Eggplant update

Cass turned her attention back to the fight. There had been several exchanges now. The two men were bleeding, limping, weakening with exhaustion and blood loss. There was no telling what permanent damage had been done, but still, the fight could go either way.

Cass stood. “Enough!” she cried. “This is a pathetic showing! The two of you were both foolish enough to be drawn into an engagement in which you were evenly matched and unsure of victory! This behavior is unworthy of the League of Shadows! We cannot tolerate your weakness! You are both hereby banished from our ranks! Bind their wounds so they will not draw attention, then cast them out on pain of death! If they ever encounter our organization again, let them be executed promptly!”

Though both men were shocked, they bowed obediently and took their leave, escorted by ranks of men to follow Cass’s commands for medical attention as well as ensure their departure. Cass seated herself again.

“A wise decision, Mistress,” Chan-go said. “I stand in awe of your grand insight.”

“It was an elementary judgment. Its obviousness should not have eluded even one such as you. Is that truly the most pressing business the League of Shadows has? Is there no larger ambition? No grievous wound suffered? No insult to avenge?”

Chan-go’s eyes flittered downward before coming back up. “There is a prisoner we have taken. He is a… unique quantity. There have not yet been deliberations as to how he should be dealt with…”

“And you believe you can resolve this matter better than I can?” Cass asked leadingly. “It is good to see you have grown so confident in my absence.”

“If you wish, you’re welcome to reach your own judgment in the matter—“

“Bring the prisoner out. Why waste time with facts and figures when we can deal with the man himself? Isn’t that the point of taking someone captive, Chan-go?”

By now, Steph had returned. She might not’ve known her way around ancient Oriental blood rituals, but she was fresh from high school. She knew how to read a room.

Setting down the tray, she dropped down at Cass’s feet again, watching as Chan-go went to relay Cass’s orders. “Your English is getting a lot better,” Steph said, sotto voce.

“I’ve been practicing.”

“How come you’re never all… multisyllabic with me?”

“Because I know you don’t care if I am. I can make… all the mistakes… I like with you.”

“Definitely feel free to make mistakes with me,” Steph said, a little touched. “If we haven’t managed to screw things up with a ten-inch dick in the equation, we must be onto something.”

Chan-go’s men threw open the doors to the exercise area below. More of them ran through the open doors, pulling taut ropes. Then came guards, armed with wooden batons. And finally, there was Tim, stripped to the waist, his torso a mapping of bruises and welts, with a pillory holding his hands up at his neck. From behind him, more guards urged him on with prods from their staves. All told, there were fifteen men just to keep Tim in line. Steph felt a swell of pride for him, even through her concern, even if he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore.

“This one showed considerable skill before his capture,” Chan-go explained. “He has clearly had exquisite training. We worry that his presence is sign of a larger power. We do not know what organization fielded him and our interrogations have not managed to make him give away any information. We dare not do more to ascertain his true identity.”

Steph got that. If they tried to fingerprint him or go for a facial ID, any database they used would get back to Oracle, and she’d call down the cavalry on them. So they went low-tech. They tried to beat it out of him.

“I know of this one,” Cass said. “Ra’s al Ghul himself has attempted to enlist him. Do you not think a man equal to fifteen of your warriors is worth more alive than dead? Even his bloodline has worth.”

“His bloodline?” Chan-go asked.

“Fetch me a car. I will take possession of him. I will break him in personally, then couple the strength of his blood to my own. In time, you will worship the heir he gives me.”

Chan-go blinked. “How will you bear an heir when you have a—“

“Dude,” Steph interrupted, “you can’t just ask someone what they’re going to do with their dick. She’ll handle it. That’s all you need to know.”

Being chastened by Cass’s bodyservant seemed to discombobulate Chan-go enough to give in. He bowed stiffly. “Forgive my… curiosity, Lady Cassandra. Your instructions will be followed at once.”

***

Ten minutes later, they were in a car, Steph driving them away, Cass tending to Tim in the back. Steph supposed that with all the various Asian people who got into this ninja cult stuff, it was inevitable that there would be some Japanese efficiency in there. She kept her foot on the gas and her eyes on the rear-view mirror.

“So, Cass, hey,” Steph ventured. “Are you still in charge of a death cult? Full of ninjas?”

“I’ll talk to Bruce… about it,” Cass said noncommittally.

Tim coughed, coming around or coming close to it. He didn’t have any open wounds—the League of Shadows had kept him in one piece—so all Cass could do was wet a cloth with bottled water and mop at his sweat.

“Cass…? Steph…?” He spoke weakly, with a wet sound from deep in his chest following the words. He coughed and hacked, then retched. Cass turned him onto the side, patting his back, until finally his body succeeded in vomiting.

Steph winced. She hoped the League of Shadows wasn’t expecting the car back with a full tank of gas and nothing in the cupholders. “Don’t try to talk, Timbo. We’re getting you back to Gotham and we’re gonna let Alfred play mother hen. You know him, he loves that.”

Tim coughed again, spat, but then it seemed like he’d cleared his throat. Cass wiped his mouth with the washcloth. “Thanks… Listen, there’s this club in Burnley, the Showcase—it’s almost high-class… marked bills… the League of Assassins…”

“Okay, okay,” Steph cut him off. “You marked some bills and the League of Assassins used them at a strip joint. Don’t set the atmosphere, just give us the Cliff’s Notes.”

“Businessman… hired the League for a job… dancer in the next booth… overheard… Buttermilk Skye… once they verify payment… they’ll try to silence her.”

“Crap,” Steph muttered. “Okay, we need to tell Bruce. Hang on.”

Fumbling under her hair, she got her finger on her earpiece—though it was concealed two inches over her ear, the sound being transmitted through the bones of her skull. She toggled it for Batman, but got only the dry tone telling her it couldn’t get a connection.

Bludhaven wasn’t Gotham. Wayne Enterprises didn’t supply cell phone towers for them to piggyback their signals on. In fact, probably most of the city didn’t have cell service. Steph had noticed a lot of payphones still up. Probably some monopoly by the phone company around these parts; it made sense with how unbelievably corrupt the local government was. The place had probably gone full Sodom and Gomorrah once Dick moved away. And no matter how short his shorts were, no guy couldn’t be straight with Koriand’r on their team. Wait, staff… does that work?

Focus, Brown.

“There’s a gas station up ahead. Cass, you remember the emergency number?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You call everything in. I’ll stay with Tim.” She knew Cass wasn’t exactly the number one draft pick to deliver news over the phone, but she didn’t know how to drive, and if anything happened, Steph wanted to be able to get them on the road fast.

She kept the engine idling while Cass got out to go to a payphone, checking the fuel gauge to see if they needed any extra. They didn’t. The League of Shadows had given them a full tank. No wonder those guys kept almost taking over the world. And they had the good taste to worship Cass. Then again, Steph had worshipped Cass the other night, so maybe it was something of a fad…

“Steph,” Tim moaned.

Steph turned to look into the backseat at him for the first time. “Easy there, Drake. Just try and rest. We’ll have you home in a jiffy.”

Tim tried to sit up, but the weak effort was unable to overcome the inertia of his injuries.

“Dude, stop!” Steph cried.

He laid back, shutting his eyes, giving into the tiredness that his exertion had produced. “Knew you’d come for me…”

Steph bit her lip. He had to go there. She wondered which was crueler, letting him keep the wrong idea or giving him the right one. Then she thought of Cass. If she heard Tim talking like they were still together… “Listen, Tim, you’re my friend and I care about you… but that’s it. I don’t love you. We broke up.”

Tim was quiet, his eyes still shut, his breathing shallow.

“Tim? Do you hear me? You there, Tim?”

“Why’d you come for me?” he croaked out.

“Because you’re my friend. And we’re on this whole stupid team. We help each other, y’know?”

Tim was quiet again. This time Steph didn’t call out to him. A long moment passed.

“So, you and Cass, huh?”

“Yeah. Huh.”

Tim seemed to nod, though it might just’ve been a tremor going through his broken body—don’t be overdramatic, Steph, it’s not broken, he just took some bad hits, that’s all, a little R&R and he’ll be fine.

At any rate, he didn’t say anything further and Steph knew she didn’t have anything to say, until Cass piled into the passenger seat.

“Batman is sending… the jet… we need to go… where it can land.”

***

The Batwing set down, silent as the moon behind a cloud, in a dilapidated park so foreboding that no one actually went in it. Alfred, wearing a balaclava that he somehow managed to make look as refined as his butler’s uniform, gave Tim a check-up while Batman got a status report from Steph, double-checking the information that Cass had relayed. Once he had, he was quick to snap orders.

“We’ll take Robin back with us. I want you to go to this Showcase, get eyes on Buttermilk Skye, and see that she’s protected. Try to pump her for information about the assassination. I’ll wrap up the Murdock case so we can move on this as soon as you’ve handled your end.”

“Our end?” Steph cried. “Robin’s out of commission, we just went undercover with the League of Shadows, and now you have us playing bodyguard against the League of Assassins?”

Batman eyed her. “Only one assassin. The League wouldn’t send more than one member on a simple money-making operation. And I expect you to keep the dancer out of harm’s way, not apprehend the assassin. Leave that to me.” He glanced at Cass. “If possible.”

Cass shrugged. Steph supposed that there wasn’t an assassin the League could send who could take her.

“I’m just saying,” Steph continued weakly. “You’re really piling it on.”

“I don’t have the luxury of spacing out assignments to fit your schedule. You do what needs to be done. You wanted me to stop treating you like children; this is what that looks like.” He turned to Alfred, who seemed to know he was being watched by the same supernatural means Bruce did. He gave a thumbs up. Tim was safe to be moved. “You handled yourselves well, finding and retrieving Robin. It was a sensitive situation you found yourselves in. I know you only could’ve handled it by fully living up to your potential.”

Then he stalked away, going with Alfred to belt Tim into the Batwing.

“Wow,” Steph muttered. “He really gets wordy when he’s trying not to say ‘good job.’”

Cass looked at her. “Cynic.”

“What? Did he or did he not say ‘good job’?”