Batman (7 page)

Possibly. More likely, the Riddler had cleaned up his own mess and left no chance that any of the goon squad would yield useful information. Cold-blooded, but effective.

This level of ruthlessness is something new.

When it became clear that nothing would be gained by staying, Batman started moving again. The Batmobile was several blocks away—far enough to avoid alerting anyone in the bank to his approach. As he eased into the driver’s seat, he activated the comm to let the GCPD know about the bodies in the vault.

Then he paused to consider his next move.

Traditionally the best way to defeat the Riddler was to figure out what manner of game he was playing, and then subvert the rules. Batman didn’t yet know those rules, but time was his ally. The longer he acted in accordance with the Riddler’s manipulations, the more overconfident the man would become. It irritated Batman to be led by the nose, but he had to accept it for the time being.

His comm chimed again. This time it was Commissioner Gordon. Batman tapped the control.

“Let me guess,” he said. “There’s been another murder.”

Duane Trask, Gotham Globe Radio

The trapdoor opened automatically, revealing a vertical passage. A blinking arrow appeared, pointing down—as if there was any doubt about where Robin had to go next.

The Riddler loved his atmospherics, that was for sure.

The shaft itself was decorated with question marks all the way down to a landing where a maintenance hallway extended as far as Robin could see. At intervals along its length were light fixtures, also in the shape of question marks.

Really?
It occurred to Robin that somewhere in Gotham City there was a small manufacturer of light fixtures who had recently filled a large special order. He wondered if that was something Oracle could track down… although it was just as likely that the Riddler had his own shop somewhere and oversaw their manufacture himself. If he’d used someone else, a regular Joe who made lights, the poor schmuck was probably at the bottom of the river.

He moved cautiously down the hall, keeping an eye out for traps. Every crack in the concrete floor, every seam in the wall, even the question marks themselves might explode or leak poison gas or shoot out a lethal electrical shock. But nothing happened, and the longer nothing happened, the more Robin tensed in anticipation. The lack of a real threat was starting to make him jumpy—it was tough on the nerves.

He wondered if this was part of the plan, to smother him in constant menace so that eventually he was dulled to the possibility of danger—and that was when the trap would spring.

Robin almost wished it would, but it didn’t happen. At the end of the hall was a large square room. Unlike the rest of the building, it was pristine and appeared to be newly built. Its floor was divided into a grid, with crisscrossing rows of squares each about three inches wide. He counted the squares: eight by eight.

Like a chessboard.

Looking into the seams, Robin saw steel. Then he studied his surroundings. There were seven doors in the walls of the room, each with a large question mark painted on it in bright green, and one open doorway. Each door was numbered, except for the last. It was one of the few things Robin had seen recently that didn’t sport a green question mark.

Standing inside the main room were three men wearing costumes. One had a horse’s head, the second a tall pointed hat, and the third a crenellated helmet. Chess pieces: knight, bishop, rook. Each of them wore bright green coveralls bearing a single letter and number. The knight’s read N4, the bishop’s B3, the rook’s R2. Robin wondered where the pawns were, or the king and queen.

What was the puzzle?

He took a single step into the main room. The costumed goons didn’t make a move to attack him. In fact they didn’t make any move at all.

Suddenly the question mark over door number one started blinking furiously. That was his first goal, and he figured he’d have to get there using some kind of chess moves. Yet if he started the game, would the knight, bishop, and rook move when he did? Would they retaliate?

What piece was he supposed to be?

That question cracked it for him. There was a classic technique of teaching chess—it involved setting up puzzles. The student was given a position and a goal: checkmate in three moves, or force a draw. Here the goal was clear.

Get to door number one.

The goons themselves were clues. N4, R2, B3. Those were his choices. Robin could take four knight moves, two rook moves, or three bishop moves.

Looking at door number one, he saw that the square in front of it was black. The square he stood on was white. That ruled out the bishop, since bishops could only move on diagonals of the same color. R2 wasn’t possible because the Riddler’s goons were blocking the two files between him and his goal, meaning it would take him three rook moves to go past them, move laterally, and then approach the first door.

That left the knight—N4. Robin plotted it out in his head. The first knight move would take him forward two squares and one to the right. The next, forward two more and another to the right. Then…

“Knight,” he said, and made the first move.

The Riddler’s goons stayed where they were. He was standing directly in front of the one wearing R2. Robin moved again, brushing past R2, who did not react. N4 and B3 also held their positions. Because of their masks, Robin couldn’t even tell whether they were watching him.

His third move, up two squares and again one to the right, put him one square out and two to the right of the target square in front of door number one. He glanced over his shoulder. The goons hadn’t even turned to look at him. Whatever confrontation the Riddler had planned, it wasn’t going to happen in this room.

At least not right away.

Before he went any further, he buzzed Batman. When the connection went through, in his earpiece he could hear the rumble of the Batmobile’s engine.

“Careful about talking on the phone while you’re driving,” he said, but the joke was wasted.

“What’s your status?”

“I’m in a room designed to look like a chessboard,” Robin said. “It has seven doors, numbered one through seven, and there are three of the Riddler’s goons standing on the board dressed like a knight, bishop, and rook.”

“They aren’t doing anything?”

“It’s a puzzle. I already figured it out. The way they were standing, the only way I could get to the first door without one of them blocking me was to move like a knight. I did that and now I’m in front of the door.” He looked at door number one, assessing whether there was anything about it he should describe. “I’m guessing that at some point I’ll have to go through all seven.”

“Or you’ll be forced to make a choice about which door to choose. Remember that old riddle.”

“The one about the door to paradise and the door to hell? Yeah,” Robin said. Batman had made a study of riddles, and Robin had learned them along the way.

“Keep it in mind,”
Batman said.
“I’ve received instructions, too. I found a tooth in the bank vault. Either the Riddler or someone in his employ left it there.”

“What kind of a tooth?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. Not human, that’s for sure. The next step comes from that answer, and the clock is ticking. There’s been another murder, and the counter is reset.”

“Crap. Any connection between the two victims?”

“Gordon is investigating. One, Lucas Angelo, was a software engineer and the other, Brian Isaacson, built the Ace Chemical works.”
Robin heard the Batmobile downshift, and the chirp of its tires as they went over the steel housing of the barrier at the cave’s vehicle gate.
“Time to get back to work,”
Batman said.
“I’ll find out where this tooth came from, and you move forward as you can. Don’t take chances.”

“I already did. I moved.”

“You know what I mean.”

Keeping the comm link open, Robin studied the barrier in front of him. It was nothing remarkable—a standard-issue steel door, the kind used on factory floors and stairwells all over the country, or found next to warehouse loading docks. The knob was stainless steel, and looked new. Robin took off one glove and pushed a finger against the lock’s cylinder. It didn’t move. Old locks always did, at least a little.

He looked more closely. The cut edge of the keyhole was still sharp. No key had ever been turned in the lock. Conclusion: This door was new, and had been put here when the room was created. Corollary: Whatever was behind it, Nigma had built that, too.

Time to get on the same page with Batman. So far their best results came from working in tandem.

“The Riddler’s passed up dozens of opportunities to kill me already,” he said. “His goons could have jumped me on the way here, or his three chess pieces could’ve come after me the minute I stepped through the door. But they didn’t even move—still haven’t. It’s kind of creepy, actually.

“So there must be a plan, like in a regular chess game,” he continued. “This is the opening gambit, right? He wouldn’t go to so much trouble if all he wanted to do was kill me.”

“You’re thinking like a rational person,”
Batman countered.
“The Riddler operates on different principles. He’s not a complete lunatic like the Joker or Zsasz, but not the most balanced individual we’ve fought, and he seems to be more vicious than usual. Worse, he’s controlling the game, and that puts us at a disadvantage.”

This was true, Robin reflected, but the Riddler wasn’t completely off the deep end. He was meticulous, and everything he did tended to make perfect sense, in a twisted sort of way.

“I still think I’m right,” Robin said. “Don’t you?”

“Not necessarily, but I hope you’re right because you’re already in there. Explore and get through. The minute you run into something you can’t handle, shoot me your location.”
Batman paused, and then added,
“For the moment we’ll work in parallel, and keep it that way as long as we can.”

There was the familiar sound as the Batmobile’s engine shut off and the hatch opened, then closed again with a solid
thunk
. He thought he heard Alfred’s voice in the background.

“I think keeping us apart is in the Riddler’s plan, too,” Robin said, putting his glove back on. As satisfied as he could be that there wasn’t a booby trap, he reached out for the doorknob. It turned smoothly, but he didn’t open it yet. He listened for any faint clicks or other sounds that might signal the presence of a nasty surprise.

“Agreed,”
Batman replied,
“and I don’t like it. He’s got the initiative, and we’re reacting. We need to reverse that as soon as possible. The Riddler always outsmarts himself in the end, but we have to be careful that we don’t get careless before that happens.”

“You know me, Batman. I’m all about careful.”

With that, Robin cut the comm link.

He took a deep breath and opened door number one.

Duane Trask, Gotham Globe Radio