Justice League of America - Batman: The Stone King by Alan Grant (best english novels to read .txt) 📗

his fall an instant before he struck the pyramid's sloping side. He somersaulted once, then his feet hit the next course down.

Unable to check his momentum, he plunged over the side of the second course. This time he wasn't so lucky, landing awkwardly and rolling down the slope only half in control. His head struck against a knob of protruding granite, half dazing him.

In daylight he might have been able to make it to the foot of the pyramid. In darkness, even with his night lenses, it was an invitation to death or serious injury.

The trees!

A vivid picture of the stand of cottonwoods growing almost at right angles out of the bank below flashed into his mind. Batman didn't hesitate. As his feet hit the third course down, he launched himself out into thin air.

One second–two–and for a moment he thought he'd blown it.

Then branches whipped against his face and chest, snapping under his weight, carrying him with them as they plunged down toward the ground.

He landed with a bone-jarring thud on soft grass and soil. He lay there for a moment, breathing deeply, regaining his composure. Leaning against the tree trunk for support, he hauled himself shakily upright and looked around.

The turquoise fog had disappeared.

His fellow Justice Leaguers had disappeared.

And the Gotham Pyramid was no longer there.

CHAPTER 6

Dialogue with a Madman

Gotham County, October 28

The dechromed black Rolls Royce's six-liter engine purred as the sleek car cleaved the darkness, heading for the lights of Gotham City.

"Where to, sir?" In the soft leather driving seat, Bruce Wayne's English butler, Alfred Pennyworth, kept a watchful eye on the speedometer set in the walnut dash. It wouldn't do to be stopped by an overzealous highway patrol officer. Not tonight. Not with the cargo he was carrying. "The Batcave?"

Reclining in the car's spacious rear, Batman thought for a moment. He'd already used the Rolls's built-in computer to send a message to all of the Justice League's reserve members, informing them of what had happened. Many were absent on personal business, but the others were now placed on high alert. "No," he said at last. "Take me to Arkham Asylum."

Alfred raised one eyebrow askance, but voiced no question. "Very well, sir," he agreed, in his rich English tones. Obviously his master was deep in thought. When the time came for Alfred's opinion, Batman would ask.

Their employer-employee relationship was a public display, a mask to conceal their mutual respect and genuine friendship. Trained at one of England's finest colleges, Alfred Pennyworth was an ex-actor and combat medic who turned to domestic service when his father died. He made the perfect butler for the Waynes, a model of efficiency and a walking encyclopedia on all things social and domestic.

Alfred also made the perfect aide for Bruce Wayne's alter ego, the Batman. He was discreet, honest, hardworking, and reliable. He was a talented actor who taught an eager Bruce everything he knew about disguise. And he could keep a secret.

When Alfred had first discovered that his young master aimed to lead a double existence, he'd been appalled. Little more than a teenager, Bruce would be inviting all manner of violence and danger into his life. When rational discussion failed to dissuade Bruce from his self-appointed task, Alfred took the only decision a man of honor could.

He became the Batman's entrusted aide.

When the vigilante was on patrol, Alfred manned the control console in the cavern buried deep under Wayne Manor. He did the research that different cases called for. And he was a sounding board, as well as a fountain of good advice.

As with Batman himself, what started as a part-time interest soon became a full-time vocation. Alfred knew that, with every villain Batman put behind bars, with every innocent victim he saved, Bruce Wayne was atoning for his own parents' death. It became Alfred's mission in life to help his young master in any way he could.

Bruce never knew where the older man found the time–or energy–to keep Wayne Manor, the family's sprawling mansion, in order too.

Now, Batman's mind was racing. He had used his satellite phone's secure line to call Alfred immediately after he'd recovered from his ordeal at the pyramid. Wonder Woman and the others were gone, spirited away, perhaps captured or dead. The pyramid itself had disappeared as if it had never existed, like a hologram without its light source.

The Justice League had faced a being of immense power, and Batman didn't have a single solid clue as to its purpose or motivation.

Over and over, he reviewed the events of the past few nights. Was there anything that jarred? Anything that sat uneasily with the normal flow of events?

Just about everything!

No matter how hard he thought, or what angle he approached it from, Batman always came up with a big fat zero.

There were only two possible clues that might lead him somewhere, and both of them were pretty tenuous. First, the history of the pyramid might shed some light. No doubt Alfred would be happy to do some research on it, or on similar ones found elsewhere.

And second, there was fear. Batman had rarely experienced that kind of terrified dread before. Perhaps only once, when as a child it had really sunk home that his parents were never coming back. That he was alone in the world. Forever.

He knew of only one man–apart from himself–who specialized in fear.

Professor Jonathan Crane, a.k.a. the Scarecrow.

Arkham Asylum, the home for the criminally insane, stood on a wooded hillside several miles outside Gotham City center. High brick walls topped with razor wire kept unwelcome intruders out, and would-be fugitives in.

Its crowstepped gables and Gothic turrets rose above the beeches and elms, scraping at the sky like fingers silhouetted against the moon. Here and there windows were lit, backlighting the thick metal bars that guarded them. Dozens of gargoyles brooded at the corners of the roof, their fierce glares and bared fangs designed to keep all evil at bay.

In that, the gargoyles had failed. Arkham