To Play the Queen of Diamonds

Before Octavia started the malevolent music box, Batgirl had begun to explore the limits of the space between the lasers with a telescoping pointer. It sparked when its tip had touched a deadly beam. Inadvertently, the Minstrel’s melodic minion had advanced the Dark Knight Damsel’s plans for escape. Octavia’s arrival had startled Batgirl, and caused her to thoughtlessly whirl and face her would-be killer. This action and her knowledge of her previous position gave Batgirl a safe zone in which to move.

Now, Batgirl positioned her pointer near a laser beam she had previously found and began to extend it millimeter by millimeter. In this way, she used her pointer to determine the width of her safe haven. She blinked, yawned, and darted a glance at the music box, as the hypnotic lullaby continued relentlessly to attack her psyche.

She shook her head violently and moved her back to within an inch of one deadly ray of amplified light. The extended pointer enabled her to gauge her position relative to the deadly laser beams behind her. She began to consider the next step in her exploration, when suddenly her head fell forward. Her eyelids had been growing heavy with sleep since the sinister song had started.

“Got to stay awake!” she told herself aloud, trying to turn words into deeds. Instantly, her body protested, making her balance falter and eliciting a moan from her lips. She took a single step to recover and allow herself space to lean forward, bend her knees and rest her hands on them. Her eyes widened with horror as her pointer passed through a laser, which sliced away the end of the tool.

She would not be able to go on using the pointer to measure her prison if it continued to be whittled away!

“Wait a minute,” she said, straightening. Batgirl’s experiment with the pointer had told her she could safely retrieve another of the miracles encircling her waist. Therefore, what was left of her pointer went back into her belt and a pair of goggles came out. “Looking through these lenses, I should be able to see the lasers . . . if I can get this adjusted properly.” She manipulated a knob on her goggles. “Almost,” she encouraged herself. “There!” A tiny laugh acknowledged how ridiculous it would have seemed to anyone watching her talk to herself, but the sound of her voice was helping her stay awake. She would need to escape before shouting proved necessary. The music box was not going to stop playing on its own.

Batgirl studied the maze of laser beams she would have to traverse before freeing herself from the Minstrel’s deadly prison. “The way that lullaby is effecting me, I’ll never make it if I try crawling through the beams to freedom.”

The Minstrel’s enticing escort had learned a great deal about villainy in her years of service to her musical master. Batgirl smiled wanly, noticing Octavia had placed the music box directly beneath controls logic dictated operated the security system. ‘Ironic,’ Batgirl thought.

The Crime Fighting Cutie turned her attention to the other sides of her prison to evaluate the avenues of escape they offered. Two led nowhere – directly into walls. The route to the window through which the Minstrel and Octavia had escaped was further away than the music box and controls.

“I’ll have to think of something else,” Batgirl told herself as she felt her balance falter yet again.

She began to reconsider the concept of waiting to be released. If she folded her legs, she would be able to sit on the floor and drowse without having to worry about stumbling into the lasers. Batgirl took another step forward and settled onto her knees. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs and yawned. She closed her eyes and felt her body involuntarily relax. She yawned again.

Some time later, Batgirl roused herself from a light slumber, straightened her back, and stretched. Somewhere, she could hear a music box playing. The song was a lullaby and she smiled at the soothing notes. She stretched her arms upward and opened her eyes.

She focused on the network of glowing lines around her and reached toward one of them. Then she froze and felt herself seized by terror. Sweat between her costume and skin chilled her. Batgirl shivered.

The soothing music had put her off guard. Now she remembered that the glowing line was a high-powered laser beam. If she touched it, her finger would be cut off. Within her chest, she could feel her heart pounding. Slowly, Batgirl became aware of other sensations. There was a prickling along the entire length of both of her legs.

“My position is cutting off the flow of blood,” she told herself. “I’ve got to stand up.” She raised herself to one knee and felt blood surge through her lower body. Soon, she was on her feet again, rubbing her legs to make the pins and needles go away. “I can’t afford another mistake. I’ve got to get out of here!” Her heart was still beating fiercely as she returned her attention to her situation.

Batgirl stood, surrounded by the Gotham City Museum’s security system, which the Minstrel had somehow turned deadly. She started to recall everything she had ever read about lasers. “Laser stands for Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. Laser light is highly directional and– that’s it!” She slapped her palm against her forehead over the goggles. “Think of every contemporary caper movie you’ve ever seen, girl! Even if the beams are super-powerful, they can still be reflected!”

‘Catwoman probably would carry just what I need. I’ll have to make do.’

Batgirl’s fingers undid her belt and draped it over her shoulder. Then she detached the buckle, and polished the bright face with her cape until it dazzled. She shook off another wave of drowsiness and held the belt buckle along one edge with her fingertips, moving it toward one of the lethal laser beams. “If this doesn’t work, I’ve had it,” Batgirl muttered.

The heroine eased her belt buckle into the beam. The curved face of the buckle entered the laser beam without being incinerated. Batgirl’s fingers remained intact. The beam shot out and hit the floor, leaving a burning black mark before Batgirl pulled the buckle back.

Despite her excitement, she yawned again. “Now, it’s all a matter of aim.” She looked at the mark on the floor and intercepted the beam with her belt buckle again. Batgirl changed the angle of the buckle quickly, to keep it from causing too much damage, and eventually maneuvered it so that it focused on the Minstrel’s malevolent music box.

She held the laser beam on the music box for a full minute before a tiny pop and crackling heralded the end of the song. A wisp of smoke rose from the remains of the device, and Batgirl redirected the beam. This time her target was the control panel.

‘“I hope this turns the system off.’ The beam focused on the controls and burned deep into them. Smoke began to rise from the cooking controls. Batgirl held her breath. Suddenly, the light beams Batgirl’s goggles had allowed her to see shimmered before her and vanished.

Batgirl took her pointer from her belt again and tentatively waved what was left of it around. This time it generated no sparks. She put her belt back on and her goggles and pointer away, before almost dancing across the room with a delighted giggle. Finally, she retrieved a fire extinguisher and give the smoking control panel, the remains of the music box, and the scorch marks on the floor short blasts.

‘The Minstrel and Octavia will be long gone by now, but I’ll catch up with them tomorrow,’ she thought. Then, she yawned, this time, quite naturally. ‘Now, I need to get some sleep.’

“What’s on our agenda for today?” Octavia asked as the Minstrel awakened.

“We have an audience with Marsha, Queen of Diamonds” the Minstrel replied. “We will dine tonight at the Airy, a nightclub atop the Gotham State Building. It is effectively the 103rd floor and most of the public space is open to the sky.”

“That sounds cold,” Octavia said, drawing a brush through her long, black hair.

“They have an ingenious heating and cooling system. In addition, every table has an enormous umbrella that opens to cover the patrons in case of rain or snow. We, however, will be making use of one of their more expensive amenities – a private tent.”

“Why haven’t you ever taken me there before?”

A beep sounded, saving the Minstrel from having to answer. He rolled over and examined a pager on a table beside the bed. “Who could be paging you?”

“I gave the number to some merchants while we were in Paris,” Octavia explained. “I doubt any of them would be calling me from overseas. Unless . . .”

“I don’t remember you shopping in Paris. I don’t even recall you going out.”

“You were asleep. Let me see that.” Octavia glanced at her pager and reached for the phone. “Whoever it is, they called from the Grotto Arms.”

She dialed. “Hello?” She listened. “Oui,” she said. Then, she listened for a long while. “Magnifique. I’ll see you then.” She put the phone down. “I’m having lunch with Monsieur DuLac.”

“The glass cutter?” the Minstrel asked.

“Precisely. I commissioned a few pieces from him. Will we be needing the Jovian Jewels?”

“Not for my plan. I thought we’d wait for a reward to be posted and collect the insurance money.”

“Suppose I were to tell you I think I can persuade Monsieur DuLac to take them off our hands.”

“I like the elimination of risk. What about my idea of cashing in on the reward?”

“It will work perfectly, but not for the Jovian Jewels. Look for a reward for the Midnight Star Sapphire.”

“We need the Midnight Star Sapphire,” the Minstrel protested. Then he realized what Octavia had done. “You’ve commissioned a duplicate.”

“One of three,” she confirmed. “If Monsieur DuLac is as good as he claims, the copy of the Midnight Star Sapphire will be as well received as the Flame of Kasmir Ruby the public has been admiring for the last four years.”

“You also commissioned copies of diamonds, didn’t you?” the Minstrel asked.

“The Eye of Excelsior and the Heart of Hope are about to be replaced. I couldn’t be sure which one you wanted, so I thought I’d better have copies made of both of them.”

The Minstrel threw his head back and laughed. “Octavia, you are one super criminal! This simplifies my dealings with Marsha dramatically. All we have to do is commission her to steal the diamonds and then make the switch. If she tries to double-cross us and keep them, we’re covered.”

“I’m glad you like it.” She stood and walked toward him while the robe she wore whispered against her skin. “With those details in place, your super criminal girl friend is free until lunch.”

“You just brushed your hair,” the Minstrel said, grinning as he pretended to protest.

“It’s a late lunch,” she said, giggling.

Meanwhile, at the Airy, a royal rogue arrived to supervise preparations for her audience that evening.

“We’re closed, ma’am,” the burly man who had been polishing light fixtures said. ‘We’ll be open this evening, if you care to make a reservation.”

“Oh, I don’t need a reservation, darling. I’ve just spoken to your manager. He invited me to come up here and discuss the arrangements for my private party tonight.”

“He did?”

“My card,” the woman said, handing the worker a laminated, rectangular document.

“This is a playing card, ma’am. It’s the Queen of Diamonds.”

“Precisely.”

“Marsha!” the manager said, entering and hurrying toward her. “I was so dismayed when you left me.”

“Sir, do you know this woman? She claims to be the Queen of Diamonds and that she’s having a private party here tonight,” the worker said in disbelief.

“Where are my guardians, darling?”

“They dropped me off, so I could come in here and be close to you, Marsha,” the manager explained, ignoring his employee. Six men entered the room wearing turbans and other Arabian Nights garb.

“I’ll meet you in your office in just a moment, darling,” the royal rogue said. Then, the Queen of Diamonds turned to glance at her minions. “Grand Mogul, take him,” she commanded.

“Come with me, Marsha! I’ll do anything for you. I just want to be near you. Marsha!” A nod from the Grand Mogul precipitated two of the Arabian-garbed guardians to practically drag the man away. “Grand Mogul, review the manager’s recruitment to our cause.”

“Yes, your Highness. Per your instructions, we waited until he finished shoveling his front sidewalk before shooting him with the dart your Aunt Hilda provided. We put his snow shovel away and brought him here. None of the infidels in the neighborhood interfered.”

“Very good. It seems Aunt Hilda’s latest batch of love potion is actually working.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Wait a minute!” the worker to whom Marsha had given her card said. “Did I just understand you to say you kidnaped my manager and brought him here?” Marsha and the Grand Mogul turned toward him as though he had just arrived. “Is he in love with you?” The Grand Mogul stepped toward him.

“Wait!” the Queen of Diamonds commanded. “I will deal with this worm.”

“Worm?” the worker repeated, perplexed..

“Yes, your Highness.”

Marsha looked at the bewildered worker and pointed authoritatively at the front door. “You will leave now,” she told him. “Fail to obey me, and I’ll have you fired.” The man stared at her in astonishment. “Go!”

“Um, thanks, lady,” he mumbled and dashed from the nightclub.

“Come, Grand Mogul,” Marsha commanded, sweeping toward the office with her main minion in her wake. Once she reached the office, she addressed the two guardians. “Leave us. If I need you, I’ll clap.”

“Yes, your Highness,” her guardians said. They withdrew.

“Now,” Marsha began, “I’ll need your largest private tent tonight. It should be furnished with a large Persian rug and several enormous pillows. The entire package will be free and the service my guests and I receive will be worthy of royalty. Is that clear?”

“Oh, yes, Marsha! I only want to make you happy.”

“Splendid.”

“Ahoy, Octavia. Welcome back to Ye Olde Benbow Taverne,” the bartender said as the Minstrel’s leggy lieutenant stepped into the seedy bar. The new arrival had ignored the fight just inside the door and deftly moved among the tables and past the “entertainers” dancing near the bar and juke box. “It’s great to see you again.”

Octavia’s face transformed into an impassive mask as she reached him. She slapped the barkeep hard across the face, almost taking him off his feet. The stupid leer on the man’s face told her the attack had been expected. “You’re a fool, Keel! You’ve been told before not to use your better customers’ real names in public!”

“Maybe I just like being slapped by pretty women. How can I get you to tickle me, too?”

“Ugh!” Octavia regarded him with distaste. “You can’t. Now, is my guest here?”

“He’s upstairs. You said you’d want some privacy.”

“Indeed. Lead on.” He offered his arm and she ignored it. He led the way upstairs.

“Maria will take care of you,” Keel pronounced and withdrew.

“Octavia,” the man at the table said, rising to his feet and crossing to greet her. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, Monsieur DuLac,” Octavia said, raising her knuckles for him to kiss.

“You are glowing.”

“Your presence elevates the level of this dump’s clientele immeasurably,” Octavia complimented. DuLac pulled Octavia’s chair out for her and installed her at the table once she was seated.

‘I hope you will forgive my having taken ze liberty of ordering for you.”

“No problem.”

He summoned a surprisingly well-dressed server to whom Octavia handed an envelope, once lunch was spread before them on the table.

“This is hardly necessary,” the server said.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, Maria. Those are orders for the Songbirds. I want them delivered quickly.”

“I thought Mr. Keel usually handles the messenger duties.”

“Mr. Keel is a fool and these orders need to be delivered and carried out. Confidentially, if the Minstrel didn’t need the Songbirds, I’d ask them to do something about Mr. Keel, after his idiotic performance when I arrived.”

“I’ll see to everything. Enjoy your lunch.” Once Octavia and DuLac had eaten, Maria cleared their plates away and reported, “I’ve been assured the Songbirds will be standing by tonight. Help yourselves to drinks.”

“All right, Monsieur DuLac, let’s see the stones.”

DuLac extracted three gems from his pockets and set them on the table. ”What do you think?”

Octavia examined the fake jewels glittering in front of her. “They’re lovely,” Octavia said. “Of course, I’m no expert.”

“I have engaged someone with whom you may be familiar.” DuLac reached for a phone and said. “Maria, would you please ask Frederic to join us?”

A moment later, French Freddy “Touche” the Fence, stepped into the room. “Mademoiselle, monsieur, I am at your disposal,” he announced.

“Look at zese gems and assess zeir value, s’il vous plait,” DuLac instructed.

French Freddy examined the fake gems and smiled. “I take it you would like for me to suggest a reasonable price for zem?”

“They’re fakes, Freddy,” Octavia said.

“Mademoiselle is certain?” Octavia nodded. French Freddy picked them up again and examined them carefully. He set them down and laughed. “Manifique! Zey are ze best imitations of famous jewels I have ever seen. It is not easy to fence famous diamonds. Sapphires are not simple to fence, either.”

“Merci, Frederic. Zat will be all.” DuLac said.

“Just a minute, Freddy,” Octavia said. “How did you get out of jail?”

“I have been furloughed for good behavior. Regrettably, ze arrangement is temporary.”

“I see. Do me a favor and verify the authenticity of these gems.” She spilled the Jovian Jewels on the table.

French Freddy looked at each gem carefully three times. “Oui,” he said. “Zese are ze genuine Jovian Jewels.”

“Thank you,” Octavia said. French Freddy took his leave. “I offer you the Jovian Jewels for your three fakes.”

“Intriguing. I present you with three opportunities. You offer me one set of small jewels,” DuLac said. “I like you, Octavia, but we are now engaged in business.” He shrugged elaborately.

Octavia favored him with a dazzling smile she hoped would warm him to his toes. “Monsieur Du Lac, please do not treat me like a novice. This deal is good business for you. The copies I get were made from photographs. They are excellent, but they will not fool any of the gem industry’s top experts – at least not for long. I must keep such a person from suspecting their true nature. That risk, I accept. I offer you genuine jewels.” Octavia paused to sip her drink and allow the impact of her words to sink in. “With real gems in hand, your talents can be maximized, Monsier DuLac. You can make countless copies and sell them on the black market. When you tire of that game and the vast sums it can generate, you may allow the real jewels to resurface. Think what I am giving you. These stones are worth a lot of money and you stand to double, treble, or make ten times that amount.”

DuLac considered her proposal and threw his head back to laugh. “Manifique, Octavia. You are so much more zan a pretty face. That is ze American expression, is it not? I accept.”

“Good. Merci,” she responded. They shook hands and Octavia picked up the fake jewels.

“Mademoiselle,” Monsieur DuLac said, “Now zat our business has been concluded so successfully–”

Octavia silenced him by putting her fingertips against his lips. “Monsieur, the Minstrel and I are quite happy together and I have no intention of jeopardizing a very profitable relationship. Thank you again. The pleasure of doing business, Monsieur DuLac, has been mine. Au revoir.”

“Non, Mademoiselle, ze pleasure is mine. Call me s’il vous plait if you ever have reason to reconsider you arrangement,” DuLac said. Octavia was gone before he finished speaking. He was unsure whether she had heard him. Meditatively, he refilled his glass.

Octavia’s glance swept the bar as she descended the stairs. The jukebox was silent and normal chaos had ceased. All eyes were on Maria, who stood behind the bar, casting a baleful gaze at the battered Mr. Keel, who was in the grip of several of the thugs who were usually busy beating up one another. As Octavia reached the floor, Maria nodded and someone began extracting things from Keel’s pockets. When his pockets were empty, Maria nodded again and the unfortunate Mr. Keel was hauled unceremoniously from the bar with a liberal amount of accompanying violence. “Thanks for the show,” Octavia said.

“I told you I’d see to everything,” Maria responded with a wicked grin.

“What will happen Mr. Keel now?”

The motor of a boat from outside seemed to answer the question. Maria poured Octavia a. drink. She took one herself and raised it as a toast. They clinked glasses and a cry and splash told the rest of the story of Mr. Keel’s fate.

“Thank you for lunch, Daddy,” Barbara Gordon said. “We should do that more often.”

“I’m delighted to have you walk me back to work. Aren’t you busy at the library?”

“We’re having a light day. Besides, I have to enjoy some perks for being in charge,” she said, smiling.

The Gordons stepped into Police Headquarters and immediately heard a man shouting at Lieutenant Diana Mooney. “She gave me this card and threatened my job! Get a SWAT team down there and arrest her! What are you waiting for?!”

“What is happening, Lieutenant?”

The irate citizen turned to the Commissioner. “An arch-criminal threatened my job! I want action!”

“To what arch-criminal are you referring?”

“Show him the card, lady,” the man said to Lieutenant Mooney. She handed her superior the playing card.

“The Queen of Diamonds?” Commissioner Gordon asked.

“Apparently, she is setting up a dinner meeting at the Airy tonight.”

“How do you know that?”

“She barged in with the manager and her goons when we were closed. My manager is falling all over himself to obey her slightest whim. She threatened to have him fire me. I want her arrested!”

“Have we taken any action, Lieutenant?”

“I’ve had Officer Goldberg sent to the scene. I’m waiting for him to report.”

“Daddy,” Barbara said, “I can see you’re going to have a busy afternoon. I’d better be going.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” the Commissioner said. He addressed the complainant. “Sir, the Queen of Diamonds is an escaped convict. I suspect she may have left the premises, but you’ve told us she’s coming back tonight. When she does, we’ll be waiting for her.”

“You and the cops couldn’t catch a litterbug! Why don’t you call Batman? He just arrested three notorious women yesterday.”

Lieutenant Mooney got a call on her cell phone. She listened and hung up. ”Sir, Officer Goldberg has just returned. Shall I ask him to report to you?”

“Yes, Lieutenant, thank you. Come with me, sir.” Commissioner Gordon led the man to his outer office. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Batman is following up on the arrests of yesterday by going after the woman for whom those women you referred to worked. If you’ll wait here in my outer office, I’ll pass your information on to Batgirl.”

“Thank you. I’m finally getting some action. Oh, I’m sorry to have insulted your entire force. I know most cities don’t have to contend with the number of super-criminals we have here in Gotham City.” Commissioner Gordon nodded and disappeared into his office.

Moments later, Barbara received the email her father sent to Batgirl. She smiled and softly muttered, “If Marsha, the Queen of Diamonds, will be at the Airy tonight, Batgirl will be there, too.”

Later, at the Airy, the Minstrel and Octavia made their way to Marsha’s private tent. Inside, Marsha lay on a heap of cushions, smiling into a hand mirror.

“Your Highness, the Minstrel and Octavia have arrived for their audience,” the Grand Mogul announced.

“Welcome, Minstrel and Octavia, to my private tent. So, why did you request this meeting?”

“First, Marsha, we have tribute for you,” revealed the Minstrel.

“Tribute? The idea is exceedingly flattering,” she remarked delightedly. Then she sat up, leaned toward him, her eyes sparkling, and asked, “So, what did you bring me?”

“Marsha, Queen of Diamonds, I, the Minstrel, give you . . . the Galaxy.”

“The galaxy?” Marsha repeated. “Do you mean, you brought me the Galaxy?”

“Correct, Marsha. I considered the Galaxy to be one of the two priceless collections of diamonds, that have recently arrived in Gotham City, likely to capture your interest.”

“Interesting. Tell me more.”

“Well, you now have the Galaxy, and the Transval Tears are on display in the United World Building.”

“There are two famous individual diamonds among the Transval Tears,” Marsha said. “Together, the entire set was a prize of war in an African tribal conflict. The most famous of the Transval Tears have a really fascinating history.”

“The Eye of Excelsior and the Heart of Hope,” the Minstrel said.

“Right. Their history is very colorful. Apparently, a huge, irregularly-shaped diamond was discovered years ago in what is now South Africa by two brothers. They could not decide which of them had found it and both were too greedy to share. They fought over the diamond with their pickaxes and ultimately shattered the stone in the struggle. The violence became a parable, as the pieces the diamond shattered into became known as the Transval Tears, because that region was called the Transval in those days.

“Later, the colonial governor became aware of the treasure, had its owners killed and all their property seized. The governor made the largest stone a symbol of his power and called it the Eye of Excelsior. He was a tyrant and a young man was inspired to steal his treasure. The youth succeeded and gave the stones to the local tribal leaders. They came to call the second largest stone in the collection the Heart of Hope. It became a symbol of the independence the country finally gained toward the end of the last century.”

“I was right about your interest in them.”

“I can see we have much to discuss. Let’s eat,” Marsha said. She clapped her hands to summon half a dozen guardians. “Serve dinner.”

“Yes, your Highness,” the Grand Mogul said.

Within minutes, they were seated at a heavily laden table. Marsha’s versatile guardians began serving the meal.

Far below, Batgirl parked her Batgirlcycle in the underground garage of the Gotham State Building. She then ran out to the quietest street surrounding the edifice.

‘I’ve been wanting to try this out,’ she thought. She pointed what looked like a miniature crossbow at the top of the building.

WHOOSH!

A rocket powered grappling hook and line shot up the side of the skyscraper. In seconds, it found purchase at the top of the structure. Batgirl gave it a tug and began to climb. ‘This Bat-climb must set the record!’

About twenty stories up, Batgirl was surprised when a nearby window opened. ‘I didn’t think any of these windows opened.’

A bearded man with black hair and a checkered shirt stuck his head through and nodded at Batgirl.

“Hello. You must be Batgirl.”

“I recognize you, too, Mr. Stevens.”

“Please, call me Ray.”

“Okay. What brings you to Gotham City, Ray?”

“I was trying to do some post-publication research on my songs.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You see, Santa Claus is the secret head of the CIA and I wanted to ask some of Gotham City’s great journalists and politicians if they thought he might transfer to the Department of Homeland Security.”

“I see. Is Santa Claus still watching you, Ray?”

“I don’t know, but I’d be surprised if he didn’t have his eyes all over you, Batgirl.”

“You’re very kind. Thank you, Ray. Good luck with your research.”

“There is one thing worrying me, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Gotham City has a number of colorful criminals, right?”

“That is true.”

“My wife, Ethel, has had some trouble with such a character.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. They call him the Streak.”

“The Streak?”

“Yes. He goes around showing off his physique, inviting public critique.”

“Wow, he sounds rather unique,” Batgirl said.

“You might say that,” Ray Stevens agreed. “Would you keep Ethel and me safe from this suntanned scoundrel?”

“I’ll do my best, Ray. I promise to keep an eye out for him.”

“Thank you, Batgirl. Good luck with your other crimefighting.”

“Thank you, Ray. Say hello to Santa Claus if you see him,” Batgirl said, climbing higher. As she ascended, she wondered if the Streak was at all good looking.

At dinner, Marsha turned the conversation back to business. “You didn’t request an audience just to give me a gift and discuss famous diamonds, Minstrel.”

“I have a plan that calls for the use of a diamond. Either the Eye of Excelsior or the Heart of Hope would do. I decided it was likely you planned to steal the Transval Tears and that I could save myself considerable trouble by arranging to buy one of the gems I need from you.”

“That is most enterprising of you, darling, but normally the diamonds I steal are for me. You have no idea of the size of my personal collection. I might consider altering my policy, though, if you tell me what you plan to do with the diamond.”

“Oh, you’ll find out. When I put my plan into action, all of Gotham City and the entire world will know.”

“What I know,” a new female voice said, “is you’re all guilty of conspiracy and about to spend a long stretch up the river.”

“Who dares–” Marsha began.

“Batgirl,” the Minstrel declared.

“Batgirl?” Octavia asked. She turned toward the new arrival with wide eyes.

“You climbed one hundred and three stories?” the Minstrel asked. Batgirl only smiled. The Minstrel continued, “Most impressive.”

Marsha clapped to summon her guardians. “Show this Batgirl the much faster way down. Serve her as a street pizza!” Marsha commanded.

“Yes, your Highness,” the Grand Mogul said.

Two guardians began to roll the dessert tray toward Batgirl, who sidestepped and hit one of them with an elbow while sweeping his feet from beneath him. The thug landed face first in a fruit-topped cake.

The other cart mover had slid to the side of the cart opposite Batgirl and begun to fling cupcakes at her. Batgirl leaned into the ineffective fusillade and put her hands on the edge of the cart to push. Marsha’s minion slammed into the wall and fell forward, face first into a pie.

Two other guardians gripped Batgirl by the shoulders and flung her toward the main table. Marsha, the Minstrel, and Octavia moved aside. Batgirl crashed into the table with shattering force, which disbursed most of the dishes and silverware, sending it plummeting to the floor.

The Grand Mogul and his second-in-command noticed her position and flung carafes of liquors from the drinks trolley to the tabletop, which quickly became saturated with alcohol.

The heroine lay stunned, while the grim guardians approached and picked up flickering candles and their heavy candlesticks.

The Grand Mogul was about to touch the flame to Batgirl’s alcohol-smeared costume when she simply blew it out. The surprised thug raised his candlestick and felt a foot slam into his mid-section. The Grand Mogul’s face landed in a bowl of mashed potatoes as he doubled over in pain.

The second-in-command pulled his lit candle from its holder and held it before him as he hefted the candlestick with his other hand. Batgirl’s sweeping glance spied a pitcher of ice water. In one swift motion she flung it at him to extinguish the candle. The thug dropped his weapons to shield his face from the shards of flying ice cubes and felt Batgirl’s toe connect with his chin and launch him backward.

A sixth sense alerted Batgirl that the last two guardians were coming for her. Her next attacker soon found a container of vinegar and oil salad dressing cascading toward his feet. He slipped, tried to regain his feet, and slipped again. As the colorfully dressed henchman squirmed and thrashed, he became utterly saturated with the salad dressing. Dismayed, he realized returning to the fight would be virtually impossible.

When the oiled guardian’s partner reached Batgirl, she flung a tray of relishes at him. He flailed helplessly at the incoming carrots, cauliflower, and other vegetables. The man discovered radishes rolling under his feet and toppled heavily to the floor.

Batgirl climbed to the top of the banquet table and waited for the guardians to renew their attack.

She dodged as the pie-smeared goon dove at her. He crashed to the tabletop and a stomp from her purple heel persuaded him to remain still. The man with fruity confection caked on his clothes leaped atop the table to face her. Batgirl stepped to the floor and pulled the tablecloth from beneath the remaining dishes and platters without disturbing their contents, as slick as Zelda the Great could have done. The man toppled and fell into a hot bowl of melted cheese. He shrieked and began to writhe on top of the table, moving his hands to his face and feeling the hot cheese scald the skin there as well.

The Grand Mogul’s second-in-command came at Batgirl warily and found himself draped with the tablecloth. Batgirl followed up her defense of his attack by taking the top of the back of a chair and swinging it at the covered man, knocking him to the floor.

Once the Grand Mogul had cleaned the mashed potatoes from his face, he spotted the meat carving station. He moved to it and gathered the steak knives. “Batgirl,” he said ominously. As Gotham’s Gorgeous Guardian turned to face him, he sent the first knife in his arsenal spinning toward her.

Batgirl dodged and leaned over to grip the edge of a serving platter. The thug who had been struggling to stand among the rolling radishes regained his feet and charged at her. The unfortunate thug found the contents of the serving platter flying toward him and raised his hands defensively. Batgirl used the platter to block the Grand Mogul’s next knife, then slammed the edge of her makeshift shield into the oncoming thug’s gut. As he doubled over, she bashed the back of his head with the platter. The thug collapsed.

Only the knife-wielding Grand Mogul remained.

Batgirl advanced on him, using the platter to shield herself from the knives he threw. Only ten feet separated the combatants when the Grand Mogul ran out of knives. Batgirl flung the platter at him like a Frisbee. He hammered it to the floor with his fist with a deep, triumphant laugh.

Too late he noticed the chair Batgirl was swinging at him. He toppled when it connected. A second chair arced overhead and shattered across his fallen body.

“Now, to give the three of you your just desserts,” Batgirl said, as she moved toward the non-combatant villains who had moved well out of the battle zone.

“Not just yet, Batgirl,” the Minstrel said. He raised two fingers, inserted them in his mouth, and whistled sharply. Two men in black flight suits and jet packs rocketed into sight and seized the startled Batgirl. As she struggled against them, the melodic fiend took up his lute and performed a variation of a big band number.

Come fly for me. Batgirl, go fly away.
If you can use some exotic booze, there’s a bar in far Bombay.
Come fly for me. Batgirl, go fly away.
Come fly for me. Go float down to Peru.
In Lama land there’s a one-man band and he’ll toot his flute for you.
Come fly for me. You’ll take off to the moon.
Once I get your up there, where the air is rarified.
You’ll just fly, starry eyed.
Once I get your up there, I’ll be holding you my dear.
You may hear villains cheer when you’re gone forever.
Weather-wise it’s such a lovely day
I’ll say the words and you’ll beat the birds to Acapulco Bay
It’s perfect for an airborne afternoon they say.

Come fly for me. Batgirl, go fly away.
Come fly for me. Blast off, just fly away.

“Songbirds, fly Batgirl to Gotham Harbor and find a disreputable-looking outgoing ship. A slow one bound for China would be perfect. Make a present of her to the Captain with my compliments,” the Minstrel ordered with a delighted laugh. “By the time you get back, Batgirl, you won’t recognize Gotham City. Bon voyage. Take her away!”

The flying thugs took off with the struggling heroine and disappeared to the east.

“You might have had them drop her into the water, darling,” Marsha complained.

“Or they could have just dropped her to the ground,“ Octavia pointed out.

The Minstrel sighed. “Ladies, that would have been a waste of such a lovely opponent . . . but I did promise Batgirl I would take stronger measures if she bothered me again. Marooning her on a scurvy outbound ship fits the bill nicely. I’m not responsible for anything the Captain or crew might do to her during the voyage.”

“I don’t think we need to dwell on the details,” Octavia said.

“I suppose she may face an adequately horrific fate after all,” Marsha said, “particularly if she refuses to cooperate with the seamen’s desires.”

As the Minstrel and his companions laughed maliciously, the melodic fiend decided to retrieve the conversation. “Now, Marsha, will you sell me one of those diamonds?” he asked.

“I might. Let me steal them first, and then I‘ll decide.”

“You leave me no choice.”

“None whatsoever, darling. Shall we go? Batgirl’s appearance has spoiled the occasion, I’m afraid.”

“At least we’re rid of her,” Octavia remarked absently.

“I was hoping for more from our meeting,” the Minstrel said. “Dinner was delightful, though.”

Batgirl continued to struggle as she was carried toward Gotham Harbor.

“Stop that!” one of her captors ordered, “or we’ll let go!”

Batgirl was more than a thousand feet above street level and determined her chances of successfully hooking her line or surviving a fall from that height would be extremely remote. She relaxed and tried to determine her exact location. As she looked around, she realized they were slowly descending.

As they flew, Batgirl began to formulate a strategy. She examined the harnesses crisscrossing her captors’ chests and noted the gauges they used to measure fuel consumption and altitude, as well as a compass for navigation.

“There’s an outgoing ship!” one of her captors shouted.

“Let’s give the Captain a little present!” the other agreed with a laugh.

Batgirl made her calculations as they descended rapidly. From the corner of her eye, she spotted something that bolstered her confidence. ‘Minstrel’s thugs have chosen a British ship’ Once they were above the ship’s quarterdeck, she tore at the harnesses holding the jet packs to the thugs’ chests. The Pretty Paragon of Virtue smiled as her cowardly captors desperately tried to retain control of the powerful engines keeping them aloft.

Batgirl twisted and the thug to her left gasped in pain as she slammed her knee mercilessly into his groin. She checked their position relative to the deck below and released him from his harness. The other man was too horror stricken to respond in time to prevent her from separating him from his own harness as well. The first thug’s horrific cry was drowned out by the wind and the noise from the motor.

Batgirl then struggled to secure one of the rocket packs to her own back. Once she was successful, she killed the power to one pack and used the other to descend to the deck, where her stunned, former captors had drawn a crowd of curious sailors.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the ship’s captain, a distinguished-looking man with a full white beard demanded, striding toward them.

“I’m sorry to drop in on you, sir,” Batgirl began. “These men tried to kidnap me. Would you be willing to hold them until I can get the Coast Guard out here to take them off your hands?”

The captain looked up and down at the curiously-garbed adventuress. “Who in the blazes are you?” he demanded.

“Sorry, Captain.” Batgirl extended a purple-gloved hand. “I’m Batgirl. I am sure if it’s necessary, Sir Sterling Habits of your consulate in Gotham City will vouch for me.”

“You really are Batgirl?” the captain asked, shaking her hand in wonderment.

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“I’m delighted to meet you. Captain Horace Farren of the frigate Viking at your service. These are my officers.” Batgirl shook hands with each of them before Captain Farren turned his attention to his first officer. “Right. Mr. Mate, kindly clap these brigands in irons.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Shouted orders caused sailors to haul the hapless thugs below decks.

“Thank you, Captain.” Batgirl said. “I’ll see that your guests do not trouble you for very long.”

“No trouble at all, Batgirl. Welcome aboard, by the way.”

Batgirl took the time to rearrange her rockets so both were mounted on her back. “Thank you again, Captain Farren. Now, I must be going. Up, up and away!” she cried, as she soared back toward the city.

At the Airy, she astonished her friend Lieutenant Mooney by landing next to her. Batgirl then reported her captors' whereabouts to the policewoman.

“Do you know what she and Minstrel are planning?” Lieutenant Mooney asked.

“For some reason, Minstrel is stealing large jewels. It might be for money, but I suspect something else. I couldn’t say what. It’s just a feeling I have.”

“So, he wants big diamonds,” the lovely lieutenant guessed.

“Right, Diana,” Batgirl said. “Marsha plans to steal the Transval Tears from their display at the United World Building. Stealing them right after I dispatched her guardians would be bold, even for her, but I’ll have a look anyway.”

“I’ll suggest to the Commissioner that we have more patrols by jewelry shops and increase the police presence around the United World Building,” Lieutenant Mooney said.

“Sound thinking. I’ll see you later,” Batgirl said, taking off the rocket packs. ‘I think I’ll take the elevator this time.’

Batgirl took the elevator down to the parking garage and retrieved her Batgirlcycle. “No charge for you, Batgirl,” said the young male parking attendant dreamily as she pulled up to his booth.

“Thank you, citizen.” She sincerely appreciated it. Building gadgets like the Bat-line launcher on a librarian’s salary encouraged her to save money whenever she could.

She drove past the United World Building without seeing any sign of criminal activity. She continued past in case the building was being watched.

Later, like a shadow, she returned over the rooftops and slipped past the security system and into the building. Crouched on a balcony overlooking the display of diamonds, Batgirl’s excitement grew as the hours passed. Tension mounted as she waited, all of her senses seeking the slightest stimulus to herald the Queen of Diamonds’ expected strike. The first night though, her vigil was uneventful.

On the second night, a footstep echoed and made Batgirl fill her lungs and slowly exhale. The soft tap was the sound for which she had been waiting. Then, she heard voices.

“Right this way, Marsha. What did you say you wanted?”

“The Transval Tears, darling. Quickly.”

“Whatever you say, Marsha. Your wish is my command. I’ll have to shut off the alarm. I’ll be right back to fetch them for you.” The guard moved off as the Grand Mogul led the rest of Marsha’s minions into the lobby.

“What is our situation?” the Queen of Diamonds demanded.

“The guards have been imprisoned according to your wishes, your Highness.”

“Aunt Hilda’s latest love potion is working overtime. The head guard’s order summoning the rest of his staff to the break room enabled you to lock them in tightly.”

“Yes, your Highness,” the Grand Mogul said.

“I’m curious, though. Were there no female guards?”

“The men dragged them away when they began taking steps against you, your Highness.”

“Excellent!” Marsha said. She began to laugh. After a moment, the Grand Mogul joined her. “The jewels are mine for the taking!”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“No, your Highness,” a mocking voice called out. “Not by a long shot.”

“Batgirl!” the Grand Mogul said incredulously.

“Batgirl!” Marsha exclaimed. In her astonishment, she barely noticed her main minion had failed to address her. “You should be miles out to sea by now!”

“I declined the sea cruise Minstrel arranged for me. Now, it’s going to be a hard day’s night for you!”

The Grand Mogul’s breach of etiquette hardly mattered. Marsha was clapping for the rest of her guardians as Batgirl threw her Batrope over a rafter above and swung to the floor. Before landing, she hit the Grand Mogul with both feet and sent him skidding across the room.

“Dispatch her! And do it properly this time!” Marsha ordered, as she moved from what would become a battlefield.

The guardians approached and surrounded Batgirl. She waited for them to converge and attack before ducking under their blows and emerging to shove all of them into the rising Grand Mogul.

The first man to come out of the tangle of arms and legs felt himself flung across the room by the wrist. A wall with which he collided stopped his momentum before he slid to the floor, stunned. Batgirl returned to her piled enemies, extracting another from the writhing mass. She sent him to dreamland with a shot to his jaw. She dropped the next attacker to emerge with a wheel kick and slid forward to hook her heel into another thug’s chin.

The Grand Mogul shoved the remaining thug toward Batgirl, who was concentrating on following up the stunning kick she had just delivered. The conscious, off-balance goon took Batgirl’s plant leg from beneath her and she went down. When she recovered, the guardian who had taken her down and the man she had been working over hauled Batgirl to her feet. The Grand Mogul faced her with a smile.

Marsha’s main minion slapped her face back and forth again and again until the Purple Paragon of Pulchritude drew her knees to her chest and thrust her legs outward. Both of her heels connected with the Grand Mogul’s chest and sent him sprawling across the room and toppling over a padded bench. Without letting her feet touch the ground, Batgirl performed an acrobatic flip that put her behind her opponents. She slammed their heads together. As they slid to the floor, she charged at the rising Grand Mogul, leapt into the air, and executed one of her showgirl kicks. The Grand Mogul’s head snapped back and his body fell to the floor unconscious.

Marsha, the Queen of Diamonds, looked at the carnage surrounding her feet. She glared at the beautiful young heroine who had littered the floor with her guardians. “Well, Batgirl, I’d heard you’d become a pest comparable to Batman and Robin. It seems I’ll have to deal with you myself.”

“I suggest you surrender, Marsha. It will go more easily for you if you give yourself up.”

The Queen of Diamonds threw her head back and laughed uproariously. “You expect I’ll surrender to you just because you’ve had some luck against my men?”

“Twice,” Batgirl said sweetly.

Marsha frowned and threw up her hands theatrically. Batgirl stepped toward her purposefully. “You’re about to find I always have a trick up my sleeve.” Marsha lowered her hands and moved them in a deceptive pattern before her chest. Suddenly, Batgirl heard a small explosion and found herself enveloped by a cloud of smoke. “My diamond dozing gas will render you utterly helpless in a matter of seconds. Goodnight, darling.”

Before Batgirl could respond to the malevolent monarch’s prediction, she felt her body collapse under its own weight. she never was conscious of lying on the floor. The heroine was out cold.

The head guard returned as Marsha’s guardians began to pick themselves up and return to some semblance of order. He ignored them and the fallen Batgirl, moving straight to Marsha. “Come with me, Marsha. Your diamonds await.”

“Excellent, darling. Lead the way.”

They walked to a tall, illuminated case where the Transval Tears were displayed on shelves with blue felt surfaces. The guard opened the display case and emptied the shelves into Marsha’s handbag.

“What else can I do for you now, Marsha? All I want to do is to please you.”

“Remove the shelves from this case,” Marsha commanded.

“Where shall I put them?”

“Anywhere you like, as long as it’s outside the display case.” The guard obeyed. “Now, get in,” she told him. Again the man obeyed. “Stay right there.”

Marsha favored him with a dazzling smile and closed the display case, which locked automatically. Then, she turned and began to leave the room.

“Don’t leave me, Marsha! I want to be near you. Your wish is my command!” the guard begged. He might have smashed his way through the glass, but she had commanded him to remain. She ignored him.

The Queen of Diamonds guardians had recovered and were casting vengeful glances at Batgirl, who remained helpless on the polished floor.

“Come!” Marsha said simply as she swept through the room.

“What of Batgirl, your Highness?” the Grand Mogul asked, massaging his bruised chin.

Marsha paused and studied her fallen new foe. “She is quite persistent. I suppose we should be getting rid of her. Bring her along.”

“Yes, your Highness,” her chief thug said happily.

Shortly thereafter, at a cozy cottage in Gotham City’s Green Forest section, a family visit was about to have fiendish implications.

“Aunt Hilda!” the Queen of Diamonds called. “Where are you?”

“Back here, dearie. I was just looking for the diamond shards you called me about, when I remembered I had some potion ingredients aging.”

The tip of a pointed black hat appeared beside a shelf and an elderly woman in a black dress walked slowly toward her niece, the arch-criminal. “Aging?” Marsha asked.

“Oh yes, dearie. The potions must be made with properly aged ingredients or their effects can be unpredictable.”

“That would be unusual,” Marsha commented dryly.

“If I can’t find a few pints of vampire blood somewhere soon, I’ll have to substitute something else and the potions won’t be as potent.”

“What does the potion do?”

“It makes the imbiber a lycanthrope for six hours.”

“A lycanthrope?”

“For six hours.”

“Why on earth would anyone want to be a werewolf?”

“I don’t know, dearie. I thought I’d make a few batches of this potion and see if it works. If it does, I’ll try to sell it in October, just before Halloween. I’d corner the costume market. Lycanthropy seems like a much more effective means of transforming one’s appearance than wearing one of those silly costumes.”

“Where did you get such an entrepreneurial idea, Aunt Hilda?”

“From Louie the Lilac."

"Louie the Lilac! When did you meet him?"

"I saw him through the glass on one of my visits with you in prison. I later came back to see him. He reminded me of my uncle, for some reason. Anyway, he told me he once cornered the Gotham City flower market and, on another occasion, was into a cosmetic related industry. Well, I got to thinking. My potions normally work for you, after a little tweaking, and all I would need to sell them to the public would be some means of mass production and distribution.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, dearie. I bought this cottage and thought I’d turn my potions into an industry. If I can’t find the vampire blood, I suppose quicksilver would do in its place. Oh, yes. How silly of me. Quicksilver is mercury.”

“Mercury is poisonous, Aunt Hilda. If you sell a potion that uses it, you’ll either make your customers as mad as a hatter or kill them. That would be bad for repeat business.”

“I know all about mercury,” Hilda said in a huff. “The other ingredients in the potion leach away its poisonous properties. Remember, dearie, I was a chemistry professor at Vassar.”

“I remember they fired you. Look. I didn’t come to argue about your credentials. Did you find your diamond shards?”

“The people at Vassar and I had a little misunderstanding. That’s all.” Hilda handed Marsha a canvas bag tied closed with rope. “The diamond shards you want are in this bag. Will you be needing any more of my love potions? I have a few strong ones ready.”

Marsha thought for a moment and nodded. “I think so, darling. Thank you.”

“All right then. I’d better let you get back to gallivanting around with those guardians of yours. Vampire blood really works so much better than mercury. I have to figure out where to find some.”

“Not much chance of that,” Marsha muttered under her breath. Then, more loudly, she said, “Good luck, Aunt Hilda.”

“Thank you, dearie.” Hilda toddled off, mumbling to herself, "Maybe I should go to California. I've heard there are vampires in Los Angeles. Or maybe in that little town -- What's it called? -- Sunnydale?"

Batgirl returned from the fog of oblivion to find herself on her knees encased in a clear, egg shaped orb, which was balanced on a pedestal made of the same material. Her prison was slightly narrower in the middle than at either of its ends. Not surprisingly, her arms had been bound tightly behind her back at the wrists and her ankles had been similarly secured. The rope drawing her wrists and ankles together also encircled her waist, keeping her body utterly motionless– helplessly restrained. She tried vainly to shift her weight, but remained immobile.

“A suitably subservient position, I think,” Marsha said, joining her men who had remained to guard their prisoner. “Wouldn’t you agree, Batgirl?”

“It isn’t a position I plan to hold for long, Marsha!” Batgirl replied, continuing her struggles.

“I quite agree, darling. Do you know what that is I’ve encased you in?”

“A clear, egg-shaped orb.”

“Not quite. You see, once I’ve done away with you, I want Batman and the police to be a little confused while I arrange to leave the country.”

“The orb is egg-shaped, so you’re planning to pin my murder on Egghead?”

“You’re half right, darling,” Marsha said. “Since you won’t be able to make use of the information, I’ll tell you. The orb you’ve identified is only part of an oversized facsimile of a musical instrument called a maraca. I thought I’d implicate the Minstrel in the staging of your final performance.” The Queen of Diamonds laughed delightedly.

“Maracas are typically shaken rhythmically, so that the dried beans inside make music,” Batgirl said, thinking out loud. Dubiously, she continued, “So, if I‘m inside the maraca, you plan to beat me to death as the instrument shakes?”

“You’re quite perceptive, but let me clarify the picture for you.” Marsha stepped to the clear orb and unscrewed its top. The Queen of Diamonds emptied her bag of diamond shards over her pretty prisoner and resealed the instrument of Batgirl’s planned death.

Batgirl shook herself as best she could, managing to spill most of the shards from her head, shoulders, and upper body. They spilled around her bent, bound legs. “These don’t look like dried beans, Marsha!”

“Oh, they aren’t, Batgirl. They’re sharp diamond shards my Aunt Hilda obtained quite legally from diamond cutters around town. She has no idea why I wanted to borrow them. In just a moment, I’ll start my maraca shaking. Everything inside will start moving, including you. Once the desired speed is attained, the sharp shards will start cutting away your costume and, before long, slice into your flesh. They won’t finish lacerating you until your flesh has been carved from your bones, cut to ribbons, diced to driblets, and ultimately reduced to a paste. The bloody mess you’ll become will coat the interior of that chamber and bring the music of my maraca . . . and your colorful crimefighting career . . . to an end once and for all.”

“That is utterly diabolical, Marsha. I promise you’ll regret this.”

“I doubt it, Batgirl. I’m having the Minstrel blamed, remember?”

“What do you have against the Minstrel?”

“Nothing, darling. In fact, while you’re busy being honed on your way to heaven, I’ll be telling him my price for the diamond he wanted me to steal. When he learns what I want,” she said, laughing with malicious delight. “He’ll wish he’d stolen the jewels himself.”

“Whatever you’re planning, you won’t get away with it!”

“You know all my plans now. I’ll silence you forever, while I make my demands of the Minstrel. Since he wants what I now have, it will be impossible for him to refuse . . . and, now, darling, since our conversation has become tediously tiresome, it’s time for you to shake it, baby, shake it! Goodbye.”

Marsha activated the device intended to agitate the Dark Angel of Gotham into the afterlife, touched her fingertips to her lips, and blew her voluptuous victim a farewell kiss. The Queen of Diamonds’ pretty, purple prisoner was enveloped by a glittering cloud of tiny, keen-edged lancets seconds later. “Come, my guardians,” Marsha ordered, clapping. “I’m sure the Dynamic Darling is already finding her dirge quite piercing.” As she led her lieutenants away, Marsha threw back her head and laughed.

Inside the spherical cell, Batgirl could already feel the razor-sharp rocks lacerating her legs and whittling her waist away.

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