The Further Adventures of Batman (31 page)

Dr. Amicia Sollis had words for the words. “ ‘Foolscap’ is a size of writing paper large enough to twist-and-paste into a dunce cap. It gets its name from a watermark in the form of a jester’s cap with bells. ‘Drown an eel in a pond’ is of course the Gothamites’ playing at being fools. ‘Come and be conned’ invites Batman to be suckered by a con—or confidence—game. Then, too, there’s ‘conn’ with a double en, from cond for conduct; ‘to take the conn’ is to take over the steering of a vessel, to watch its course and direct the helmsman.”

“Then Batman has only to find the fool, the eel, and the pond.”

“You got it.” Amicia dug into the sole. “This is delicious.”

But Wayne had lost his appetite. Glumly, without thinking, he sipped water.

CLICK! A light bulb went on in his head.

He held the glass to the light of the chandeliers. Water was the key.

Could the Riddler’s “pond” be the yacht basin? Could the Riddler’s “eel” be the
Île de Joie
? Could the “fool” be Jack King?

Batman would go and take the conn.

Alfred looked flushed but defiant. “Master Dick is in his room unpacking.”

Wayne shot Alfred a look and made for his protege’s room. Dick Grayson looked fit save for signs of jet lag.

They thumped one another, then Wayne eyed Dick keenly. “I thought you planned to hike through the highlands on your Easter holiday. What gives?”

Dick shrugged. “Alfred called me last night and said that you had let yourself go in your preoccupation with the Riddler. I figured you could use my help, so I Concorded right over.”

“I’ll speak to Alfred later. But I must admit I feel surer and stronger now that you’re here. Let’s change, and I’ll fill you in on our way to the yacht basin.”

Batman pedaled to the Batmobile’s metal. The sleek vehicle whizzed through Gotham’s canyons.

SCREEEECHHH!!!

Only their seat belts saved them.

Robin turned to stare at Batman. “Why did you brake?”

“It hit me. I
am
being conned by the Riddler. Jack King is not his target. In fact, Jack King is the mastermind behind the Riddler’s attempts on the Wise Men of Gotham.”

He ticked off on black-gloved fingers. “First, the floating corpse with the tattooed Riddler rhyme had been an art student mixed up in something mysterious at the time he turned up missing. That mysterious something could well have been the copying of a particular painting—the $86 million Rembrandt. Second, that would explain Jack King’s curious composure when the Riddler vandalized
The Would-Be Bride
—Jack King was exhibiting not the original but a recently painted copy. Because, third, I noticed a faint smudge on Detective Sergeant Heather Mortimer’s forearm after she pulled the dart from the canvas. The paint had not yet dried hard! Four, the Riddler found it awfully easy to get on and off the
Île de Joie.
Five, the Wise Men the Riddler has been after have all stood in Jack King’s juggernaut path.”

Batman made a fist. “It adds up.”

Robin nodded. “Seems to. But now what?”

Batman eased out of the Batmobile. “You cover the
Ile de foie
just in case the Riddler is pulling a double con.”

Robin shifted to the driver’s seat. “While you—?”

“Look for the right eel in the right pond.”

“Good fishing!”

Robin’s voice thinned away on the Batmobile’s exhaust.

Batman moved to the sidewalk, looking for a newsstand—a bit late, now, to be scanning the paper for some hint as to where the Riddler might strike.

Robin slowed as he neared the yacht basin. He spotted the
Île de Joie
and parked the Batmobile in a space preserved by fluorescent-orange traffic cones. It struck him that they looked like dunce caps.

“Keep the change,” Batman said absently. He was already perusing the paper.

“Gee, thanks Batman!” the blind newsstand operator said.

Batman gave a start. “How do you know who I am?”

“Who else wears a cape these days? I heard the swirl.”

“Oh.” Batman moved away, reading as he walked.

The paper was thicker than usual for a weekday. It had a special Boat Show section.

Batman stopped in his tracks.

“You all right, Batman?” the newsstand operator called.

“Fine, fine.” Batman hurried away.

He headed for Exposition Center, the venue of the Boat Show.

It all fell into place. “Fool’s cap for a crown.” Foolscap was paper. Gotham City’s leading newspaper, the one in Batman’s hands, was the crown of Rudolph Newkirk’s media empire. Rudolph Newkirk stood in Jack King’s way, therefore representing a Wise Man for the Riddler to bump off. According to the special section, which must have brought the paper millions in advertising revenue, Rudolph Newkirk would be at the Boat Show this evening.

Batman quickened his pace.

Exposition Center had ways of ingress unknown to ticket buyers.

Batman made entry into the labyrinthine basement of the complex, Others had done so before him. As he moved through the vaulted chambers he glimpsed shadowy forms in the dim recesses. Scores of the homeless had taken up residence here.

He moved carefully and quietly to keep from disturbing them. Even so, some stirred and muttered at his passage.

“YOWW!” Skeletal hands with dirty claws waved threateningly in his face, red eyes glared into his, and foul breath assailed his nostrils. A ragged figure, thick with layers of clothes rather than with meat on its bones, had sprung out of an alcove at him. The raspy voice followed up on its shout. “Stay away! This is
my
place!”

Batman gestured placatingly. “Right! It’s all yours!”

He made to pass by, but the claws gripped his cape at the throat and held him fast and the red eyes bored into his. “You wear a mask, but I’ve seen those eyes. Where have I seen those eyes?”

Batman tore free and shoved the man as gently as he could back into the precious alcove. “I don’t know, my friend. We’ll have to puzzle that out another time. Right now I’m on urgent business.” He hurried on toward stairs going up.

He did not notice that the ragged figure followed him, fear and fascination in its bloodshot eyes.

On the exhibition floor, a vast arena filled with boats of all sizes and decked with flags and bunting, Batman hid himself from the crowd behind a motorboat booth and studied a program sheet he had picked up. Rudolph Newkirk’s name jumped out at him. The publisher was scheduled to award best-of-show trophies at ten o’clock—a quarter of an hour from now. The handing out was to take place at the Caribbean display.

The reverse of the program sheet had a map that showed the Caribbean display to be a detailed scale model of the Caribbean area—clay islands in a steel-framed pool of water. Batman stretched to see over the crowd and found the display where the map put it—at the other end of the hall.

Batman consulted the program again. Just before Rudolph Newkirk’s big moment, an expert from Anguilla in the Leeward Islands would demonstrate spearfishing in the same display. Batman’s synapses sparked. Anguilla meant eel or snake. L-e-e was e-e-l backwards . . .

Crews from the local channels were already setting up lights and television cameras, clearing space for the thick cables snaking across the floor.

Nearby, on a bench for the weary of soles, a woman sat embroidering away with a long-eyed sharp needle and worsted yarn, as if waiting patiently for her man to get his fill of the exhibits.

Batman only had eyes for the Anguillan spearfisher, a bronzed man wearing goggles and swimming trunks. Speargun in hand, he waded calf-deep into the pool, stirring up the live fish swimming there. He mounted the replica of his native island, and balanced on this tiny foothold. Now Batman saw Newkirk arrive with an entourage and stand in the wings. How easy it would be for the spearfisher (the Riddler in disguise?) to kill Newkirk as the one left the spotlight and the other entered it!

Batman edged around to the Caribbean display. He stood next to the bench where the woman—who might have been Mme. Defarge knitting as the guillotine lopped heads—sat working needle and yarn through an embroidery hoop.

A sprightly program chairwoman introduced the spearfisher as Captain Jacoby. In an accent of the Islands, Captain Jacoby described the technique, then speared some half-dozen wriggling blowfish in rapid order.