The Edge of a Blade
Chapter 9
By Draco664
Connor staggered towards the mansion, still dizzy after being at ground zero during the explosion. Even though his Quickening had healed him completely, he'd be dazed for a little while yet.
It had taken holding up a pair of hundred dollar bills for a cab to stop for him. Not surprising really, since he was covered in soot, blood, flour and dust. Not to mention the fact he was essentially bald after most of his hair had been singed away.
Funny thing about eyebrows, you look really odd without them.
Connor stopped a few metres from the door, wondering what his next step should be. Certainly, he couldn't just walk in dressed as he was, even though he had been given full run of the house. Wayne's butler was incredibly efficient, and would probably notice the creaking of the front door immediately.
No, he'd have to go around the mansion, and enter his room through the open window. Then he'd change, pack, and leave the same way, hopefully not getting any blood or dirt anywhere in the room.
Having made his mind up, Connor cautiously crept around the perimeter of the impressive building. The three swords under his arm clinked slightly, even wrapped in the hessian sack he had purloined from the warehouse. It posed a dilemma for the Immortal. The Batman had obviously only loaned the sword to him for the battle, and Connor dearly wanted to give it back before he left. But with no forwarding address, he'd have to assume that the Batman would track him down in his Manhattan home.
Reaching the ground beneath his guest suite, Connor studied the building face, noting very few handholds he could use to scale the building. Shrugging to himself, (he had studied with Houdini after all) he began scaling the wall, falling only once. He broke his leg in that fall, but that little inconvenience healed quickly.
Finally, panting softly, Connor hauled himself over the stone balcony. A hint of steam in the air puzzled him for a second before the light in his room was suddenly turned on.
"Ah, Mr. Nash. I have drawn a bath for you. It shall be ready momentarily."
Connor stopped his hand from drawing his katana. "Um, Sorry, Mr. Pennyworth. I will be leaving tonight."
The butler scoffed at the notion. "Dear me, no, sir. I think not! Strip! Those clothes will need to be thoroughly cleaned and dried before I can begin to repair them."
Connor blinked. "What?"
The butler waved the question away. "Later. Now, get out of those clothes. Place that bundle you have on the desk, if you would prefer that I didn't see the contents. Now, do hurry up, the bath will remain hot for only so long."
Connor frowned, trying to maintain some sort of equilibrium in the suddenly surreal situation. He looked down at his clothes. Burnt, ripped, torn, not to mention filthy with blood, soot and flour. In the dozen or so times in the past four hundred years he met people looking similar to this, they had generally either run away screaming or tried to kill him. Drawing him a bath had not hitherto been a response.
"Um, are you sure? I can leave..."
"Oh, for goodness sake, no! Master Bruce would be most put out with me if his guest were in circumstances that necessitated leaving. No, I simply will not tolerate it. We can discuss this afterwards. Strip!"
With a cough, Connor placed the bundle of swords on the desk, then slowly stripped off. The butler, whose back was turned for decency, collected the ruined clothes and gave them a quick perusal. "I'm afraid your overcoat is fit only for dusters, sir. I'm afraid that there is just not enough left to repair."
"Um, fine?" said Connor, still trying to ground himself.
"The rest, however, should be salvageable. Your bath is ready, sir. Just step into your ensuite. You'll find a robe hanging behind the door waiting for you.
"Um, thank you."
"Do you require your back scrubbed?"
"Um, no! No, definitely not."
"Very well, I shall leave you to soak. Oh, you may find it preferable to bathe in the Japanese method. There is a shower unit available, should you wish to rinse down before entering the bath."
"Thank you."
"My pleasure. Now, go and relax, I shall return in an hour."
The water was luke warm by the time Connor finally hauled himself out of the massive tub. With a wry smile, the Highlander decided that this was the best, post-Quickening recovery he had ever had. The bath itself was carefully shaped to allow a person to relax and lie back in comfort, with no chance of them slipping down and under the water.
Not that it would have been anything more than an inconvenience to the Immortal. But he did hate getting the water out of his sinuses after drowning.
Connor stretched, and towelled down his hair. The thick, fluffy robe hanging on the back of the door fit him perfectly, hanging down to his ankles. It had spent the previous hour hanging on a warming rack, and Connor instantly decided to buy one for himself on his return to New York.
Connor opened the adjoining door to his suite, only to jump slightly as the door to the rest of the mansion opened almost simultaneously. Wayne's butler stepped in, carrying a folded set of clothes, washed, dried, repaired and ironed.
"You are most efficient, Mr. Pennyworth."
"Practice, Mr. Nash, practice. Now, I assume you have some questions for me."
Connor nodded as the butler placed the clothes on the foot of the bed. He had indeed wondered at the lack of reaction the man had shown on his arrival. Such a man noticed everything, and surely would have noticed the tips of the blades hanging out from the hessian covering. "Do you know about me?"
Slowly, the butler's eyes met Connor's own. "I assume you are referring to your, somewhat extended lifespan?"
Connor swallowed. "Yes. How?"
"Master Bruce is not the only person to have retained my services, sir."
Connor raised an eyebrow at the non-answer. "Who? Which Immortal did you serve?"
The butler gave a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Mr. Nash. But I will not divulge any personal information regarding my employers, past or present. Rest assured, however, that the same courtesy applies to your good self. Nothing that is said in this room shall be reported to a single soul."
Connor nodded, satisfied with the answer, even though it didn't address his question. "Thank you. I guess this isn't the first time you've cleaned blood from clothes then."
The butler's lips twitched, but his expression remained carefully neutral. "That would be a fair assumption, sir."
Connor sat down on the bed. "What do you know about the Batman?"
The butler's head tilted to one side. "Before I answer, might I enquire as to the sudden change in topic?"
Connor shrugged. "He saved me tonight. I came to the city to find the Immortal who murdered a student of mine." He looked up at the sudden surprise in the butler's expression. Connor held up a hand and waved it in a placating manner. "The Immortal I hunted is gone, so you have no need to worry for your or your employer's safety. But for someone who, until a few days ago, knew nothing about Immortals, the Batman has been able to find us easily. I've hidden from the world for nearly five hundred years, it is more than a little disturbing at how easily he keeps finding me."
The butler turned, and pulled out a wooden chair from under the desk, and genteelly sat, his knees creaking slightly. "The Batman has been a part of Gotham City for over a decade, Mr. Nash. While I cannot say that I know as much about him as anyone else in the city, there are certain facts that newcomers are, shall we say, surprised to learn."
"Like what?"
The butler smiled. "Like the fact that the police have a signal which they used to summon him when necessary. As I understand it, while the Police Department refuse to make any statement regarding the Batman to the press, it is common knowledge that there is some sort of understanding between them."
Connor frowned. "That doesn't answer why he was able to track both myself and Damien down."
The butler rose from the chair. "Master Bruce often entertains Gotham's high-profile individuals here at the Manor. The Batman has often been the hot topic of discussion, given his activities. From what I gather, he is both a detective, and a man-hunter. You shouldn't feel disheartened that such a man discovered you, and divined your talent. If even half the rumours are true, he would have found you sooner or later, no matter what precautions you took."
Connor nodded. "Perhaps. Thank you again, Mr. Pennyworth."
The butler gave a small bow. "Do you require anything else? A hot meal?"
Connor shook his head. "No thank you. I think I shall just retire."
"As you wish."
The butler gave the room a quick look, nodded with satisfaction that everything was as it should be, and left. The door had been closed only a few seconds when Connor nearly leapt out of his skin.
"You took off quickly."
The Immortal leapt to his feet and whirled around to see a faint outline of someone dressed head to toe in black standing on the stone banister outside, almost invisible against the dark sky. He clutched at his heart, and suppressed a hiccup. "Mother of God, what the hell are you doing?"
The Batman lightly stepped down from the banister and onto the balcony floor. "What? I can't exactly frighten you to death now, can I?"
Connor slumped back down onto the bed, ignoring the slight barb. "I suppose you're after the sword."
"Good guess. I'm glad it worked. I just wish you could have avoided killing him."
Connor gently drew out the otherworldly blade. "That was never going to happen. One of us would have died, if not here, then in a few years when we met again. This way, he won't kill again. Where did you get this? I've never seen anything like it."
The Batman held out his hand, and accepted the sword. "You wouldn't believe me."
Connor gave a breathy laugh. "Try me."
For a long moment, the Batman studied the Immortal. Finally, he said, "Many years ago, Gotham was first visited by an alien race of hunters. It killed boxing champions, crime lords, government officials. Finally, we battled, and I defeated it. Its kin arrived and pulled me off it. It took this sword and committed suicide. It was given to me as a trophy."
Connor swallowed. "You said, 'first visited'."
The Batman nodded solemnly. "Twice more they have returned. The last time, instead of them dying, I humiliated them and sent them back. With any luck, they won't come back again."
Connor nodded, reached down, and picked up the remains of Damien's sword. "Here. Perhaps you can work out what to do with this."
The Dark Knight accepted the dead Immortal's sword with a nod. "Thank you. What are your plans now?"
Connor shrugged. "I have all of Damien's memories and skills now. It will take me quite some time to come to terms with them. I still have a day or so of work to do here for Mr. Wayne, then I'm going back home. After Gotham, New York is going to seem like a holiday."
Rachel looked up at the elegant tingle, signalling a new customer entering the store. Her face split into a large, joyful smile, and she almost jumped to her feet. She flew into her father's arms. "Oh, I wasn't expecting you for hours!"
Connor's smile was nearly as large as his adopted daughter's. "Sweet Rachel. It is good to be back. And I have a surprise for you."
He stepped aside, revealing Alfred, who gave a small bow. "Good morning, Madam. I do hope that you remember me. Alfred Pennyworth, at your service.
"Why Mister Pennyworth, welcome. This is a pleasant surprise."
Connor ushered him in. "Bruce has a meeting in New York, and offered to bring me home in his private jet. While he is busy, Alfred here asked to be introduced. He was most insistent."
Rachel blushed. "Oh, that is so sweet of you."
Again, Alfred gave a small bow. "A pleasure, my dear. Mr. Nash here did say that you rarely got away from the store. Master Bruce will be tied up for most of the rest of the day. Perhaps I could treat you to a late breakfast?"
Rachel gave Connor a quick glance, which he returned with a nod. "Mister Pennyworth, I'd be delighted."
"Alfred, please my dear."
"Only if you call me Rachel."
Connor watched the pair go, a smile on his face. It was good to see his daughter enjoying life. She had spent far too long looking after him.
He flipped the sign on the front door to closed, and shrugged out of his new overcoat. Alfred had been good enough to sew a scabbard into the material, even going so far as to line the addition with some sort of cloth that not even the razor sharp katana would cut.
Connor ascended the stairs leading to his private quarters, where he poured himself a drink. He sat down on the leather couch and relaxed. He didn't really need to open the store until Rachel got back. He was just going to relax and filter through the memories he had just obtained.
After all, he had all the time in the world.