Batsignal

"Missing? How?" I asked suspiciously.

There is some doubt that Bats was just a little late in the night hunting, otherwise Alfred, despite his good treatment of us, would hardly have come in the middle of the night.

"The master has traveled to the site of his great-great-grandfather's death and has been out of contact for four hours.

"Well, maybe it's not that bad. I mean, what's keeping him? He's not a kid to start worrying after a couple hours. Heh, what if he's on a date?

"I'd be glad to... I know I sound incredibly stupid, but I have a bad feeling about this," the older Briton said frustratedly, hypnotizing the cup of hot drink in his hands. - This isn't the first time the Master has dropped off the radar, but it's the first time it's happened so suddenly, and he was able to pick up the trail of the Court of Owls before he did. I'm afraid they didn't like the attention.

"So, from this point on, - I picked up, I still have to rescue the captured Leroy, and information about the mysterious organization will not be superfluous.

"Ahem, maybe we should go straight to the place of the last contact?" the butler suggested cautiously.

"Uh, no.

Harley, sitting next to me, glared at me indignantly. I could feel her telepathically broadcasting: "I don't give a shit about Mouse, but at this rate we'll be left without awesome pies! Deny me somehow more tactfully!"

"It's been a long time, so whoever was able to incapacitate Bats definitely took care of the tracks. And I'm not going in there without training, anyway, so tell me what happened, preferably in detail. Not here, but in the workshop," I said, hurriedly reassuring them.

While Harley and I changed and checked our gear, Alfred told us about the epic adventures of the Dark Knight, and there was a lot to listen to.

To start with, this morning, the superhero paid a visit to the injured March Lincoln. I knew that from the news, but what I didn't know was that the mayoral candidate had received a warning two weeks ago in the form of a real owl that had taken up residence in a locked closet in his home. I don't know how the Greatest Detective's brain works, but he somehow managed to connect this event, the old legends of Judgment, and superstitions about the number thirteen. It turns out that in Gotham, about a century and a half ago, the construction firms belonging to the Alan Wayne Foundation, created to financially support young architects, had a strange tradition of not building the thirteenth floor. But if you don't build it at all, it is logical that the fourteenth floor would actually be the thirteenth floor, and to avoid this the founder came up with an "elegant" solution: to deliberately create a small empty space with no entrance or exit.

It's worth remembering the surprise attack in the Old Wayne Tower, which was built by Bruce's great-grandfather three times, and where it's supposedly impossible to get in unnoticed, because it's just a sea of surveillance equipment and guards... But no one could even think that someone would not just get in, but would unnoticeably set up a full-fledged lair on a floor that is not marked on the map. A bed, a shower, a toilet, a workplace, handwritten pictures of a group of people wearing white owl masks, and a pile of weapons and costumes with a familiar symbol.

Such secret hideouts turned out to be in literally every Wayne Foundation building inspected. Most of them were mothballed or abandoned, but the later the date of construction, the better equipped the secret rooms were. The last building checked, commissioned only five years ago, had a bunch of modern equipment inside and a self-destruct system that had worked to destroy the house.

"Wait," I interrupted, distracted from the small cylinder I planned to pump the gaseous potion into. - So... Bats is somewhere under the rubble? Why didn't you say so in the first place? We've got to get him out now!

"No. Master Bruce successfully escaped the trap and returned home to exhume his great-grandfather's body.

"Holy shit..." Harley and I stretched out impressed.

"Don't use language, please.

"No promises," I reply, still in shock.

Hell, I sure as hell couldn't do that. No human being, even a mega-trained one, can avoid an explosion in a confined space. There's shockwave, flames, shock elements, and-- So, we should try to get the blood of a superhero, because normal people should definitely after such a thing to drop the skates. Okay, maybe a person will miraculously survive, but they definitely won't be able to go anywhere after this.

"By the way, yes," I remembered where the conversation had started, because Bruce's relative had come up a lot, especially for a man who'd been dead for who knows how many years. - What does this have to do with Alan Wayne? Did he have something to do with the Court? Hmm, and he's the one who caused the unaccounted-for floors.

"I doubt it," Alfred answered, watching with interest as Harley, tongue hanging out, changed the battery in his bat for a better one. - He was a man of honor and wouldn't get involved with shady organizations.

The story of Mouse's distant relative turned out to be quite entertaining, for it was he who started the transformation of the city for the better (except for the gloomy architecture). Schools, hospitals, rescue services, orphanages, all built and operated on his money. He invested every minute of his free time in Gotham, sometimes staying up all day planning the budget, while he still had the management and development of a multi-million dollar company on his shoulders.

 When Alan began to say that he was being chased by owls, the people around him thought that the elderly tycoon was in a bad headache because of overwork, and then they gently suspended him from Wayne Industries, but this only made his condition worse. The man's work became less, which means there was free time to search for mysterious stalkers. Private investigators were paid a lot of money, but the results were zero. One cold November morning he finally went off the rails. Shouting, "They're in the walls!", a distant relative of Bats ran through the streets in a nightgown, scaring passersby with his appearance, until suddenly disappeared. Of course, the heirs did not ignore his words and carefully checked the walls of the estate, but found nothing but their own secret passages.

For two years, Bruce's great-great-great-grandfather was reported missing, until his naked corpse, which was hard to identify from the seals, was accidentally found in a sewer. A gruesome end, especially for a man who had been pulling Gotham uphill for most of his life: drowning deep in sewage, blood and filth from the surface...

Except there are more fucked up ways to die, like being tortured for a long time. That was the conclusion Gloomy Mouse came to after a close examination of the bones, revealing tiny holes that looked like puncture wounds. There were almost fifty of them, bringing to mind the recent case of an unknown fencing boxer. And that wasn't all the news. Chemical analysis showed the presence of a strange dust from metamorphic rocks that looked like marble, and that was rather odd since the sewer vaults are made of granite.

"After that, Master Bruce instantly packed up and went to town. There's been no contact with him since, not even through the emergency beacon," the butler finished.

"Well, now I can see why he's so trigger-happy on owls," I put my cane back in place, hopped around, checking my gadgets and magic-filled diamonds, and then glanced over at Sailor, who was also checking her equipment. - Okay, we're ready to go. Where to go?

"Master Bruce's owls are not, as you put it, "trigerrite" for that reason. Ahem, Mr. Arkham, don't you think your companion is dressed a little out of season?

"The sun?

"It's okay, Alfred, these are flesh-colored leggings," the girl pulled off a piece of thick fabric that made it unnecessary for her to break the image of a moon princess in cold weather.

"Ms. Quinzel, I can't have you out on the streets like that!

There was a pause. Harley thought deeply, hypnotizing the baseball bat with her gaze. I understood her perfectly well, if from close people my beloved is still ready to accept criticism, then from a man who is not a part of our "family", she would not tolerate such a thing. At the same time, the elderly Briton, after our return to the bosom of law-abiding citizens, treated us very well, and he had such great baked goods.

It was noticeable that the blonde was torn between two desires: to hit or not to hit, and there was no telling what would have prevailed, had she been left alone with these thoughts, as the butler deigned to continue his sentence, sensing the tense atmosphere:

"Mr. Arkham, the materials and prototype devices you ordered from WayneTech were delivered today, and there is equipment in the manor that could be used to create a stronger suit for your companion. It won't take long, but it'll give me peace of mind.

"Great! So what are we waiting for?" I moved to my beloved and took her in my arms. The girl immediately clung to me with joy, seemingly oblivious to the reason for her reverie.

"Come on, come on," I urged the hesitant man, "on the way you'll tell me why your master is so bothered by owls.

It took us a couple minutes to get to Wayne's mansion in the Aston, planning to take it to the missing superhero's location. It wasn't the wisest idea to leave the mansion in costume, and we had no access to the secret paths.

Contrary to expectations, we were taken to the usual workshop, which was in the billionaire's house itself, not the Batcave. This was also where the delivered items were located. Well, okay, the workshop was not ordinary, but advanced, but that did not cancel my disappointment, which instantly evaporated as soon as I saw the neatly folded black as the night itself, dense fabric, as if composed of small scales. While Alfred was taking measurements, consulting with the girl and uploading the data into several huge machines that occupied most of the area of the not insignificant room, I began to create the desired cloak-planer, which was able to protect even from small caliber weapons with the right approach.

"What about the Court of Owls?" I asked, checking that the battery was securely fastened, not enough for it to suddenly disconnect during planning or defense.

"I'm sorry, but it's too personal. Master Bruce will tell you himself if he wants to," the butler said, as if afraid we'd turn around and leave after he said no.

Ahh, I thought he'd just forgotten about it.

"Huh, well, now we'll definitely have to find Bats, and alive, if we want to hear the story," I tried to cheer the man up.

And I succeeded, judging by the barely audible relieved exhalation of my interlocutor, who was concentrating on the screen again, trying to create a combination he knew only to himself. I wondered what they'd done, because Harley wouldn't let me see it.

Well, back to my charms. I decided to screw on a spare battery, and also at the collar and on the corners to apply small runes of reinforcement with red indelible paint. Of course, without the full combination and magic materials, they won't do much, but they'll be a great focus spell that I can cast in a couple seconds, thanks to a bunch of charged diamonds. In the end, my craft may not be able to withstand a tank shot, but it will definitely survive a line from an assault rifle. After some thought, I asked for the exact same runes to be embroidered on Harley's outfit.

As promised, Sailor's costume was soon ready, and when the girl walked into the room, I just froze in admiration.

"What do you think?" The blonde spun on her axis, showing herself from every angle.

"You're beautiful!" I moved closer and gave her a passionate kiss.

My words were not an exaggeration, because the girl decided to change her image a bit, borrowing some elements from Diana's costume, at least, it was hinted at by the armored sylor-fuku, which became white with gold inserts. On top of that, the blonde's slender legs, shoulders and arms were now equipped with what looked like sturdy protection. A small blue cloak and a big bow in a lush mop of golden hair, which replaced the usual pigtails, added originality and innocence to the image.

Alfred still didn't seem to be very happy with the weak protection, but he admitted that this option was much better than the previous reinforced costume from the sex shop. Hmm, maybe I should change my image too, to look more like a real knight. Nobody understands the reference anyway. Okay, I'll think about that later.

Before leaving, the butler handed us an advanced navigator, a visor like the one used by the superhero himself, two transmitters for communication, and wished us good luck.

***

The all-black car with predatory contours is rushing through the streets of night Gotham, and only the driver's reaction, and a special program that activates the green traffic signal in time, prevents the transport from getting into an accident.

If you drive at full speed, it's not only a good time saver, it's also fun. Sailor agreed with me, judging by the sparkle in her eyes and the squeals of joy on the turns.

Unfortunately, the fun was over pretty quickly and we had to go down into the sewers, following Bats' trail.

My faithful assistant and I wandered the ground for almost an hour looking for any clues, using the visor that was directly connected to the Batcomputer, but even with its help we couldn't find a single trace of the Dark Knight. The superhero seemed to vaporize when he reached the resting place of his great-great-grandfather.

I tried a search spell, using the owl ninja's dagger to guide me. I had to use the most cost-effective spell possible, drawing a pentagram and limiting myself to a two-kilometer radius. Minus eight diamonds, and the result was zero. I couldn't use more at once at the moment anyway, because my seventh beginning wasn't ready for such a strain.

"Stand down," Alfred sighed heavily into the transmitter, after another wasted hour.

"Come on, don't worry, we'll find your master. We don't have anything to do yet anyway, so we're free to hang around here until morning. It's almost like walking under a moon that's hidden by clouds. Ha-ha-ha, I'd say Venice," I squinted at the sewage flowing to the left of the couple.

The best part was that Harley really didn't give a shit that we'd been wandering beneath the surface of the city for the past hour, because she was doing it hand-in-hand with me.

"I've always been struck by your optimism, but in this case it's no help," the older Briton said sadly.

Suddenly the speaker beeped briefly three times.

"What was that?" Somehow I don't think it's a low battery notification.

"Batsignal, the police are pinned down at the docks by drug dealers," Alfred replied tensely after a short pause. - There are wounded.

"Saylor, you ready for a pissing contest?

"Always!" the girl comically saluted, shaking her bow.

"Great, Alfred... Hmm, let me call you Oracle so I don't accidentally get burned.

"As you wish. Are you sure you want to be a part of this?

"Naturally!" The girl and I exclaimed in unison.

"Ahem, I think you need a little less enthusiasm for such a responsible endeavor... - again there was a pause, during which a muffled tapping was heard, as if on glass. - The route is already in your navigator. Please don't take any risks.