Draws Darkness and Light

“B-B-B-Batwoman,” Flamebird said, her teeth chattering. “I’m f-f-f-freezing!”

The ice into which the Distaff Duo was slowly descending had crept up the heroine’s calves as time passed. “We’ve g-g-g-got to hang on, F-F-F-Flamebird,” Batwoman replied. “We’ll survive this s-s-s-somehow.”

“I’m open to s-s-s-suggestions.”

“C-C-C-Commissioner Gordon and Ch-Ch-Ch-Chief O’Hara know we thought Penguin might have landed his trick umbrella here. There is a ch-ch-ch-chance someone will be sent to investigate.”

“B-B-B-By the time the p-p-p-police find us, we might b-b-b-be dead,” Flamebird said.

“Ok-k-k-kay. How are you doing w-w-w-with your ropes?”

Flamebird could not feel her feet. Water and alcohol had saturated the bindings on her ankles and enabled the cold of the Penguin’s demonic Devil’s Cocktail to expand the fibrous ropes, thus cutting off her circulation. She looked up at her hands and began to minutely examine her wrist bindings.

Out of the corner of one eye, Flamebird saw Batwoman had been staring at her own bindings and tearing at them relentlessly with her fingers. What, if any, progress she had made was hard to tell.

Flamebird reached for her own knots with her fingers and began to pull at them. They were expertly tied, and blood had all but drained away from her elevated fingers. Soon, her hands were gripped by excruciating pain. She paused in her efforts to attack the knots, flexing her fingers to restore circulation, until the ice enveloped her knees, spurring her back into action. As she worked, the combined, cruel sensations of pain and cold wore inexorably at her, diminishing her spirits. “The knots are t-t-t-too t-t-t-tight!” she protested. “Oh no!” The teenage heroine’s despair was punctuated as the umbrella shaft shifted within the deadly drink again. Ice inched up along the young heroine’s thighs. “What a chilling f-f-f-fate. We’re sinking f-f-f-faster.”

“Don’t give up, Flamebird,” Batwoman encouraged. “I think I have a little slack. It might g-g-g-give us a ch-ch-ch-chance.”

“Hurry, B-B-B-Batwoman!”

“My Bat K-K-K-Kit is floating on the surface of this drink. If I c-c-can free my hand I should be able to reach a knife and cut us free.”

Batwoman’s fingers tore at her wrist bonds. It seemed like an eternity before she had loosened the ropes so her wrists could wiggle slightly.

As the Girl Wonder watched her mentor, she periodically worked at her own bonds. Her efforts, however, seemed utterly useless.

“Leaving us our b-b-b-belts was probably the mistake Penguin made,” Flamebird said. “I hope it won’t be too late before we can c-c-c-capitalize on it.”

Batwoman kept working at her wrist bonds. “Getting c-c-c-closer.”

Like Batwoman, gravity was working tirelessly. The inexorable pull of the Earth was, however, working against the Distaff Duo. Another shift of the umbrella shaft brought the heroines’ waists into the semisolid ice.

“Ow!”

“What is it, F-F-F-Flamebird?”

“The lower we sink, the harder and more jagged the ice g-g-g-gets. I just felt something j-j-j-jab my hip.”

“How sharp is the ice around your f-f-f-feet?”

“What?”

“Can we cut our feet f-f-f-free on the jagged ice?”

It might w-w-w-work,” Flamebird said. “Moving will k-k-k-keep us warmer, regardless.” The teenage heroine began to repeatedly bend and straighten her legs. The process was slow at first, but became more vigorous, while remaining excruciatingly slow, as the saturated rope fibers were drawn across the jagged ice and began to separate.

As Flamebird worked to weaken the ankle bindings, Batwoman continued her gradually progressing efforts attacking her wrist bindings. The work proceeded agonizingly slowly. Ultimately, Batwoman’s hands came free at the same moment Flamebird gasped gratefully and announced, “My f-f-f-feet are f-f-f-free!

“Good,” Batwoman said. “Let’s g-g-g-get out of here!”

The semisolid ice had crept all the way up their abdomens and reached the level of their breasts. Flamebird bent her knees and drew her legs upward, pulling her knees to her chest and feeling her body float upward. When she could see her ankles on the surface of the beverage, she extended her legs and rested her ankles on the rim of the pitcher. Only her cape dangled in the drink.

Meanwhile, Batwoman’s fingers tore at her Bat Kit and extracted a sharp knife. The brunette beauty bent at the waist and plunged her arms and the blade into the deadly drink. Her blade severed her ankle bindings with a few swift slashes, enabling her to straighten, shimmy up the umbrella shaft, reach toward Flamebird’s hands, and cut them free. She put her blade away before swimming to a position beside her partner and reaching up for the rim of the pitcher.

Together, the Distaff Duo climbed from the pitcher, slid to the floor, collapsed helplessly, and shivered until voluntary muscle control returned. When each heroine was the master of her own body once again, they stood.

“That was definitely one of our closer calls!” Flamebird remarked. “I don’t mind telling you, I was scared!”

“I feared more for you than myself,” Batwoman said. “I always wonder in these predicaments whether inviting you to help me fight crime was a wise decision.”

“Hey, Batwoman,” Flamebird said, “I’m with you! You couldn’t stop me from being involved somehow.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad that point is clear,” Flamebird said under her breath as they made their way to the street. Louder she said, “Time to get after Penguin and Undine.”

“Tracking them might be easier than they imagine,” Batwoman said. She was pulling something from her Bat Kit.

“What do you mean and what is that?”

“One of the newer innovations I’ve incorporated into the Bat-Gyros is a Global Positioning Bat Tracker. I guessed some crook would try to use our transportation as a getaway vehicle. This is the tracking device that will tell us where Penguin and Undine went.” Batwoman switched it on.

“That sounds great!”

Batwoman frowned. “They don’t seem to have gone very far,” she murmured. “Come on, Flamebird. Be careful, but let’s hurry.”

They raced to the roof and found two homing devices in plain view. “Oh, no!” Flamebird exclaimed.

“It looks like Penguin is going to be harder to track down than I had hoped.”

“Look!” Flamebird pointed down to an approaching police car, its lights flashing.

“Good thinking. We’ll catch a ride to Police Headquarters, report to Commissioner Gordon, use one of my private entrances to Networld, change, and take a company car home.”

As Batwoman and Flamebird regrouped, Batgirl considered how the predicament in which Bookworm had left her was an improvement over his attempt to entomb her and Flamebird behind a hastily constructed wall.

Behind that wall, the captives had been bound to chairs, which had provided tools they had subsequently used to tear down the wall once they had freed themselves. Bookworm had also left them a flashlight then.

Now, Batgirl was alone; there was absolutely nothing in her closing cell; and it was pitch dark. Additionally, the closing walls required her to escape quickly or perish.

The first step would be to regain use of her hands. To this end, Batgirl did not waste time trying to reach the lock picks she carried in her gloves. The faster approach would be to bend and extract one from her boot. Once she held the tiny implement, she straightened and freed her wrists from the Batcuffs.

There was no time for Batgirl to congratulate herself on her newfound freedom. She was still trapped in the dark with the chamber’s walls closing slowly upon her from either side. Bracing something against the walls would be utterly impossible because there was nothing to use as a brace.

While Bookworm had taunted his curvaceous captive, Batgirl had studied the back wall of the stone cell with her hands and determined it offered no avenue for escape whatsoever. The walls to her right and left, however, held more promise. As they approached, more and more space was being opened behind them. Batgirl’s fingertips explored the walls and told her the mortar between the stones was old. She could feel some it crumbling to dust at her slightest touch.

With only the knives; lock picks; and other implements she carried, would she be able to penetrate the walls and move enough rocks out of her way to escape before she was crushed?

The bookshelf that formed the door to the chamber was likely to be even weaker than the closing walls, but a steel portcullis barred Batgirl’s path to freedom. She reached the barrier with two strides and bent as low as she could. She gripped the portcullis and exerted herself, lifting. The steel structure did not budge.

Even if she could break through the wooden shelf beyond it, the barrier would keep her between the closing walls.

Raising the portcullis was still her best option, but physical strength had proven useless against it. If she could penetrate the wooden back of the bookshelf, would she be able to locate and manipulate the controls to raise the portcullis? Even if she would not be able to see the controls, the aperture she planned to make would provide light. That comfort would be welcome.

This realization chilled her. Batgirl had not considered the psychological impact of dying alone in utter darkness. Would Bookworm’s trap influence her efforts to escape?

Quietly, she swore and listened to her voice echo in the pitch-black chamber. The self-doubt she had allowed to creep into her psyche had to be conquered before it took root and utterly defeated her.

Batgirl sank into a fighting stance, and extended her arm to locate the square of wood she planned to attack. She inhaled, spun, and kicked her target with a sharp cry as she exhaled. The wood shattered as Batgirl recovered her balance.

Light streamed into the chamber making Batgirl blink. Once her eyes had adjusted, she peered from the death chamber searching for the controls. She didn’t see them. She replayed the scene of the gloating villains in her mind and focused on the location of the controls. She found them with her mind’s eye and searched the empty room outside her deadly cell once again.

Her heart sank when she found them. Reaching the controls for the portcullis and walls would be utterly impossible. “He’s thought of everything,” Batgirl muttered fearfully.

“Okay, girl!” she encouraged herself. “It’s going to be the walls. You’ve done this before. Don’t give up!”

She knew her time was growing short and all she had to work on the walls with would be knives, lock picks, and other tiny implements. The selection of the largest stone at the base of either wall took only a second and she knelt beside it scraping at the mortar on top with her tools and blowing the dust she generated away.

The urgency of the need to do the work brought adrenaline to her arms and focus to her mind. She scraped and blew at the mortar without assessing the progress she made. She was also unconscious of the passage of time as she drew chunks of mortar and dust from between the deadly stones.

Her perception of passing time returned with a jolt when she felt the wall behind her press against the extended toe of her back leg. She had to work quickly now. She had not begun working on either side of the stone. She had selected this particular stone because of its size and the fact it rested on the floor. This fact was significant, she reasoned, since mortar would not be necessary for its placement.

Batgirl slid her legs together and rested her weight on her calves as she worked. She had practically run out of time. Her only hope was to continue attacking the wall. She renewed her efforts with vigor. Dust and mortar poured from between the rocks as Batgirl’s tools dug and scraped at the wall. Hope grew within her as she felt her tools poke through to the other side of the wall. Her tools could dig more deeply into the wall’s mortar and did so until she felt the wall closing behind her touch her feet.

Only the mortar above the stone she had planned to move had been cleared. There were two more sides of it and her time to work was practically gone. The Bookworm had won! Batgirl bowed her head and leaned against the wall. There was almost no room to stand. She could brace herself between the walls, vainly trying to keep them from her, but guessed against the machinery her muscles and bones would seem as fragile as eggshells. She had had a good crime-fighting career. It would all be over in a few short minutes . . . .

The sound of a faint scrape made Batgirl instinctively tense her muscles. The next realization made her hold her breath and widen her eyes with shock.

The stone above the one she had planned to move had shifted.

How was that possible?

“Gravity,” she muttered.

Evidently, gravity had dropped the upper stone into the gap Batgirl had created beneath it. That explanation had to be true.

Batgirl pushed against the stone, but it would not move further. If she were to live, she would have to exert more force against it. She braced her feet against the wall closing behind her and flattened her hands against the stone. Batgirl suspected that despite her strength and athleticism, she could never have generated enough force to move the stone on her own. Making her body rigid, she hardened her muscles and waited. If her plan failed . . . .

After what seemed like an eternity, the stone moved. Batgirl exhaled a breath she did not realize she was holding. The pressure the moving wall behind her had placed on her rigid body combined with her muscular exertions was forcing the heavy stone backward, removing it from its place in the wall. The stone scraped the mortar around it as it moved, teetered on the far edge of what was becoming the aperture in which it had been cemented, and fell to the floor with a crash that stirred up a cloud of dust.

Once the aperture had formed, Batgirl dove through it. Her arms and head passed through easily followed by her narrow shoulders. She inhaled and felt her upper chest squeeze through the small opening. Her momentum had ebbed away by the time her abdomen had slid through. Wiggling would be required to move her waist through the aperture. She shimmied until her forward progress stopped. She took a breath and tried again. Nothing happened. She tried bending to raise her lower body and then flattened it against the bottom of the shaft she was using as a route to safety. Neither approach was effective. Finally, she tried shimmying backwards to worm forward once again. Again she made no progress. Horror gripped her as she realized the awful truth. She was stuck! Her hips had become lodged in the wall!

“Come on!” she cried. “I’m so close!” She placed her hands on the back of the wall she was crawling through and twisted her waist. She generated another cloud of dust and felt the sharp edges of the hole rend her costume and tear at the upper layer of her skin. The wall behind her began to press on her feet and she smiled as the thrust it exerted against her, combined with the displaced mortar, forced her body forward. Once her hips had cleared the opening, he legs easily slid through.

As the dust settled, Batgirl stood safely outside the closing walls. Unfortunately, she was still trapped behind the bookshelf in Paige Turner’s library.

Batgirl quickly explored the three walls of the chamber she knew nothing about with her hands. Two of the walls were stone and the bookshelf was made of wood. Here the portcullis that had barred her escape from the shrinking space between the walls was not an impediment.

While the absence of the portcullis was encouraging, the thin line of light along one side of the wall obscured by two cylindrical objects was more inspirational. Batgirl’s fingers explored the upper obstruction and then the lower. She could feel herself smile. “Hinge pins,” she gleefully said. “Excellent!” She retrieved her tools and extracted the pins from the hinges. Once that job was complete, a gentle push moved aside the bookshelf concealing the deathtrap.

In Paige Turner’s library, Batgirl found her utility belt tossed carelessly onto a chair and buckled it around her waist. Then, she began to pace the library and puzzle out Bookworm’s plot.

The villain and his cohorts were off to retrieve the Onyx Osprey from one of his former associates. There were several candidates. The leather-clad crook had admitted he had been unable to locate his most recent henchwoman, Lisa. Batgirl had lost track of Bookworm’s former assistant Irene. Given the villain had fled without her just before Chief O’Hara had arrived with a squad to arrest them both, it was unlikely she would willingly work for him again. It was always possible, however, he had given her no choice. Bookworm’s other noteworthy henchwoman was the formidable Lydia Limpet, who had overcome Robin with her hands tied. The educated evildoer had also employed a veritable army of henchmen, but tended to name groups of them for each of his clever capers. He had called the men engaged to help him steal the Library’s precious rare book collection his ‘twisty worms.” The men who had helped in his foray into Nimpahnese politics were the Bookends, and the Baker Street Boys had helped him steal a set of rare engravings.

Guessing with whom the Bookworm was working would be practically impossible, but it might not be necessary. “They’ll probably bring the Onyx Osprey back here,” Batgirl said. “I should have time to look around.”

Her search of the establishment revealed she was alone, but nothing else. The adrenaline rush the danger had generated was gone, and Batgirl knew she would need rest. She also needed to know when the crooks returned. Motion detectors from her utility belt and a tiny earpiece would monitor the entrances to Paige Turner’s business, while Batgirl slouched in a comfortable chair and closed her eyes.

As Gotham City’s female defenders extricated themselves from perfidious perils, other searchers grew closer to the priceless prize for which all of Gotham City seemed to be searching. “Mr. Brahms,” the desk clerk at the Glitz called to a handsome older man crossing the lobby.

“Yes,” he said, moving toward her with a smile.

“I just wanted you to know the young lady you said might show up arrived.”

He favored her with a genuine smile. “Thank you very much.”

Having recently escaped from prison and then taken a side-trip to Havana, he was reorganizing, gathering his old associates and employees. He was particularly looking forward to seeing his female lieutenant once again. Today, he had not put on the troubadour’s costume he customarily wore, but had selected a conservative suit and trench coat as a disguise. He checked his appearance on his way to his room and smiled as he opened the door. Almost absently he was softly singing as he opened the door.

A wandering Minstrel, I,
And it was time to wander
To give me time to ponder
My plans which had turned for the worse.
I don’t employ contingencies or vulgar cursing.
Great dreams I was rehearsing
That will certainly batten my purse.

“Or . . . will give Batman a ride in a hearse,” he murmured. More loudly he called, “Octavia!”

No answer was returned as he closed and locked the door behind him.

“Octavia!” he called again. “It’s me. Your wandering Minstrel has returned.”

A soft splash and giggle answered him from behind the closed bathroom door this time, as the Minstrel took off his coat and hung it in the closet.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you,” he said to the closed door. “I was arrested rather suddenly—thanks to Batgirl.” He said the name with more than a touch of melancholy. He had been forced to employ his long dormant escape plan because of the Dominoed Daredoll, but to him the date in Cuba with her had more than compensated for his time behind bars.

At some point he would have to talk to Octavia about her attempt to kill Batgirl. For now, however, he was just glad to be with his old flame again.

“Come in here,” a soft voice behind the door suggested, with an impish laugh.

“Since you insist,” the Minstrel replied, opening the door.

The vision that awaited him made him stand stock still and transformed his expectant smile as his jaw dropped. His eyes enlarged involuntarily. He had expected to see a naked woman, specifically the brunette beauty who had been his companion for more than six years. Instead, however, he beheld a blonde woman reclining in the tub, her long, lovely legs extended and bubbles enveloping her body.

“Good evening, Minstrel. You were expecting, like, someone else?” The girl picked up a glass of champagne and sipped it. “You know, the look on your face right now is totally priceless.” She extended a second glass toward him. “You look like you could really use this.”

“Thank you,” the Minstrel said. He drained the glass. “I recognize you. You’re Playgirl.”

“Totally.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Before she could answer, a knock sounded at the door to the room.

“That will be dinner,” Playgirl said. “You should get it.”

“I think I will,” he agreed. “I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll be right out.” The Minstrel heard the water displace as Playgirl’s legs slid back into the bubbles and she rose. He could not help himself from glimpsing her toweling herself off as he closed the bathroom door. She was laughing.

The Minstrel signed for dinner, then arranged two chairs around the room service table on wheels. When Playgirl emerged, she wore a short black robe that covered everything while concealing nothing. The Minstrel stopped laying the table with the meal and pulled out a chair for her. “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind my ordering for you.”

“Not at all,” the Minstrel replied suavely. “But first, let’s return to my question. What do you want, Playgirl?”

“For starters, information.” She took a tiny bite of salad. “Sometime last week, a statuette was stolen from the Gotham City Museum.”

“So?” Minstrel asked, digging into an order of Oysters Stonefellow.

“A hologram was left in its place to conceal the crime. While anyone might have decided to steal the statuette, only two criminals in Gotham City have the technical knowledge to have created the hologram.”

“Interesting.”

“I didn’t make it. That means you did.” She leaned toward him with sparkling eyes. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Naturally. I suggest we save the fighting and threats until after this fine dinner you’ve ordered.”

“Very well. I’m glad you like it,” Playgirl agreed. They talked pleasantly until they had finished eating.

“Everything was delicious,” the Minstrel complimented. “What are you serving for dessert?”

“An interesting question,” Playgirl said. She smiled and leaned back. “Let’s get back to business, first. I want the Onyx Osprey and I’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”

“I’m sure you can be very generous.”

“You have no idea.” Her smile warmed him all the way down to his toes.

“Is it hot in here?”

“Probably to you. One of the little tablets I put in your last glass of champagne is starting to take effect.”

“What did you do to me?”

“You’ve ingested some truth serum and a very powerful aphrodisiac.”

“Somehow, the aphrodisiac seems superfluous.”

“You say the sweetest things, but you’re renowned as a gentleman.”

“Hence you ordered dinner and champagne.”

“To everything there is a season.”

The Minstrel laughed. “You’re very beautiful, Playgirl.”

“Before we get too involved in mutual admiration, let’s get this business about the Onyx Osprey settled.”

“You’ve devised a most unique form of interrogation.”

“It is true I play to win,” she conceded.

“Assuming our conversation takes us where I think, and hope, it will, you and I will both have won something before tomorrow.”

Playgirl laughed. “I won’t tell anyone you don’t have eyes exclusively for your melodious moll, if you tell me where the black bird is.”

The Minstrel smiled to himself. ‘If only she knew.’ Then he answered truthfully. “Well, I don’t have it.”

“That’s very disappointing.” Her voice took on a hard edge. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“This is, like, so totally annoying! You stole the Onyx Osprey and now tell me you don’t know where it is?!” Playgirl absently put her right index finger under her luscious mouth. “Yet . . . you can’t lie to me . . . .”

“It is impossible, isn’t it?” the Minstrel teased. He was having mixed feelings about his encounter with Playgirl. His displeasure at being manipulated with drugs was palpable, but he could not deny how enticing the anticipated rewards for cooperation would be. From what he had heard at the penitentiary, Playgirl was not called Playgirl for nothing. Her appearance enhanced these tales to the point he was not so sure they were all exaggerations.

“Explain!” she commanded, leaning forward expectantly, her eyes sparkling. “What do you mean?”

Minstrel smiled at her engagingly. Like almost all men, he was interested in a woman’s physical assets. What truly attracted him, however, was a woman with a superior mind and spirit.

He had seen the potential for such qualities in Octavia. Batgirl had them in abundance. Playgirl had now proven to him that she, too, was possessed of such attributes.

In addition, Playgirl was well-endowed, knew it, and had been showing off since he had arrived. Undeniably, she had the right. He could not honestly say he really minded. Perhaps he had begun to tease her because he knew she was teasing him, or perhaps the drugs were influencing this behavior as well. The Minstrel was conscious of his heart rate increasing as he began to compose his response to her question in his mind. Of course, he had to tell her everything.

“Well, don’t just sit there, smirking,” Playgirl raged. “Wipe that smile off your face and talk!”

“I cannot say for certain who stole the Onyx Osprey, but I did make a hologram of it for the Bookworm.”

Playgirl straightened and stood. She turned and paced the length of the room, then reversed course. “The Bookworm,” she repeated. “That makes sense. He employs only stolen plots. So, he can’t be expected to have produced the hologram himself. Once it was made, however, anyone could use it.”

“You know, Playgirl,” the Minstrel said, “people don’t give you enough credit for your intelligence.”

“You are, like, so totally right, Minstrel. Don’t worry. Once I’ve acquired the Onyx Osprey, when I’m finished spending the money I’ll make from the sale of it, everyone will play by my rules– first in Gotham City, and then all over the world,” she dreamily replied. “Tell me. Where can I find Bookworm?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did you get for making the hologram?”

“Nothing special. Bookworm paid my standard fee for developing technology in cash,” the Minstrel explained with a laugh. “If anyone asks, I had no idea for what he intended to use the hologram.”

Playgirl began laughing with him. “Totally,” she agreed once they had finished. “You needed the money to hide out in one of Gotham City’s best hotels, where almost nobody would think to look for you.”

“Precisely, Playgirl,” he confirmed. “Nobody, except you, of course. How did you find me, by the way?”

“Oh, it took a long time,” she said. “I was in an internet café all morning. First, I realized that the police and the bats would be scouring the abandoned factories and warehouses looking for you. That meant you wouldn’t be at any of those. You had to choose somewhere you could stay for a long time, but leave suddenly without arousing undue suspicion. That meant you would choose a hotel, motel, or bed and breakfast. Finally, knowing you, there would be a musical connection. It turned out to be your alias, Mr. Brahms.”

“You, my dear, are nearly as clever as I, and much more beautiful.”

“I could go on listening to you telling me things like that forever. Come here.”

The Minstrel got up from the table and stepped toward her. He had recently declared his love for Batgirl and had yet to settle things with Octavia. ‘At least I’m not responsible for my actions,’ he rationalized.

Playgirl embraced him and spoke, “I’ve heard music is the universal language.”

“It’s one of a few. I think we could make beautiful music together,” the Minstrel said, folding her into his arms as he felt her hands sliding against him slowly.

“You’re multilingual then?” Her fingers began to loosen his tie.

“Of course. I’m a genius, just like you.” He tugged gently at the sash of her robe.

“Prove it,” she commanded, tossing his tie away carelessly.

Much later, as Playgirl‘s head sank into a comfortable pillow, another blonde head turned to find its owner was alone. Undine moaned. She blinked and let her eyes adjust to the dimly lit sleeping quarters. She reached for the wrap she had found for the last leg of the flight on the Bat-Gyros and draped it over her bare shoulders before going in search of the Penguin.

He was smoking and reading newspapers in a comfy chair when she found him. “You left me alone, Pengy,” she complained, pouting. “I had hoped you’d prefer my way of smoking.”

“We have business to attend to, my dear.”

“Already? I was hoping to spend the day relaxing.”

“Time is money, my pet. Wak wak wak! If we are to maximize our financial position and if I am to lavish mountainous heaps of ill-gotten wealth upon you, we must execute the cunning plan I’m developing.” The Penguin put the newspaper he was reading aside.

Undine’s manner transformed as she favored him with a smile and went on bantering. “I can’t fault your motives. Maybe you’re right. What do you have in mind?” She perched on the arm of his chair and regarded him interestedly.

“It involves the Onyx Osprey, a priceless statue of a black bird.”

“Priceless sounds good. When do we steal it, Pengy?”

“It’s already been stolen, but according to my research, the statue has recently attracted a good deal of additional media attention.”

“I don’t understand why that would be.”

“A second thief came to steal the statue and found an illusion left it its place, a hologram, in fact.” The baleful bird puffed on is cigarette holder. “Someone stole the idea from me. Oh, well. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Undine ignored the Penguin’s musing, having given the problem he had posed her full attention. “The first thief will have the stolen bird.”

“Precisely. What will the thief do next?”

“Sell it on the black market?” Undine answered.

“Right again. Given the attention the piece is getting–”

“The price will be astronomical, to compensate the thief for the risk!” Undine said, her eyes glittering wickedly.

“Now, if we can show the thief a profit while eliminating his or her risk, we can turn around and sell the bird for even more money.”

“So we need money,” Undine said.

“Cash money. Wak wak wak!” Penguin agreed. “Lots of it! Where shall we get it?”

“Well,” Undine thoughtfully began, “Joker would always hit stately Wayne Manor when he needed quick cash.”

The Penguin favored her with a delighted smile. “My thoughts exactly, Undine. I’m starting to think the Joker must have been insane to, err, ‘let you go.’”

“He’ll regret it when I see him again,” she said bitterly. “Of course, the man who makes me rich . . . . ”

“We’ll have time to consider those pleasant prospects later. Wak wak wak!” the Penguin said, letting his hand slide gently upward along her thigh beneath the wrap. “Now, before we pay a visit to Mr. Wayne, I’ll need to recruit some finks. Fortunately, I know where to find several. Get me the phone.” He watched her progress across the room appreciatively. Her return was also quite picturesque.

“After we get the money to buy the Onyx Osprey, how will we find out if it’s actually on the market?” Undine asked, ”and, if so, how will we get in touch with the seller?”

“I’m about to put out some feelers,” the Penguin said, dialing.

“Ye Olde Benbow Taverne,” a woman’s voice said.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Keel, please.”

“Mr. Keel has been replaced. How may I help you, Mr. Penguin?”

“Recognized me, did you? Wak! Very well. I’d like to speak to the man in charge.”

“My name is Maria, Mr. Penguin. I assure you that this line is quite secure, on my end. Please tell me how I can help you. I am in charge here.”

“Are you? You don’t say. What happened to Mr. Keel?”

“I think he went for a swim after being dragged by a boat a rather long way. I wasn’t too concerned about the details.”

“Wak wak wak! I like dealing with someone who knows how to deal with . . . problems.”

“I’d like to get down to business, Mr. Penguin.”

“Capital! I’ll need you to contact my finks and tell them I’m back in business.”

“They’ll know how to reach you?” Maria shrewdly asked.

“Yes, indeed. I also need an ear to the underworld grapevine.”

“That costs.”

“I’ll pay for results.”

“Very well.”

“I want to know anything solid you learn about the possible sale of the Onyx Osprey. I also want you to find out who else is interested in that information.”

“Your second request will be quite expensive and confidentiality will be even more expensive.”

“I’m not interested in anonymity, but I expect Ye Olde Benbow Taverne to handle our relationship with its usual discretion.”

“Oh, of that you can be quite sure, Mr. Penguin.”

“Splendid. Wak wak wak! You can reach me through the Grand Order of Occidental Nighthawks.”

“I’ll be in touch, “ Maria promised. They hung up.

“Pengy,” Undine began, “finding out who else is after the Onyx Osprey sounds like a good idea, but why don’t you care if anyone finds out you want it?”

“Because, my unscrupulous Undine, I have a reputation. If our rivals for the black bird know my hat is in the ring, they may take steps to acquire additional money. Those steps may force them to take risks.”

Undine lit up with understanding. “Taking those risks might get them into trouble . . . and clear the field for us!”

“Precisely, my sensational sea-nymph. Wak wak wak!”

“You really are smart, Pengy. What will we do until we meet your goons?”

“Finks, my dear,” Penguin corrected. “My henchmen are finks. GOON is simply where we’ll meet them.”

“The Grand Order of Occidental Nighthawks?” Undine asked. She thought about it for a moment and smiled. “Oh, I get it!”

“Outstanding. Wak wak wak!” The cagey criminal crushed out his cigarette and set the holder aside. “Now, you asked me a fascinating question earlier. I want you to know, I find the style of smoking your prefer quite addictive.” Undine smiled as she felt his extended arm draw her from her perch on the chair arm and into his lap while his other hand resumed its journey upward along her thigh.

Light streamed through the library windows and awakened Batgirl. She took a moment to take in her surroundings before her eyes widened in horror. She had been wrong. Bookworm and his gang had not returned.

The clock on the wall told her Barbara Gordon would soon have to get to the public library. She retrieved her equipment and sped home at the maximum legal speed. Her mind did not return to the Bookworm’s plans until Barbara sat down in her private office in the Gotham City Library to listen to her messages.

“Good morning, Barbara. This is Myrtle.” Her friend’s voice sounded tired and worn. “I called because I can’t come in today. My daughter, Regina, *sob* was kidnapped last night! I’m okay, but I’m worried about her and I have a lot of police reports to fill out. I hope I’ll see you . . . soon.”

“I’m an idiot!” Barbara fumed softly to herself.. ‘Bookworm said he had sent the Onyx Osprey to a former associate. I stupidly assumed he meant a member of one of his old gangs. He really meant Regina, who had worked on the Lloyd Knox for Mayor campaign and impersonated Batgirl while Bookworm was involved with Nimpahnese politics. Last night, he even mentioned having a Batgirl working for him before!’

Regina was also the only person, besides Alfred, to know Batgirl’s secret identity. ‘If Bookworm harms her in any way, I’ll–’

A knock at the door interrupted her. Barbara inhaled, let her muscles relax, and composed herself before answering. “I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Gordon,” one of the interns said, “but we’ve all been waiting for a few minutes and I was asked to inquire whether the staff meeting had been rescheduled.”

Barbara smiled, and let some air out of her lungs. “No. It hasn’t. I’ll be along in a few minutes. Please thank everyone for their patience.” The intern hurried away. Barbara realized her fingernails had dug into her palms as she turned to her computer. She quickly sent her father an e-mail from Batgirl’s account summarizing what she knew and suggesting Batman or Batwoman look for an alternate hideout where the Bookworm might have taken Regina. Worry clawed at Barbara as she turned her attention to the work of the day. She would have to concentrate on her job. Myrtle, the woman to whom she typically turned the library over when she stepped away to fight crime during library hours, would not be available. Barbara loved her position as head librarian, but under the circumstances she muttered, “Responsibility sucks!”

Commissioner Gordon’s job, however, was to fight crime. In response to Batgirl’s e-mail, he crossed his office and lifted the cover from his hotline to the Caped Crusader.

In the Batcave, the Dynamic Duo pored over a stack of dusty scrolls. “Gosh, Batman. Looking for information on the Onyx Osprey in secondary historical sources was a good idea.”

“Yes, we’ve made some progress. It seems apparent the golden ibis of the Nile, which we know as Onyx Osprey, left Ancient Egypt through followers of Bast, the cat goddess. I’ve also found references to it in Nordic runes associated with Frigga, to whom great cats were sacred.”

“She was Odin’s wife, wasn’t she?”

“Yes. It’s hard to say exactly how the statue made its way north.”

“I may have the answer. There is something called the Cult of the Cat. Apparently, its members were all elite thieves. References are always very vague. Maybe they tried to steal the statue.”

“It’s a possibility, chum.”

Robin took his line of thinking to its modern conclusion. “Holy Meow! Do you think Catwoman might want to get her paws on the Onyx Osprey?”

The Batphone rang before Batman could respond. He lifted the red receiver. “Yes, Commissioner?”

“Dire news, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon said. “The Bookworm has apparently stolen the Onyx Osprey and kidnapped a young woman related to one of my daughter’s coworkers.”

“The Bookworm,” Batman murmured.

“Yes. Batgirl has apparently encountered him in her investigation.” Commissioner Gordon went on to update his friend on the details of Batgirl’s e-mail.

As Batman listened, a light began to flash, alerting the Caped Crusader to danger in the house above. He had to investigate and would therefore have to evade his summons to Police Headquarters with a small deception.

“Commissioner, it is vital you share this information with Batwoman immediately. Robin and I are following a lead that may be vital. I don’t have time to go into further detail.”

“I’ll play it your way, Batman,” the Commissioner said somewhat dubiously, “if you’re certain contacting Batwoman is the best course of action.”

“I wish I could explain further,” he said, genuinely meaning what sounded like an evasion or deception. “Thank you for your trust. Goodbye.” He turned to Robin. “I think we’ll have time to ponder Catwoman’s possible involvement later.”

“Right! Let’s check on Alfred.” They dashed to the Batpoles and ascended after switching off the automatic costume change device.

As Batman and Robin raced to the rescue, evil events were being embarked upon at The Cage, a club that remained open around the clock. It also served as Catwoman’s current lair.

The Cage was Catwoman’s second venture into the restaurant/entertainment business. Her first, The Pink Sandbox, had been modestly successful. Dance expert Benton Bellgoody, who had worked for the villainess when her operations had been based at the Duncan Dance Studio, had pronounced Benedict Arnold and the Traitors’ dance, the Cat Walk, “on its way out,” promptly following its arrival. This dance had popularized The Pink Sandbox, so the club’s closing was not a surprise shortly after Catwoman’s incarceration.

Thematic food reintroduced at The Cage was bringing in brisk business each night. Popular dishes included catburgers with catsup; chicken cacciatore; and various cuts of meat from choice Kansas City cattle.

Playgirl’s henchmen, Milton and Bradley, gave the password to the hostess and were shown to a booth that rose several floors before spinning around to where a short-haired African-American woman wearing tight gold pants; an equally tight leopard spotted halter top; and black, elbow length gloves waited. “I’m Dayna,” she announced, touching a button that returned the booth to its place. “Follow me.” The men obeyed, quickly deciding the order was a pleasure that might portend other pleasures.

As stimulating as the journey through the labyrinthine catacombs was, Dayna was nothing compared to her mistress. Catwoman lounged on her golden throne, regarding the new arrivals from atop a dais. She was a vision in black with golden hair and curves that defied gravity. Her golden necklace and matching belt augmented the pretty picture magnificently. This was the original Catwoman in all her glory.

“Speak!” the Princess of Plunder commanded.

Milton and Bradley stared at her dumbly, until the crack of a whip broke the entrancing spell woven by the vision of voluptuous villainy. “What’s wrong with you two?” Dayna demanded, coiling the weapon and setting it aside before sinking into a cushion at Catwoman’s feet and stretching luxuriously. “You have your audience. What is it you want?”

“Playgirl sent us to tell you Bookworm stole the Onyx Osprey,” Milton said.

“Right,” Bradley agreed. “He plans to auction it to the highest bidder.”

“When?” Catwoman sharply inquired.

“She does not know yet,” Milton said.

“Her research is ongoing, though,” Bradley elaborated.

“She may know more later,” Milton continued. “If you have the time, Playgirl would like to see you.”

“She said to be sure and tell you she has a tribute,” Bradley said. He extended a piece of paper. “We are to give you this. It has all the details.”

A glance from the Feline Felon prompted Dayna to retrieve the paper and hand it to her mistress. “How Purr-fect. You two have done Playgirl’s bidding well. Goodbye. Dayna, show these gentlemen to the elevator . . . and then return.”

“This way, boys,” the hench-kitten said. When she came back, she settled onto her cushion once again as Catwoman switched on a closed circuit television.

“What’s going on, boss?”

“Spade, Nick, and Beumont are about to pounce on those morons. You’re welcome to watch. I don’t want to miss the purr-formance.”

“Sure. You sent the other kittens to ambush Playgirl’s men when you sent me to fetch our visitors, didn’t you, boss?

“Purr-fectly correct, Dayna.”

“Why?”

“Spade has a little grudge to settle. Besides, Catwoman does not deal through intermediaries.”

“I’d hate to be in your doghouse.”

“Dog?!”

“Oops,” Dayna said cowering. “It’s just an expression, boss. I didn’t mean to use the ‘d’ word.”

“Never you mind, my trembling tabby. Just don’t do it again! Now, returning to those morons’ fate, I want Playgirl to think twice before trying to double-cross me.”

On the screen, Spade and his companions were making short work of Playgirl’s henchmen.

“When Spade and the boys finish mangling her men, she’ll have a pretty good idea of what you’d do to her in the event of a double-cross, right, Catwoman?”

“Once again, Dayna,” Catwoman purred happily, “you are purr-fectly correct. Oh, and you will address me as, ‘boss,’ at all times.”

“Yes, boss. I’ll remember.”

“Purr-fect.” After a moment, Catwoman glanced at her normally chatty hench-kitten. The athletic girl had crouched on her cushion, letting her well-defined muscles tense as she cast her eyes downward. “What’s wrong?”

“I could have easily demolished both of those morons for you single-handedly, boss.”

“Feeling left out?”

Dayna looked up and meekly nodded.

“Ah, my succulent, secret weapon, I know you’re the purr-fect instrument of violence, which is why I’m holding you in reserve for the moment. Don’t worry, I’ll give you someone to play with soon enough. Besides, those two were not worthy of your considerable abilities anyway.”

“You really mean it, boss?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, I suppose the boys will put on a better show.” The hench-kitten licked her lips and rolled onto her back, relaxing. She propped herself up on her elbows and let her hips settle into her hands. Her eyes began to sparkle as she watched Catwoman’s henchmen go on mercilessly pummeling Milton and Bradley.

“You’re so very purr-ceptive, Dayna,” Catwoman purred. “Now, enjoy the show.” As Catwoman spoke, she contentedly wrapped her long arms around the skin-tight lurex of her own costume.

The Dynamic Duo stepped from the Batpoles and emerged from behind the bookshelves into Bruce Wayne’s study. Robin moved toward the doors to the hall. Batman gripped the young man’s shoulder. “We’d better step outside and come in through the living room – to preserve our secret identities,” he softly suggested.

“Right, Batman,” Robin readily agreed. He followed the Caped Crusader through the study window, jumping to the shoveled garden path and passing across the patio where the shrub-lined reflecting pool resembled a well-polished mirror. Leaving no trace of their journey, the Dynamic Duo approached the windowed door leading from the living room to the yard.

Inside, they could see Harriet Cooper had fainted and been lain on the sofa. Alfred lay face down on the floor, apparently unconscious. Three thugs dressed in black slacks and matching turtlenecks were working on the wall safe while the Penguin and his attractive, new assistant looked on expectantly.

“Holy Benedict Arnold, Batman! It’s Undine. She usually works for the Joker!”

“Before he abandoned her in the course of a jailbreak, that was true, old chum,” Batman answered. “Let’s see if we can organize a reunion for these crooks and their incarcerated colleagues.”

“I’m with you, Batman!”

Inside the house, the Penguin chortled, “Wak wak wak! Every crook in Gotham City knows there are $200,000 in a safe behind that painting “

“It will soon be ours,” Undine breathlessly said.

“Precisely, my dear, and this is only the beginning.”

“You’ll be leaving Mr. Wayne’s well-known housekeeping money where it belongs, Penguin!” Batman predicted.

“That’s right,” Robin concurred. “We’ve caught you with your feathers down!”

“We’ll see about that, my costumed contemporaries,” the Penguin responded. “Manta Ray; Hammerhead; Moray Eel, front and center!” Penguin’s finks filed before their master and faced the Dynamic Duo. Their names were spelled out in capital, block letters, which matched Undine’s familiar bathing suit. “As you can see, Batman, you’re outnumbered. Wak wak wak!”

“Two of you for each one of us,’ Robin observed.

“I’ll take those odds, Penguin,” Batman said.

“All right, my unfathomable finks, batter those bats!” The cagey bird waddled out of harm’s way with Undine, while his finks attacked.

Hammerhead and Moray Eel charged at Batman, who sidestepped and brought Moray Eel into Hammerhead’s path. The hard-headed henchman fell over his partner and felt Batman hit him three times in rapid succession.

Manta Ray swung a fist at Robin, who blocked the blow and stunned his opponent with a blow to the chin.

“Since you’re safe, my pet, and Robin’s back is turned,” the Penguin decided. “I’ll swoop in for the kill. Wak wak wak!”

The Bumbershoot Bandit waddled forward and swung his umbrella, which impacted the back of Robin’s head.

Batman had turned and swung an elbow at Moray Eel. The thug ducked and pounded Batman’s chest with a combination of blows. The Dark Knight sagged. At that moment, Hammerhead regained his feet and swung a haymaker at the Caped Crusader. Batman’s skull slipped below the level of the blow, which hit Moray Eel and knocked him to the floor.

Robin turned toward the Penguin and hit him in the face, sending his cigarette holder flying. Robin’s next shot launched the Penguin’s purple top hat into the air.

Instinctively, Batman sensed Hammerhead approaching from behind and sent his left fist backward in a short arc that terminated at the point of Hammerhead’s jaw.

Manta Ray meanwhile had gripped Robin by the shoulders from behind and held him in place for the Penguin to pummel. Robin bravely tried to slip away, but was slowly wilting under the battering.

The Caped Crusader straightened Moray Eel and flattened him for good on his way to Robin’s aid. The Penguin became aware of the Caped Crusader as a gloved hand fell on his shoulder. Before the villain could react, he was spinning and being impacted by a blue fist.

Robin finally squirmed free of Manta Ray and spun, hitting him high and low simultaneously. Then, he gripped the thug’s arm as Batman took hold of his master’s. Together the Dynamic Duo spun the criminals into one another with a crash.

Only Hammerhead had any fight left in him, and simultaneously executed combinations by Batman and Robin rapidly beat it out of him. They shook hands looking over the human debris littering the living room of Wayne Manor. “You’d better to see to Mr. Wayne’s butler, old chum, while I place the young lady under arrest again.”

“Right, Batman.”

Batman approached Undine, who backed toward a canvas bag she had placed on the floor behind the couch. “You poor, deluded girl,” Batman said. “You should have learned from your time with the Joker that crime does not pay.”

Undine sank beside the bag and dipped her hand inside. “I’ll tell you what Joker taught me, Batman,” she said, sneering and straightening with a crystal bottle in her hand. “Acid can be very damaging!”

“Fortunately, Robin and I routinely wear acid-resistant costumes.”

“Who said I planned to damage you?” Undine asked, popping the cork with her thumb and pointing the bottle at Aunt Harriet. “Take one more step and I’ll splash this onto the nice lady’s face. You want that on your conscience, Mr. Goody Two-Boots?”

Batman froze.

“Good boy,” Undine said. A glance at the fallen criminals told her they would recover soon. “Slowly take off your utility belt and toss it over to me. That goes for you, too, Robin. Remember, guys, if you try anything, I’ll redecorate the lady’s face and the results will be most unpleasant. All I have to do is let go of this bottle.”

“You leave us no alternative,” Batman said.

“I thought you’d see things my way.”

“Leave the lady out of this, Undine,” Robin suggested. “We all know you’re tough. You could probably fight toe to toe with both Batman and me.”

“True,” Undine said. She cocked her head to one side and favored him with a wicked smile. “This way, however, I win without the bruises. I’ll have your belts now, please.” She laughed delightedly as the Dynamic Duo surrendered them.

The Penguin moaned. Moments later he sat up. “Vengeance,” he said. He spotted his cigarette holder and inserted it between his lips. Puffing experimentally, he took in his surroundings and retrieved his top hat. “Wak wak wak! Well done, Undine,” he praised. “You’ve neutralized them.”

“You might do something to make the condition more permanent. My hand is getting tired of holding this acid poised.”

“Of course, my dear. It will be my pleasure. Wak wak wak!” The Waddling Master of Fowl Play retrieved his umbrella from the chair on which he had hung it and pointed its tip beneath the Dynamic Duo’s noses. Colored gas billowed from the umbrella and Undine’s adversaries collapsed helplessly.

“Nice work, Pengy,” Undine returned his compliment.

Penguin’s finks were recovering and looked to their master for orders as Undine capped her acid bottle and put it away with Batman and Robin’s utility belts. “Tell me, my dear, what else do you have in your bag of tricks?”

“Everything you wanted us to bring, Pengy. I have the rope, some liquid cement, a pump and the air mattresses.”

“How many air mattresses?”

“Three,” Undine answered. “We took care of Batwoman and Flamebird yesterday, so we wanted to be prepared for the Dynamic Duo and Batgirl.”

“Wak wak wak! Excellent!” the Penguin said, switching Bruce Wayne’s reflecting pool heater on. “Finks, cement Batman and Robin to the air mattresses. Undine, tie up your hostage on the couch there and prepare to pump up our prisoners. Oh, and I think we’ll include the butler over there. His name is Alfred and I’ve wanted to take care of him for years."

"What's he done?" Undine wanted to know.

“My main complaint is he kept me from marrying the Police Commissioner's daughter. He impersonated the preacher I sent some of my former finks to kidnap.”

“Barbara Gordon wanted to marry you?” Undine incredulously asked.

“Of course not,” the Penguin answered. “She would have, though, because I told her I’d let my finks use her daddy for target practice if she didn’t. Wak wak wak!”

“That would be motivational, I suppose,” Undine thoughtfully said.

“Oh, there is more. Much more,” the Penguin continued. “Alfred here had crossed my criminal path before, more than once. He first impersonated an insurance investigator from Floyds of Dublin while I was scheming to steal a fortune through Sophia Star, another of my one-time fiancés. Wak wak wak!”

“Just a minute, Pengy,” Undine said, holding up a hand. “Am I to understand you’d arranged to marry two different women -- and you're still a bachelor?”

“Indeed I have, my unscrupulous Undine. Each time my matrimonial maneuvers were carefully considered parts of a panoramic plot, the genius of which may well be too confounding for most mundane minds to comprehend.”

“I know your past plans are perplexing me, and I’m certain you confused your prospective wives as well,” Undine said coolly. Then her voice became soothing. “It just goes to show how utterly irresistible you are.”

“Quite. Thank you, my dear,” the Penguin said. Then he went on, “Later that year, I took advantage of the potential Alfred had shown. I brainwashed him into revealing the top-secret location of the multimillionaire’s annual awards dinner, where I stole twelve million dollars in cash. Finally, Alfred impersonated the famous British forger Quillpen Quirch. I saw through the charade and arranged to cook him in an enormous humble pie. Then, like now, the Dynamic Dolts arrived to thwart me in the nick of time. It all took place in this very room. It’s uncanny!”

“Bad luck for them this time, Pengy,” Undine observed, with a laugh as she bound Mrs. Cooper’s hands, then tightened ropes around the dowager’s ankles, while the finks cemented the Dynamic Duo and Alfred into place.

When they finished, the Penguin pronounced, “Right, my unfathomable finks, we’ll finish looting stately Wayne Manor while Undine completes our perfidious preparations here. Come. I want every last doubloon!”

“I didn’t know Bruce Wayne had pirate treasure,” Manta Ray remarked.

The Penguin hit the confused henchman over the head with his umbrella. “Just get the money! Wak!” As the Penguin and his finks went about their wicked work, Undine inflated the air mattresses with her foot pump.

Some time later, the male criminals returned to the living room.

“The prisoners are ready, Pengy,” Undine said. She had covered herself with the wrap she had taken from the Iceberg Lounge to combat the January chill. “I had a few minutes, so I cleaned out the safe.”

“Good girl. Wak wak wak!” the Penguin praised. “Finks! Take the prisoners to the reflecting pool.”

Batman and Robin were carried to the pool by the blackguards and floated to its center. Then the henchmen retrieved Alfred and set him adrift as well.

“Oh my goodness!” Alfred exclaimed as he recovered. “What’s happening?”

“Ah, Alfred, my boy,” the Penguin crowed. “Welcome back.”

“I say, the Penguin! What is the meaning of this?”

“Oh, Alfred, my dear fellow,” the Penguin began, “you and your crime fighting companions are in the proverbial perilous predicament.”

“Oh my!”

“Before we leave you, my amorous associate will uncork her little bottle of concentrated acid and drop it into this pool. Slowly, it will disperse and eat its way through those air mattresses and the three of you. Wak wak wak! Undine, you’re on.”

The wanton wench raised a booted foot to the edge of the pool; extended an otherwise bare, shapely leg; and balanced her bottle on her knee. Then she removed the cork and tossed it playfully into the water. As the small splash sounded, Alfred saw her regard him with a sinister smile. When the water had calmed again, Undine inverted the bottle, pouring acid slowly into the pool causing a cloud of color to form below the surface. When only drops dripped from the neck of the bottle, Undine tossed it in with a flick of her wrist.

“Exquisite, my dear,” Penguin said, putting an arm around her waist, drawing her toward him and kissing her. “Now, we’ve our alibi to establish. As for the evidence, it will dispose of itself. Wak, wak, wak! Finks, don’t forget the loot. Undine, come along. As for you, Alfred, farewell . . . this time, forever!”

The cagey bird waddled from stately Wayne Manor’s gardens with his umbrella twirling in his hand, the beautiful moll on his arm waving cheerfully, and the rest of his gang following in his wake. They all laughed merrily.

As he watched the villains’ departure, Alfred realized he had instinctively summoned Batman and Robin to thwart the crime without having reported it to the police or even to Miss Gordon. Only the helplessly bound Harriet Cooper had a clue he was in peril. The Dynamic Duo was his only hope.

“Batman! Master Robin!” he called. “Please wake up! Our lives may depend upon it.” A gust of wind made the surface of the deadly reflecting pool ripple, rocking the air mattresses upon which the Penguin’s victims lay motionless and utterly restrained.

Meanwhile, Katherine Kane took a phone call for Batwoman in her private office at Networld. “Yes, Commissioner?” she said, putting the purple Bat-cell phone to her ear.

“Dire news, Batwoman. The Bookworm has kidnapped a Gotham City librarian’s daughter, Regina.”

“Isn’t that the girl he worked with when he involved himself in the politics of Nimpah?”

“Yes, Batwoman. I believe it was.” The Commissioner gave Batwoman the address of Paige Turner’s Antiquarian Reading Room.

“I’ll check it out, Commissioner. Wait a minute. How did you get this information?”

“Batgirl provided it. Why?”

“If Batgirl didn’t say she had the crooks ready for you to arrest, they won’t be there. Now, as I recall, Bookworm typically drives bookmobiles in the course of his crimes.”

“That’s true.”

“Could you ask police helicopters to note the location of all the bookmobiles in Gotham City?”

“Certainly . . . but how will we know which one is Bookworm’s?”

“The central library should know where all the legitimate bookmobiles are today.”

“Good thinking, Batwoman! We’ll determine the location of Bookworm’s bookmobile as soon as possible. Thank you!”

“I would never be able to find Bookworm in time without the resources of your fine police force.”

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Goodbye.” Commissioner Gordon turned to Chief O’Hara. “Please ask Lieutenant Mooney to have our helicopters locate all the bookmobiles in Gotham City.”

“Yes, sir!” Chief O’Hara moved briskly to the door and then he got an idea. “Commissioner, wouldn’t someone at the library know where they all are?”

“I’m counting on that fact, Chief. I’ll ask Barbara to fax Lieutenant Mooney a list of where they're supposed to be. Any that don’t match up will need to be investigated for signs of the Bookworm.”

“Begorra! Good idea.”

After Chief O’Hara left, Commissioner Gordon said to himself, “Gotham City is so much safer with Batman and his allies watching over it.” He then picked up his phone and called Barbara at the library.

She answered, delighted to speak to him. “Do you have any news, Daddy?”

“Not just yet, but we have an idea. Could you please fax to Lieutenant Mooney a list of today’s locations for all the bookmobiles?”

“It will be my pleasure. Good luck. Oh, if anything comes out of this, would you please let me know?”

“I’ll do my best, pumpkin. Thank you. Goodbye.”

As Barbara printed the list and walked over to the fax machine, she felt happy to be helping out as Barbara Gordon. The necessity of maintaining her dual life that morning had planted an emptiness at the center of her soul, and the potentially heinous consequences of her inactivity as Batgirl had also been gnawing at her all day. Now, Barbara knew her allies were active. Soon, they would be hunting Bookworm and Regina might be saved.

As the Gotham City Police Department mobilized, Katherine Kane leaned over her massive desk and touched her intercom. “Jeffery, please clear my schedule this afternoon and tomorrow. Set up new appointments for everyone. I’ve decided to do some research personally and I’ll be out of the office.”

“Yes, ma’am. When will you be leaving?”

“Immediately. Oh, this could take a couple of days and I may be needing to head for Phoenix.”

“Phoenix, Arizona,” the perplexed administrative assistant asked. “Isn’t this rather sudden?”

“I’m afraid so and I’m sorry to spring this on you. I just learned something important. I can’t go into detail now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Very well, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Jeffrey,” she said. They hung up.

Katherine Kane walked to her private elevator and descended to what appeared to Jeffery to be the executive parking garage. A special key made the elevator descend to Batwoman’s corporate Bat Cavern, where Katherine exchanged her business attire for the yellow, sleeveless leotard with its black bat decorating her upper chest and the black accessories that completed her heroic ensemble. Moments later, a yellow and black helmet on her head, her powerful Bat Cycle roared along a disused alley two blocks from her corporate headquarters and pulled into traffic. Presently her helmet beeped to alert her to an incoming phone call. She continued to drive as she spoke through the hands-free receiver and mouthpiece built into her helmet.

“Yes, Commissioner?”

“We found it!” He gave her the location.

“Thank you. I’m on my way.” Batwoman executed a quick turn and muttered, “I may not have a moment to lose.”

Meanwhile, in the Bookworm’s bogus bookmobile, parked on a deserted street in the Mercey Island district of Gotham City, a sinister operation was just concluding. “All right, Bookworm, I learned Regina told us the truth about the statue’s whereabouts,” Paige Turner said. Then she glared at him and let her hands settle on her hips. “I also found out exactly what the men did to make her talk. Was it really necessary to torture this poor girl when we had the truth serum the entire time?”

“I’m sorry, my dear, but really it was,” the Bookworm told her. “You see, while both techniques get results, information obtained using only one is untrustworthy. Both had to be employed to get the confirmation you have just so skillfully obtained. It happens in spy novels all the time.”

“This is not a spy novel!”

“No. It’s real life and the goal is increasing our bank balances dramatically. If greed alone doesn’t motivate you, I can be more persuasive.”

“You’d set the men loose on me?!” she asked, horrified.

The Bookworm regarded her with a wan smile. “I have no need to be so crude, my pretty Paige. Tell me. Why did you remodel your reading room to my specifications?”

“Because you asked me to and–”

“Why did I give you those specifications?”

“To smash Batgirl?”

“Precisely, Paige. Now, copies of all the work orders and the copious documentation those architectural refinements generated are poised to be mailed to the police, should I determine it’s in my best interest. I’m certain once Batgirl’s remains are found, there will be more than enough to put you away forever.”

Laying on the floor, the bound, semiconscious Regina sobbed – not because of the threat to Paige Turner, but because of the news of the death of her friend.

“That’s horrible,” Paige Turner declared. “You’d blackmail me!”

“I don’t want to, but it’s far too late for you to get squeamish or righteous on me now. We are both neck deep into this plot and when it reaches its denouement, we’ll be rich beyond both of our wildest dreams. Now, all that remains is to collect the Onyx Osprey and conduct the auction. I’ve already begun to advertise.”

“I’m sure the next step will be simple enough to avoid having to rough anyone else up too badly,” Paige Turner said disgustedly.

“The men really are good at what they do, Paige. That is part of the reason I hired them,” the Bookworm cajoled her. “They didn’t leave any marks on poor Regina and I gave specific orders that she not suffer any permanent damage. I’m sure any opposition we encounter in the future can easily be persuaded to cooperate with a minimum of fuss.”

“Fine,” Paige Turner tartly replied. “What will we do with Regina now?”

“We’ll hold her until we have the statue and then we’ll let her go. There. That should make you happy.”

“No ransom?” Paige Turner asked. Something wicked gleamed in her eyes as she spoke.

“I don’t think her mother could afford to pay enough to make demanding a ransom worthwhile.”

“If we ask for ransom, Bookworm,” Paige Turner pointed out, “raising it wouldn’t be our problem.”

“You’re right,” the Bookworm conceded. “You are mercurial. You’re also particularly attractive when you’re being ruthlessly clever.”

“Bastards!” Regina muttered under her breath. The criminal pair was too engrossed in their own banter to notice her assessment of their parentage. “Don’t forget avaricious and amorous,” Paige Turner admonished.

“Those, too,” the Bookworm acknowledged, stepping toward her.

“Now, don’t ever call me squeamish again,” Paige Turner said ominously. “If we threaten the girl and her mommy doesn’t pay up, we’ll have no choice but to get rough if we ever want to be taken seriously again. Right?” She was leaning very close to her criminal master.

The Bookworm kissed her and pulled back reluctantly. “We’ll attend to business before engaging in pleasure.”

“As you wish, boss,” she huskily said. “You’re certain?”

“Yes,” he said, quite uncertainly. Then, his voice became businesslike. “Bookworm to Dashiell,” the literate lawbreaker said over his tricky radio eyeglasses.

“Dashiell here,” the henchman responded.

“We’ll be leaving to collect the package in a moment. Get Hammett and warm up the car.”

Suddenly, the door to the bookmobile swung open. “You won’t be going anywhere but back to jail, if I have anything to say about it,” a new voice authoritatively said.

“Batwoman!” the Bookworm said.

“Batwoman!” Paige Turner repeated.

“Batwoman!” Regina said, letting out a deep breath.

“Dashiell and Hammett,” Bookworm ordered. “Forget the car. Come here and take care of Batwoman. Oh, and be on the lookout for Flamebird.”

“Yes, sir,” the henchmen said simultaneously.

Evidently, the goons were only a short distance away, as they immediately came at Batwoman from behind. Outside on the street, the brunette beauty stepped forward and spun to face Dashiell and hit him in the mouth. She circled around the stunned thug, keeping him between her and Hammett.

Dashiell instinctively tried to keep her in sight, as Batwoman maneuvered the thugs around and around and around. Soon, Dashiell became dizzy, toppled, and fell to the ground.

Hammett stepped over Dashiell’s body and swung at Batwoman. She blocked and fired a return shot at him, which connected with stunning force. Batwoman stepped back, spun, and kicked him high in chest, knocking him from his feet. The resounding crack with which Hammett’s head hit the pavement ended the fight.

Batwoman poked her head back into the bookmobile. “Now, it’s time to close the book on this caper, Bookworm,” Batwoman declared as she stepped inside.

“We’ll see, Batwoman.” He turned to his henchwoman. “Paige.”

The girl took a book from a handy shelf and let its spine face the heroine. When Paige Turner opened the volume, something came flying from its spine that impaled Batwoman.

“What was that?” Batwoman asked.

“A tranquilizer dart,” Paige Turner said, with a laugh. “Good night.”

“No,” Batwoman said dreamily, “I meant . . . the book.” A wisp of smoke was rising from a black hole at the top of Paige Turner’s book’s spine and the faint odor of propellants hung in the air.

“A very clever device,” the Bookworm responded. “I read about it in one of those spy thrillers. It seemed like such a novel idea, I thought I’d have one made. The rest is history, and soon, so shall you.” As the Bookworm spoke, the yellow-clad heroine collapsed.

Bookworm stepped from the bookmobile and dragged in his fallen henchmen, whom Paige Turner revived.

“Assemble our special bookcase, men, while Paige and I prepare the lights.” Dashiell and Hammett opened a cabinet and began to remove panes of leaded glass, which they fitted into a metal grid. Once assembled, they laid the ornate grid across the top of two low bookcases, above two large lights Paige Turner had positioned. Wood panels, from which metal shackles extended, slid into place at the top and bottom of the grid. The Bookworm picked up Batwoman, splayed her body across the grid, and locked her limbs in place near the corners. Chord was also wound around her hips and shoulders to further immobilize her. The men slid panes of glass into slots at Batwoman’s sides and covered the top edge with wooden slats to which hinged doors were screwed.

“Okay, boss,” Dashiell said. “The box is finished.”

“All that’s left to do is close and lock the doors,” Hammett said.

“The hot lights will cook her goose quite nicely,” Paige Turner agreed, positioning lights along the glass sides of the chamber.

“It’s delicious,” Bookworm said. “My recipe for roast bat is about to be executed to exquisite perfection.”

“You're all monsters!” Regina raged, struggling fiercely, but vainly, with her bonds. “I can’t believe I ever helped you, and your woman is certainly a piece of work! One minute she’s lecturing you about superfluous torture and the next she’s ransoming me off and gleefully helping you commit murder!”

“Gag her, Paige,” the Bookworm ordered. “I think leaving our prisoner to watch Batwoman simmer could bring about a pleasant attitude adjustment. As Paige has decided to turn the unfortunate necessity of the young lady’s captivity into an income stream . . . . ”

Paige Turner pulled a silk scarf from a drawer. “You know, honey,” the henchwoman said, approaching the captive, “you have no idea what makes me tick, but I’ll tell you something that does the job—money. You see, unless our ransom gets paid, there’s no money in kidnapping. You’d better hope your mommy comes up with the dough!”

“You dirty—" Regina hotly began.

Paige rammed her scarf into the girl’s mouth and tied it off.

“Ah. Silence has lease once again,” Bookworm gratefully said.

“Boss,” Paige Turner asked. “What will you do with the girl if her mother can’t come up with the ransom?”

“I suppose, in that case, it will be too bad for dear Regina.” The Bookworm turned to his henchmen. “Do you feel up to taking care of her, in the event that proves necessary?”

Dashiell and Hammett drank in the bound vision of their comely captive as her muscles worked vainly toward escape. Regina slowly became aware of the attention and decided the men’s smiles were not at all pleasant.

”I think we would take real good care of her, boss,” Hammett said.

Regina felt a chill having nothing to do with the temperature run along the length of her spine.

“Very well. Once Batwoman revives, we can take our leave.”

Dashiell and Hammett moved slowly toward Regina.

The Bookworm checked them as they each let a hand settle on her shoulders. “Boys, we need to see if the ransom is paid before I let you play with her further. Why don’t you pack up Batwoman’s motorcycle. We’ll be taking it along.”

Regina gratefully exhaled through her nose.

“Didn’t Batwoman get her on her Bat Gyro?” Hammett asked.

“I think she sometimes rides a motorcycle,” Dashiell disagreed.

“I didn’t hear her arrive,” Paige Turner said.

“That probably means she snuck up here after landing or parking,” the Bookworm said, annoyed. “Just find her vehicle!”

Then, Batwoman moaned. She blinked and stared at the Bookworm and Paige Turner, as they looked down at her. Ignoring them, she assessed her own position and noted Regina, the captive audience.

“Bookworm, where am I?” Gotham City’s delectable defender asked.

“You’ve not left our bookmobile, Batwoman,” the leather-clad villain responded. “I’ve placed you on one of my very special bookcases. It has some unique characteristics with which I promise you’ll become quite familiar.”

“I noticed the restraints. If you think for one minute–”

The Bookworm stopped her by raising one gloved hand. “There are modifications in addition to the restraints. Firstly, the piece is a particular type of bookcase, a barrister’s bookcase, which has doors on the front to protect the books inside from dust. You’ve probably noted the leaded glass walls. These would make the piece quite valuable, but I’ve enhanced this prestigious amenity further. All of the glass is convex, like that of a magnifying glass. Each pane of glass will magnify the heat of my external reading lamps exponentially.”

“Hey!” Hammett said. “That will make the box into a cook bookcase!"

“You’re right!” Dashiell agreed. “It will act like an oven and treat Batwoman like a piece of meat.”

“Are you two still here?!” the Bookworm demanded. The henchmen disappeared, obeying their master’s command to find Batwoman’s vehicle.

“I once tried to steam Batman and Robin to death in an enormous cookbook. It is a little sad that Flamebird isn’t here to share your fate in the sequel, but I’m sure, based on her attitude during our last adventure, she’ll charge right into my custody soon enough.”

“You fiend!” Batwoman fumed.

“Indeed. Before we leave, we’ll close the doors above you and turn on all of my reading lamps,” Bookworm said, indicating overhead lights Paige Turner was lowering to points just above Batwoman’s prison. “Unfortunately for you, these lamps produce heat as well as light.”

“I think I get the general idea,” Batwoman said coldly.

“Perhaps, but let me elaborate for dear Regina. The hot lights focused on your beautiful body will not only illuminate the pretty picture, but magnified through the glasses, they will heat the interior of the bookcase. Restrained as you are, you’d come out quite well done, but the human body is composed of seventy percent water. The heat will eventually transform it into steam. So, you’ll enjoy the added sensation of simmering in a succulent stew of your own juices.”

“You’re very sick, Bookworm!” Batwoman declared. “How could any human being devise such a devilish demise for another?”

Bookworm laughed. “Since you asked, I’ll tell you. I got the idea from reading about pranks serial killers played as children. They sometimes cook helpless insects with light focused through a magnifying glass. I though the technique might work just as well on rodents or birds, as well as those heroes who portray such creatures.”

“You’ll never get away with this!”

“Whom do you imagine will stop me?”

“The reckoning will be between you and me, Bookworm, and it’s coming.”

“I was rather hoping you’d name someone else. We’ll be moving the bookmobile to keep anyone from showing up at an untimely moment to save you.”

“Believe me. You don’t want to do this.”

“Well, I suppose I’d better teach you how wrong you are,” the Bookworm decided. “Paige, Close the doors and turn on the lights. By the time this process is finished, she’ll be very well done indeed.”

Regina’s eyes widened with horror as Paige Turner obediently did her master’s bidding.

Moments later, Batwoman lay inside the death chamber, beads of sweat forming on her flesh as the hot lights blazed around her. Paige Turner smiled as she, the happy Bookworm and the dismayed Regina, watched Batwoman begin to cook.

For Batwoman, it soon grew intensely hot inside the closed bookcase. She could feel the perspiration soaking her costume, the moisture slowly growing to become a glistening sheen.

“It’s working,” Paige Turner said excitedly.

“Of course, it’s working,” the Bookworm said with a huff.

Regina could also see the progress of the Bookworm’s murderous plot. The interior of the bookcase slowly became obscured with steam.

“I can’t see,” Paige Turner complained.

Regina glared at the henchwoman, but Paige Turner stubbornly refused to be incinerated by the captive’s gaze. The Bookworm also remained disappointingly intact under the prisoner’s emotional scrutiny.

“Let’s go,” the Bookworm suggested. “The rest of the show will take place behind a veil of murderous mist.” The Bookworm led his moll from the bookmobile with a delighted laugh. A second later, he peered back through the door. “Remember, Regina, for Batwoman the mist shrouding her from our view is speeding along the cooking process. Bon Appetite!” The door closed.

Batwoman remained, sweating and sweltering in the glass hot box, with the helpless, horrified Regina looking on.

Barbara Gordon was often called the Oracle at her job because of her ability to find things her staff could not. Once she had faxed the list of bookmobile locations to Lieutenant Mooney, she threw herself into her work and enhanced her reputation. As her conscious mind dealt with library patrons and handled day-to-day administrative tasks, her subconscious mind was busy working on the problem of Regina’s kidnapping. As evening drew near, Barbara began to approach the problem through logical reason. Her father did not call to say the problem had been resolved, but Barbara didn’t really expect him to keep his daughter informed of police work in progress.

The Bookworm had planned to take the Onyx Osprey from Regina, but had kidnapped her instead. The question nagging Barbara was, “Why?” She was closing for the night and pondering the paradox, as inspiration struck, suggesting her best course of action.

Regina must not have the statue.

The Bookworm had sent the statue to her, though. She had either never received it, or had given it to someone else. Barbara knew Regina had been sent to the Bruce Wayne Home for Wayward Girls after her last adventure with the Bookworm. Her task would be to uncover what had transpired the previous night and what circumstances had led to those events.

As she pulled into the garage at her apartment, she decided a computer search of the Bruce Wayne Home for Wayward Girls’ records would be her first step in determining the stolen statue’s whereabouts. Barbara turned on her computer and made herself a sandwich to eat while she worked. She would not have predicted the answer that suggested itself.

“Time to pay a call . . . as Batgirl!” Barbara told Charlie. She shut off her computer; crossed her bedroom; spun her wall, revealing Batgirl’s headquarters; and underwent her tantalizing transformation. Moments later, she was speeding toward her destination on the Batgirlcycle.

Batgirl’s quarry was aware of the heroine’s presence long before Gotham City’s Darling Defender was ready to make it known. “It seems my security system wasn’t a waste of money after all,” the one-time minor celebrity murmured with a smile. “I’d better get ready to welcome my guest.”

Cameras monitored the curvaceous climber as she ascended the wall and passed through a conveniently open window. Batgirl’s quarry watched, waiting until the intruder had put her rope away and began to traverse the room, before reaching a pink-gloved hand to turn a valve and allow the imported security system to do its work.

The single door to the room Batgirl had entered was locked. As she extracted her lock picks from her belt, the window closed. Swift steps brought the Caped Cutie back across the room to confirm she was trapped. As Batgirl’s attention returned to the door, white mist began emanating from concealed nozzles to slowly fill the room.

‘I’ve got to get out of here!’ Batgirl looked wildly around her and picked up a chair she swung at the window.

“Welcome, Batgirl,” the heroine’s watcher said through a speaker. “That glass is shatterproof; bulletproof; and Batproof. You aren’t going anywhere.”

Batgirl dropped the chair and reached for a gasmask from her utility belt.

“Good idea. It’s too bad you’re too late.”

As she began to extract her mask, Batgirl felt her breath catch in her throat and was suddenly aware her heart rate had dramatically increased. Paradoxically, she could no longer move her arms or take another step. Her mind, however, was racing with the speed of a supercomputer, remembering an unforgettable sensation.

She had been investigating Ffogg Place, the home of Lord Marmaduke Ffogg, whom she had believed was responsible for a baffling series of robberies in Londinium. She had just found the stolen goods in his forbidden Cricket Pavilion, when a cloud of paralyzing fog just like the one currently effecting her, had been unleashed to subdue her. In Londinium, she had been taken to Lord Ffogg’s dungeon. Her fate, as well as her assailant, were now, however, unknown.

Batgirl’s captor laughed and spoke into a telephone receiver. “I never really planned to use that paralyzing fog I bought,” the voice remarked. “I thought I might need it to subdue a crazed fan. Instead, I’m attacking Batgirl. It’s like I never gave up the business. Happily, the security system is functioning perfectly. She never had a chance. You know, Marlowe, purr-haps I should say purr-fectly.”

“So, do you want me to come over and help with Batgirl?” Marlowe asked.

“Please do. I may ask you to do me another little favor as well.”

“Anything for you, Pussycat. See you soon.”

“Anything?” Pussycat asked.

“You’re such a tease. I’ll see you soon.”

Pussycat hung up the phone and smiled. ‘I’m so glad I decided to stay in and study tonight.’ Then, she was struck with inspiration. She picked up the phone and punched in seven numbers. Her face transformed as she learned how to reach the supervillainess with whom she wished to speak, her former mistress and criminal mentor. Again Pussycat dialed.

“Hello?” a female voice said.

“My name is Pussycat. I’d like to speak to Catwoman.”

“How did you get this number?” Dayna demanded.

“Maria at Ye Olde Benbow Taverne provided it. She told me to tell Catwoman that her place is the cat’s meow.”

“Well, now that you’ve given the password, I’ll see if she’ll talk to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Hello, Pussycat,“ Catwoman said presently. “What’s a successful singer like you doing talking to an old tabby like me?”

“My recording label went out of business. All of its competitors told me any artist dumb enough to choose the label I used had no business sense and was too much of a risk upon whom to take a chance.”

“Are you trying to get back into crime?”

“Oh, I’m already back into crime, Catwoman,” the co-ed said coyly. “I won’t bother you with the details, because that’s not why I’m calling. Two most unexpected things have just dropped into my lap . . . one of which I’d be happy to give to you for nothing and the other you might be willing to buy. I think you’ll be most interested in both of them.”

“Really?” Catwoman said, intrigued. She’d retained a soft spot in her cold heart for her former protégée. “Purr-haps you should come see me and bring them over,” she suggested. The Feline Felon gave her one-time henchwoman an address. “Would you like me to send someone to pick you up?”

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you. I’ll see you soon.” Pussycat hung up.

Marlowe arrived within the half hour. “You look great, babe. I thought that old outfit would have been too small, but seeing is believing and I wouldn’t care in any case.”

“I’ve grown up quite a bit since I wore the original, as you well know. Now, let’s get Batgirl and the Batgirlcycle in your van and get moving,” Pussycat said briskly.

“The Batgirlcycle, too?”

“We’ll present it to Catwoman as well.”

“Catwoman!?” Marlow cried. He had always been more than a bit intimidated by the Princess of Plunder.

“Yes. Besides, I certainly don’t want to be implicated in our prisoner’s disappearance.”

“Don’t you mean ‘death’, babe?”

“Probably,” Pussycat conceded. “I don’t want to dwell on it, though.”

Marlowe managed to fit the motorcycle into the back of his van. As he worked, the former hench-kitten wrapped her conscious, but paralyzed prisoner in a blanket.

Shortly thereafter, Catwoman and her quartet of criminal underlings greeted Pussycat and Marlowe. Spade stepped to the car and greeted his former colleagues as Pussycat stepped from the van. Catwoman gave the much shorter woman with the large chest a warm hug. ‘Good thing I’m not in Tara’s body right now!’ Selina wryly thought. She cleared her throat and addressed her former colleague. “Now, Pussycat, it’s great to see you, but I understand you have some things for me,” the voluptuous villainess said.

“Indeed I do,” Pussycat announced. “First, Marlowe, open the back.” As the doors opened, the Batgirlcycle was revealed, and the former henchman’s petite paramour pulled away the blanket to reveal Batgirl’s cowl.

Catwoman reacted with a mixture of utter surprise and delight. For one of the few times in her life, she was rendered almost speechless. “Wha–?! How?!”

Pussycat bowed and gestured toward her prisoner. “Batgirl is all yours, Catwoman, with my compliments. I caught her breaking into my home. You may do whatever you wish with her. I somehow suspect you’ll decide it’s time for her to die.”

“Purr-fectly correct, Pussycat,” Catwoman said, laughing. The Mistress of Malevolence turned to her minions. “Kittens, remove the Batgirlcycle and take Batgirl away. You know what I’ve been planning for her.” Dayna, Spade, Nick, and Beaumont smiled knowingly. “I’ll be along soon.”

As Catwoman’s gang of four pressed toward Pussycat’s captive and carried her away, Pussycat and Catwoman stepped around to the front of the van, with Marlow tagging a respectful distance behind. “All right. This gesture is very much appreciated. Now, what is it you have for sale?”

“I have an item in my possession I believe you’ll want,” Pussycat began. “Show her the picture, Marlowe. Then go.”

“You’ll call when you want me back?” he asked, handing Catwoman a photograph.

“Absolutely,” Pussycat said. Marlowe drove away.

“You have the Onyx Osprey?!” Catwoman asked. ‘Pussycat is certainly full of surprises tonight!’ Even though Selina liked Pussycat, she also practiced the belief there was no honor among thieves. “How can I be certain you really have it?”

“I put my CD behind it in the picture. Not many people could fake such a shot.”

“When can I take delivery?”

“When Marlowe picks me up, following our negotiations.”

“Purr-fect. Shall we bid Batgirl adieu before be begin?”

“She’s at your party now, Catwoman.”

“We’ll shed no tears at her passing.”

“Certainly not.” The two feline fiends grinned at one another and entered the Catlair laughing.

Batgirl had been aware of everything that happened to her from the moment the paralyzing fog took effect. She knew Marlowe had carried her to a van and tossed her unceremoniously into the back. She also knew Catwoman’s henchmen had carried her along a labyrinthine route through the catacombs beneath The Cage. They had arrived at a well-lit chamber in which a deep, curved, silver pit was centered. She had been thankful for her paralysis when she was balanced at the pit’s smooth, rounded edge. Beaumont bound her wrists tightly behind her.

“Is she ready?” Dayna asked.

“She still has her belt,” Spade said.

“I don’t think that matters,” Nick said. “The only thing she carries that could possibly save her is rope, and there is nothing for her Batarang to catch on.”

“He’s right, Spade,” Beaumont agreed. “Besides, her hands are tied now.”

“Fine,” Dayna said. She spun and kicked Batgirl between the shoulder blades, sending her over the edge. The Purple-clad Paragon plunged into the pit, hit the side with a smack, and slid forward along the curved surface to the center far below. Catwoman’s minions looked down at her, chuckling with wicked smiles.

“I’m going to have an enormous bruise on my chest,” Batgirl muttered, face down, after regaining her breath. The shock of the impacts seemed to have broken the effect of the paralyzing fog.

“Why did you do that, Dayna?” Nick demanded.

“I had to watch the three of you mangle Playgirl’s men. Now that we have a girl to torture, you expect me to stay in the background? Well, for-get it!” Dayna swore. “If it were up to you three, I would never have any fun!”

“I don’t think I’d say that,” Spade disagreed.

“Oh, please! I’ve seen you make eyes at Chickadee. You looked like a puppy that had just been kicked.”

“I wouldn’t let the boss hear you call one of us a puppy,” Spade warned. “I doubt she’d tolerate a canine reference being made to any of her associates– ever. I wouldn’t call you mousey.”

“You would never survive my response to such an insult,” Dayna predicted. “I’m surprised anyone gives you the time of day. If you ask me, you’re pathetic!”

“I don’t remember asking you!” Spade replied.

“Aren’t you coming on a little strong, Dayna? Catwoman seems to like him well enough,” Beaumont said reasonably.

“I’m not talking about Spade’s relationship to the boss!”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, Dayna. I seem to remember Spade being in the running to marry Legs Parker,” Beaumont persisted.

“Purr-haps you noticed he’s still a bachelor,” she sarcastically replied. “What I’d really like, Beaumont, would be a chance to try knocking in your teeth. How does that sound?” She held him with a chilling gaze for a long moment before turning on Nick. “I notice you aren’t contributing much to this conversation.”

“I know better,” he said. “Besides, you answered my question.”

“Your discussion sounds more like an argument to me,” the recovered Batgirl said, getting gingerly to her feet.

“It’s over, regardless,” Catwoman announced, striding into the chamber and stopping at the edge of the pit with Pussycat at her side.

“I might have expected this,” Batgirl said, striding toward the villainess and her one-time protégée. The defiant heroine slipped, falling hard into a sitting position.

“You’ll notice, Batgirl, that you’ve been placed in an enormous bowl.” Catwoman said.

“That seems fairly obvious,” Batgirl said drily, glancing around.

“Another thing that will soon be obvious is that my kittens have greased every inch of the bowl’s surface – liberally. You may never stand again, and, even if you do, you won’t be leaving this chamber alive,” Catwoman said, laughing.

“I’ve heard you say that before.”

“This time, my ravishing rodent, I mean it!”

“More familiar gloating,” Batgirl said, pretending to yawn.

“I’ll tell you what’s going to get familiar, Batgirl,” Dayna said, smiling wickedly. “Bruises. Keep trying to stand and you’ll have them all over your body.” The henchwoman laughed.

Batgirl bent her legs and drew them close to her body. She carefully put one foot on the flat center of the bowl and pulled the other leg behind her. In the process, she rose to one knee. Leaning forward, she straightened her legs and shifted her weight backwards.

“I’m impressed,” Pussycat said.

“Whatever you all have planned for me, it will fail in the end, just like all of the similarly sinister plans to which I’ve been subjected in the past.”

“You’ve got a pretty smart mouth for someone about to perish, Batgirl!”

“We’ll see, Catwoman, whether I perish or send you back to jail!”

“Indeed,” Catwoman concurred. “Pussycat, you caught Batgirl. The privilege of eliminating her shall be yours.”

“You’ll purr-mit me,” Batgirl’s kittenish captor began eagerly, “to eliminate her?”

“Turn on that faucet.” Catwoman directed, indicating a valve behind a glass door against one wall. “Just let it drip.”

“Certainly,” Pussycat said. She crossed to the faucet and engaged it until a single droplet of thick, white liquid formed and fell onto Batgirl.

“That is purr-fect, Pussycat. Just purr-fect,” Catwoman purred. Pussycat turned to examine the results of her handiwork and grinned as more white droplets spattered Batgirl’s upper body.

“Thanks, Catwoman,” Pussycat said, grinning. “This is a real opportunity. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“It seems I’ve got milk,” Batgirl said.

“Not milk, my dear. Cream. It’s much thicker,” Catwoman explained.

“It’s also freezing.” Another splotch of cream hit Batgirl and induced a slight shiver.

“When enough cream fills the bowl, Batgirl will be immersed and drown,” Catwoman explained. She, Pussycat, and the four kittens laughed. “The cold is only the first of many sensations you’ll feel. I’d thought about using milk, but realized you’d tire more quickly as you struggle in a more viscous liquid.”

“It’s delicious,” Pussycat said. “I knew you would be able to do something delightfully permanent about my rodent infestation. In time, this arrangement will take good care of you, Batgirl, once and for all.”

“I only wanted to talk to you, Pussycat,” Batgirl said. “Murder is certainly not a justifiable response.”

“Hey! What did I do wrong? You broke into my house, when a knock on the door or a phone call would have been sufficient if you just wanted to ‘talk.’”

“Receiving stolen property is a crime, Pussycat.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the 26 year old replied defensively.

“Even if Catwoman kills me, justice will catch up with you—all of you!”

“Enough!” Catwoman yelled. “And I thought Batman was pedantic in these situations!”

“Then, shall we move on?” Pussycat sweetly asked Catwoman. “Dying bats can become so tedious. Once she’s gone, it will be sunshine; lollipops; and rainbows for all of us.”

“A purr-fect idea, Pussycat. I don’t think there’ll be much more to see here,” Catwoman said. “Kittens, disperse to my various Catlairs and await further orders. I’ll be along soon.” Catwoman’s minions retreated from Batgirl’s view.

The cream that had spattered Batgirl’s cape and upper chest had drizzled down along the contours of her body, forming a growing puddle in which she stood. Experimentally, she took another step, hoping the thick cream collecting at the bottom of the bowl might counteract the grease coating its interior. She realized it would not when her feet slid form beneath her, making her fall into the puddle with a splash. Dayna’s prediction about bruises was proving to be accurate, and the cold cream was starting to make Batgirl shiver more violently.

“It’s too bad your lesson about the consequences of home invasion will turn out to be fatal, Batgirl,” Pussycat taunted. “Happy landings.”

“Crimefighters have to be prepared to die at any time, Pussycat. You won’t be let off with a slap on the wrist this time, after conspiring in my murder, if this trap happens to succeed–”

“Oh, it will,” Catwoman assured them. “Make no mistake.”

“My death will go on your permanent record and you’ll do hard time for it.”

“That is a matter of opinion,” Pussycat said stiffly. “Besides, once you’re gone, there’s nothing to connect me to your death, anyway.”

“Except your boyfriend, Catwoman, her gang–”

“Don’t let her get to you,” Catwoman advised, noting that Batgirl’s last words seemed to have some effect on her accomplice. “You were well within your rights as a home owner.”

“Yeah, right,” Batgirl said bitterly.

Catwoman stared down at her long-time adversary. “Your destruction, Batgirl, will be the crème de la crème of my criminal career,” Catwoman summarized. “Let’s go, Pussycat.” Catwoman touched the tips of her gloved fingers to her lips and blew her victim a kiss. “Goodbye,” she whispered.

The kittenish criminals took their leave as the cream beginning to cover Batgirl’s costume started to resemble a coat of white paint. The puddle she helplessly lay in had also begun to grow at an alarming rate. It had not, however, grown any warmer. Batgirl let her body relax as she shivered involuntarily.

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