And Transforms a Simmering Controversy

Both Batman and Batgirl had often heard Chief O’Hara remark about ill winds blowing across the boroughs of Gotham City, but his words had never seemed more apt. Both caped crimefighters clenched their muscles to combat the torturous tug Penguin’s sinister, wind-filled sails maintained on their tautly stretched bodies.

Neither Batman nor Batgirl spoke. Each knew every ounce of their strength and focused concentration would ultimately be needed to literally hold their bodies together. Whichever of them devised a means of escape would reveal it. The things to do were: fight the strain the malevolent machine placed on their muscles; and analyze the trap, pondering possible means of escape.

Both realized they retained all their miraculous gadgets after Penguin had left them to die. With their limbs outstretched, however, reaching their belts would forever be impossible, and their constant muscular effort prevented either from retrieving any of the backup tools they carried elsewhere. Regardless, these would likely take too long to free them before their bodies were broken as a prelude to a lengthy, painful demise.

Together the caped captives had faced countless deadly situations, but surprisingly few had been similar to their present perilous predicament.

Batman recalled some of his previous encounters with the Riddler. The punctuated Prince of Puzzlers had once tortured Robin on a rack, but the Boy Wonder and Batman had been in much more dire danger when the villain had strapped them to a pair of drive shafts at an obsolete water and power plant beside the Gotham City River. The rapidly spinning wheels had threatened to tear the bones from their bodies.

Penguin had given Batman another chance to watch Robin’s limbs detach while an industrial press had slowly crushed the Dark Knight’s chest. On that occasion, each hero held a control designed to ease the other’s torment while increasing his own.

Max Chessman had left the Twenty-something Titan in a similar position, while Batman had been set to be smashed to death and Batgirl had been poised to be twisted to pieces by a rotating gear. He had been working with Playgirl, who had activated the machinery that moved the chess pieces in his hotel’s gigantic, promotional game before being positioned herself between a pair of lethal gears and left to be ground to pieces following the other captives’ demise.

Batgirl had been entangled in various variations of the infamous and historically hideous Terrific Siamese Human Knot. Nora Clavicle favored this exotic means of bone-crushing torture which often induced strangulation unless the knotted victims remained utterly motionless, lest the deadly knot be drawn inexorably tighter. Batgirl’s repeated experience with such bondage had convinced her long ago the knot’s many fiendish forms embodied the most bizarre and terrible means of torture ever devised.

The Fiendish Feminist was not the only criminal who had threatened Batgirl’s life by means of her limbs. Joker had arranged for them to detach when a spring-loaded Jack-in-the-box opened. Playgirl had planned for any slight movement of Batgirl’s body to shift the Bat-Doll House of gigantic playing cards, in which the heroine had been imprisoned, thus destroying it and rending the Curved Crusader.

The Dominoed Daredoll recalled the popular belief that women had a higher pain threshold than men, due to the female’s role in the miracle – and ordeal – of childbirth. Her deep respect for the Caped Crusader, though, caused her to doubt she would tolerate the impending agony Penguin had planned for her better than her male counterpart.

Batgirl’s mind snapped back to the present as the wind shifted, causing the sails to droop slightly and the ropes pulling inexorably at her to slacken. “A respite,” she gratefully said, exhaling and sagging as her muscles relaxed.

“We’ll be in greater danger when the wind picks up,” Batman warned.

“Good point. Do you have any ideas?”

“I’ve been thinking about how Penguin’s finks tied the braces in place.”

“Penguin explained the braces rotate the sails to capture the wind and because we’re stationary on land, instead of moving over the sea, it isn’t necessary to adjust to every shift in the breeze,” Batgirl replied, inhaling deeply. “He said the prevailing winds would tear us apart readily enough in time and I think he’s right. You and I can’t hold out forever.”

“You’re right,” Batman agreed, exhaling and filling his lungs. “Penguin’s overconfidence, however, may prove fortunate for us.”

“So, you think we have a chance?”

“Perhaps,” Batman responded. “Might we be able to influence the position of the sails, if the braces were not bound in place?”

“Rearranging the sails might be worth a try, if we could figure out a way to release the braces,” Batgirl mused. “We’d have to decipher the functions of many of these ropes, though.”

“I was watching the finks spread the sails,” Batman explained. “We must take great care in shifting them. If we make a false move, we could both be torn instantly to pieces.”

Batgirl shuddered. “We’d be utterly helpless, with no warning whatsoever!”

The wind filling the sails again compelled both heroes to return to hardening their muscles. “Hold on, Batgirl!” Batman urged through clenched teeth, before becoming silent, except for labored breathing. Batgirl could only respond with a painful gasp.

The afternoon sun emerged from behind a cloud, bathing the captives in its blazing light. ‘Penguin strung us up before the warmest part of the day,’ Batgirl realized, glancing upward fearfully. ‘Despite the cool weather, we might keep ourselves from being torn asunder – only to be dehydrated!’ Glumly, she wondered how her considerable, muscular exertions would contribute to that previously unanticipated peril. Sweat had saturated her costume long ago and a glance told her Batman’s efforts had similarly drenched him.

She shunted her gloomy thoughts aside and tried to think of something positive.

‘Batman and I are very recognizable. Penguin has been foolish enough to string us up high above Gotham City in broad daylight. We might easily be spotted from the ground, unless the building, or perhaps the sails, obstruct a pedestrian’s view. A passing plane or helicopter might also see us, but I haven’t even heard an aircraft’s engine. Are my hopes of being rescued in vain?’ Batgirl wondered.

She glanced at the shadows their bodies cast onto the rooftop below and wondered if Batman had devised a way to release the braces so they could try reorienting the sails. She turned her head toward him and saw sunlight glint on his highly-polished belt buckle. Her eye followed a reflected sunbeam to where a circle of sunlight danced crazily on the rooftop.

“I may have the answer,” Batgirl softly said. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Can you rotate your hips at all?”

“I think so,” Batman replied just as softly, shifting experimentally.

Batgirl took in some air and managed to rotate her own lower body slightly. The increased strain on her arms and legs tore a gasp from her throat before she explained, “If we can focus sunbeams on the braces with both our belt buckles and hold the beams in place, the ropes might burn through.”

“Good thinking,” Batman complimented, taking in some air. “We’ll . . . have . . . to . . . hold . . . completely . . . still.” Seconds later, Batman groaned.

Batgirl knew her companion would be able to offer no more encouragement as both of them concentrated on holding their bodies motionless.

The force of the wind decreased and she turned her hips to focus the sunbeam more directly on the target while wrapping her fingers around overhead ropes to maintain her painful position. She dared not shift to assess the progress of Batman’s efforts. Her strength was finite and concentrating on keeping the sunbeam reflecting from the polished rectangle at her waist on target was absolutely essential.

After a moment, Batgirl realized seeing Batman was not essential. Like a spider, she could feel variations in the tension of the rigging caused by Batman’s slight movements as he tried to maintain the focus of the sunbeam his belt buckle was reflecting.

Suddenly, Batgirl’s heart began to race when Batman spoke. “I think it’s . . . working, Batgirl,” the Caped Crusader whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Good,” she hoarsely replied. Batgirl knew her strength was rapidly ebbing. Unless the ropes binding the braces burned through soon, she would be unable to go on fighting the merciless strain the sails kept continuously on her limbs. “I . . . can’t . . . hold . . . out . . . much . . . longer.”

“Keep at it . . . Batgirl,” Batman encouraged. “We’ve almost . . . done it.”

The wind picked up again, filling the sails and stretching the captive’s limbs to their limits.

Batgirl screamed as her body was wracked with agony. She thought she heard a sickening “pop” from Batman’s direction.

Suddenly, she noticed smoke rising from where she had focused her sunbeam!

“Concentrate, Batgirl!” Batman shouted. “We’ve . . . got . . . to . . . hold . . . out . . . just . . . a . . . little . . . longer!”

Smoke continued rising from the braces as Batman and Batgirl held their belt buckles immobile. Focusing the sunbeams, they fueled the fires upon which their hopes of escape rested.

The captives’ strength was utterly spent moments later! They sagged in the rigging as their muscles relaxed seconds before their limbs were re-stretched. Anguished cries were torn from both of their throats which completely drowned the crackle of flames.

Batgirl moaned when her lungs had emptied and hung her head as she waited for her limbs to detach. Blood would then gush from her severed ball and socket joints. She could only hope the pain would soon end.

Batman’s head had also sagged and he was breathing as deeply as he dared. Batgirl could tell his formidable strength was also gone. She wondered how long it would be before a slightly stronger wind would fill the sails behind them and rip their tortured muscles away from their bones. Her ligaments were stretched to their maximum and on the verge of snapping. She closed her eyes and was strangely conscious of the prevailing silence.

‘Penguin has done it,’ she dejectedly thought. ‘We’re about to die and there is absolutely nothing Batman or I can do about it. I am not, however, going to look as Batman is killed. I hope Daddy lets Robin, Batwoman, and Flamebird bring in Penguin. There is no telling what he’ll do to the villain who killed his daughter if he gets a chance to exact his own brand of vengeance.’ She shuddered, considering what she might do to Penguin were he to kill her father.

Two snaps sounded with the volume of cannon shots. Batgirl’s breath was suddenly taken away. ‘Batman’s limbs have snapped!’ Resigned to her fate, she thought, ‘It’s all over now . . . .’

Seconds later, Batgirl plunged earthward. Her feet hit the rooftop beneath her and her legs – still attached to the rest of her body! – collapsed as her muscles refused to support her weight. She gasped and felt the rigging sag around her limbs before it fell on top of her. Opening her eyes, she saw Batman in a similar position beside her.

Moving her arms and legs experimentally, she realized she had been wrong. None of her limbs had detached! She was about to express her delight when horror seized her. ‘Has Penguin’s trap broken Batman?’ She felt her chest expand and emptied her lungs as she expressed her worries with a single word spoken hesitantly.

“Batman?”

“I’m fine, Batgirl. Are you all right?” he asked.

Batman’s voice was clear and strong. It took her a moment to realize how deeply emotional his question had been.

“I’m okay,” she said. Her voice sounded good. It was perhaps a little weak, but she didn’t care. “What happened?”

“The ropes holding the braces finally burned though, along with some other critical lines,” the Caped Crusader explained.

“We should put out the fires,” Batgirl said. “Flames could endanger the Quarterdeck Club.” She slowly extricated herself from the fallen rigging and pulled a small canister of chemical foam from her utility belt and attacked the flames.

Batman was free and standing when she had finished her fire-fighting chores. “Good work, Batgirl,” he complimented.

“Thanks,” she weakly said. She felt her leg muscles fail her.

Batman caught her and stepped back to lean against the mainmast as he supported her, bending his knees slightly. Batgirl leaned against him. She saw him smile as she looked up at him. “I’m glad we’re alive,” she said, inhaling once she felt her heart rate was steady.

“We might not be if you hadn’t found a way to release those braces.”

“Criminals always overlook something. If Penguin had taken our belts . . . .”

“Yes,” Batman agreed, pulling her more closely against him as she let her head rest on his shoulder. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“As long as you’re holding me,” Batgirl replied, closing her eyes. Softly, she continued, “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Ms. Kane,” Commissioner Gordon said shortly after Batman and Batgirl’s escape. He crossed her office and sank into a comfortable client chair across from the beautiful software executive.

“You made this meeting sound pretty important, Commissioner.”

“I wish it were not. Have you ever heard of a villain called the Penguin?”

Katherine Kane nodded.

“He has demanded ten million dollars and threatens to destroy something in Gotham City where the cost in human life and property damage will make his demand seem like a penny-ante request.”

“I can make ten million dollars available for the city, if the timing required to raise the money is a problem.”

“I’d appreciate it. Batman and Batgirl are after Penguin as we speak, but we need to be prepared since Penguin has not yet explained how he wants to be paid. Of course, the idea of paying up is repugnant, but without knowing Penguin’s plans, we have no choice. I’m confident we’ll stop him soon, though.”

“I know your fine department and your allies will combat this villain with every resource available,” the businesswoman said. “Even if he gets his millions, he won’t be satisfied, and his price will go up.”

“I know,” the Commissioner said, nodding.

“You will keep me posted as events unfold?”

“Certainly,” the Commissioner agreed as the two shook hands.

“I’ll see that I get your calls.” Katherine Kane said, showing the public official to the door and turning him over to her assistant, Jeffery. As she returned to her desk, she considered assuming the identity of her crimefighting alter ego, Batwoman, but changed her mind, realizing Batman and Batgirl were already after the cagey villain. After all, the Commissioner had promised to keep her apprized of developments in the case. ‘I can always change my mind again,’ she silently decided, smiling.

When he mounted the steps in front of Police Headquarters, the Commissioner was aghast to discover a tightly wrapped bundle. It appeared to be a body bound with stevedore’s knots. An attached note indicated it was for him.

Officers carried it to the Commissioner’s office, where an emergency medical technician and a representative of the bomb squad joined them. Carefully, the knots were undone and the sailcloth wrapping was removed from the uniformed body of a naval officer. “Admiral Fangschleister?” the Commissioner asked.

“He’s alive, but unconscious,” the EMT reported after a brief examination. “His muscles are cramped and he may have suffered slight bruising because of the ropes. I think he’s been drugged, so there may be puncture wounds. Physically, assuming no ill effects from being drugged, he should be fine. The Navy will want to have one of their medics look at him right away.”

“Is it safe to revive him?” the Commissioner asked.

“I think he’ll revive naturally within the hour. It might be better to make him comfortable and keep an eye on him,” the healthcare provider said.

“Move him to the couch.”

As the Daring Duo continued to recover from their ordeal, Penguin and his piratical partners gathered several floors below in the spacious salon of the Quarterdeck Club.

“Boss,” Bass hesitantly began, “the guys and I did some thinking while we delivered the package and we have a question.”

“The thought of you finks thinking gives me cause for concern. Wak!” Penguin sighed. “What is it you want to know?”

"Well, we know you’re smart and your plan to make us all rich is almost complete," Pike said. "We figure with Batman and Batgirl out of the way, we’re practically on Easy Street."

"We just wondered if it’s wise to hang around here while Batman and Batgirl . . . ." Marlin hesitated before drawing a pointing finger backwards across his throat.

“We just wondered,” Parrot repeated, nodding vigorously.

“Wak! Lingering here as their limbs detach is a stroke of mere criminal genius, my less than fearless finks. I assure you, the security perimeter that alerted us to their presence in the first place is still operating. This is the last place anyone would expect us to be hiding,” Penguin explained, "so close to the scene of their demise!"

“Is there nothing else we can do to advance your plans, Pengy?” Cora Sayers asked.

“Nothing, my pulchritudinous pirate,” Penguin replied, exhaling a stream of smoke. “As we speak, the targeting beacon for our space-based weapon is in place and my instructions have arrived at Police Headquarters simultaneously. Unless I’m obeyed, it will just be too bad for Gotham City. Wak, wak, wak!”

Cora Sayers laughed, regarding the men with sparkling eyes. “Then, nothing can stop us from becoming exceedingly rich?”

“Nothing in the world,” Penguin answered, blowing a smoke ring. “Wak, wak, wak!”

The simultaneous shattering of windows on opposite sides of the room interrupted the criminals’ contemplation of the rising smoke ring. Two figures landed on the floor and sank immediately into fighting stances. One wore grey and blue, while the other sported purple and gold. Golden belts with bats gleaming brightly on the buckles encircled each of their waists.

“Oh. there might just be one or two things, Penguin,” the purple figure sweetly suggested.

“It’s impossible!” Penguin said incredulously, as his cigarette holder fell to the floor. “You can’t have survived my trap!”

“When will you learn your twisted, criminal schemes all lead to one inevitable conclusion?” the male figure sadly inquired. “Now, surrender or face the consequences!”

“Never!” Penguin cried. “To arms my finks! Come on! We’ll swab the decks with both of them! Wak, wak, wak!”

Cora Sayers retreated, retrieving the fallen cigarette holder as blue and purple fists met the first pair of charging finks. Parrot and Pike stood stunned as a second punch and a showgirl kick sent each respectively to the floor.

Bass and Marlin felt themselves seized as they reached their opponents and spun in opposite directions. The next sensation each fink felt was his violent collision with the other.

Penguin paused in his charge as he saw the Daring Duo handily repel his finks’ first attacks, but quickly learned he was too close to his enemies, who charged at him. Penguin retreated, but realized he had moved into range of Batgirl. Her boot toe slammed into his chin, lifting him off the ground, where a spinning, purple heel knocked him flat on his back.

As Batgirl landed, she noted Pike, Parrot, and Marlin had surrounded Batman and were beginning to systematically wear the Caped Crusdader down, while Bass was racing to help with the process. She cast a glance at Penguin and crouched over him to slam his head into the floor with authority when she saw him stir.

Seconds later, she was charging toward Batman. She drove her fists into Bass, knocking him to the floor without sparing him a second glance.

Pike and Parrot felt the hardened tops of knuckles impact their chins as Batman slid one way while kicking in the other, making Pike double over in pain. Parrot was too slow reacting and felt two strong arms encircle his shoulders and hands clap onto the back of his neck.

Marlin felt a hand pull back on his shoulder a split second before a purple elbow slammed into his face, knocking him to the floor across Pike’s prone form. Batman flung Parrot atop both of them before he and Batgirl regarded Bass.

The remaining fink moved to the stack of henchmen and collapsed on top of it. The Daring Duo grinned at them and shook hands.

“What happened to Cora Sayers?” Batgirl demanded, darting glances in all directions.

“She’s helping Penguin escape!” Batman said, pointing to where the criminal couple faced them, standing in a closing elevator bound for the ground floor. Batgirl raced forward and pounded on the doors in frustration. “I’ll get you, Penguin!”

“No doubt you’ll try! Wak, wak, wak!” Penguin’s voice clearly said. “Unfortunately, the time before the signal for acceptance of my demands must be sent is diminishing rapidly. Unless I get my ten million, Police Headquarters will cease to exist. Chase me if you dare. Wak! Goodbye.”

‘Daddy!’ Batgirl thought. It was all she could do to keep from saying it aloud. The Penguin and his amorous assistant’s echoing laughter died. “We’ve got to stop him, Batman!”

“You’re right,” Batman agreed, hurrying to one of the shattered windows. “The police will pick up Penguin’s finks. Let’s go!”

“I’m right behind you,” Batgirl grimly replied, letting several capsules fall into one gloved hand. She pivoted on the windowsill and tossed her handful of capsules to the floor beside the piled henchmen. A cloud of knockout gas enveloped them as she disappeared.

In less than two minutes, Batgirl was hunched behind the Batgirlcycle’s windshield with Batman clinging to her. She pushed the bike’s limits, racing to their destination. This was one time she couldn’t honestly say she observed the top legal speed.

“Sergeant, clear this building immediately!” Batman cried as he and Batgirl pounded past him. They both ascended the ten stories of stairs two at a time, faster than the elevator could carry them.

“If Batman told you to clear this building, then do it, Sergeant!” the Commissioner said firmly over the intercom as the Daring Duo burst through the double doors into his office.

“Penguin has targeted Police Headquarters!” Batgirl said breathlessly. She bent her knees and rested her hands on them, panting.

“Has he given instructions for delivery of the money?” Batman asked, equally out of breath.

“I found Admiral Fangschleister unconscious and packaged for us earlier today. He’s under observation now at the Navy hospital, but he gave me this as soon as he revived,” the Commissioner said, indicating a box wrapped in sailcloth.

“The Admiral may have been the victim of Penguin’s nasty brand of hypnotism. Did he remember anything about his time with Penguin after he handed you this package?”

“Not a thing, Batman.”

“His actions might well be consistent with post-hypnotic suggestion.”

Batgirl carefully lifted the package and put it next to her ear. “It’s not ticking and it’s not heavy, either,” she reported.

“I had the bomb squad take a look at that package,” the Commissioner said. “In their opinion, it’s safe.”

“Let’s open it carefully, Batgirl,” Batman said. “Set it down and I’ll use the Bat-scalpel.”

Batman’s tool sliced along the edges of the box to reveal a small stuffed animal inside. It was a penguin holding a scroll.

Batgirl unrolled the scroll and read:

If you want to keep Gotham City intact, illuminate the sign of The Iceberg Lounge an hour after dusk and await instructions.

Best regards, your enemy,
Penguin

“Oh no. Not again!” Batgirl said, groaning. “He’s going to run a courier all over town . . . and if it’s one of us, he’ll try to kill us while he escapes with the money.”

“I’ll carry the money,” the Caped Crusader said, casting a questioning look at the Commissioner, “assuming we have it.”

“Katherine Kane has graciously made ten million dollars available,” James Gordon said. “I’ll call and tell her to expect you.”

“Thank you, Commissioner. I’d best be going.” The Caped Crusader hurried back through the double doors. This time, however, he allowed himself the luxury of using the elevator.

“What about you, Batgirl?” the Commissioner asked. He knew perfectly well he was speaking to his daughter, but continued to refer to her as her crimefighting alter ego out of habit.

“First, before I forget, I left Penguin’s finks sleeping soundly at the Quarterdeck Club. Officers should round them up soon, before they wake up and escape. We left in a hurry because Penguin said he had targeted this building for destruction, like that yacht we watched explode earlier on the Villainy Channel.”

“He can still make good on his threat,” the Commissioner said. “The building has been evacuated, aside from you and me. The human toll will be less if Police Headquarters is destroyed, but the symbolism–”

“It’s not as easy as he’d like to make us think,” Batgirl said. “To hit his target, he needs to put a beacon in the building onto which the space-based laser could home.”

“Well, no human is carrying it, unless you or I have it,” the Commissioner mused. “How do you know the laser needs a target beacon?”

“I’m sorry, Commissioner,” Batgirl said uncomfortably. As they were discussing business, she too refrained from daughterly familiarity. “I really can’t say. I trust my source, though.”

The Commissioner nodded. “Mail, food, and personal items enter and leave this building all the time. Searching for it would be utterly pointless, given the time you and I have left. Under the circumstances, recalling officers I’ve evacuated is out of the question.”

“I agree, but whatever Penguin is using to convey the bomb to the building it’s here now,” Batgirl said, pacing the room. “Could he have included it with the communication he used to get us to watch the yacht explode?”

“A messenger just dropped off the note on a piece of paper,” the Commissioner said. “I don’t see how it could be the paper.”

Batgirl turned and continued her pacing as the Commissioner sank into his desk chair. After a moment, the public official was scowling at the stuffed penguin the villain had sent and realized Batgirl was also staring at it. “You don’t suppose . . . it’s the penguin! Everyone would forget about it as they fled the building.”

“Is there a way you can find out?”

“I think so,” Batgirl said. She pulled something from her utility belt and passed it over the penguin. A soft beep sounded. “This is a metal detector and there is something metal inside this penguin. Do you mind if I take it with me?”

“No . . . but if it is the targeting beacon, you certainly can’t carry it around! What are you planning to do?”

“Find Penguin and return his toy,” Batgirl answered, grinning.

“If Penguin sets the destruction of Police Headquarters in motion–”

“Putting this near him will make him stop.”

“Suppose he can’t halt the process?”

Batgirl’s voice was almost devoid of feeling as she responded. “I’ll get as far away as I can and leave the genius to improvise!”

The Commissioner stared at his daughter. “Batgirl—”

She held up a hand and warmed considerably as she continued. “I’m confident a crook as smart as Penguin will have made some provision for such a contingency.”

“You’re taking a considerable risk. What if you don’t find him in time?”

“I’m betting Penguin is taking the greater risk, and in my mind, he just tried to murder you, Daddy! Batgirl’s lips twitched into a thin, humorless smile as her eyes narrowed. “As for the time factor, it’s just a little more motivation for me.” She put a hand on her father’s shoulder and tried to imbue her voice with humor. “Listen. Don’t worry. I have faith in my survival instincts. They haven’t failed me yet.”

“That isn’t funny, Barbara,” he said softly.

“I know,” she replied, turning away. “I have to hurry.”

The Commissioner considered his daughter’s words and her proposal as she hurried from his office. He inhaled deeply and let the air out of his lungs slowly. “Godspeed!” he fervently said.

Later, back in the honeymoon suite at the Chessman Hotel, Penguin moved to the window where Cora Sayers was keeping watch. “Well?” he asked.

“The sign just lit up, Pengy.”

“Wak, wak, wak! Capital! I’ll want the blow-by-blow after I make the call. Use the more powerful telescope.”

“Sure thing, Pengy,” Cora Sayers enthused, bending to use the device.

The Penguin smiled at her as he picked up the phone and dialed. “Good evening, Batman,” he said when the Caped Crusader answered. “Tell me. Do you have my money?”

“I have it, Penguin.”

“Very good,” Penguin crowed. “Now, listen carefully. I’ll have additional instructions for you in twenty minutes at Ye Ole’ Benbow Taverne. Don’t be late. Wak!” Before the Dark Knight could respond, Penguin hung up.

“He’s running toward the car and jumping in,” Cora Sayers reported. “The Batmobile started and it’s gone. She turned toward him, straightening, and regarded him with a wide smile. “How soon will we get paid?”

“We’ll run him all over town, until I’m ready to lure him into the fatal embrace of my giant, exploding octopus. I’ve waited years to serve a bat to the son of my original, cunningly-created creature.”

“What happened to your first giant, exploding octopus?”

“It exploded, killing one of my criminal crew in the process, instead of Batman. Wait a minute,” Penguin set his cigarette holder aside. “You didn’t say anything about Batgirl. What was she doing while I was talking to Batman?”

“I didn’t see her anywhere,” Cora Sayers admitted, folding her arms. “I honestly forgot about her, but she was with Batman when they caught the men.”

“Of course she was. We’d just tried to kill both of them! Now, if she isn’t running all over town with Batman, where is she?”

“Maybe she’s taking the rest of the day off?” Cora Sayers proposed. “After all, you did put her through the wringer.”

“No!” Penguin disagreed, his voice rising as he gripped his umbrella more tightly. “That doesn’t sound like Batgirl at all. Where could she be?”

“I’m right here, Penguin,” Batgirl said, “and I brought you a present.” The purple-clad paragon tossed the stuffed animal into the room before climbing through the window she had opened from the outside. “I usually don’t approve of re-gifting, but in your case I’ll make an exception.”

Cora Sayers’ face paled as she caught the toy penguin. “We can’t . . . destroy . . . Police Headquarters . . . now,” she said.

“Quiet!” Penguin shouted. “Batgirl, how did you find us?”

“It was easy,” the heroine said. “Your instructions told me you would be hiding within sight of the Iceberg Lounge, so you could see if the sign lit up. This room is the best possible vantage point.”

“Very clever, Batgirl,” Cora Sayers complimented.

“I’m honestly amazed,” Penguin admitted, leaning forward to rest his weight on the table in front of him.

“Oh,” Batgirl added, grinning. “I also slipped a homing transmitter into your pocket during the fight at the Quarterdeck Club.”

Penguin searched his pockets and withdrew a tiny, bat-shaped item the size of pin, with illuminated eyes. With an enraged cry the villain flung the tiny device to the floor and crushed it under his heel. “Curses! You’re too clever by half! Now that I’ve destroyed your little toy, Batgirl, you’ll occupy my full attention!”

“The only thing that’s about to be destroyed here is your potential to cause destruction!”

“We’ll see about that, Batgirl!” Penguin replied. “Cora, dispatch her!”

“With pleasure,” the brown-haired beauty said, as knives appeared in her hands. She sent the weapons streaking toward their target . . . and stared, wide-eyed, as a flying Batarang intercepted them, taking them from their deadly course to clatter harmlessly to the floor. A second Batarang slammed into the henchwoman’s head as she reached for another of her blades. She collapsed, unconscious.

“It’s down to just you and me, Penguin,” Batgirl said menacingly.

“Wak! So it is, Batgirl . . . but you’re out of Batarangs.” As the villain spoke, he thrust his umbrella toward her.

A purple heel slammed into his wrist where Penguin gripped his umbrella handle. Penguin turned his head to regard her and saw her knee rise toward him and her hip turn before the booted sole of her foot slammed into his face.

The criminal couple revived later on the canopied, double bed. They found themselves facing one another, with Cora seated on Penguin’s lap with her arms threaded beneath his armpits and his abdomen between her thighs. Each of their limbs was extended and stretched to be shackled at the wrists or ankles to the bedposts at opposite corners.

“What’s going on, Pengy?!” Cora Sayers asked, horrified.

“Batgirl is taking liberties.”

“She isn’t going to kill us. Is she?”

“No,” Batgirl answered. “Your position, however, will grow more uncomfortable as your muscles cramp. If you chose to move, your discomfort will get worse. Don’t worry. I’ll summon the police to release and arrest you . . . in the morning.”

Cora Sayers stared at the darkness outside the window and Penguin glanced at the clock. Batgirl had massaged their limbs vigorously to enable them to attain their position and they could both feel the effects of her handiwork beginning to wear off. Both captives realized they would welcome arrest when the police arrived.

“You’re being very vindictive, Batgirl!” Penguin said.

“Not really,” Batgirl disagreed. “When you left me in this position, you planned for my limbs to detach and for me to bleed to death. In fact, you ordered your finks to kill me the moment you laid eyes on me.”

“If you’d simply leave me alone, Batgirl, these unpleasant measures would remain unnecessary.”

“I can understand your motivation for killing me, but the way you treated your hostage, Jenny Akasofu, after ‘entertaining’ her for months, was inexcusable!”

“What does she mean by ‘entertaining,’ Pengy?” Cora Sayers asked suspiciously.

“I planned to cause a city-wide power failure and demand a reward for restoring normalcy. To that end, I enlisted the young lady’s grandfather and “recruited” his granddaughter, Jenny, to induce his cooperation.”

“You kidnapped the girl and threatened her?” Cora Sayers asked.

“Precisely,” Penguin confirmed, explaining. “The good doctor co-operated in the end, but the little wench caused considerably more trouble than I had anticipated. When Batgirl arrived and evaded my initial line of attack, disposing of both of them seemed the perfect solution to all my problems.”

“You positioned them like we are?” Cora Sayers asked.

“Indeed and my machinery began to slowly crush them together as their limbs were slowly drawn from their torsos. Wak, wak, wak!”

“How could Batgirl have escaped?” Cora Sayers asked. “This is horrible . . . as well as embarrassing.”

“I could tell you,” Batgirl said, smiling sweetly at her prisoners, “but I see no reason to spoil your ‘fun.’”

“You are enjoying this!” Cora Sayers accused, “aren’t you?”

Penguin drew the heroine’s attention. “Batgirl, please reconsider. I didn’t try to murder you when I worked with Lola Lasagna, when I tried to put all of Gotham City to sleep, or when I worked with Mister Freeze.”

“I’ll agree with the Lola Lasagna episode. I guess you didn’t try to kill me when I was laying in the gutter while your Lygerian sleeping sickness infected Gotham City, but I do recall a brief discussion of my impending murder. As for Mister Freeze, you gave me to him as if I were a trophy! I’d imagine you were well aware of his plans for me.”

“Wak! I was quite the matchmaker, on that occasion.”

“He was going to make me his ice queen—literally, and in more ways than one! Now, let’s examine your more recent record. You tried to feed me to a polar bear and a school of piranha; you’ve had me launched as a human torpedo and aboard a hot air balloon to become a human lightning rod in a storm; you tried to cook me at the lighthouse; you tried to blow the Batboat out of the water while I was a passenger; you’ve tried to drown me several times; and I didn’t enjoy my stretch in the rigging at the Quarterdeck Club at all!”

“You’ve done all of that to her?!” Cora Sayers asked incredulously. “Maybe she isn’t being a vindictive–”

“Take her side, why don’t you?” Penguin asked rhetorically, glaring at his henchwoman. Then, he shifted his gaze. “So, Batgirl you’re going to leave us here, like this?”

“Just so,” Batgirl said. “There are a few other small things to which to attend. When I called Batman and told him I was taking you two into custody, he told me the firing codes on the space-based laser weapon had been changed by Presidential order. Therefore, I’ll leave you your toy penguin and tell you not to worry. It’s harmless now."

Cora Sayers, who had avoided her criminal partner’s gaze by staring at the toy penguin, exhaled audibly.

“In fact, it’s been utterly neutralized,” Batgirl continued. “I like the irony of the mere criminal genius becoming impotent.”

“Don’t you ever believe it,” Penguin softly said, his voice full of menace.

“I think you two will be lucky to avoid being prosecuted as terrorists, or perhaps pirates,” Batgirl went on mercilessly, ignoring him. She smiled as Cora Sayers’ face paled. “The criminal most recently convicted of treason was hanged and I believe modern pirates would suffer the same fate, unless the laws have been modernized.” Batgirl shrugged.

“You’re really enjoying this,” the henchwoman repeated.

“Not yet,” Batgirl disagreed. She pulled a camera from its place at her hip and took several picures of the villainous pair. “What I’ll really enjoy is anonymously giving this picture to some incarcerated acquaintances of Penguin’s.”

“Whom did you have in mind?” Penguin inquired.

“Your two most recent partners, Legs Parker and Jackie Lelanne,” Batgirl answered.

"I’m sure they’ll be looking forward to talking to you both about Penguin’s latest criminal conspirators,” Batgirl said. “Ms. Sayers, if I were you, I’d be very careful when I get to Gotham State Penitentiary.”

“Batgirl, please don’t!” Penguin pleaded. “I’ll confess to everything! Don’t give the Parkers those pictures. I won’t be able to explain it before the whole family reacts violently, probably assuming I dumped Legs!”

“I’m counting on it,” Batgirl said, grinning. “We both know how very proficient her three brothers are at violence, and Ms. Lelanne is known for being athletic as well.”

“Batgirl, please!” Penguin began to beg. "I've already told you I'd confess. I promise. What more do you want?"

“I suppose I might just reconsider, if your keep your word,” Batgirl said, shrugging. “Meanwhile, you two have a long, uncomfortable night to which to look forward.” Batgirl moved to the window. “Happy cramping,” Batgirl called as she vanished.

“Penguin,” Cora Sayers began, her voice taking on a hard edge, “I know you’re fond of women, like most guys, and I’m hardly the first woman with whom you’ve spent . . . um . . . quality time, but is there anything else you think I should know about Parker or Lelanne?”

“Ordinarily, I’d be pleased to introduce you to both of them,” the villain glumly replied. “Wak, wak, wak!” Penguin inhaled deeply and let his breath out slowly. “Under these circumstances, though, I’d rather have been captured by Robin.”

Meanwhile, on her way to work, Lieutenant Diana Mooney responded to a silent alarm emanating from Octave Marbot’s sculpture studio. She spotted a faint light moving around the interior of the building as she pulled her car past.

The lovely Lieutenant parked her car and approached to try the front door, which was locked. She crept around the back and spotted four men dressed in black shorts and tightly-fitting shirts bearing wide, horizontal, black and yellow stripes, carefully lifting a pair of marble statues onto a truck and lashing them securely to its interior walls.

The policewoman pulled her weapon and leveled it at the men as they emerged from the truck. “Hold it right there, boys!” she ordered. “It’s a little late to be picking up an order. Keep your hands where I can see them, while I figure out exactly what’s going on!”

Lieutenant Mooney watched as the men raised their hands, but was surprised when tiny darts shot from beneath each of their sleeves, impaling her. She let out a startled cry in response to the small barrage of missiles. Seconds later, the Lieutenant’s gun clattered to the ground and she collapsed, writhing in agony.

“Good thing the boss gave us those stinger darts,” one man said.

“Let’s see who the pretty lady is,” a second man suggested, crouching over their victim and quickly searching her quivering body. “Holy cow! She’s a cop!” As the thug straightened, he tossed a badge to a third man. “Take her ID and show the boss.”

The third man hurriedly departed down the alley. He soon, though, reappeared, motioning for the other three to bring the policewoman and follow him.

Unceremoniously, they dragged the Lieutenant to where she had parked her car. A blonde woman crouched, operating a jack beside a hubcap she had laid on the curb.

“What’s happening?” Lieutenant Mooney weakly asked. “Who are you?”

The woman straightened and Lieutenant Mooney’s trained eye constructed her description. A necklace hung at her throat and a sheer, black cape was draped over her otherwise bare shoulders. Her matching dress showcased her proportional figure magnificently, descending from the swell of her barely restrained breasts, falling over her abdomen and hips before descending to her ankles. Polished shoes and yellow nylons became visible through the twin slits in the sides of the dress.

“Good evening, Lieutenant,” the blonde said, regarding her captive with a smile. “I see you’ve felt the Honey Bee’s sting. The work on your car is mere window dressing. I have no specific plans to harm you tonight.”

“Honey Bee,” the Lieutenant repeated. Her breath came in labored gasps. “I’ve heard of you. Batman and Robin told me you stole an entire display of ancient Chinese treasures from the Gotham City Art Museum and tried to kill them.”

“So, we’re both adequately well-informed for introductions to be superfluous,” Honey Bee said.

“Touche’,” the Lieutenant said, her voice gaining strength, despite the grimace of lingering pain etched upon her pretty face. “If you’ll go on sharing, I’ll keep listening.”

“I’d be delighted. Tonight my drones and I are collecting the statuary Octave Marbot has made of Gotham City’s historical leaders from priceless carrara marble. Since I now have you, I know you’ll be helping me accomplish another of my goals.” The villainess paused to laugh. “You are about to contact some heroic backup.”

“Why should I?” Her anger enabled the Lieutenant to ignore the pain which had initially incapacitated her and was ebbing surprisingly slowly.

“Put her in her car,” Honey Bee ordered. Two drones pulled the Lieutenant to her feet and shoved her forward after the rear door was opened.

The Lieutenant tried to rise as soon as she hit the cushion and found she could only squirm helplessly. “What’s happening?” the policewoman demanded. “Why can’t I move?”

“I coated the back seat of your car with my especially sticky honey. You could struggle in there for hours, but unless you summon caped backup, I’ll leave the car running and direct the exhaust inside. Then, of course, you’ll wish you had called. It looks like you have more than enough gas.” Honey Bee laughed. “I’d rather not kill you, though. After all, even after giving you your props, the buzz is Gotham City’s irregular law enforcement community offers much more formidable targets.”

“You leave me no choice,” the policewoman lamented.

“None whatsoever,” Honey Bee agreed, chuckling.

“You’re insane if you really think you’ll kill Batman or one of his allies tonight. Helping them put you behind bars, where you obviously belong, will be my pleasure.”

“Your confidence – and your reputation – make me feel I should let you share their fate. My plans, however, are set.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Lieutenant Mooney said. “I can’t reach the radio from back here.”

“Such delicious enthusiasm,” Honey Bee said, slipping into the front seat with an amused smile forming on her pretty face. She grabbed the police-issued radio’s microphone, “In that case, you’d better speak up.”

“This is Lieutenant Mooney. I’ve got a costumed villainess cleaning out Octave Marbot’s sculpture studio. Send some especially qualified backup – fast!”

The dispatcher knew for what the Gotham City night shift commander was asking. “The Chief or the Commissioner will have to be informed,” she reminded her superior.

“I know the rules,” the Lieutenant said. “Just do it. Over and out!”

“Very good, Lieutenant,” Honey Bee said, laughing as she replaced the microphone. “A little of my perfumed pollen will be sufficient to keep you quiet while we prepare a lethal reception for your saviors. Good night.”

“You’ll never get away with killing Batman or any of his allies, even if you do succeed!” As Lieutenant Mooney spoke, a sickly sweet odor permeated the car, causing her to cough and convulse before unconsciousness claimed her.

“Oh, Lieutenant, I expect your rescuers to suspect a trap. Nevertheless, my planning and preparations give me reason to believe I’ll be successful.” She turned on the car’s hazard lights without sparing Lieutenant Mooney’s unconscious body a glance and stepped to the street, chuckling. “Come!” she commanded, stepping past her drones and strutting confidently toward the building.

The sound of whirring blades heralded the arrival of two one-woman aircrafts. Batwoman and Flamebird, the heroic Distaff Duo, disembarked and crept toward the darkened sculpture studio.

“I don’t see the Lieutenant,” Flamebird said.

“Neither do I . . . and anyone who may be around knows we’re here,” Batwoman said.

“If the Lieutenant were in danger, she wouldn’t want us to sneak up on her attackers,” Flamebird said. “Of course, she could easily be the bait in a trap.”

“Good thinking, Flamebird. It’s vital for us to be on our guard, I agree. This situation smells like a trap.”

Flamebird nodded and reached for the handle of the front door to the studio. The handle turned. “It’s unlocked.”

Batwoman’s raised hand prompted the Distaff Duo to pause before Flamebird yanked open the portal. They both hesitated a mere moment before bursting through.

"We know you're in here!" Flamebird declared, sinking into a fighting crouch.

"Show yourselves, villains!" Batwoman commanded, turning her back toward Flamebird's and doing likewise as she intently studied her darkened surroundings.

Lights blazed to reveal Honey Bee flanked by her two pairs of henchmnen and regarding the newcomers with a smile. “We meet at last, Distaff Duo! I am the Honey Bee, and I will be detaining the two of you . . . forever! Drones, get them!”

Five more drones appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere. Honey Bee’s nine thugs advanced on the Distaff Duo and surrounded them, while the villainess retreated to a locked cabinet built into one wall of the studio.

Honey Bee’s goons seemed used to wading into a fight and winning by simply overwhelming their enemies. Conversely, Batwoman and Flamebird were both accustomed to working together in combat, relying upon speed and agility rather than power to be victorious. Their position anticipated the drones’ tactics.

As the battle commenced, the Caped Cuties began to narrowly avoid blow after blow, counterattacking with devastating effectiveness, slowly reducing their opponents to moaning heaps. The contents of the room around them were also decimated, transformed into white dust; shattered statuary; and forms of debris that were much harder to identify.

Soon, the Distaff Duo shook hands in victory. The pair warily approached Honey Bee, who had bowed her head and lowered her eyelids as her henchmen were violently dispatched.

“You’re both very impressive. I congratulate you. All the buzz turned out to be true,” the villainess said, raising and opening her eyes to regard them. “Those were handpicked men and I brought more than I had when I encountered Batman and Robin. You’ve performed brilliantly . . . so far.”

“Never mind, Honey Bee. It’s over,” Batwoman said. “Give yourself up.”

“Tell us what you’ve done to Lieutenant Mooney!” Flamebird demanded.

“Oh, the Lieutenant is quite safe,” Honey Bee replied. “You might say, she’s stuck in her car.”

“Once we let her out,” Flamebird predicted, “we’ll have put a stop to all your plans tonight.”

“Oh, I’ll be proceeding with my agenda in just a moment, but first, I must tell you I’ve removed every priceless, carrara marble sculpture the great Octave Marbot created. I’ll be profiting handsomely from tonight’s work, which is nearly complete.”

“Well, we’ve caught you red-handed,” Batwoman objected, “and I don’t know with what you imagine you’ll get away after such a bold confession.”

“I’ll show you,” Honey Bee gleefully said. “You haven’t met Penny and Nicole, my Money Honeys, yet!” Something sticky splashed onto the heroine’s backs and saturated their capes instantly. The heroines whirled and spotted two women wearing leotards sporting horizontal, yellow and black stripes. Each also wore black, elbow length gloves, matching nylons, and polished leather boots. One was a blonde. The other was a brunette, and each carried a hose extending from a tank on her back.

Without a word, Honey Bee’s henchwomen re-aimed the hoses at the Distaff Duo and drenched them both again, this time from the front. The force of the blast compelled Batwoman and Flamebird to retreat, step by step. Honey Bee hurried to open a metal door with a rectangular window at eye level. “Drive them in here!” she ordered.

Penny and Nicole obeyed, using their sticky jets to force the Distaff Duo back. Raised arms were a completely inadequate defense and the heroines realized, to their dismay, the sweet-smelling liquid had already completely covered Flamebird’s utility belt and Batwoman’s Bat Kit. The heroines were helpless to do anything in the face of Honey Bee’s followers’ attack, except be guided toward the open door and forced beyond it.

When the Distaff Duo backed to the center of the chamber, Penny and Nicole directed their spray at the floor. They then walked around their handiwork to make certain their victims were fully covered with a thick coating of sticky spray.

As the henchwomen retreated to flank their mistress, Honey Bee stepped forward, grinning both knowingly and wickedly at her helpless, intended victims. Batwoman and Flamebird were stuck and thoroughly slathered with the tacky substance.

“What is this stuff?!” Flamebird asked.

“Why have we been trapped in this room?” Batwoman asked, looking around. The chamber into which they had been driven had seven sides, one of which was the metal door. The remaining walls were made of white brick.

“I’ll answer your questions in order. First, you’ve both been thoroughly drenched with my sweet, honey spray,” Honey Bee explained, laughing, “and the chamber in which you find yourselves is Octave Marbot’s kiln, where the artist completes his work in the ceramic, clay, and glass media. Obviously, it’s off now, but once it’s fired, it will heat up to temperatures in excess of 2000 degrees -- Fahrenheit!”

“Will that be hot enough for you?” Penny, the blonde, asked.

“You two girls are really hot stuff,” Nicole, the brunette, declared, grinning.

“The substance with which your bodies have been slathered will harden slowly, forming a glaze that will first paralyze you; and then preserve your good looks forever. Your skin should be fully saturated by now. Of course, your bodies will simultaneously cook quite thoroughly inside their honey glaze.”

“In the end, Honey Bee,” Batwoman predicted, “your confidence will be your undoing!”

“We’ll be out of here and after you in no time!” Flamebird bravely cried.

“This time, your confidence is misplaced. I’ve heard the buzz, and while I find you both very impressive, you’ve met your match at last,” Honey Bee said. “By the time my glaze hardens completely, you’ll both be very well done indeed. The amount of shrinkage you experience as every scintilla of moisture is cooked away will be dependant upon how quickly Monsieur Marbot shuts down his kiln after he arrives in the morning. Of course, you’ll be dead long before your mortal remains are incinerated, and the only brief delay in this lethal procedure will be the kiln initially warming up.”

“I thought you said the glaze would preserve them.”

“No, Nicole. I said it would preserve their good looks,” Honey Bee explained.

“That is sweet, boss,” Penny enthused.

“Indeed,” Honey Bee agreed, slamming the kiln door, which locked, as Batwoman and Flamebird stared at one another, horror stricken.

The villainess reached for a switch she threw to activate the enormous oven. “Batwoman and Flamebird’s fate will be a triumph for the HIVE!” she predicted, gazing through the window in the door. “Soon, they will really be feeling the heat.”

“We may have really had it this time, Batwoman,” Flamebird said solemnly.

“Whatever happens, Flamebird,” Batwoman answered, “don’t give up. Remember, our hearts are pure.”

Honey Bee leaned forward with puckered lips to kiss the glass through which she regarded her victims. “Have a hot time,” she said loudly enough to be heard. “Be seeing you – not!” Then, she was gone, but the echoes of her laughter and departing footsteps remained briefly.

Batwoman and Flamebird could easily see one another by the dim, ambient light the heating elements generated. Soon, the temperature began to increase dramatically around them.

“The glaze is starting to harden!” Flamebird said, making no effort to hide her trepidation.

“We may have one slim chance, Flamebird,” Batwoman quietly said. “We’ve got to dig through the glutinous gunk adhering to our bodies and release all the compressed oxygen we’re carrying.”

“If that plan is to succeed, we’ll have to hurry.”

“Agreed, Flamebird. We may not have a moment to lose.”

As Flamebird’s fingers began digging for her utility belt, she recalled the many deadly situations in which she had been placed since she and her aunt had begun fighting crime in their heroic disguises. Despite her moniker, no villain had ever arranged to incinerate Flamebird . . . yet.

“I’ve got it!” Flamebird happily announced. A hiss began sounding as her fingers manipulated the control to release the oxygen she carried in her belt.

“I’m almost there, too,” Batwoman said, as her fingers opened her Bat Kit. Once the compressed oxygen was available, the hiss grew louder. “Now it’s a race between Honey Bee’s deathtrap and my strategy to escape.”

“I hope the escape plan wins,” Flamebird replied. “Our lives are at stake and I thought I could hear myself sizzling before we started the oxygen.”

“Me, too,” Batwoman said. As she executed her escape plan, she lamented the fact that due to being drenched in Honey Bee’s glaze, they were incapable of directly attacking the chamber in which they were imprisoned.

“Batwoman,” Flamebird began, “I’ve released all my compressed oxygen.”

“Then,” Batwoman said after a moment, “unless I have enough oxygen left to create adequate pressure inside here, this may be the end.”

Batwoman and Flamebird regarded one another, listening to the softening hiss of Batwoman’s compressed oxygen supply as it was released into Octave Marbot’s kiln. Soon, there was only silence.

“It didn’t work,” Flamebird said, her spirit deflating. “We’ll be dead soon.”

“I’m sorry, Flamebird,” Batwoman said.

“No!” Flamebird yelled. Many times Betty Kane had faced defeat on the tennis court. She didn’t always win, but she never, ever gave up. “There has to be something more we can do!” She pressed the button to release more of her compressed oxygen supply, which she feared had already been exhausted.

Suddenly, a bang and flash heralded a powerful blast that flung Batwoman and Flamebird against one of the kiln’s hot walls! They both collapsed, losing consciousness. At the same moment, the chamber was shrouded in darkness.

When Flamebird’s eyes fluttered open, she saw a mustached, bearded man bending over her and muttering in French. “Monsieur Octave Marbot,” she softly said. “Where did you come from?”

“It is morning. I have come to open my sculpture shop, and what do I find? Outside, a squad of policemen are helping a female colleague with car trouble and a uniform in need of dry cleaning. Inside, the door to my kiln is blown open; you and Batwoman are inside and unconscious; and the emergency shutdown feature is engaged,” the sculptor said. “You are Flamebird, are you not?”

“I am,” Flamebird confirmed. “Where is Batwoman?”

“She is here,” Monsieur Marbot answered, retreating to reveal Batwoman’s supine body. The brunette beauty stirred.

“Flamebird,” Batwoman mumbled.

“I’m here.”

The heroines sat up and moaned, rubbing their heads and grinning at one another. “We’re alive!” they said simultaneously.

“Someone stole my creations and tried to kill both of you?” Monsieur Marbot asked.

“That’s right, Monsieur Marbot,” Flamebird said.

“This is a catastrophe!” the sculptor exclaimed. “Nothing like this has happened here since the Mad Hatter tried to entomb Batman in fast-hardening plaster!”

“Our would-be killer is a woman called Honey Bee,” Flamebird said. “Right now, Batwoman and I are both lucky to be alive. In fact, I don’t understand exactly how we survived our night in your kiln.”

“You understand why we released the compressed oxygen inside the kiln, don’t you, Flamebird?”

“Of course,” the Girl Wonder said. “You were hoping we would build up enough air pressure inside the chamber to force the door open.”

“Right,” Batwoman said. “We had just enough and the door scraped the stone walls when it opened, causing a spark that ignited the oxygen, which exploded and threw us back against the wall.”

“We obviously went unconscious instantly,” Flamebird said. “What happened to Honey Bee’s glaze?”

“It was instantly consumed in the explosion,” Batwoman explained, “reduced to harmless ash.”

“The kiln has a safety feature,” Octave Marbot contributed. “When the door opens, it shuts down instantly.”

Batwoman and Flamebird stood up as Octave Marbot led them from his kiln. “I am very sorry my equipment was used to try to kill you,” he apologized.

“I only wish we would have met you under different circumstances,” Batwoman said, shaking the sculptor’s hand. “Nevertheless, it is an honor.”

“Oh, for me, too.” Monsieur Marbot said, shaking the Girl Wonder’s hand as well. “You will, how do you say, go after the Honey Bee?”

Batwoman nodded.

“We’ll get her, too.” Flamebird predicted. “Might we borrow your security tapes from last night?”

“I am afraid not,” the sculptor said. “Alas, they, too, were stolen.”

“Honey Bee is both bright and clever, but she must dispose of the statues she stole. We’ll catch her by tracing the sale,” Batwoman decided. “Quick, Flamebird, to the Bat Gyros!”

“I’m with you, Batwoman!”

The next day, as Batwoman and Flamebird continued their pursuit of Honey Bee and after Cora Sayers and the Penguin had been taken to jail, Chief O’Hara closed the doors to the Commissioner’s office behind him. The two old friends were now alone.

“With all the excitement, Commissioner, I never got the chance to ask you. What did Mayor Petalburg say?”

“He asked me to stay on, just a little while longer. Evidently, there are some big changes in the works, but they’re not quite ready to be put into place.”

“Well, as long as you’ll have me, I’ll stay on, Commissioner.”

James Gordon smiled at his long-time Chief of Police. “To the very end, Chief O’Hara. To the very end.”

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