The Further Adventures of Batman (29 page)

Wayne frowned as he scanned the pages. The words
chuck
and
wain
had suggested to him that
chuck wagon
might be the key to what the Riddler had in mind. Wayne perused the columns in hopes of coming across some public event involving something even faintly hitched to a chuck wagon—a rodeo, Meals on Wheels, a dude ranch, a new fast-foods eaterie . . .

BINGO!—and none of the above.

This very afternoon, Hizzoner, the Mayor, would be attending the opening of a new display at the Planetarium.

That started a whole new line of thought, and prompted a call to Dr. Amicia Sollis.

She seemed not to mind that this was getting to be a habit. She smiled across the restaurant table at him. “Yes, ‘Chuck’ is a recognized nickname for ‘Charles.’ And yes, there is such a thing as ‘Charles’s Wain.’ Though I hardly think the ‘mare’ in the rhyme would be a Charley horse.”

Wayne nodded. He thought it likely that “Mare” was a play on “mayor.” But he did not voice the thought, he merely gestured for Amicia to go on.

Which she did after taking a sip of claret to moisten her lips. “Let’s stick to ‘Charles’s Wain.’ Some say it’s named for Charlemagne, some for Charles I of England. In either case, it refers to the group of seven stars in the constellation of Ursa Major, which we in the U.S. call the Big Dipper. That group of seven stars is supposed to resemble a cart without wheels, but with a shaft horses could be hitched to.” She tilted her head. “Does that help you?”

It did.

Afternoon outside, but midnight inside.

Batman lurked in the darkness under the great starry dome. His gaze roamed the auditorium, with special attention to the section reserved for the mayoral party. Grimly, he noted that those seats were directly beneath the stars of Charles’s Wain.

An agitated huddle of Planetarium officials drew Batman’s attention. He slipped nearer to listen and caught mention of the air-conditioning system. From what they said, it was malfunctioning. Indeed, now that his attention was on the condition of the air, the place did seem stuffy.

Just then a coveralled figure bustled up to the group.

The Planetarium director heaved a sigh of relief. “It’ll be all right. The air-conditioning serviceman is here.”

Batman narrowed his eyes in thought.
Air conditioning.
The Riddler had signed his challenge
“Yours coolly.”

“I’ll have a look at the vents on the roof.” The voice of the coveralled figure sounded familiar.

The mayor’s party arrived just then, and the officials went to greet Hizzoner. The coveralled figure stood watching until Hizzoner was seated, then made for a door marked MAINTENANCE.

Batman gave him a moment, then followed him through the door into a dimly lit space between the inner and outer shells of the great dome. The place hummed with machinery and smelled of grease. Batman caught sight of the coveralled figure already halfway up a ladder that climbed the inner shell of the dome. Batman waited at the foot of the ladder until it stopped vibrating, then climbed it in turn, careful not to shake it and give away his presence.

He reached the top in time to see the coveralled figure fit a wrench to a nut on a bolt and begin to loosen it. No doubt about it—this was the Riddler at his deadly work!

From the care with which the Riddler worked the wrench, and from the give of the whole section as the nut on the bolt loosened, Batman could tell that the Riddler had previously loosened most of that section of the dome and that it would plummet to crush the mayoral party once this last bolt came free.

“Hold it, Riddler! You’re one nut too many!”

The Riddler froze. Then, with a curse, he flung the wrench at Batman.

Batman did not flinch or duck. Instead, he made a neat one-handed catch. In almost the same motion with which he plucked the wrench out of the air, he hurled the wrench back at the Riddler.

BONNKK! The boomeranged wrench glanced off the Riddler’s skull and caromed downward with a heavy clatter.

“Seeing stars, Riddler?”

If the Riddler was, he quickly shook off his daze and pushed himself away from Batman’s—and the ladder’s—side of the dome and with a prolonged and pronounced
Y-E-E-E-O-W-W-W!!!!
slid and slithered down the curve of the dome to the bottom. There was a
SPLAT!,
then silence.

By the time Batman scrambled down the ladder the Riddler was gone.

Alfred would find the grease stains on Batman’s cape highly lamentable.

They met at the corner of First Avenue and First Street at one
A.M.

Commissioner Gordon jumped a foot in the air. “Batman! I was expecting you, but not swooping down the guy wire of a crane.”

“Sorry.” Maybe he should’ve been direct instead of derricked, but it had seemed a good idea to get a bird’s-eye view of the rendezvous area beforehand and make sure they would be alone.

“Quite all right.” Gordon harrumphed. “Thanks to you, Batman, Mayor Notts is still around. He had a severe heart attack when he learned of the close call. That made it another close call. But he’ll pull through.”

“Glad I could be of help. But you didn’t summon me here so that you might deliver a bulletin on Hizzoner’s medical condition. It’s the Riddler again?”

Looking hopeful, Commissioner Gordon handed Batman a photocopy of a note in rhyme.

Have you heard the lewd word?

What does the cuckoo sing?

Is the wing on the bird—

Or the bird on the wing?

—Yours billet-doux-ly,

Yours bill-and-coo-ly,

The Riddler

Batman frowned but not too severely. Once again he needed Amicia’s expertise.

“What’s your interest in these riddles, Bruce? Are they merely an intellectual exercise?”

“That’s how it started out, Amicia. But my findings got passed along to Batman, who appears to have made good use of them.”

“You make quite a team, don’t you?” She leaned forward avidly over the avocados. “What’s Batman really like? I’d love to meet him.”

Wayne smiled. “I’m the last one to tell you what he’s really like. Commissioner Gordon has yet to introduce us. But if we do meet, I’ll be sure to mention your interest.”

Amicia flushed. “Don’t you dare!” She spooned up the last of her dessert, then touched her napkin to her mouth. “I sing for supper, the cuckoo sings for summer. The Cuckoo Song is the oldest English song set to music.” She sang softly in a voice that did not reach the other diners.

“ ‘Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu!’ ”

She smiled. “Lhude doesn’t mean ‘lewd’; it means ‘loud.’ But the Riddler seems to be leering. The female cuckoo lays her eggs in the nests of other birds, who hatch them and rear them. That’s how ‘cuckold’ came to denote the husband of an unfaithful wife. Centuries ago, in England, people would call out ‘cuckoo!’ to warn a husband when a known adulterer came near. Somehow, the term stuck to the husband.”

Wayne leaned back. “Ah. Then I—rather, Batman—would have to look for adultery.”

“You won’t have to look far,” Amicia said. “I’m afraid the avocados were adulterated.”

Alfred woke up Wayne. “Precisely seven
A.M.
, sir.”

Wayne opened one eye and cocked it. “How do you know—
precisely
?”

Alfred gestured to the French windows giving on to the terrace. “The clock tower of the Nest Egg building, sir.”

And Wayne heard the last dying note of the chimes.

He swept the covers aside and leapt to his feet. He pressed his nose to the glass and stared at the clock tower that shouldered above the clinging mists of morning.
Nest Egg . . .

The Nest Egg Investment Corporation, a subsidiary of Fidelity Trust, ranked among Gotham City’s most respected institutions, financial or other. The Riddler surely would count its head among the Wise Men. Foster Cavendish, the Nest Egg’s CEO, had to fit the Wise Man profile—a citizen of standing and power. Was Cavendish involved in adultery? Was the Nest Egg clock a cuckoo clock?

“My Batman costume, Alfred.”

“But, sir. Do you really care to be seen in it? Shouldn’t you prefer to await the bespoke costumes?”

“My Batman costume, Alfred.”

“Sir, do you realize this is Easter Sunday and all will be attired in their best?”

“Alfred, my Batman costume.”

“Very good, sir.”