing arts.

The Physician spoke: It may be that last night a knowledge beyond medicine came to me in the guise of a dream. I will need laborers to dig a pit and a tent and other supplies.

The kingdom was scoured to provide what the Physician needed and before the sun had set all was in readiness. The wife of the Physician confessed that she was troubled for much of what her husband had requested was poisonous and deadly to the human body.

The Physician spoke: If my theory is correct the poisons can be curative provided they are used under exactly the right conditions. In this place where we stand I sense great energy. Perhaps it is the energy of the earth itself. This combined with the other agents will either cure young Runce or hasten his inevitable demise.

The Salimbok came forth and implored the Physician to accompany him to the shrine of Bisu who was the foremost deity of the people. The Physician protested that he was a man of science and had no belief in gods and would not worship them