BATMAN: The New Continuity

Nomoz was what the acolytes referred to as a dwarfling. His face sporting a disorderly beard, his squat body solid as a rock, he was typical of the nearly one-hundred dwarflings who populated the cathedral. They were mostly laborers, sometimes soldiers, always amongst the most lowly of the servants of St. Dumas.

Compared to his fellow dwarflings, Nomoz's life had been a fortunate one. He had carved for himself an important role in the Order, working closely with the acolytes, assisting in the training of Azrael, always doing his utmost to provide respectable leadership to his fellow dwarflings, always working to improve their station within the cathedral.

Despite his reasonably high standing in the Order, Nomoz was still required to live with the rest of the dwarflings on the first floor, far from the chapel, far from the library, far from any of the cathedral's other sacred areas. It didn't matter, really; Nomoz seldom paid the arrangement any mind. He was a dwarfling. He lived with other dwarflings. That was life. Now, Nomoz sat in his quarters, nestled in a secluded corner, a copy of Canterbury Tales held in his meaty hands. Also here were Grimoz and Mennon, the dwarflings with whom Nomoz shared the room, both of whom were currently eating.

Nomoz looked up from the book, eyes narrowed with annoyance. "Chew more quiet, eh?" he asked Grimoz, who looked up at Nomoz with a thin line of soup running down his fat lower lip and into his beard. "I'm trying to read."

Grimoz turned away from Nomoz indifferently, taking another slurp of soup, then chomping a large mouthful from a hunk of bread. "I'm trying to eat," he replied, barely comprehensible, as he chewed.

"You eat too," Mennon said gruffly, in between bites of soup-sopped bread, "or else you get soft." He took the bread into his mouth and chuckled weakly to himself. "Lose important job of yours, eh? Make St. Dumas angry." Mennon grinned and slapped Grimoz in the arm, who apparently shared his amusement and laughed along.

Nomoz gave a frustrated sigh and turned back to the pages of the book, trying hard to concentrate. His roommates rarely took more than a few minutes to finish a meal; he resolved to wait them out.

The door to the room shook as it was pounded from the outside. Grimoz and Mennon looked up from their soup and bread and demanded, almost in unison, "What?"

"Open!" came the crude voice of another dwarfling from the other side.

Nomoz put the book down and stood as an irked Mennon got up from his spot on the floor and started for the door. "What?" Mennon demanded again when he opened the door.

It was Calvoz behind the door, one of the three dwarflings who dwelled in the adjacent room. "They summon us to top floor," he informed Mennon, Grimoz, and Nomoz, curtly, and walked off quickly to the left.

Mennon took a step out the door and looked after Calvoz. "For what?" he demanded.

"No questions! Just obey!" came Calvoz's answer, which made Nomoz step up to the door behind Mennon and put his thick hand on his fellow dwarfling's shoulder.

"Go," Nomoz said, and tried to step past Mennon. Mennon braced Nomoz with his arm and stopped him from taking another step.

"Why?"

Nomoz shoved Mennon's arm down and looked him in the eye. "There are invaders in the cathedral. We are called on for help, maybe."

Nomoz stepped past Mennon's arm and started down the hall. "Invaders?" he heard Mennon ask from behind. "Who? How do you know?" Nomoz didn't answer, just walked through the door at the end of the hallway and started up the steps behind his fellow dwarflings.

Nightwing pulled the drawer labeled GRAYSON - HUDLER up out of the filing cabinet. The cabinet shook violently, the door it helped to barricade rocked by the force of the acolytes outside. Nightwing lost his balance, fell forward. He instinctively held onto the drawer, which hit the corner of the cabinet beneath his weight and broke immediately into several pieces, the files it held sliding all across the floor. "Goddammit!"

Batman looked to him immediately. "What?"

Nightwing started to his feet. "It's--" Another blow to the door staggered him down again, and caused the bracing cabinet to crack loudly. "Nothing, nevermind." The barricade started to give. Another fierce blow from the outside triggered another severe crack in the brace, which was now visibly buckling between the other cabinet and the wall.

"Clark," Batman started into his microphone, "I'm going to need you to get us out of here -- but not yet."

"Fine," Superman answered, "I'll be listening for your word."

As he reached into his utility belt, Batman stepped over to Nightwing's side of the cabinets and stood near the two torches that hung from that wall, lighting the room. "Grab the robes and put one on either side of the door," he ordered Nightwing in a calm, flat tone that in no way betrayed the gravity of the situation. Nightwing hopped-to, grabbing the acolyte robes they'd worn and dropping them on either side of the filing cabinet that barricaded the door.

From a compartment in his utility belt behind his cape, Batman pulled a small, square yellow flask, across the top of which was a thin green stripe. He pulled the cap off and began to douse the robes with the clear liquid inside. "Start pulling those drawers out," Batman ordered. "Break them up, put them on the robes. Throw the files on, too."

Nightwing did so, pulling drawers, emptying them onto the robes, then splintering them against the floor and dropping them like kindling over the doused fabric. "What is that? Ethylbenzene?" he asked as Batman replaced that flask and pulled another, this one with a blue stripe across the top, and began to douse the wood and paper atop the robes.

"Ethylene," Batman answered curtly. "The first was benzene." He put the second flask back onto his belt and turned to the first torch. He took it from the wall, handed it to Nightwing, then took the second one himself. "Back up," he instructed. When he and Nightwing were against the back wall, he said into the microphone, "You'll have to come around and break through this outside wall, Clark."

"Understood."

"And hurry up," Nightwing added, "because I have a sneaking suspicion the room will be on fire."

The door shook again with a blow from the outside, and the bracing cabinet against the wall snapped in half. The door opened six inches after another blow. Batman tossed his torch across the room. It landed on one of the ethylbenzene-doused piles, and the pile burst almost explosively into flames. The force of ignition, and the sudden heat, drove Batman and Nightwing back against the wall. A moment later, Nightwing tossed his torch, although it was a pointless gesture -- the pile on the other side of the door had already ignited.

"Now, Clark," Batman said, his voice urgent but in control.

Nightwing heard an explosive crash from beyond the room. It was a reassuring sound. The stones of the room's back wall shook a moment later, and Nightwing felt something strong grip his waist and pull him backwards out of the cathedral.

On the snowy ground an instant later, Nightwing took a step away and regarded Superman with a grateful smile. "What the hell took you so long?" he smirked.

Superman shrugged haplessly. "I did my best."

"It was the robe," Nightwing suggested, looking at the heavy acolytes' garb that still draped Superman's body. "We lost ours -- you might as well lose yours."

"That's a good idea," said Superman, almost grateful as he pulled off the robe. "Burlap never looked good on me."

They were back beside the plane that had brought them here. Batman was looking at the cathedral up the slope, and now turned to face his companions. "We need to get back inside," he said.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you . . ." Nightwing remarked.

Batman turned to him, speaking in a flat but almost chiding tone. "If we leave now, all we've done is deliver Jean-Paul back to the Order. We've accomplished nothing."

Superman looked from Batman to Nightwing and nodded. "He's right. We can't leave yet. I'm not just going to wait for them to send him to kill me again."

"You do have a point . . ." Nightwing conceded, arms folded. "But how are we getting back in there? Without repeating the last few hours?"

Batman turned away from the cathedral and appeared to simply stare at the air in front of him. "We're going to do what we should've done from the start -- use Brother Innocent."

Nightwing and Superman remained silent, shifting their gazes from the cathedral to each other and back again for the next few seconds.

"Clark, I need you to get us back into the basement, with Innocent and Jean-Paul. I can take it from there," Batman said.

"All right," Superman said with a heavy sigh, holding out both arms, one to Batman and one to Nightwing, "let's go."

Nightwing started toward Superman, shoulders slumping, giving the impression of an exhausted and profoundly disappointed child as he went. He shot a momentary glare in Batman's direction. "Someone could've suggested this a little sooner, maybe." He thought he saw Batman's eyes narrow.

Another moment, and they were gone again in a blur.

6:03 p.m. ET

An acolyte appeared at the bottom of the steps in the basement of the cathedral, starting immediately toward the hidden door, behind which still stood Brother Mercior, the recently-returned Brother Epictetus, and the honorable Brother Rollo. Having heard the footsteps, Rollo again swept swiftly over to the viewslit in the door and looked outside. Seeing that the acolyte obviously knew right where the door to the camouflaged room was, Rollo made no effort to remain silent. "Who is that?" he called insistently.

"Brother Paulson," the acolyte answered. "Is this the voice of Rollo?"

"Yes," Rollo answered sharply. "What, by Blessed St. Dumas, is happening up there?" he demanded. "There's so much pounding above me, I considered that perhaps the cathedral had fallen down on top of me!"

Brother Paulson took a moment to consider his answer (and possibly to give Rollo a bit to calm down). "The intruders escaped the top floor, great Rollo. And also, the personnel records on that floor were burned by the interlopers."

Brother Mercior, hearing this, took a step forward to stand directly behind Rollo. "They were in the records room?" he asked, in a voice loud enough for Brother Paulson to hear him.

Mercior couldn't see whether or not Paulson nodded, but a moment later the acolyte on the other side of the door gave an affirmative "Yes, Brother. They barricaded themselves from us for a short time, and set the room ablaze to make their escape. We summoned the dwarflings, but by the time they reached the top floor, the intruders had set their blaze and escaped."

"Damn them to fire," Mercior muttered under his breath, turning away from the door and walking to the back of the room, near where Brother Epictetus was standing. A moment later, he turned back around and faced the door again. "All the records were burned?"

"Yes, Brother."

Mercior gave a bitter nod and turned away from the door once more.

"Where are the intruders now?" Rollo demanded.

"Somewhere outside the castle, great Rollo," Paulson answered. "The other Brothers have sent me to request that you and Brothers Mercior and Epictetus remain here until such a time as we are certain the threat has been eliminated."

Rollo grabbed the door's handle and jerked it open. He stood face-to-face with Brother Paulson now, and was sufficiently intimidating to force the other man to shift his gaze humbly to the floor. "You've done no good against these interlopers with me tucked away down here. Perhaps with me outside this room and above this dungeon, we will fare better."

Paulson gave a respectful half-bow. "Of course, Rollo."

Rollo exited the room and made straight for the stairs, walking past Brother Innocent and Jean-Paul Valley, who were stirring slightly, bound at the hands and feet in the middle of the room. Brothers Mercior and Epictetus followed. "Mercior, come with me," Rollo ordered. "Epictetus: you and this other man -- remain here with those two," he further commanded, indicating Innocent and Jean-Paul as he started up the stairs at a brisk step.

6:08 p.m. ET

When Nomoz opened the door and looked into the stairwell, the feet of Brother Rollo were stepping past at a brisk pace. Nomoz was in time to catch Brother Mercior, though, who followed Rollo by a few steps. Mercior saw Nomoz looking at him, and stood still on the landing in front of the door. "I'll follow in a moment, esteemed Rollo," Mercior advised the leader.

"Yes, yes, but hastily," Rollo said, continuing on his way, not turning around.

"Nomoz?"

"The invaders have escaped?" Nomoz wondered, concerned.

Mercior nodded, melancholy. "That they did."

"Gone?"

"We have no reason to believe they won't return," Mercior replied. "Not even St. Dumas would be able to conjecture at their purpose in coming here at this point. Why do you ask?"

Nomoz hesitated, unsure of what he was about to say.

"Please, Nomoz," said Mercior impatiently. "I've no time to stand idle with you."

"It is true that Azrael returned with the invaders?" Nomoz asked.

Mercior nodded. "And Brother Innocent. They appear to be prisoners of the interlopers."

"Azrael is a prisoner of the Batman?"

"And Brother Innocent, yes. It appears so." Mercior sighed pessimistically. "Rollo is not pleased."

Nomoz's misshapen face took on a look of almost tender concern. "Do you know what Rollo will do? To Azrael?"

Mercior had to shake his head. He put one foot up on the next step, and spoke to Nomoz in a whisper. "When Rollo decides what he will do, then perhaps he will tell me, and then perhaps I will be at liberty to tell you. Until then, I am as ignorant on that subject as you, my friend, and indeed, as ignorant as Rollo."

Mercior could delay no longer; he climbed the steps and left Nomoz standing there.

Brother Innocent had been slipping in and out of consciousness for what must've been the last several minutes, although for him it was difficult to tell. He opened his eyes now to the dim light of the cathedral's dungeon, and saw two of his fellow acolytes standing before him, their backs to him. "Brothers," he muttered, with great effort, after trying to speak for what seemed like a long time.

The two acolytes turned and looked down on Innocent, totally neutral expressions on their faces.

"What are your names?" Innocent asked. At first he wasn't certain they'd heard him, as neither Brother made any attempt to answer the question. One of them -- the one on the left -- even turned away. "Brothers," he started again, "what are your names? I don't know you."

The one on the left turned back to Innocent for a moment, looking down on him and replying "Nor do we you, Brother," in a cold tone, then facing away from him again.

Innocent had been about to ask the Brother on the left what that meant, worried by the remoteness of the man's voice toward him. Before he could, Innocent fixed his eyes on the bottom of the stairs, where suddenly stood three figures, all clad in all-too-familiar costumes. The other two acolytes saw them, too, and looked at each other in confusion.

The moment of confusion was all that Superman needed -- the Brothers that one instant were standing guard lay unconscious on the floor the next. The Batman and Nightwing joined Superman, standing over Innocent, a few seconds later. "Stand up," Batman ordered gruffly. When Innocent made no attempt to stand immediately after Batman had spoken, the cowled figure leaned down and pulled him roughly to his feet.

Nightwing took Innocent by the arm and held him there while the Batman knelt over one of the unconscious acolytes and began to remove his robe.

The Batman stood with his back to Innocent and donned the robe, pulled back his cowl and put the hood up, pulling it forward to shroud his face. "No cowl?" Nightwing asked him.

The Batman shook his head. "Too conspicuous, even beneath the hood. We're not hiding this time," he replied. He removed the robe of the other acolyte, as well, tossing it at Innocent. The garment fell on the floor at Innocent's feet. "Put that on," Batman ordered.

Faced with poor odds for rebellion, Innocent reluctantly wore his unconscious Brother's robe. When the garb was on him, Batman took Innocent's arm from Nightwing and directed him toward the stairs. As they went, Batman said, "You two stay down here with Jean-Paul. I'll try to return -- but keep track of me, in case something unforeseen happens."

Innocent walked up the stairs beside the Batman. As they went, he was certain he heard Nightwing remark, "At this point, it wouldn't really be too unforeseen, would it?"

6:11 p.m. ET

Brother Mercior sat in the pew behind Brother Rollo in the chapel. The fire in the records room had been extinguished, but the smell of smoke and burnt chemicals was still heavy in the air all over this floor of the cathedral. The smell was not as bad in the chapel as on the rest of the floor -- there was a noticeable hole in one of the chapel walls, exposing the room to the elements. The hole had been covered by hanging several blankets in front of it, but the effect, other than covering up the hole, was essentially nil.

"They're still in here somewhere, you know," Rollo said. His tone was slow, considered, calculating. "Escaped, did they? Oh, certainly. I don't dispute that, not even for a moment. But I know it -- they're here somewhere. They've not left yet. I know it. They won't leave -- not until they've gotten what they came for. Like gypsies, like gypsies . . ."

Mercior leaned forward and spoke to Rollo in a soft, respectful near-whisper. "Our options would seem to be limited," he suggested. "Not knowing their objectives in coming here, it's difficult to predict where they'll be trying to go. They could conceivably be hiding from us in our own corridors, wearing our own robes."

Rollo leaned forward in his pew; Mercior knew the man well enough to know that he also narrowed his eyes in that same moment. "One of them has already been dressed in our robes for some time," Rollo said, his voice so low and thin, it took on an almost reptilian tone, "whether we -- or he -- knew it or not."

After an uncomfortable hesitation, Mercior wet his lips with his tongue and said, "I wonder if perhaps you've judged Brother Innocent too harshly. He is a prisoner of these interlopers -- a pawn of our enemies, perhaps, more than an ally of them."

Rollo turned around suddenly in his pew, staring sharply, angrily at Mercior. "The moment he realized that his only other option would be to cooperate with the enemies of St. Dumas, he should have ended his despicable life," Rollo spat out, his eyes burning a hole through Mercior. "It is a harsh, selfless, necessary duty. To our security. And one that you, incidentally, share with all your Brothers."

"And you, esteemed Rollo?" Mercior asked, summoning the insolence (or perhaps the courage) to put a pointed tone on the question. "Do we share that duty with you, as well?"

Rollo regarded Mercior steadily, his gaze unshaken. "Pray to the Lord and to St. Dumas that that question need never be answered, my Brother."

Mercior said nothing for a moment. He took a breath, and asked, "What of Azrael, my leader?"

"He has failed," Rollo answered immediately, coldly, "exhausted his final opportunity. His fate is that of his father's, only it shall come at the hands of his own brothers." After that, Rollo was quiet for a long time. Finally, inhaling deeply, he stood from his seat and walked up to the front of the chapel. From there, he turned to his left and started toward a door on that side, a heavy wooden door with a solid lock. "Go to the basement and bring Brother Innocent to me. I'll see him in twenty minutes, no sooner," Rollo said, not looking at Mercior again before reaching the door. He pulled a key from one of the folds of his robe, inserted it into the lock, and shortly disappeared behind the door.

Mercior remained in his pew for a few minutes -- praying, thinking. After perhaps ten minutes, he stood and left the chapel.

6:23 p.m. ET

The grip on Innocent's arm had first relaxed, then went away entirely. He now walked just a step ahead of the Batman, leading him slowly up the stairs toward the top floor of the cathedral -- where Innocent had supposed they would find Brother Mercior. Though the strong hand on his arm was gone, the sound of the other man's footsteps right behind him was just as disconcerting for Innocent, who was still dazed from what had obviously been repeated sedative injections over the last several hours.

They were two floors from the top. The next two flights of stairs were lit with twice as many torches as the others had been, making the steps beneath Innocent's feet much easier to see. The torches were bright, freshly re-lit -- it was standard procedure within the cathedral to extinguish the incendiary lights in the top two flights of stairs when intruders had been detected. Approaching the first step, he stepped over it straight to the second step. He then stepped on the third, then over the fourth to the fifth. Glancing behind him, Innocent saw -- to his chagrin -- that the Batman was stepping exactly where he had been stepping. Innocent tried to give no indication that he had noticed anything, and continued on, up the seventh step, over the eighth to the ninth, over the tenth and the eleventh to the twelfth, and on toward the top.

Starting up the final staircase, another robed figure brushed past Innocent and the Batman. Catching a fleeting glimpse of his hooded face, Innocent realized the man had been Brother Mercior. The Batman obviously hadn't recognized him, and Innocent gave no reaction. He merely continued on, skipping the first step and moving onto the second.

Only Rollo ever entered the room behind the door on the left side of the chapel. Only Rollo had the key.

It was a small room, smaller even than the records room, or the living quarters on the lower floors. There was just enough room for the lone stone pedestal that stood against the back wall, and for a single man to kneel before it. Atop the stone pedestal sat a golden bust of a man whose head was armored with a medieval-style helmet. The eyes of the bust, though, were not those of a statue, but those of a man. What most fools would take for a bust was an actual gold reproduction of the helmet of St. Dumas. Inside the helmet had been placed the head of the Order's venerable founder.

Rollo averted his eyes, gazed down at the right-angles of the pedestal's gray base. He addressed the head of St. Dumas in a reverent tone that was just a trace above a whisper. "My venerable master, it is your humblest of servants, Rollo, once again." Rollo paused to wet his lips with his tongue. "I must ask your guidance on an important matter."

From the golden helmet came what was surely the most redoubtable, unparalleled voice ever attended by human ears, a voice whose potency was inconceivably increased by the fact that it had only ever fallen on the ears of Rollo. "You have long been expected, Brother Rollo," the great voice of St. Dumas began, "but why, finally, only now, has my counsel been sought?"

"Pray, pray, forgive me, honorable lord," came Rollo's repentant appeal. "I was held against, my better judgment, in the bowels of your miraculous castle, for much of this day's crisis. Your loyal acolytes, they feared for my safety."

"Then your belatedness is forgiven," the voice of St. Dumas acquitted. "Now, what is it you desire from me, modest Rollo?"

Rollo clasped his hands tight together and held them prayerfully in front of him, and raised his eyes to look on the golden head. "These interlopers appear to be men of exemplary mettle and resources. The acolytes have been unable to nullify their threat as yet. One of them is no less than super-human."

"I know of the super-human," St. Dumas said darkly. "As do you, lowly Rollo."

"Our knowledge is limited," offered Rollo, trying not to sound contradictory. "We know of one of his weaknesses, but little more."

"You know how to kill him," the voice of St. Dumas asserted. "You need only the intelligence to carry out the deed. The intruder is powerful, and is sufficiently intelligent not to flaunt his abilities so as to make his discovery a simple matter for his pursuers. Your underling Mercior is correct -- they are hiding in our corridors, wearing our robes, existing with us without our awareness."

"I have already sent Mercior for Brother Innocent, to bring him to me," Rollo informed his master. "What would you have me do with him?"

"When this affair is complete," the voice of St. Dumas began, "you may kill him. If you follow my coming instructions, his cooperation will be unnecessary."

Rollo looked gratefully into the eyes behind the helmet, the eyes that only came alive for him. "What instructions, oh venerable one?"

"The intruders hide amongst us, as though they were a part of us," the voice from the helmet said. "To protect themselves, they will continue the subterfuge until their goals here have been achieved. You may contain them as you would any of the acolytes, any day. The same way you may always contain this castle's compliment."

Rollo's eyes lit up with bright realization. He stared at the head of St. Dumas, nodding with inspiration. "Yes, yes, my lord . . . Yes, I see. I do. I see." Bowing his head in a quick gesture of respect and thanks to the golden helmet atop the pedestal, Rollo rose to his feet and swept out of the room into the chapel.

He left the chapel and went straight to the staircase, starting quickly down. On his way, he passed two robed figures going up. He didn't recognize them, paying them no mind in his haste.

6:28 p.m. ET

Nomoz had been just about to begin "The Miller's Tale," when there came another knock at the door of his room. He had just finished re-lighting torches on the fourth floor of the cathedral; Grimoz and Mennon were still at their assigned tasks, so Nomoz was alone. He stood, marking his page with a faded old ribbon, and went to the door. There was another knock, harder this time, with more urgency than the first.

Opening the door, he was again face to face with Calvoz from the adjacent room. "Come to the stairwell," was all the instruction Calvoz gave before turning around and walking back into his room. Sighing wearily, fearing he would never make any significant progress on his book, Nomoz walked out, turned to his left, and went to the door to the stairwell at the end of the hall.

Faced with the unbalanced eyes of Brother Rollo himself upon having opened the door, Nomoz was forced to stand there in silence. Rollo's eyes scrutinized him as though he were an insect, and the leader of the acolytes said, after a long few seconds, "I have a need for several of these dwarflings. An important chore which must be done immediately and with all haste."

When the chore had been explained, and Rollo had gone, Nomoz knocked on the door to Calvoz' room. Nomoz explained the task to Calvoz, then sent him to the job, telling him to find Grimoz and Mennon as well. When Calvoz had gone, and he was alone in the hall, Nomoz entered the stairwell and started down into the basement.

Innocent heard Batman reach the top of the final staircase safely just behind him, and mentally winced. He looked ahead of him, down the hallway on the top floor, at the end of which was the door to the chapel. As he started down the hall, Innocent felt the Batman's vice-like grip again on his arm, and he was pulled insistently back to the other man.

"Take me to Brother Mercior's room," the Batman's voice demanded in a cold whisper. Innocent saw little choice but to oblige. Mercior's room was behind the final door on the left side of the hall, the closest on that side to the chapel. Nodding obediently back to the Batman, Innocent started toward that door. After a few steps, he felt the hand release his arm.

The door to Mercior's room was locked, as Innocent demonstrated by grasping the knob and turning it futilely several times. The Batman pushed Innocent curtly aside and inserted a thin strip of metal into the lock. In less than a second, the door was open. Innocent was pulled inside the room along with his subduer a moment later.

The room was dark -- only one of the four torches still burnt -- and empty. Innocent immediately felt himself grabbed by the collar of the robe he wore and pushed hard up against the room's stone wall. The Batman's face -- which was just as grim and intimidating without the cowl masking its upper half -- was inches from Innocent's own, the Batman's hot, odorless breath seething in and out between his tensely clenched teeth. "Where is Mercior?" he asked, his voice continuing to maintain a measured, neutral quality, a lack of emotion that made it so much more frightening than any human voice Innocent had ever heard.

"I don't know," Innocent had been about to say. As he finished "don't," there was a series of sharp knocks on the door -- two knocks, a pause, then two more knocks. The Batman, apparently having recognized a deliberate pattern, looked sharply to Innocent for an answer.

"It's the signal for Assembly," Innocent explained, breathless with anxiety as he met the Batman's burning eyes. "Rollo-- . . . Brother Rollo calls Assembly to address the acolytes," he elaborated after a moment.

The Batman made no move for the door, and held his grip on the robe's collar. "We're right next to the chapel," he said, "was that the last knock?"

Innocent shook his head. "It was the second. That was Rollo's second, Brother Isaac."

"But Mercior isn't here."

"Perhaps Isaac doesn't know that," Innocent offered, speaking very quickly. "We have to leave. Now."

The Batman's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Innocent took a moment to compose himself. He didn't succeed, but took in a deep breath and tried to proceed nevertheless. "It is the duty of the acolyte to leave his room once summoned to Assembly, and summon the occupant in the adjacent room before proceeding to the chapel. If we don't participate, you'll be found out certainly."

The Batman hesitated a moment, then jerked Innocent suddenly away from the wall and shoved him in front of the door. The implication was clear: Innocent opened the door. They stepped out into the hallway; the acolytes on this floor were proceeding into the chapel, their hands clasped and head bowed prayerfully. Rollo was nowhere to be seen, having most likely already proceeded into the chapel. Innocent turned to his right and reached for the door to the room adjacent to Mercior's. He knocked twice sharply, hesitated, then knocked twice more. As Innocent turned back to the Batman, the summoned acolyte -- Rollo's scribe, Brother Christopher -- emerged from his room and turned to summon the next. The Batman pushed Innocent ahead of him again, and they filed into the chapel with the rest of the Order.

6:31 p.m. ET

Although it had been Superman's idea to return to the small plane to get the TV Guide Game to help better pass the time, taking the game along from the private jet had been Nightwing's suggestion, so he had to give himself at least half-credit. They sat on the floor, cross-legged, with the TV Guide gameboard between them. The two unconscious acolytes laid still against a far wall, Jean-Paul alongside them.

It was Superman's turn. Nightwing raised the trivia book up toward his face, but stopped and looked up apprehensively at the man on the other side of the board. "If you see him coming, you're sure you can get this stuff back to the plane and be back here before he finds out -- aren't you?"

Superman looked down at the board and smiled.

"You are, aren't you?"

"There's a trap door set into the floor over there," Superman said, looking behind him, then back at Nightwing with a confident nod. "It leads right across and outside -- I can be gone and back before he's halfway down the stairs."

Nightwing nodded, assured for the moment. He lowered his eyes to the book. "You're watching for him, though . . ." he said after another second, lowering the trivia book once more.

Superman gave a single, slow nod. "The instant I hear someone come anywhere near the top of those stairs, I'll already have the game bundled up and gone before you know what's happened. Relax." Superman sighed, taking his hands from his kneecaps and clasping them in front of him as he did so. "What's my question?"

"Right," Nightwing said, looking at the book in his hands. "Drama. This fictional Florida town was the setting for the carryings--"

Nightwing abruptly silenced himself when Superman motioned hastily for silence and stood up. There was a look of disbelief and uncertainty on his face as he stepped over the board and past Nightwing to the opposite wall. Nightwing stood and turned to look after him. Superman reached out his hand, touched a stone that was approximately at his eye-level on the wall. He dug his fingernails into its edge and slid it to the right, that stone angling slightly and slipping into the hollow one next to it. Nightwing couldn't see clearly enough through the hole in the wall to tell what was on the other side, but Superman was touching another stone a moment later that would solve the problem.

Superman ran his fingers over a stone several feet below and slightly to the right of the opening. He took a few steps back and squinted. Momentarily, a thin trail of smoke rose up from the section of the wall that Superman must've been looking at, and the line of a semi-circle slowly became apparent where it seemed the stones themselves were melting. Superman reached out and pushed in the area inside the semi-circle. Those stones fell in, hitting the floor with a solid but flat sound. Superman pushed on the rest of the wall near the semi-circle, and a rectangular section swung in. A door.

"I cannot believe I didn't see this," Superman commented, low enough for it to have been a remark meant purely for himself, as he walked into the room, which was dark. Before walking in himself, Nightwing took one of the torches from the wall of the dungeon and held it in front of him as he stepped.

"If it makes you feel any better, I didn't see it until now, either," said Nightwing in a falsely-helpful tone. He paused and looked around the room. He drew stale air into his lungs and sighed. "Not room enough for too many people."

"There are heat residuals on the floor and walls in here," Superman said analytically. "People were in here within the last . . . the last hour at the absolute most, probably sooner."

Nightwing held the torch in one hand and planted the other on his hip, and sighed again. "While we've been here."

Superman nodded. He turned around, looking at all four walls of the little room. It was as if he was trying to make up for not noticing the space before by taking all of it in and committing it to memory now. "How could I have--" He stopped short and turned his head toward the open door suddenly. "Someone's coming down the stairs," he whispered. "Stay here."

Nightwing was alone in the little room a moment later. For the second time in as many seconds, he heard a hollow slamming sound, which he assumed was the trap door Superman had mentioned, falling shut. A voice cried out "Stop!" urgently a moment later. Nightwing emerged from the room: an acolyte was kneeling before Superman, hands clasped up in front of him. "I am no threat!" the acolyte assured earnestly.

"Which one are you? What's your name?" Nightwing asked, walking over to stand next to Superman.

The acolyte turned his head suddenly to look at Nightwing; there was an eerie familiarity, a recognition in his gaze that caught Nightwing off-guard at first. The acolyte made a move to stand, but a sharp, wary look from Superman apparently changed his mind. He remained kneeling. "I am Mercior. I was--"

"Mercior?" Nightwing asked, leaning forward and squinting, as if he hadn't quite heard. "You're Mercior?"

The acolyte nodded. "I was sent for Brother Innocent. I am no threat to you."

Superman made a motion with his hand for Mercior to stand, and then pulled the man up by the collar when he didn't respond immediately. "Innocent isn't here."

"You've been keeping he and Azrael here. We've seen you," Mercior explained. He turned his head a bit and saw the open door to the hidden room. "You seem to have discovered how."

Nightwing followed Mercior's gaze to the door, then turned and looked the other man in the face. "He's out of the room."

Mercior looked at Nightwing strangely. "Brother Innocent?"

Nightwing nodded. "He had to step out for a bit, yeah."

"You . . . call yourself 'Nightwing,' don't you?" Mercior asked, catching him with that same unsettling look of recognition. Nightwing just nodded. "Dick Grayson," Mercior said, looking away, nodding. "That's your given name."

After exchanging an alarmed glance with Superman, Nightwing grabbed Mercior by the collar, jerked the acolyte violently him, and started toward the little room. "Try to find him," he said, looking over his shoulder at Superman, nodding up toward the ceiling. "But don't get him down here yet."

Nightwing pulled Mercior ahead of him in the last few steps, and shoved him so hard through the doorway that the acolyte stumbled backwards, tripped over the hem of his robe, and hit the floor. Nightwing turned and closed the door to the room, wedging one of the partially melted stones in beneath it to hold it shut without its latch.

Mercior got to his feet, and was immediately doubled-over by a vicious kick to the stomach. He was shoved hard up against the wall, Nightwing's forearm pressed tight against his throat. "I have two questions for you, and you're going to answer them both," Nightwing informed Mercior, speaking through his teeth in a low, seething tone. "How do you people know my name? and What the fuck was it doing on one of your records?" Nightwing's face was less than an inch from Mercior's.

"Did you hap-- happen to read the contents of that file?" Mercior asked, turning away from Nightwing, trying to look at him from the corner of his eye.

Nightwing pressed his forearm harder against the acolyte's throat, tight enough to begin to restrict his air supply. "As it happened, my friend and I were fighting for our lives just then." He kneed Mercior hard in the gut, but held him firm against the wall. "So, no."

"So you didn't even look--"

Another hard knee cut off Mercior and made him start to gasp frantically for air. He began pulling at Nightwing's arm on his throat. "Next is the part where you answer my questions before I even listen to another one of yours," Nightwing said, practically spitting in the man's ear.

The forearm relaxed slightly on Mercior's throat, and he choked out "The Order has followed the Batman since the start of his involvement with Azrael." He took in as deep a breath as he could under the circumstances. "Our success is limited . . . we have only . . . certain names -- few details."

"Who knows?"

"Only . . . Rollo's cabinet . . . it is-- it is not shared information."

Nightwing tightened his grip on Mercior's collar and pushed his forearm even tighter against the acolyte's throat. "What was in that file I found? What do you know about me?"

Mercior tried to take another breath. He couldn't, and started to gasp again. Nightwing lessened the pressure on his throat, but only a little. "The file you-- discovered . . . did not pertain to you," Mercior said.

Nightwing drew back with his left hand and uppercut Mercior just under the ribs; it might've broken a few. Mercior's face contorted horribly in pain, but Nightwing paid no attention. "You either explain yourself real fast, or I knock down a few of these walls with your ass, you pathetic son of a bitch."

"We need to go."

It was Superman's voice. Nightwing looked behind him. "What?"

The door was open, and Superman filled the doorway. He had a look of urgent purpose on his face. "We need to go -- now," he implored, leaving Nightwing no room for disagreement.

Nightwing turned back to Mercior and pulled his forearm away from the acolyte's throat. "Don't go anywhere," he said, then delivered a backhand hit across the face that was strong enough to knock Mercior unconscious to the floor. Nightwing walked out of the room, closing the door behind him for good measure.

Before Nightwing could ask what was the matter, Superman had already grabbed him impatiently and whisked him up the stairs.

6:34 p.m. ET

There was a single acolyte standing outside the entrance to the cathedral. A line of polymer cord, lead by a small, sleek, black projectile, wrapped its way tightly around the ankles of the acolyte, and he was jerked hard away from the doors and tripped to the floor. Nightwing ran down the hall to stand over the acolyte, Superman following at a brisk walk.

Nightwing hauled the acolyte to his feet and pushed him front-first against the wall of the hallway. "Thanks," Nightwing said appreciatively to Superman, as he put both of the acolyte's wrists behind his back and held them there.

"Don't mention it," Superman said off-handedly. He was standing behind Nightwing, and Nightwing could feel the other man's gaze burning over his shoulder -- not literally, in this case -- aimed straight at the acolyte. "What's happening in that chapel?" Superman asked.

"Assembly," the acolyte answered, strained, his face pressed up hard against the stone wall by Nightwing.

"It looks like every acolyte in the building is in there now," Superman said, staring at the wall that separated them from the chapel.

"What are you doing out here, then?" Nightwing asked, pushing the acolyte's face even harder into the wall.

The acolyte's face was an agonized grimace. "I was told to-- Agh!! -- ah . . . await the arrival of . . . someone . . ."

"Which someone?" Nightwing asked. The acolyte didn't answer right away. Nightwing found an acupuncture point in the small of the man's back and dug at it roughly with the first two knuckles of his hand. The acolyte gasped in sudden, intense pain, and began panting breathlessly for air.

"Mercior! . . . Brother Mercior," he groaned in an anguished voice.

Nightwing glared at the acolyte with silent intensity for a second or so. "Well," he said, pulling him away from the wall, "I'm afraid Mercior won't be showing up anytime soon." The door to the right of Nightwing and the acolyte was unlocked; Nightwing opened it and shoved the acolyte inside. "Relax. Pray or something," Nightwing said as he shut the door on him.

Superman met eyes with Nightwing, but was clearly concentrating on something else. His head was turned sideways to the wall, his right ear facing the cathedral entrance; he was listening. "He's taking roll," Superman said, turning to face the door, "Brother by Brother."

"How?" Nightwing asked. "Like, off a list?"

Superman stared at the door. He shook his head. "No, it's not like a roll call. He's having them identify themselves, going row-by-row, having a secretary mark off who's there."

"Shit. Where're Batman and Innocent?"

"Near the middle . . . five rows back, near the end of the row. Sounds like they're about halfway to them."

"Dammit." Nightwing put his finger to the piece in his ear. "If you can hear me, just nod -- Superman's watching you."

After a moment, Superman turned to Nightwing. "He hears you."

Nightwing nodded, then turned away and lowered his head. "If we bust in there and haul you out, we're gonna have to haul ass right afterwards. So, I'm open to suggestions."

The Batman lowered his head and leaned slightly toward Innocent. "The books in Mercior's quarters -- do they pertain to The System?-- Answer quietly."

Innocent slowly lowered his head, closed his eyes. He was faced with death at the hands of his Brothers if discovered now. He realized that. And, in a moment, his betrayal would be complete. "There is a volume called 'The Journal of St. Gladius,'" he replied in a cautious whisper.

"Did you get that?" Nightwing heard whisper through his earpiece. He looked up at Superman, who gave a thumbs-up.

"Got it," Nightwing said. He turned and went through the door behind him. The acolyte still stood in there. Nightwing advanced on him quickly. "Where are Brother Mercior's quarters?"

The acolyte took a step back timidly, and held out his hands. "These are they."

"Serendipity," Nightwing remarked, eyes lit wide. He grabbed the acolyte by the collar and turned him around to face the shelf of books against one of the room's walls. "Which one of those is 'The Journal of St. Gladius'?" Nightwing shoved the acolyte forward. "Find it."

The acolyte turned around and looked at Nightwing in disbelief. He stared, anxious, hesitant.

Nightwing stepped up and delivered a backhand slap to the acolyte's face, nearly spinning the man halfway around. "You heard me, now get the damn book."

His back was to Nightwing for a few seconds. The acolyte turned around, holding a thick, ancient looking leather-bound volume in his hands. Nightwing took it: there was no title on its front cover, but faded gold print on the spine read The Journal of St. Gladius.

Nightwing left the room, closing the door and leaving the acolyte inside. "All right," he said, holding the book up in front of him, "got it."

The Batman nodded. Innocent looked down to the end of the row he was sitting in, realizing that the acolytes at the far end had begun to sound off. He looked up to the front of the chapel: Rollo stood, perfectly straight, in the pulpit, watching his scribe calmly as the names of the present acolytes were recorded and checked off of the list. There was a calm about Rollo that Innocent found unsettling.

The calm disappeared shortly after Innocent heard the Batman whisper, "Go ahead," and felt a strong hand again grip him around the arm. The last thing Innocent saw before reality became nothing but dizzying streaks of color was the shocked face of Rollo. Rollo's voice was the last thing he heard, too, sounding out from the streaks, ghostly and quickly fading, like a voice from the past: "No! After them!"

Nightwing had been holding Superman securely around the neck from behind with his right arm (the book held against his chest with his left), and now let go, finding himself in the basement of the cathedral once again. As he looked around, he heard Batman ask pointedly, "Where's Jean-Paul?"

Another moment of surveying the room confirmed it: Jean-Paul was nowhere in sight. "Shit," Nightwing exclaimed, disgusted. He wished that he could have found it within himself to take this latest exasperating twist as a surprise, but he knew as well as Batman and Superman must have, that this detour was perfectly congruous with how the rest of the day had went.

Batman pushed Innocent toward Superman, then pulled the robe off of himself and pulled his cowl back over his head. "Take Innocent and Nightwing out to the plane and get ready to take-off," he told Superman. "I'm going to find Jean-Paul."

"He's coming with us?" said Nightwing, looking at Innocent.

"No alternative," Batman stated flatly, turning around and starting up the steps. "If he remains, the Order will kill him."

Nightwing started to turn around. "In that case, there's someone I need to take along, too," he said as he went over to the once-hidden door in the wall and opened it enough to step inside. The room was empty. Mercior was gone. "No!" Nightwing exclaimed. "Goddammit!" he cried out angrily as he turned around and kicked the half-open door out of his way.

Superman had been looking up at the ceiling, and now directed his gaze over at Batman. "He's on the first floor," he said. "Right above us."

"Understood," Batman replied.

"How long should we wait for you?" Superman asked Batman, just as he was nearing the top of the steps.

Batman paused briefly at the top of the staircase. "Just watch me. If it looks like Jean-Paul and I aren't going to make it out, then get the plane out of here."

Superman nodded. "Understood," he said, although Batman had already disappeared from the top of the staircase by then.

When Nomoz heard the door to the stairwell open, he moved as fast as he could to the door of his room and pressed his ear against it. "The invaders!" he heard one of the dwarflings yell almost immediately. "Just one!" another cry came soon after, amongst many other voices now rising in panic and anger. "One of the invaders!"

It was the Batman; Nomoz saw him as soon as he pulled his door open and looked out. The dwarflings on the floor, aware of the intruder's presence almost immediately, had begun to surge from their rooms and attack. Amazingly, the Batman was very nearly holding his own, despite being vastly outnumbered, and easily overpowered by even the smallest of the dwarflings. As one of the dwarflings closest to him reached out from behind to pin his arms at the sides, the Batman intuitively spun around, ducked to avoid the crushing embrace, and delivered a hard uppercut to the dwarfling's jaw as he straightened up.

Nomoz continued to watch as the Batman leapt into the air from a standing position, somersaulted over two of the dwarflings that surrounded him, and kicked a third viciously in the face as he landed deftly nearly eight feet from where the leap had began. As the dwarflings turned around and began to advance on the intruder, Nomoz stepped out of his room entirely, now mostly behind the others. "Stop!"

A few of the dwarflings at the back of the pack turned to give Nomoz a curious look, but most of those at the front, nearest the Batman, ignored him. Nomoz began to push his way to the front, shouldering his fellow dwarflings aside, roughly if necessary. When he began to near the Batman, he again called out "Stop!", this time drawing angered and confused glances from the advancing dwarflings. "Let him be!"

They stared at him in disbelief. "Nomoz is crazy," one of them grunted. They started to turn back to the Batman, who was gone. Nomoz had seen him disappear into one of the rooms, as had several of the other dwarflings, who began to call "The invader ran in there!" -- pointing and demanding they follow.

Nomoz shoved his way to the front and planted himself in front of the door behind which the Batman had fled. "I say let him be," he stated bluntly.

A dwarfling named Delvoz stepped up and tried to push Nomoz aside, but in vain. Nomoz held his ground stubbornly. "Move, Nomoz! . . . The invader is behind that door! Waiting to be torn apart!"

"I say let him be," Nomoz repeated flatly. He looked several of his comrades in their eyes, saw their rage, their thirst for what stood behind that door, that which they'd only first seen a moment ago. Nomoz shook his head. "I say let him be, and you still want to break his bones." Nomoz gritted his sharp teeth. "Am I not good enough to speak for us? Here, in our home? Am I good enough to speak for us before the acolytes -- before Rollo -- and not here in our home?"

Other than some low, incomprehensible muttering, there was no answer. They all stood there, staring at Nomoz standing in front of the door.

"Go to your rooms," Nomoz ordered, adding another firm "Go!" when most of his fellow dwarflings didn't begin to move immediately. In thirty seconds or so, the hall was clear, save for Bimnoz and Levon, who shared a room with Calvoz. Nomoz looked at them disdainfully, until they explained:

"The invader is in our room," Levon explained.

"We can't get in," added Bimnoz gruffly.

Nomoz did nothing at first, then nodded in understanding after a few seconds and turned around. "Wait here," he instructed as he opened the door. "I will not fight you," he called cautiously into the room.

There was silence for a few seconds. Then, a low whisper with the texture of a saw on steel said, "I know." Nomoz opened the door fully and saw the Batman standing there near the back of the room, dark cloak draped over his shoulders, obscuring his body from view. "I heard."

Nomoz waved to him to come out, and the Batman took a step forward. Nearing the door, he eyed the other two dwarflings warily, but continued out unafraid. Once he was out in the hall, Bimnoz and Levon filed one after the other into their room and slammed the door after them. "Hurry," Nomoz warned the Batman, turning back toward his own room. "You are hunted."

"Where's Jean-Paul Valley?"

The Batman followed Nomoz, who gave no answer, to the door, but had it slammed in his face. It was only closed for a moment. When Nomoz opened it, he had the man who was Azrael in front of him. "Take him with you," Nomoz told the Batman, shoving Jean-Paul forward into his arms, which appeared now from beneath the cloak, "or else the Order will kill him."

Nomoz heard footsteps coming down the stairs toward this floor. The Batman heard them too. He lowered his head and said, louder than he had spoken before, "Clark -- get me out of here."

Nothing happened, which was a bit of a relief to Nomoz; he hadn't known what to expect.

"They will see you on the stairs," Nomoz warned, directing the Batman toward the other end of the hallway. "This way." The trap door in the floor at the far end of the hall had been shut and locked-down for as long as Nomoz had been alive, but he knew from speaking with acolytes whose trust he had earned that the door lead to the basement level below. There, Nomoz told the Batman, there was another trap door, one which gave access to an underground passage leading to the outside. The Batman had entrusted the drowsy Jean-Paul Valley to Nomoz, and had been on his knees cutting through the lock of the door in the floor while Nomoz explained the exit route.

The lock was off in another few seconds. The Batman opened the door, took Jean-Paul in front of him, and disappeared down into the darkness of the basement without another word. Nomoz closed the door after them, then walked back to his room. Brother Mercior was still there, and got up to leave when told that the Batman was gone. In the name of St. Dumas, he blessed Nomoz as he left to join the rest of the acolytes.

Nightwing had seen the thick, hairy bastards at the plane as soon as Superman touched down with him and Brother Innocent. Though obviously slow, they both looked obviously dangerous, and Nightwing had been wary of them from the start. That perception was magnified to no small degree a second or so later, when they both produced automatic weapons from behind their backs, just like the ones the acolytes had been using. When they started firing, Superman grabbed Nightwing and Innocent again and pulled them inside the plane.

"Are those kryptonite bullets?" Nightwing asked immediately.

Superman nodded. "And if they keep shooting at this plane, they'll breech the cabin."

Nightwing still held The Journals of St. Gladius. He put it down, got up and started for the cabin door. "Someone's gotta disarm them, then," he said, reluctantly, "and it looks like I'm most bulletproof right now." He turned the handle on the door, opened it a bit, then sat down in front of it and braced his drawn-up legs against it. "Stay low, Supes, huh? I'll try to make it quick." Nightwing kicked the hatch hard open, knocking the gun-wielding troll, or whatever the hell it was, that was on the other side of it flat on its thick posterior.

The troll held onto the gun when it fell, and Nightwing pounced on that hand, pushing the gun into the snow and driving his elbow into the troll's forearm. The gun came away free, but at nearly that same instant, Nightwing felt a crushing pressure around his waist. He realized he was caught in a potentially lethal bear-hug as the pressure moved up a few inches to his ribcage. His arms were free, and he tried clubbing the ugly bastard about the head and shoulders. It did no good -- the troll tightened his grip a bit in retaliation, squeezing an agonized yell from Nightwing.

There was an overpowering urge to go limp, to relax every muscle. Nightwing resisted it. He grabbed the troll by the hair with his left hand, pulled its head back as far as he could, and drove his right fist as hard into its face as he could. The shot hurt his hand, and snapped the troll's head back violently. Nightwing managed to wedge his left hand in underneath the creature's chin, and started to squeeze. He hoped to God the overgrown "Snow White"-reject had a carotid artery.

One of the troll's beefy arms slipped a bit. Seizing what might've been his only opportunity, feeling the crunching bear-hug relax for the first time, Nightwing drove his left elbow hard down on the troll's bicep. The blow broke the crushing grip around his ribcage, and Nightwing pushed away at once, falling down to the snow and tumbling backwards, ending on his feet.

A black throwing-arrow flung from Nightwing's left hand embedded itself in the deltoid nerve cluster of the troll's right arm. As Batman had once explained to a younger Dick Grayson, "no force on earth" could help it raise its arm now. Nightwing took a long sideways gallop forward and delivered a solid kick to the side of the troll's face. The troll staggered back, head spun to the left, its right arm clutching its paralyzed left shoulder. Nightwing regained his balance from the hard first kick and stepped up again. He pivoted on his right leg and his left leg swung around rapidly, delivering a smashing roundhouse kick that knocked the troll's head violently back to the right. The troll toppled to the snow a moment later. Nightwing still heard gunfire, and immediately ran back to the plane.

The other troll was still firing at the plane. Just as Nightwing was wondering how much ammunition the uzi held, the gunfire ceased. Nightwing braced his hands on the surface of the wing, vaulted up and began to climb to the top of the fuselage. He got there just in time to see the troll snapping a replacement ammo clip into the uzi. The other side of the plane's hull was nearly perforated with bullets. The troll raised the gun in preparation to fire again.

Nightwing took one strong step across to the other side of the body of the plane and leapt off. Both feet came down solidly on either of the troll's shoulders, driving it down to its back. Nightwing stood over the troll, bent over at the waist, and delivered a single blow to its face. The eyes rolled back into their blocky, hair-covered head. Nightwing took the gun from the unconscious troll's relaxed hand. He pulled the clip from the magazine, turned, and flung it and its kryptonite-laden contents as far into the snow as he could.

This side of the plane's skin was broken in several places from the gunfire, which had continued almost non-stop for the duration of Nightwing's battle with the first of the two trolls. Realizing this meant that many of the bullets must have found their way into the cabin, where Superman and Innocent had remained, Nightwing ducked beneath the plane and moved quickly to the other side, to the hatch.

Superman was just getting to his feet when Nightwing re-entered the plane. Innocent was curled up in the corner behind him, as if he'd been hiding behind the Man of Steel's cape. Superman turned and helped Innocent to his feet. "Everyone un-shot in here?" asked Nightwing.

"We're fine, I think," Superman answered, glancing behind him momentarily. A hand went to his forehead, and he ran his fingers wearily through his hair. "I'm a little dizzy. Nothing serious, though, I think."

Nightwing sighed as he shook his head. "I hope not." He turned around in a slow circle, looking at the entire cabin, specifically at the punctured hull. "Because this plane isn't flying on its own again." He sighed again. "We're lucky one of those ugly, hairy little bastards didn't hit the fuel tank."

Superman shook his head. "They weren't aiming for the fuel tank -- they were aiming for me."

"They didn't hit you, did they?"

The voice belonged to Batman. Nightwing turned around and saw him standing outside the hatch, Jean-Paul Valley barely standing next to him, an arm heavy around his shoulder. "Because he's right," Batman continued, talking to Superman. "This plane isn't taking off of its own power."

"You got here a little late," Nightwing informed him. "He just said he was fine," he added, nodding back toward Superman.

Batman nodded, pulled Jean-Paul's arm from around his neck and shoved him forward toward the open hatch. "Then let's go." Superman nodded and started, taking in a deep breath, for the hatch. Batman climbed in after Jean-Paul, stood next to Superman, looked him up and down. "If you're ready," he conditioned.

Superman nodded and stepped out of the plane. Nightwing stepped up to close the hatch, and watched Superman through the windows as he made his way around to the other side of the plane, keeping his distance from the kryptonite-bullet-riddled hatch-side. From the opposite side of the plane, Nightwing saw Superman duck underneath. A few seconds later, the plane lifted unevenly off the ground, and Nightwing fell backwards onto the floor. He crawled to his feet, backed into the nearest seat, and buckled himself in.

10:49 p.m. ET

Superman was obviously in a weakened state; they'd been flying over four hours, and by Nightwing's estimate, were just over three-fourths of the way across the Atlantic. Jean-Paul and Innocent were asleep. Batman sat in the front seat, behind the pilot controls, his breathing deep and regulated as he meditated.

Nightwing was restless in his seat. The plane had been quiet for hours, except for Batman briefly radioing Alfred to let him know that all was fine and that all were returning home. An hour or so ago, Nightwing had picked up The Journal of St. Gladius and started to flip through its ancient, brittle pages. The volume was handwritten, in Old English, much of which was incomprehensible to Nightwing. What he could make out told him enough; it was obvious that The System, whatever it had become in the centuries since this journal was written, had had its genesis in the work of this man, St. Gladius.

Abandoning the book after a few minutes, Nightwing had since slumped in his seat. He found himself glancing down at the floor after a bit, although it took him awhile to realize it. Sliding upright in the chair, he tapped his foot gently. "Hey, Supes? Can you hear me? Just tap on the hull, or something."

After a few seconds, Nightwing heard -- and felt -- a single tap.

Nightwing smiled. "Having fun? Once for yes, twice for no."

Two taps.

"You're doing all right, though . . . not about to drop us . . ."

Two taps.

Nightwing's eyes widened a bit. "Is that 'no' as in you are about to drop us?"

One tap.

Nightwing felt his stomach muscles tense. He sat stiffly for several seconds, then swallowed and looked down at the floor. "Are you kidding?" he asked hopefully.

A long pause. And then, a single tap.

"Have you ever been called an asshole before, Superman?" Nightwing wondered.

One tap, after a shorter pause.

Nightwing laughed mildly. "Was it Lex Luthor?"

One tap, a short pause, then two taps.

"Yes and no?" said Nightwing. "Were you called that more than once?"

One tap.

"Do you want me to guess who the others were?"

Two taps.

Nightwing shrugged. "Okay."

He sighed and sat quietly in his seat for a few minutes, looking out the window at the ocean passing them by, less than a half-mile below. Nightwing stretched his neck a bit as he looked behind his seat. He saw something on the floor back there that made him smile slightly with possibility. He lowered his head. "Hey, Supes?"

One tap.

"Do you know Morse Code?"

Silence. Then one tap.

Nightwing cleared his throat. "Well . . . do you want to play the TV Guide Game?" Nightwing was smiling, listening hopefully.

Another five or so seconds of silence . . . then two taps.

"Oh," Nightwing said dryly, playing up his disappointment. "Well, maybe I'll just shut up, then."

There was one tap.

Nightwing smiled, then chuckled. "Hey, asshole," he said to the floor, "don't go getting smart."

Saturday
On Mountain Drive
Gotham Heights
1:34 a.m.

Batman had already left for the city to find Robin, Superman had left to dispose of the plane and then, presumably, to return to Metropolis to get some rest, and Dick found himself alone in the van now, en route to Jean-Paul's house. Alone, if you didn't count Innocent and Jean-Paul Valley -- which Dick didn't, since both had continued to sleep through the remainder of the flight, and through being brought down into the Cave.

Delivering Jean-Paul back to his residence, along with Innocent, who was presumably to be the newest occupant, was Dick's final chore before returning -- gratefully -- to his apartment. Once there he would sleep for, he estimated, approximately eleven days.

The lights started coming on at 13142 Mountain Drive a few seconds after Dick pulled the van in. Another minute or so, and Lilhy was at the open door, Brian visible behind her. Lilhy must've recognized the van, and she started for it. Dick stepped out of the van and started around for the back. Lilhy was right next to him as he went. "We found him, Lilhy," Dick told her. He started to open the van's back doors. "And we brought him back."

Dick opened the doors. The overhead light came on, and Jean-Paul and Innocent opened their eyes, blinking. Dick turned to Lilhy, whose eyes were fixed firmly on Innocent.

"Things didn't go exactly as planned, needless to say," Dick explained.

Lilhy looked at Dick, still wanting an explanation. While they stared silently at each other, Brian came up behind them, pardoned himself as he pushed past them, and helped Jean-Paul out and up to the front door. Still engaged with Lilhy, Dick leaned down and took Innocent by the arms, sitting him up and sliding him out. He stopped in front of Lilhy before even attempting to move Innocent into the house. "Do you recognize him?"

"Brother Innocent," Lilhy answered immediately. "One of Mercior's underlings. What is he doing here?"

Dick lowered his head and sighed. "I am real tired here, Lilhy," he pleaded. "Trust me -- he won't hurt anyone. Just let him have the couch or something tonight, and I'll call you tomorrow and explain everything. We'll figure something out."

Lilhy gave a reluctant nod. Dick started for the house, but Lilhy stood fast. "Here," she said, holding her arms out, looking at Innocent, "I'll take him."

"Sure you can handle him?"

Lilhy nodded. "Give him here," she insisted. "Go home and sleep," she told Dick, sounding almost maternal.

"Yes, ma'am." He slipped Innocent's arm around her shoulder, and she started toward the front door with him. Dick closed up the back of the van, and started around toward the front. "I would've called you tomorrow anyway, Lilhy," Dick told her as he opened the door to climb into the van.

Lilhy stopped briefly with Innocent, and turned to look at Dick. "Why is that?"

Dick started to explain right there, but remembered how tired he was and cut himself off. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said, and climbed into the van. He started to back away from the house just as Lilhy disappeared inside with Innocent, and closed the door.

Reading Avenue
Gotham City
1:59 a.m.

Superman found Batman on the roof of the Reading Avenue branch of the National Bank of Gotham. Standing on the edge of the roof, looking out over his city, Batman showed no signs of fatigue. It was impressive, Superman admitted to himself. It also occurred to him, as he approached the dark-clad man at the edge of the roof, that he hadn't seen Batman happier at any time since he first walked into his apartment in Metropolis and found Batman and Nightwing waiting for him. "Happy," was in this case, of course, a very, very relative term. Superman had never seen Batman appear to be "happy" in any traditional sense of the word, and wondered if anyone ever had. Perhaps, then, "happy" wasn't the right word; "content" served better, Superman decided after a moment's thought, although that didn't quite fit, either.

"I'm going home now," Superman said. He hadn't announced himself; Batman must've already known he was there. Somehow, he always did.

Batman didn't turn around, but turned his head slightly and gave a single nod. "You seemed tired. I hope you get some rest."

"I'll try," Superman said, rubbing the back of his neck, then craning it back, grimacing a bit, then smiling as it gave a satisfying pop. "I need to call Pa, too . . . I never did get to take Ma's ring to Winston's."

"A special occasion?" Batman asked. His voice retained the same neutral tone it always exhibited, so it was impossible to tell if he were genuinely interested or not.

"Yeah," Superman said with a nod. "Their anniversary is coming up, and Pa wanted to have the stone in their engagement ring engraved for her."

Batman nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer, and turned back to the city.

Superman lingered on the roof. "Should I give Pa and Ma your regards?"

Batman turned his head again. "I don't recall ever meeting your parents."

A faint grin was on Superman's face. "Should I give Pa and Ma your regards?" he asked again, exactly as he had the first time.

"I won't object if you do," Batman answered, finally, after a several-second pause, and turned his head back to look at the city in front of him.

Superman nodded quietly to himself, and started to turn around. "I'll be going, then. . . . Until next time, I guess."

"You won't have to worry about Jean-Paul again," Batman said, just as Superman had been about to take flight. "I can't make any promises about the rest of the Order," he was sure to add, "but Jean-Paul won't be a problem any further."

Superman gave another nod, this time one of assurance. "I appreciate that." Superman lingered for another second or so, but Batman said nothing else. He took off for home, then, and left Batman on the roof.