DCU Batman #5- Shadows and Spectres

===Plaza Athénée, Paris===

 

"Champagne, monsieur?"

 

Bruce looked to the waiter, and smiled. "No thank you," he replied. It'd been a couple of hours now, and aside from the odd drunken outburst from a guest or two, the evening had gone smoothly. No sign of the Monk so far.

 

"Bruce Wayne?" a voice called out from behind him.

He turned around. In front of him, was a beautiful, dark haired woman, dressed in a long black dress. Her skin was pale, almost alarmingly so, and she spoke with a slight Russian accent. "Natalia Knight," she said, as she offered him her hand. "Would you like to dance?" she asks, as Bruce takes her hand in his.

 

"I'm sorry-" Bruce began, as they glided along the dancefloor. "How do you-?"

 

"Mr Wayne, please. There's not a single tabloid here that doesn't have your name on it. You know, I always enjoy reading about your, uh, exploits," she smiles flirtily.

 

"Glad to hear it. I think," Bruce adds hastily, blushing slightly. "Have you been in Paris long, Ms Knight?" he asks.

 

"Since I was a little girl," she replies, as she strokes her hand across his palm. "You know, the Knights have been donating to Haley's Circus for a number of years now, it's one of the few in the country that treats their staff and animals humanely. I was thinking, maybe if you-"

 

"Actually, Natalia, I was just about to ask-" Bruce interjects.

 

She looks up at him, her skin turning a shade darker. "Yes, Bruce?"

 

"Have you ever heard of The Monk?"

 

Natalia frowns, embarrassed, as she lets go of Bruce's arm. "Oh, I-"

 

"Sorry, did you think-?" Bruce inquires, sensing he's made a mistake.

 

"I, uh, no, it's not that. It's just-" she adds nervously, as she straps her handbag onto her shoulder

 

"Natalia! We should be going," a man interjects. He's dressed in a blue suit, a silver pocket watch hanging from his jacket. His black hair goes down to his shoulders, and is matched by a sharp goatee.

 

"... Yes, of course," she sighed, as she raised a hand out. "Bruce, my brother, Anton."

 

"Adopted," the man adds. "I'll see you in the car," he says sternly, placing a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "How do you know that name?" he murmurs angrily.

 

"The Monk?"

 

Knight applies pressure to Bruce's shoulder, and mutters in his ear, taking a look to ensure their conversation had gone unnoticed. "Not. So. Loud."

 

Bruce lowers his tone. "There's been a string of kidnappings in Gotham. I had... a source that says that the perpetrators were supplying them to this... Monk character."

 

"A source..." Knight scoffs, taking a suspicious glance at Bruce. "Isn't this a little below your paygrade, billionaire?"

 

Bruce glowered. "Missing children, Mr Knight? You must not know me that well."

 

"On the contrary- like my sister says, your exploits are well documented," he grumbles. As he brushes past him, Bruce grabs his shoulder, lowering his tone. "The Monk. Who is he?"

 

"Relax. Your. Grip." Anton sighs. "If he has your children... they're already dead. The lucky ones, that is."

 

"What the hell do you mean?" Bruce glares.

 

"You believe my sister's condition to be a simple pigmentation? The Monk sought out our family, and when we refused his... protection, he... he stuck his jaws around my baby sister's throat, and bit hard. He is not a man, Wayne. But a parasite, an undead monster. A wurdulac, what you would call-"

 

"A vampire," Bruce murmurs. "I don't believe in myths, Mr Knight."

 

"And yet..." Knight begins. "Men fly in your country, do they not?"

 

~

 

A few hours later, Bruce returned to the hotel room, a calm breeze filling the air. The window was open... 'Who?'

 

"I don't think much of your security-" a gruff voice begins. As Bruce raised his arm out, the figure, silhouetted by the moonlight, grabbed his fist, and slung him against the wall. "And your technique is sloppy."

He was over six foot, and built like a boar. A thick beard coated his chin, while a variety of scars marked the rest of his face. The stench of whisky followed him wherever he went, and his voice was utterly devoid of compassion, or of sympathy. "Hello, Wayne," he scoffed.

 

"Ducard..." Bruce groaned. "Here to start another war?"

 

"Please, Santa Prisca was a fail state long before I set foot on it," Ducard smirked, as he helped himself to some of Alfred's leftovers.

 

"But you didn't do it any favours, did you?" Bruce growled, as he folded his arms.

 

"I didn't come here to squabble, boy. I came because *this* time, our needs align. This Monk of yours goes by the name Niccolai Tepes. You want to find him, I suggest you start with his distribution system."

 

"And what exactly do *you* want with him?" Bruce grimaced. "Are you going to burn down another city?"

 

"What, you'd call that Biayalian slum a city?" Ducard laughed. "I have a client. That, is all you need to know."

 

"And if that client is going to hurt innocent people?" Bruce stood up.

 

"Unlikely. They're a brain-dead paraplegic."

 

As Alfred's key turns in the lock, Bruce turns around to find Ducard gone. 'One good trick...' he thought to himself.

 

"Master Bruce? Are you alright?" he asks, Bruce still looking out the window.

 

"Fine, Alfred," he murmured, as he absent mindedly put his hand into his coat pocket. "Just had a catch-up with Henri Ducard."

 

"What did that brute want with you?" Alfred said, a note of disgust in his voice.

 

"I don't know for sure, but he's also given me the only solid lead on the Monk I have-" Bruce begins, as he takes a small piece of card from out of his pocket.

 

"What is it?" Alfred asks.

 

Bruce smiled to himself. "Looks like a phone number, and a... Circus ticket. Heh, Natalia must've slipped it in when-" He paused.

 

"Master Bruce?"

 

"Alfred, when would Haley's Circus have last performed in Gotham?" Bruce asks, as he reaches into his suitcase.

 

"Last month, I'd have thought, why-?"

 

"Because," he begins, as he grabs his Batsuit. "That's how he's transporting those children."

 

=====Haley's Circus====

 

"God, you never told me they were children-" Haley begins, as he talks into the phone.

 

"Come now, ignorance, is not an excuse Mr Haley. We've got another shipment lined up for April," a voice rings out, a calm, almost charming one, yet, it was off. As though there were an undertone of malice dripping from each word.

 

"But you said that this Scarecrow-" Haley began, using one of his pamphlets to mop his brow.

 

"Scarecrow may be out of the picture, but, as our client gets... particularly hungry, we've had to make do. 30 kids, to make up for Crane's oversight."

 

Haley paused. He didn't want to, god, of course he didn't... But he knew what the alternative was.

 

"Thank you for understanding."

 

"I-" Haley started, as though he had a backbone for one brief second, and then- the illusion was shattered.

 

"Careful, Mr Haley. If you won't do it, we'll find someone who will, and then, you know who we'll have to send to, ah, clean house, as it were."

 

"I... I understand."

 

"Marvelous!" the voice finished. "I'll have one of my people contact you tomorrow with the details. Tah tah."

 

Outside, resting on a telegraph pole, a small boy watched Haley rest the phone on the table, and pour himself another scotch.

Done