Batman

February 6
11:18 PM

Mortimer Drake, the man once known as the Cavalier, sighed happily as he sat down in a chair in his new apartment. It had taken hard work, but he’d found an apartment the very day of his release from Arkham, and his bank account had increased quite a bit from the interest gained during his stay at the institution. Now he sat relaxing, drinking a glass of sherry in mild celebration of his release. No more of the criminal life for this swordsman, no sir!

He opened a book and began reading, but before he’d even finished the first page, a gun cocked behind his head. Eyes wide, he slowly lowered the book to his lap and turned around. A man in a red bodysuit and a metal helmet with a fancy eyepiece stood holding a gun to Drake’s head. The man waved.

“Hello,” Deadshot said cheerfully. As he pulled the trigger; Drake had already started moving and the bullet missed its intended target.

“You missed,” Drake said, honestly surprised.

Deadshot looked at him for a second. “No, I didn’t miss. I just wanted to give you a sporting chance. Honor among thieves and all…”

Drake ran out of the room toward a closet in his bedroom. He hastily pulled the door open, grabbed the first sword he saw, and rolled out of the closet, away from the living room, just as a shot rang out and shattered the handle on the closet door.

He stood, sword at the ready, just as Deadshot appeared in the bedroom. Before the assassin could get another shot off, Drake leapt, sword swishing right and left. He made his mark once, twice, three times before Deadshot kicked him down to the floor. Watching Deadshot take aim as if in slow motion, Drake reached into his boot for the small dagger he always kept. Finding it, he gripped its handle, pulled it out, and threw it as hard as he could at Deadshot’s hand. It hit, sending the gun clattering across the floor. Deadshot grunted and cocked the guns mounted on his wrist gauntlets.

Drake had just enough time to get to his feet before Deadshot was ready to fire. He ran at the assassin, jumping aside as one of the gauntlets fired. The bullet grazed his ankle, but Drake didn’t stop; he dove at Deadshot and thrust his sword first into his shoulder, then into one of the gauntlets. It was now relatively easy to knock the attacker to the floor, and Drake did so, proceeding to smash the other gauntlet with his foot.

Deadshot reached up after a moment and caught hold of Drake’s foot. “You put up a much better fight than I expected, Cavalier,” he said before tossing him backwards. Deadshot rose to his feet, now unarmed. He would have to improvise—he ran to the closet before Drake could stop him and snatched up a longsword. This was better than no arms at all, but he was now in Drake’s arena.

Drake blocked Deadshot’s first strike and went under, nicking Deadshot’s stomach. Deadshot brought his sword down, but he was too slow—Drake already had his own sword above his head to block the blow. They backed away from each other for a second, then Drake charged. He feigned a straight thrust to Deadshot’s chest, but instead went down and stabbed just below the assassin’s knee. Deadshot went down on one leg but managed to parry the next blow and sink his own sword deep into Drake’s shoulder, forcing the swordsman to switch arms. Unfortunately, Drake had never been very good at fighting with his left arm.

In two minutes, the duel was over. Drake was dead, but Deadshot slit his throat anyway just to be sure. The assassin helped himself to the supplies in the deceased’s medical cabinet to tend his wounded leg, then went into the bedroom. Taking his time, he picked up all the spent shells and spackled over the bullet holes in the wall. No one would know he’d been here. No one would even know that the killer had had a gun at all. He picked up the gun Drake had knocked to the floor, then left the apartment.

February 7 commercial for the WGBS news, featuring anchorwoman Summer Gleeson: “Mortimer Drake, a recently released criminal known as the Cavalier, was found dead today in his own apartment. Full report at 10.”

February 7
10:06 PM

Deep in the Batcave, Bruce Wayne sat at his computer, watching the news on the large monitor. The Cavalier had been found murdered almost immediately following his release from Arkham. His throat had been slit, supposedly by a sword. Suicide? the Batman wondered. Didn’t seem like a very efficient way to do it, he mused, never stopping to consider how awful it was that he’d considered and compared efficient methods of homicide and suicide. Drake always was a bit of a loon, though.

Finally, he decided that suicide was doubtful. That said, he had learned never to exclude any possibility, no matter how remote.

He pulled on his mask and cape. Time to find out.

11:23 PM

The Bat-signal lit up Gotham’s night sky. The light flared in the darkness, and the people knew that a crime would soon be foiled. Of course a new one would soon follow. The vicious cycle of Gotham life continued.

Atop the Gotham City Police Department Headquarters, Commissioner James Gordon gave a start as the Batman suddenly dropped from nowhere to land next to him. Gordon wiped sloshed coffee off the lapel of his coat, grumbling, “You have to stop doing that, you know. One of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” the Batman responded quietly. “Is this about the Cavalier?”

Gordon nodded. “Mmm. I assume you’ve already been to Drake’s apartment?”

“Yes. Didn’t find a whole lot, unfortunately.”

“Well, let me know what you have,” Gordon murmured as he shut the signal off. “I want to compare your findings with the report Allen and Montoya gave me earlier.”

The Batman wrapped his cape around himself as a chill wind picked up. “I found droplets of blood in various parts of the apartment. I think most of it was Mortimer’s, but I’m having the computer run testing to be sure. There are also several signs of damage and various slash marks on furniture and the walls. Whoever killed Drake, I don’t think they had it easy. Looked like Drake put up a good fight.”

Gordon sipped his coffee, shivering as another wind lifted the ends of his coat. “Cold out here tonight. You find anything else?”

“I took the liberty of visiting the morgue to check on the body,” the Batman said. “The Cavalier was definitely killed by a sword. There are four major wounds: one is a deep stab in his shoulder, one goes in the stomach at an upward angle, one is the slit across his throat and the last straight into the heart, with a slight downward angle. I’d guess that the killer feigned a stab, Drake blocked, and the killer went under and through the stomach. He then pulled the blade out and stabbed Drake’s heart, and finished it by slitting his throat.”

Gordon nodded. “More or less what the coroner told me. Anything else? Any possible suspects?”

“I’m working on that.”

Gordon nodded again. “Great. Well, let me know what you find…” Gordon stopped abruptly. Batman had vanished. “Hmm,” Gordon said softly before heading back into the building.

February 8
12:23 AM

The Corner Store had been in business for nearly thirty years. It was a small grocery store, and not one that made huge profits, but it did well enough. The owners were kind, virtuous people, and the regular customers listed the Corner Store as another part of home.

Now it stood in flames.

Garfield Lynns, a.k.a. The Firefly, stood not a hundred feet from the blazing building, gazing at his work with pride. It had taken a few minutes, but most of the building had finally caught fire; within a couple hours, the Corner Store would likely be nothing more than an insurance claim and a memory. The Firefly was in rapture. It was by no means the most challenging fire he had ever set, nor would it be the largest. But it was fire, and that was all that mattered to the pyromanic rogue. He laughed and raised his hands in the air.

Just as the highest flame peaked in the light wind, a shadow flicked across it. The Firefly barely noticed until the shadow’s source landed just in front of him: a tall, thin, mustached man, the top half of his face covered by a large red scarf; he wore leather pants and an antiquated swordsman’s coat, and carried a long sharp sword. The man grinned and raised his sword dramatically to the Firefly’s throat. “Extinguish the flame,” the swordsman said, “or I will extinguish you.”

The Firefly took a step backward. “Who the hell are you?”

“I? I am…the Cavalier,” the swordsman said, making a sweeping gesture with his blade as he leapt lightly atop a nearby crate. The Cavalier cast an imposing shadow, so near now to the fire. Firefly slowly reached for the flame-thrower on his back. “Ah-ah-ah,” the Cavalier said, waving his finger back and forth. He somersaulted off the crate, coming to his feet beside the Firefly, and cut the hose connecting the flame-thrower to the fuel pack on the bug’s back.

The Firefly looked down at his gun and pressed the trigger a couple of times, to no effect. He looked back up at the grinning face of the Cavalier. The sword was again at his neck, and the Firefly felt it pierce the rubber of the suit he wore. Sweat began to pour down his face, and his goggles steamed over from the excess heat of nervousness.

“I’ve called the fire and police departments. They should be here momentarily,” the Cavalier said, drawing a small red line on the Firefly’s neck with his sword. “If you would be so good as to surrender…well, I would be most pleased.” The grin again.

Slowly, the Firefly lifted his hands to his head and slid his helmet off. “All right,” he said. “I surrender. Just don’t—don’t kill me.”

The Cavalier laughed. He swiftly cut a line across the Firefly’s face from his forehead to his lower lip. “Let that be a lesson to you,” the swordsman said to the screaming Firefly. As police lights appeared in the distance, the Cavalier tied Firefly’s hands behind his back and sat him down on the curb. He looked up as the police cars and two fire trucks pulled up to the burning building. The flashing lights and the fire all made for spectacular lighting…

In less than an hour, the fire fighters, with the Cavalier’s help, had the fire put out, though the Corner Store was now ruined. The Cavalier himself shoved the Firefly into a waiting squad car. Several police officers gathered around to talk to him.

“Thanks a lot for your help, sir…what was your name?” a rookie named Thompson asked. A small news crew gathered behind him.

The Cavalier grinned, moving into the news camera’s focus, letting the squad car lights play on his face. “I am called the Cavalier,” he said. “Let the villains of Gotham beware, for I am here to protect the innocent with a blade of justice and truth.” He narrowed his eyes and held his sword up before his face. “Those who live by the sword…shall be brought to justice by the sword.” With that, he threw a thin rope onto the roof of a building behind him, climbed up, and disappeared.

“Looks like we’ve got a new one, Sergeant,” Thompson said as Bullock walked over to him.

Bullock frowned. “Ah, they’re all freaks,” he growled, biting into a donut. “But at least this one cleans up after his messes.”

Batman sat on the chimney of a toyshop two blocks from what had been the Corner Store. He had seen the whole thing and already laid out the most probably route the Cavalier would take. Sure enough, he could see the Cavalier leap from a rooftop two structures away as he came toward the toyshop. The Batman stood as the Cavalier arrived. “Hello,” he said a moment later.

The Cavalier stared for a minute, obviously startled to see the Dark Knight here before him. “Good evening, my friend,” he said smoothly, overcoming his hesitation. “It’s exhilarating to meet you, Batman. You’re a legend, after all.”

Batman didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “You call yourself the Cavalier?”

“Yes,” the Cavalier said, nodding. “I do.” He felt the need to fill the uneasy silence. “Is…that a problem?”

“No,” the Batman replied tersely. “Surely you’ve seen the news?”

The Cavalier smiled faintly. “Alas, I have not. I’ve been out protecting your city for the past few hours.”

“There was a man. A criminal, he called himself the Cavalier. He was a swordsman as well. He had just been released from Arkham yesterday when he was murdered.” The Batman watched the Cavalier’s face carefully. “He was killed…with a sword.”

“That is tragic,” the Cavalier said. “But as you say, he was a criminal.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “No one deserves death.”

“Of course not…but he did choose his own path,” the Cavalier said, shaking his head sadly. “Surely you have no problem with my using the name…especially now that the original is…deceased?”

“I suppose not,” the Batman said. There really wasn’t any reason that this man could not use the name; Batman did not know why it bothered him. No, scratch that—he knew why. Surely this man had been Drake’s murderer. He had to be. It was too big a coincidence otherwise. But still…there was something about this man, something…nostalgic. The sword, the showmanship, the mystery. The night his parents had died, they had gone to see a movie…The Mark of Zorro? That was it.

“But I have to know that you’re going to serve my city well,” Batman said quietly. Maybe…maybe it was just a coincidence… “Do not betray her.”

The Cavalier bowed. “Fear not, good Knight. Gotham couldn’t be in safer hands than mine—save yours, of course.” The Cavalier smiled. “We’re not all that different, you and I. At heart, we’re both showmen. Just of a different type.”

“A different type?”

“Of course. You, with your black and gray, always using the shadows; sort of a ‘noir’ type, if you will.” He smiled again as he turned away toward the edge of the roof. “You’re a classical anti-hero, Batman. Me? Well, I’m just a hero.” The Cavalier gave a quick salute with his sword, and jumped.

Batman watched as the Cavalier swung on a rope and landed on a windowsill of a building across the street. He tossed back a salute and left.

2:02 AM

There is a building in Gotham called Parkview Apartments. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Well…it’s a crummy, run-down building just outside Gotham’s slums. The apartments are falling apart, the electricity goes out at least twice a month, half of the apartments are pending condemnation, and running water is a luxury on the second floor. The rent is cheap, though, and that’s why Hudson Pyle chooses to live on the top floor. His is the nicest apartment in the building, though that’s not saying much. Pyle keeps it as well furnished as he can, and tries to keep everything in running order. He likes to pretend that the apartment isn’t that bad at all, that he’s not poor.

Hudson Pyle is an actor. Unfortunately, he’s out of work.

He’s not completely unheard of. No, several posters (six plays, one movie) that decorate his walls list his name in their credits; one of them is from his title role in the underground show The Swordsman. It was very popular among college students. But unfortunately, none of these plays were ever successes, and that single movie was a flop.

But Pyle refuses to give up. Pyle is an actor in his soul. He’s a showman. He was born for limelight. It is the only thing he would ever consider as a career. Pyle would do anything for fame and success as an actor.

One of the posters fluttered in the sudden breeze as the window on the opposite wall opened and Pyle climbed inside the apartment. He shut the window before moving to poster to stick it back to the wall with a new thumbtack.

Sighing, Pyle removed the scarf from his head and set it on the table in the corner of the room along with his sword and scabbard. Sitting down on the couch, he took off his boots, stretched, and took a drink from the glass of water that had been sitting near the couch since sometime earlier that day.

It had been fun. Playing the Cavalier, catching the Firefly…it had been fun. A lot more fun than he had expected, actually. He had also prevented a robbery and taught some kids about drugs before they made a horrible mistake. What a thrill…he had never known that doing good could be so exciting. Oh, and the Batman! Nothing like he had expected! He had thought, surely the Batman must be a very theatric person, very dramatic and just…just larger-than-life. He wasn’t. The Batman was very reserved, quiet, as though he were unspeakably angry about something he couldn’t really talk about. Fascinating.

The plan was working perfectly, he thought as he stood and walked to the poster of The Swordsman. Soon, he would have the public’s full attention (they would like him, he could already tell) and then he could reveal himself as Hudson Pyle—actor extraordinaire! No more starving actor then; producers would rush to his door to beg him to play roles. It was the perfect plan…wasn’t it?

But, there was this other Cavalier thing. The original. He didn’t know there had ever been a criminal called Cavalier, and now the man was dead, and here Pyle was, using his name and gallivanting about with a sword no less! It was worrying, but there was even more: a quick perusal of the day’s newspaper told the details of the crime, that the Cavalier had most likely died in a duel of swords! Oh, if ever an unfortunate thing could happen to an actor, this was it—for it surely put him at the top of the list of suspects.

No, must not think that way. He hadn’t killed the original Cavalier, and truth always prevailed. Didn’t it? He knew this wasn’t true but decided to believe it anyway. He had to. It was too late to go back; he couldn’t change his name now.

Damn, he thought. Life’s a bitch sometimes.

9:46 AM

Bullock cringed as Gordon’s fist slammed down on the desktop.

“You mean to tell me you had a suspect right there and you just let him go?!” Gordon shouted angrily. He pushed his chair out from under his desk and stood up. In the small office, he was an intimidating figure. “You, of all people, let a guy in a mask just walk away?”

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Bullock said, raising his arms. “Nobody told me Drake’d been murdered, all right? And we don’t exactly crack down on the mask and tights set around here.”

Gordon realized he’d earned the crack and decided to let the insubordination slide. “Fine. Fine, whatever. Just…don’t let him go next time. Right now he’s our prime suspect.”

Bullock frowned. “You think the new guy killed the old guy?” Gordon shrugged non-committally. “Hmm...” Bullock continued, “could be. Guy’d have to be unhinged to think that getup looks good.”

“Maybe,” Gordon said. “Batman met him, though. He says it may just be a coincidence.”

Bullock gritted his teeth. “They’re both freaks, Commish. They gotta stick together, right?”

“I don’t know, Harvey,” Gordon replied absently. “You may be right. I can’t help feeling Batman’s wrong on this one.”

February 11
8:01 PM

“Good evening, Gothamites, and welcome to ‘Gotham Buzz’! I’m your host, Awdrey Gore, and tonight we’re going to be talking about the hottest man in Gotham: the Cavalier! You’ve all read the newspaper and seen the news spots on TV. The Cavalier is Gotham’s new hero. A poll conducted at gothambuzz.com shows that almost 70% of Gothamites like this new swashbuckler more than they ever loved the Batman, despite the fact that he tops the list of suspects in the murder of Mortimer Drake, the original Cavalier.” The visual switched from Awdrey Gore to a series of cuts from interviews with everyday Gothamites.

“Yeah, I like the Cavalier,” Clayton Tooley said. “He makes justice fun again.”

“The Cavalier is so sexy,” a teenage girl gushed. “I mean, that mustache, and those cheekbones—oh, and you know what they say about a man with a long sword, don’t you?”

Erik Fromme: “The Cavalier? He’s all right, I guess. At least he’s not as dark as that Batman guy. If he’s real.”

“I would love to cast him in my upcoming film, Mighty Drunken Power Rangers,” said director Tobias Christopher.

Then came a shot of a large crowd holding a banner reading “WE © the Cavalier!” On a count of three, the crowd screamed “We love you, Cavalier!”

“I dunno. I just wanna, like, have sex with him,” a short girl with a pierced lip and pink hair slurred.

Back to Awdrey Gore. “There you have it—Gotham loves the Cavalier! Maybe our dark city has finally found a White Knight.”

February 12
10:46 PM

The Bat-signal blazed in the night sky once again, both frightening and reassuring Gotham’s citizens once again. Within moments of its activation, the Batman arrived to answer. Commissioner Gordon nodded in greeting. “Remember I told you I might have something else for you?” he said. “Well, we’ve had two deaths in the last week that almost have to be related.” He handed the Batman a file containing a few pictures and documents. “Bill Sprang, killed on February 5, and Richard Finger, killed February 8.”

Batman perused the files for a few seconds. “Both directors of the Reed Galleries. Expensive art.”

“Mm-hmm. There’s only one director left, Batman. He’s undoubtedly the next victim.”

“Robert Kane,” Batman mused. “I assume you’ve placed him in protective custody?”

Gordon sighed and adjusted his glasses. “We tried. He won’t accept it.”

Batman looked up, slight confusion etched in his face. “Why not?”

“Well…he says he doesn’t trust cops. He’ll only allow the Cavalier to protect him.”

Surprise registered now in the Batman’s expression. “Have you satisfied yourself that the new Cavalier isn’t a killer himself?”

Gordon groaned. “Not really, although you seem pretty sure. But you try telling Kane that; he won’t have it. Thinks the Cavalier is the best thing to ever happen to this city.”

Gordon thought he saw Batman wince at the last statement. Was that…jealousy? he wondered. Was Batman upset because this new Cavalier was stealing his limelight?

If so, he’d never admit it. Turning, Batman finally replied. “I hope he’s right.” He was out the window before Gordon could answer.

11:28 PM

The estate of Robert Kane was not a large one, but neither was it so small that the Cavalier neglected perimeter checks. He walked through the lavish garden to the east of the house, paying careful attention to areas where would-be assassins might be able to hide. He didn’t know for certain if an attack on Kane would occur tonight, but if it did, he wanted to be ready. He wouldn’t let Kane die—not on his watch.

“I hope the attackers aren’t as good as I am,” a voice said from behind the Cavalier. He whirled around, sword ready, and was relieved when he saw that it was Batman.

“I’m sure they won’t be,” the Cavalier replied, casually tossing his sword back in its scabbard. “After all, they say no one is as good as you are.”

Batman closed most of the distance between them. “Maybe not. But you can’t count on that. And you never know—the killer might be a Meta.”

“You are right,” the Cavalier said. “But I believe I am quite able to handle nearly anything that might threaten Robert Kane. After all, were that not true, he wouldn’t have selected me for his guard.”

“Kane has never been noted for his intelligence. He just has a lot of money,” the Batman growled. “Regardless, I sneaked right by you easily, and for all you know, someone has slipped in and killed Kane while you were talking to me.”

The two masked men stared at each other for a minute. The Cavalier knew now his earlier judgment about Batman being angry was probably right. The question now was—was he angry enough to unleash it now, on the Cavalier? He nodded curtly and sprinted back to the house. Batman followed a few seconds later.

Batman entered Kane’s house to find it nearly pitch dark. He followed the sound of the Cavalier’s footsteps and found him at the doorway of Kane’s bedroom. “He’s asleep,” the Cavalier said, peering into the dimlit room. “I can hear him breathing.” Batman tapped the swordsman on the shoulder, turned, and walked out into the den, with the Cavalier right behind him.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Batman whispered.

The Cavalier rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and smiled. “Of course.”

“Let me help you. I’ve sent Batgirl out on patrol tonight; I’ll stay here and help you watch over Kane.”

The Cavalier bowed low. “Such a gracious offer! Of course, you may remain. The two of us are more likely to keep him from harm if we work together.” He extended his right hand. “Partners?”

The Batman eyed him warily for a moment before taking his hand and shaking. “For now,” he said.

The window in the next room shattered suddenly. The Batman and the Cavalier rushed toward the noise and were met in the hallway by a short but muscled man in black. He carried three or four guns and a knife, and seemed just as startled as the two vigilantes.

Batman moved first, throwing a punch at the assassin. The man was fast, though—he ducked under the punch and rolled behind the Batman. The Cavalier dove at him; unfortunately, just as the assassin’s foot came up, right into the Cavalier’s ribs.

The assassin ran, and nearly made it to Kane’s bedroom before the Batman’s grapple line wrapped around his legs, bringing him down hard. The Cavalier got to his feet and went over to the attacker, picking him up by the shirt collar. “Who sent you?” he hissed. The man didn’t talk. The Batman pulled the mask off the assassin’s face, revealing no one he recognized. The assassin spat in the Cavalier’s face.

The Cavalier shouted, throwing the assassin at the wall. The man hit and slid down into a sitting position. He grinned nastily. “My name’s John. That’s all you get from me, Zorro.”

The Cavalier seethed as he wiped the spit from his face on his sleeve. Just then, Kane emerged from his bedroom. “What’s going on out here?” he asked angrily.

“We’re protecting you, Mr. Kane,” the Cavalier said with a smile. He gestured at John, who was now in the hands of the Batman.

“Who sent you?” the Batman yelled. “Talk!”

John looked away from the Batman, indignant, stubborn. “I’m not going to tell you. Just give it up. Take me to jail if you want, but I’m not going to talk to superheroes.” He fairly spat the last word, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“You will talk!” the Cavalier screamed. He rushed forward, sword held in front of him threateningly. He thrust the weapon forward in an attempt to frighten the assassin. “Talk. Now!”

John never got a chance to answer. The Cavalier’s sword had gone through his eye and straight into his brain.

“Oh, lord,” Kane said, horrified. He’d never actually seen someone die before.

If the Cavalier had thought that the Batman seemed angry before, it was nothing compared to the look the Dark Knight gave him now. “I’m…I’m sorry,” the Cavalier said weakly, backing away. “It was an accident. It really was…” He turned and ran out of the house as fast as he could.

The Batman’s lips formed a thin, hard line. He had been suckered. Taken in by the nostalgic appearance and attitude of the Cavalier. And now, those memories, those ideals, were tarnished.

Had he been wrong all along about other things, too? Could this new Cavalier have killed his predecessor after all? Batman left the house a few seconds later, intent on finding the Cavalier and bringing him to justice.

To Be Continued...

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