The Dark Knight Rises (37 page)

He huddled on the ground, wondering if this was the end.

But then the blast subsided, and he was still there. He lifted his eyes cautiously and saw the city still standing. If anything, it looked as if the blast had scoured away some of the grime that had accumulated over the years. He heard the boys on the bus shouting in excitement.

A grin broke out across his face.

He did it
, Blake realized.
He saved us all.

Army helicopters appeared in the air, coming from the mainland, and boats began to appear on the river, now that the danger had passed. Now that Batman had sacrificed himself. Blake shook his head, took out his badge, and gazed at it thoughtfully.

He threw it into the river.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“‘I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss.…’”

The gardens were blooming on the Wayne estate. Gordon read solemnly from his copy of A
Tale of Two Cities.
Lucius Fox, his arm in a sling, stood beside him, along with John Blake, whose expression was grim. A fourth man stood off to one side, lost in his own grief.

“‘I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of the descendants, generations hence. It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done.’”

Gordon closed the book. He gazed down at a simple grave, its marker bearing the name of Bruce Wayne. His throat tightened as he recited the final words.

“‘It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.’”

No official cause of death had been released
regarding the last of the Wayne dynasty. The tabloids had indulged in scandalous speculation, but nobody really paid much attention. Too many people had died during Bane’s reign of terror for even the death of Bruce Wayne to stand out. Most people simply wanted to move on and put the myriad tragedies behind them.

But for some, this was easier said than done. Gordon looked across the empty grave to the melancholy figure who completed the funeral party. Tears streamed down Alfred’s face. He looked older and more frail than Gordon remembered. He could only imagine what the man was feeling, now that he had outlived the entire Wayne family.

Lucius placed a gentle hand on Alfred’s shoulder before stepping away to give him some time alone at the grave. Gordon and Blake followed after Fox. Glancing backward in sympathy, Gordon saw the butler cross to the graves that lay next to Bruce’s: the resting places of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

“I’m so sorry,” Alfred sobbed. “I failed you. You trusted me, and I failed you.” His drooping shoulders shook with sorrow.

Gordon and Blake parted company with Fox, and then made their way to the drive in front of the mansion. Gordon turned toward the younger man.

“Can I change your mind about quitting the force?”

“No,” Blake answered. “What you said about structures. About shackles. I can’t take it. The injustice.” He gestured back toward the gardens—and
the grave. “I mean, no one’s ever going to know who saved an entire city.”

“They know,” Gordon said. “It was Batman.” Plans were already afoot to erect a granite statue of the Dark Knight in a plaza downtown. Gordon had started writing the speech he intended to deliver on the day the statue was unveiled. It was a better and more heartfelt speech than anything he had ever composed for Harvey Dent Day.

At last Gotham knew who its true hero was.

Blake quietly slipped into the office just as the lawyer was getting to the meat of the matter.

“Mr. Wayne’s will was not amended to reflect his more modest estate,” the lawyer said. “Nevertheless, there are considerable assets to be disposed of.”

A small group had gathered in the lawyer’s office for the reading of the bequests. The complications regarding Wayne’s finances had kept the estate tied up in probate for a time, but everything had finally been sorted out. The ex-cop shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place.

“The contents of the house are to be sold to settle the estate’s accounts,” the lawyer declared. “The remainder is left in its entirety to Alfred J. Pennyworth.”

Good
, Blake thought. He didn’t like the idea of the manor’s fine furniture and artwork being carted
off to market, but he figured the old butler more than deserved whatever was left over. Alfred had given his all to the Wayne family—and then some.

“The house and grounds,” the lawyer continued, “are left to the city of Gotham, on condition that they never be demolished, altered, or otherwise interfered with, and that they be used for one purpose and one purpose only: the housing and care of the city’s at-risk and orphaned children.”

A school bus pulls up in front the mansion, only a few days after the movers delivered the brand-new bunk beds. An elderly man watches as the bus disgorges dozens of wide-eyed children, who gaze in awe at the palatial edifice.

Father Reilly steps from the bus, gathers the children, and shepherds them toward the open front doors, past a freshly-erected sign bearing the new name of the household.

THE

THOMAS AND MARTHA WAYNE

HOME FOR CHILDREN

Alfred suspects his former employers would approve.

The lawyer stood and gathered up his papers. People
began to file out of the office, now that the bulk of the estate had been disposed of. The attorney gestured toward a desk in the corner, where a pretty young woman, who looked fresh out of law school, sat beside a small collection of miscellaneous envelopes, knick-knacks, and minor items of little value.

“My clerk will help anyone with the smaller correspondences and instructions…”

Blake figured that was where he came in. The clerk smiled at him as he approached the desk.

“Blake, John,” he volunteered.

She consulted her list.

“Nothing here.” Frowning, he started to step away, and then realized what the problem was. He took out his wallet and offered her his driver’s license.

“Try my legal name.”

She glanced at the ID before checking her list again.

“Yup, here it is.” She reached behind the desk and sorted through various items. After a moment, she handed him a bulging sports bag. He hefted it, more confused than ever.

What the hell is this all about?

“You should use your full name,” she suggested. “I like that name…
Robin.”

He smiled sheepishly, slightly embarrassed. He had always preferred to go by “John,” which had seemed tougher and more suitable for a cop. Then again, he wasn’t a cop any more.

He stepped away the desk, wondering what was in
the bag. He was tempted to open it right away, but decided against it. Wayne was gone, but Blake still felt obliged to protect his secrets. He owed the man that much.

The lawyer strolled over to the clerk’s desk. Leaning close to her, he lowered his voice. Blake couldn’t resist eavesdropping. Detective habits died hard.

“Any word on the missing item?”

The clerk shook her head.

“No, not yet.”

“Well, they’d better leave no stone unturned,” the lawyer said, scowling. “We can’t just put a string of pearls on the manifest as ‘lost.’”

Applied Sciences was back in business.

Fox had spent months repairing the damage from Bane’s invasion—and beefing up the security—but the underground armory looked as good as new, as did the new and remaining prototypes. Lucius intended to keep a close watch on his inventory, just in case they were ever needed again.

At the moment, a pair of technicians was inspecting the last surviving version of the Bat. The original prototype had been vaporized over the ocean, months ago, but Fox had salvaged a variant model whose components had survived Bane’s incursion. The techs were running a systems analysis from the cockpit. Both had passed a rigorous background check before
being allowed anywhere near the premises.

“Why worry about the stabilization software?” the senior tech asked impatiently. “This whole autopilot system’s obsolete.”

“Please,” Lucius said. “I just need to know what I could’ve done to fix it.”

The junior technician gave him a puzzled look.

“But, Mr. Fox, it’s already been fixed.” He called up a diagnostic display on the instrument panel. “Software patch…six months ago.”

Six months ago?

“Check the user ident on the patch,” Fox suggested.
Who on Earth?

The tech keyed in the request. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Huh? Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce?

Lucius stepped away from the aircraft, trying to conceal his reaction. An idea began to form in his mind, as clearly as an engineering diagram. A weight slowly lifted from his shoulders.

Well, as I live and breathe
…

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The woods were miles outside the city, in the middle of nowhere. Blake sat in his car, staring in confusion at the GPS device he held in his hand. The sports bag sat open on the seat beside him. A slip of paper bearing a set of coordinates rested inside, on top of some climbing ropes and other gear.

Puzzled, he double-checked the coordinates. Yep, he was heading in the right direction.

Oh, what the hell,
he thought. He’d come this far. So he exited the car, closing the bag and hefting it onto his shoulder.

The GPS guided him toward the waiting trees. Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy overhead. The forest floor crunched beneath his boots. It looked like he had a hike ahead of him.

Okay, Wayne,
he thought.
Let’s see what this is all about.

* * *

It was evening in Florence, Italy. A newspaper under his arm, Alfred strolled down to his favorite cafe. He sat down at his usual table.

“Seulement?”
the waiter asked.

“Oui,” Alfred answered.
“Fernet-Branca, s’il vous plait.”
He settled in for another quiet evening by the Arno.

The GPS led Blake to a rather impressive waterfall. A wide curtain of water cascaded down a rocky cliff face. He stared up at the falls, feeling the cool spray against his face. Then he checked the coordinates one more time.

There was nowhere to go but up.

Well
, he thought,
this explains the climbing gear, at least.

He opened the bag and uncoiled the ropes.

Commissioner Gordon stepped out onto the roof, making his nightly escape from the hubbub of the department. In the aftermath of the Bane incident, and given his part in saving Gotham, the Harvey Dent scandal had been quickly forgotten. Gordon figured he had the job for life—if he wanted it.

Along with the workload.
He carted a stack of
arrest reports under his arm.

Life was getting back to normal, but he wanted to stay on top of things. Bane had taught them all not to become complacent. There was always a storm brewing somewhere, and you never knew when or where the next one might hit. Gordon had no intention of being caught off-guard again.

Especially now that he was on his own.

Alfred sipped the drink, taking his time. Sparkling laughter and conversation drew his attention to a young couple seated one table over. A recurring fantasy tugged painfully at his heart, and he couldn’t resist peeking at their faces.

They were strangers, of course.

They always were.

Sure enough, there was a cave behind the falls.

Blake burst through the sheet of falling water and landed awkwardly on a slick limestone shelf. Climbing to his feet, he faced the mouth of the cave, which appeared to extend deep into the earth. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like the jagged fangs of a guardian beast. Apprehension warred with excitement. Wayne had led him here for a reason.

Blake sensed he was on the verge of finding out why. He ventured cautiously into the dark.

* * *

Gordon banged the files against the air duct to straighten them. His gaze drifted across the familiar rooftop, then came to an abrupt stop.

His jaw dropped, and he forgot all about the arrest reports.